A Very Open House

The house on Cedar Lane shimmered under the late afternoon sun, its mid-century glass walls refracting light into kaleidoscopic patterns across waxed hardwood. Brittany, our real estate agent, had been guiding Dayna and me through properties for weeks, her timid allure as mesmerizing as the homes she pitched. At thirty-two, she was a paradox of nerves and desire: blonde hair pinned loosely, damp tendrils clinging to her flushed neck; tailored dresses molding to her heavy breasts and rounded hips; green eyes that flickered with want before fleeing in panic. Her voice, soft and stuttering, quivered with every word, each syllable a confession of her anxiety and unspoken hunger.

Dayna, my girlfriend of three years, had caught my wandering gaze early. “You’re so into her,” she’d taunt, her brown eyes glinting as we left viewings, her dark curls grazing my shoulder. “You’re practically drooling when she fumbles her clipboard.” I’d deny it, my pulse hammering, swearing Brittany was just sweet, professional. “Bullshit,” Dayna would purr, her fingers digging into my thigh in the car, “you’re imagining her gasping under you.” I laughed it off, anchored to Dayna’s feral energy—her plump lips, her husky laugh, the way she’d straddle me, her nails carving crescents into my skin as she fucked me senseless. Brittany was a quiet obsession, nothing more.

But Dayna’s teasing grew razor-sharp. “Admit you want to fuck her,” she whispered one night, her teeth nipping my earlobe. “It’s hot as hell to think about.” I deflected, but her words seared, a dangerous ember. This morning, her text gut-punched me: Cedar Lane, 2 PM. Work’s a fucking mess, so you’re alone with Brittany. Don’t make her cry from blushing. ;) That winking emoji churned my stomach. Alone with Brittany? Dayna knew I’d fray, torn between loyalty and lust. I texted back, All business, babe. Love you, but my hands trembled as I parked at the house.

Brittany stood on the porch, her navy dress plastered to her curves, the hem quaking above her knees, her fingers twisting a curl until it frayed. “D-Dayna’s not… coming?” she stammered, her voice a whisper, her cheeks flaming.

“Work,” I said, my hands shoved deep in my pockets, knuckles white. “Show me around.”

The house was a wet dream: open-concept, skylights drenching the space in gold, a kitchen island gleaming under soft pendants. Brittany’s tour was a nervous wreck, her words tripping as she gestured to quartz counters, her blush crawling down her neck. “It’s… um, p-perfect for… hosting,” she faltered, leaning over the island, her dress slipping to bare the creamy swell of her breasts, a lacy bra straining against her stiff nipples. I nodded, my eyes snagging on the freckles scattering her chest, the way her breath hitched when I inched closer, her perfume—jasmine and sweat—flooding my senses.

In the hallway, her arm grazed mine, her skin fever-hot. She froze, gasping. “Oh, God, I-I’m so sorry,” she whispered, her hands fluttering like trapped birds. “I’m… a total mess.” Her blush deepened to crimson, but her eyes lingered on my lips, a raw, trembling need beneath her panic.

The master bedroom was a cathedral of desire: a king-sized bed cloaked in white silk, a full-length mirror reflecting the ocean’s molten glow. Brittany hovered at the door, her fingers clawing the frame. “I… I love this room,” she mumbled, her voice cracking. “It’s so… big. For… you and Dayna.” Her eyes flicked to mine, then plummeted, her thighs clenching, her dress riding up to flash lace stockings, the garters biting her pale flesh.

“Solid for renters,” I said, my voice gravel, my cock twitching.

She bit her lip, stepping closer, her heels silent on the rug. “You’re… so calm,” she whispered, her fingers brushing my wrist, shaking so hard they nearly slipped. “Dayna… she talks about you. How you’re… so good to her.” Her breath shuddered, her breasts heaving, her nipples visible through her dress. “I… I can’t stop thinking about it. About… you.” Her voice broke, her eyes wide with terror and lust, tears prickling at the edges.

My heart roared, guilt warring with a primal urge. Brittany’s fear, her raw vulnerability, was a fucking aphrodisiac. “Brittany, we can’t,” I said, my voice fraying, but my body leaned into her touch, her trembling fingers igniting my skin.

“C-can’t?” Her lips quivered, her breath hot on my jaw. “I… I see you watching me. I’m… I’m scared, but I want…” She swallowed, her hand sliding to my chest, nails catching on my shirt. “Please… tell me you don’t want me.”

