Gloam Eyed Mister

Nessa listens with her ear to the wall and one hand teasing down between her legs. With her other hand, the Au Pair traces a finger around her mouth while the sound of sex wafts through the sheetrock. They've been going at it for the better part of an hour now, and the walls are thin. His voice carries, and God, does she love the way he sounds.

It amazes her just how different he is during the day. While the sun was up the Mister maintained a polite and professional demeanor. His etiquette was easily the gold standard of all gentlemen, with his bespoke attire, greetings of salutations, and an ivory league vocabulary. His cadence was always relaxed, his tone was always warm, and he always, always, always spoke to Nessa kindly, like a prim and priggish lady, instead of some nameless hired woman who watches after the children.

But at night, Nessa heard him transform. His voice dipped down into something brutish, with his words vulgar and commanding. It fascinated her how such a stark contrast could occupy the same body, and share the same beating heart.

Tonight, she hears the brute, only his voice is like a chorus to Nessa. His voice carries through the walls as he teases, commands, scolds, praises, and encourages the Madam of the house. Nessa hears her voice too, high and sweet, with a hint of a southern accent. But her voice, while pleasant to Nessa's ears, isn't the one that leaves her thighs dewy. No, it is the Mister's brute chorus that stirs Nessa. It soothes her like a lullaby for her fantasies.

She imagines the Madam with her hands bound while the Mister stands behind her. His hands claw at her neck and breast while the Madam moans and begs wantonly. She imagines the Mister's grin, full of grit and mischief before forcing his wife down to her knees. She can see him free his cock with perfect clarity before it disappears into the Madam's mouth.

Most of her fantasies help to ease her frustration. However, this particular fantasy causes jealousy to roil in Nessa's chest. She works her fingers faster as if they can assuage the green in her eyes, but Nessa knows better. While her dreams involve being malleable in the Mister's grasp, she knows that he'd never lay a hand on her, though in her wildest dreams, she fancies that she is the focus of his desires.

She's tired and should sleep; Tomorrow she'll have to rise early and wrangle the children up. But Nessa can't help but listen to her employers engage in a sort of congress that is foreign to her. Even though she isn't some chaste virgin, Nessa has never experienced that kind of sex before. The kind of back parlor sex that left her bottom cherry-colored from discipline, her pussy stretched from a pounding, and her throat sore from pleasing. Judging by the Madam's breathy pleas, that is the sort of sex happening on the other side of this wall, and hearing it has Nessa breathing shallowly while her hand is busy under her nightgown.

It's no surprise to her that she cannot tend to the entirety of her desires with her fingers alone. The only thing that comes close is when she sucks on something while she works. It surprises Nessa because it's so foreign to her. She isn't a loose woman, nor is she some fiend, but there is some sweet mischief from the fixation of her mouth being used as an object of pleasure while she works her honeypot with her other hand.

The problem is, for the life of her, Nessa cannot recall where this ardent and sluttish behavior came from. Certainly not from her Christian upbringing. Certainly not from her schooling. But she must have learned it somewhere, right? She wracks her brain trying to remember, but efforts go unrewarded. It's akin to recalling a dream half faded from your mind: The more Nessa tries, the more blurred it becomes.

At last, she hears the Madam of the house call out like a singer, her rapture loud, with a sprinkle of champagne sweetness at the end. Then there is laughter, followed by low self-congratulatory talk before things finally go quiet on the other side of the wall.

"Now," Nessa thinks, "now I'll be able to get some sleep." She lays on her back, looking up at the ceiling with two fingers pressed to her lips. She thinks maybe she'll try and coax a climax out but decides she's teased herself enough tonight. From here on out, it would probably be torture.

Whether by accident, or misfortune, a climax for her always feels just out of reach. When any semblance of one approaches, she braces herself and waits for it to wash over her, but the feeling never crests. For some reason, her mind becomes filled with a soft gloam that seems to wall her off from any such rapture.

She tried one night, going on for hours with no release. She must have slept then because she remembers the Mister's face, hovering above her, wearing a smile and speaking to her, but his words were a wash. Nessa remembers the surreal ambiance of being near him, his voice silky and coaxing her while she was slick, spread open, and soiled with his seed. This dream has since become recurring, much to her delight.

Sleep nearly takes her. Her muscles relax, her eyes tire, and her need for release finally eases. However, just before she can board the train to sleepy-time junction, she hears her bedroom door creak open. Nessa sits up, more surprised than alarmed, and sees the hazy visage of the Mister standing bare-chested and in wrinkled pajama bottoms.

