Watching the Wilsons (Carrie & The Wilsons) (2 page)

The
first thing I did was pee, then I washed my face and brushed my teeth. Scrubbed clean, I no longer looked or smelled like I’d been fingering myself for more than an hour.

I
paused in the doorway and glanced at the Wilson’s dark bedroom. Did Mrs. Wilson ever read the books in the closet? Did she have a dog-eared copy of something naughty under her pillow? I was tempted to dash in and look, but they would surely be home soon.

Back
in my room, I bit my lip. I’ve always been curious, but my obsession with Mrs. Wilson and her sex life was in a category to itself. To be a fly on the wall in that room...that would be all the sex education a girl would ever need.

I
flopped onto the bed and mindlessly flipped through my phone. There was a great picture of the two of us, taken by Mr. Wilson during a hot chocolate break at the ski hill restaurant two days earlier.I made it my background image. Her cheeks were pink, her eyes bright with laughter at something the kids were saying. I had tucked my head against her shoulder and was looking at Mr. Wilson. He’d reached across and grabbed my phone. He said it was a perfect moment worth remembering. He was right. She’d wanted a copy of it. I could text it to her, but that would interrupt their night. I started an email instead and attached it. Sent.

Burrowing
deeper into my duvet, I picked up the schoolgirl novel again and sank into the next chapter. Fucking in public. Awesome.

The
professor had just ripped a hole in her tights and was surreptitiously stroking her sex on the subway. His student was torn between wanting to be seen, wanting to share their ecstasy with others, and, well, not wanting to be arrested. No shit.

I
was stroking right along with them when I heard something thud against the front door.

In
my mind, I could see them. The Wilsons were home, and they were stealing one last moment of kid-free time--
Carrie-free time
--before coming inside. Hands tangled into hair. Hot breath meeting cold skin. His calloused fingers stroking across her moist lips. Her softer pink tips stealing under his shirt, making him shiver.

I
flicked off the lamp and shoved the book under my pillow. The lock turned, a quiet noise that would have been missed if not for the warning thump, and then they were inside, dropping keys on the counter and--

“
Oopsie-daisy!” She bumped into something, a chair maybe, and her words dissolved into giggles. “Come here, let me show you what I wanted to do to you in the hallway.”

His
response was muffled, but the loud hiss he let out next was not. “Watch your teeth, woman.”

More
laughter, then kissing. Wet, fast. Between little moans, Mrs. Wilson made her plans known. “I want you in my mouth, Bill. Your cock. In. My. Mouth.”

“
Shhhh.” His voice was low and warm, like he wanted her to be quiet but he didn’t want her to stop. “Come on baby, let’s go to bed.”

Rustling
and the the faint slide of skin against skin sounded instead of an answer. I guess that was her answer. I tilted my head, wishing I was close enough to hear everything. Or closer still, and able to see everything.

“
Baby, no...” His groan mingled with her soft laughter. “What if one of the kids wake up? Or Carrie?”

“
You worry too much.” More rustling. “Take your shirt off.”

“
Ellen. Baby. Ellen!” His protests were being ignored. His next words were muffled, probably his shirt being yanked over his head. Their conversation dissolved into murmurs interspersed with smacking kisses and giggles, and I let my breath out in a big whoosh, only to freeze at his next words, but I didn’t miss that his voice was strained with want. “Maybe you should go and check on them.”

Her
negative response was mumbled around something. A loud slurp and a saucy laugh made my eyes bug out. Was she...?

“
Do you want me to go and check? Or do you want me to suck you again?”

His
answer started with a groan. “You are such a bad girl, Ellie. Fuck. Show me your tongue. Jesus. Yes. Uhhhhhn. Open wide, let me fuck your mouth.”

