Echoes

The bedroom was quiet, almost too quiet — the kind of silence that comes right after a storm, or right before another one.

Claire lay on her back, one arm folded under her head, staring at the ceiling. Her legs were tangled with John’s, their bodies still close but not quite touching. He hadn’t said much since they got into bed. He wasn’t asleep. She could feel it in his breathing.

A soft, dull thump came through the wall.

They both heard it.

Another one followed — slow, steady, unmistakable.

John shifted. Claire didn’t move.

Then came the second sound: a faint moan. Feminine. Pleasured. Wordless.

Claire smiled, just barely. “Well,” she said, “they didn’t waste any time.”

John didn’t answer.

Thump. Again. Then again. Rhythmic now. Deliberate.

“She sounds good,” Claire whispered, turning her head slightly toward him.

Still no answer.

“Marcus must be giving her everything,” she added, her voice drifting like smoke. “She’s making those sounds I made last night.”

John’s breath caught. She noticed.

Claire slid her hand under the sheet, fingers tracing the edge of his hip. “Are you hard?”

He hesitated.

“Don’t lie.”

“…Yeah.”

“Thought so.”

She rolled onto her side, pressed her chest against his back, and slipped her hand down. She found him. Hot. Stiff.

“Mmm.” Her voice warmed. “Feels like someone’s enjoying the show.”

She began to stroke him slowly, her other hand resting on his chest. The sounds through the wall grew louder. Nia was moaning now, unfiltered and unashamed. The headboard was tapping faster.

Claire kissed the back of John’s neck. “He’s probably behind her. Pulling her hair. Taking his time.”

John groaned softly. His hips twitched.

“And she’s loving it,” Claire murmured. “She’s not faking it. That’s real.”

The rhythm continued. Wet slaps, breathy gasps.

Claire’s strokes matched their tempo.

“You hear it?” she whispered. “Every thrust?”

He nodded.

Claire moved over him, slowly pulling the sheets aside. She straddled his waist, grinding her hips down — not to take him in yet. Just to tease.

“Do you want me?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“More than she wants him?”

“…I don’t know.”

That earned him a playful slap across the face.

“You’re such a little cuck sometimes,” she said, smiling. “But honest. That’s something.”

Claire reached down and guided him to her entrance. She hovered there, just brushing the tip against herself. Wet. Ready.

“Listen carefully,” she whispered, lowering onto him — slow, deliberate. “Let’s see how long you can last.”

She bottomed out, and John gasped.

Claire stayed still, letting the sensation settle.

Next door, Nia cried out again, louder this time.

Claire chuckled. “You hear that? She’s close.”

She began to move, her hips rising and falling in time with the noises through the wall. Every thrust next door echoed in Claire’s body. Every sound from Nia became a challenge.

“She’s getting fucked like she matters,” Claire whispered. “Like she’s a real woman.”

John’s hands clutched her thighs.

Claire leaned forward, her hair brushing against his cheek. “Are you going to cum like a loser before I do?”

“No,” he said, straining.

“Prove it.”

She rode him harder now, keeping the rhythm — faster, wetter. The bed creaked under them. Claire’s breath came quick, high.

Then — a cry through the wall.

Nia.

Claire’s hips bucked sharply.

John moaned.

She froze.

“You’re close,” she said.

He nodded, eyes shut.

She pulled back an inch, teasing.

“Not yet,” she whispered.

But the sounds next door wouldn’t stop. Nia was begging now, voice broken. Marcus was grunting low, primal.

Claire sank down again.

John whimpered.

“Don’t cum,” she said again. “Be a big boy.”

But he couldn’t.

He bucked under her, muscles tensing. His face twisted with shame.

He came.

Claire felt it. Felt him. The twitch. The heat. The letdown.

She rolled her eyes and climbed off.

“You lasted less than her,” she muttered, wiping herself with the edge of the sheet.

John lay there, humiliated, panting.

Claire got off the bed, walked around to his side, and grabbed his hair gently.

“I didn’t cum,” she said. “Again.”

“I’m sorry—”

She pushed his face between her thighs.

“Fix it.”

John obeyed instantly, his mouth working fast. She was soaked. Not just from him — from the sounds, the tension, the denied orgasm.

Claire moaned softly, grinding against his face.

Next door, the rhythm hadn’t stopped. Marcus was still fucking Nia. She was still making noise.

“Use them,” Claire hissed. “Let her moans show you what I want.”

John flicked his tongue harder.

“Faster,” she ordered. “Match them.”

He did.

Claire started to shake.

“They’re fucking,” she gasped. “You’re licking. That’s how it’s supposed to be.”

Her hands twisted in his hair.

Nia screamed.

Claire did too — right into John’s mouth.

She clenched, came hard, and didn’t let him stop until she was fully done.

Then she pulled away, breathing heavy.

She looked down at him — face wet, lips red.

“Good job,” she said. “Now sleep.”

She collapsed beside him.

John lay silent, humiliated and satisfied all at once.

The wall was finally quiet.

But the echo stayed.