Coming over for lunch was an intense experience. Min-Ju met me at the door, obviously still sleepy and obviously hung over, but happy to see me. She was wearing the simple faded pink dress she sometimes wears around the house. Not lingerie, it's a dress but not something she would ever wear out of the house anymore. Shapeless, it hugs and drapes around the curve and heft of her bare breasts. It's also short such that she ends up flashing her panties whenever she lies around on the sofa.
The Korean artist came out of the back to greet me wearing boxers and a t-shirt, unshaven, sweaty. A man's smell. Glimpses toward the darkened bedroom showed his pants and belt hanging off the side of the bed. When we sat down for brunch, I don't mean to say he was hanging out but in his boxers I felt very aware of his cock. The experience was.. new.
After brunch I offered to clean up. Poor Min-Ju looked so tired and worn out. I wanted to do something nice, and besides, it was my place. I waved her away to the sofa saying I would take care of the table and dishes. He followed after.
In the kitchen I noticed the apron was hanging on the hook beside the frig. It never hangs there. She had put it there. I wondered perhaps if she had worn it for him, perhaps will serving him his breakfast. The image was strangely and impossibly hot, not least of which because it was so unlike her.
I wanted to do something for her, to show her how much I was enjoying the way she was teasing me. So I put it on. I set about the dishes as their low voices mumbled and wavered in from the other room. Then it happened.
You know that sudden, palpable quiet that descends when two people first lean in for an electric kiss? I was busy washing the dishes in the kitchen when suddenly I felt that descend upon the room like a heavy blanket. One moment their voices were muttering low from across the living room, and the next they had fallen silent. An unseen hand ran down the length of my spine and clenched around my balls.
I froze holding a glass in the air. Hot water was pouring from the sink. Their voices had gone silent. Were they kissing!? Muscle memory and dumb habit had me washing again, but my body was alive with an electric quiver. My ears strained. I heard what sounded like the wet smack of lips.
I cannot describe to you the intense erotic sensation I experienced. I can't. It was arousal and triumph and humiliation and fear. It's absurd but I felt like I was the one transgressing, even as I knew Min-Ju was making this happen for my benefit, and I felt this strange and powerful sense that I wasn't supposed to let on.
I kept washing. I glanced back furtively but kept washing. Her legs were up on the sofa. I could see only his shoulder and arm she leaned against through the door. The spill of her hair. And again the sound of wet lips. Louder perhaps. More insistent.
This went one for... I honestly don't know how long. Only minutes probably, but it felt ages. Another glance and his hand had appeared on her upturned hip. Her tiny house dress barely covered it. Another dish placed in the rank. Silence. Rustling. A giggle. Another dish. A long, high-pitched sigh from her. Rusting. A powerful desire to stop and watch.
Then the tension was pierced by her voice, speaking absently in the other room: "So tired..."
I heard her footsteps and his across the stone tile. I turned from the sink desperately telling myself to act innocent.
"Baby, I'm still wiped out from last night. Will you be mad if I need a nap?" I shook my head. "Adam is swinging by in a little bit?" It's true, I'd foolishly let my friend pin me down for some errands for the party tonight. Min-Ju smirked at me in the apron. "You look good in that, sweetie. Thanks for cleaning up." She said it sweetly, but there was just enough "bitchy" in her tone to register. I wondered what he thought of me.
Min-Ju stumbled sleepily into the bedroom. He followed after. The door closed.
I continued with the dishes, thinking the encounter was already over, disappointed.
No sound emerged from the room for the longest time. Silverware clinked and clattered as I cleaned up more of the table when the sound literally froze my body, a chill down my spine like I'd never felt before. A sigh. Her voice. I waited in rigid silence wondering if it had been my imagination. There was nothing, for the longest time. Then shifting. Another pause. Her sigh again, barely audible.
I put down the dishes in my hand, took a step closer. Rustling, a whisper, I think. Silence. Longer this time. Then, just as I was convincing myself they had fallen asleep, a deeper groan, short and muffled, his voice. Then something wet. More silence. A faint smacking.
My ears were on fire. It was like I was suddenly swallowed up by some great, intense secret. Goose bumps crawled on my flesh.
I slowly crept toward the door to hear better but now for the longest time there was only silence. I started to think it is over. Then his voice again, more a vibration than a sound. I heard them rustle. Shuffling. Suddenly a distinct creak of the bed. Once.
