A little stress relief.

"Thanks, John!" you say to his retreating back.

"Anytime, John-boy," he calls over his shoulder. His big shoulders fill out his red silk shirt as he ambles down the hall.

You're tired from the drive, and tense across the shoulders from the crazy drivers on the expressway. A little stress relief, a shower and change sound like just the thing to relax and get ready for the party. You close the door, kick off your shoes and socks, and stretch your arms out to try and work out a few kinks.

Your room has a door out to the wooden porch circling the house, and your windows look out on beach grass, sand, and blue water. Maybe tomorrow you'll wander straight out to the beach first thing. You crank open a window and adjust the angle of the wooden slat blinds to get a little sea breeze into the room.

On a table pushed back into the corner, you notice a silver-framed photograph. It's a 3/4 profile portrait of a smiling young brunette wearing a V-neck velvet shirt and a gold script letter 'M' pendant. Megan as a high school senior?

You unpack a few essentials and pick through your beach wardrobe for something you'll look good in for the party. Setting the new outfit on the chair, you grab a terrycloth robe from the closet and shuck off your slacks-and-polo shirt travel outfit. You shrug into the soft robe, scoop up your old clothes and dump them in the rattan hamper in the bathroom.

Just one more thing.

You stretch out on the bed, rolling your shoulders into the soft robe and the quilted coverlet. Gold afternoon light slants through the wooden blinds and makes a zebra pattern across your body. You open the robe and think about the time John came to visit your place in the city. You went out clubbing together one night. You didn't manage to connect with anyone, but John hit it off with a foxy babe in red leather. They ended up back in your bedroom while you lay on the living room couch listening to them do it...again, and again, and again. They actually broke the bed frame. John's a good guy, bought you a new one next day.

You stroke your cock. It was fun listening to them, and you got a good long look at her on her way to the shower the next morning. You've had some good times together, you and John. You hope Megan's good for him. Closing your eyes, you think back on your last time you were out here. It was pretty fun till they started that drinking contest. There was that one girl, Bethany... she had those same brown eyes with one crossed a little, like Martha Stewart. She was coming onto you hard, and she asked if there was anything she could do for you, anything, and you said, "Show me you you make yourself come..." You stroke yourself, getting closer, when a flicker in the light makes you open your eyes.

There's someone outside your window, casting a shadow on the blinds. You can't see a face, the way they're angled, but you know your lower body is exposed. You hold your breath, wondering if you've been caught out. The shadow shifts, and you see a fingertip touch the bottom of the window pane, below the lowest blind. It's delicate, graceful, and has a little bit of smoothly shaped fingernail. The fingertip rubs up and down rhythmically a tiny distance on the glass, and you know you're being invited to go on.

Knowing you're being watched approvingly is all you need to know. Your cock swells, and before you know it, you're moaning and spurting hot jets on your chest. You squeeze your eyes shut and pump your hips up into your hand, before you let go and sink down into the soft bed cover.

When you open your eyes again, the shadow is gone.

You pad over to the adjoining bathroom, the tension from your trip released. You run a shower and wonder how things will go at the party tonight.