Sam wasn't having much fun. He had to spend Passover at his sister's ultra-orthodox in-laws, and he was going stir crazy. And it had only been two days–another six to go. And no girls. Not that it would have made much difference. Sam, was, while very friendly and likable, not exactly Casanova. He was nineteen in two days and still a virgin.
But while there were no girls, there were women. Sam's sister had seven brother-in-laws, and all of them, and their wives, were there for the holiday. So Sam stayed in his room, away from the incessant blathering of his brother-in-law's sisters-in-law, only coming down for meals. Luckily, when he was down there, very little of the blathering was directed toward him. He went by pretty much unnoticed, an accessory of his sister's, like a homeless person in a soup kitchen.
The only person that seemed to acknowledge his existence was the wife of the youngest brother of Sam's brother-in-law, Sarah. She was the youngest woman there–still six years Sam's senior–and very quiet. But she would look at Sam. Every once in a while. At meals, when he would skulk away back to his room, when she was breast-feeding her baby–quiet little glances that turned into embarrassed blushes when he would return them. It perturbed Sam, but the idea of acting on it would have been alien to him even if she had been a regular girl, let alone practically family.
But Sam was used to not having his needs fulfilled by someone else. He was used to having to masturbate whenever the need arose, although it required more creative input here, where there was no internet access readily available. With a healthy libido, Sam had already masturbated seven times in the seventy-two or so hours or so he had been here. And though outwardly Sam may have appeared shy or conservative, up there, in his mind, nothing was taboo or disgusting. So Sarah had already slipped into his mind during his masturbation sessions once or twice, with nary a guilty feeling.
On the third night in the house, Sam slipped out of his room at about one o'clock, ready for a little self-relief. The bathroom door didn't click shut, so it was either occupied and locked or easily pushed open, all noiselessly. So when Sam approached the door, all it took was a silent touch to see that someone was in there already. Sam turned around to go back to his room and wait, when he heard a noise from inside the bathroom. A soft moan. Interest piqued, Sam stood stock-still near the door and listened in the otherwise dead silent house. And through door he could hear it continue. An occasional moan and groan. Sam had pretty good ears, and he could make out that the sounds were slowly, hem, climaxing. He heard on final, loud, moan, and then, barely, faint panting. When he heard the toilet flush and the sink start to run, he dashed silently back into his room. He left the door to his room open, and lay down in his bed, from where he could see and stay unseen. He heard the bathroom door unlock and open, and watched as Sarah walked out and past his room. She stopped for a moment, and looked into his room, her cheeks a bright pink in the faint hall light, her chest heaving. Then she turned away hurriedly, and went down the stairs.
