Studio Audience Ch. 03

The smack of the ball on the hardwood and the groans from spectators around me pulled my thoughts back. They had been drifting, as they did each time Megan and I attended one of these games, into the lewd territory that only a man observing a dozen college girls in tight, short uniforms will stray into. I hated these games. I loved them. I hated how much I loved them. The whole season had been like this, so I knew what to expect. What I was not prepared for was that my wife, Megan, was getting nearly as much out of these matches as I was -- if not more.

When our daughter, Rebecca, told us -- accidentally I might add -- that she had joined a club volleyball team, Megan insisted we show her our support at every single match. Becky's face had told me that was exactly why she wished to keep her extra-curricular activity a secret. We were hosting Becky and her best friend -- now our tenant -- Emily for dinner, as we did every Sunday night, when Megan lamented the lack of university activities the girls were involved in. In an attempt to prove her mother wrong, and aided in the attempt by the half-bottle of wine she had already consumed, my daughter shot back that her club volley team was doing quite well so far "thank you very much." Emily had laughed at the excited noise that escaped Megan at that instant. Of course, I knew the instant Becky made eye contact with me, that she was dreading the unconditional love and support Megan would douse her with. This was the pattern whenever Becky picked up a new hobby: Megan would insist that every effort be made to support her -- every birthday and Christmas present would be devoted to it -- until the deluge of attention made Becky abandon the enterprise altogether. It was well-meaning, but it was detrimental nonetheless. I resolved to head Megan off at every turn I could. After all, Becky was a young woman now and off to university. She needed to take the reins of her own interests. Megan couldn't be the doting mother anymore.

So here we sat, as we had at every single game since that dinner, unconditionally supporting Rebecca as we had throughout her whole life. I sighed internally and resolved to draw the line at a volleyball-themed Christmas. Maybe. At least the "season" -- it really only lasted two months, and we had missed the first two weeks -- was about to finish. This was technically some sort of semi-final, with the winner going on to the championship and the loser still playing another game in a type of consolation match. Of course everyone got medals for participating; typical of this sort of thing.

Again the ball slammed into the hardwood on Rebecca's side of the net, and I saw Megan's hands rise in the air, accompanied by an exasperated groan. I honestly couldn't say who was winning, and I resolved to pay more attention as I watched Rebecca pick herself up off the gymnasium floor after laying out for the save. My hands came together and applauded her effort even as Megan cried out some sort of advice from the volleyball coaching manuals she had recently taken to reading over breakfast. It all escaped me, and my concentration was not helped at all by the two huddles of fit, scantily clad college girls that formed on either side of the net in preparation of the next point. My eyes fixed on the tight blonde ponytail that dipped to the middle of Emily's back, hitting just at the hem of her "uniform" -- really just a color-coordinated sports bra -- before my gaze trailed down to the tight, tiny black booty shorts that perfectly showed off her toned ass.

Yes, Emily was on the team too. It made so much sense when I learned that; it accounted for her late schedule and the need to shower each night. It had been nearly three months since she moved into our studio apartment, and her nightly showers has been consistent since the first night. Her routine was fixed, and so was mine. Each night, after Megan drifted to sleep, I would slink off to my library, conveniently sharing a wall with the bathroom of Emily's studio apartment, and listen greedily to my daughter's best friend bring herself to climax under the steaming water. No matter how many times I had resolved to stop this highly questionable habit, I still found myself pumping my cock to her sounds and shooting one or more hot loads of semen all over my fist. Over the last few weeks, my routine had developed an epilogue as well. Each morning, I would rise before sunup, don my running shoes, and time my morning jog to finish at 6:20 precisely; just as Emily got out of the shower. She had the regrettable habit of leaving her window shades wide open each night before she went to bed, so my slow -- alright, very slow -- walk back down the lane to our driveway was treated to the show of Emily bent over the vanity in her bathroom, fully illuminated, fully naked, doing her hair and makeup for the day. From her long blonde hair, to her impossibly firm C-cup breasts, to her slim waist, her toned tight ass, and her long lithe legs, I saw it all. I drank her in each morning. From the blood pounding in my temples after the run, my imagination running over all the things I could do to that beautiful girl, and my hand inevitably in the pocket of my running shorts, I never failed to sport a raging hard on by the time I walked back into the kitchen.

