This short story is part 1 of the Middle of Nowhere series. This is my first attempt at writing and releasing a story. All feedback, good, bad, insulting, and fun is welcome.
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Raindrops tapped incessantly on my small skylight, fighting with the leaky faucet for my madness.
I’ve lived here for 18 years… well, I will have in a couple of hours’ time, and in these 18 years very little has changed. The leak in the faucet had improved for a while, then it had gotten worse again. My room had changed. Twice, my parents moved around some furniture, painted the walls white, and once they even added a skylight! That very skylight that was torturing me while I lay in my bed, dreaming for a beam of otherworldly light to shine through and take me.
I’m not depressed. This is something I tell everybody, all the time. I repeat it to myself, too. Very often. I’m not happy either, though. Not unhappy. Just… not happy. I have nothing to be happy for. People always seem to expect me to be sad, or have some secret gnawing at my deepest core. They are wrong.
I am simply not particularly happy. or sad.
Or anything, really.
Life here is dull, life flows passively by, days piling up on each other without ever building up to anything.
My parents never forgot to tell me how, as a young couple, they struggled with life in “The Capital”, how chaotic living, incessant work, and unending stimuli wore their minds and bodies down. Even their perfect relationship had become strained and stressful, when finally, they had managed to cut their ties with what they called “hell”.
And now we lived here, five-hundred miles from anywhere civilised, and a million miles from anything interesting or alive. And we–as they always reminded me–ought to be immensely grateful for this.
I wasn’t.
I was simply alone.
I Picked up my beaten-up, torn copy of Michael Ende’s Neverending Story, hoping to win once more my very own race against the Nothing. My very own Fantasia had been my sanctuary, but as time flowed greyly by, as I became older, even that refuge started fading away. I could still hide there whenever I wanted, but what once filled my life with meaning, now left me feeling… empty. unfulfilled.
Not happy.
Midnight finally came, my phone rattled and rang to remind me a new year had passed. 18 years, and plenty more to go nowhere.
I picked the old Nokia up to kill the alarm before it woke the entire house, and I was shocked to see two tiny blue lines at the top of the scratched screen. Two bars… H+. I had signal, and enough for an internet connection, it seemed!
This did happen from time to time, but rarely here in my room, and even more rarely for long enough periods of time that made it usable.
I looked quickly around my room, as if expecting to see someone standing there just behind the shadow of my bookcase, then I slipped out of bed for just long enough to shut my door and turn the key.
A shiver run down my spine.
Back in bed, i kicked the messy sheets to my feet, longingly picked up my phone, and almost squealed with joy when I noticed those two bars were still solidly there.
Rushed by an intoxicating mixture of excitement and fear (fear of the signal dropping, and fear of my parents waking), I opened the browser, then had to write the address a couple of times as I took control of the trembling that had overcome my usual dreary stillness.
I quickly found what I was looking for. I am no expert, I only ever get to see the internet on these very rare occasions, and sometimes at school, but… some things aren’t all that well hidden. As I scrolled down the ad-strewn page, I started savouring the images that slowly loaded on my screen.
First was a very bold, in-your-face photo of a large, muscular man posing with his massive tool bulging against what could have been his son’s underwear, then the same man–less prominently pictured–was joined by a similarly absurd caricature of a woman with what only could be described as comically large breasts restrained by a slightly transparent piece of cloth. As the photos loaded, the lady became more and more friendly with the Adonis of the set, and after knowing each other for less than 10 images, she had tugged his briefs down, and taken his absurd dick in her mouth.
A warm feeling, for an instant, shook me back to reality. A glance around my room told me I was alone. Looking back at the last picture on my phone, I was unsure whether to be aroused or laugh.
Mrs. Bigtits was evidently no novice, photo after photo she sucked on the man’s penis with passionate expertise. He wasn’t going to let the woman take all the power, and soon her tiny cloths were nowhere to be seen, her frilly underwear sensually replaced by the man’s very own head.
