While They Sleep

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This is my first story on Literotica, in fact my first attempt at erotica, period. I don’t have a lot of time, so I keep it short and sweet. Well, not sweet, actually this is a pretty dark story.



I lie on the couch, blankets pulled up to my waist. The living room is dark, save for a sliver of streetlight coming in between the curtains.

I’m at my in-laws place. We try to visit them once a month, which means once a month I have to try to get some rest on their shitty old leather couch. My wife, Anna, is bed-sharing with our daughter in the guest bedroom, leaving no room for me.

It’s a humid August night, and the AC is insufficient to the task. I’m wearing a t-shirt and boxers for some semblance of modesty, and also to keep my bare skin off the leather couch.

And fuck, I’ve got a raging hardon and no tissues nearby. I flop over on my back, tired, hot, and frustrated.


I can’t sleep. It’s too damned hot and my husband is snoring heavily, having had one too many beers earlier. My daughter and her family are visiting: my daughter and granddaughter in our guest room and my poor son-in-law James stuck on our dreadful couch.

I peel my sweat-soaked nightshirt away from my chest and fan it lightly. It helps a little, but not enough. I had thrown off the covers a while ago, and am now seriously contemplating sleeping in the nude.

I stand up and slide my underwear, also soggy with sweat, down to my feet and flick them towards the laundry basket, where they bounce off the side and fall with a quiet splat to the floor.

I decide that sleeping nude is the best option, but I leave on the nightshirt so I can first get a glass of desperately needed water.

I tiptoe into the hall so as not to wake anybody. My foot hits the top step and I carefully step downstairs in the dark. It’s şişli escort almost pitch black, but I can see light from the living room as I descend. As I hit the bottom step I hear a noise from the living room, and I start to speak: “James, I’m sorry if I w…” and I stop.

James is masturbating. His hand freezes on his dick at the sound of my voice. Light spilling from the living room window illuminates both his shocked expression and rock hard member.

We both stare at the other, silent and frozen.


I had no idea what to do. Lauren, my fuckin mother-in-law, standing in the shadows at the bottom of the stairs, staring at me holding my fuckin dick.

A mixture of embarrassment and arousal flooded my brain. Why wasn’t she turning around? Looking away? Apologizing? And for that matter, why wasn’t I? I could cover up right now, apologize, we both awkwardly laugh and process the embarrassment and never mention the incident ever again.

But no, just silence and stillness. The moment drags on for five, ten seconds? The awkwardness grew. Then Lauren moves, almost imperceptibly. She leans backwards against the wall. A silent acknowledgement that she isn’t going anywhere.

And slowly, I move too. I glide my hand slowly up my shaft, and back down. I’m jerking off in front of my own mother-in-law for fuck’s sake. And she’s a willing participant.


I watch James slowly stroke his dick. It’s a fair size, not porn star, but bigger than average. And in that moment, the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. The tip is glistening with precum. My right hand slides between my legs, lifting the hem of my nightshirt and seeking out my slit. I am soaked. I dip a finger inside myself and gasp involuntarily.

James picks up the pace, stroking his dick with intensity, his eyes never leaving me. I slide my fingers mecidiyeköy escort up and down my lips, occasionally teasing the hood of my clit. I can hear him panting from lust. I’m panting too, and somehow the room seems filled with the sounds, quiet as they are.


I can barely see her, but I know what she is doing. I can glimpse her elbow moving as she pleasures herself. I know what I want, what I desperately want, and I feel myself, dreamlike, standing up.


James stands by the couch, dick still in hand, still staring at me, now with a faraway, vacant look in his eyes. Like a predator about to strike. He steps forward, into the shadows towards me. I can now see only his silhouette looming closer, his breathing laboured, his hands never stopping pumping his cock. My breath catches in my throat as he gets within arm’s reach.

‘James,” I whisper, “what are you doing?”

He closes the remaining gap.


I wake with a start, the heat of the night getting to me, leaving me parched. My daughter is sleeping peacefully next to me. Dying for a glass of water, I slip agonizingly slowly from the bed so as not to disturb her. Luckily I have a lot of practice at this. Ditto for opening the door so it makes no noise, and shutting it behind me equally silently. When in the hall I can hear muffled noises, almost imperceptible. From downstairs.

I go to the top of the stairs, but I can’t see a damned thing.

I take a step down.

I think there is something at the bottom of the stairs. A coat rack maybe.


It’s not a coat rack. It seems to be moving.


It’s a person, a large hulking shape in the darkness, licking and panting, leaning against the wall.


I can hear a repetitive sounds, a dim thumping.


As my eyes istanbul escort adjust I can make it out better: It’s not a person…it’s two people…against the wall. A sinking dread hits my stomach…


This cannot be real. It’s not real. This is some fucked up nightmare and I’m going to wake up.


One shape has the other pinned against the wall. They’re fucking. I can make out the motion of the hips, rhythmically grinding into the other. Shadowy faces mashed together, mouths joined in a feverish kiss.


My world falls apart as I descend the remaining stairs.

Against the wall, where the shadows would never be enough to cover their sins, were two people I loved and trusted. My husband, the man I trust to always be there for me, and my mother, who could never ever hurt me, are copulating. I watch in horrified fascination at the intense primal mating happening 6 feet from me.

My eyes travel upwards…My mom’s right foot is wrapped around my husband’s ankle, her leg opened to allow his thrusting hips access, her entire weight on her left foot. My mother’s nightshirt is bunched around her waist, my husband’s ass clenching as he thrusts. He’s hammering deep inside her, and I can hear his balls slapping against her. Against my mother. MY MOTHER. And she meets his lunges with her own hips.

His hands are in her hair, holding her head back while he violently kisses her. They both grunt with exertion, and my mother claws at his back desperately.

I hear a whisper from my husband: “I’m going to come inside you.” My mother grabs his hair and bites his neck, bringing her mouth to his ear. “Do it. Come inside me.”

A gurgle escapes my throat as my hand goes to my mouth.

Two heads snap towards me. Eyes wide.

All motion ceases.

My husband looks me dead in the eyes. There is an emptiness there, a strange lack of guilt or regret, just an acknowledgement of my presence, and nothing more.

My mother’s hand tightens into a fist, clutching his hair.

And I watch, disbelieving, as slowly, slowly, his hips begin to thrust again.

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