If
ninjas had dropped from the ceiling at that moment, I wouldn’t have noticed. My heart thudded in my chest, white spots dancing around the periphery of my useless vision in the dark of my room. Did he just say...? Holy fuck. I wanted to see it. I traced my hand silently down my body and slipped my fingers between my puffy outer lips. I was wet. Soaked. My eyes rolled back in my head as the slurping sounds were augmented with gags and the faint slapping of excited skin on skin impact.

Was
he all the way to her throat? Were his fingers tangled in her hair?

Did
one or both of them think I might wake up and hear them?

I
pressed my palm flat against my pussy, inside my labia. Desire pulsed throughout my entire body, coalescing at my clit. My hard, engorged clit, physical proof that I was hovering right on the edge of a conscience-splitting orgasm. It fluttered against my hand and as Mr. Wilson gasped for hair and grunted that he was coming, so too did I.

I
came with a lurch, gel-like moisture flooding my fingers, and instead of easing off, I sank two digits deep inside myself. I rolled my head to one side, then the other, pressing my face into the soft pillow. In my head, I wasn’t alone in my bed, I was surrounded by my sexy neighbours on either side.

The
noises from the living room provided a plausible soundtrack to my fantasy, and I rolled fully to one side, my mouth gaping for her nipple, my ass flexing toward his cock. I could taste their skin, feel their warmth, and I jerked hard, coming again. Sated at last, if not forever.

My
unwitting bed partners were talking again, and by the sound of their voices, I was pretty sure they were moving into the kitchen or heading to their room. Confident that I could get to my door without making any noise, I slithered to the edge of my bed and reached for the floor with my toes. Three quiet steps, and I dropped, pressing my back into the wall, just outside of the triangle of dim light cast on the threshold to my room.

I
peered down the hall. They were in the kitchen, I could Mr. Wilson’s side and back. He was still wearing pants, or maybe he’d pulled them on again. No shirt, and I wished I was closer to better appreciate the ripple of muscle under taut skin. He always looked so proper in his work clothes. Knowing what he’d just done, seeing him move around half-naked, hearing him chuckle and murmur sexy sounds at his beautiful wife...Clark Kent and Superman are one and the same person, ya know? And how did I not see him before? I’d thought of him as a generic good looking older man, as Mrs. Wilson’s lucky husband. But now my imagination was running wild. Mr. Wilson was
dirty
. Hot damn. My nipples were hard and my breasts throbbed at the various possibilities.

They
clinked glasses and I shifted, trying to get a better angle, but the galley kitchen was out of my line of sight.

“
Do you want something to eat?” Mrs. Wilson asked quietly as they stepped back into the living room, holding hands. He drained his wine glass and nodded at her. Indicating she should do the same? She smiled and sipped daintily instead. She was toying with him.

They
’d always been affectionate, it was obvious they had an active love life, but this teasing took it to a whole different level. I wanted to take notes, but it didn’t matter. I wouldn’t forget a second of this night.   

“
Finish your drink, baby,” he growled. “And then I’ll have something to eat.”

“
Do you want a sandwich?” She blinked up at him and giggled.

“
You’re too cute when you drink, baby. Bottoms up.” He stalked across the room as she lazily appraised his awe-inspiring torso. Now that he was out of the way, I could secretly return the favour. She was stunning. Soft all over, smooth pale curves that flowed in and out with organic ease. Her nipples were small and dark, a blazing contrast to her skin, and hard. That was obvious even across the dim room.

I
thought of my own nipples, tight and swollen under my t-shirt. They were puffy and almost flat, a pale pink that blended into my skin. We couldn’t look more different, and I wondered if Mr. Wilson would like my nipples. Would he have a preference, or is nipple diversity a good thing in group sex?

I
flushed. The book had skewed my grasp on reality. If they saw my nipples, they’d probably call my parents. No reason to, I was over the legal age limit. I was offended about something that had only happened in my head. I needed to get a grip for more than one reason.

“
So you don’t mind? About earlier?” she asked him as he strode back, carrying her bra.

