by Mia Moore
Oh God, I don’t want to, but my hand unzips my fly. Knowing that she’s doing this because of me makes it even hotter. Is she thinking of my cock right now? I unleash my shaft, and the scent of Claire’s and my lust fills my nostrils. There’s a film of white at the base, physical evidence of our passion but it’s Tara that’s got me hard now.
But with her, it can’t be the same. My hand drops to my knee as I watch her. She’s humping the dildo faster, frantic in her need. Christ, I’m itching to touch myself, but I have to stay hard for her. It’s my cock she’s dreaming of, my cock she takes deep inside, wiggling her tiny ass, squeezing it as she orgasms. Oh Jesus, she’s squirting. There’s a wet spot between her knees. Her ass lifts, releasing the dildo, and she collapses onto the surface, the glistening dildo resting against her butt.
Somehow, it’s enough to see her pleasure. I tuck my shaft back inside its denim home, where it oozes objection. My heart pounds and I breathe deeply to still it. Tara is still lying on the bed. Maybe she’s drifting off to sleep. “Sweet dreams.” I whisper. I click the mouse and the monitor goes black.
***
It’s been quite a day. Hot sex with Claire and then the weird scene watching Tara. All day long when I was working, fixing that faucet, wiping down the laundry room and floors, I put off thinking of the Tara thing. After the bout with Claire, it was odd that I wasn’t fixated, re-living every second. But it was Tara and my reaction to watching her occupying my thoughts.
Now, I’m off duty, free to daydream and figure this out, sitting in my chair. Of course, the monitor showing Claire’s apartment is live so I can see when Gerald gets home. How is she going to describe her fuck-fest morning to him? Will it be hot or just a pity fuck for the maimed war vet?
Sarge strolls out of the bedroom and blinks her contentment before jumping up into my lap. Cats are like happiness. If you go looking for them, they’re apt to hide. But, when you’re least expecting it, they’ll jump into your arms. I scratch the back of her ear and she nuzzles into my chest, purring softly.
Tara’s not even my type—too skinny and frail. Yet the sight of her pint-sized bare ass. riding the red dildo was beyond sexy. I’ve never seen a woman masturbate like that, using her ass to fuck rather than shove something in with her hands?
Oh no. I push Sarge off my lap as a picture of Tara laying on top of me, my cock like the red dildo being ridden like a stallion, fills my mind. Stop. She’s so teeny that you’d split her in half. Not gonna happen.
Movement in Claire’s apartment catches my eye. Great. Gerald’s home. I lean forward and turn the volume up.
“Hi babe. How’d it go today?” Gerald gives her a kiss on the cheek before removing his suit jacket and hanging it in the closet.
Claire is wearing a pale pink satin housecoat, standing with her back to the camera when she answers. “Great, but he’s not interested in a threesome.”
WHAT! He KNEW she was going to fuck me? They had this planned? I lean closer to the monitor.
“But it was worth it anyway, right? You remembered to turn it on?” His arm is around her shoulders as they walk to the bedroom.
Like a flash, my hand is clicking the mouse to zoom the bedroom in.
“Oh yeah. All we need is popcorn but I’d rather have wine.” She picks a wineglass up from the night table and scoops a dark brown bottle from a shiny bucket next to it. Saffron liquid pours into the glass and she smiles at him.
“Let me get out of these clothes and we’ll settle in for the show.” He’s grinning as he removes his shirt and tie.
Claire sits down, snuggling her back against the brightly colored pillows lining the headboard. She picks a remote control from the night table and presses a button. Gerald, now naked, settles in next to her and takes the wine from her hand.
I can’t see what they’re watching but I’ve got a pretty good idea. I click my mouse to pan and focus it on the TV they’re watching. I see myself squatting in front of their bathroom vanity. I can’t believe this— SHE filmed ME!
“I know where THIS, is going…” It’s Gerald’s voice, followed by a chortle.
On the TV screen, Claire’s foot rests on my shoulder and I’m about to eat her out. The hood of my sweater slips back, brushing against her leg and the light scar tissue of my face shows for just an instant before disappearing between her legs.
