On Monday morning, Nick couldn’t focus. He sat across from Mary, eating breakfast. But all he could think about was the hard-on he still had from his dreams about her. And there she was, right in front of him. Her silky robe was half-open, giving him a peek at her chest as she reached for a piece of toast.
Nick took a sip of his coffee, trying to ignore the constant pressure in his trousers. Mary’s delicate fingers brushed the marmalade jar before she spread it on her toast. The way her tongue quickly darted out to catch a crumb at the corner of her lips sent a fresh jolt of heat straight to his groin.
“You’re pretty quiet today”, she said, tilting her head so the morning light caught her neck. Bad dreams? Her innocent question seemed to carry a hidden meaning. Nick’s fork clattered against his plate.
“I didn’t sleep well,” Nick mumbled, staring intently at his scrambled eggs. If he looked up, he’d see her cleavage. If he looked down, he’d see her nipples through the thin silk gown. So he tried his best not to look.
Mary hummed, stirring her tea slowly. The spoon clinked, and his pulse jumped. Even everyday sounds felt louder, more intense. The soft sound of her lips sipping, the faint rustle of fabric as she crossed her legs, barely audible, yet it screamed in his head. Was she doing this on purpose? The logical part of him knew she was only eating breakfast. The rest of him burned with the idea that she might know what he was thinking.
“You’re staring,” Mary murmured, still not looking up.
He felt his face go red hot. He dropped his gaze to his coffee cup, where the liquid trembled slightly. His hands weren’t steady. He could feel himself blushing. He shouldn’t be thinking these things about her, shouldn’t be imagining her robe on the floor, the taste of marmalade on her skin. It felt wrong, but so good. Nick cleared his throat, pushing his chair back suddenly.
“Uh, I have an early meeting,” he lied, grabbing his briefcase so hard his knuckles turned white. The leather creaked. Mary’s eyebrow twitched, but she didn’t say anything, didn’t smirk, just nodded slowly, swirling her spoon again. The sound grated on his raw nerves. He practically ran out the door.
With Nick gone, Mary lingered in the kitchen for a moment, enjoying the lingering tension, the faint hint of his flustered goodbye, the way he’d squirmed in his chair at breakfast, avoiding her eyes. His body gave away the arousal she knew was still brewing under his clothes. A sly smile played on her lips as she cleared the plates, her mind drifting upstairs.
She walked up the stairs slowly, her hips swaying gracefully, the silk of her robe rustling against her skin. She entered his room and retrieved the flash drive from the hidden camera. Returning to her own bedroom, she sat in the comfy chair in front of her laptop, her fingers typing to bring up the hidden feed. The camera in Nick’s room was cleverly hidden in the smoke detector months ago. A little extra for her private fun, showed everything in clear, high-definition, capturing every angle of his bed perfectly.
The morning’s recording loaded smoothly. Mary leaned back, crossing her legs as the video started just after she knocked on his door. There he was, her good-looking young tenant, spread naked on the sheet. His body shiny with sweat, his hand frozen mid-stroke on that impressive cock she’d seen the night before. The denial was intense, his hips bucked uselessly, a frustrated groan rumbling from his chest as the orgasm slipped away. She watched his chest heave, watched his thick shaft twitch angrily against his palm, pre-cum still oozing in frustrated drops.
But she rewound further, to before she interrupted him. Mary’s breathing sped up as the video played. Nick waking up, his hand slowly wrapping around his hard penis, slow at first, then building into urgent, desperate pumping. The camera caught everything, how his back arched off the mattress, veins standing out on his neck, the slick glide of his fist covered in his own come. The low, animalistic moans he tried to stifle, his free hand teasing his balls, pinching his nipples, lost in fantasies that she knew starred her.
He looked so good, she thought, all exposed and young, totally lost in it. His cock looked even better on video. Thick, the tip all swollen and wet, throbbing with each fast push. She could practically hear the wetness, smell how much he wanted it. She watched him speed up, his hips moving hard, his face twisted as he got closer to coming. Mary’s hand slid under her robe, her fingers finding the wet warmth between her legs.
She was already soaked, her clit aching as she slowly rubbed it, moving in time with Nick’s strokes on the screen. A little moan escaped. Her nipples hardened against her silk as she watched him get closer and closer… but then her own voice cut him off, stopping him right before he could finish. The control she had gave her such a thrill. She pushed two fingers inside herself, moving them like she remembered he did, wondering how his cock would feel inside her instead.
