Erica reached into her purse for her keys. Nothing. Fuck, I must have left them at school, she thought.
She’d have to text her landlady… again… the second time this month. She sighed and pulled out her phone.
Greg lived five minutes away. She’d meant to make him an extra key months ago, when she first got the apartment. But, well, procrastination. It was the name of her game. No more. While her phone was out, she texted him alsol: Drinks this week?
When she walked into MG’s Bar on Thursday, Greg had a table. She sat down and slid the key across to him without explanation.
Did you lock yourself out again?
Shut up, she said.
I am now the “The Keymaster”, he said, holding it up jokingly. He was keeping it light, but inside he was relieved. He’d mentioned this to her in passing some time ago and thought she had forgotten. When he first suggested it, he admitted to her that–what with the wife and the kid and all–there was at least once or twice a month that he needed to have an hour or two to himself. She now had her backup, and he had a place to hide.
Three weeks later, Erica was running late to the train station when she got a text from Greg.
You around this weekend, he asked.
Nah, headed to Philly.
Cool. Mind if I hide at your place for a couple hours tomorrow?
Sure… Oh, can you water the plants?
Their thirst shall be quenched.
When she returned on Monday, her place was pristine and her plant beds suitably moist. Walking past her guest room, she picked up a faint aroma. Pleasant. Sweet almost. She went inside and looked around. Huh.
She’d always had a keen sense of smell. She stood in the middle of the room and inhaled. Coconut oil, she thought. She walked into the kitchen and looked in her cabinet. It wasn’t there. Then back to the room. She poked around until she found the opened jar, on the floor, seemingly forgotten, partially hidden by the leg of the dresser next to the bed.
How the fuck did that get there? Ten seconds later, it dawned on her. That little…
She and Greg used to talk about all manner of things. In the years before he was married, plied with a drink or two, they’d shared a few sexual… revelations. One of those–one she somehow never forgot–was that coconut oil was his preferred lubricant. It didn’t take Agatha Christie to know that Greg must have done more than water the plants. He thought he was being sly, she thought. But he forgot to put this back.
She didn’t mind. At first, she mostly thought it was funny–at least the part of him thinking he was slick. She almost texted him something snarky, but didn’t. They hadn’t talked about sexual stuff in a long time and from her own experience she knew everyone needed their secrets. Sitting on the guest bed–where he’d almost certainly been jerking off this weekend–she even felt a wave of arousal. Now she was the one with the secret.
In the month that followed, Greg would reach out about once a week and ask if he could use her apartment as a getaway when she was at work. She found his various explanations cute, especially in light of what she knew. It wasn’t the worst way to alleviate some of the boredom of teaching by imagining him in her apartment, a few strokes away from euphoria. She noticed that the next time, he’d remembered to return the coconut oil. But little by little, despite never cooking, she saw her jar dwindle.
Greg texted her late one Thursday afternoon.
You headed home after work? Want to grab a drink?
She looked at the text. I can’t resist, she thought. It’ll be harmless.
Nah, gotta stop in at my Mom’s, she text back. Probably won’t be back until late.
Greg didn’t ask to use her place but something told her that’s what was on his mind. He would think the coast was clear. His masturbatory taste buds would be watering.
Erica had lied. She didn’t need to go to her mom’s. She drove straight home. She didn’t want to walk in on him, but she wanted to give him–and herself–the thrill of… almost. As she approached her front door, she acted like she was on the phone with her friend Natasha, talking somewhat loudly, announcing her presence. She took her time, checked her mailbox as she talked, jingled her keys loudly as if searching for the right one, and then finally opened the front door. Her heart was pounding, not knowing if Greg was there or not.
Nobody was in the living room, but she could feel someone had been there. One of the chairs was slightly askew, as if from sudden retreat. There it is. That coconut oil smell. But the apartment was totally silent. She continued her fake conversation with her friend as she took it all in and walked down the hallway.