He
stopped in front of her, blocking my view, but I could tell from his gestures that he wanted her to turn around. “Baby, I think you kissing another woman is the hottest thing in the world. You don’t need to apologize for that.” I hissed in a breath. She didn’t. Holy crap. And...who? “I like it when you get drunk and slutty.”

He
’d turned her around again, her back to the wall. His larger body loomed over hers, and his hands looked like they were everywhere at once. He was kissing her, holding her face, but also unbuttoning her jeans. He shifted, sliding his thigh between her legs, and with a jerk he moved her up the wall a bit. She was grinding against his leg, and he must have been thrusting against her as well, although I didn’t see any movement in his legs. The planes of his back were flexing, though, flashing in the lamp light.

I
hadn’t realized he’d gotten her jeans off until her bare legs wrapped high around his waist and he spun around, carrying her toward the back of the couch. Her shoulders were thrust back proudly, presenting her breasts to him, but she wasn’t teasing. She was bound.

He
’d looped her bra around her upper arms twice, pulling them behind her just enough to remove touch from her arsenal. But since he’d done it, I hadn’t actually seen her say or do anything other than hump against his leg. Now her face was buried in his neck, like she couldn’t get enough of his skin. His smell. His strength.

I
needed to get my hand on one of the bondage books from the box.

With
unerring caution and adoration, he draped her body upside down on the couch. Her hips spread open across the top of the back cushions, her legs hooked over so her feet rested behind the couch.

“
Fucking gorgeous, baby. I love your pussy.” He stood tall between her knees, surveying his laid out feast.

I
was looking at them from the side. Mr. Wilson was in profile, standing behind the couch. Even through his jeans I could tell that he was erect again. I couldn’t see Mrs. Wilson’s face, it was obscured by a throw pillow, but her breasts bounced freely in view, and my mouth watered as I stared at them. Perfectly round when she was tipped upside down, her taut peaks taunted me more than any fantasy I’d ever conjured. 

Mr
. Wilson unzipped his jeans and fisted his cock. He worked his hand up and down his hard length, the muscles in his forearm flexing with the action. “Seeing you like this, baby, all trussed up and soaking wet, it’s hard not to fuck you.”

“
Yes,” she whispered in a breathy voice so quiet I almost didn’t hear her. “Fuck me.”

“
Mmmm. I like to hear you beg like that. You don’t want me to lick you? Suck your hard little clit into my mouth? I bet you taste sweet.”

She
whimpered and shifted. I think she was trying to thrust her hips toward him, but with her arms behind her back and him standing between her knees, her movement was largely constrained. That was fucking hot. I didn’t know how to tell Justin that I wanted to be tied up and folded over furniture, but I’d find a way. The Wilsons had no idea they were creating a monster in their teenage babysitter.

“
You want that? Beg me. Use your pretty voice and ask me to lick your pretty pussy.”

“
Lick me,” she breathed. “Make me come and then kiss me so I can taste it too.”

He
chuckled, and slapped his heavy cock against her sex. His hand was blocked by her knee, but from his arm movements I was pretty sure he had let go of himself and was working his fingers inside her. “Oh baby, I’m not going to make you wait for a taste.” He trailed two glistening fingers down her curved belly and across her chest to her eager mouth. I licked my lips as she licked his digits. Was she tangy? Creamy? Musky? I was pretty sure I’d like all or any of those.

“
God, you’re so eager for that. Next time you get drunk and make out with a girl, maybe you should go down on her before we come home.” That would be so hot. I closed my eyes, trying to picture Mrs. Wilson finding a dark corner at a club and sinking to her knees.

“
Or we could bring her home with us.” Not hot. A stab of jealousy ran through me. I wanted to step into the hall.
I’m right here. Take me.
But I knew they wouldn’t. We’d all be embarrassed. Their private moment would be revealed, and I’d be rejected. Maybe we could work toward that at some point in the future, but it wouldn’t happen tonight.