Archive of Our Own ^beta

My mother closes the front door and the house falls silent for the first time in weeks. She spends her time baking, gardening, reading — all things that keep her on the premises, or lingering nearby, at all hours. Even though I’m an adult, the only alone time I get are her weekly hour long shopping trips.

Which isn’t a big deal. I don’t have that much to hide. But sometimes I’d like a chance to cum without choking down every little moan and gasping into my mattress. Maybe a change of scenery so I can find out what it feels like to cum by grinding my clit into the corner of the kitchen table, dishes and trinkets clinking with each thrust. Or to watch porn without headphones in the middle of the living room, imagining what Hop would do if he found me sprawled on the couch rubbing steady circles through my panties.

Anticipation flutters through me and settles low in my stomach. 

I draw it out and take the time to get dressed for the occasion.

My bedroom door is open as I pull off my oversize sleep shirt. 

It’s strange — almost exhilarating — to see the warm daylight pouring in from the kitchen. The shining tile floors and light curtains ballooning in an early autumn breeze make me feel exposed. 

Goosebumps prickle across my chest, down my back, and the soft curve of my belly. I’m self-conscious of how quick my nipples begin to harden.

I imagine for a moment that there’s someone watching.

That Hop’s standing in the doorway watching me splay my hand out across my breast, idly brushing my fingers across my nipple. I sigh as I gently squeeze it between my knuckles — tugging it lightly and stretching the sensitive skin. 

I let go, aware of the bounce as my tit settles back against my chest, and shoot a playful wink to the imaginary person in the kitchen. 

There’s no reason to wear a bra today. I don’t think I’m going anywhere, and if I am, I’m sure I have some cozy cardigan or jacket to pull snug around me. 

I shimmy my sleep shorts down my thighs, along with the panties I wore to bed last night. They wind up in the hamper just so I can pull on a perfectly clean pair to cum through. I pick some simple white cotton ones, just so I can see the fabric grow translucent with my arousal and imagine someone teasing their finger down the shadow between my lips. 

As tempting as it is to spend the next few minutes walking around like this, hoping a neighbor catches a glimpse of my tits, or my full ass in a snug pair of panties, I only have so much time to play.

So I pull on one of my favorite autumn dresses: a sundress with soft fabric, a plunging neckline, and long sleeves that help keep a bit of the chill out. I’ve always imagined going into town in this without a pair of panties, with Hop and Leon trotting along at my side none-the wiser. But I’m just not brave enough to take that risk yet, no matter how many times I could come undone to the thought of them catching a glimpse of my bare cunt as I bend over. 

I head into the kitchen, cool tile on my bare feet, a purposeful sway in my hips. 

The bottom of my sundress tickles the backs of my legs. 

I can’t help but imagine someone — Leon, it’d be Leon if it was either of them — hiking the dress up, fabric bunched in ravenous hands, and bending me over the kitchen table. With the window right there. 

Even with the lace curtains closed, they’d barely obscure us from the road. 

Anyone could catch a glimpse of him standing behind me: the unbeatable champion, his mane of purple hair pulled into a hasty ponytail, cock slamming into my waiting cunt. Maybe they’d get close enough to see the way my arousal would drip down his toned legs and my bare thighs, and hear the snap of his hips against my plush ass. 

The idea leads me to the table.

I toss back the tablecloth, pull up my dress, and perch my panty-covered ass on the hardwood table. It’s cool through the soft cotton fabric — colder against my bare skin — and draws my attention to the warmth pooling between my thighs. 

With my feet propped on the chairs, facing the open window and swaying curtains, I spread my legs.

I give anyone who might pass by a clear view of my panties, my open thighs, and my cleavage as my wandering hands squeeze my tits together just for show. My fingers dig into the soft skin, push them together, bounce them, knead them — play with them like there’s somebody on the other side of that pane of glass with their hand in their pants, bound to finish before I’m finished with them.

With warm cheeks and shallow breaths, I slip my hand beneath the neckline of my dress. Fingertips make their way back to my nipple — pinch and pull it softly, earning soft gasps. I play them up, each noise deafening in the open kitchen and empty house. 

I can’t help but wonder how loud I’d need to be for my filthy sounds to be heard up the road.