Yeah, I’m headed there now. I just forgot she wanted me to bring that bottle of wine I promised her, she improvised.
She saw that her guest room door was shut. It had been open when she left that morning. She was sure of it. That’s where he is. He’s probably still in some state of nakedness, afraid to move because he might make a noise. The thrill of it caught her off guard.
She got a bottle of wine, lingered a few minutes longer, then left. But she didn’t really leave. She stayed in her car, parked down the street a bit, to see if Greg would emerge. Fifteen minutes later, he did. I fucking knew it!
His brush with discovery might have cowed Greg a bit, because she didn’t hear from him the next week. But she knew another text was coming. The waiting was fun–anticipatory secretive pleasure of a kind she’d forgotten about. Who would have thought something could be so erotic that wasn’t going to be… consummated? She knew it was better this way. They both had plausible deniability.
For the past week, ever since she’d almost walked in on him, she was surprised how often her mind jumped to new ideas. Could she push the envelope a bit farther? Now that she had reconciled in her mind that she wasn’t going to confront him, she could play along the edges of her imagination.
The idea came to her in the shower. She wondered if she would be bold enough to do it. But as she thought about it more, she realized it was fool proof. My door has a lock on it. I can lay quietly on my bed. It was as simple as that. She gave herself over to the delight of planning it.
She decided she wouldn’t wait for Greg to text her. She gave herself three more days to stew in her anticipation and also used those days to keep her hands off herself to increase her… neediness. Then on Thursday, she drove home right after school. She parked a street over from her apartment, lest he see her car. On her way in, she left an Amazon package in front of her door.
Now she was in her bedroom, the door securely locked, wearing only a tank top and a favorite pair of underwear–the fabric pushing up against her clit. It was 4pm. She picked up her phone and texted Greg.
I’m in Maryland and I just got an Amazon delivery. Are you somewhere close? I don’t want someone to steal it.
A deep breath. She waited to see those three little dots. She didn’t have to wait long.
Good timing! I’m out walking. I can be there in 15, Greg texted back.
* * * * *
As soon as she read it, Erica’s hand slipped into her panties. She was surprised how instantly hard her clit was. She had a big clit and loved how easy it made it for her to cum. Usually, she came quickly. Efficiently. But today she wanted to edge, to not make a sound until he had… come and gone.
Exactly 15 minutes later, she heard the front door open. Greg, she thought. So fucking punctual.
As she listened to the sounds of him walking around the living room, she imagined his thoughts–wondering whether he should stay for a while and enjoy himself. She knew his horniness would win out. Then his footsteps down the hall to the kitchen. The coconut oil, she thought. Then the sound of him walking into her guest room next door. He didn’t even bother shutting it. For once, she was thankful for her thin walls.
She heard what sounded like him undressing. Then, gradually, the faint sounds of a body… hardening under the influence of her oil. He is probably looking at something on his phone, she thought. Then the buzz of his fingers dialing. Fuck, she thought. He’s calling someone. She was excited that he was. She now knew she’d be getting a dialog track to go along with his oily strokes. Perfect.
She took her hand away from her pussy. Her clitoris was so big that sometimes she stroked and pulled on it like a small penis. But it was so sensitive that she had to be careful not to cum.
Someone must have picked up. He was talking now. Thinking he was alone, he didn’t temper his voice. Erica closed her eyes and listened to his side of the conversation, curious to see how long she could go before she had to touch herself again.
Hey, I’m so glad you were home… I guess it is my lucky day… well, I got this surprise text from my friend asking if I could bring in a package for her… yeah, I have an extra key… and whenever I’m here, with the place to myself, it just makes me horny… no, I’m in a guest room on the bed… when I was texting you to see if you could talk I was scrolling through reddit… I was looking at two of my favorites… yeah, you know which ones, they drive me crazy… uh-huh, so fucking hard already… here, listen…
The next 10 seconds of oily strokes, joined by a couple of deep moans, almost brought Erica to a breaking point. But she simply looked down at herself, pulling her underwear up a bit to see the huge outline of her clitoris through the fabric. She picked up her own phone and silently took a picture. She knew there was a subreddit dedicated to big clit lovers. Maybe that was one he was talking about. She’d never submitted anything like that but was tempted to, if it was anonymous. Maybe later, maybe not.
