Chapter 28: Dirty Talk
The bar, Stan decided, has been set. He hadn’t yet had his chance to go over there, but he would.
He had watched the latest Keith and Lisa tape three times now, in total. The first time he’d had to watch it in two parts; he watched the second half later that same night, and despite himself, had jacked off again while watching it. He hadn’t wanted to, but once Lisa was on all fours and got that look on her face, that expression of confusion, as though the pain and pleasure were just too much to make sense of—well, he couldn’t help himself.
The next night, though, he was all business. He sat through the tape twice more, thinking of it like another photographer’s portfolio. He even considered taking notes, but decided not to; what would Marie make of them if she found them? But he stayed focused, professional, ignoring as best he could the pressure of his raging erection.
The first thing: there was nothing special about Lisa. There was nothing special about Keith either, of course, but he didn’t need to watch any more tapes to know that.
Lisa had nice tits, it was true, and her red hair was a pleasant distraction too. But she was fat; there was no way around it. Not obese, not disgusting, but her belly hung down and swung around when she took it from behind, and her ass jiggled noticeably even when Keith was on top of her.
And when it came to technique, there was nothing special there, either. They fucked in a lot of different ways, but nothing that Stan hadn’t tried, or at least seen, before. Keith gave it to her pretty hard but wasn’t especially rough or energetic. Mostly he just thrust his cock straight into her; she obviously enjoyed it but mostly just lay there—or sat there, or stood there, or whatever—and took it.
But one thing he noticed, even on the first viewing: Lisa talked a lot. That thing she said—I want you to fuck my ass—was the only time Stan had come just from someone saying something. It was so unexpected, so raw, so—so dirty. Strange to think of, when you made a habit of watching your neighbours having sex all the time, but that was it. She sounded like a dirty, filthy slut.
Once Stan figured that out, he noticed it all through the tape. Lisa didn’t talk constantly, but she talked a lot, and most of it was just like that, telling Keith exactly what she wanted and how she wanted it. Slap me, squeeze my tits, harder, faster. It wasn’t even anything that she said; it was the way she said it.
And the other thing was the way she looked at the camera. They usually set up the camera pretty close, a lot closer than anyone else did. When Lisa was ordering Keith around, harder, harder, deeper, right there, keep going, she usually looked right at the camera, looking straight into Stan’s eyes, wanting him. It was like Keith wasn’t in the room at all, just Lisa and her desire and Stan’s throbbing, aching cock.
So that was it. Nothing magical: just a word, a look. And the camera nice and close, closer than Stan had ever thought to try before. With Marie’s nice, lithe body, some decent lighting, and Stan’s video editing machine, he’d make a tape good enough to get the whole neighbourhood talking.
The next night, he was in bed before Marie for once. He hadn’t been drinking as much as usual, just a belt or two of scotch for courage—no, not for courage, just to help him relax. Relaxation was key for his plans.
“You want to make a tape tonight?” Marie asked as she came into the room.
Typical. The one time he for sure wanted to make a tape, and tonight she’d have a headache or a stomach ache or some damned thing. “Is that a problem?” Stan asked.
“No, no,” Marie raid quickly. Stan was listening for her to sigh as she said it; he hated nothing about her more than when she played the martyr. “I just didn’t realize. I would have come up sooner.”
Okay, so she wasn’t being the martyr. Fine. “Put something on,” he told her.
“You know—something sexy.” Stan tried to sound cool, detached. What was so wrong with asking her to put something attractive on? Was it such a stupid suggestion? He could feel his ears burning. He turned his back to her and bent over the camera to adjust the tripod.
Marie took only a couple of minutes in the closet. “How’s this?” she asked while Stan was still making adjustments.
He looked up and his breath caught in his throat. She had a white teddy on, all frills and ribbons at the bottom but sheer lace hugging her tightly from the waist up. And something he’d never seen her in before: white stockings and a garter belt. He’d never even seen her wear a garter belt, had she? Where’d she get that from?
“You look great,” he said. “Hang on—I’ll be there in just a sec.”