I couldn’t, not with her shaking before me, her eyes begging, her body radiating need. She kissed me, her lips soft and trembling, her tongue darting hesitantly, tasting of mint and fear. I groaned, my hands gripping her waist, the silk of her dress slick with her sweat. Her kiss deepened, a desperate whimper spilling from her throat as she pressed her tits against me, her heartbeat a frantic drum.

She stumbled toward the bed, her fingers clawing at my shirt, buttons popping free. “I… is this okay?” she gasped, her hands freezing, her eyes pleading. “I don’t… I don’t know if I’m doing this right…”

“You’re perfect,” I growled, pulling her onto the silk sheets. She straddled me, her dress hiking up to bare black lace panties, soaked through, and gartered stockings digging into her quivering thighs. Her hips rocked, a timid twitch, and my cock throbbed, straining against my jeans. “Fuck, Brittany,” I groaned, my hands unzipping her dress, peeling it off to reveal a sheer bra, her nipples pink and rock-hard. I cupped her heavy breasts, my thumbs circling her peaks, and she cried out, a high, keening moan, her body arching, her blush swallowing her chest.

In the walk-in closet, Dayna watched, her breath a ragged sob, her body pressed against the slatted door. She’d slipped in early, her plan cemented over wine with Brittany: “Fuck him. I want to see him break.” Brittany had flushed scarlet, her crush on me obvious, and agreed, her nerves no match for her desire. Now, Dayna’s pulse pounded, her skin burning as Brittany’s whimpers echoed. She’d expected a rush, maybe a pang of jealousy, but the sight of Brittany’s trembling thighs, my hands ripping her dress away, detonated a primal lust. Dayna’s cunt ached, her panties drenched, her fingers hovering at her waistband, nails digging into her thighs to stop herself. She wanted to feel every agonizing second—Brittany’s panicked moans, my hungry grip, the way Brittany’s tits bounced as she straddled me. Dayna’s arousal was a beast, clawing at her, her clit pulsing with every one of Brittany’s shaky breaths, her mind screaming to touch herself but her body savoring the exquisite torture.

Brittany’s hands fumbled with my jeans, her fingers shaking as she freed my cock, thick and pulsing, a bead of precum glistening at the tip. “Oh… God,” she whispered, her eyes wide, her blush nuclear as she stroked, her grip tentative but tightening. She lowered her mouth, her lips trembling, wrapping around me, her tongue swirling over the head, lapping at the salt of my precum. I groaned, my hands knotting in her hair, the wet heat of her mouth a fucking revelation. She sucked, slow and shaky, her moans vibrating against my shaft, her tongue tracing every vein, her lips stretching wide, saliva dripping down her chin.

Dayna’s breath hitched, her fingers plunging beneath her skirt, grazing her sopping panties, her cunt so wet it coated her thighs. Brittany’s sloppy sucks, my guttural growls, were a Molotov cocktail in Dayna’s veins. She watched Brittany’s lips glide, her throat bobbing as she took me deeper, my hips jerking. Dayna’s clit screamed, her arousal a razor’s edge, but she clawed her thighs, delaying the inevitable, her fingers trembling just outside her folds. Brittany’s nervous hunger, my control shattering, was a fantasy made flesh—Dayna’s cunt throbbed, her breath a sob, her body teetering on the brink.

Brittany pulled back, her lips swollen, her chin slick, her eyes glassy with panic and lust. “I… I need more,” she stammered, her hands shaking as she unhooked her bra, her tits spilling free, heavy and flushed, her nipples begging for my mouth. She climbed over me, guiding my hands to her skin, her breath hitching. I sucked one nipple, my tongue lashing, my teeth scraping, and she screamed, a raw, desperate sound, her nails raking my shoulders, her cunt dripping through her panties onto my chest. She yanked her panties aside, straddling my face, her scent musky and overpowering, her folds glistening. “P-please,” she sobbed, her thighs quaking, her voice breaking. My tongue plunged into her, lapping her clit, swollen and pulsing, her juices flooding my mouth, tart and thick. I sucked hard, my fingers spreading her ass, her hips bucking, her screams fracturing the air, her cunt grinding against my lips, coating my chin.

Dayna’s restraint snapped. Her fingers tore through her panties, plunging into her cunt, stroking her clit with frantic circles, her moan choked against her fist. Brittany’s sobs, my tongue fucking her, obliterated Dayna’s control. She watched Brittany’s thighs clamp my head, my fingers digging into her ass, and Dayna’s orgasm exploded, her cunt clenching, her juices soaking her hand, dripping to the floor. But the fire didn’t die—Brittany’s frantic cries, my relentless sucking, reignited Dayna’s need, her fingers diving back in, her body shuddering, her eyes glued to the scene, her arousal a bottomless pit.

