Cucked By The Dead: Part 3 (Patreon)

I'm back with the next part of Cucked By The Dead.

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Now that the office in the back bedroom is properly set up and not just a jumble of unopened boxes, Keith seems to spend all of his time up there. He says he’s just busy, but I can’t help thinking that it’s just an excuse to get away from me.

I’m sitting on the sofa watching the television. Half-watching, really, because I’m really just stewing over how Keith’s up there again in his office, and he’s barely talked to me since I got home from work.

Something needs to change. I know I need to talk to him about this.

I walk up the stairs. I avoid the ones that creak. I don’t even know why I do that, it’s not like I’m trying to sneak up on him or something. But I realise that I’m treading carefully, almost creeping. At the top of the stairwell I stop, pause, listening for any sign that he’s heard me. 

Why am I being like this?

I take a couple more quiet, tentative steps towards the office. The door’s open just about a quarter of the way, so I get a narrow vertical view of what’s going on in the room. 

Keith’s sitting at his desk, facing away from me. At first I think he’s just doing work. But then I see him lean his head right back, and I realise that I can see his elbow and forearm moving. He’s jerking off in his chair. 

I take a step closer, still careful to stay silent. I just watch. I feel like a fucking creep, I feel embarrassed to be spying on him like this, but I can’t help it. 

I’m standing there in the dark, watching him stroke himself, when I hear it. A whisper, almost silent but right in my ear, like someone’s standing behind me and leaning over my shoulder. 

“He’s mine.”

The next few seconds are a jumble. I let out a yelp from the shock of it, spinning around to see who’s behind me but there’s no one. I hear the door slam behind me and I spin around one-eighty degrees again to see the door to the office is shut. All of a sudden I’m panicking, I’m grabbing the door handle but the door won’t open. It’s locked. I don’t know how it’s locked because as far as I know it doesn’t even have a lock. I’m rattling the handle, yelling Keith’s name, frantically begging him to open the door. As I do I look behind me: I can see the hallway’s empty but I still have this feeling like someone’s there, whoever it is with that raspy whisper, leaning over my shoulder. 

I’m desperate. “Keith please!” I don’t understand why he’s locked me out. “Please. Open the door!”

The door swings open, and Keith’s standing there. He takes a look at me, this confused look on his face. I’m so fucking relieved to see him, I grab him and wrap myself around him, and finally my heartbeat and my heaving breath starts to return to normal.

“What’s wrong?” Keith asks.

I open my mouth to explain, but I realise I don’t have a fucking clue what just happened or why I suddenly turned into such a mess. I feel stupid and a little embarrassed.

“I just got a fright,” I told him. It doesn’t seem like an adequate answer.

Keith hugs me a little tighter. “Don’t worry, babe,” he reassures me. For a few seconds we just stand there in the doorway hugging each other. Then I feel his body start to release so I unwrap myself from around him and step back.

“What was it?” he asks. “That gave you a fright.”

“It was nothing,” I tell him, shaking my head, pushing it out of my thoughts. “I just thought I heard someone behind me, that’s all. It was nothing.”

“Why did you slam the door?”

“I didn’t. You did.” But the confused look on his face dispelled that assumption. “You didn’t? I thought it was you.”

He shakes his head. “No, I just heard you yell and then the door slammed shut.”

“I must have just bumped it. When I freaked out.” I don’t remember bumping it. And it opens inwards so I don’t even know how I could bump it closed. But my recollection of the moment is kind of jumbled anyway, so who knows what I did in the moment.

I look down. I see Keith’s jeans still unzipped, his belt undone and swinging in the air. I remember why I’d been watching him in the first place. “Sorry to intrude on your… alone time.”

Keith looks a little embarrassed now too. “You saw that?” 

I nod. “It’s okay. You don’t need to be embarrassed about it. It’s hot, watching you jack off like that.”

He looks relieved. Then he looks at me and raises an eyebrow. “If you think it’s hot then…” He steps back, swivels the chair around to face me, and sits down in it. Then he pulls out his cock again — not hard anymore but not yet fully soft either — spits on his hand, and starts to stroke himself.

I stand in the doorway watching him as his cock swells and stiffens in his hand. He closes his eyes, leans his head back in the chair, and lets out a soft moan as he hits his stride.

I walk over to him and get onto my knees in front of him. I lean in, touch my tongue against the tip of his cock, looking up at his reaction as I do. He doesn’t open his eyes, but he places a hand on my forehead and gently pushes me away from his cock. He starts to jerk it harder, and as he does he grabs hold of a handful of my fringe, holding my head in place an inch from his cock, close but too far to put it in my mouth. He grunts as he starts to really pound it with his hand. Then another grunt: he’s close. He grips my hair tight as his whole body starts to clench up tightly. I close my eyes in anticipation. Then with one more long, low grunt he releases his load. It hits my eyelid and the bridge of my nose. Then again, it hits my cheek and starts to dribble down onto my top lip.

I scoop the wad out of my eye socket and open my eyes. He’s still leaning back on his chair, eyes clothes, breath ragged. I see the last dribble of cum still clinging to his cock, so I gently lick it off with the tip of my tongue.

Keith opens his eyes and looks down at me. “Like that?” he asks with a smirk.

“Fuck yeah.” 

“Good.” He loosens his grip on the clump of hair he’s been clinging to. Then he stands up and walks out of the room, leaving me kneeling on the floor in front of his empty chair.