It happened too fast. You heard voices in the hallway, George's deeper rumble mixing with Randall's higher, softer tones, and they were getting closer. The bedroom. They were coming to the bedroom. You looked around frantically - the window was too high, the door too risky. The closet was your only option.
You slipped inside, pulling the slatted door closed just as the bedroom door swung open. Through the narrow gaps in the closet slats, you had a partial view of the room - the bed, the vanity mirror, sections of floor. Your heart hammered in your chest.
"I've been thinking about this all week," George's voice was thick with desire. You watched his shadow cross the room, heard the rustle of clothing.
"Me too," Randall replied, but it wasn't Randall's voice. Not really. It was Laura's - soft, breathy, feminine in a way that made your stomach clench. "I can't stop thinking about you when you're not around."
Did Randall even realize what she was saying? Or was this all Laura now?
Through the slats you saw them come into view. George pulled Randall close, his hands on her waist, and she melted into him in a way that looked so natural it hurt to watch. This wasn't awkward or hesitant - Randall moved like she'd done this a hundred times. Because Laura had.
Their kissing started slow but escalated quickly. George's hands roamed over Laura's body - Randall's body - squeezing, exploring, and you heard a soft moan that absolutely came from Randall's throat but sounded nothing like your best friend. It was feminine, breathy, full of want.
"God, Laura," George groaned between kisses. "You drive me crazy."
"Good," she purred back, and even in the dim light filtering through the closet slats, you could see the satisfaction on Randall's face. She was enjoying this. Not tolerating it, not enduring it - actively enjoying it.
Clothes started coming off. George's shirt first, then his hands working on the buttons of Randall's blouse. You should look away. You should close your eyes. But you couldn't. You watched, transfixed and horrified, as George peeled the fabric away revealing the lacy bra underneath, the curves of Miss Card's breasts threatening to spill out.
"You're so fucking beautiful," George murmured, and Randall arched into his touch when his hands cupped those breasts, thumbs brushing over the fabric.
"Touch me," Randall whispered, and you'd never heard that tone from your friend before. ****. Needy. Completely female.
Your cock was getting hard despite yourself, despite the wrongness of the situation, despite the jealousy burning in your gut. You were watching your best friend about to get fucked by your teacher, and your body was responding like this was the hottest thing you'd ever seen.
Because it kind of was.
George unhooked the bra and Randall shrugged out of it, letting those massive breasts free. Even from your awkward angle you could see how they moved, heavy and perfect. George made a sound of appreciation and bent his head to them, and Randall's head tipped back, lips parting in pleasure.
"Oh fuck, yes," she gasped, fingers threading through George's hair, holding him there. "Just like that."
The skirt came off next, then the panties, and suddenly Randall was naked except for the heels she was still wearing. George stripped down fast, his cock hard and prominent, and you remembered walking in on the blowjob earlier, remembered exactly what that cock looked like in Randall's mouth.
They moved toward the bed and your viewing angle shifted. Through the mirror on the vanity you could now see more - too much. Randall climbing onto the bed on hands and knees, looking back over her shoulder at George with an expression of pure lust. That wasn't Randall's face. That was Laura Card's face, Laura's hunger, Laura's sexuality.
"I need you," Randall said, and she reached back with one hand, spreading herself open in invitation. "Please, George. I need to feel you inside me."
George groaned and positioned himself behind her, hands gripping those wide hips, and you held your breath as he pushed forward. Randall's mouth opened in a silent cry as George entered her, her back arching, her fingers clutching at the sheets.
"Fuck, you're tight," George grunted, and he started to move.
The sounds were what destroyed you. Skin slapping against skin, the creak of the bed, George's harsh breathing and Randall's cries - high, feminine, uninhibited. She wasn't holding back at all. Every thrust drove sounds from her throat that made your cock throb painfully in your jeans.
