Rachel's House Ch. 01 - Sex Stories

Rachel's House Ch. 01

... and getting comfortable for a night of sleep cuddled aside another. Rubbing the tip of the dildo up and down my slit over the hood of my clit, I was actually considering going another round. The last orgasm felt so good.

How could I not?

“What do you mean, ‘you have to go’? I thought you said you could stay the night?” Rachel asked. Her voice hurt and high.

Go?

“I just remembered I have work in the morning. Forgot all about it,” the man said. The boom of his voice sent through the door and the tap of his sneakers right in front of where I lay, my pants clinging onto one leg, my pussy spread and open to the door.

Shit!

I mouthed as I spasmed, trying to silently, but with blazing speed, roll to my hands and knees. Something bumped and clattered—my foot, maybe. I didn’t know if it was loud enough for them to hear or if it was just loud to me. Grabbing the side of the doorjamb, I pulled myself to my feet. My half-naked bottom, still exposed, ran down the hall to my bedroom, realizing only at my door that my hands were empty. The dildo had fallen from my grip in the mad scramble to my feet. It sat just to the right of Rachel’s door, of all the positions, the upright position with the head of the cock pointing to the ceiling.

Rachel’s door opened, and I almost let out a yelp. I wanted to yell at them to close the door, to go away, to give me more time to retrieve my roommate’s dildo that I borrowed to fuck myself with without permission. But I didn’t. The ...

... boy’s foot emerged into the hallway, already wearing his sneakers, and I leaped into my room. My door closed just as I heard their argument continue in the hall.

“Tomorrow’s Saturday. You work in an office,” Rachel pursued her date to the front door, and I felt my anxiety slowly melt my heart.

“I know, some crazy mandate at work. verifying account orders or something,” he replied.

“Just fucking say you used me. Don’t be a coward. Admit, you’re a piece of shit!” Rachel yelled.

The front door creaked open. “I’ll call you sometime,” the man said and closed the door.

I would have been angry with the man and ran out to slash his tires on Rachel’s behalf, but the dread was too strong. It nearly killed me as I huddled against the door.

Seconds passed. Then minutes. I heard nothing.

Did she follow him outside? Is she still standing there? Is she wondering why her dildo is wet and by her door? Maybe she went back into her room. Her bedroom door didn’t creak—I might’ve not heard it close.

Fixing my pants, I slid my leg back into the pant leg and felt the cool, wet fabric on my crotch. Biting my lip, I silently opened my door and peeked out.

Nothing. No one.

Stepping out into the hall, I thought maybe I caught a break. Rachel went back into her bedroom, so upset that she didn’t see the dildo. Obviously, the boy didn’t. As it turned out, I was only half right.

Rachel’s door was closed. Beneath the door, I saw the bedroom light click off. She had returned to ...