I brace one hand behind me and free the other from my dress. 

My fingers trail down my stomach. 

They settle between my legs, middle finger ghosting across my clit. 

Up, down, up, down. 

A show for my imaginary audience, but I’m the only one here getting teased until I squirm. The table creaks beneath me as my hips search for friction. Each subtle roll comes just short of meeting my touch. 

I don’t know if I want to give in yet, for myself, or my “ audience ”. 

Not with the way heat runs through me at the thought of Hop just outside, thumbing the head of his cock, so tantalizingly close to release, silently begging me to touch myself properly. Just so he’ll get to hear the sounds I make before he spills himself in the garden out front and has to rush to cover it with topsoil.

The only problem is, I cum on my fingers almost every day. I’ll slip a hand down my panties with a pause screen on the TV and my Switch controller laying on the floor, and rub my clit through my pajamas until my arousal soaks my flannel shorts. 

It’s been forever since I’ve had a chance to hump my pillow without worrying about my bed frame creaking, or knocking off the wall. 

I’m almost ashamed of how hard I can cum pathetically fucking myself on furniture, or cushions, or plushies — but I know if Leon’s hands were firm on my hips, pinning my wet cunt to his nylon-covered thigh, it’d do me in even worse. 

I’d be trembling and sobbing before he’d roll me over and fuck me like he had been aching to. Praising me for being so good for him, or playfully teasing me for being such an eager little whore. 

I guarantee he’d be smiling through whatever filthy words left his mouth. I could imagine his teeth against my neck, with warm, tickling puffs of laughter as he stretches me with his cock. Filling me to the hilt, lithe fingers grabbing my ass —

Maybe with Hop listening in the room over, hips twitching against his bedding, boxer briefs taut around his straining cock as he yearns to be the one inside of me, pulling each of those lewd noises from my lips. 

My cunt flutters.

Giggles bubble out past my smile as I pull my hand away from my clit. I rest it on the table behind me. 

“Not yet,” I say aloud to the invisible onlookers, and close my legs. The soft clap of my thighs meeting sends a soft vibration through my core. Squeezing them together draws my attention to my arousal. It’s dewy and warm between my legs, but not enough to start soaking through my nice, clean panties. 

Maybe some other day I’ll lounge here with my fingers working my cunt until my nice white panties are ruined and translucent for anyone walking by to see. And maybe since I’d be so wet, they could slide right in and leave their cum dripping out of me before my Mom gets back through the door.

With a wistful sigh, my feet hit the floor, and my dress swishes back around my legs. 

On bouncing tip-toes, I make my way to the corner of the table. 

It’s sleek, hardwood, easy to clean, and sturdy.

It even looks like it’d fit perfectly between my legs. 

But as I trace my thumb across the edge, I realize there’s a better option: the arm of the living room couch. 

It’s just as sturdy — made of a solid wood frame — but has a layer of fabric and cushion overtop. It would have more give beneath my eager thrusts. I could bring myself to the edge easily, without worrying about where I’m putting my weight, or whether I’m going to accidentally jostle it across the floor and scuff the tile. 

I give a little “follow me” nod to the window, and trot into the living room. 

The carpet muffles my footsteps, letting me hear each shallow breath as they puff past my parted lips. 

I shouldn’t be this flustered with barely a touch. I shouldn’t get a thrill just pretending to put on a show when the riskiest thing I’ve ever done is use the showerhead at Hop’s house to get off every now and then. 

But I grow warm at the thought of flashing my tits at a Gym Battle, or getting caught clutching my dress around my waist and pissing in an alleyway. I’ve cum to the thought of Hop fingering me on a bench outside some cafe in Wedgehurst, and of Leon pulling my panties aside on the train to ride him, squirming and silent in his lap. 

I keep my eyes on the window and I throw a leg over the arm of the couch. My knee crumples the decorative, mismatched throw pillows.. 

My heart races as I settle myself against the armrest. 

The cushion sinks beneath my weight until the wooden support presses firm against me. 

My clit throbs — begs me to move my hips — and I imagine Leon begging me to do the same. Both of his hands resting behind his head, a coltish grin, telling me if I want this I have to get it myself.

