Lying naked on the couch, my body still humming with the aftershocks of my climax, I watch Mrs. Jones and the coach ascend the stairs. The sound of their footsteps fades as they disappear into the hallway, no doubt headed for my parents' bedroom.
My mind wanders back to the memory of spying on them having sex on my parents' bed. It was wrong to invade their privacy like that, but that night set off a chain of events that led to all these incredible orgasms.
A faint creak from upstairs catches my attention, but the door doesn't shut. Is it an invitation? My heart quickens at the thought. No, I remind myself. Mrs. Jones instructed me to rest, and I should listen to her, so I stay put.
Mrs. Jones' moans drift down the stairs, followed by the coach's grunt and the rhythmic squeaking of the bed frame, which blends with the slapping of skin on skin. I really want to watch them. And join them. But I know I should respect their privacy and follow Mrs. Jones' instructions.
The moans escalate into lustful cries, and my body yearns for a visual that matches the erotic sounds. I need a distraction. With my eyes closed, my hand slowly moves down my body, between my legs, and over my glistening petals. My fingers rub and circle my sensitive pearl with uncontrolled intensity, mirroring the animalistic rhythm of their cravings. This isn't about romance or gentleness—it's untamed lust.
My nub throbs with anticipation, and my fingers instinctively respond, stroking in tight circles as I push myself to the brink. I bite my lip, resisting the urge to moan aloud as the pleasure grows, feeling that familiar tightening in my core and rising pressure as I teeter on the edge, aching for release, but it's just out of reach.
My body begs for more... I want—no, I need—his cock inside of me. The touch of my fingers is no longer enough to satisfy my desperate longing for the coach.
With a sigh, I open my eyes, the sound of their bodies colliding drawing me in like a magnet. I tiptoe up the stairs, my heart racing as I approach the open door to my parents' bedroom. The distinct sounds of sploshing, whimpering, groaning, and heavy breathing become louder, and my curiosity gets the better of me.
I can't help but look inside, my eyes widening at the sight before me. Mrs. Jones is on all fours on the bed, her body arched in pleasure as the coach vigorously pounds into her from behind, his cock sliding in and out of Mrs. Jones' slippery softness, my core clenching with need.
Her plump breasts sway with each powerful thrust, and the coach's sweat-slicked back gleams in the bedroom lights. His grunts accompany each vicious movement, and his fingers dig into Mrs. Jones' hips as he drives into her with ferocity.
The intoxicating scent of aroused bodies hangs heavy in the air, a unique fusion of musk and sweat that sends my taste buds into a frenzy and my juices flowing with insatiable desire. I yearn to be in her position, to feel his fingers dig into my hips as he takes me with the same fervor.
Mrs. Jones' eyes meet mine, and she smiles mischievously before her eyelids flutter shut, surrendering to the mounting passion. The coach is so engrossed with Mrs. Jones that he remains completely unaware of my presence in the doorway.
"Oh yes, John, right there!" Mrs. Jones cries out, her body contorting.
He continues his relentless thrusts, his hips slamming into her as she quivers on the edge. My body hums with a thrilling vibration that begins deep within and spreads outward, scorching need pulsing between my thighs as I watch them.
"Yes, just like that!" Mrs. Jones exclaims, her body spasming as she peaks.
Her ragged breaths echo in the room as she collapses on the bed, her body spent. The coach continues his thrusts with a satisfied grin on his face, still oblivious to my presence.
YOU ARE READING
My Babysitter's Secret
Short StoryI catch my babysitter cheating on her husband with my volleyball coach, and she seduces me to keep me quiet.
