Aiden isn't aware of his audience

She stood up wearing only the tank top she’d never taken off. The hem clinging around her belly button. The rest of her bare.

Giving her legs a moment to find their strength again, she walked to the hallway. She approached the corner into the living room and stopped.

Aiden was still on the couch. His sweats were pushed low, his legs spread, one hand braced beside him on the cushion while the other stroked slowly up and down the length of his cock. His head was tipped back. She could see him tensing with each pass. He was completely focused, lost in what he was doing.

He hadn’t heard her. Had no idea she was there and she didn’t move. Barely breathed. Just watched.

His cock looked even bigger than his sweats alluded to when she’d looked earlier on the couch. Thick. Long. Even from where she stood the veins visibly standing out along the shaft, and the head was dark and wet in his fist. Her thighs clenched instinctively. The girl that night, whatever he said her name was… the “daddy” girl - she’d said something through the doors. Something Natalie hadn’t been able to forget.

Jesus, how are you this big?

At first, she’d chocked it up to inexperience. Yet listening to the girl as they went on, she didn’t sound inexperienced. Then her mind wandered. As days went by, she unsuccessfully tried to tune out the question. Now, standing here, she could see it for herself. That girl hadn’t been exaggerating. No need to inflate his ego.

Natalie’s eyes followed the slow movement of his hand as he stroked from base to tip. The way his grip shifted and turned a little as he stroked. She found herself staring fixatedly not just on watching him masturbate, but the sheer size of him.

She wondered what he’d feel like in her hand. How far her fingers would reach. How much she could hold in only one. Or if she’d need both just to wrap around him properly. The thought made her thighs press together, the heat between them sparking again despite the guilt that had sent her out here in the first place.

Her gaze followed the drop of his wrist at the bottom of each stroke. He was thick and every movement exaggerated that. It looked like more than she’d imagined. More than she’d prepared herself for. That dildo, as big as it was, didn’t have veins like his did. Didn’t twitch under the pressure of her hand like his would. Didn’t throb the way he was right now, just from thinking about her, like his did.

She gently leaned against the wall, watching from behind, over the arm of the couch. Her bare butt touching the cold surface bringing in to focus that she was still exposed below the waist and her hand wasted no time taking advantage.

Aiden’s fist tightened slightly, the slow glide now firmer. He imagined her naked above him, her knees braced on either side of his hips, sweatpants bunched around his thighs. Her tank top gone letting her bare breasts sway before him. He’d lean up, take one nipple into his mouth feeling her shiver as she lowered herself.

Natalie’s breathing shifted. Her hand moved between her legs again, working in time with what she was seeing. She watched the deliberate movement of his fist, each stroke was long, and his grip was twisting at the head. Her stomach tensed watching him. She imagined reaching over the couch and taking him in her own hand.

Aiden’s head tipped back slightly. In his mind, her pussy hovered over his cock, dragging along the length, holding just above his head. Then she’d sink down slowly, inching him inside, to stretch around him.

He could see her pause there, holding him just inside. Her hands gripping his arms, or shoulders, her brows tight as she tried to breathe through it. He was too big. He could see it in her face. Feel the way her thighs trembled. The slow rock of her hips as she adjusted, trying to take more, clearly wanting it all.

His hand was starting to pick up his pace, unable to wait for his mind to get her to start moving fast enough.

He imagined her lifting slightly, then easing down again. A slow grind that dragged every inch deeper. Her jaw would be clenching, just as her cunt was, gripping as she **** herself to take him. Her legs shook, and he held her waist to steady her, but didn’t stop her. He’d let her struggle through. They always did.

She’d let out a sound, something low and tight, when her body finally gave in and took him the last bit of the way.

Behind him, Natalie’s thighs had started to shake too. One hand pulled at alternating nipples, when one got too sensitive, she’d move to the other. The other hand moved between her legs again, stroking hard and fast. She was wet enough that she had to be careful to not make noise. Her gaze never left the way he held himself, taking note of what it looked like he enjoyed. The way his hips twitched every time his hand passed over the tip.

