The Housesitter

"You're in my fucking house!" she screamed, only slightly less deafening than before.

"This is 1545, right?" he asked.

"1547," she whimpered.

"Oh my god. I'm so so sorry," he began, "there were no keys under the mat next door...and the sign was confusing...and the back door was wide open...we just assumed..."

Bethnearly fainted with relief. She'd come home to a house full of male intruders- the stuff that German porn is made of- only to find out that the whole thing was a giant misunderstanding. Her body language shifted on a dime. The man and his friends breathed their own sigh of relief.

"Hey, fuckos!" the older, handsome stranger bellowed, "Get out here and bring your shit!"

She smiled at the absurdity of the situation. Five more college-aged men made their ways out of the various bedrooms, luggage in tow, and stood in the living room. Their apparent leader apologized again, and she told him to forget it. With that reassurance his demeanor changed. The concern that had clouded his hazel eyes was gone, and in it's place was a raw curiosity. His eyes moved up and down her curves with a gaze not intended to be subtle. She may have been insecure about her figure, but the man ogling her clearly was not. The hunger in his eyes caused a lump in her throat and a heat beneath her bikini bottoms. As she looked around the room, she realized he wasn't the only admirer. For a moment she felt like an object, but then her mindset shifted and she felt more like something vaguely familiar. She felt like the Goddess.

Beth had never cooked anything in her life and it showed. In retrospect, she couldn't understand why she'd attempted making pancakes on a whim for breakfast. Within five minutes a towel was on fire- having been left too close to the gas burner- and the entire house was filled with smoke. She doused the burning towel with the faucet of the kitchen sink, turned off the burner, and flailed a Tupperware lid frantically at the deafening smoke alarm her fiery failure had activated. Then the alarm in the master bedroom went off as well, and the one in the entryway followed shortly there after. "Fuck, fuck, fuck," she yelled, fighting back tears, as she ran from room to room to throw open the shutters and open most of the windows in the house. The smoke cleared in a few minutes. Beth sank into the couch; relieved the ringing aloud and in her ears had finally ceased. Her stomach growled, hungry for a breakfast from somewhere sans flames. A quick internet search showed a hole-in-the-wall breakfast spot within walking distance that seemed intriguing, so she threw a baggy sweatshirt over the tank she was already wearing and set out in search of sustenance.

"Steak and Eggs", as it turned out, wasn't really within reasonable walking distance- at least not on an empty stomach and under the blaze of the near-noon sun. Ten blocks turned into fifteen and so on with the restaurant still a good distance away. She'd misread the map on her phone and she cursed herself for the error, but she'd already come so far that she decided to keep going. When she finally arrived, she devoured her meal like a man just out of the desert. A desert trek was exactly what her return trip felt like. The fact that she was braless under her white tank made ditching the sweatshirt along the way a non-starter, but, when she finally made it home, the sweatshirt was thrown off before the front door had even fully closed behind her. Her sandals and shorts were discarded as well in a trail that led toward the back door. She didn't have the energy to change into a swimsuit, and no one could see anyway, so she dove into the pool clad in only her white tank top and jade-colored boy shorts.

Once she had cooled off enough, she crawled out and onto a lounge chair to read and drip dry. Heat returned quickly-not from the sun, but from Cecilia. "Jesus H," she said aloud more than once as she devoured the words on the page. By the time she finished two more chapters Beth was shifting on her chair to the point of near writhing. She crossed and uncrossed her legs, squeezing her thighs together to apply pressure to the throb that continued to increase the tempo of it's beat. When she wasn't twirling her hair- a lifelong habit that became more prevalent when her mind wandered- she alternated fidgeting with the translucent material of the bottom of her tank top and running a finger along the scooping neckline.

When the grizzled soldier bent Cecilia over the counter in the servant's quarters of her father's estate and lifted her gown in full view of multiple members of the staff, Beth slammed the book down onto the cushion beneath her. "Ok then!" she yelled out. She laughed at herself for saying it aloud with no one else around. Multiple pings had come from her phone while she read and she now took the time to see whom they were from. It was her best friend, Megan. The torrent of texts filled her in on the items covered in the parent's meeting for her team the night before, rambled on about a fight she was having with her boyfriend, and finally got around to asking Beth about her day. Beth laughed and spoke aloud again when Megan asked what she was reading. "Ummmm nope." Meg knew she'd be reading something, so she lied and told her she was still reading the book she'd actually finished on the flight down.

While she typed, Beth felt a sudden sensation that she was being watched. She sat up at the waist and looked around. No one at the gate on the side of the privacy fence. No one in the house, obviously. No one in the... Her thought trailed off and she spoke aloud for the third time in as many minutes, "No way." The hedges blocked the view from the yard she told herself, forgetting, apparently, that they'd given her quite the sightline a few days earlier. But the feeling only grew. She knew she was being watched. Knew it. The still soaked material that clung to her frame felt far smaller and tighter in that light. Creep, she thought, find something better to do with your time, frat boy. She picked up her book again. It would take her find off the notion of being watched, and, if her suspicions were founded, it would act as a barrier to the sight of her protruding nipples.

