Have you ever choked on your heartbeat? Has anything ever caught your breath right at the end of an exhale, making you feel faint? Nauseous and weak, like your legs are suddenly too jellylike to support your weight?
This happened to me not two minutes ago, right on the other side of the door I’m standing outside of. I’m still suffering from a riotous pulse, burning lungs, shaking legs and an ache so strong in my groin it might well kill me.
I’d walked into my housemates’ bedroom toting a half-full laundry basket, just to find her naked and sprawled on her bed, fucking the shine off a glass dildo.
It’s not like I’d just stalked in like I owned the joint. I’d knocked, waited for a minute, knocked again. I’d assumed she wasn’t in there when I didn’t get a reply, so I’d opened the door, just a crack, and called her name. But, still nothing. I’d only entered once I was sure she wasn’t in there.
But she was.
She was lying on top of her blankets, legs open as wide as they would go. Her tits were pressed together, her stomach muscles taut, skin shiny with sweat. I’d wanted to back up, to escape from the room, but I couldn’t. The way she’d looked right at me had rendered me completely incapable of anything other than adjusting the plastic basket that sat against my hip.
After that initial hot stare, she’d closed her eyes again and redoubled her efforts.
Sweat started to trickle down my spine. The tops of my jeans shushed together when I started to slowly, unwillingly, scissor my thighs.
Her bedframe groaned. Her tits jiggled and slapped together. She altered her position once, just to scrape her soaked hair out of her eyes. Her stomach muscles rippled, flattening for a few seconds, before she crunched again and went hurdling over the finish line.
That dildo forced jets of fluid from inside her. I heard them hitting the bed in random, dull splats. The sloshing was drowned out by her moaning, and I took a quick look over my shoulder. What would the others say if they knew I was in her room, fucking the seam of my jeans while she masturbated on the bed?
Dirty fucker? Lucky fucker? Did you fuck her?
When she withdrew the dildo it clinked on her clit piercing. The sound was like the plucking of a harp string and the scraping of a fork on a plate, glorious and torturous in equal measure. If she’d asked me to clean her up with my face in that moment, I’d have broken my neck to get to her. But she didn’t. She clambered off the bed, walked over to me in all her naked glory and said one word.
I’d never tasted cunt juices before. They weren’t anything like what I’d expected. Not sweet, not salty or bitter. They were tangy, though, and I knew this first taste wouldn’t be my last. My eyes rolled back into my head, everything below my navel giving off one big throb as I licked the dildo clean.
And then she was walking away, stopping to drag the dirty blankets off her bed. She came back to me, dumped them in the basket and smiled. I hadn’t even realised she’d pushed me from the room until the door slammed in my face. Any other day I’d have hammered on it, reminded her that, in this house, a rule was a rule, and when it was your turn to do the laundry you did the fucking laundry.
Not today, though. Today, I’d let it slide. I hated doing the laundry, but I loved what I’d just seen. I’d already made up my mind to offer to make her bed when I came back with freshly washed sheets. And maybe, as a thank you, she’d fuck my pussy the way she’d just fucked hers.