In The Corner

I cringe in the corner, hoping they don’t notice. My composure is key to the success of this charade. If only it will end soon.

And I wanted to be here. I have to keep reminding myself. We would do everything together; that was our rule. Even if it just meant watching. God! If I’d only known how the mere sight would rip at my insides as if to thrust my heart right out of my chest and on display for everyone’s curious eyes.

I could feel the hollowing, my substance being scooped out with each passing moment, leaving me nothing but a shell propped on a high-backed chair and seething from the shadows.

She didn’t even look at me. Is she doing it on purpose or is it just habit or ages of practice in this kind of affair? I know she’s secretly mocking me behind those heavily outlined eyes, avoiding the criticizing stare my eyes throw at her in the shape of daggers.

She wasn’t even a blonde. I thought that would eat at the most, but this brunette before me seemed more of a competitor, a bigger threat to whatever hold I had on him with my own dark features. Her bobbed hair slapped against her face, whipping in rhythm to his thrusts. She held her mouth open, impossibly red lips poised in a continuous tease, like a purposeful invitation for insertion between them.

I hate her.

No, how can I say that? I don’t know her. She’s….nobody.

But she’s so good at it. Breasts so pert. The largest, longest nipples I’ve ever seen and dark as chocolate. I want them. I want those tits. I want his hands to feel their erectness on my chest.

I feel my own nipples pressing against my black lace bra, so much more aware of them as my eyes zero-in on hers and the way they sway back and forth in shared rhythm. My chest is heaving; it’s all anxiety. I’m not enjoying myself. I feel sick.

I unbutton my stiff shirt to welcome cooler air. No sense in me being the only one fully dressed. The small band of material that calls itself a skirt stretches across my thighs, constricting me as I haven’t felt it before. My clothes are too tight. I’m uncomfortable as hell. I just want out! Where was that door…

Her moans. They mimic the ones that pass from my lips when I’m pinched between his hard body and some unforgiving object. The sounds breathed from the depths of her throat are like a slap in my face. It forces me to watch, to feel what they are, reminding me that I’m not where she is.

I just want him to enjoy this. Her. Her. How could someone so anonymous have such an effect on me? So much power.

She’s drilling into my skull with each whimper, making my temperature rise as I notice the blush on her ass grow rosier. Beads of sweat are surfacing between my breasts, rising on my forehead. The room is stifling, clenching. The air belongs to them. It’s suffocating me.

I don’t belong. I’m an unwelcome voyeur, an inanimate object discarded in the corner. I’m completely unnoticed. Brutally unwanted. Starving… for something.

But I can’t look away. They heave together, not quite as one, but as an imperfect pair joining and rejoining, searching for all the pleasure they can absorb. She grinds her round ass into his slender hips. I don’t have to look at his face; I know what he’s feeling. The blood is pulsing between my legs as well, creating an unwanted pressure, a resurgent pounding mocking my disgust.

I don’t want to feel. I want to be gone. I want them to be over. I want…

She’s looking at me. Those soft, black eyes turning their sensual appeal toward me. They were the first feature that caught my attention, that made me think she might just be suitable. Our first try. It had to happen sometime, why not tonight?

All the talk, the teasing, the fantasizing. Together. But nothing could prepare me for the real thing. Not watching them. Her. She’s evil.

But she won’t take her eyes off me. I know that unspoken message. One female to another. The sisterly, primitive connection mingles grossly with my jealousy and the reality of the scene. She’s just a she, taking full enjoyment from the situation offered to her. We asked her. Wouldn’t I have loved to have the same opportunity at that age?

Those soft, full lips. They’re moist from her own tongue. Her lascivious stare burns two holes through my shirt, lighting my nipples in flame. That mouth. What must it taste like?

She’s calling to me, the woman in control extending a sisterly invite. “Come here,” she whispers, too faint for him to hear.

But he’s watching. The smile that I adore is fully aware, devoid of guilt, and completely open to me. He’s still in there. The confirmation of our connection floods me with ease.

She points with her slithering arm and pointed fingernail. “Come,” she repeats.

She is the snake charmer, and I’m the boneless creature wafting towards her on an invisible wave of ancient magic. I’m floating, still cautious, but allowing myself to be led. She’s so tender, so smooth.

Her hands skillfully remove my shirt in one movement, and her hands consume my breasts in a grasp that is oddly firm and tender. Everything is new. I wonder at her attraction to me but long to fall into it and know it finally. Another woman.

She holds me, gently, and they’re apart now. My husband kisses me as he slides his slippery cock inside me. Her fluids mixed with mine. It’s okay. It’s okay.

I reassure myself as they do: my husband and our new friend. And I fall. Into this dark pit of the unknown. The fucking good blackness left when fear disappears and all that is left is pleasure.

The End.

Ed's Note: Tara Tainton sets the erotica genre alight. For more, be sure to visit:

Tara's Playground for Consenting Adults
Tara's Naughty Shop