Betrayal

The front door closes with the snap of a starter pistol and traps a deeper silence in the house. The kind of silence you only get when you're alone. Suddenly you can hear the creaking timbers and moaning, coughing pipes; the ticking of the clock fills the front room.

The other half has gone out. I was invited, but I declined. It was a bit 'girl heavy' for my liking. I knew this three days ago. And for three days I've been anticipating the 'closing of the door'. The mechanical symbol of separation. Me time.

A series of events occur in rapid and practised succession. First and some would argue, most importantly, tea. A big steaming mug of it. While the kettle is boiling, flick on the television and the video machine. (Yes, you read that right, the video machine.) Get the lights right. The heady, orangey glow of a table lamp works best for me. Finish the tea. While this is strengthening in the mug I jog up the stairs, breathless and tingling. Little surges of illicit adrenaline sputter through my system and a warmth builds in my lower belly.

There is a box hidden in plain sight. Sitting bold as brass in the spare room, candidly displaying the top layer of its contents for anyone to see. A couple of old photo albums, a box of pens, some envelopes and a scattering of mementos rescued from the conveyor belt of modern life. But these items together work a magic that is elegant and simple. The banality shield. These items, so utterly expected to be filling a box in the spare room, preferably with a healthy coating of dust render the box to all intents and purposes practically invisible. A secret hides in the box. It's not a world changer to be fair, but based on the fact that I'm totally devoted to and utterly in love with my partner, it's a secret that could, potentially be dangerous.

I carefully remove the banality shield being mindful not to scatter the dust too much. A handful of VHS's are tucked into the corner. One says: Animation. Another is of an old friend's wedding and two episodes of Red Dwarf. There is also Dave2. Declared in bold and neatly stencilled letters. It's this that I reach for.

I'm buzzing inside now. I can feel my blood pressure rising behind my eyes and my mouth moistens at the thought of what is soon to come. On the way past the Bathroom I grab a big handful of tissue.

I'm breathing heavily and deeply as, with slightly trembling fingers, I slip the cassette into the machine and retreat to the sofa, sweeping up my tea as I go. I press play on the remote and there she is. Beautiful and blonde ringlets, a rich, dirty mouth and eyes that look innocent. The EX girlfriend, Tiffany.

She's smiling at the camera, drawing on a joint and blowing the smoke at the lens. She's wearing an oversized Magic Roundabout Tee shirt. In her hand she clutches half a deck of cards. The camera follows her hand as she places a card down on a haphazard pile next to her. She is sat cross legged and naked below the waist.

Her pussy fills the centre of the shot. It's a stunning filmic moment really. Utterly unexpected. In one moment you're seeing an attractive young girl, looking for all the world like butter wouldn't melt and in the next, without even a cut you're looking at her wet, glistening cunt. It's splayed slightly on account of her sitting position.

But the most striking thing about it is that it is totally hairless. The richness of colour, the subtle contours and changes in texture are vivid and shamelessly presented. Just when you're recovering your equilibrium, in come the fingers. Tiffany's beautiful, little girl fingers with their lightly chewed nails splay apart the lips a little revealing a livid blue, sumptuously moist hole. Her index finger dips gently inside and emerges, dampened and accompanied by a small trickle of juice that hits her delicious little arsehole and causes it to catch the light like a precious jewel.

That is the point where I can hold back no longer, I place my tea, which I've been clutching like a bible, down on the coffee table, unzip my jeans and wriggle them down. My warmed hands feel delicious against my skin and I allow them to wander over my body, mimicking as closely as I can, Tiffany's progress.

After a sumptuous few minutes abusing my nipples while she writhed under the same torment, we allowed our hands to drift back down to the business end where juices had begun to flow, bits glistened and throbbed. We stroked hard bits rhythmically and soft bits erratically, wriggling against our respective sofas, we probed hungry sucking holes with our fingers. We gasped together and debased ourselves to each other through the screen but we didn't come together.

A cock; a hard, veiny, good sized specimen entered the shot. Of course, I'm extremely familiar with that cock and it's safe to say, I love it dearly. The sight of it, obviously swollen fit to burst approaching Tiffany's by now sodden and clutching pussy pushed us all up a notch, she was rubbing her massively engorged clit with one hand and languorously sliding the middle finger of the other deeply into and out of her lubricated and puckering arsehole while that fabulous on screen member pushed into her, stretching and filling that place deep inside.

I'm working my own hand furiously now and my hips buck upwards, grinding against an invisible lover. My lower lip is clamped between my teeth and I squeeze my left nipple hard, rolling it between my finger tips. My eyes are focused on the coupling filling the TV. It's a really big close up, each time the cock forces in, Tiffany's cunt folds in around it like a fly trap, drawing it deeper in and with each withdrawal comes an obscene ooze of juice that slicks against the retreating flesh, her lips cling on, drawing back like a beach trying to hold on to a tide and then suddenly, to some subtle cue, we're all in spasms of delighted ecstasy and juices erupt on screen as well off it, my hand is soaked by my cumming, it jets from me in powerful waves and I just let it, breathing deeply and noisily pounding my flesh , beating the last delicious spasms of pleasure from within.

We all just lay there, stupefied by our own individual exertions for a minute or two until I stop and rewind the tape. I wipe myself clean as best I can with the tissue, straighten my clothes, recover the tape from the machine and head back upstairs to replace it in the box with the magics on top. As I'm rebuilding the banality shield, I wonder how Dave would feel if he knew. If he knew that every time he went out I brought myself to a gushing climax over the sexual acrobatics of his ex, would he still want me?