All entities in this story are 18 or older.
I hear the steps first. Slow thuds ramping my anxiety with every step. They think they are being quiet, but I know the sound. I’ll never forget the sound of their steps.
They stop outside the door, making sure no one hears them. Making sure they hear nothing from my room. I see the shadow of their feet through the gap at the bottom of the door. I know by the movement of shadows before the faint creak of my door. Muffled. It used to be louder, but they oiled it I think. Only I hear them enter my room. It doesn’t feel like my room anymore. No room will truly feel mine again, I think.
Their breathing is hard, excited, driven here by a compulsion. Waiting for me to move, for someone to say something, any sound at all. Saying anything only delays. They always return. Sometimes I’m asleep, not just pretending, but it happens either way. A hand softly touches my leg, sliding up my gown. I can barely hear them touching themselves as they build up their courage. Light touches become more exploratory, only pausing for reactions. They have an excuse ready, I was having a nightmare, they investigated because of the sound I was making.
The sounds they were bringing out of me. I pretend to shift, giving them easier access. They’ll leave sooner that way. But that’s only part of it. The touches are unwanted, bad, but they still elicit a response. Not quite cumming, but close enough. Fingers exploring, prodding, testing holes, one wet, one dry. More sounds of them panting, touching themselves as they touch me. Eyes closed tight, badly faking sleep, they shudder and shake. Finished.
A soft kiss of my forehead, cheeks stroked with fluids that aren’t mine, their scent marking me. The door is closed. But it’s always unlocked and the room is never mine.
Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/s03rkq/the_steps_come_first_a_semi_fictional_story_nc