Eyes in the Next Room

Eyes in the Next Room

Wednesday evening. Five days since Jonathan saw you in the office.

Haven't told Mark yet. Keep meaning to. He makes dinner in his careful way, asks about your day, kisses your forehead. His reading glasses perched on his nose whilst he helps the children with homework. Small. Precise. Safe.

Everything Richard isn't.

New phone message whilst you're clearing the dinner plates.

I'm in Cambridge. Meeting ran late. Can I swing by?

Richard.

Mark's here.

So? Haven't seen him in ages. Just a quick visit.

Fine. But just for a bit.

Check what you're wearing. Still in work clothes. Black skirt. White blouse. The holdups underneath with the lace tops. Black knickers. Kicked off your court shoes when you got home. Just in your stockinged feet now on the kitchen tiles.

Twenty minutes later the doorbell goes.

Mark gets up from the sofa. "I'll get it."

You stay in the kitchen. Loading the dishwasher.

Hear Mark open the door. "Richard! Didn't know you were coming round."

"Yeah, sorry mate. Had a meeting in town. Thought I'd drop by."

"Course, come in. Nat's just in the kitchen."

Footsteps. Both of them.

You turn. Richard fills the doorway.

"Nat."

"Richard. Hi. Didn't know you were coming."

"Last minute thing. Hope that's alright?"

"Course it is," Mark says. "You want a drink? Beer?"

"Beer would be great, thanks."

Mark goes to the fridge. Richard's still looking at you.

"How was the meeting?"

"Long. Boring."

Mark hands him a beer. Gets one for himself. "I'll get some crisps. Think we've got some in the utility room."

He goes through the door to the utility room. You hear him rummaging around.

Richard moves. Fast. Gets you against the counter. His hand sliding up your thigh. Finding the lace top of the holdup.

"Rich, no. He's right there."

His hand keeps going. Finds your knickers.

Pushes the fabric aside. Shoves two fingers into you.

Mark's voice from the utility room. "We've got salt and vinegar or ready salted, or posher ones from Waitrose. Which d'you want?"

"Ooh, posh ones mate," Richard calls back.

"Nat?" Mark calls. "Which ones?"

"I'm fine honey," you manage.

Footsteps. Richard pulls his fingers out. Steps back.

Mark comes out with two bags of crisps. Opens them. Puts them in bowls.

"Actually," Richard says. "Could I have a word with Nat? About Mum's birthday."

Mark looks between you both. "Yeah, course. I'll be in the living room."

He leaves. Takes his beer and the crisps. The TV comes on. Football.

Richard moves. Gets you against the counter. His mouth on yours. His hand sliding up your thigh. Finding the lace top of the holdup.

"Rich, no. He's right there."

His hand keeps going. Shoves two fingers back into you.

You squirm and buck against his hand, trapped between his body and the counter.

From the living room: "You two alright in there?"

"Yeah," you call back. "Just trying to figure out what to get Mum."

You're so aware of how many fingers he has in you, where they're positioned and for a moment, it's so intense that you feel like you could pass out.

He stops then.

His fingers are still until maddeningly he flexes them inside you - flex, pulse, flex, pulse, flex, pulse.

From the living room Mark shouts at the TV. "Oh come on, that's never offside!"

Just as you orgasm, you rise up to seek his face, his lips for some contact because that's the thing about fingering, you're intimately connected by his fingers in your cunt but you want and need more. You need his skin on yours.

He kisses you.

You squirm on his fingers like you're his puppet.

"You two coming through?" Mark's voice. "Match is getting good."

"I need to fuck you," Richard whispers. "Right now."

"He's right there."

"I don't care."

His fingers slide out.

"Nat, get on your knees."

You sink down. Right there on your kitchen floor.

He's already got his cock out. You take him in your mouth.

His grip in your hair tightens and he guides you back further onto his cock. You move until the head is butting against the back of your throat, letting him hold you there until you gag hard.

Coming up with a gasp, spit dribbles down your chin and lands on the floor before you can wipe it away.

"As much as I really want your cum in my mouth, I need you to fuck me right now."