Her breathing got heavy, her legs spreading wider as she played the video again, focusing on the close-ups. The little drops of pre-cum on his shaft, how his balls got tight and full. Mary sped up, her fingers curling to hit just the right spot inside, her thumb grinding on her clit. Ideas filled her head, like straddling him while he was still out of it, sitting down on that pulsing hard-on, riding him until he begged. Or asking him to watch her with other people at the club, then taking him for herself later in a pile of sweaty bodies.
The tension built quickly. Her body tightened as Nick’s groans came through her speaker. She came hard, her hands gripping herself, whispering his name as pleasure swept over her. Out of breath, she hit pause, leaving his flushed, untouched erection frozen on screen.
After recovering, Mary casually wiped her hand on her thigh and closed her laptop with a happy sigh. The day ahead felt full of possibilities. Tonight, she’d step things up. Maybe she’d accidentally leave her bedroom door a little open while she pleasured herself, making sure he could hear. Or she’d increase the dose in his drink. She was toying with him, and she planned to enjoy every bit of it.
In the Office, Nick couldn’t focus at work. His mind kept going back to Mary, her smile, the way she pushed hair from her face, her scent, the comfort he felt when she sat near him at dinner or on the couch in the evening.
His office chair groaned as he shifted. The rough fabric of his trousers painfully rubbed against his still-hard penis every time he moved. Reports on his screen became blurry, numbers and charts fading into thoughts of Mary’s collarbone, the curve of her hip under silk, how her fingers had lingered on the marmalade jar, as if she was thinking of something much sweeter. That memory alone made his heart race, and he gripped his pen so tight it almost snapped.
Later, the train ride home was no different; his mind was entirely on Mary. What was happening to him lately? “Get it together, Nick,” he muttered to himself.
Back at the house, he rushed upstairs for a long, cold shower, hoping it would calm his urges and his erection. But no, it all came back strongly when Mary called out that dinner would be ready in ten minutes.
In the kitchen, Mary was making dinner, but also preparing a special glass of wine for Nick. It had a couple of extra things she’d used on another lodger a year ago, a little something to help him relax and arouse him.
As she prepared his drink, she could still hear the shower running. Her excitement grew just thinking about how she was slowly drawing Nick in. She had showered earlier and changed into a stappy sundress that showed off her legs and curves. Her lips were shiny with gloss that matched her outfit as she planned her next moves.
The wine was poured and left on the counter to breathe while she finished cooking. She heard the shower turn off, wiped her hands on her apron, then took it off, admiring her generous cleavage in the hall mirror, which was very visible in her low-cut dress.
Drying himself roughly, Nick saw his reflection in the steamy mirror, flushed cheeks, wide pupils, and gritted teeth. He pulled on sweatpants and a wrinkled T-shirt, the fabric sticking to his damp skin as he walked down the hall. The kitchen glowed warm in the dim light. Mary swayed a bit as she stirred a pot, a half-empty wine glass sitting dangerously on the counter next to her.
“Hungry?” she called over her shoulder, the neckline of her dress dropping very low as she bent to open the oven.
The first sip of wine hit Nick’s empty stomach like a spark, spreading warmth through him as Mary placed a full plate of risotto on the table. She nudged his ankle with her bare foot under the checkered tablecloth, her toenails painted the same dark red as the wine.
“Eat something before you float away,” she teased, swirling her fork around.
The risotto was creamy, but Nick barely noticed the taste, not with Mary’s knee bumping his under the table, not when she licked a tiny bit of rice from her bottom lip with slow, drawn-out movements. He drank his wine, his cock becoming hard.
By the second glass, the kitchen light seemed to frame Mary’s curls, making each strand look like shiny copper. Nick found himself relaxing more and laughing too loudly at her stories, how she once chased a squirrel off the table with a broom, how the previous tenant tried to sneak a mouse into his sock drawer.
The wine loosened him up, making him talk more. Soon he was telling her things he’d never shared, how he stole his dad’s whiskey at fourteen and threw up in the hydrangeas, how his first kiss was with a girl who tasted like bubblegum. Mary listened, propping her chin on her hand, her eyes dark and knowing as she refilled his glass all the way to the top.
A drop of wine ran down Nick’s wrist when he gestured too much, but before he could wipe it, Mary caught his hand. Her thumb smoothed over the sticky line, her lips curving as she brought his wrist to her mouth. The wet heat of her tongue licking the wine away sent a jolt straight to his groin.
