Escaping Repressions Part 2 — D.E. Carroll

Did you miss Escaping Repressions Part One? Check it out here.

…I stop just outside the doorway and cock my head to the side. Listening, I can hear no words coming from the room. But the sounds I hear make my breath catch hard in my throat. My heart pounds a little bit harder and a pleasing heat creeps in between my thighs. Sighs, laughter, groans and moans, a language in itself in a way. And something else as well. The unmistakable sound of flesh colliding against flesh. I can’t stand here any longer, it is a wonder I stopped at all. I step through the doorway and though the sounds alone caught my breath, the sight pulls it out of my body all at once.

The strangest thing about it is that for a full minute, what holds my attention is not the acts I see being performed, but rather the people performing them. Besides myself, there are seven other people in the room and I know almost all of them. But to be honest, it takes me some time to reconcile the people I know with the people I see before me.

The living room itself is taken up almost solely by a large L-shaped couch, and on it, directly in front of me are my two next door neighbors, Jim and Sarah Tenner. I have known them both going on almost eight years. Jim is an optometrist, who likes to play tennis every Wednesday and Friday. He is an inch or two over six feet tall, has short, close cut brown hair, brown eyes and a nice physique thanks to all the tennis he plays. Sarah, a homemaker and mother of two, is about five foot nine with strawberry blonde hair and in spite of or thanks two her two children, is full without being fat and very curvy. She usually wears some form of pink in all of her outfits and on nights when she can’t sleep, she mixes herself a very weak martini.

I remember one time, about a year and a half ago, the three of us ended up invited to another party held by a mutual friend. Nothing like the one we are at now but I remember that the bulk of the partygoers had migrated out into the backyard. It was one of those deep, hot summer days where even the lightest clothes stick to you after a while. I had been talking to a coworker by the pool and realized I had finished my drink at some point in the conversation. I excused myself and made my way into the house for a refill. I made it to the refrigerator when I heard a sound that made me stop. I stood still and after a moment the sound repeated.

My ears leading, the rest of me following, I peaked around the corner of a doorframe into the dining room and saw Jim and Sarah half sitting, half leaning on the dining room table, locked in a skin prickling embrace. All of there clothes were still on but their bodies were pressed to each other in a simulation of sex so real I felt my nipples stiffen at the sight of it. One of Sarah’s legs was wrapped around Jim’s hips and their mouths were practically feeding off the other’s. There wasn’t an inch of space between them. To have seen them like that, in such a passionate, unguarded moment was thrilling in a way impossible to express without a personal demonstration.

Behind me, through the open backdoor I could hear voices, the tread of approaching footsteps. Others were retreating from the heat. It would be only seconds before Jim and Sarah heard them. I pulled myself back from the doorframe and dashed to the refrigerator. I had just refilled my glass when three people including the friend who was throwing the party came in talking animatedly. Jim and Sarah came in from the dining room a few seconds later. Both looked a little flushed, but unless you had been me and knew what they had been doing, you would think the heat of the day had merely gotten to them.

I never told them what I saw that day and to the best of my knowledge, neither of them ever knew I was there. But ever since then, I have always been able to call to mind the image of the two of them locked together, looking like all they wanted in the world was to fuck on a friends dining room table.

I confess, I have often found myself wondering, fantasizing about what it would be like to watch them fully. To see them lose themselves in passion. If they are that heated out in the open with all their clothes still on, what must they be like when they are alone, naked, covered in sweat? I never honestly thought I might have the chance to live out this particular fantasy. Later, when I find them, I shall have to thank my hosts properly for this opportunity.

Jim, his well developed chest shiny with sweat, his face tight with exertion, is facing the doorway but does not see me. Sarah is also facing me and is just as oblivious to my presence as her husband. Jim has her bent forward over the couch, her strawberry blonde hair wrapped around his fist. For what feels like a very long time, my world shrinks down. I experience a strange sort of tunnel vision where everything else around me is excluded except for the sounds of Sarah’s moans, the hard slap of Jim’s hips striking against his wife’s behind, and the sensation of watching my two friends fuck each other with total abandon.

My skin has broken out in sweat. I can’t seem to get enough air and a warm wetness has made my panties stick to me in a not unpleasant way. Sarah has gone beyond moaning now. Her cries are like long grunts or short screams, and Jim is pumping away as if his very life depends on the seed he is going to spill inside his wife. When their orgasms finally break, seeing the looks on their faces is one of the most amazing things in my world.

Hers so much like joy, his so very near to pain. Sarah lets out one long cry that is neither grunt or scream and Jim buffets her body one last time so hard the couch scrapes along the floor. Jim collapses on top of Sarah, pinning her to the couch beneath him. Their sound of labored panting is heavy in the room, even more so than a few minutes ago when they were in the thick of each other. But Jim and Sarah are only one part of it. Gradually, the rest of the world comes back into being and I start to focus on things other than what is in front of me.

About four feet down the couch on my left lies Eliza Myrtle. Eliza is a chef, working in one of the best restaurants in town. Our conversations have never gone beyond simple pleasantries but I have always liked her. I’ve found her to be smart, competent, and sexy in that casually understated way every woman tries for at one time or another but few actually pull off. Slim, trim without being obsessive about it Eliza has always had a body whose firmness is apparent even in frumpy clothing.

Once again I am struck silent and motionless by the position I find myself in. It is one thing to catch your neighbors unaware in a passionate embrace. Or to look at an acquaintance and compare her body with that of another woman’s or your own. Every woman does this, it is second nature. But it is something else entirely to see these same friends and acquaintances naked, flushed and spent in exhaustion.

Same as with Jim and Sarah, I now can not take my eyes off of Eliza. She lies lengthwise on the couch, her feet pointing towards my next door neighbors, her head propped up on a pillow. Her body looks like it has been plastered to the couch with sweat, her limbs look both loose and tight at the same time. Like someone who has just run a marathon and her muscles are still twitching from the exertion. There are small beads of sweat on the plains of her flat stomach. I watch her small breasts rise and fall as she breaths. Her nipples are flushed, rosy with blood as though someone just got finished sucking them. Eliza casts a look in my direction. Her hazel eyes find mine and hold them steadily. She smiles at me and I swear I can see her nipples stiffen despite how exhausted she looks. Slowly, languidly, she dips a hand into the slick groove of her sex. Her fingers come away wet and her gaze never leaves mine as she brings her fingers to her mouth and slowly sucks the juice off of each in turn.

I am walking towards her before I even realize it. I can’t take my eyes off her fingers. I want to suck them, I want to taste her. My mouth has gone dry, parched. I am wandering towards her like a traveler who, having been lost in the desert, has just had an oasis appear before her. I am two feet from the couch when my face falls. Someone else has beaten me there.

Jim has taken Eliza’s fingers into his mouth and is sucking them with abandon. Watching, I feel both disappointed and enraptured at the same time. Because for Jim, the more he sucks or Eliza’s fingers the more his strength returns. I can see his cock growing and hardening, bobbing in time to his heartbeat. I don’t think I can stand watching them fuck without trying to join in. The need for release is burning so strong in me it is almost painful. I start to take those last few steps towards them when a hand appears into my narrow field of vision and stops me with a touch…

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This story is going to continue to be told so come on back in two weeks and we’ll have the next installment of this sexy tale. Did you miss the first part of this sexy tale? Check it out here.

D.E. Carroll is a  twenty eight year old writer and poet who has a particular interest in erotic short fiction. He is a part time student and full time government employee who spends most of his spare time either reading or writing.