Brittany slid down, ripping off her panties, her cunt glistening, her eyes locked on mine, terrified but ravenous. “I… I can’t stop,” she sobbed, her fingers trembling as she guided my cock to her entrance, slick and impossibly tight. I thrust up, burying myself, her walls gripping me like a vice, her scream tearing through the room, her juices dripping down my balls. I grabbed her hips, pounding deeper, her tits bouncing, her moans a staccato wail, the mirror capturing every thrust—her flushed skin, my hands spreading her cheeks, the wet, rhythmic slap of our bodies, her cunt stretching around me.

Dayna staggered from the closet, her skirt bunched, her panties torn, her cunt glistening. She collapsed against the wall, her fingers fucking herself, her moans loud and raw, her eyes devouring Brittany’s writhing body, my cock disappearing into her. “Fuck,” Dayna gasped, her climax building again, her cunt pulsing, her juices pooling beneath her. Brittany’s orgasm hit, her cunt convulsing, her scream a banshee wail, her body shaking, her juices soaking me. I came, my cock pulsing, hot cum flooding her, my roar swallowed by her cries. Brittany collapsed, her breath sobbing, her lips quivering against my neck. “I… I didn’t mean to… God,” she whispered, her blush apocalyptic.

Guilt knifed me. “Dayna,” I choked, sitting up, panic clawing my chest. “We fucked up.”

Brittany’s eyes darted to the corner. “She’s… she’s here.”

Dayna stepped forward, her skin flushed, her cunt still dripping, her eyes feral. “Holy fuck, babe,” she growled, her voice thick. “That was the hottest shit I’ve ever seen.” She crawled onto the bed, her skirt gone, her tits bare, her clit swollen and glistening. “I told Brittany to fuck you. I needed to watch.” She kissed me, her tongue plunging, lapping Brittany’s juices from my lips, her cunt grinding against my thigh. “I’m fucking soaked.”

I stared, my mind reeling. “You… planned this?”

“Every fucking second,” she said, shedding her blouse, her bra, her torn panties. She straddled the bed’s edge, legs splayed, her cunt open, her fingers plunging inside, stroking her clit, her juices dripping onto the silk, her moans a siren’s call. “Watch me,” she commanded, her eyes burning  Dayna: eyes burning into ours. Brittany’s breath hitched, her shyness flooding back, but she pressed against me, her hand grazing my cock, her cunt still leaking. Dayna fucked herself, her fingers plunging deep, her hips bucking, her tits heaving, her cum squirting, soaking the sheets. “Fuck, you two,” she screamed, her orgasm shattering her, her body convulsing, her fingers dripping.

Brittany’s hand tightened on my cock, her breath a whimper. “She’s… God,” she whispered, her cunt clenching against my thigh. Dayna’s eyes snapped to us, her smile wicked.

“Get over here,” Dayna growled, pulling Brittany close, kissing her hard, their tongues tangling, Brittany’s hesitant moans turning feral. Dayna’s fingers dove into Brittany’s cunt, fucking her, her thumb grinding her clit, Brittany’s screams muffled against Dayna’s tits. I watched, my cock hardening, as Dayna pushed Brittany onto her back, spreading her legs, her tongue plunging into Brittany’s cunt, lapping her cum, Brittany’s hips bucking, her hands clawing the sheets. Dayna’s fingers found my cock, stroking, her mouth sucking Brittany’s clit, Brittany’s second orgasm ripping through her, her cum flooding Dayna’s lips.

Dayna climbed over me, impaling herself, her cunt tight and dripping, her moans blending with Brittany’s. Brittany’s fingers fucked Dayna’s ass, her tongue flicking Dayna’s nipples, my cock pounding deeper, our rhythms syncing, the room a haze of sweat, cum, and screams. Brittany came again, her cunt gushing, Dayna’s orgasm milking me, her cum soaking my cock, my release exploding, filling her, our cries a single, primal roar. We collapsed, a tangle of slick skin, panting, the air thick with sex and salt.

The hour dissolved, the house on Cedar Lane a temple to our lust. “This one’s ours,” Dayna rasped, her laugh raw, her hand linking Brittany’s, then mine. “Fucking christened.”