"Yes! Fuck, yes!" Randall was practically shouting now, pushing back to meet George's thrusts. In the mirror you could see her face - eyes half-closed, mouth open, completely lost in pleasure. "Harder! Oh god, harder!"
George obliged, slamming into her with enough **** that her whole body jolted forward with each thrust, those huge breasts swaying beneath her. The sight was pornographic, impossible to look away from.
"You like that?" George demanded, smacking one of Randall's ass cheeks hard enough that the sound cracked through the room.
"Yes! Fuck yes!" Randall cried out, and you could hear the smile in her voice. "I love it when you fuck me like this!"
Your hand had somehow found its way to your crotch, pressing against your erection through your jeans. You shouldn't be touching yourself. This was wrong. This was Randall. Your best friend. Your dude.
But that person getting railed on the bed wasn't Randall anymore. Not in this moment. That was Laura Card, taking George Hanson's cock like she was made for it, making sounds that would haunt your fantasies for months.
George pulled out suddenly and Randall whined at the loss, actually whined, before he flipped her onto her back. You watched Randall's legs spread wide, heels pointing at the ceiling, as George pushed back inside her. This new angle gave you a clearer view in the mirror - Randall's face contorted in pleasure, her tits bouncing with every hard thrust, her hands clutching at George's shoulders.
"I'm gonna come," George warned, his rhythm getting erratic.
"Inside me," Randall gasped. "Come inside me, George. Fill me up."
Wait. What? Was she on birth control? Did Laura's body have an IUD or something? The practical concerns flashed through your mind even as George slammed deep one final time and groaned, his body going rigid as he came inside Randall.
"Fuck!" Randall cried out, and her body tensed, back arching off the bed as her own orgasm hit. You watched your best friend come on another man's cock, watched her shake and gasp and cling to him, completely lost in pleasure.
They collapsed together, a tangle of sweaty limbs, both breathing hard. George rolled to the side, pulling Randall with him, and they lay there in the aftermath. You could see Randall's face now - flushed, satisfied, peaceful. She looked happy.
"That was amazing," George murmured, pressing a kiss to Randall's forehead. "You're amazing."
"Mmm," Randall hummed contentedly, snuggling closer. "You're not so bad yourself."
They lay there for what felt like an eternity but was probably only minutes. Your legs were cramping in the closet, your cock was painfully hard, and your mind was reeling. You'd just watched your best friend have sex. Not awkward, fumbling, drunk sex like you two had shared. Real sex. Enthusiastic, skilled, loud sex where Randall was completely female, completely present, completely someone else.
Finally George stirred. "I should probably go. Early morning tomorrow."
"Okay," Randall said softly, and even her voice was different now - drowsy, satisfied, feminine. "Text me when you get home?"
"Of course." George kissed her again, deep and slow, before pulling away and gathering his clothes. You watched him dress, watched Randall stay sprawled on the bed, naked and thoroughly fucked, making no move to cover herself.
"Lock the door on your way out?" Randall asked.
"Will do. Night, beautiful."
"Night."
George left and you heard the apartment door close a minute later. Randall lay there on the bed, one hand trailing down her body, touching herself idly. Then she giggled - actually giggled - and rolled onto her stomach, hugging a pillow.
You waited, barely breathing, as minutes ticked by. Finally Randall seemed to remember herself. She sat up suddenly, looking around the room with confusion on her face, like she was trying to remember how she got there.
"Fuck," she muttered, and that was Randall's voice again. Your friend. "Tim?"
You didn't answer, frozen in the closet.
"Tim?" Louder now, worried. Randall grabbed a robe from the floor and wrapped it around herself before heading toward the door. "Tim? Where'd you go?"
She left the bedroom and you heard her moving through the apartment, calling your name. Your heart was pounding so hard you thought it might explode. What the fuck were you supposed to do now? Admit you'd been in the closet the whole time? Pretend you'd left and somehow snuck back in?
You waited another minute, then carefully, quietly, eased the closet door open.
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