The One He Watched

**Author's Note**

This is the companion follow on piece to The Unlabelled Tape - but this time, told from her perspective.

Where the first story charted voyeurism, jealousy, and obsessive arousal from the outside looking in, this is the flip - an intimate, confessional descent into what it feels like to be seen and to be known in ways you never intended.

If you're not ready for themes like past partner sex, voyeurism, uninvited discovery, jealousy, and reclaiming control through sexual dominance, this one won't be for you.

If you are - welcome. I hope you find what you're looking for.

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The One He Watched

I knew the moment I stepped into the room that something was off. I felt it deep in my gut.

The drawer was open by a centimetre or two. Not wide, but enough. Enough for me to notice. Enough for me to know.

It wasn't like that when I left this morning, I was sure of that.

I stood there in the doorway for a moment, still holding my bag, heart beating faster than it should.

The flat was quiet, just the distant hum of traffic and the shower still running. I walked in slowly and set my bag down on the arm of the sofa.

The drawer was the small one under the TV. Where I kept old chargers, a pack of playing cards, and that little grey box I hadn't touched in well over a year. Not since before him.

I knelt and opened it fully.

The contents had been disturbed. Not trashed, he wasn't careless, just... not precise. The DVDs inside weren't stacked the way I knew they'd been. A couple had been rotated slightly. One of the sleeves had its flap turned upward.

And that one - the silver disc with no case and no title, just that faint dot of pen - it wasn't at the bottom anymore.

It had been moved.

I stared at it for a long moment, my throat tightening and a sinking feeling deep in my gut. My skin flushed hot beneath my coat. I reached in, lifted it gently between my fingers, turned it over. A smudge of new oil from someone's thumb was visible along the edge.

Not mine.

I closed the drawer and sat back on my heels.

He found it. Fuck.

Had he watched it? Double fuck.

I felt my pulse in my fingertips and in my chest.

I should've felt embarrassed. Furious, maybe. It was private. Old. Not something he was meant to see. In truth I'd forgotten it was even still here.

But the dominant feeling wasn't anger, it was something else. Something closer to curiosity.

Curiosity for the idea of him sitting right here on this sofa, alone. Pressing play. Seeing that first flicker of handheld footage. And realising it was me.

My lips parted as I pictured it.

What had he felt? Revulsion? Did he hate me for it?

Or did he like the way I looked? With him - with that cock. Did it turn him on? Did his hands reach for his jeans? Did he cum so hard he had to clench his teeth just to stay quiet?

The water in the shower stopped.

I stood up, wiped my hands on my thighs, and straightened the drawer. Closed it quietly. Walked back to the kitchen like nothing had happened.

He'd watched it. I was certain of that. But what was going to happen next was anyone's guess.

***

Later that evening, after dinner and small talk and pretending everything was normal, I ran a bath.

I said I was tired. Said I needed to unwind.

He nodded too quickly. Guilty as hell, and clearly wanting me out of his way.

I stripped slowly, aware of the way my nipples had been tight all evening. I slid into the hot water, letting it soak into my skin, and tilted my head back until only my mouth and nose broke the surface.

I didn't want to remember Josh. Not really.

But the tape... that night... it came flooding back.

I'd felt reckless that evening. Lit up. I'd bought the lace body in the afternoon, knowing exactly how it would cling. I'd poured two glasses of red, teased him about filming it, half-joking, half-daring. He hadn't needed much convincing.

I remembered the heat of the room. The flash of the bedside lamp. The sound I made when he slid inside me.

I wasn't performing. That's the thing. People think filmed sex is always fake. But that wasn't. That was me, uninhibited. Me with no filter. Me moaning and choking and begging like I'd never begged before - not because he made me, but because I wanted to.

It had been the best and worst of us. He was an arse, and his arrogance pissed me off. I hated his sarcasm and the way he put me down. But that cock...

I was scared of it. Half to death. But I was in lust with it too - the way it looked, the way it felt in my hand, and the things he did with it. The way it made me moan. The way it made me crawl.