“Oh my, that’s pretty nasty, isn’t it? Did it make it even hotter for you? Having something so grotesque lick your pussy?” His words are light, almost cheerful.
“Actually, I didn’t really notice. The other side of his face is handsome you know. That’s what I concentrated on.” Her tone is serious.
Thank you Claire for that bit of consideration, a half-assed compliment even.
“You look like you’re enjoying it, whatever he’s doing to you with that mouth.” His voice is softer and I notice Claire’s dainty foot slide cross the bed. “Tell me what you felt.”
Yeah, I’ve got a pretty good idea what she felt but I wouldn’t mind hearing her say it.
“He teased me with his tongue, licking around my clit instead of right on it. You know how I adore being teased.” Her voice is low and husky.
He’s probably playing with her pussy as they watch. My jaw muscle is starting to ache; my teeth are clenched so tight.
On the screen, Claire gasps and her chest arches forward, revealing the top of a dark nipple. That must be where I sucked her clit into my mouth, close to fisting her cunt.
Jesus! What is wrong with me? She taped the whole session without telling me! I should be mad as hell, not sitting here with a raging hard on. I take my cock out and rub my hand along its length. Sweet Jesus, it feels good to do that after the blue ball session watching Tara.
“There’s my little cum slut. Look at you creaming all over his hand. He’s pretty good with his tongue but what about fucking?” It’s difficult to make out his words this time.
He must be nuzzling her neck while he plays with her.
“Oh fuck…wait till you see that.”
The scene changes to the bedroom where I stand before her. She’s on her knees, the back of her head concealing my junk as she blows me. Aha. They think they’re so clever with the filming. If that had been me, I’d have that shot. You’d be able to see her mouth sucking my cock.
“Did he taste good?” Again, Gerald’s tone is light.
Like sugar, ass-wipe. What do you think? His superior tone is wearing thin. I’m almost going soft again.
“Patience, my dear.” Her voice is kind of muffled.
She’s probably sucking his cock while he watches her suck mine, even if it is a bad shot.
My voice comes from the TV, telling her to get on the bed, wanting to fuck her doggy style. Now I see why she wanted to go to the end of the bed. Claire’s profile, down on all fours with her ass high fills half the screen. The other half shows me, pants bunched around my knees, the thick muscles of my thighs, the hollow in the side of my ass, cock at twelve o’clock moving forward to dive into her cunt.
Shit that had felt good. My hand gives a few firm, quick jerks before I squeeze the knob, reliving the thrill of Claire’s pussy.
“He’s hung like a bull, Claire. You must have really liked his cock. It makes up for that face.” Gerald and Claire move on the bed, so that his head is where their feet previously were.
What the hell are they doing now? I’d have thought that it’d be Claire’s head I’d see, with them mimicking the action on the TV. I click the mouse, zooming out to see what they’re up to. Holy Christ, she’s putting a strap-on dildo on her hips and he’s on all fours ready to take it? His hand moves to stroke his cock--not nearly as big as mine.
On their TV, Claire hands me the black vibrator and I watch myself spit on it. Good. The hood still covers the bad side of my face. Now, I’m pushing the end of it into her ass while I fuck her.
My gaze flicks to Claire and Gerald. She’s holding the dildo in her hand, pushing forward with her hips,
sliding it his Gerald’s ass.
“Fuck my ass. Shove it in.”
Gerald’s eyes are glued to the TV set as Claire thrusts into him.
“Oh God, I’d love to suck that cock, have him fuck my ass hard.” There’s drool forming in the corner of Gerald’s mouth.
OH SHIT, SHIT, SHIT! He’s fantasizing about my cock. Oh sure, she suggested a threesome to get me to fuck Gerald. NOT GOING TO HAPPEN! My cock shrivels at the thought. I’ve got nothing against homosexuals or bi-sexuals but it’s just not my thing. And after Gerald’s snide remarks about my face…even if I was inclined to bro love, he’d be the last guy on earth I’d want to fuck.
That was it! He was acting all superior with Claire because he was jealous—of her getting my cock all to herself.
