Wednesday Eve

It was just one of those evenings in early spring, y’know, when your mind is way away on other things, and you come in from the street to find that you are not alone in your ‘musings’.

Naturally it was just at that moment that I remembered being told that a friend of my flatmate would possibly be there, having needed the flat at some point during the afternoon – but I hadn’t expected to find this.

The way of the flat’s conversion from upper floor bedrooms to self-contained apartment, had the door debauching directly into a blind corner, then a sharp turn onto a medium long corridor down into its body proper, with another corner swinging around to the living room area - meaning that arrivals were not always heard.

Combine that with my own forgetfulness, not to mention that of my flatmate’s, and all of the previous will go some way to explaining how it came to pass that I walked in on a young woman lain out and masturbating on the couch, oblivious to my presence.

With in-held breath, I froze in mid stride around that corner, taking it all in during less than a second. She was faced slightly away, and was obviously so busy with herself that she still hadn’t heard my entrance. I remained frozen therefore, attention swivelling between staring at that hand flexing up and down in her unzipped jeans, and covering my ass if she belatedly turned to discover me standing there, watching her.

It’s quite amazing how much information can be absorbed under such circumstances, even in so short a space of opportunity – I had the whole image of her lain out – long, lithe body, almost black hair draped over shoulders and arm of the sofa, one leg up over its back, the other angled outward toward me, faded black jeans tight, open and revealing a bit of red slip – inside which that one hand was busy.

Bracelets on that wrist, jangling lightly from the motion, which was why she probably hadn’t heard me, I’d say. Then there was her tight belly exposed and appealing, with light sweater lifted up over small breasts, revealing them to the ceiling and myself, nipples hard and happy.

By her increasing pace, I knew she would be done shortly, so not wanting to try my hand at explaining this delightful yet inadvertent act of voyeuristic presence, I drew a slow and quiet breath while very gently stepping backwards.

Needless to say, I was very visible hard and would doubtless have had a tough job of explaining such an obvious sign, if discovered.

She just lent her other hand to helping the first.

Another step backwards and I turned, still keeping my attention on her however, just in case she turned, of course.

She started to push her jeans down, slip and all, revealing herself fully for a moment, that stark black mound so refined against pale skin. It was then that my mind caught up with me and I realised that from my room just ahead of me, I would be afforded a wonderful view of her orgasmic finale – and if I could get there in time, hers wouldn’t be the only one.

At my door, I took one last look – the jeans were down about her ankles now, and long, pale legs open wider with her busy hand back in between them.

I swung the door slowly to and knelt beside it, smiling as I saw my view was still unimpaired – I couldn’t see all of her, which was a shame, but I could see that hand, and of course what it was up to. Opening my own jeans and wrestling my erection quietly out into the open, I brought myself up to speed, keeping my attention on her all the while, feeling the incipient rush getting ready to blow the door apart – at least it felt that way.

Her own pace had quickened considerably now, with her free hand almost mauling first one, then at her other breast – then in a slow arching of her back upwards, she came in a most vocally deep and beautiful way. Three blissful tugs later and as promised, I followed her example, though merely caressing the door with my squirt of seed.

Reality came home to roost as all the hormones went back to wherever it was they lived inbetweentimes – I was now stuck in my room, hoping that she may not have noticed if the door had been open or closed. It was a desperate ploy, because if she did remember, then how would I explain my presence?

Quietly as was possible, I re-worked myself back into a clothed state, still knealt by the door. She was there on the sofa still, but now limply supine and still stroking the last good feelings from between her legs. It even looked like she might go for a second helping.

Then, as is often the case (not that I make a habit of spying on young women at sport with themselves...) she sat up and grabbed her jeans, wrestling them around and ready for pulling back on.

I stood up, thinking fast as she pulled her panties up without looking around - and I saw my chance.

As she started to worm her long legs back into their second skin of denim, I silently opened the door to my room and slipped back up the hallway, treading carefully along its length in parody film-comic style, ready to make a noisy enough entrance once I got there, so giving her time to be decent before I walked in, as if for the first time.

As I rattled the door, swung it open and then closed again with a sigh (mine, not the door’s), I wondered if she were still horny, and if I would get lucky while her hormones were still jumping all over the place and ready for more...?

A carefully placed word or two, could do wonders.