It had ended a couple of months after the night we made the video - one blazing public row too many. I hadn't watched it since.

But now he had.

My new boyfriend. The wonderful, sweet man who makes me feel a million dollars. The man who I cook pasta with and cuddle on the sofa. The man who kisses me gently in the morning and makes me smile by just thinking about him.

He'd seen it. Seen me raw, greedy, and ruined.

I imagined the look on his face.

First the shock. Then the disbelief. Then... maybe, the twitch in his jeans. The guilt. The arousal. The hate. The heat.

The urge to stop watching. The urge to keep going.

My hand slipped beneath the water and my fingers found warmth and wetness that were not from the bath.

I don't know why, but I pictured him frozen on the sofa, fist tight around his cock, watching me gag on a dick that big. How had that made him feel?

What was the moment that pushed him over?

Was it when I begged?

When I screamed his name?

When I came and shook and came again, my pussy stretched wide?

Did he finish himself? Or did he hold it, watching to the end, balls tight, chest heaving, brain a mess?

I slid two fingers inside and gasped.

Fuck. I was horrified he'd found it. But, at the same time, the idea of being seen like that - discovered - had never turned me on so much. Not even the tape itself. Not the ex. it wasn't about him. But the effect it had. The chain reaction. The storm it must've set off in his mind.

It wasn't just about being watched. It was about owning the reaction.

***

Later we lay in silence for a long time.

The kind of silence that isn't peaceful - the kind that buzzes with tension. Thick with everything unsaid.

I turned onto my side, resting my cheek on my palm, and looked at him through the gloom. I didn't know if I still had a relationship to salvage, but I had to say something.

"The drawer under the TV was open," I said softly.

He didn't reply. Didn't look at me. He just stared at the ceiling.

"You found the DVDs."

He stayed silent.

"And you watched that one."

His eyes flicked to me then. Just for a second. Then back to the ceiling.

I waited.

"I never meant for you to see it," I said.

That got his attention. He turned his head slowly toward me.

"To see me like that. Or him," I added.

I could feel my chest tightening. My face was hot. But I didn't stop.

"I'm sorry. That must've been a fucking shock."

He said nothing, but I saw his jaw tense. I pressed on.

"I was high that night. I had to be. I mean..." I gave a dry, embarrassed laugh. "You saw him."

He swallowed. I didn't need to explain what I meant.

"If I wasn't stoned I couldn't take him. Because... well, you know."

His eyes stayed on mine. I could feel his tension beside me.

"He hurt me with it, if I wasn't out of it," I said, quieter now. "And the weed relaxed me, but made me act in ways that aren't really me. Or at least not normally me."

He let out a breath, but it wasn't relief.

"You looked uninhibited," he said finally. "Like nothing else existed except what you were feeling. You looked... wild."

That hit something I didn't expect.

"You liked that?"

He hesitated, then nodded, so slightly it might have been missed.

I let the silence hang for a while, before I spoke again.

"You liked seeing me with that cock?" I asked, voice barely above a whisper.

He didn't answer with words. But I felt the way his body shifted under the sheets. The way the duvet start to tent slightly over his lap.

I reached for it slowly, eyes on his, slipped my hand beneath the covers.

He was hard. So fucking hard.

My fingers curled around him.

"Tell me," I said. "What you were feeling? What it did to you. I want to know."

His mouth parted, but no sound came.

I began stroking him - slow and teasing.

"You came to it, didn't you?"

He paused before he gave the faintest nod.

"Did you hate it?" I whispered. "Or did it turn you on watching me gag on someone else's cock?"

His hips twitched in my hand.

"Tell me."

"I... I couldn't stop," he breathed. "I hated that it was him, I was jealous, and I was envious of him. But I couldn't stop watching you. You looked so... gone. So fucking into it. And I just..."

He groaned softly as I tightened my grip.

"You liked seeing what I looked like when I let go?" I asked.

He moaned.

***

I kept stroking him slowly under the duvet, eyes fixed on his.

