Telling Tales by Charlotte Stein Read Free Book Online Page A

ashamed to admit I can’t take my eyes off it.
    Though maybe it’s partly because I don’t want to look at the two most obvious eye-magnets: his cock, and his face. If I look at his cock or his face, I swear I’ll die. He’s saying some pretty dirty things— Take it, take it, you little slut , among others—and that’s enough all on its own. It’s enough to make me press my legs together tighter, tighter, and I can feel I’m sweating through my pajamas, I know I am, I know any second I’m going to touch myself like the guy in Wade’s story.
    And then I look up at his face—just as Kitty says something disgusting like Ohhhh yeah, fuck my slick cunt —and of course he’s staring right at me. Of course he is. He’s staring right at me as he fucks her, this look on his face like something the Devil would do on realizing he’s corrupted another innocent soul, and I back right up in a hurry until I crack my shoulder blades against the wall.
    I realize I’m breathing hard. Probably hard enough for Kitty to hear, if she takes a second in between ordering him to Fuck her pussy harder, goddammit . I almost laugh hearing my little pixie girl being such a bossy-boots in bed, but then my mind flashes on Wade’s grinning, mischief-lit face again and I’m too shocked to get the sound out. I think I’ll be too shocked to make a sound tomorrow, actually. In fact, I think I’m too shocked to ever make another sound from now until the end of time, because God I don’t know how I feel about any of this.
    I can’t even find bitterness, anymore, which seems very odd indeed. Instead I just seem all juiced up with too much sex, and when I try to walk back toward my room all I can manage is a kind of vague slide along the wall.
    Of course it’s only once I’m tucked back in my bed, staring at the ceiling like a ghost of myself, that I actually dare to admit what I wasn’t sure I’d seen before.
    He beckoned me in. He jerked his head in the universally accepted gesture for “come on in, the water’s fine.” And then he winked, and I broke my back against the hallway wall, before slithering back to my room like the proper little eunuch I am.
    Of course, the sleeping situation is even worse now. I catch myself staring at the alarm clock I brought with me—the one I’ve perched, incongruously, on the ornate dresser in the corner of the room—watching the neon numbers flick by, one at a time. 4:36 a.m. 4:37 a.m.
    Jesus, what a nightmare. So typical, too—of course he’s fucking Kitty! Of course he is. I come here hoping for one thing, and get a face full of that instead. With possible weird threesomes thrown into the bargain. And then in the insane aftermath I get my body humming like an overheated tractor, everything between my legs all swollen and heavy and obviously soaked.
    In fact, I think I’ve soaked through my pajama bottoms. Whenever I move everything feels wet down there, though I don’t want to move because when I do my clit sparks and my pulse beats slow and heavy all the way through my sex and the urge to masturbate is just incredible.
    But I won’t, I won’t, because I’m heartbroken. And because it’s weird. And because I’m going to keep telling myself those two things until I utterly believe them.
    God I wish I wasn’t so horny. And so thirsty too. A night of pacing in my head has left me dry-mouthed, and while horny’s worse, thirsty means I’ll have to get up and pass the dreaded room of sex again. No doubt they’re still going at it, only this time the door will be wi-i-ide open and I’ll have to see him perpetrating other insane things too, like doing her in the butt with a dildo while he fucks her pussy with his cock.
    Oh, there’s no end to the depravity my mind can conjure up. It conjures it as I’m passing Wade’s closed door, by telling me that it’s only closed so he can nail her up against it. And then when I get to the bottom of the stairs and hear sounds from the living room,