The thought of him maybe looking at it in a few days, not knowing it was her, not knowing it was his soundtrack that had gotten it so engorged, was… so fucking secretive and kinky.
Finally, she couldn’t wait any longer. She slipped off her underwear completely. She wanted full access. She reached over and put a corner of her blanket in her mouth, to remind herself not to moan. The taboo nature of what she was doing, and the limitations on the noise she could make, intensified her pleasure.
It feels so fucking good, babe, especially since you know I love getting off in places I’m not supposed to… yeah, a few times, a couple times here in the guest room and a couple times in the living room… I know you do, I wish you could too… no, she’s all the way in Maryland at her mom’s.
Erica realized this is what true voyeurism is: being a fly on the wall when a person was being completely, unalterably themselves, unaware of an audience. She noticed how unrestrained his voice was, how eager he was to say the truest thing. She loved how the sound of his oil-soaked cock was like an urgent metronome behind his voice. She started imagining how far he would ejaculate when he came. On his chest, certainly. But maybe up to his neck. Or his face,even? God, I want to cum so bad. No, not yet. Wait to do it with him, she thought. She continued to listen.
I so wish I could see you tease that phat pussy while sitting at your desk, she heard him say. Pull those panties to the side for me. I want you to tell me how wet this has you… oh, shit, babe, do you have time to go get your toy… yeah, do it…
He didn’t say anything for a minute. She imagined his friend running to her room to get a vibrator and then back to her desk. All she could hear were Greg’s strokes again.
Now put that wand just under your clit, close enough but not on it, I want you to tease it for me… I wish my mouth could be right where that wand is, with you stroking your clit at the same time… I so wish I could taste your cum in my mouth… not yet, I know you want it on your clit so bad…
She wanted her vibrator on her clit, too. But she couldn’t risk it. Plus, if she used it right now, she was certain she would cum instantly. She was too fucking close to the edge.
Luckily, Greg didn’t sound like he could hold out much longer either.
God, I wish she’d walk in right now… I’d drop the phone like I was surprised but leave it on and you could hear fucking everything… Fuck, yeah, I’d hope she would just smile, walk over, maybe not say anything at first, and then get on her knees right near where I’m stroking… then she’d say something like, don’t stop, I just want to watch, tet me hear you stroke that big dick… hell yeah, I’d want to cum on her… I’d want to cum all over her eager face while you watched… all over her work clothes, everywhere… oh fuck babe… yeah, I’m gonna cum… you gonna cum too… oh shit, watch me cum all over her.
It arrived like a long-building wave. The crash of orgasm. The long, drawn-out fuuuuuuuuuuuuck and the sounds of his ejaculation shuddering through the thin wall between them. She rubbed her clit intensely now, not wanting to turn back. Erica slid over that beautiful edge, biting down on the blanket to keep quiet. She convulsed on her bed, but didn’t make a sound.
The next 10 minutes were a beautiful haze. Relieved, she lay there, half aware of the sounds of him walking to the bathroom and straightening up, and then the familiar sounds of the door closing and locking from the outside. A half hour later, she got a text from Greg.
Brought in your package, it read. Hope to see you soon.
She left her room. It was like emerging from a cocoon of arousal, having gone through a metamorphosis of desire. Greg had no clue. The secret was all hers to cherish.
She texted back: Drinks tomorrow night… MGs?
The next night, they sat and talked at the bar as they had countless times before. She didn’t let on that anything had changed. She was secretly wet, but had resolved to never let him know, to keep it as her own private jewel box. Anyway, more ideas might… occur to her in the future. Better to keep her options open.
Who knew that the words left unsaid could be sexiest of all?