He was trying not to thrust into my hand - trying to stay still, measured - but his body gave him away. The tension in his thighs, the shallow rise and fall of his chest. The way his lips parted like he was on the edge of saying something, but couldn't find the words.

I bit the inside of my cheek. My hand didn't stop moving.

"I've never shown you that side of me," I said. "Not really."

He didn't respond, but his cock twitched in my grip.

"That's what got you, wasn't it?" I went on, voice soft. "Not just the sex. The way I... gave into it."

His eyes flicked up to meet mine. He didn't deny it.

"You think I don't feel things like that with you?" I asked, a little more breathlessly than I meant to.

He hesitated.

"That's not it," he said. "It's just... what I saw... you didn't hold anything back."

I nodded slowly, trying to ignore the knot of emotion tightening in my stomach.

"I wasn't faking it," I said. "If that's what you're wondering."

He shook his head. "No. That's what fucked me up. It wasn't fake. It was you - all of you. No filters. No hesitation. Just... pure fucking need in a way I've never seen."

The heat between my legs pulsed.

I slid closer, shifting under the covers until my thigh was pressed against his hip.

"I hated the thought of you seeing that," I admitted, voice shaking slightly. "Because I knew exactly what it looked like."

He exhaled, almost like a laugh.

"You looked incredible."

I blinked.

"You really liked watching me like that?"

"I couldn't look away," he said, almost ashamed. "I came so hard I had to wipe it off my fucking stomach."

A flicker of electricity snapped through me.

I leaned in, my face an inch from his.

"And did you think about me afterwards?" I whispered. "Did you wonder what it would take to make me lose control like that again?"

He nodded.

I kissed the corner of his mouth, then his jaw.

"Would you want to see it again?"

He didn't answer.

So I asked the question differently.

"Would you want to watch me like that again? Not with him - with you."

He shivered under me.

"I don't want to compete," he said. "I can't. But yeah. I want to see what I do to you when you let go."

I smiled against his neck.

"You are seeing it," I whispered. "Right now."

He moaned.

I let go of his cock, just for a second, and slipped my fingers down between my legs. I was soaked. I didn't need to show him - he could feel it in the way my breath caught, the way my eyes darkened.

"I've never touched myself to the thought of being watched before," I said. "But now I can't stop thinking about it."

His hand moved up my side. Fingers trembling.

"Are you thinking about the video now?" I asked, voice low, hand back on his cock, stroking just enough to keep him present.

"Yes," he breathed.

I watched his eyes flutter for a moment, like the memory was overwhelming.

"Then tell me," I whispered.

He hesitated - just for a moment - then gave in.

"I couldn't believe it was you at first," he said. "You looked so different. Not just the hair. Not just the makeup. Your face. Your eyes. You looked like you didn't give a fuck about anything except how it felt."

His cock jumped in my hand.

I said nothing, just let him keep going as I wanked him slowly.

"You were gagging on him, drooling everywhere, your mascara running, and you looked up at him like you were proud of it. I'd never seen you like that. I didn't even know you could be like that."

I bit my lip.

He kept talking, like the floodgates had opened and could be closed.

"And then he bent you over," he said. "You said it was too big. You tried to stop him. But when he pushed in... you moaned like you loved it. And when you begged him not to stop... fuck... I lost it."

I could hear the shame in his voice. And the hunger.

I squeezed gently.

"Did it make you angry?" I asked. "Seeing me love someone else's cock like that?"

He nodded and swallowed hard.

"Yes. But I still came."

I leaned in, my lips brushing his ear.

"Did you picture it afterwards?" I whispered. "Picture me, like that - for you?"

His voice was almost gone.

"Every time."

That did something to me. Twisted something hot and sharp in my belly.

"I want to show you that side," I said quietly. "But I need to know it's still me you want. Not just the version you saw."

He reached up and touched my face.

"I've never wanted you more than I do right now," he said. "I've feel like I'm discovering you all over again."

I smiled against his cheek.

