Spying On Sis

Savannah and Gianna sprawled on the carpet, bare legs tangled, phones forgotten. They heard the uneven creak of springs first—slow, deliberate, picking up pace. Scarlett’s voice floated down the hall in tight, desperate little gasps. Savannah’s lips curled. “She’s fucking,” she whispered, certain. Gianna flushed, unconvinced, until her friend reminded her they were both eighteen and Scarlett older still. “Why pretend you don’t know what that sound means?” The dare to look followed quick. They padded barefoot to the door, stifled giggles behind palms. Savannah eased the knob. A shaft of afternoon light cut across the bed where Scarlett rode her boyfriend, hips rising and falling with wet, greedy rhythm. Sweat shone on Scarlett’s lower back; each slap of skin sounded thicker than the last. Gianna’s hand went to her mouth, but her thighs pressed together on their own. Click. Phone camera flashed. Door shut. They bolted. Back in Gianna’s room they couldn’t settle. Savannah stripped first—slow roll of cotton down her hips, nothing underneath. Gianna hesitated, cheeks hot, but peeled her panties off too. Both girls lay back, knees falling open. Fingers moved shy, circles growing slick, breaths turning ragged. Savannah angled the phone so they could see the photo again. She looked too long at the seam between Gianna’s legs, then away, then back. “Want me to…?” she murmured. Gianna only nodded. Savannah’s hand slid over, one finger parting soft lips, finding the spot that made her friend’s stomach jump. The bed squeaked down the hall again; the two teens matched its rhythm with smaller, wetter sounds of their own.