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It made me feel such a voyeur, but I couldn’t help it. What was I supposed to do — go to bed wearing earplugs, or playing music at loud volume? My flatmate Victoria was putting me nightly through erotic hell. She’d return home each evening with her new girlfriend, and the two of them would proceed to have very noisy sex together for what seemed like hours. Her room was immediately next to mine, and through the paper-thin walls my attempts at sleep were continually interrupted by the two women’s drawn-out, hysterical orgasms. Even before the advent of the girlfriend, I knew fair well that Victoria is not exactly coy, or discreet, when it comes to sex. And it’s surprisingly difficult to drift off when all you clearly hear is her moan “oh yes, baby, your tongue feels so good in my cunt.”
Especially so if you’re feeling particularly sexually frustrated. I hadn’t seen much action for ages, and my quiet, nay silent, lovelife made the cause of my ruined sleep that much harder to bear. It did nothing for my morale that the cause of my enforced, agonising, celibacy was my own lack of self-confidence. I’ve never regarded myself as good-looking, which deters me from taking the initiative. To be fair, I’m plain, rather than hideous, although decidedly chubby. Secretly I’ve always been rather proud of my breasts, and I’ve never had any complaints from girls who enjoy very big nipples.
I felt guilt too at my envy, as I lay, alone, listening to the passionate love-making a few feet away. In truth, I was jealous of Victoria, and Nicola, the girlfriend. She was physically just my type: short and curvy, with glasses and curly collar-length dark hair, and a vague air of earthy wickedness about her. Not that I ever saw much of her, though. She and Victoria would come in and immediately retire to their room, take their clothes off, and have sex. Presumably, they just couldn’t wait a single moment longer for each others vagina.
My name is Beth, and I’d known Victoria for six months previously, since the time I’d moved in to the flat, in Queens Park, west London. The possibility of there being anything between the pair of us, before Nicola came on the scene, had never been on the agenda. In fact, there was no real reason why there should, and it was just a coincidence that we shared both a flat and an orientation. In terms of personal compatibility criteria, it was the rather mundane fact we were both smokers, rather than both being lesbians, which matched us up to live together.
Victoria had never displayed the merest hint of interest in me. If she had, I probably would have responded, but it would have to have been her who made the move. I’m rubbish at pulling, and the other woman always has to take charge.
Victoria is in her late twenties, about the same age as Nicola, and a year or so younger than me, but quite different in appearance from both of us. She’s tall, taut, athletic and finely honed from the gym, albeit with a fairly generous looking bosom, and long strawberry-blonde hair. Neither she nor I were naturally were squeamish about nudity, but we’d wear towels or gowns to and from the bathroom, and never genuinely seen each other naked. Except the once, Ankara bayan escort when I badly needed the loo and Victoria let me enter the bathroom although she was still in the shower. She had her back turned to me, and I generally averted my gaze, until I could resist it no longer and stole a furtive glimpse of the water cascading down her magnificent buttocks.
Although Victoria is a genuinely very attractive woman by anyone’s standards, I’d never consciously fancied her, or wanted her — until Nicola came on the scene. Their constant sex piqued my frustrated lust, and my curiosity about their sumptuous bodies. More and more I found myself imagining what Victoria looked like nude from the front, and what delicious secrets lay within Nicola’s underwear. Pathetically, I began to fantasize about what they looked like when they were fucking.
Not absolutely everything had to be left to the imagination. I was unlikely to forget a particular morning, about four weeks after they started going out. They were clearly still utterly in lust with each other, still having sex at absolutely every conceivable opportunity. As before, they’d no sooner have closed the bedroom door than their ecstatic moans began to emerge from it, and continue for hours until, eventually, they went quiet and presumably went to sleep. Then early next morning I could hear the precise moment when they woke up and carried on where’d they left off the previous night. I’d never come across two women with such a capacity for so many very long climaxes. What on earth were they doing to each other? I know I’m a little naïve, but still, the mind boggled.
Anyway, that morning was a good example of Victoria and Nicola’s brazenness. They’d come in to the sitting room straight after sex, as they quite often did, for their post-coital cigarettes. Nicola was sitting right next to me, and my nostrils told me she’d just had a very wet orgasm. I couldn’t believe how blatant they were, sitting next to me just moments after they’d come, clad only in dressing gowns they’d hastily thrown on, with their hair tousled, faces sweaty, and both still slightly panting. Even more unbelievable, I saw a trickle of something wet sliding down the inside of Victoria’s exposed thigh. But what I saw next really made me gawp. Nicola cared so little about being discreet in front of me, had put her gown on so carelessly, that as she leant forward for the ashtray, her entire left breast popped out. It was so lovely and big, and the nipple so beautiful, I couldn’t help but stare. I wanted to see the other one, too. And when Victoria noticed and pointed it out, Nicola just giggled and left her dress unadjusted, clearly thinking there was nothing strange at all in leaving one of her massive tits fully exposed to me.