Three times she tried to read the next sentence. Three times she failed to process what she'd read. The scene was scorching, she knew that much, but she couldn't get into it. Anger boiled up in her chest. Without even processing what she was doing she stood up and glared at the hedges and then in the general direction of the portions of the house that she could see. Creep. Like the show? Fuck you. The words were on the tip of her tongue. She wanted to scream them at the top of her lungs. But nothing came out. Instead, again without giving it any conscious thought, she dropped her RayBans onto the chair and lifted the dripping shirt over her head- all without looking any direction other than toward the home next door. Her panties followed. She stood, stark naked, for a long moment, and then, without looking away, a wild smile broadened on her face. Book and sunglasses in hand, drenched clothes still crumpled on the pool deck, she turned and strolled inside.

What the fuck was that, Beth? she asked her reflection in the enormous bathroom mirror. Why would you...what was the...if someone.... She didn't know it was possible to stammer inside ones own mind until then. Her heart was beating wildly and her breath was ragged. It would have been fair for an unsuspecting person to assume she'd just finished a workout. In a million years no one would have guessed unassuming, understated Beth would have just done a striptease. Was that what she'd just done? Was it the book? The throb emanating from her clit hadn't lessened whatsoever- if anything, it was stronger now than before. Her pale breasts were heaving and her rose-colored nipples were smaller than she'd ever seen them- and hard. That's the water and the A/C, right? she asked herself- a question she knew was absurd. She didn't understand why she'd just done that she'd done, but she knew that it had made her wild with adrenaline and arousal.

Beth dove onto her bed and assumed her normal masturbating posture- face down, hands balled up between her thighs. She ground into her hands, letting one knuckle after another make their way across her clit, sending shock waves through every fiber in her writhing, teenage frame. A carousel of images whirled through her mind. Cecilia. The soldier. The staff. The nine accidental intruders. The way some of leered at her.

She rolled onto her back- a masturbating first for Beth. With her right hand she pawed savagely at her B-cups while her left hand circled and pressed down on her clit. Her entire lower half seemed to be drenched, but that had little to do with the chlorinated water that still dripped off of her body and darkened her auburn hair. The wetness of her pussy was audible as she worked her body over without mercy. When she pinched her nipple- another first- a raucous cry escaped her lips and her hips rose off the mattress. She was so close to cumming, but she denied herself, fearing that orgasm would put out whatever fire raged inside her body and mind. The images whirled on. How she must have looked standing at the hedges, covering her mouth to keep from screaming as she watched those strangers. The God. The beauty and power of the Goddess. The feminine grace coupled with unrepentant lust. The confidence to demand her pleasure, her way. The way she...

She bolted up at the thought. Ride. You need to ride. And she did. She straddled a pillow, returned her hands to where they'd been while she'd been lying down, and rode herself to delirium. In her ecstasy, insecurities light-years away, Beth began to utter things she blushed at just in print.

"That's right. That's right. Give me what I need. Fill me," she growled, "bury yourself in my cunt."

With that, she buried a finger to the hilt inside her. "Fuuuuuuuckk." The room seemed to tremble at the power of her cry. Her right hand mimicked the goddess by entwining itself in her wet hair. The book was incredible, the couple in the pool had been god-like, but neither of those filled her thoughts now.- only the events of the last hour. Again she spoke, this time, addressing her mystery "Creep."

"Did you like the show, you sick fuck? Huh? Did you get a good look at my teenage body?" She was getting closer with each filthy phrase. "Tell me what you liked best. Go on. Say it. Was it my perky tits?" She mauled her breasts again and twisted her left nipple, causing her to moan and clenched her impaled cunt. She inserted another finger. The tightness caused her to yelp in a moment of pain. The pain quickly turned to pleasure, though, and a wicked grin spread across her face. She bit down hard on her ample lip, still smiling, and again addressed her phantom voyeur.

"Or was it my giant, tight ass?" she questioned with a hard spank on her right ass cheek. "That was it, wasn't it? Say it baby!" She was lifting up and pounding down on each word now.

"You."

Unff.

"Needed."

Unff.

"This."

Unff.

"Perfect."

Unff.

"Fat."

Unff.

"Ass."

Unff.

Ass, and the hardest thrust of all that came with it, broke the damn. Her lithe body stiffened and then shook. She moaned at the capacity of her lungs. A torrent of unrecognizable sounds and half-words poured from her mouth while another torrent poured out of her sex and doused the bed.

Beth fell forward onto the mattress in a heap. Every ounce of energy seemed to be sapped from her body. Her breathing was labored and every inch of her body tingled and glistened with a thin layer of sweat. A broad, satisfied smile returned to her face, and, only seconds removed from climax, she began to drift off to sleep. A noise prevented her slumber, though.

CLAP. CLAP. CLAP. CLAP. CLAP.

It was slow and steady, but not quite synchronized enough to be coming from any machine. Beth raised her head, hair matted her to her face that gave her an animalistic quality. That's when she saw him.

Oh my Christ, the window.

He was standing at an open window across from hers, clapping, eyebrows raised. "You do put on one hell of a show," he said, his hungry eyes burning through her own, "Is it always a solo act?"