“You’ve missed me while I was gone, yeah? Show me.” He would chuckle as he felt the cunt quiver against his thigh. “C’mon… Always said you had a thing for being called a good girl, didn’t you? Go on. Earn it.”

I give a playful wiggle of my ass. It grinds my clit against the couch and brushes the cushion across my sensitive lips. 

My dress is draped across my upper thighs, bunched at the curve of the armrest, barely exposing the curve of my ass when I lean forward. Which is fun — coy — but I want to make sure if Hop stops by unannounced he’ll be able to perfectly imagine my cunt pressed to his cock. 

At nineteen years old, he still hasn’t been with anyone. A few kisses, one awkward makeout session two years ago, but nothing further. And I can’t figure out why, because I’m positive he’d look beautiful beneath me with those golden eyes glossy with pleasure, hair tousled and clinging to the sheen of sweat on his forehead. 

He’d make such sweet sounds as he bucked up into me, aching for more friction through his joggers while I nibble down his neck.

I move my hips, envisioning my thighs around his slender waist, fingers wandering beneath his t-shirt, while I rock languidly against him. 

The slow, firm friction is taunting, but I can only imagine it would be worse for him. 

He’d be yearning for touch, hips twitching beneath mine, cock pinned against his stomach by my wet, panty-covered cunt. And the only thing he’d be getting is a teasing roll of my hips and the sound of my shuddering breaths as I guide my clit along his covered length. 

I’d keep it up until he was begging. 

It would be beautiful: the sound of Hop, my best friend, urging me to go faster through ragged breaths and pleading me to pleasure him the way nobody else has. Then maybe I’d pull his pants down, tug aside my panties, and slam my hips down onto his. Tangle my fingers in his hair while he fills me, coax filthy sounds out of him, lead the rhythm and tell him how good he feels as he falls into it. 

Tingles ripple down my neck.

My hips pick up speed.

Each motion shifts my panties and presses my slick arousal back against my aching clit. 

It feels shameful — filthy — so I bundle my dress in a trembling hand and make sure it’s resting over the swell of my full hips. So Hop gets his view if he stops by. Or Leon, or whoever . 

Maybe they’ll get to see how wet I get just from the thought of getting caught fucking the furniture like a desperate little whore. 

A shaky gasp pushes past my lips. 

It feels unnatural to make noise when I’m getting myself off. Always afraid of drawing attention, no matter how hard the attention would make me cum. And now there’s nobody home, but there’s open windows. They already give everyone a clear view of my hips gyrating against the couch. 

Anyone who sees me cumming in my panties would hear every sound I make either way.

My mind drifts back to Leon, rhythm faltering and chest fluttering at the thought of him urging me to moan. I think back to those times he’s told me my giggles are cute — the heat that rushed through me, the twinkle in his eye — and I can’t help picturing his hands digging bruises into my hips.

He’d guide me against his thigh, spandex swishing beneath my panties with every rise and fall, and I’d accidentally make some slutty little sound. I’d flush. My lips would draw into an unsteady line as his fingers crept across my ass and slipped beneath my panties. And he’d tell me how cute that sounded. He’d ask what he needed to do to hear it again. 

He’d force my pace quicker, and I find myself following against the arm rest. The friction on my clit makes me whimper. It’s the kind of noise I’d try to muffle in the fluffy collar of his cape, and he’d chuckle and say, “ See? That one right there!”

And I’d pray he didn’t notice how humiliation makes me squirm in pleasure.

Maybe Leon would think that’s cute, too.

I could see his fist curling in my hair, pulling my head back so he could hear every time his name left my mouth, and rewarding me for each with another hickey along my neck, or another sharp smack on my ass. 

My eyes squeeze shut.

A whine catches in my throat.

Through a dazed, dirty smile, I manage a hushed moan. “ Leon.”

Heat erupts across my lower back. 

My breath quivers. 

A prickling blush spreads across my cheeks and down my neck.

I clench around air, feeling myself quiver against wet panties, the cushioned armrest, the beam beneath it — so, so close to coming undone.

“Leon.”

I lean forward, weight on my elbows, sundress draped across the curve of my waist. It brushes my stomach as I roll my hips in desperate circles. Another whine escapes as I search for release, imagining Leon’s thigh between mine, arousal leaving a small dark patch on his white leggings. 

