Open House

I have dreamed of buying a house for a while. During my daily walks, I sometimes visit open houses. I come in even if the outside isn’t to my liking, because I am often pleasantly surprised of what I find inside. I like to pretend I can buy them all, just to find myself for a moment in the shoes of those who do this without wondering if it’s possible.
 
The weather is beautiful today. I take the opportunity to stroll aimlessly along the edge of the botanical garden. The surrounding houses are not particularly pretty, but their locations make them attractive and pricey.
I let myself be tempted by an "Open House" sign on the front lawn of one of them. If I owned this one, I would never sell it. It sits in a cute cul-de-sac, appears to have a large backyard, and is not too close to its neighbours.
 
I knock on the door. I hear “A minute!” from afar and hobbling footsteps coming in my direction. A woman barely older than me, an ankle in a splint, opens the door.
 
— Come in ! she said after a courtesy chat.
 
The entrance is lovely. I could fall in love with this house just for it. It reminds me of many American movies. A staircase on the right leading to the bedrooms, a small table on the side to leave your bags and keys, a door under the stairs to go down to the basement, a kitchen at the end, all of this wrapped in a beautiful teal blue. After a brief summary of what the house has to offer, she asks:
 
— Do you prefer visiting it by yourself or do you prefer I come with you?
— Alone, if you don't mind? Plus, in your condition…
 
I don't like wasting people's time. She doesn't insist and limps back to the living room, letting me roam around her house freely.
 
I go upstairs, visit the two rooms at the end of the hall, quite ordinary, tidy. No trace of a child, probably the reason why she sells the house. What's the point of living in a house with four bedrooms when you live alone?
I open another door and find a desk there, behind which sits a man who is typing on his keyboard. He looks up when he sees me.
 
—  Excuse me! I say confused.
—  No, come in, please! I was going to stop working anyways.
— Are you sure?
— Positive!
 
He gets up to shake my hand. A firm grip. A frank look. An undeniable charm.
 
— Magdalene isn’t really helping you, is she? he says with a smile.
— She offered to accompany me but with her ankle… I prefer visiting by myself anyway… I'm sorry to disturb you.
 
He puts his hands in front of him.
 
— It's no bother at all! I've been on this manuscript for three hours now. I should take a break.
— You’re a writer?
— Yes.
— Anything I could have read?
— Maybe?
— What genre do you write in?
 
After a short pause, he replies:
 
— I write books for adults.
 
It's not so much what he says but his laid-back demeanour gives me a little jolt. Not wanting to offend, I pretend this is all completely normal.
 
— Interesting. Which book would you recommend?
 
He looks at me with a mischievous eye. This is when I realize what I just said, that I have probably gone too far.
 
— A future reader? he says.
 
He slowly approaches. And I know that decency would dictate that I step back and get out of this house right away, but the palpable electricity in the room makes me want to stay. His wife is downstairs, watching TV, and I wonder if the fact that she didn't mention her husband upstairs was a genuine oversight or if she deliberately offered me to the wolf.
 
— I don't read that genre, I say. Actually, I've never really tried.
— Would you want me to read the passage I was working on? A special preview?
 
He winks at me and I can't resist the honour he gives me. I imagine some would go out of their way to be in my place right now.
 
— Come, take this chair, sit down next to me.
 
I hear what he says, I can tell it's borderline, and yet I go.
 
— You don't write? he asks while I take my seat.
— No ! Oh no ! But I read, a lot. I like to read.
— Would you rather read the passage in question then?
— Whatever you prefer…
 
He turns his screen towards me and zooms in on the paragraph.
 
The more he looked into her eyes, the more the urge to devour her grew.
 
This first sentence makes me swallow. In the corner of my eye, I see him observing my reactions and I hope he hasn't heard a thing.
 
 He left the bathroom door ajar. She probably wouldn't go in, but it would at least plant the idea in her head. Once in the shower, he hummed a song, as if to draw her to him. Maybe she was still on the couch, or just outside the door, listening.
 
My eyes pass over each word so quickly, not to prolong the awkwardness that sets in.
 
He preferred to imagine her nearby, her hands in her pants...
 
Fuck.
 
…Touching with the fingertips her very present excitement. The thought alone made him grab his cock and he started to vigorously masturbate.
 
