Aliya bit back a moan. Her back was arcing off the bed now, sweat glistening off the curve of her neck. Her pajamas were crumpled and undone as her hand furiously worked away at the apex of her thighs, the other firmly planted around her right breast.
Her wrist started pumping faster, the wet schlicking growing increasingly louder as her labored breaths turned to mewls. And then, her now-boyfriend's name slipped from her lips.
"Bernard...ahnn"
It had been several months since she had officially confessed to him, several months since, to her elated surprise, she discovered that they shared a mutual affection for each other. But it had also been several months since she hadn't been touched by him other than the few bashful times he's held her hand, maybe the occasional brushing of her leg.
And, in recent weeks, Aliya had resorted to masturbation to itch the incessant heat in the base of her belly.
Aliya had initially been fine with this arrangement. After all, she understood the importance of taking it slow, of getting to know each other better, of maturing first. She'd wait for as long as Bernard wanted, no matter how sexually-frustrating it was. She was finally 18 now. She had to learn to keep her urges under control, like a real woman should.
But ever since she turned 18 a month ago, that blossoming heat inside of her, that itch that she couldn't seem to fully scratch became overwhelming.
And it didn't help that her dilemma was exacerbated by the muffled thuds and yelps banging through the wall right against her bed.
In the room next door, her sister Jennifer was being fucked. Hard.
Aliya could hear her frantic gasps, her desperate pleas, mature moans. She could even make out the dull slap of skin, the messy rustle of sheets. This shouldn't have bothered her as much as she did, especially when she had headphones sitting within arm's reach on her nightstand, but every night for the past week, Aliya couldn't help but tune in and imagine it was her getting fucked.
To make matters worse, ever since the previous night, she couldn't help but to imagine that it wasn't Bernard who was between her legs, but the handsome stranger Jennifer had brought home.
It was a mental struggle that Aliya had never experienced before, and she knew it all stemmed from that one night where curiosity had brought her to the door of her sister's room, a small gap allowing her to see exactly how Jennifer was being made love to. She had only stood there for only a few minutes, but what she saw was ingrained into her mind, and try as she might, she couldn't get it out of her head.
Not just the way her sister looked, thoroughly fucked into carnal bliss, but also the sweat-glistened muscles of the stranger pistoning into her, the cocky smile on his face as he claimed her as his own.
It haunted Aliya, day in and day out.
One night stands weren't all that uncommon for Jennifer. Both of them were raised in a very strict and very conservative Korean Christian household. So of course when Jennifer finally moved out into the city, she'd taken every opportunity to live as wild and free as she could.
And Jennifer kept those habits up even when Aliya has moved in almost four years ago as a high school freshman.
Aliya went to a prestigious private school just down the street. They had dorms, but rooming with her sister would ensure lower expenses from her parents (and also, her parents presumed, a barrier to prevent Aliya from fooling around. If only they knew how wild Jennifer had gotten...).
Her whole life Aliya had always been the picture-perfect Christian, straight-A, Korean-American, doctor-to-be daughter. She always went to church on Sundays, she never skipped a class, always dated boys within the church, and was still a virgin. She never got the urge to have sex until very recently, an urge that Aliya feared was something Jennifer had rubbed off on her.
Compared to Jennifer, Aliya always saw herself as something plain.
Jennifer was the one with the long, highlighted tresses of thick hair, while Aliya preferred her hair in a cute and conservative bob cut, jet black. Jennifer was the tall and sunkissed one with relatively curvy assets that attracted all the hot white jocks she'd pull in from college or the club, while Aliya was petit with a pearly traditional Korean complexion, her teenage body's curves tighter, almost skinny.
She was never jealous of Jennifer of course. In fact Aliya often scolded Jennifer, asking her "what would our parents think?". But over the years Aliya had learned to turn a blind eye to Jennifer's lifestyle; she had her own life to lead, and her parents needed at least one child to live the way they wanted to.