Sweat prickles along the back of my neck. 

The couch clunks. 

I try to reign in my frantic pace but all it does is leave me pouting and craving more .

Which brings my attention back to the fantasies of Hop. 

I return to the images of pinning him to the bed and grinding myself against his cock through his joggers until he’s begging, panting and bleary-eyed. 

And I can’t help but picture making the two of us cum just like this. Me, gyrating my hips, clit pressed to his covered length, letting him listen to every slick sound my panties make as I bring myself over the edge. 

Then, maybe I’d let him roll me over and show me what he’s been waiting to do. Or, get myself half-hilted on his aching cock and tell him that if he wants to cum he’ll have to work for it.

Assuming he wouldn’t have already made a mess of himself in his pants.

It’s that thought that makes his name slip out from my lips loud enough for anyone walking by to hear. Hop , gasping, smiling, with clumsy, hungry hands urging me against him while I work myself towards a climax. Making him come undone would ruin me, wouldn’t it?

His name escapes again. 

“Hop.” A breathy, whorish sound that makes me flush with shame. 

My clit throbs, breath catches.

“Please.” I mutter, mindlessly, to the empty house and the open window. “Please, I’m so close, I’m so close — ”

“Go on, then.”

A familiar, jovial voice hits me with a punch to the chest. 

My heart drops. My stomach churns. My hips buck and cunt quivers despite myself.

I bolt upright onto rickety legs, and land sitting on the armrest. 

My weight settles on my wet, needy cunt. I’m too aware of my ruined panties, and the way my clit throbs against the cushion, and how every squirm to escape the friction just gives me more. 

Hop and Leon stand in the doorway, and I can’t bring my eyes past their shoes.

I keep my breath held tight in my chest and stand still. Perfectly still. With tears pricking my eyes, and my dress falling back around my thighs.

If they were strangers, getting caught would probably still be fun. 

But Hop and Leon are my friends — a pair of brothers — who likely just heard me moaning each of their names while I fuck myself against the couch we hang out on regularly . They know I masturabte. I know they masturbate. But the only way I wanted them to catch me was from afar, where they could pretend they didn’t see a thing if they weren’t into it.

But that doesn’t really work when they’re both standing in the entryway, and I’m sitting on an armrest in slick panties with shaking thighs and shuddering breaths. 

“No need to stop on account of us.” Leon’s voice wears a casual smile and I hate the heat it sends through me.

I laugh, sheepish and ragged, as my shaking hands straighten my dress.  “You’re uh… Not really the audience I had in mind.”

“Are you sure? Because it sounded like we were.” He replies. 

I stammer, giggle, and nibble my lip. Anything to avoid explaining myself. Like I can just disappear with them staring straight at me if I try hard enough. 

“So, uh…” I tap the armrest and try to ignore the damp spot beneath my fingers. “What exactly did you, uh… hear?”

“Sounded a bit like our names, didn’t it?” He nudges Hop.

And for the first time in his life, the Hop is silent. 

I glance up at him, and he’s wide eyed and dopey as ever with his hands buried in his jacket pockets. He looks down at my cleavage and unsteady hips the same way I glance at his crotch for any hint of arousal.

He shoots me a smile — lopsided, sweet — and I’m right back to wishing he was between my thighs. 

I swallow down the next flurry of nervous giggles. “What if you did ?”

His posture seems to tense, but that look on his face doesn’t falter. 

Beside him, Leon seems more composed, cape held rumpled in his arms, eyes locked on my spread legs and fidgeting fingers. 

Until he notices me staring, and trails his eyes up to mine.

I feel exposed until I see the way his tongue darts out across his lips, and a little glimmer in his eyes. 

“Then I suppose I’d like to see where the show was going,” Leon replies.

The tingling runs back through my hips. Anticipation unfurls in my chest. 

My attention turns to Hop — my closer friend of the two, and the one I thought I had less of a shot with. But here he is, giddy and grinning. 

“Are you seriously okay with that?” I ask. It’s a question posed to both of them. Or maybe to myself. 

“More than okay, I’d say.” Hop answers, self-assured as ever.

A smile returns to my lips, urging me to subtly shift against the armrest for any trace of friction. “Do you two really wanna watch me cum?”