You don't bother standing. Turning just enough, you go down on your hands and crawl forward to give him room. Shimmying your knickers down, you glance over your shoulder at him. He's gripping his wet cock and staring at your arse.

"Fuck me."

All the way down you go, one shoulder and your cheek on the floor, your hands reaching behind to spread yourself open for him. You hear his breathing increase.

"Please..."

That seems to kick him into action. He's gripping your hips and sliding his cock in deep. You try not moan if you did it would be so loud it would embarrass you, if you weren't so damn glad to be filled. He wastes no time. The slap of his hips into your arse, the force of it pushing your cheek across the tiles.

You keep your face down and your hands parting your cheeks, crying out each time he bottoms out. You want everything. Harder, faster, more.

"Fuck me Rich."

You beg as he leans over your back, one hand on the floor, as he fucks you exactly the way you need.

"Yes, yes, yessss."

Your knees give out as your orgasm hits you full force, sending you flat to the tiles. He simply follows you down, spreading your thighs with his knees, and fucking you into the floor. You're pinned and it's so perfect.

The warmth of cum filling you and his groan in your ear makes your whole body quiver. The slowing of his thrusts and the way he shudders is so good. Finally, he relaxes down on top of you, his cock softening as his breath heats your shoulder and cheek.

"God, I needed that."

"What did you need?"

You sigh and enjoy his weight on you. "Cock. I really needed your cock."

He doesn't move yet. Just stays there. His weight on you. His cock still inside you.

Then his hand slides up. Covers your mouth. Palm pressed against your lips.

"Shh," he breathes in your ear. "He's right there."

You nod. Can't speak. His hand tight and hard so you can just about breathe through your nose. His palm pushes into your lips to keep you quiet.

He starts moving again. Deep, long strokes. Building again already.

You love it when he covers your mouth, because it takes not just your breath away but your voice. Your words. Being forced to be silent. To hold still and breathe steadily while he fucks you. While he grips the floor with one hand and your face with the other, and puts his mouth right next to your ear.

"Spread your legs wider."

You do.

"That's it," he says with aching satisfaction as he slides his cock in right up to the hilt.

When you're silent you listen better to his instructions. Not focusing just on biting back squeals and gasps. You close your mouth and feel more. Hear more.

His breathing. His grunts. The sounds that make your cunt shiver.

"Squeeze tighter."

You do. Feel every inch of him.

From the living room the TV drones on. Football commentary. Mark right there.

Richard's hand clamped firmly over your mouth.

You want to spit something out. Some word or phrase that will tell him just how hot this makes you. How much you love the feeling of him fucking you for the sake of his own satisfaction. How hard you're about to come around his cock. But with his hand over your mouth you can say nothing, so you just listen and feel and enjoy all the things he does to you when his cock is hard and he needs to fuck harder. When all that matters is those final quick, sharp, deep, hard strokes that'll fill you with his spunk.

And you can feel them building. You can feel him tense up. Speed up. He shoves his palm more tightly against your mouth. "Oh sis," he says, and "that's it."

So you tap him gently on the back, twice, and he lets go. You open your mouth just as he empties himself into your cunt, breathing deeply, gasping in air, clenching tighter around him so you can feel the full force of him pouring into you.

As you rub out the last few movements that push you over the edge, you let out a sigh, and a breath.

Then you can speak. At the end. You can speak when you're done. When he's fucked you twice.

From the living room: "Guys? You coming?"

You scramble up. Pull your knickers back up. Straighten your skirt.

Richard's tucking himself back in.

"Yeah," you call. "Just coming."

Walk into the living room. Richard follows.

Mark's on the sofa. Looks up. Looks between you both.

"Sorted Mum's present then?"

"Yeah. Going to get her that garden furniture she wanted."

"Nice."

But he's still looking at you. At Richard.

Richard sits on the other end of the sofa. Picks up his beer.

You sit in the armchair. Richard's cum is leaking out of you. Into your knickers. Onto the chair.

You look down. There's a wet patch on your stocking. His cum soaked through your knickers. Staining the black nylon at the top of your thigh.

Mark's still watching you.