"So, do you see her...?" Megan's grip on my thigh brought me back to reality just in time to hear her whispered question. I sighed internally, dragging my gaze from Emily and making a show of running my eyes over the opposing team's huddle.

To explain my helplessly hard cock to Megan each morning -- she would be up and reading over her coffee by the time I came back -- I had given a half-truth, which inevitably developed into a full lie. I had invented a fellow jogger, a generic college-age girl who would pass each morning wearing as little as possible. This mystery woman -- or so I told Megan -- would provoke my imagination and lead me to pitch the tent that was so obvious in my shorts. What happened then, to my continued shock and awe, was that Megan would rise from the kitchen table, tease me about being so turned on by this girl, and proceed to suck my cock, asking about all the things I imagined doing to her, until I finished in her mouth. Megan loved it. She had always been rather submissive, but we never experimented with "spicing things up" until Rebecca moved out. On the third of these mornings, I finally asked her what it was all about, watching as she slowly scooped my load off her face and into her mouth, one finger at a time. She had to think about it.

"Well..." she finally said, "I was -- and I guess still am -- a pretty jealous person... I'm jealous of you at least... so when you came in with that huge hardon a few days ago... I don't know... when I made you finish thinking about me before Becky..." This was true, and I regretted it. I hated to think that Megan might not know how beautiful she was to me even after the years. I braced myself. "I... well... I guess I started thinking about how we must have looked when we... you know... fucked... back then... you, young and strong and full of passion, and me tight and fit and down for anything... it was -- it is -- hot... so when you see this girl running, I guess I think of how you saw me back then... I... please, Jon don't think this is weird... I think about how you'd look with a tight young thing wrapping her legs around you... it's kind of just an extension of thinking about how we looked... but also... it's not?... I actually am thinking about you... with her... with someone else... and it's hot... I think that's it... it's hot..."

I pulled her to her feet, kissed the mess I made all over her lips, and told her that she was the most amazing woman on the planet. I meant it. Since then, I had teased her just as much as she did me. I talked about how that girl would feel on my cock, how she would look orgasming on it, how Megan would be so wet watching, how she could suck my cock like this after I was done to clean it off. The only thing I held back was that I was not thinking of some mystery girl as I described these things to her; I was thinking of Emily Miller, Rebecca's best friend and the tenant living in our attached studio apartment. When I painted Megan's face, or unloaded down her throat each morning, I was imagining Emily's face, or how her body would twist as I unloaded inside her. Megan did not know this, though, so she was intent on finding our who this girl was and just what she looked like. These volleyball matches were perfect opportunities to quiz me on who, if anyone, looked familiar.

So I scanned the huddle. Of course, this was not a sacrifice as each of these young women was gorgeous and wearing nearly nothing. Most were tall, lithe, with firm asses and small breasts. As they bent in to listen to their captain, they showed off just how short their shorts were; it was no surprise to me that half the audience was composed of young men. When I commented on this to Rebecca following the first match we attended, she rolled her eyes and assured me that they were all friends, boyfriends, members of the boys' league that played right after them, or a few that were "dragged into it" by their friends. "Dragged." Sure. It was easy to tell the members of the boys' teams; they were a head taller than the rest, clearly in fantastic shape, and seemed to be watching the game analytically, rather than purely for the aesthetics. I saw one of them eyeing Rebecca's team, however, and nudge his friend, saying something that caused him to look over and smirk. My cock stirred as I made a point of turning my attention back to the opposing team, looking closely at a shorter, curvy brunette. I felt Megan's grip tighten as she noticed. "No... never mind... not her..." I muttered to myself just loud enough for Megan to hear. Her grip relaxed as the huddles broke and the game resumed.

