Chapter 34: At Her Mercy
Stan leaned back and pressed play on the VCR. It was kind of a crapshoot, because no one bothered to label their tapes. He didn’t want another of Sherrie’s sagging ass. He’d just gone through four straight of Darrell and Sherrie. When had he collected so many of theirs? He should send them back; he couldn’t imagine wanting to watch them again any time soon. Ever.
Keith filled the screen, turning away from the camera and walking naked to the bed. One of their early ones, then. Lisa never used to let Keith film her up close, only from across the room. Sometimes that was annoying but today her shyness, or coyness really, was endearing.
She stretched her arms out as Keith neared her, her breast falling and flopping into her armpit. Keith lay on top of her and they embraced and kissed. Stan felt his cock stiffen against his shorts. Stupid things had no stretch, no give.
He moved back to the couch. He hadn’t seen this one before, that he could remember—or if he had, it was a while ago.
They were still just kissing, like a couple of damned schoolkids, not knowing how to get started. Then Keith stroked her hair.
It seemed to flip a switch in Lisa. She ran her hands down his back until her arms stretched as far as they could, then she gripped his buttocks and squeezed him against her hips. The message was clear, even to Stan—he could see it, feel it, practically smell the tang of desire radiating from her.
Keith lifted himself up and moved away a bit, like he was going to get a drink of water or something. She shook her head and said something—their camera was a piece of crap, the mic never picked up anything, teach them to buy that Korean garbage—and Keith stopped, kissed her once more, and sat back on his heels, his cock pointing out and up in anticipation.
Stan was a little sore already—he’d made himself come three times that afternoon while sorting through the tapes and had told himself on the previous one that that was the last time for the day. He’d have no skin left if he wasn’t careful. But that last one had been Gerry and Doreen, and the one before had been Darrell and Sherrie for god’s sake. This had been what he’d been waiting for, the whole time.
He wriggled the waistband of his shorts down to his thighs and his erection, finally freed again, floated in front of the screen, listing slightly to the left as usual. He took hold of it—not to start stroking it, just to enjoy the feeling of tightness and warmth.
With Keith out of her way, Lisa had room to turn over. Instead of supporting herself on her hands, though, she buried her face in the pillow. Her ass stuck straight up in the air, round and obscene, like an animal’s. He could just make out one of her hands reaching back to touch herself, to make herself ready.
Keith waddled forward on his knees, a little unsteady but surely knowing what she wanted by now. And even in this, the idiot was a failure; he stopped to place a hand on her, to feel her pussy even though Lisa wanted only one thing.
She lifted her head and looked over her shoulder at him, and said something not quite audible. But it must have been an order—come on, fuck me, fuck me now. Keith finally figured it out, rested both of his hands on her hips, and entered her.
“Oh god,” she yelled, loud enough now to be crystal clear on the tape. “Yes—yes—nnngh...” She buried her face in the pillow again.
Keith was getting it right at last, and was laying into her like a jackhammer, bang-bang-bang-bang, a determined grimace creasing his face deeply.
Stan’s hand was moving automatically in time with each of Keith’s thrusts. But there was a noise and he stopped, straining to hear. Was that a car door? Marie wasn’t going to be home for a couple of hours at least. He waited for a few seconds; nothing. He turned his attention back to the screen.
He left the volume low, just in case, but Lisa was squealing each time Keith’s hips slapped against her, the noise filling Stan’s living room. Oh, to have her squealing at the end of his own cock—to make her shriek as he fucked her, and then—-
Keith took hold of both her wrists, pulling her arms together, and now he was pressing her even deeper into the pillow, fucking her with abandon, with pure force, like a bull mounting a cow—
—and then, when she wouldn’t or couldn’t scream any more, Stan would pull out and spray her face, her mouth, and her tits, especially her tits, with his hot cum, soaking her, drowning her—
Stan’s front door opened, and he leapt to his feet, pulling his shorts up, almost falling over in the process. An intense orgasm shook its way through him, his cock stinging, his balls compressing into a small, hard lump, his shorts warm and sticky with an unending flow of jizz. He couldn’t possibly stop the VCR—he just managed to snap the TV off and return to the couch before Marie entered the room. Stan hurriedly crossed his legs.
“Hi,” he said, his voice almost a squeak as it left his tightened throat.
Marie had one hand on her hip, and a scowl on her face. “What’re you doing?” she asked.
No hello, no acknowledgement—just a question that was really an accusation. Typical.