“ You’re serious?” Hop replies. “Mate, I’ve been thinkin’ of this for years!”

“ Mate.” I chortle.

His nose crinkles as he laughs, flushes, and ducks his head. “I didn’t mean —”

“It was cute,” I blurt. “ You’re cute.”

There’s an abrupt change in his stance: head perking up, laughter fading to a hazy smile, hands fidgeting his coat pockets. 

I let my eyes drift to my hands braced on the armrest, and the faint dark streak of arousal beneath them. There’s no denying what I was doing. They heard my moans, watched my hips roll needy circles in front of the open window like the slut I am. 

And they’re playing along.

My lips quirk upwards and give away my stifled smile. 

I wiggle my hips against the armrest, subtle friction returning to my clit. “Why else would I have been trying to cum to  you?”

“She got you there, didn’t she?” Fabric rustles with the sound of Leon nudging his little brother.  “Wasn’t just him though, was it?”

Replying makes me nervous despite the soft back and forth motion that pools fire in my belly. I know they can see me fidgeting in some subtle search for stimulation. They can see my breath grow shallow. 

“No, Sir,” I answer.

“ Sir?” He repeats with a laugh that sends a shameful tingle down my neck. 

My hips twitch against the armrest. The couch creaks. 

“Can you say that again for me?” He asks.

Past the lump in my throat I manage, “Yes, Sir.”

“That’s a good girl.”

A pitiful whimper accompanies the heat prickling through my cheeks. 

My rhythm falters. 

I’m too aware of the way they’re watching me, coaxing me, drinking me in.

“She looks gorgeous, doesn’t she?” Leon lounges against the wall leading to the open kitchen, cape lazily draped over his arm. 

“ Yeah . Better view than outside, I’d —” Hop cuts himself off with a stammer, and the sheepish shuffling of hands in his pockets. 

“Were you watching?” I ask. 

“I mean, the window was —”

My eyes flick up to him, and that toothy grin, and those golden eyes.

And I stop fighting the eager smile pulling at my lips. “So you were watching?”

He laughs, and his posture relaxes again. “Yeah. Hard not to after hearing our names.”

“What’d you think?” My antsy, lewd shifting has turned into a slow, deliberate grind. Pleasure tightens between my legs and flutters through my chest. 

“That you look perfect… almost.” He says, shuffling his feet in my peripheral vision. “The only thing that’d make it better is if that were me under there, right?”

I giggle, eyes darting back down to the fingertips sinking into the cushion. 

I feel hot, from my flushed cheeks, to the sheen of sweat clinging to the back of my neck, to the warm arousal between my thighs making slick sounds with each rut.

“That’s what I was thinking about before you two interrupted.” A laugh puffs out with my shallow breaths. “Pulling these panties aside, riding your cock, and listening to you whimper and gasp my name and, and — and, fuck —”

Another giggle barely masks my moan. 

Leon makes a noise of his own. A low, breathy sigh that makes me crave his touch. 

My hips twitch against the armrest. My panties tug and shift against my clit and I can’t help but think of his mouth there instead. Warm, hot, lapping hungrily until I’m bucking against his greedy lips. 

“Lee.” I nearly choke on the word. And the humiliation only makes me move more fervently against the armrest. The cushion has squished and settled, and each gyration grinds into the firm beam beneath it. I can hear the frame creak. I don’t doubt they can too.

“Tell us what you were thinking about.” Leon urges.

“Riding your thigh,” I pant. “I want you to call me a good girl and play with my ass while — while you make me fuck your thigh like a needy whore ‘til I cum in my —” I clench around air and a moan bursts pasts my lips. “ Until I cum in my panties, and you can slide right in, and…”

I sink my teeth into my lower lip and stifle another pleasured sigh. 

I don’t want them to know I’m about to cum already. I don’t want to cum already. If I could drag this moment out until I was a sobbing, shaking mess begging them for relief, I would.

“Good girl.” Leon’s voice sends another tingling jolt down my back. “That’d be a sight, wouldn’t it? Have you still got your panties on?”

“You couldn’t see from outside?” I ask.

“That wasn’t an answer.” 

With a playful pout, I bundle my dress in my hand and pull it up.

The fabric settles around the swell of my hips. It lets them see the soft curve of my belly, my plush hips, my trembling thighs, and the translucent patch on my white panties. 