White balance, autofocus, the tripod set higher than the bed so that the lens would be just a little above them. Looked all right. He got behind the camera and checked through the viewfinder.
He hadn’t even noticed Marie get on the bed, but there she was, stretched out on her back, perfectly framed in the tiny screen. She looked over at him. “Smile,” Stan said, his voice only slightly above a whisper.
She smiled, a little smile, the minx, a sexy toothy little grin. One of her hands ran up her belly to her chest, then back down to her middle then down, between her thighs, which she lifted slightly with pleasure.
Where had this come from? She hadn’t looked this devilishly sexy in a long time. Stan was suddenly conscious of how he must look, in jogging pants and an old, torn t-shirt. He’d better get them off.
One more check of the viewfinder, slight adjustment to the zoom. Perfect. Record.
“How do you feel right now?” Stan said, his voice coming out a little louder than he’d expected. He pulled his shirt off.
“Good,” she said. It was a stupid answer, but the way she said it, with a little gasp, was perfect. Her hand was now clamped tightly between her thighs.
“And what do you want right now?” Stan asked as he took the pants off.
“I think,” she gazed at the ceiling, arched her back slightly, tugged at the lacy fabric on her chest with her free hand. “I’d like a nice, hard fuck.”
Had Marie ever said the word fuck before? Not that he could remember. Where had all this come from? Stan pushed the thought away. Who cared where it had come from—it was perfect.
Annoyingly, his cock hadn’t caught up just yet. It hung there, thick but soft, nothing he wanted to put in front of the camera.
“Come here,” Marie said. “Let me suck that big, hard cock.”
Well, that helped. He pulled on it a bit to get the blood flowing, and when it started to warm up he walked over to the side of the bed.
He hadn’t thought about this when he set up the camera. Marie would be between him and the camera; the action wouldn’t be visible on the tape. Nothing to be done about that now, unfortunately. Anyway, it didn’t really matter—more important was his stiffening cock, and Marie’s waiting mouth.
Now he could try doing what he planned: ordering Marie around while staring right into the camera. This would be good, very good.
Marie scrambled to the edge of the bed, reaching out for him. Stan still had his member in his hand, trying to get it good and hard. He looked directly into the camera. He had thought through all this. He was ready.
The first word, the first syllable, caught in his throat and refused to go any further. Suck my cock, he said in his head. Suck me off. Suck me off. But the words just wouldn’t come out.
Marie wasn’t waiting for orders, though. She eagerly, greedily, stuffed his half-erect cock into her mouth.
That was okay, at least. Stan actually liked getting head when he wasn’t fully hard. Marie had this way of rolling his cock around her mouth, getting her tongue over and under and around it. Usually it felt so good that it didn’t last—he’d stiffen right up and she would go to straight up-and-down sucking, which was fine but just not as good.
That’s what was happening now; he was finally feeling the muscles in his groin tighten, the head of his cock swelling and tingling.
The camera was not going to get any of this, though. Better get to the next part. He eased out from between Marie’s lips, and she gasped, trying to catch her breath.
He pushed her, not hard, just letting her know what was next. Then he remembered—he was going to tell her what to do, loud and clear. He looked up at the camera again, the big glass eye staring back at him.
Again, his voice failed him and the words wouldn’t come out. He had thought this through already: he was going to tell Marie to get on the bed so he could fuck her. It was exactly the way he wanted to sound, dominant and in control, ready to take her the way he always wanted to. Not like Stan the Husband—like an animal, like a bull. And he wanted her to cry, loving and hating it all together, and he wouldn’t care, he would just fuck her harder and faster, until—
Marie was on all fours, clutching one ass cheek, spreading herself for him. The lines of the garters, the curve of the stocking hems disappearing between her thighs, inviting him—
“Fuck me from behind,” she ordered him, her voice loud and clear. “Fuck me hard.”
Was she—Stan clambered onto the bed on his knees, got behind her, slid himself inside her—was she looking at the camera when she said that?
