The Game

A strange ability, a voyeurism kink, and a hot lunchtime fuck

Synaesthesia, the child psychologist called it, when Michelle was seven. Just a different way of perceiving the world. Nothing to worry about.

Michelle sees sound as colour. Sometimes she sees sounds that she shouldn’t even be able to hear, an ability that the various professionals have dismissed with uneasy scepticism over the years.

Twenty years later, Adeyole says she’s ‘freaky’ but in loving and lascivious tones. With her enthusiastic collaboration, he has invented a special game. A titillating, hot-as-fuck game.

Which is why he’s down in the server room right now with Jen from Helpdesk, and Michelle is tucked away in Smokers’ Corner, watching the colours of their tryst

She can see Ade’s words, filthy, guttural grunts, pulsing crimson with lust and mischief. Jen isn’t making words. She’s sparking high-pitched squeaks and lagoon-blue moans. Michelle smiles to herself, enjoying their mutual arousal. What she can’t see, she builds from her imagination. Jen’s hands flat against the painted breeze-block, bracing herself as Ade’s thick, stubby cock fills her. Head tipped forward, straight brown hair swinging to the rhythm of their urgent, furtive fucking.

Michelle’s knickers are damp; she squirms on the plastic chair, presses her legs together. From the basement swirls a maelstrom of colour; “fuck” and “god, yes”, and “holy fuck” again. Ade is close to orgasm, Jen spurring him on with clenching cunt and breathless profanity.

Michelle never stays for the finale, forcing herself to stand and walk away, returning to her desk before the explosion of colour and light reaches her. She’ll wink at Ade and Jen when they reappear, fan her face in a parody of overheating, and spend the afternoon in a glaze of barely-concealed arousal, counting the minutes until it’s time to head home. Clinging to Ade’s hand all the way, exchanging sideways glances and knowing, wanting grins. When the front door closes, she’ll be tearing at his clothes, biting at his soft dark skin, writhing in his strong grip until he gives her what she’s been needing for hours.

That’s the game.

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