The Lodger

The lodger peers through the crack in the door, watching her undress. He is afraid to open it any wider, for fear of getting caught, but he wants desperately to see more of her. ‘Is it worth it?”, he thinks, ‘To risk winding up homeless, possibly with a criminal record? Just to see a little bit more of her?’ He reckons it is, and nudges the door another millimetre open; the shiver of fear mixing with the hot blood of his hard-on, making him fizz.

She undresses slowly and methodically, folding each item and placing it carefully over a chair. She has a woman’s body, not a girl’s and he thinks she is all the more beautiful for it, she has shapes and curves, real curves, her body has character. Not like these young girls who all look like they’ve been pressed from exactly the same plastic mould. She is gorgeous.

He touches himself slowly at first but his hand travels his full length with every stroke. ‘Please turn round. Please turn round.’ he tries to will her with his mind. He loves her back but aches to see her magnificent breasts again.

As if hearing his prayers she turns slowly to face his side of the room, then reaches her hands high over her head and arches a her back in a slow expansive yawn, stretching out her arms and thrusting her breasts forwards.

He bites down hard on his bottom lip to stop himself groaning uncontrollably at the sight of her. If she gets into bed naked, it means she will play. She does. He slows down his rhythm but still stroking tip to base. The veins feel like hot steel wires in his grip.

Now, she throws the covers to the floor and lies outstretched on the giant pink bed. One hand gently and slowly caresses her belly, the other her inner thigh. She touches her breasts and her hips. She rolls around a little to enjoy the sensation of the fresh linen against her skin. Then she slips her right hand between her thighs, wets her middle finger and slips it playfully over her clit, moistening it. She spreads he legs wider so that she is sprawled out across the whole bed; one leg drapes over the edge. She slowly builds a rhythm, her hips slowing rising and falling in time with the beating drums deep within her.

He is in heaven as he watches her every move. He can see everything, right down to how her toes are curling. His hand pumps his burning member, matching her timing, matching her intensity. His eyes water with the beauty of her.

Her hips roll now with a motion like the roll and thrusts of a great steam engine. All her fingers wet, her whole pussy her plaything, she swims in herself. Her hips thrust forward with each sweep harder and harder, faster and faster. She plays passionately with herself, wildly even, her breath escaping the heat inside her in hot heavy gasps, deeper faster, wetter, harder.

He gulps back more tears of sheer pleasure. If he could paint, he would paint her. No man had ever made a work of art that would be as beautiful as what he beheld now. No Mona Lisa or Sistine Chapel could compare. He was close, very close, a hot, pulsating rock in his hand. God, if only he could paint.

Then her orgasm crashes into her, like a series of giant ocean waves crashing onto a rocky beach. Over and over they shake her whole frame, and with each one she rises higher and higher until only her heels and head are touching the bed, a magnificent arc of sweating, quivering, flesh.

She sinks back from the last of these tsunamis with a thump that shakes the bed. Her body continues to writhe in a series of aftershocks. she twitches and pulsates, overwhelmed with it. The room spins as the bolts of pleasure slowly die out. She is left trembling and dizzy, gasping for air. She looks up, as though she can hear something but then sinks into the bed, fucked.

His cock is squirting venomously over him when she looks up. Fuck! Has she seen him? Fear hits him like a bucket of ice water. He lets go of himself  but it is too late; he is in mid-orgasm, he cannot stop, and he continues to cum, spraying wildly. Pulses of pleasure collide with the panic filling his body and soul with conflicting hormones. He feels dizzy and blind his cock thrashing wildly on its own. He feels cold and then hot and he is still cumming, he cannot stop it. The mix of orgasm and terror shake his body. He thinks he will faint, or puke, and he is still cumming.

A large smile is planted across her face. He was there, watching. God she loved it when the lodger watched her masturbate, it made it so much more exciting. One day she should tell him to come and fuck her into a coma. Maybe tomorrow even?

Convinced he’s been seen and with no way of concealing the sticky mess all over her door and carpet, the lodger packs, leaves the outstanding rent on the table and sneaks out into the night.

Yes, she decides definitely tomorrow.