On the monitor, Claire’s head is bobbing back and forth and there’s a look of pain on her face. Pain or pleasure, with her they probably look the same.
On the bed, Gerald looks like he’s ready to blow his load, from the way she’s pumping into him and the speed of his hand on his cock.
I click the monitor off. The thought of Gerald blowing his load watching my cock fuck his wife, wishing it were fucking him, is more than I want to see—ever. If he wanted me so bad, why didn’t he just ask me, instead of using his wife for bait? The gay guy in Four-B had given me the eye when I first took the job, and I’d been polite when I shut him down. Fucking weasel, Gerald.
It’s almost enough to put me off my hobby, it’s so sick.
But is it? Here I am, spying on other people having sex, fantasizing that I’m part of it, even to the timing of my orgasms. Claire and weasel had just turned the tables on me. What right do I have to say what’s sick and what’s not? And how about Tara? She gets turned on LISTENING to other people’s orgasms. Who’s to say what’s right and what’s wrong?
Fuck it. It’s too much to think about right now. I’ve had enough for one day. Maybe I’ll go to bed and read a book. As Scarlett O’Hara said, ‘I’ll think about that tomorrow.’
To Be Continued…
BOOK 2
Chapter 9
Sometimes I just want to kill myself. I had it all in the palm of my hand but now it’s gone. I hold the photo of me at the Ritz, the silvery ball gown, stars in my eyes, picturing my future. They said I’d be one of the top ten models in the country at the rate I was going and I probably would have been. But that’s the past.
I place the photo on the shelf and grab the last item in the box—the newspaper article about the trial. My hand still shakes looking at the picture of Breton, his head down, shielded by his arm, being lead by officers to their car. Only four years ago and I remember that night like it was yesterday. My shoulders tremble for a second before I can shake it off.
I lift the photograph and place the newspaper article under it. This is the way it should be, me above the scumball. This apartment’s not much but at least it isn’t a jail cell. He’s eligible for parole this year and I’m going to be ready. His time is coming.
Enough Tara. Take ten deep cleansing breaths, like Dr. Anderson told you to do when you’re tense. Personally, I find masturbation works better, but it’s not something you can do so easily, especially in public—not that I go out in public much anymore.
It doesn’t take much to spark the sex drive these days. I’m a bundle of nerves. I don’t know who that chick below me is, but she’s one lucky gal from the sounds coming out of her bedroom. At least I think it was her bedroom? I pause for a moment as the Super’s words flash in my mind. Yeah, he said the apartments are mirrors of each other, so it had to be her bedroom.
What is with his face? He looks almost as bad as me, except I think the damage was from fire not a razor. That would almost be worse I think—months of painful recovery. The surgeons I had were the best and they gave me all kinds of drugs but still…it wasn’t enough.
It’s like what my mother used to say, ‘If a roomful of people threw their problems on the table and had to pick a set, they’d pick their own.’ I wouldn’t trade with that guy for all the tea in China. Still…he had a nice body and seemed sort of decent.
I’ve got to get this place organized so I can get to work. Thank God, I was blessed with brains as well as good looks. Momma got me into beauty pageants and modeling but it was Dad insisting on good grades, that I have to thank right now. So what if it’s erotica that I write? The stuff sells and I need to pay the rent. He’d probably be disappointed but I’m no Hemingway and the settlement’s not going to last forever.
Okay, the kitchen’s next and then a hot bath. I’ll set the computer up and start my next book this evening.
I giggle remembering the sounds and voices coming from the apartment under me this afternoon. ’Come on, just fuck me.’ Holy God, she’d screamed it so loud the whole building probably heard her. The sound proofing in this building kind of sucks, but it’s interesting, to say the least.
That guy must have been some stud— lucky girl. Back when I had a life, before the…
I slice the edges of the box at my feet and pluck the newspaper packing from the top. There’d been some hot guys and even a few women back then who could make me scream like the girl downstairs. God, the parties with all the ‘beautiful people’ and the guys; rock stars or athletes vying for the trophy girlfriend. Proof that they’d made it when their picture with a sexy model made the cover of some tabloid. Like Eric did with me.