My heart was in my throat. An agonizing step closer. Her voice talking, a whisper, and his. A smacking sound. Again. A pause. And then a suddenly shifting and rustle, louder.
Then, a long low groan from her voice. The bed squeaks. Squeak... squeak.. squeak. A pause. His voice rumbles again, an inarticulate "mmmhmm" from her. A low grunt.
Then it starts again, the squeaking. A low slapping sound with it. A long, high-pitched exhale and sigh.
I'm at the door now. My cock threatened to push through the plastic of the cage. It had a will of its own. I cursed silently, I hope silently, leaving the key back in the hotel. Still my hand was rutching up the the apron and down my pants, awkwardly trying to gain sensation through that damnable plastic.
The sounds continued, echoing muffled through the hallway. The air felt wet and heavy. A pause. More rustling. Two low grunts. A sharp, high-pitched gasp. When the squeak returns it has a different pitch, comes faster now.
Her voice, a mewling noise. Long at first and then staccato. Eeegg eeggg eeeggg. The squeaks faster, more urgent. The shifting of bedsheets. Slapping sounds. The mewling higher in pitch.
I found myself bent over, groaning, desperate at the door. Clutching at the cage. Hand almost on the doorknob.
Another shift in rhythm. Building. A low grunt, another. The mewling becomes louder, less whisper and more open. Still trying to be quiet but anything but.
Time becomes surreal. I thought I might die. I wasn't breathing.
Her cries near constant now. Frantic in a way I have never heard. Muffled and yet cracking. The low slapping sound grows harder. Her mewling is as one possessed, outside oneself. Without end. I know what I am hearing. When I close my eyes I still hear this, etched in my mind.
The bed grows frantic. Thweeak thweeak thweeak theweeak. Then a low gasp. Another. A sudden shift in rhythm. Her voice, low and throaty, "yeessss." The squeak turns into more of a thump. Ughhh, low and guttural. Ughhh.... Ughhh.... I counted... Ughhh.... Uggghhhh.... Uuuggh... Ugghhhhh.
Then silence
I remembered that text from her earlier this morning. Just one word. "Blue."
Wet sounds. Long slow rustling. Then more silence. I waited, one minute stretched to 5 or more... but silence.
Finally, pulling back cautiously from the door, a squeak of the wood betrayed me. Then, strangely, feeling an impulse to let them know I was still hear, I turned the faucet back on. Dishes.
When Adam showed up at the door maybe a half hour later I wanted to murder him for taking me away. I forgot the apron as I greeted him at the door. Grabbed my stuff, and we were away. Heading down the stairs I found myself glad he hadn't come an hour sooner, for more reasons than one.
I'm writing this from home, from my apartment, waiting for them to wake up. They are fast asleep in the bedroom. I am on the little mat in the spare room. A lot happened at the party last night; it may take me a while before I can update. All I can say for now is Min-Ju blew my mind yet again last night, surprising me with an intensity I was not expecting. Later she sent me home, to this home, as he dragged her off to a "real" party with some of his acquaintances, impatient hanging out with our younger friends. She and I exchanged some testy words sadly about one of his acquaintances, an older gallery owner who apparently "fancied Asian girls." She warned me the Korean artist was pressuring her to "do things." Min-Ju seemed vulnerable saying that so I feel shitty about my drunken reply, something like "If you're going to act a ***** you may as well go all the way." Shit. I have no idea what, if anything, happened. I would say nothing, but after the events of yesterday, I'm no longer sure.
Helpless, I ended up spilling twice last night. Once when I got home, in our room -- their room -- feeling a mixture of self-pity and intense arousal with their clothes scattered about the room and with his smell everywhere. On my knees at the foot of the bed, I spilled copiously onto the floor visualizing how he has been fucking her there on the bed. I texted her about it.
And then again while on the mat in the spare room, trying to fall asleep as I waited for them to come home. I'm at four now. Her limit.
Their return was a dream of sudden banging and noise followed by quiet. The room is dead silent still this morning. I am the only person up. Aimless. I feel a weird drive to kneel down in front of the door again and touch myself.
The key is in the spare room. The pills are left safe in my office, following her strict rule they are not to return to the apartment. The apron is on the hook. The cage is tight around my dick. I'm home now, with them.
What should I do?
I do hope this is a fraction as intense for others as it is for me. Look forward to all your comments.
