Becoming A Voyeur

Elsa wakes alone. No note, no goodbye. Charlotte has vanished the way she arrived. A hot shower leaves her skin pink, and she returns to her room focused on the books she needs for class. She doesn’t see India watching from the doorway. India offers to help. Elsa accepts. India sits on the edge of the bed, straightening Elsa’s collar, and she whispers an apology for last night. “We tried to keep it down.” Elsa looks away, cheeks warm, and gives a small, embarrassed nod. Then Elsa surprises them both. “How did you know I like women?” India opens her mouth to answer, but Elsa catches movement in the mirror—Charlotte’s reflection at the door. She asks India to leave, gently but firmly, and waits until the latch clicks before she turns around. Charlotte smirks. She teases Elsa about India for a moment, then invites her to study with her and a friend. Elsa says she needs to get to class, but Charlotte keeps asking. In the end Elsa agrees. Charlotte is the only girl who has reached out since she arrived; meeting new people can’t hurt. They walk across campus to Ana’s dorm. Elsa takes the couch. Charlotte and Ana sit on the bed, close enough that their thighs touch. Charlotte opens her textbook. Ana isn’t listening. Her eyes are on Charlotte’s mouth, on the rise of her breasts under a thin cotton top. Ana leans in. Charlotte tries to read, but every nerve stands on edge. When Ana’s fingertip traces the back of her hand, goosebumps race up Charlotte’s arm. Ana catches her fingers, lifts them, and kisses the knuckles, slow and warm. Charlotte’s concentration cracks. She wants that mouth. She wants to feel Ana’s tongue against hers, wants to taste the salt of her dark skin, wants to bury her face between those smooth thighs and make her come. Her panties are already slick. Elsa stays perfectly still on the couch. She knows she should leave. Instead she watches. She watches Charlotte drop between Ana’s legs and lick her open, slow and hungry. She watches Ana push two fingers deep into Charlotte’s cunt while Charlotte moans against her clit. She watches them twist and grind through orgasm after orgasm, bodies gleaming, breath ragged, until the sheets are damp and the air smells like sex. And she loves every second of it.