Eric. Yeah, he was a piece of work too.
The lead singer in ‘Revenge’, the hottest band coming out of Britain in a long time and he wanted ME. Other women, more glamorous, confident, flirted with him, but he brushed them aside like gnats. Was it his accent or the way he made me feel so special? Probably more the rakish smile and great body—no drug induced emaciation for that boy!
When he whisked me away from the throng and into his limo, I was lost. Other guys would have taken me to dinner and then tried to fuck me but not Eric. Oh no, not HIM. Spending the night parked near the river, talking until the sun came up, I thought it was love.
The goofy touristy things we did in the weeks after—the carriage ride in central Park, the Empire State building, shopping at Macy’s—not once did he do more than kiss me. When he finally asked me to spend the weekend at a friend’s home in the Hamptons, I was sooo ready for more.
I should have split when he told me we were hosting a masquerade party on our first night together. Sure, I was surprised, but naïve enough to think we’d have Sunday alone together. When he disappeared for what seemed like hours, leaving me alone with a bunch of people I didn’t know, their faces hidden, covered completely behind birdlike or gargoyle masks, wearing dark robes, silent and aloof…well, I drank too much, I know that.
I hold the dishes in my hands that I’ve taken from the box and for a moment I’m there once more, a country girl with fresh eyes, seeing the decadence that money can buy.
It was a warm evening and the party had spilled outside, to the patio and pool area. With courage forged by six vodka and sodas, I weaved through the small cliques, seeking some sort of opening to join one. Finally I gave up and stood off to the side, a spectator at Eric’s party.
When a bell, much like a cow bell, rang, conversation stopped and everyone, including me, turned to watch the French doors open and Eric appear. He stepped to the side and bowed at the waist, his long dark hair falling over his shoulders. A troupe of young, nude men and women paraded in, and lined the edge of the pool, facing the crowd, their eyes downcast.
The naked vulnerability of the men and women struck me at the time, especially when the guests, anonymous and fully covered in silk and velvet meandered slowly by them. In retrospect, they were probably in their twenties and groomed for the role they were about to play, but at the time, I didn’t know that.
Eric almost quivered with excitement when he joined me, took my hand for us to make the rounds. When we came to a blond haired Adonis, he stopped, not bothering to conceal his open appraisal of the young man
’s body. He tapped the man’s shoulder and turned to leave. When I started to follow, the young man placed his hand on my arm and shook his head. Whatever was happening between Eric and the young man, I wasn’t to be part of it.
I remember the hurt and astonishment I felt as everything fell into place. That was why Eric had never done anything sexual with me; he was gay and I was the camouflage his public image required.
Thank God for Antonio. I hadn’t even noticed him, aside from taking drinks from the tray he carried. He took my hand and almost literally pulled me out of the party and the house.
Later, driving me to my apartment, he told me about Eric and the parties, that he knew when he saw me; I wasn’t cut out for that scene. Too bad in the weeks that Eric and I dated, HE hadn’t figured that out.
When Antonio explained what Eric’s plan was for me during the party I didn’t know whether to be scared or angry. Eric gave Antonio a vial to use to make a ‘special drink’ for my next round. He was supposed to add the R-2 to my drinks; warming me up for sex with anyone. And when I was good and stoned, and getting it on, pictures of me would be taken; to be used later as insurance for my silence about Eric’s orientation.
Instead, Antonio had his own plans. Quit the job and get me out of there.
There are some decent people in this world and that night Antonio was one of them. But then again, if I hadn’t met Antonio, I would never would have gone to the Silver Spoon and encountered his boss, the Breton pig. Everything changed with Breton. To think…It all started with what a lousy judge of character I was, falling for a sham like Eric.
Okay, Dr. Anderson could be right, that my actions and self image are destructive. But how many twelve year olds get plastic surgery to make their nose smaller? If I’m hard on myself, it’s nothing new. Mom was always at me to watch what I eat, stand up straight, brush my teeth four times a day. I never thought I’d make the cut in modeling school and was totally blown away when I did.