He smiles, runs a hand through his disheveled hair, and says something in a low, mischievous tone that Nessa can't quite understand. It's a moving-shifting-bending word, a magic word perhaps, something he's planted in the grounds of her mind. It grows and unfurrows, gloaming in the ether there. Suddenly, she feels unshackled, as if the word has somehow erased the barriers of fantasy and reality.

"Come here," he beckons to her. His voice is hungry and commanding, and Nessa realizes that he's speaking to her the way he speaks to the Madam, in that brute chorus. She sheds her nightgown and goes to him with eagerness in every step until she's kneeling at the Mister's feet, inches from his erection, which tents the cotton of his pajama bottoms.

"The Madam came rather quick this evening, then confessed to me she couldn't take anymore." He pulls his bottoms down, and his cock bobs up in front of Nessa, causing a keen exultance to come over her. "Selfish bitch," he says, though there are no sharp edges to his words. Instead, he almost sounds amused.

"Sir needs to cum, and you're just the Au pair to help, aren't you?"

She nods absently as she stares at the Mister's cock. Then he says the moving-shifting-bending word again. It zips into her mind and plumes out, unburdening Nessa of her self-control. In a heartbeat, she feels playful, and she feels sensuous. She feels both like a coquette and she feels like a racy harlot.

At the tail end of everything, Nessa feels a dull jealousy. It hits her as she leans in and smells the Madam's lust all over him, and feels herself change from olive, to emerald, to chartreuse.

and her playful smile fades as she takes another whiff, and wonders why couldn't she be the one who was ravished night after night? Why couldn't she be the one shunted senseless and left panting? These questions always rose to the surface, but rather than answers, it just left Nessa eager to please him, as if this would somehow gain The Mister's favor.

He strokes himself once before resting his cock against Nessa's face. Its weight and warmth both drive her mounting passion and sharpen the blade of her frenzy. She wants him to know the cut of her desire. So, she begins licking the length of his shaft, teasing his veins with the soft tip of her tongue while also trying to lap up and erase all the Madam left behind.

"Mmmm," he hums. "Just like I taught you." His cock disappears into her mouth while Nessa's fingers reach down between her thighs and begin again, though unlike before, his word has unlocked the door to a blissful ending.

He has her by the hair now, and Nessa feels his cock surge in and out of her mouth. It doesn't take long for her excitement to become vocal. Gwk, gwk, gwk, gwk. The sound of her being used fills the room as her voice bubbles out around his cock, but whether the sounds that escape her are pleas for more or some abjure of her will is anyone's guess.

The Mister calls in a low wild moan, and the sound of his voice pushes Nessa over the brink. Once even saying her name in that fiery way only reserved for lovers. It's gold to her ears, and she teases herself harder and faster, to the point of almost pain. The fact that she is the one that grants him this elation fills her with a smugness only known by the young and the jealous.

As the Mister gushes into her, so too does Nessa finally find her release. She quakes and calls out as he bursts onto her tongue and fills her mouth. Eventually, his cum spills from the corners of her lips and down onto her breasts. In the chaos of this shared moment, the Mister's cock pulls free of Nessa's lips and sprays fresh warmth onto her face. He coats her between her eyes and across her mouth, soiling her visage just like he does in her dreams.

"My God," the Mister huffs out in a voice that is radiant with satisfaction. He wipes sweat from his brow and chuckles, "That was just what I needed." The Au pair hardly hears him. Her climax is still going, racing up through her body and flooding her mind.

Before the feeling fades, the Mister grabs her by the chin and forces Nessa to look at him. And there it is, the same gloam that occupied her mind she sees it in his eyes. The more she stares, the more at ease she feels. That is, until that soft glow in his eyes begins to lull her down a dark corridor.

He speaks another one of those moving-shifting words, only this one is barbed. In the recesses of her mind, Nessa hears a door slam, and the beautiful dreamy gloam begins to recede.

"You're having another dream." Nessa thinks that it sounds like the Mister's voice, but everything feels so surreal and so far away that it must be another dream, right? "Go back to sleep."

"Oh, his voice," she thinks, stumbling back to bed and slipping between the sheets with cum drying on her face and chest. "How is his voice so seductive and brutish? It's like a lullaby to my fantasies."