Friendly Neighborhood Perverts

"This game..." Kiss. "Is called..." Kiss. "'Blind Trust'."

She ooh'ed dramatically . "Sounds adventurous. What are the rules, pray tell?"

"Oh, they are quite simple," he says.

Steps. The sound of a drawer being opened and closed.

The blindfold. A tie. Maybe a scarf? Or a silk stocking? Which color?

"I put this on you. You sit in this chair, like the good girl you are, and I'll tell you my filthy thoughts until you drip onto the leather."

"Aha?" she replied. "And what's in it for you?"

"Oh, there's plenty. I get to watch you squirm. I get to look at your pretty little nipples. I get to look at your cunt because you'll keep your thighs nice and spread for me."

"Ah, I see!" She sounded very enthusiastic indeed. "And when does the game end?"

"The game ends when you convince me to fuck you," he says. "I hope you know how to beg properly."

She giggled. "Challenge accepted, good sir!"

They kissed some more. You imagined them slowly walking, connected at the lips, to the chair. She slowly sank down onto it as he pushed her gently by the shoulders. Once she was seated, his hands slid down her arms, to her waist, to her thighs, and spread them, lifting up the hem of her nightgown and tucking it away so that he could see all of her.

And then the tie -- scarf? Stocking? -- went around her head to cover her eyes.

"You can pull a little tighter, darling," you heard her say sweetly. "I know you like it when things are tight." Her next giggle transformed into a squeal. "Owie! Not fair! Not my nipple, ya old meanie!"

He chuckled, then his voice suddenly got serious. "Quiet, now. Spread your legs properly. Attagirl. So eager. And already wet. Won't be long before you make a mess, will it?"

She replied with a wordless moan.

You felt that sound deep in the pit of your stomach.

"Now, where should we start? Hmm? Maybe...at the very bottom?"

You squirmed on your mattress when she gasped a little 'haah!' and then giggled again but you couldn't guess what he might have done to provoke that reaction. Holding your breath, you listened harder.

"That's why you're so obsessed with pedicures, eh?" he asked and then made a loud suckling noise. "Just in case it might make me want to do this?"

"Tha—hah—that wasn't, uhm... ohh. Ohh, please..."

More wet, sucking sounds. A man humming, a noise of deep pleasure.

"G-god, this feels so—" She breathed and groaned, half-delighted, half-frustrated. "Ah, I want to see you so bad right now, babe!"

You grabbed two fistfuls of your comforter.

"Ah, ah. No cheating, ma'am. Them's the rules of the game."

"Please, please fuck me," she demanded.

"Such a pushover!" He just laughed. "You'll have to try a little harder than that, hon," followed by a squeak that told you he had probably tweaked her other nipple this time. "Let's continue, shall we?"

In your mind, he was now walking behind her where she was sitting -- and squirming -- in her chair. His big hands were massaging her shoulders and the back of her neck, his fingers occasionally slipping underneath the strap of her nightgown to tickle her skin there.

"How about we talk about that link you 'accidentally' sent me during work hours yesterday?"

"I'm sure I don't know what you're, uh, talking about, good sir?" She was smiling again, but trying not to, nibbling her lip.

"Well, I'm sure you do, ma'am."

There was a sharp intake of breath.

"Does this ring a bell? Hm?" His voice was dark and intense all of a sudden.

A small choking sound and a lewd sort of whimper -- the kind of whimper a woman made when she trembled inside with desire and her muscles clenched on nothing.

"The website had lots of very detailed, very useful illustrations of how to... handle a woman." His voice lowered so far you almost didn't catch his next words. "And some nice pointers on what else you can do while you're at it."

Her gasp was high and brittle, followed by an explosive, trembling exhale and a keening sound unlike any you had ever heard her make.

"Fuck, you almost just came, didn't you?" he demanded to know. She must have nodded, because he went on, "God, that's so fucking hot," with a disbelieving sort of tone. "Don't you dare close your legs, love. I'm not done with you."

"Please, fuck me," she tried again. Her voice sounded a little rough.

"Oh, I will," he promised. "And you're gonna keep that blindfold on, aren't you?"

"I will, yes. Yes."

You could see her nodding eagerly.

"Tell me why you want to keep it on."

You saw him standing between her spread legs, looking down at her face and the blindfold that hid her eyes but not the color on her cheeks.

"Be—because that's the game? Ah!"

Again you could only imagine what he might have done. Reached into her décolleté? Slid a finger between her legs?

"Why, love?" he asked again, a bit more urgently.

"Because... Ah, please! Because I can imagine an audience!" she burst out in a rush.

Pervert, you thought hotly. Sweat pricked out of every pore on your body.

"I see," he said. "And whom should we invite next time to watch me fuck you, babe?"

Me.

Please. Me. Thank you.

You put a hard, unyielding hand on yourself and chased after them, gasping with your mouth wide open every time their cries and moans coincided with a spike of pleasure driving through your body. You twitched and shook and groaned into your pillow.

You knew you were still loud.

***

The week before last, you had written your last note to them. It had lain on your night stand for six whole days before you finally dared to throw it into their mailbox.

It had taken you three more days after that until you could convince your body to get up, walk out the door, down one flight of stairs and along the corridor. You walked slowly, with your fingers twitchy and your heart thumping in your throat. In your head, two dozen scenarios of how this would go horribly, embarrassingly wrong were playing simultaneously, and you had lined up at least ten good excuses and apologies. You even already googled a couple of new rentals and checked your current lease agreement, just in case...

Their names were written in bold blue marker on a piece of crepe taped over the buzzer.

They opened the door before you could even lift your hand to push it.

Apparently, they had already heard you.

FIN

Hello!

So, I guess your secret's out now, eh? Sorry about that, ya little perv :P

As you can see, this is basically another ode to audioporn and the delights of sounds and imagination. If anyone's got an actual proper label for "subauscultists", let me know! (subauscultare, subauscultavi, subauscultatum -- to listen secretly, to eavesdrop. Ave, people who learnt Latin in school!)

Thanks for reading! As usual, leave a comment to make me a happy camper.

xo cydia