Our Little Secret 10

Please, don't ask me to explain how it happened, I don't know myself. Perhaps it was a late-night noise which awoke me from a pleasant dream, perhaps it was merely the need to see that everything was all right, that the windows were closed and the door to our shared apartment locked, or to get a drink from the communal kitchen. Perhaps it was the strange feeling that we were alone, that everyone else had gone off the day before on vacation and we were still stuck here over the weekend. There was simply no noise at all: the other bedrooms all empty, forlorn, and their doors either left open or hiding no secrets; the kitchen had been cleaned of all edible food; the dishes were in their places, the cutlery was gone, there was no smell of brewing coffee or pizza remains. I don't know why I opened your bedroom door, we don't know one another that well and our ideals are totally diverse, and I certainly don't know why, when I saw the two of you there, I stood and watched.

The only thing I know about your boyfriend, apart from his name and appearance, is that you think he's well-hung. I don't know how often you've mentioned how big he is, nor to how many people; after a while it gets boring and we - at least I - start thinking that this is the only good thing about him you've been able to find.

Your reading light is on next to the bed, casting grotesque shadows on the far wall and he is humping you. I can't think of any other word to describe it: his movements are hard and deep; your words are encouraging, but calm as if nothing is disturbing you. I can almost imagine you reading that book as he pumps away from behind you. It doesn't take long. A few more deep thrusts and he is finished, pulls out immediately and throws himself down beside you, arm across his eyes. He really is well-built, but my eyes are drawn to you; open and used. You sigh and let yourself slowly down onto your stomach once more: I hear the complaint in your breath, you don't need to use words. But still he asks you, and you lie to him. It was good for you too, you say, and I know you can't look him in the eyes when you utter these words. I close the door quietly behind me only to hear him start up on the bed as I hurry away, then your voice, placid, unfulfilled: there's no one else here, I told you that, we're all alone tonight. Later I hear him let himself out through the front door of our apartment; you don't go with him to say goodnight.

You looked at me strangely this morning, as I made myself a cup of instant coffee in the kitchen, as if you really hadn't known that I was still there, but we didn't exchange any words. No good morning greeting, no questions about plans for the weekend or when we'd be travelling back home for the long summer vacation with our families. We live in two different worlds, separated by countless miles filled with a lack of interest, a lack of need to get to know one another better. Would it have been better had I left it that way?

I don't know what came over me this evening, maybe I just wanted to see whether he had come back for his little bit of ready tail, maybe I wanted to try and talk things through with you, woman to woman. I opened your door quietly, just as I had done last night, and saw you lying there on the bed. You had on that light cotton top and the grey cotton shorts, your legs were up in the air and crossed at the ankles, there was the light buzz of music from somewhere and then I saw that you had earplugs in: you hadn't heard me come in; you didn't know I was there.

I think about two minutes passed with me just looking at you, looking at your shapely legs and the enticing curve of your ass through those tight shorts. After a while you let your legs drop back down on the rumpled bed sheets, slightly apart, and I held my breath as I saw just how tight your shorts really are when you lie down. I felt that familiar spark of interest as my eyes registered the line of your ass; the fullness of your buns; the grip of fabric between your legs and the clear line of your pussy. You pushed the book away, took off your glasses and laid them on the bedside table. I thought you would turn over and see me, and was ready to speak even if you couldn't hear me above the sound of your music. Instead I watched as you arched your back slightly, pushing your ass up into the air, just a few inches off the bed clothes, and then I saw your hand. It moved slowly down the left side of your back and across your buttocks, stroking gently and then, sneaking under your side, I saw the fabric of your shorts stretch even more, and the line of your fingers as they snaked under the elastic and began rubbing your pussy. You moved slowly: teasing yourself; concentrating on your clit; sliding back and forth with gentle passion. The cotton shorts stretched and gripped, had I been closer I might have been able to see the tight pucker of your ass hole. Instead I heard your moans and sighs, and saw a small streak of wetness as one finger dipped in and out of your pussy. I closed the door silently behind me, and watched you play.

The first small shudders came quickly, one after another. Your breathing was rapid and shallow, your fingers moved faster and, through the grey cloth, I could see that you were using two fingers now; two fingers probing that moist, hidden opening. I moved closer to you, padding softly across the thick carpet with my bare feet, not for a moment thinking how I would be able to explain if you turned around now, if you saw my shadow or sensed my presence.

The mattress dipped slightly as I placed one knee on the very edge, and you stopped your play, startled, and said his name. You didn't turn. Instead you took the earplugs out, switched off the player and, with your one free hand, switched off the bedside lamp.

The room was bathed in the subtle light of a streetlamp, falling through the drawn curtains. It took me a moment before my eyes became used to the darkness, but I didn't stop to see what I already knew was there. I could hear your fingers: the sucking noise as they went in and out of your pussy; the slight slap of your palm; the moist cotton rubbing against your ass. I knelt, my legs to either side of yours, and traced the line of your back with my hands; moving slowly up and then back down, across your buttocks and the backs of your thighs. You raised your ass up higher as my hands went over your buns once more, and I pressed a little bit harder, feeling the firm flesh, letting my thumbs go into the hidden crevice and separate your cheeks before slowly easing the shorts down to your knees, leaning forward and kissing you gently; light kisses, a little tongue, my hands stroking. You arched up further and I let my tongue explore between your welcoming buttocks, running from the line of your pussy upwards, taking the moisture your fingers brought out and spreading it across your tight ass hole, mingled with my eager saliva. As my tongue touches the pink skin of your ass hole I hear you moan, hear your fingers digging deeper inside your pussy. I feel the slight spasms of your beginning orgasm; sense the tightening of your muscles as your ass cheeks close inward across my face, and I push my tongue as deep inside your ass as I can, wiggling and probing, the salty taste spurring me on.

I sense a surge of moisture, your pussy juices splatter across my neck as you take your fingers out and prop yourself up without turning towards me. I see your pussy lips opening and contracting, the pink prominence of your clit, and move my tongue rapidly downwards, savoring your juices and flicking back and forwards, my hands gripping your hips, pushing me further in between your legs. You cum in a fast, long flow of wetness and I lap as much up as I can, running my tongue up and down your pussy, pushing it between your pulsating lips until you flop forward on the bed and I lose my grip. I lick the wet remains from the insides of your thighs, from your pussy, from your ass, my face soaked and warm, then stand and, as quietly as I can, go back to my bedroom, tired, exalted, satiated in your pleasure.

I am a light sleeper, the stirring of the wind can wake me on a calm summer evening, but I am so tired now, so overwhelmed from what I have done, that I sink into a deep, dreamless slumber almost immediately. The scent of your body is in my every sense: the taste of your juices; the passion of your movements; the sight of your tight ass hole clenching in orgasm; the sight of your pussy opening and closing, first with your fingers, then with my tongue, finally as you gave yourself up to your innermost desires. We don't know one another well, but I am the holder of your darkest, most intimate secret.