My attention wavered, split between trying to follow the game and watching -- while not appearing to watch -- the way Emily's body moved when she played. I never realized how athletic she was, but she prowled the court like she owned it. While Rebecca was technically the team captain, it was clear who everyone, Rebecca included, took their cues from. As the team mounted a rally, Emily paced the hardwood, jumping to spike the ball, diving for saves, and showing off the lithe, toned body that I lusted over. As she adjusted the hem of her sports bra, I thought about how those firm, perfect breasts looked through her window each morning. As she laid out for a save, I watched her ass flex in her shorts, thinking about how it would feel to grip and spread those tight cheeks apart. As I watched her pull her hair back again into a tight ponytail, I imagined how my load would look roped across her gorgeous face.

I wasn't the only one enjoying the match. The boys that packed the stands were sitting up straighter, watching Rebecca's team pull back into the lead. More accurately, I suspected, they were watching Emily pull the team back into the lead. My eyes darted over to the two in the front row who had been eyeing the team earlier. Their heads seemed to follow the payers rather than the ball, and I tried to determine the object of their gaze. At first, I assumed they were watching Emily as well, but my heart skipped a beat when I saw where their focus was really trained. Rebecca. The taller of the two whispered something to his friend, and they both laughed loudly. My stomach knotted and boiled with something between disgust and rage, but this was not the time or place. Instead, I bit my tongue and tried to focus again on the game. Despite my efforts, I now couldn't tear my attention from my daughter and her admirers. Rebecca, I couldn't help but notice, was almost the polar opposite of Emily. She was shorter -- as Emily had teased her many times as they grew up -- and less lithe. Becky was still in fantastic shape. Our family had always preached good diet and regular exercise, and I watched with pride as she moved untiringly around the court. Nevertheless, Becky filled out her uniform more than Emily, with a smoother, softer tummy where Emily had toned abs. Her breasts were much smaller -- as Emily had also teased her many times -- barely a B-cup, but her backside was much larger -- as Becky had in turn often teased Emily. I watched my daughter's shorts ride up, and saw how her rear jiggled and bounced with each step. I knew the boys on the bench must be watching the same thing.

"Jon Lewis... something has your attention." Megan whispered in my ear as her hand lightly grazed my crotch. My thoughts had run away with themselves, and my cock was hard as a rock. I looked over, petrified, to see Megan trying -- and failing -- to suppress a mischievous smirk.

"Dirty old man..." she whispered as she leaned in close to me, pretending to look for something in her purse. "Are these girls making it... hard... to concentrate on the game?... are you thinking about things you shouldn't?... about those things you say to me before breakfast?... you know... that girl on the other team... that you were ogling earlier... she would look good under you... or over you... just something else to think about..."

I was at a loss for words. What had I been thinking about? Was I imagining that short brunette under me? Or was it over me? Was I thinking about her with her face between Megan's legs? Megan's hand on my jeans had driven any cohesive thoughts into the ether, and I was awash in a collage of filthy thoughts. She was right. I knew that. I couldn't help it. These girls were occupying all my thoughts. No matter where I looked, there was a toned stomach, a full sports bra, a pair of shorts riding up someone's buttocks; I was inundated. Luckily, Megan was not in the mood to hear me answer, slowly straightening, drawing her hand away, and sitting, leaned against my arm, with a smirk of smug satisfaction on her lips.

After the game, Megan and I tried to catch Rebecca and Emily to congratulate them on their win. We lingered in the hall outside the gym, waiting our turn as they chatted with two tall, muscular boys. To my distaste, I recognized them as the ones who eyed the team huddle, had ogled my daughter all game, and had even shared a comment that I presumed involved her. Rebecca was laughing at something the taller one said and brushed her hair behind her ear shyly. Emily reached over and punched his shoulder. He laughed along with her and put his hands up defensively. Megan and I exchanged a look; we knew flirting when we saw it. Personally, I was appalled, and I silently asked my wife if I should intervene. She laughed, grabbed my arm, and tugged me down the hallway to the parking lot.