The paragraph ends there. My eyes finds his and I immediately lower them, probably flushed with shame.
 
— Does it work? he says most professionally.
 
What do I say? The truth? Wouldn't that be confessing to him that he just made me horny?
 
— This is ... what I imagined, I say.
— And what did you imagine?
 
He is laughing at the situation. He's probably used to talking openly about these things, but I'm not.
 
— You know… Storytelling for adults.
— Do you like it?
 
A nervous laugh escapes me.
 
— Joker? he offers.
— Yes please.
— But could you tell me at least, if reading these few lines has awakened a little something in you?
 
He leans to my side, bringing his face close to mine. A moment of hesitation sets in as we look each other straight in the eyes. Is he actually flirting with me or is that a legitimate question from a writer of the genre?
 
—  It works well, but I'm not sure I'm your target reader so...
 
His hand is on my thigh. I glance down to see if the sensation is real. It is.
When my eyes come back up, he whispers:
 
— A word from you and I remove my curious hand.
 
He is now so close that I can see the different bursts of colour in his pupils.
 
— What exactly do you have in mind? I say. Isn't that your wife downstairs?
— She's used to this.
— Do you say that because she can't come up here?
 
He smiles and gestures for me to look behind me. I turn my head and see his wife on the doorstep. Her splint is gone. I straighten up on the back of the chair.
 
— I… I probably should go!
 
He presses against my thigh.
 
— Stay, he says very calm.
 
I glance at his wife, then at him.
 
— Like I said, she's used to it.
 
He leans in and kisses me. His tongue comes to search my mouth in a salacious way. I keep an eye on his wife, she doesn't move. The fact that she lets her husband do what he wants with me, and the sounds of our mouths turns me on so much… I indulge in this pleasure. He removes my waistcoat and runs his hand under my top, up to my bra. He feels me over the fabric. I glance at his wife. She hasn't moved, but the look on her face tells me that she appreciates what she sees.
I run a hand over the crotch of her husband, who moans contentedly between my lips. I undo his zipper and grab his cock, pull it out, stiff of desires. He thrusts lasciviously in the air, with my fingers around him.
Suddenly he lifts me up and lays me on my back, on his desk. He takes off my shoes. I don't take my eyes off his wife. She has one hand in her blouse, she’s caressing herself. He unbuttons my jeans and slides them down my legs. I find myself in panties in the house of complete strangers. I let him take my underwear off and my butt ends up against his cold desk. Their visible excitement adds to mine. The woman comes stand behind her husband, holding his cock with one hand.
It is she who brings him closer and who demands to penetrate me.
Our hungry breaths respond to each other. His sex is pointing at the entrance of my body and he pushes inside me, with a long moan, as his wife's hand is now on his testicles and I can feel her fingers as he comes in again. Seeing this couple above me enjoying my body is a real trip. I grab the cell phone next to my head, find the camera option, and start filming the action, from my point of view. The thought of them replaying the video later would almost make me come.
I stop him in his tracks, I feel he's going to come too fast. I turn and lean over his desk, offering my bare butt. He penetrates me again, preparing my furious desire with his thumb.
 
— Look, she says. She's just waiting for it! Take her ass! Fuck her good!
 
Two more thrusts and I would have come, if he hadn't suddenly stopped to change holes. He enters slowly, to the hilt. Then he pulls out and comes in again, before pounding me as if I was going to leave right away. The angle of his cock is pressing in the right place, I feel my muscles closing in on him, the warmth in the pit of my stomach washes over me.
 
— Listen to her moan! She loves your cock!
 
Her little comments turn me on even more.
 
— I think she’s coming! Come in her ass!
 
Her husband's groans are already taking me far away. My body is no longer mine, it convulses with pleasure, with each of his determined movement in me. He punctuates his orgasm in my body with serious thrusts, trembling, holding himself to my hips. I let myself drool over his desk.
 
After a tender kiss from the writer on my back, they offer me to take a shower down the hall.
Coming out of the bathroom, I hear them fucking like animals in the office. I go back down tiptoeing, leaving them to their business.
 
In this charming hall, I find the splint against the wall and the sign "Open House" freshly removed from the grass. Two visual proofs that this was only a ploy to get someone in.
Maybe I’ll come by and be naïve once again…


© Tous droits réservés - Charlie M.P. - 11/10/2021​