“Don’t waste it,” she mumbled against his skin, her breath warm. The air between them got thick, charged with something unsaid as her fingers stayed on his pulse, her thumb rubbing gentle circles. His cock had been painfully hard all evening.
Nick’s head felt pleasantly fuzzy, his body loose and light. It was as if he was floating. The edges of what he saw blurred, colours mixing, Mary’s sundress, the wine, the golden kitchen light, all seemed to blend into a soft dream. He giggled at nothing, swaying as he sat, and Mary’s smile got wider.
“There we go,” she whispered, leaning in until her lips almost touched his ear.
“Isn’t that better? No more nervous thoughts, just… feeling.” Her hand slid up his thigh under the table, her nails lightly touching the sensitive skin just above his knee.
The room seemed to tilt as Nick tried to focus on her face, but her features swam. Her pupils were wide, her full red lips slightly parted, her breathing getting faster. The wine glass in his hand wobbled dangerously, but Mary caught it, her fingers wrapping around his to steady it.
“Easy, darling,” she whispered, guiding the glass to his lips.
“Just one more sip, love. For me.”
The wine tasted sweeter, thicker, clinging to his tongue like syrup. He swallowed, feeling the warmth spread low in his stomach.
Mary’s fingers moved up his chest. “You’re so stiff,” she whispered, her voice tinged with quiet amusement. “Let me help you.”
Her hands slipped under his T-shirt, her nails lightly scratching his nipples, and Nick gasped. The feeling was too sharp, too good. His thoughts flickered like a fading lightbulb, hazy and far away. She leaned closer, her lips brushing his ear.
“That’s it,” she coaxed. “Just let go.”
The room swayed gently as Nick tried to concentrate, but his arms and legs felt light, no longer under his control. Mary’s touch was everywhere; her palm slid down his stomach, her fingers hooking into the waistband of his sweatpants. He should object, but the words turned into a groan as she pressed closer, her thigh fitting between his.
“See how easy it is,” she mumbled, biting his earlobe. “No more thinking.”
The stairs stretched before them like a hazy dream, each step feeling shaky. Nick leaned into her, not because he wanted to, but because his legs wouldn’t hold him anymore. Mary’s arm wrapped around his waist, guiding him up, her fingers slipping under his shirt to trace his ribs. His pulse fluttered against her wrist, wild like a trapped moth. The bedroom door creaked open, and she gently put him on the bed, the quilt feeling cool against his warm skin.
Her hands worked smoothly, first pulling his T-shirt over his head with a soft whoosh of fabric. Then she loosened his sweatpants, her knuckles brushing his hipbones as she peeled them down. Nick should have been embarrassed lying there in only his boxers, but the wine dulled his shame. Mary’s fingertips traced the elastic band, pausing just below his belly button, where his skin jumped at her touch.
“Hush, baby,” she whispered, as if he’d spoken, and pulled the sheet up to his chest.
The bedside lamp cast her in a golden glow as she sat on the edge of the bed, one hand smoothing his hair back from his forehead. Nick’s eyelids twitched when her thumb stroked the hollow under his eyebrow, a gesture so gentle it made him catch his breath.
“There now,” she said, her voice soft like a lullaby. Her other hand slid under the sheet, pressing against his thigh with clear purpose. “Just sleep.”
Nick woke up from a dream, gasping, his mouth dry from the wine and something else, something medicinal. The digital clock showed 3:17 a.m., its light casting a sickly green over the room. His head throbbed, not with the usual ache of too much wine, but with a hazy, disconnected feeling that made his body feel strange. The sheet stuck to his damp chest where he’d twisted in his sleep, his boxers at the bottom of the bed. The dream he remembered, Mary’s mouth on him, her hair falling over his stomach like molten copper.
A floorboard groaned in the hallway. Nick froze, his heart pounding against his chest as the doorknob slowly turned. Moonlight through the doorway highlighted Mary’s silhouette, barefoot and wearing a sheer nightgown. The hall light behind her made it clear she had nothing on underneath, showing every curve of her body. She held a glass of water in one hand, the other resting on the doorframe.
“You were whimpering,” she murmured, stepping inside without waiting for an invitation. The nightgown lifted as she sat on the edge of the bed, the scent of jasmine and warm, sleep-scented skin wrapping around him.