So Aliya had always just ignored the revolving door of one night stands and boyfriends (none of them Korean or Christian!) when they happened. It was none of Aliya's business, and at the end of the day Jennifer was her sister whom she loved. The guys would come in and out, Aliya might say hello before ducking into her room with sound cancelling headphones until it all blew over.
But Jennifer's current lay was different.
Even before she witnessed him making the beast with two backs with her sister, she'd noticed the way he looked at her.
Leering. Looking at Aliya in a way that shouldn't be the way a suitor of her sister should be looking at her. Looking at Aliya in a way she'd never been looked at before in her life, by anyone. Not even Bernard.
And at this point, Aliya didn't mind it at all.
The stranger was dreadfully attractive. He was apparently a life guard or something Jennifer had met during a bonfire party with her friends. He was white, his skin tanned and taut. He looked about in his late 20s, maybe early 30s. He held an air of maturity that excited Aliya, experience in his eyes that seemed to trump not only every other man Jennifer had brought home, but Jennifer herself. He was built leaner than the usual clubbers and jocks, hair somewhat of a utilitarian shortness. For once, Jennifer had brought home a man.
And, whether she knew it or not, from the first moment she saw him, the first moment she saw the way he looked at her, Aliya wanted him.
"A-Ah!" Aliya moaned, her eyes flying open in her carnal daze upon the realization that it wasn't Bernard in her mind's eye anymore, but the stranger next door.
She didn't even know his name, and here she was, imagining him inside her, claiming her, reaming her.
Without even thinking she started replaying the few minutes she'd peeked in on him, started to recall every last vivid detail, placing herself in Jennifer's position, sprawled on that bed, sweating and moaning out wanton squeals.
Aliya came harder than she ever had before, her breath hitching and choking out, trapped in the confined of her throat. She saw little spots in her vision, felt as if gravity was nowhere close enough to holding her down, her skin and all her nerves going taut and exploding and going lax all at once.
It was pure euphoria, and all the while, the only body, the only face, the only smile in her mind was that of the stranger's.
By the time Aliya came down, her lithe teenage body still having little involuntary spasms like leftover sparks from a blown generator, she was sweating. She could feel the damp spots already starting to blot on her pajamas as she panted, looking up at the ceiling to think over what she'd just done.
The sex in the room next door still raged on, and she could hear the telltale grunts from the stranger as he started reaching his own peak, hearing her sister moan out soft profanities. There was a lull, a low exchange of mumblings.
Aliya had just masturbated to the thought of another man, an older stranger she didn't even know or talk to other than a few greetings and some small talk.
It was a form of betrayal, and she knew it. She wondered what Bernard might feel if she told him. She wondered if he could ever forgive her.
But before any more of those musings continued to propagate, two things happened:
Aliya realized that she didn't feel any guilt at all.
The hand between her legs started moving again.
Behind the wall, she could hear her sister's soft moans resume, the sheets ruffle, the cycle of sex resuming once more. And so the night went on, with her hands bringing her to climax again, and again.
The next morning came, and Aliya's conflicted mind had time to unwind a bit in their bathroom. She had just finished showering, her hair damp as she slipped into her panties. She looked at herself in the mirror, half-naked with her bra still unclasped, loose over her modest chest. Looking at her skin, she saw ghostly apparitions of the hands from her fantasies, running against her, squeezing her. She felt the heat start to pool in her belly again.
She lost herself in her daydream as the sink in front of her kept running, making some sound that could distract her from these thoughts from running their course, from remembering the sounds from last night...
But of course, the only thing she could hear now was that muffled slap of skin, exchange of gasps, the cacophony of rough sex.
And again, she didn't feel the guilt come. Aliya tried, almost forced it to come as she bit her lip, balling her small hands into fists, nails digging into skin. All she could remember was the bliss her body had been wrung through the night before, how she'd made her sheets all sweaty, how she fell asleep completely nude, pajamas completely forlorn in a pink crumple on the floor.
And instead of guilt, what came instead was a desire for more.
