I listen to her every night. Whatever time she gets back, whoever she’s with, I’m there, eager cock in my hand, desperate to hear her doing unspeakable things to someone who I wish was me.
I hear them laughing in the corridor, my housemate and the man she’s brought back. He’s got a deep voice that compliments her husky drawl. I’ve been lying on my back in bed, waiting for her. As I always do.
She goes out every Friday and Saturday night. She must go to clubs, though she doesn’t frequent the usual student places. Every time she goes out wearing a tight leather trousers or a short red dress, she comes back with someone. Usually a man, but sometimes a woman.
She put up two eyelets above her door when she moved in. I asked her about them after she’d been giving me study advice in the corridor, and she said they’d been there when she moved in. I didn’t say anything, but I looked at all the rooms when I arrived, and I don’t remember seeing them.
“Take your clothes off.” Gemma’s voice is warm and authoritative, even through the wall.
I hasten to comply, stripping off my boxer shorts under the duvet.
“Demanding, aren’t you?” There is the sound of clothes crumpling onto the floor.
I do this sometimes, playing along with whatever she’s doing, imagining it’s me she picked. But I’m quiet. These walls are ridiculously thin. I can hear everything. When Gemma masturbates, on the days she doesn’t go out, I hear her every moan and sigh.
“Yes.” Her voice is teasing. “I demand that you hold up your arms.”
I slide my hands up the sheets. The cotton sheets rub along my skin, the smallest friction but it feels like a burn and it sensitises me. I imagine I can hear Gemma pacing around him. I fantasise I’m there and she’s moving around me, securing ropes around my wrists and slipping the other ends through those eyelets.
“Spread your legs.”
I do as she says and my feet are now at the corners of the bed. Spread-eagled under the duvet, if someone saw me they’d just think I slept like a bed hog. Except my cock is making a bulge. Just the sound of her commands makes me hot and hard, especially since I’ve been anticipating this since I she smiled at me in the corridor earlier on her way out. She was wearing a short dress made elegant by its high neckline and pattern of flowers and birds. It was so tight you could easily see the outline of her every curve. I tried not to drink in the sight of her when I wished her a good evening. But she’s a drug.
My mind blazes with what might be happening through the wall. She’s grasped his naked dick and is roughly jerking it. She has a sly smile on her face, satisfied at her power. He’s at her mercy, knuckles white as he holds his bonds and she plays with him.
My left hand has snuck down between my legs, and my fingers are stroking along my dick. In the dark, I imagine myself her toy. I can almost deceive myself that it’s her hand on me and her bonds that hold me down.
“Mmmm. You taste delicious.”
There’s a wet noise and a deep groan from the man.
She’s sucking him. He’d be able to see her dress riding up since she was leaning, or even kneeling to take his length in her mouth. He would see the soft shape of her breasts from above and her blonde hair falling all around his dick. I have to stop touching myself for a second because the vision is almost too much.
It’s perverted, but I spit on my hand and the lubrication for an instant is a facsimile of what is going on next door. Sliding my finger and thumb firmly, I allow my foreskin to slip back and the super-sensitive underneath, the head of my cock. I do it again, and again, focusing on the top inch as I listen Gemma and her latest pick-up-toy make noises of pleasure.
A thud of hard hitting soft bangs through the air and he grunts. Gemma giggles.
“Fuck,” he says in an undertone, “that-“
Another strike and he cries out again.
“Take it like a man. Or do I have to go easy on you?” I can hear a little bit of scathing, a bit of teasing in Gemma’s tone.
The next smack is loud. My hand has sped up. I can’t help it.
She’s hurting him. My fingers dig into my cock and I stifle a gasp as the sharp pressure shoots into me. It’s so good and so wrong to like this vicarious pleasure-pain. I don’t know whether I’m a sadist or a masochist, enjoying the sound of this man’s discomfort as well as wanting it myself.
“Give in. Come.” She urges him and delivers another blow.
I won’t listen to her again. I swear. She’s too much. But even as I think this, it’s a lie. How many times have I said I won’t? Still, I’m here, cock in my hand, keeping myself on the edge, forcibly resisting orgasm.
Just this once more.
The man’s breath is coming quicker now and so is mine.
“I like to see you so desperate. I’m soaked, and I’m going to make you lick up all that cream.” Gemma croons, even as there’s smack after smack of blows, only slightly muffled by the wall.
That’s too much. I explode, my climax wracking through me, blocking out everything.
I hear a door close. Heavy footsteps in the corridor. I open my eyes, but it’s dark. The sheet above me is sticky with come. I feel the familiar embarrassment creep across my skin, even as my dick is still semi-hard under my fingers.
“Did you enjoy that?”
I look around without thinking, but of course, Gemma’s voice is coming through the wall. Yes, I did, I want to say. I want you to do everything to me that you did to him. I want to be yours. But I stay silent.
“Arjun, answer me.”
The sound of my name rips through me. She said my name, through the wall. I heard it and now I am completely still. I am paralyzed with mortification that she knew I was listening, arousal that she knows I liked it, and fear that perhaps I imagined her saying my name.
I lick my lips. I want to say something. I want her to come in here and force me.
There’s the sound of water running. Footsteps from the corridor.
“Arjun.” Her tone is stern and seems a bit louder, as though she’s walked over to the wall that divides her room from mine. I didn’t imagine that. Surely I didn’t?
“Next time, you’ll have to join in.”
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