“You got that wet just from thinking about us?” Hop’s words bring my attention to the steady friction through damp fabric, and the way my wet cunt is staining the living room furniture. 

I nod. 

Another wave of humiliating arousal rushes through me. My pace grows more erratic.

“You should’ve told me you wanted me this bad.” Hop shifts his hands in his pockets. His voice wavers. “I would have let you have your way with me ages ago.”

A pleasured sigh drifts through my dazed smile. 

There were so many sleepovers where I could have snuck out of the guest room, whispered to him to keep quiet, and slipped his cock into my mouth under the covers. Or movie nights where I could have crawled into his lap and teased him with meandering kisses and fleeting hands until he was bucking his hard cock against my covered clit, muttering filthy pleas as he came.

“Something tells me you’ll have plenty of time.” Leon pauses. “Of course, that’ll be after I’ve had my fun.”

Another giggle hides the way I whimper at the thought of them taking turns. 

Of Leon fucking me until I’m spent, and barely getting a chance to clean up before Hop has me pressed to a wall, palming my bruised tits through my dress, begging me to let him fill me.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Leon asks.

My walls clench. 

My breath catches. 

I can only nod as I try to fight off the creeping release. 

“C’mon, be a good girl and use your words,” he teases. 

“ Please,” I manage, pace faltering.

“Please what?”

“ Please fuck me. ” 

My thighs ache, my panties are soaked with arousal, and I’m desperate for stimulation. Grinding my clit against the cushioned armrest feels amazing but I want to feel my walls clenching around something. Their fingers, or tongues, or cocks as they use me again, and again, and —

“Which one of us?” He asks.

“Both?” I whimper. “Or either? Or — or take turns with me? I don’t care. I just wanna feel you in me when I cum. I just wanna cum—”

My rambling is peppered with tiny moans, and lewd little pants as I work myself steadily toward the edge. 

“ I just wanna cum.” My fingers dig dents into the armrest. The sound of my panties swishing seems deafening, just like my pulse, and every breath puffing past my lips. “ I’m so close. I’m so, so close, I just wanna cum.”

“Go on,” Leon urges, just as he did when he stepped through the door. It sends a wave of heat crashing over me. 

My reply comes out an incoherent moan. 

“Just like that. Get yourself ready,” he says. 

“Please fuck me.” I plead, eyes fluttering shut. “ I wanna cum on your cocks. I wanna feel you fill me and fuck me until I can’t fucking walk and I can’t remember what bruises are from who and —”

There’s a soft groan. I recognize it as Hop, and I want to imagine it’s the sound of his hand palming his cock as I beg them for pleasure.

That’s what undoes me: the image of my best friend touching himself to me humping the furniture like a little whore, just waiting for me to finish so he and his brother can do whatever the hell they want with me. 

Maybe they’ll close the curtains, pull aside my panties and fuck me right here in the stain I made on the armrest. Or one will slide his cock in my wet cunt and the other will get to fuck my face with his fingers curled in my hair.

My hips stutter, grinding mindlessly into the armrest as I bring myself over the edge. 

Warmth prickles across my cheeks and down my neck. Euphoric tingles crawl up my back. 

My thighs clench around the cushion — squish it back up against my quivering cunt and throbbing clit. 

My wet panties glide against it, arousal long since soaked through.

Hop and Leon’s names tumble from my lips with a string of breathy profanities and rambling, filthy pleas.  I’ve lost track of what’s leaving my mouth, and how I’m begging them to use me. I’m not really sure I care.

I’d swear I hear Leon call me a good girl over my ragged panting. 

I’d swear Hop whispers that I’m perfect.

And I’d swear I hear rustling beyond the wet sounds of my panties that make me think one of them has his cock in his fist, waiting for the okay to pull aside my panties and fuck my still-throbbing cunt.

The world eases into focus through shockwaves that have me shuddering and squirming. 

My hips grow still, the couch stops creaking, and the rustling of fabric staggers to a halt.

Uneven breaths match mine. 

A cool breeze rolls through the open window and raises goosebumps along my dewy skin.

Despite the creeping uncertainty, I open my eyes, and find my words through my spinning head.

“So, who’s first?”