“Nothing,” he said, realizing he needed to add more. “Just—sitting here.”
“Okay,” she said, not moving. Bitch.
“You weren’t supposed to be home till four today,” Stan pointed out.
“The air conditioning was out at the school. I couldn’t take it any more.”
Locked together in silence like this, the low grinding of the VCR as it played might as well have been a jumbo jet passing overhead. Stan glanced involuntarily towards it, realized his mistake, fixed his eyes on Marie again.
“Were you watching something?” she asked, a smirk starting to curl her mouth.
The tapes—stacks of unlabelled tapes all over the floor. She already knew, the fucking cow, and now she was mocking him, the dirty cunt, the cunt—
She moved suddenly to the TV and turned it on. Stan almost got up to block her, then remembered the mess soaking through his shorts. He was trapped there on the couch, at her mercy.
Keith and Lisa had moved in the meantime. Lisa was leaning over the side of the bed, facing away from the camera, and Keith’s ass was fully on display as he laid into her, pumping furiously.
“I wasn’t—” Stan started, but realised it was futile and stopped. Marie was such a prude, and wouldn’t understand—she’d never understood anything about any of this. She didn’t know the first thing about sex, and how it affected people.
Sure enough, she turned to face him, standing like a schoolmatron, one hand on her hip, her elbow partially blocking the screen.
“You know,” she said, “I don’t care if you watch these things. With or without me.”
“I don’t care either,” Stan said. He knew as he said it that he wasn’t making sense, but it was important not to let her think she was running his life.
“It’s true,” she said. “But I don’t like the idea of us having to hide from each other. You can tell me what you’re doing. I’m not going to be mad.”
Sure you won’t. “You could’ve asked, then,” Stan said. “Instead of barging in and—” He gestured angrily towards the TV. Keith was still giving it to Lisa. Her legs were resting on his shoulders now.
Marie smiled. “You’re right—I’m sorry. But I was hoping you’d invite me to join you.”
This was unexpected; Marie usually just made demands on him. And what did she mean by “joining” him, anyway? A handjob? Was she thinking she’d watch too? Watch him jack off? Did she want to get off as well? Actually, all of these possibilities were appealing.
“Nnnnnngghh...” Lisa’s voice was a low, base groan, but it rose in volume and intensity to a high pitch. Stan couldn’t help looking away from Marie to see what was happening. Marie turned to look too, as Lisa’s cries began to fill the room, a yelp punctuating every thrust. “Yeah!—yeah!—fuckme!—fuckme!—oh!—fuck!—yeah!—I’m coming—”
Marie looked back at Stan, one eyebrow cocked. He pretended not to notice.
Lisa finally stopped making all the noise and scrambled off the bed to kneel in front of Keith. She sucked him a little, juggled her tits around a bit, and he rewarded her with an impressive spray of cum on her face. She smiled, gathered some on her hand, smeared it around on her face and chest. Stan found that despite the sticky mess in his shorts, despite his having come himself just a little while ago, despite having Marie in the room, he was already halfway hard again.
To his dismay, Marie shut the TV off again and sat down on the couch near him. She tucked one leg under herself, so she could face him.
“Is it just me,” she asked, that superior smirk back on her face, “or do we have a lot of tapes from Keith and Lisa?”
“I don’t know,” Stan replied, still not willing to meet her eye.
“They’re really good,” she went on. “Are there any more? Because I don’t have to pick up the kids for another half hour.”
She put her hand on his leg, just at the hem of his shorts, perilously close to the huge wet jizz-stain he had been sitting in this whole time.
“I’m not—” he started, and her hand moved closer and he shot to his feet, careful to turn away so she couldn’t see what had happened to him. “I should take a shower,” he said, and left the room.
The warm water made him feel more relaxed, more calm. His big embarrassing hard-on even receded, though he was still thinking about Lisa’s smile as Keith, shot rope after rope of cum on her. Sure, he’d come on Marie’s face before, but never on tape, and she certainly hadn’t smiled like that at the time.
The bathroom door creaked slightly as it opened, and he strained to hear. Was that Marie?
“I was wrong,” she said, loud enough to be clear over the noise of the shower. “I do care whether you watch those tapes.”
Goddammit—was she crying? He reached to pull the shower curtain open, but she had already left and slammed the door shut behind her. He rinsed himself as quickly as he could and turned the water off, just in time to hear her slam the front door, too.
Probably she was going to pick up the kids. Well, if she wanted to be a prudish bitch, there wasn’t much he could do about that.