She wasn’t kidding around, either. As soon as he got into her, she thrust her hips back, good and hard, her ass slapping against him loudly. He pulled back to thrust again, and before he was ready she pushed back, completely out of sync.
There was something else, too.
He put his hands on her to slow her down a little, to let him get into her rhythm. He concentrated on the head of his cock, the little sensitive bit just under the head, felt it run along inside her, the indescribable pleasure of it, the perfect pleasure of fucking Marie from behind.
It wasn’t working.
He gave it a couple more tries, a couple more shoves, desperately willing it to stay up, stay hard. But it was no use; it slipped out and fell, fading from sight.
Marie’s ass was still bobbing back and forth but slowed down, and she looked back over her shoulder. “What’s wrong?” she said.
Fucking bitch. What did she think? “Just a sec.”
He felt it with his hand. It was almost completely soft. Useless.
The camera. He might as well stop it; the last thing he wanted on the tape, on any tape, was this. He would have been happy to smash the whole thing, camera, tape, and all, and chuck it straight out the window.
Stan didn’t say anything to Marie, just got up to hit pause. She was still looking over her shoulder at him but he wasn’t about to meet her eye. Not yet.
He went around the end of the bed, his ridiculous, deflated cock bouncing humiliatingly around with every step.
Marie apparently had given up on him already; she flounced noisily onto her back. “That was really good,” she offered. Like patronizing him was going to help.
He glanced back at her, and found to her surprise that she wasn’t finished. The long seams of the stockings, their lacy white hems, the garter belt tugging at her hips—all of it did its job, drew his glance out into a gaze, towards her wide-open pussy.
It wasn’t often he got a view like this, at least not of Marie—it was the kind of pose you saw in skin mags all the time but almost never in real life. But there she was, knees stretched as wide apart as they would go, and her hands probing, kneading, vibrating in her dark mat of hair and moist, pink flesh.
Instantly, Stan thought of Lisa, the tape where Lisa just lay back on the couch and frigged herself into a wild, moaning frenzy. This was just as good—maybe better with Marie wanting his cock so badly.
He flopped the catch on the tripod and freed the camera. Hoisting it onto his shoulder, he knelt on the bed before her, closing in on her desperate, glistening pussy. Her fingers were a blur, and the musky, sweaty aroma was curling around him.
“Play with your tits,” Stan commanded, thinking of Lisa, working her clit with one hand, cupping her tits again and again with the other.
Marie pinched her nipple, rolling the pink skin between her finger and thumb. Incredibly, her other hand seemed to be speeding up, the wet, smacking sound of juices and fingers and lips growing louder and faster.
“Squeeze them,” Stan said. “Squeeze your tits.”
Marie obliged, and while it didn’t have the same effect as it did with Lisa—Marie’s tits were all but hidden in her hand, while Lisa’s ballooned out and around her hand in delicious rolls of soft, sweet flesh. Just to get his tongue on those big, beautiful nipples—
Marie was coming, short yelps escaping from her clenched teeth, her waist bucking, her knees locking together to trap her hand right there, right where she needed it.
Soon, too soon, it was over. She looked at him, through the lens, through the little screen where his eye was pressed.
“Come here,” she said.
Stan moved forward, drawing the frame slowly up her body to her face, looming over her, his thighs pressed against hers. She was still quivering.
She stretched out a hand, past the camera lens, her fingertips just reaching his mouth. They were moist, sliding easily between his lips, and he reached out with his tongue to taste them—
Stan was suddenly aware of the blazing hard-on he had, his balls tight and aching, his cock straining towards her.
Marie’s eyes fluttered closed. “I need you to fuck me,” she announced. “Fuck me.”
Stan put the camera back on the tripod as fast as he could, and thankfully his cock stayed at the ready until he was back on the bed. She raised her legs to let him between them, and he glided in smoothly, effortlessly, and Marie shouted something but he couldn’t make out what it was. And then he was off, his eyes closed, his legs straining with the effort, and he imagined Lisa’s curly red hair splayed out on the pillow, bouncing and flying around as he fucked her harder than he’d ever fucked anyone before.