Guilty Pleasures

I couldn’t even begin to explain the pleasure that coursed through my body at that moment. I’d barely touched myself, but the feeling was already intense. I grabbed a pillow and bit it, trying to stifle the involuntary moan that exited my lips.

Pain followed pleasure. My lower lips were still sore from Mr. Weston's touch, but with that pain came the sweet memories of what he had done to me. It only increased my desire. I ached. I ached so badly for his touch. To feel the sweet mixture of shame and pleasure as he touched me however he pleased and called out my name in ecstasy. Anna. Anna. I felt as if those words would echo in my head forever.

The ache of emptiness was becoming too much. I remembered the way his hand had slipped below my panties. Though he touched my lower lips, he never actually pressed into me. I couldn’t help but wonder the pleasure I might have felt if his fingers had slipped inside me. As I slid my fingers lower, I tried to imagine his touch, but it was no good. It wasn't him.

With my other hand, I teased my breasts underneath my bra. I tried to remember the way his fingers felt against my skin, the hardness that pressed against me, and the ragged sound of his breathing as he had his way with my body.

My fingers explored my lower lips. I tried to touch my clit in the same way that he had, but something about it wasn’t quite right. I gave up and moved them to my entrance, hoping that they might help to fill the ever-growing emptiness I felt.

But they didn’t. I thrust my fingers inside myself desperately, begging my body for some sort of satisfaction. But it didn’t work. All I managed to do was increase the feelings of emptiness and desire that I felt before. I whimpered pathetically as I thought of the way his hands had touched me. How could it be so different? How could it be so good?

The feelings were building inside me. I longed for his touch, for the sweet sensations he filled me with, to have my body tremble and explode with passion the way it did when he touched me. But satisfaction eluded me. Every time I thought I was close, my body would retreat from the sensation as if it felt I were some kind of intruder.

It was no good. I wanted him. I was worried. Would my body ever again know satisfaction without his touch? I focused again on his breathing, his voice, hoping it would help. Anna. Anna.

"Ms. Walton?"

I gasped and covered myself quickly. I looked around but saw nobody. Who was that just now? It wasn’t Mr. Weston. I’d locked the door, there was no way anyone else could have snuck in. Did I imagine it? I heard the voice again.

"Ms. Walton, are you there?"

I heard where it came from this time. It was the wall intercom. I let out a relieved sigh. My heart was racing a mile a minute. I took a few deep breaths to steady myself and went over to answer it. I stared at the buttons a second, trying to figure out which one might be “respond.” I pressed one at random and hoped I was right.

"Yes, how may I help you?" I asked.

"This is Chef Phillip. I'm letting you know lunch will be done shortly," the voice crackled.

"Oh, thank you. We'll be down as soon as Mr. Weston is finished with his bath," I responded.

"Yes, Ma'am."

I sighed. My heartbeat was still slowing down. Any mood I had earlier was gone now. All that was left were the feelings of dissatisfaction and emptiness between my legs. 

I wasn’t sure exactly how long Mr. Weston usually bathed, so I had no clue when he would be finished. Thomas told me before that Mr. Weston kept no schedule and could do as he pleased, but he also mentioned the chef did have a schedule. I’m sure Mr. Weston wanted to eat his food while it was still hot. At the very least, I should let him know about lunch. He could tell me what he wanted to do from there. 

I went to the bathroom door and knocked gently. "Mr. Weston, lunch is almost ready.”

I waited for a minute, but I didn’t hear him respond. I was pretty quiet though. Maybe he couldn’t hear me through the heavy door. I knocked a little louder.

"Mr. Weston?" 

Silence. I was starting to worry. I mean, these bathrooms were really well built, but they weren’t exactly soundproof, right? Shouldn’t he be able to hear me still? My voice, if not the actual words, at least. Why wasn’t he responding?

“Mr. Weston, are you alright?” I called out.

I pressed my ear to the door but heard nothing. No voices, no movement, not even water. Panic filled my body. What if something had happened to him? There was tile everywhere. Had he slipped? Had he fallen unconscious? What could I do if he had? 

Concern overtook my reason. I opened the door and rushed in. Not that I had anything to worry about. He was definitely fine.

He was sitting on the edge of the tub so that only his feet were in the water. His head was leaning back against the wall, his eyes were closed. However, none of that was what I was focused on at that moment. All I could see was the way his hands were moving furiously along his member.

I knew I shouldn’t watch, but I couldn’t help myself. The same fire that I felt last night burned between my legs hotter than ever. Though his hands covered most of his member, just knowing what he was doing sent shivers down my spine. I could feel wetness forming between my legs.

I wanted to touch him. I wanted him to touch me. My body ached to be a replacement for those hands. To feel his hardness deep inside of me and finally satisfy the never-ending emptiness I felt. I longed to have my naked body pressed against the side of the bath, to be thrown across his bed and ravaged, to have him look at me with eyes filled with lust and passion, to hear my name on his lips the way it had been last night. 

His body suddenly stiffened. His strokes became faster. A muffled grunt echoed softly in the air. My heart was racing, my body was so numb I could barely stand.

“Anna,” he whispered huskily.

That snapped me back to reality. It was like somebody had dunked me in ice-cold water. I now all too clearly realized where I was and exactly what was going on. I was so surprised to hear my name that I reacted without thinking.

"Mr. Weston!" I cried out in shock.

He opened his eyes and shot up in a panic. "A-Anna?!"

Before either of us could move his crotch began pulsing. Thick streams of white shot across the tub, breaking the surface of the water. We both stood silently in a state of shocked horror. After a second, the pulses began to slow, the last few drops dripping down his fingers.

"Lunch is ready!" I finally blurted out.

I ran from the room and immediately hid in the closet. My face felt like it was burning. The image of him touching himself played over and over inside my head like a scene from a movie. I slid down onto the floor of the dark closet and covered my face with my hands. I let out a muffled groan. I felt as if another "never to be mentioned" conversation would soon be in our future.