Teasing

Solana turned to her side and hugged her pillow tightly, struggling to stifle her sobs. On the other hand, she heard Henry’s low whisper to Ana—a whisper not meant for her, yet it was the very thing that made her night grow even darker.

Before long, the luxurious double-deck bed began to sway. The wide wood groaned with every heavy movement from below. Solana heard the clinking of belt buckles and the sound of clothes hitting the floor. Then, the silence was completely shattered by a deep, baritone grunt.

Solana quickly pulled the blanket over herself and clutched her pillow. She buried her face in it, trying to deafen herself. But her imagination was a traitor. She could clearly see in her mind Henry's hard muscles rippling, the sweat dripping down his chest, and the ferocity of his every move.

In the midst of being caught between her blanket and pillow, a strange sensation began to crawl deep within Solana. A warm current starts from her groin and spreads throughout her entire body. It was a mixture of intense jealousy and a feeling she had never experienced before in her life—an overwhelming lust she couldn't bring herself to admit.

She was disgusted with herself. Why was she feeling this way about the man who had insulted her? But the truth was, her body seemed to be rebelling. Every crisp curse Henry uttered below and every one of Ana's squeals, seemed to make her gasp in the dark. She squeezed her eyes shut, desperately praying for it to end, while her thighs instinctively pressed and rubbed against each other because of an inexplicable itch deep inside her.

What felt like hours of relentless thrusting and moaning passed below. Finally, she felt everything come to a halt. The violent shaking stopped, and the moans were replaced by soft breathing and the scent of sex mixing with the cold air of the aircon. The room became peaceful; the only thing she could hear was the sound of her own heart, thumping so loudly it felt like it wanted to burst from her chest.

Has he gone out yet? Is this desecration finally over? Solana asked herself. 

She moved slowly, ensuring that her bed wouldn’t make a single sound. She wanted to make sure the danger was gone, that she could finally breathe a sigh of relief. She cautiously peered over the edge of the bunk bed once more.

But she was met with a shock; instead of an empty floor or Henry’s back, she was greeted by a pair of glinting, sharp eyes.

Henry was lying below, his head resting on his own arm like a king resting after a battle. And Ana... Ana was kneeling between Henry’s thighs. In the shadows, Solana saw the movement of Ana’s head—licking and feasting upon Henry’s burning weapon, which seemed as though it hadn't tired at all. It felt as if every stroke of Ana’s tongue was being felt by Solana on her own skin.

Her eyes met Henry’s. In the bright moonlight, Solana saw a mocking smirk form on Henry’s lips. He wasn't surprised to see her. Instead, he gripped Ana’s hair tighter, forcing the maid’s face deeper into his manhood while maintaining a direct, challenging stare into Solana’s eyes.

Solana quickly averted her gaze and lay back down on her stomach. She hugged herself, her heart racing like horses competing in a sprint. She felt as if she had been caught in a great sin, an act of voyeurism that shamed her entire being.

There, under her blanket, she couldn't help but reach for her panties. Her hand trembled as it slowly brushed against the thin fabric. She gasped when she felt the intense slickness and moisture in her center. Her jewel seemed to have its own pulse, demanding attention, as if aching for the pleasure her eyes had just witnessed.

She bit her lower lip hard until she tasted the slight saltiness of her own sweat. Her entire body felt like it was on fire—a fever brought on by longing. The image of Henry looking at her while being served by Ana played repeatedly in her mind, fueling a forbidden desire she should never have felt for her own stepson.

"Oh, God... please forgive me," she whispered into the dark, but her finger seemed to have a mind of its own as it moved slowly over her womanhood. Every stroke felt like the shadow of Henry’s hand. Every tickle felt like the young man’s mockery.

Solana didn't know how she would face the morning, knowing Henry had caught her watching. Yet every throb of her jewel served as a reminder that on this night, Henry wasn't the only one who had sinned—because in her mind, and in her wet and longing body, she had also surrendered to that man's ferocity. As she closed her eyes, Henry's face was the last thing she saw, along with every thrust he had given Ana earlier. The beauty of his back made her feel as if she were the one being taken; she bit her lower lip as she suddenly found pleasure in her own fingers while stroking her clitoris.