Clara (part 1)

Clara had no idea I knew about her and Nick, a married friend of ours. No idea at all. And no idea of how my original suspicions had grown to the degree to where I had to make sure of her fidelity. For, after seven years of being live-together lovers, I was very close to asking her to marry me. Thus, I had to be sure.

Unfortunately, my suspicions turned out to be grounded in reality. She was, indeed, fucking Nick's brains out, and on a regular basis to boot. I learned this fact by not believing her, one time, when she said she couldn't lunch with me because she had to spend her lunch hour with some girls from the office. It was some woman's birthday. Again! That made twelve birthday luncheons in two weeks! Christ, whom did Clara work for? Hallmark?

If it wasn't a birthday girl, it was a crash project that had suddenly popped up. Or out-of-town clients that only she could entertain, her being vice-president of sales, and all. Or it was to celebrate someone's recent promotion. That company of hers seemed to have more promotions than any company in the history of business commerce.

So, there I was, that fateful noon, waiting outside her office building for her to come out with the latest birthday girl, and a gaggle of women. She came out all right, but alone, and started walking west. I followed, glad that she hadn't hailed a taxi. "Follow that cab, buddy!" Not on my Things-I'd-Love-To-Say list.

Four blocks later, I saw her enter a Ramada hotel. I speeded up my walking pace to a trot, and got to the hotel's entrance just in time to see her board an elevator. An empty elevator, or so it appeared from where I was standing. I entered, and almost ran to the elevator banks.

I watched the floor indicator above me. It stopped on fourteen. I watched to see if it made more stops, just in case there had been someone on the elevator with her I couldn't have seen before. The indicator light hung there a while, and then dropped to twelve. I grabbed the next up car.

I got off at fourteen and looked both ways. I was the only one in the hallway, but f*ck, the amount of possible rooms seemed incredible. Hopeless. But, with an idiot's view to it all, I proceeded to go up to each door, lay an ear up against it, and listen. Then, as if God decided to reward his pet moron, I got lucky on my third door.

I could clearly hear Clara's voice. There was no mistaking it, not after seven years. She said, "I really do have to get back to the office, Nick. So, why don't I just suck you off? OK?" I stood there, stunned and dazed. But not too stunned and dazed not to listen, and thinking there was only one Nick we both knew.

Let me tell you, friend, listening to a guy getting blown, through a closed door, isn't what it's all cracked up to be. I couldn't hear shit, save a groan here and there. I could only imagine the full scene.

I stood there, intent on hearing as much as I could, with my left ear pressed against the door, and my eyes peeled for people who might emerge from rooms in the part of the hall I could see, trusting my ears would tell me if anyone left a room behind him. I would have no trouble, I felt, hearing the elevator arrive.

I felt truly foolish with my head pressed tightly up against the door, but the compensation of my cock feeling so unbelievably hard made me ignore the feverish sensation. And the door felt felt cold against my face, as if trying to help me with the sexual heat flooding my brain.

The door! It was the only thing between my eyes and their carnal scene, which I knew was taking place on the same flooring I now stood on, and was just mere feet away from me. It was also the only thing, this necessary portal, that prevented me from clearly hearing Nick speak, as he did here and there. He was saying words which were intermingled with moans of his obvious delight, but I couldn't decipher them. His tone reminded me of animals.

The door also prevented me from hearing Clara's moans of pleasure more fully. I closed my eyes, threw caution to the wind and trusted in my ears, so I could picture her in my mind. I could see her very clearly as her wide, luscious mouth was being forced into an oval shape, the exact shape of Nick's cock. The width of her mouth also being forced into the exact girth of the Nick's erection.

These images of her seemed to make my cock even harder, especially in the head area. It seemed so flush with my blood, I thought it would burst and spread its red all over my shorts. Then she moaned in pleasure again.

I wanted so very much to take my cock out, right then and there, and wank the hell out of it. But I knew I risked jail time, if not great embarrassment, by doing so. The sensations coursing through me felt like exquisite torture. A torture I was now willingly submitting myself to as I listened to them through the vision blocking door. My left leg, which was bearing most of my body weight, started to tingle, and then it shook and trembled. I took great effort to control it, but I managed the job.

Then Nick--there was no mistaking his voice--yelled . . .

"Oh, baby, here it comes! Take it all for me, darling!" I had to imagine she did. And, as I imagined her swallowing his cum, I was fully aware of my erection. It was harder than it had been in ages. I straightened up, and felt it pressed rigidly against my inner trouser material, hurting the tender, blood-gorged head.

My listening at an end, I found the elevators and went home . . .