Last night I was up in Leeds for a work dinner that ran late and turned into an overnight stay. I told Chell on the Wednesday I’d be gone. She just replied with a thumbs-up and “Drive safe.” No questions, no offers to rearrange anything.
I left the house around four. By the time I checked into the hotel just after seven I already had a Ring notification: Jay’s Mercedes on the drive. Two minutes later a second car pulled in behind it — the same silver Audi from the five-guy night. This time only three of them got out. Jay, the Black guy from before, and one of the thick-set lads I recognised from the gym photos she’d once left open on her phone.
The front-door camera caught them walking in. Most of the internal cameras were offline again, but one was still live — the one mounted high in the corner that looks across the lounge and through into the kitchen.
I opened the feed straight away.
They came into the lounge laughing. Jay was already shrugging off his hoodie. Chell was in the short grey dressing gown again, nothing underneath. She went straight to the kitchen, poured four glasses of wine, and brought them back. The Black guy (Marcus, I think his name is) pulled her in for a long kiss while the other two watched. Jay took the gown off her shoulders and let it drop. She stood there naked in the middle of the lounge while three pairs of hands started roaming.
For the next twenty minutes the camera gave me everything that happened in that open-plan space. Chell on her knees in front of the sofa, taking turns on three hard cocks. Jay’s thick one first, then Marcus’s longer one, then the third lad’s. She moved between them without being told, spit running down her chin, one hand always stroking whoever wasn’t in her mouth. At one point Marcus had her bent over the back of the sofa, fucking her from behind while she kept sucking Jay. The third guy filmed bits of it on his phone.
Around half eight they moved her onto the rug in front of the fireplace. Jay lay down, she straddled him and sank onto that heavy cock with a long moan the microphone picked up clearly. Marcus knelt in front of her face; the third lad moved behind and started working a finger into her arse. A couple of minutes later he replaced the finger with his cock. I watched her take both of them, body rocking between the two, while Jay reached up and played with her tits.
They stayed in the lounge for nearly an hour. She came hard at least three times that I could count — once while she was double-penetrated, once when Marcus pulled out of her mouth and came across her tits, and again when Jay finally flipped her onto her back and fucked her deep until he finished inside her. The camera caught the thick cream leaking out when he pulled away.
After that the picture went quieter. They moved through into the kitchen for more drinks. Chell stayed naked, leaning against the counter while one of them fingered her from behind and another made her taste herself off his fingers. Then, around half nine, they all disappeared upstairs.
The lounge camera stayed pointed at an empty room for the rest of the night, but the microphone was still live. Even with the volume turned up only halfway I could hear her. Long, broken moans drifting down the stairs, getting louder and more desperate every few minutes. Occasionally a deeper male groan mixed in, or the sharp sound of skin on skin. It went on for a long time — rising, falling, then building again. At one point she was clearly coming hard; the sound was unmistakable even through the floorboards. They must have kept her up there for well over an hour.
I got the short message from her at 10:12:
“Having a good night x”
Then the later one when I tried to call:
“Can’t talk. Busy. Speak tomorrow.”
I slept badly. Up at six, on the road by half past. The drive home took just over two hours. She messaged once, around eight:
“Just nipping to the shops. Kettle’s on for when you get in x”
I pulled onto the drive at 09:10. The house was quiet. Lounge looked almost normal — two empty wine bottles, a few beer cans, glasses stacked by the sink. In the kitchen bin I found an empty bottle of the same thick lube they’d brought last time.
Upstairs the bed was stripped. The sheets were in the washing machine already running. On the floor by the laundry basket were two towels, both heavy and damp, the same sharp smell of cum and her as before. Her black crotchless bodysuit was draped over the radiator. On the dressing table: the big dildo, still shiny, and the anal beads.
I pulled the duvet back. There was a wide, dried stain right in the middle of the mattress protector. Another smaller one nearer the edge. A third, fresher mark lower down where someone had clearly finished across her stomach or tits and it had run.
I was still standing there when I heard her key in the door.
She came straight upstairs, shopping bags in hand, hair still damp from a shower. Grey leggings, oversized hoodie, no makeup. She put the bags down, walked over, kissed me on the cheek like nothing had happened, and said,
“Morning. Tea?”
I nodded. We went downstairs. While the kettle boiled I asked, as casually as I could,
“Good night then?”
She smiled that small, closed smile she’s been using more and more.
“Yeah. Really good. Jay brought a couple of the lads over. We just chilled, had a few drinks, messed around a bit. Nothing major.”
Nothing major.
I didn’t mention what the lounge camera had already shown me, or the long stretch of moaning I’d listened to after they went upstairs, or the soaked towels, the used toys, or the state of the mattress. She didn’t offer any more detail. We drank the tea in the kitchen, talking about my work dinner and whether she needed anything from the supermarket later. The whole previous night treated like it was already old news.
After a while she went upstairs to hang the washing out. I stayed in the kitchen, still half hard from the images the single working camera had given me — and from everything the microphone had let me hear once the picture went quiet.