But that vignette was surpassed by what I witnessed the following weekend. I returned home from Camden market at Saturday lunchtime — to find them on the couch, snogging passionately. Nicola was lovingly cupping Victoria’s face in her hands, and they were both murmuring softly. But then I noticed that Victoria had her right hand inside Nicola’s bra, vigorously fondly that same breast I’d seen the previous week. Escort bayan Ankara Victoria spotted me then, and they broke from the kiss to say hello to me — before their mouths found each other again and they just continued where they left off. Despite the fact I was standing right in front of them, Victoria continued to work her girlfriend’s tits while they kissed. But that wasn’t the end of it. Unbelievably, Nicola slid her left hand inside Victoria’s leggings and began massaging her crotch. She could quite plausibly have penetrated her. It could hardly have been more brazen, and I actually thought they were going to fuck there and then, with me watching, before the women finally dragged themselves off giggling to Vicky’s room
One particular Friday evening I returned home about eleven, after a few drinks with friends, and went to bed. Victoria was home and her door closed. I undressed and got under the covers, despite being not quite ready for sleep. I felt even less ready for sleep when the performance began from next door. On this occasion, they really excelled themselves. Never had their cries been louder, or their dirty talk more distinct. Their running commentary on their love-making made me erotically intrigued; I could only half-guess from their filthy little words of guidance to each other what they were actually doing.
“Do the nipple thing — please.”
“Oh Nicola, put your finger in there, harder, harder.”
“Come on, Vicky, taste it, use your tongue. If you really push, you can get it inside. Shall I hold myself open further?”
“I can’t believe you just did that. You dirty cow!”
As the sound of vigorously creaking bedsprings was added to the mix, I realised how incredibly horny I felt. How incredibly aroused Victoria and Nicola were making me. I would never get to sleep like this. To take my mind off my frustration I lit a cigarette as a distraction, languidly exhaling through my nose and watching the smoke flow out of my nostrils in two long divergent streams, like tusks. But this time smoking didn’t do the trick. I could think of nothing except what was going on next door. More feverishly than ever, I lay there listening to their love-making and wishing I was having sex with someone too. Feeling alone and unloved in my big bed and unable to resist picturing them. Imagining their sweet naked bodies entwined. Seeing breasts and bums and pubic hair and all kinds of lovely sexy things.
I pushed the duvet down, spread my legs and decided there was no longer any merit in resisting what I’d wanted to do for days now. And so I masturbated joyously to the sound of the girls having sex next door. If I closed my eyes, I could pretend it really felt like Nicola’s lips on my clitoris, instead of my finger. Even sadder, I wanted to wait for her and Victoria before I finished, and only when the sound came through the door of two very loud female orgasms did I allow my own to take place. Afterwards I turned over and closed my eyes drowsily, Next door, the bedsprings were creaking again. Did these two never sleep?
In the morning I felt very low. What had it come to, that I now resorted to wanking over the thought of my flatmate Bayan escort Ankara with her girlfriend? Those two women had a life, and moreover a sex life — a rich and rewarding one. I had neither; I neither deserved them nor was never going to get them. I passed Saturday daytime fitfully, doing some unproductive shopping and generally putting off anything which required decisions or guts. Like going on a website and arranging a date. Or organising a night out somewhere I might get lucky. Towards dinnertime I went out for a rather aimless walk in the general direction of Little Venice, ending up in a café where I gloomily drank a latte and smoked too many cigarettes. I wouldn’t admit to myself that I just didn’t really want to go home. I had no plans for the evening, and knew that Victoria had planned a romantic meal for Nicola. The last thing they wanted was a gooseberry like me hanging around. Especially a gooseberry who wanted desperately to fuck both of them.
It was growing dark, and I reluctantly trudged home, feeling lonelier and more wretched than I could ever remember. I’d rationalise to myself that at home I could just slink into my room with a bottle of vodka, watch a DVD at high volume and try to pretend the other two didn’t exist. But on arriving I was surprised to see Victoria on her own in the sitting room and a rather low key display of pizza boxes in front of me.
“Oh — we couldn’t be bothered with the cooking in the end so we just got a take away! Nic’s just on the phone to her mum in my room. Don’t panic — it’s all good!”
Her reassurances were obviously a response to the manic look on my face I’d obviously acquired during a day’s fretting and moping. But now I relaxed, and we chatted as Victoria poured some wine for me. Alone together properly for the first time in weeks, we caught up with our small talk and gossip and generally reminded each other why we were friends in the first place. I began to have fun; things somehow felt better. Vicky was being very sweet, saying she hoped Nicky being around hadn’t make me feel awkward, or a stranger in my own home. Not at all, I replied, telling a white lie. I’d barely even noticed.
But I couldn’t help feel wistful when Victoria told me at length about how well things were going with Nicola. “You’ll think it’s silly, but I — I love her. I know — it’s only been a few weeks but sometimes things just happen like that. We’re in love. She was the first to say it though — it was last night, just after we’d had sex.” I shuddered at the memory of what I was doing, about them, a few feet away from their declaration of love to each other. The shudder was part of a maelstrom of conflicting emotions flooding through me: happiness for them, arousal at her matter-of-fact reference to their love-making, self-pity, and lust. Lust for Victoria — being in love had made her more radiant, more beautiful and more downright bloody sexy than ever. I’d never really wanted her before; now I couldn’t have her I wanted her more badly than life itself.
Another glass of wine followed. Nicola’s phone call appeared to be taking on marathon dimensions. The conversation turned to me, my work and (lack of) lovelife, and then back to Nicola. She really was a special person and we ought to get to know each other properly. That would be cool, I agreed. And then, with no warning, Victoria asked me the most shocking, extraordinary and unexpected question of my life.
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