The Very Boring Sleepover

I pace around my bedroom, toothbrush sticking out of my mouth. Irene wears a sheer nightdress and lies with her legs propped up on my bed, one over the other, knees sticking up in the air. She flicks through her phone, the small satchel laying on the ground apparently all that she needs to live-in with me for the rest of my days.

“Don’t you have family? Or friends?” I ask, the words coming out malformed with my mouth full of toothpaste. “How can you just start… living here with me?”

Irene looks up at me and frowns in distaste at the sight of that toothbrush.

“This is my job,” Irene simply says, and then she looks back down at her phone, continuing to scroll through it.

“But still,” I insist, ducking into the bathroom to rinse my mouth. Irene tilts her head to the side as she sees me going in, tracking my actions inside the bathroom—I’m not to close the door while I’m in there. “You’re giving up your entire life to track my every action. How can that possibly be worth whatever they’re paying you?”

“You’re not getting out of this so easily,” Irene says, watching me continue to brush inside the bathroom. “So don’t even bother.”

“I wasn’t trying to,” I reply. A pause to gargle some water. “I’m just confused as to why you would ever agree to this!”

“It’s none of your business,” she says, sounding faintly annoyed.

“That makes it sound like you’ve got something to hide,” I say, glancing back at her through the doorway.

“There isn’t,” she says flatly. “This is my job. That’s all.”

I’m not convinced, but I don’t press the matter further. I have plenty of time to work on her… just as she has plenty of time to work on me. I’ll have to play this very carefully. Even two decades spent dealing with Vidocq hasn’t prepared me for having to watch my every single action—at least I had some privacy in the safety of my old New York apartment.

“Have it your way,” I laugh, setting my toothbrush aside. “Just don’t go complaining about what you’re about to see next.”

“What do you mean?” she asks.

I unbutton my pants and fish my cock out from my underwear. I don’t need to turn around and look at her to figure out her reaction. The low exhalation that I hear is plenty enough. I smile, my back facing her, and piss, silently wondering what she’ll think if she ever catches me with a hard-on.

But, as I turn around and catch her curled up on my bed, her nightdress so thin that I can all but see her nipples, I realise that might not take too much longer.

“Can’t you get decent?” she asks as I walk out of the bathroom, sans pants and underwear.

My cock dangles about as I take off my shirt and toss it into the hamper in the bathroom. The staff will take care of the laundry tomorrow. A perk of living in this house, though I do have to be sure to check the clothing for bugs. I haven’t found any, yet.

“I like to sleep in the nude,” I say, approaching the bed. “I don’t see why that would change for you.”

“They could have told me that,” I hear Irene murmur under her breath, and then she shifts to the far side of the bed as I get on it, spreading my legs wide.

Her surreptitious glance at my cock does not go unnoticed. I lean on my pillow and face her, studying the sharp lines of her face, the way her dark eyes bore into mine, not even the slightest bit embarrassed at being caught checking me out. I have to remind myself that she’s probably been trained in the art of seduction. To fall for her feminine wiles at this moment…

“If you so much as try to touch me while I sleep,” she purrs, looking at my flaccid cock again.

She mimes a breaking motion with her hand, gives me a sweet smile, and closes her eyelids.

“You can’t actually be going to sleep yet. You have to wait for me to fall asleep first,” I mutter quietly. “Or I’d be able to slink away and do whatever suspicious things you think I’m up to.”

I see a small smile cross her face, but her eyes remain shut.

Strange woman.

I go and shut off the lights, and then return to bed, pulling up the covers. But in the darkness, I can still make out her outline, and I watch her, checking the pace of her breathing (not that I’d need much of an excuse to stare at her chest, anyways), seeing if she’s really fallen asleep. It would appear not.

So I lay in my bed, staring up at the ceiling, staying awake. It’s not that I’d try to do anything, if I thought she had fallen asleep. This is only the first day, and I need to be sure of things before I can risk blowing my cover… or getting frisky.

I feel the minutes creep by as I lay there in bed, stock still, conscious of the warm body breathing beside me. Her breathing seems to have imperceptibly slowed since she first went to ‘sleep’, but a paranoid part of me refuses to believe that she’s actually fallen asleep. Much more likely that she’s faking it. I continue to lay there, my mind drifting through idle thoughts.

As soon as I feel myself begin to drift off, I pinch myself, using the pain to hold on to consciousness. I refuse to fall asleep before she does, if only to prove to myself that I’ll have options for later. But it’s been such a long day, my eyelids are so heavy, the bed nice and comfy, so relaxing, so easy to just… drift…

“You’re not going to stay awake for longer than me, you know,” I hear Irene say.

I jolt up and stare at her.

“What makes you think that?” I say, taking a second to clear my throat first.

“I’ve trained for situations like this, learned the techniques to stay up. I can operate on half an hour of sleep per day for weeks on end. Can you?” she asks.

I respond by laying my head back on the pillow, comfortable snores sounding within the minute.