"Honestly, Jon, the look on your face..." she managed to breathe out between giggles. "Baby... she's eighteen... she's in college... she's going to have her fun... just like we did... just like we do." Before I could protest, she pulled me against the driver's side door of our car, her tongue shoved inside my mouth, thoroughly forestalling anything I might say on the matter. Her hand reached down, cupping my growing erection through my jeans, and extracting a low groan. Of course she was right. I knew that on some level. I just wasn't prepared to see it so clearly so soon. I could have kicked myself -- or at least laughed at myself -- knowing how much I fantasized about her best friend, only one year older but in the same class, and yet failed to connect the dots: other men inevitably had those same thoughts about my own daughter.

"Besides..." Megan withdrew her hand and kissed me a final time, "it's not like she's totally naïve. We talked about it last year. She knows what she's doing."

Now that did surprise me. I told Megan as much as we buckled in and headed home. Again, I really must have been thick to be surprised. Apparently, Rebecca's boyfriend last year -- "Honestly, Jon? You don't remember Jimmy at ALL?" -- had pushed until she came to Megan for advice. They had had a frank discussion, including the reality of the risks -- Megan even pointed to Rebecca herself as evidence of those risks. Megan insisted that it was a great conversation that would have made me proud of our little girl, but I was still put out that I had been kept in the dark. While Megan insisted that she had no idea what transpired after the talk, she could make an educated guess.

That night, we turned in early. Megan had a morning meeting in the city, and I was still trying to process our conversation in the car. For the first time in a long time, I actually had the real desire to read -- just read -- in my library and put this whole business out of mind for a while. I gave my wife a quick goodnight kiss with the promise to be along shortly, and I tried to ignore the flicker of disappointment behind her eyes. After teasing me at the game and her advances in the parking lot, she clearly wanted more, but I wasn't feeling it. I cracked open a particularly dull volume of old literary criticism and sighed as I set to annotating it. Only one paragraph into the second chapter, a door behind me slammed.

I froze.

It was not often now that a new sound surprised me. I had become accustomed to the nighttime creaks and groans of the house, the rush of water in the pipes, the sound of Emily's shower, and all the noises she managed to make in it. She never slammed doors though, that was certain. I sat up and, despite myself, strained my ears.

"shhhhhhhh heheshhhhhhhh..." That was Emily's voice for sure. "I'm.... mmmmmmJacs-mmmmmm... I'm not supposed... to have... people over...." She trailed off and I heard a soft thump on one of the walls my library did not share.

"I... can leave... if you want..." That wasn't Emily. It was deeper; a man's voice. "But I don't think you want that... do you, baby..." Emily moaned a low protest. She did not want whoever this was to leave. Her moan was cut short and -- maybe it was my imagination -- a series of soft, long, slow, wet sounds hovered just on the edge of hearing.

A vision of the scene invaded my mind's eye. Emily, tall, thin and gorgeous, holding the face of this mystery man in her hands. Their lips locked as they gave into their passion and their tongues explored the other's mouth. His hands would be roaming all over the tight body I saw each morning and secretly lusted over. She would be putty in those hands, letting him have his way with her. I imagined her letting him explore her, letting him slowly tug at the hem of her shirt, slowly run his hands up over her pants, letting her know that he needed her unclothed. A metallic jingle drifted through the wall, and the scene in my imagination shifted.

"Eager...." The man's voice crooned before trailing off into a breathless moan.

"For you...? Obviously..." Emily breathed back. "You like that...?" His low moan confirmed that he did. "You're getting so hard, baby..." Emily was teasing now. I'd heard that tone before in her countless, silly little arguments with Rebecca.

"For you? Obviously." He was playing her game, and she laughed along in appreciation. "Do you want to see it?"

Now it was her turn to give a moan of confirmation. I honestly can't remember rising, but I found my ear pressed to the wall yet again. There was the rustle of clothing falling to the floor, and another metallic clink of what must have been his belt. There was a pause.

"oh my GOD... Jackson... seriously...?" My heart skipped a beat as I hear him chuckle and then moan. A sound cut through the silence; Emily -- or so I assumed -- spat loudly, and Jackson moaned again. Another spit -- it had to be performative, but that only made it hotter -- and I could start to make out the low schlick schlick schlick of her stroking the cock in front of her.

"Aren't you going to suck it, Em?" My hand was instantly in my pants when he asked.