Mary’s fingertips brushed Nick’s forehead with exaggerated concern, her nails grazing his skin just hard enough to make him shiver.
“You’re very hot, sweetie,” she murmured, her breath warm against his ear as she leaned closer, close enough for the swell of her breasts to press against his bare arm through the thin material. Her perfume, thick and musky now, wrapped around him like a second skin, making his already racing pulse stutter.
“Maybe I should stay and… monitor your condition.”
Mary’s fingers lingered on Nick’s forehead a moment too long, her thumb brushing his temple in a slow, rhythmic circle that felt less like concern and more like ownership.
“You really are feverish,” she murmured, her voice dripping with mock sympathy as her other hand slid beneath the twisted sheets, her fingertips grazing his bare thigh. The contact sent a jolt through him; her skin was cool, deliberate, tracing idle patterns that made his breath catch.
“Poor thing. Maybe you need someone to… cool you down.”
Nick’s throat tightened as Mary’s gaze lingered on the tented sheets, her lips parting slightly as if savouring his helplessness. The cool air from the open door ghosted over his exposed skin, making every hair stand on end, except where his cock throbbed, hot and heavy against his stomach, twitching under her scrutiny like it had a mind of its own. He tried to shift, to cover himself, but her hand pressed harder against his hipbone, a silent command that rooted him to the mattress.
“I’m….fine,” Nick lied, the words thick on his tongue as Mary’s fingers crept higher, her thumb brushing the crease of his thigh. His hips jerked involuntarily, betraying him completely. “Just… hot. It’ll pass.” The feeble protest sounded pathetic even to his own ears, especially when her nails scraped lightly over the sensitive skin near his groin, drawing a shuddering gasp from him.
Mary’s laugh was low and rich, her fingers tracing lazy circles just inches from Nick’s aching cock. “Are you quite sure I can’t help you at all?” she murmured, her thumb brushing the damp fabric of the sheets where it tented over his tip. The pressure was feather-light but deliberate, making his hips jerk off the mattress with a whimper. “You’re trembling, darling,” she observed.
Nick swallowed hard, forcing himself to meet Mary’s amused gaze despite the flush burning up his neck.
“Really, I’ll be fine,” he managed, his voice cracking as her fingertips trailed dangerously close to where his cock pulsed against the damp blankets.
Mary’s fingers lingered before withdrawing with deliberate slowness, her lips curving into a knowing smile as Nick’s cock twitched in frustrated protest against the sheets.
“If you’re sure,” she murmured, her voice thick with amusement, though her pupils remained dilated, dark pools of unconcealed hunger.
Nick’s fingers clenched the sheets as Mary pulled away, his body screaming at the loss of her touch despite his mumbled insistence. “I’ll…..I’ll be fine,” he lied again, his voice hoarse as he watched her straighten, the thin nightdress clinging to her hips in a way that made his mouth water.
The kiss she’d pressed to his forehead still burned, phantom lips lingering long after she’d withdrawn, and he swallowed hard, forcing his gaze away from the tempting curve of her cleavage. “Goodnight, Mary.”
“Goodnight, sweetheart,” Mary murmured, her fingers trailing along the doorframe as she stepped back into the hallway. The dim light caught the curve of her smirk just before she pulled the door halfway shut, not enough for privacy, just enough to leave him straining to catch her silhouette through the gap. Her translucent nightgown whispered against her thighs as she paused, the sound deliberately slow, ensuring he could hear every shift of fabric against skin.
“Sleep well,” she added, her voice dripping with false innocence.
Nick clutched the damp sheets. Mary’s footsteps receded down the corridor, seeming taunting, their pace slow and deliberate, as if she wanted him to count each step between them. He strained his ears, hearing the distant creak of her bedroom door opening and the whisper of silk slipping across skin. Was she undressing right now, taking her time, knowing he would visualise everything? His cock throbbed against his stomach, angry and neglected, a bead of pre-cum sliding across his abdomen as he bit back a groan.
The silence when Mary’s footsteps stopped was worse than any sound, thick with the ghost of her perfume and the memory of her fingertips skating just shy of where he needed them most. Nick’s cock tugged against his stomach, a treacherous pulse of want, as he gazed at the half-open door. A sliver of golden light from the doorway shone through the rumpled sheets, tantalising him with what could’ve been, her hips straddling him, her painted lips wrapped around him. He tightened his teeth, every fantasy razor-sharp, every imagined touch painful.