And he had no idea she was watching.

His grip shifted and he rubbed the palm of his hand over the head gathering precum to use as lube. His legs spread wider on the couch threatening to ruin the elastic in the waistband of his sweats. His hips thrusting upward in shallow lifts that matched the pressure of his hand. The couch creaked faintly under him.

In his mind, she was back on the couch now, exactly where she’d been earlier. Reclined, one leg hooked over his lap, the other draped over the back rest. Her top pushed up over her tits. No panties this time. Just bare skin and a shaved pussy beneath her shorts.

His hand slid up the inside of her thigh.

She was warm. Still slightly slick from how wet she was from what they both knew had been building all night. He reached higher and she made no effort to stop him. Her legs parted a little more. Her breath caught, but she kept still.

He stroked himself harder now.

He imagined brushing the back of his knuckles along her pussy first. Feeling the heat coming off of her. Then letting two fingers slip through, testing how wet she really was. Her hips twitching at the contact. Her hand curling into the throw pillow beside her head.

His cock throbbed in his fist and his strokes quickened.

She’d be watching him. Mouth parted, chest rising with every breath. Her eyes on his, daring him to keep going, so he would. He’d press inside with two fingers, feeling her clench. Then he’d look her in the eye, whispering how ready she felt.

His hand moved faster, louder now from the sound of the precum squelching in his grip, the pressure in his balls building as they tightened.

Behind the couch, Natalie watched it build. His body tensing. His jaw looked tight, even from her angle. That rhythm in his hand getting rougher, needier. His hips started to thrust into his fist more. Each movement more urgent than the last.

She could feel it coming before she saw it.

His head pressed back. His lips parted with a low grunt. His hand was flying up and down his length now, with a squelching noise from the lubrication his own precum was providing. The muscles in his stomach tightened, and then it hit him.

The first pulse made his whole body jerk. His cock twitched hard in his fist. She couldn’t see where it landed, but the arc was sharp, the motion unmistakable. His abs flexed, lifting his shoulders from the back of the couch, while his back pressed into it. Another pulse. Then another.

He came hard. His neck craned back, and his mouth open. The sound of it made her own legs shake.

That was enough.

Her body clenched around nothing. The pressure that had been building since he came out of his room shirtless, since he perved on her the moment he sat on the couch, since his hands touched her feet, it snapped tight and fast. She bit down hard into the side of her hand to stay quiet. Her hips grinding against her own hand. Her toes curled against the floor. Her other hand pressed between her thighs, working through the wave even as her muscles locked and trembled.

She stayed hunched there, braced against the wall, thighs quaking. Her orgasm rolled through her in sharp, tightening pulses, each one stealing her breath as she kept her teeth buried in her hand. The smell of herself from earlier clung to her fingers. Her knuckles were damp from her mouth.

But her eyes never left him.

When his hand wiped across his chest and neck, the motion stunned her. He’d come that far. That hard. Her mind could barely keep up. The idea of how much, how fast, of it hitting him that high pushed a final tremor through her. Her knees buckled, and her hand dropped from between her legs, slick and shaking, to brace against her thighs in support to hold her up.

She stayed like that for a second longer as she gathered herself. She suddenly became aware that she was only wearing her shirt. It didn’t even reach her butt. Everything under it was still bare, flushed, and soaked. And since he finished, he could be getting up any time.

She turned, breathing hard, and started back toward her room. But her foot slipped slightly sweaty and weakened, in her post orgasmic state. Just a soft scuff on the wood.

His head snapped toward the sound, but the hallway was empty. And then, a second later, the quiet tap of her bedroom door closing.

His eyes stayed locked on the hallway, still trying to catch his breath.

She’d been there.

The realization struck him right in his chest. She’d seen him. While he was stroking himself in her living room. More than that. Cumming all over himself on her couch to thoughts of her.

He looked down at himself, and the mess that streaked up his stomach and chest, and exhaled slowly.

Fuck.

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