I froze, staring at the incredibly detailed, zoomed-in shot of the man’s wet tongue lapping hungrily at the girl’s smooth-shaved vagina. I moved my hand from atop my pijama shorts to their elastic band, pushing down gently but eagerly, I caught the hem of my panties alongside my pants, pushing them all the way down to my ankles. I felt the room’s cool air tickle my legs and another, deeper shiver caught me almost by surprise when I brushed my free hand against the thick hair between my thighs.
I couldn’t help but think–perhaps with some frustration–that my messy bush looked nothing like… nowhere as sexy as this woman’s perfectly shaped, designer-drawn, pink lips. When the next photo loaded, showing the man push those very lips apart, exploring her soft insides with his tongue, I pushed through my pubes, finding that familiar, forbidden patch of moist that now and again reminded me that I was, indeed, alive.
I felt my finger tease my folds while I kept scrolling, an soon I was unwittingly mirroring the man’s motions with my very own finger. When finally, he finished his ravaging, I could feel my finger soaking in my own exhilaration.
The next set showed a younger couple, she was a cute brunette–not petite, but she didn’t make me feel like the least feminine woman on the planet like the other had. The man was in great shape, but not a body-builder fortunately. When he finally took his dick out, it was thick, and large, but not absurd or hyperbolic. By the twelfth picture, she was lying down on a large king-sized bed, and he was holding her legs apart just enough to give the camera a first-class shot of his dick diving straight into her pussy.
Fixated and horny, I pushed–tentatively–my index finger through my crack. I stopped as soon as I felt the tip inside me. I jumped a little, scared. I’d done it without even realizing I was doing it… and it felt… different. My nub was impatiently waiting for his usual caressing, but this time, something had pushed my mind away from my button, and towards my core.
Fearful yet fueled by lust and the excitement of the pictures scrolling in front of me, encouraged by the expressions of pure bliss the actors put on for every shot, I threw caution to the wind and pushed a little further.
And a bit more after that.
I felt my finger push inside me, against what little resistance my body was putting up, until such resistance simply seemed to dissipate, at which point it almost felt as if my finger had been sucked deeper inside. It was moist, and warm.
-I- was moist and warm. inside.
I started retreating, slowly, but when the man in the pictures plunged back into his companion, transfixed, I pushed my finger back all the way inside me. A jolt of revelatory ecstasy overcame me, and sooner than I could realize, my finger was moving quickly in and out of my now soaking wet pussy, the filthy sopping sounds covered by my uncontrollable moans.
The pictures had blurred in a video before disappearing altogether, and now I was pushing my finger furiously inside me while my other hand started massaging my clit.
I had felt good before, but never this good, never this exhilarated. Nobody was in control, not even I, and pleasure was the only motivation for life in that instant. My phone forgotten, it was I, now, on that man’s bed, my pussy furiously and passionately pounded.
I could hardly contain my moaning when the world came crashing down on me, as my oncoming orgasm propelled my though my skylight, right into space.
When I came to, I stared in silence at the scene around me. I was sure I’d screamed a little too loud. I was sure my parents would be at my door any second, now, and I knew I was in serious trouble. My clothes in an unorderly pile at the feet of my bed, some other cloths here and there… and not very many covering my body, I was not the kind of spectacle I wanted my family to feel I was.
I let the cool air tickle my breasts as I caught some of my breath, leisurely circling my nipples with my wet fingers. The air felt like tiny sparkles, and for that one precious moment I felt happy, I felt like I really did exist.
I let go of another big sigh, then I finally found the strength to break the magic: I stood up, collected the heap of cloths that I’d been wearing, and headed to the bathroom to wash this little happiness away. This is the kind of place I’m stuck in. Something good? Hush it, and make it go away. make it dull.
Back in my room, back in the warm embrace of my bedsheets, I picked up my phone to clean the last remnants of my illicit joyride, …
I froze.
1 New Message. Read? Ignore?
Fear did get the best of me, but not reading would have been even more terrifying.
“Had fun?”
(The end. This story is also available here: https://steemit.com/erotica/@jkhoff/buzz-in-the-night-fsolo-story-1-in-the-middle-of-nowhere-series)
Source: reddit.com/r/eroticstories/comments/7mqxrh/buzz_in_the_night_f