Beth had ruled that it was for too late and that Molly was far too drunk to do anything other than stay over for the night. In fairness, she hadn't been wrong.
A couple of hours later and a little less drunk, but not wholly sober, Molly was awake, staring at the ceiling in the spare room of Beth's parent's cosy (small), three-bedroomed house. Beth's boyfriend was spending the night, hence Molly had been relegated to the spare room. Someone had left the central heating turned on and so even with the window open, a combination of the uncomfortable temperature and her rapidly developing hangover had woken Molly. She found that she had apparently collapsed into bed more or less fully dressed; her jacket was flung in the corner of the room, her shoes were missing, but otherwise she was just a crumpled version of herself from a few hours ago.
Molly unsteadily levered herself up and around until she was sitting on the edge of the bed with her feet on the carpet. With a monumental effort of will she just about managed to stand. After allowing a few moments to reassure herself she wasn't going to fall down, she took a few tentative half-steps and switched on the little lamp on the bedside table. There was a full length mirror in the corner of the room and in the half light Molly focussed her eyes on the hazy reflection of her face. Her make up was still on, of course; actually looking very on-point if she did say so herself. She reached behind her back and unhooked, then unzipped her black dress - unforgivably creased - slipped her arms out of the thin straps and let it fall to the floor, with a quick shake of her hips helping it along. She had been counting on running into Dave last night and had dressed in hope, if not necessarily expectation, in a very expensive, very lacy and very sexy black bra and thong. She had even accessorised with his favourite black hold-up stockings. Her dress only covered the top of the stockings by an inch or so, and every time she sat down her dress rode up and almost provided a glimpse of bare thigh. The whole night she had walked with the confidence that she could probably have gone home with any guy in the bar. Unfortunately the only one she wanted hadn't turned up, so she had gone home with Beth.
Still facing herself in the mirror, Molly unfastened her bra, tossed it towards a chair (it missed and landed on the floor) cupped her breasts and wished they were a little bit bigger. As she stepped out of her thong, her memory took her racing back to Beth's birthday party two years ago. She had been bent over towards the very same mirror, naked, her hands gripping the wooden frame while Jamie fucked her from behind. It had been risky with a houseful of people, and that had made it better. The position of the mirror meant her reflection didn't face the door directly, but had been perfectly visible to Beth's dad when he had opened the door. Jamie didn't notice him at all and by the time Molly had seen him he was already hastily backing out. It was only when she was getting dressed a few minutes later that she had seen he hadn't actually closed the door behind him completely. It was open wide enough, maybe, for someone to clandestinely watch their reflection in the mirror.
Molly felt a little shiver of excitement and her reflection smirked back at her. She felt the ghost of Jamie's hands tightly gripping her hips, and she could almost hear his voice as he told her that he wasn't going to pull out after all. That had turned her on so much her knees almost buckled and she came a minute later; a little more loudly than was prudent.
In the present she couldn't help but reach forward to hold the mirror, assuming the position from that night, bending forward, legs a pace apart. She hoped Beth's dad had watched her that night. She hoped he had seen Jamie grab her hair and pull her almost to be standing straight while he fucked her: that would have given him a good view of her whole body. She hoped he had heard her begging Jamie to fuck her harder. Looking at her reflection she wondered whether another reason she came so hard that night was because she thought he might be watching.
Tonight her legs also felt a little unstable: those last couple of drinks had been a definitive over-reach. Molly stepped backward and she flopped onto the bed, which mercifully now felt a little cooler. She pulled her knees up, pushed the stockings down her perfectly smooth legs one at a time, and flicked them onto the floor. Not ready to try and fall back asleep, she absentmindedly traced random patterns across her skin with her fingernails, wishing it was Dave's hands that were touching her. She remembered his kisses on the inside of her thighs that night just a few weeks ago, and how she begged him for more while he teased her. When he finally complied and his tongue darted inside her and across her clit, her back had arched so dramatically she almost folded herself in two.
Without thinking she moved her right hand firmly down her body, starting between her breasts and over her stomach, at which point she opened her legs just enough so as she could touch herself, delicately, almost reluctantly. She thought about the way Dave had sucked her clit while two of his fingers curled inside her at, and how she had screamed. Really screamed. Not saying any discernible words, just letting out a wail of pleasure. Then she managed his name. Just his name. Over and over and over. So loud. Embarrassingly loud. He was the best. Only one other person had ever come close.
Back in the moment, Molly lifted her hips off the bed, rubbing her clit hard with wet fingers. She wished she had the vibrator she knew was in the bottom draw of Beth's bedside table. Better still she wished Dave was fucking her. She wondered whether Beth's dad ever imagined it was him fucking her in front of the mirror that night. Whether he ever got hard thinking about what he would do to her if he got the chance.
She was very vaguely aware of a noise from downstairs. Although she didn't appreciate it, the sound was the front door opening, then closing, as Beth's dad arrived home from his own night out, more than a little bit worse for wear and soaked by the rain he had walked in for fifteen minutes after getting out of the taxi at his friend's house so as to save himself some money. What Molly also did not know, and could never have known, was that he had already decided he would sleep in the spare room rather than letting his wife see the state in which he had come home. In the kitchen, he stripped off his wet clothes and put them straight into the washing machine. He made a poor attempt at drying himself off with a dish-cloth, then he gulped a glass of tap-water and tip-toed up the stairs, naked and an unsteady.
With two fingers alternating between rubbing her clit vigorously and sliding deep into her pussy, Molly could feel herself getting very close. She pulled her knees up, planted her heels into the mattress almost level with her hips and arched her spine, forcing her head back into the pillow. She bit her bottom lip, fighting back the moans that she was desperate to let escape. She was back to thinking about Dave and how she had left a huge bruise on his left shoulder: biting him to unsuccessfully suppress another loud orgasm.
She was lost in those thoughts and had just dared to whisper Dave's name under her breath when Steve, Beth's dad, opened the bedroom door, slipped inside, and then closed it as quietly as he could, not noticing Molly at all, willing his wife to stay asleep and unaware. It was as if for two or three seconds half of Molly's brain appreciated what was happening, but the other half denied it, and the cognitive dissonance paralysed her. A second later and she was fully aware and only just managed not to shout or scream. Steve had seen her by now and actually stepped towards her, waving both hands in front of himself, whispering profuse and sincere apologises. Molly desperately sought to cover herself with the bed-sheets but they were trapped underneath her. In the end she reached behind herself for a pillow and clutched it to her chest, her legs crossed and drawn up.
"I'm so sorry Mol," Steve said in a whisper that was too loud, and stepped forward again, "No one told me you were staying. I had no idea!"
She put a finger against her lips to quieten him, "sshhhhhhh".
Her immediate panic, curiously, was not that Beth's dad had just walked in on her naked, fingering herself, and that for some reason he was also naked, but more that if anyone woke up it and found them it was going to be total carnage.
"It's okay, please sshhhhh," she whispered to him.
Steve nodded and put a finger to his own lips. Having forgotten for a moment that he was naked but in any event defying every sensible option that was available to him - mostly because he was fairly drunk and his heart was beating so fast he was getting light-headed, he sat down on the bed. His feet were on the floor and he anchored himself by gripping the edge of the mattress with both hands. He had placed himself close enough to Molly that he had very nearly sat on her feet, still pulled up to her body. She didn't understand why on earth he had sat down, and why he was making no effort to cover himself! Or to leave! His let his head fall forward into his hands and he swayed back and forth and side to side for a few moments. Presumably feeling he had regained equilibrium, he removed his hands, leaned to his left and turned his head so as to whisper in Molly's ear; a move which actually meant his left cheek was touching her right cheek.
"I got soaked in the rain so I got had to get undressed downstairs," he explained. "I was going to sleep in here. Because I'm drunk. I didn't you know you were here."
"Don't worry, it's fine," Molly whispered back.