Then kissed him - not sweetly or safely. Dirty and possessive. Like I wanted to climb inside him and stay there.

My hand didn't stop moving.

His cock was leaking now, desperate.

"Tell me," I whispered between kisses, "how many times you've watched it since."

He blinked. Hesitated.

"Twice," he said. "I saved it."

My stomach clenched.

"You saved it?"

He nodded. "On my phone."

The line between shock and arousal blurred.

"That turns me on more than it should," I whispered. "Knowing you kept it. Knowing you went back to it."

Then I asked: "When was the last time?"

"Earlier. While you were in the bath."

"Did you cum again?"

He just nodded.

I slipped the duvet off, slowly, exposing him to the cool air and to me. He was hard and flushed.

I sat up on my knees beside him, hand still stroking.

His eyes locked on mine.

"While I was in the bath," I said softly, "I couldn't stop picturing you watching it. Stroking yourself. And I came too."

That undid him.

He groaned like he was about to cum.

I kissed him again, slower now, deeper. A full, messy kiss that said I know everything you saw, and I'm here for it.

Then I whispered: "Do you want to fuck the girl from the video?"

***

I straddled him slowly, thighs spread wide, my pussy hovering just above his cock. Close enough to tease. Close enough to promise.

His hands moved instinctively to my hips, but I pushed them away.

"Don't touch me yet."

His jaw tightened, eyes locked on mine.

"Just look," I said. "That's what you did the first time, right?"

He nodded, chest rising fast.

I reached down and ran his cock through the entrance to my pussy - soaking him in me, dragging the tip across my clit until I gasped.

He watched, spellbound and silent.

"I know what you saw," I whispered. "You watched me open up for another man. Heard me moan his name. Watched his cum spill out of me."

His face twisted - part pain, part hunger.

"You watched me gag and choke and beg," I went on. "You came while I was being fucked raw by someone else."

He moaned, a noise that almost sounded tortured.

"And now?" I said, holding him at my entrance. "You're going to watch me take you."

And I sank down. Slow and deep, Inch by inch.

He wasn't like him - Josh - of course. But, truthfully, I wouldn't have changed a thing. And in that moment, nothing had ever felt better.

His head fell back against the pillow as a groan ripped from his throat.

I rocked my hips, grinding myself on him, feeling him fill me. I kept my eyes locked on his the whole time.

"Am I as wet as I looked on the tape?" I asked.

He moaned.

"Better," he whispered.

I smiled, and rolled my hips again.

"Do you still think about the video?" I asked.

"Yes."

I leaned forward, hands on his chest, fucking him slowly now - but grinding hard, letting him feel how ready I was.

"Then think about it now," I whispered. "Picture it. Picture me on my knees for him."

He groaned.

"Picture my arse in the air, begging to be filled."

His hands trembled at his sides.

"Now picture this," I said, grinding down harder. "Picture me moaning like that - for you."

He couldn't hold back.

His hands grabbed my hips. His body bucked. I let him fuck up into me, desperate and messy, all that pent-up frustration finally breaking loose.

I rode him harder now. My own orgasm building dangerously.

"You wanted to see me lose control," I gasped. "Well, here it is."

I came on him with a sharp cry, my body shaking, my thighs clamping tight. He came seconds later, buried deep, groaning like it physically hurt to let it go.

When it was over, I collapsed onto his chest, both of us breathless, wet with sweat and sex.

His hand slid into my hair.

I kissed his neck.

And whispered: "You can delete the video now."

He didn't say anything, but he nodded - eventually.

***

We lay tangled in silence.

His chest rose and fell beneath me, warm and damp. One of his hands was still in my hair, the other draped loosely over my lower back.

I didn't say anything for a while.

Neither did he.

There was nothing awkward about the quiet - just stillness.

Eventually, I sat up.

His hands fell away as I reached for the duvet, pulled it over my hips.

"Where's your phone?" I asked.

He blinked. "What?"

"Your phone."

He hesitated, then nodded toward the nightstand.

I reached for it. Unlocked it without asking. He didn't stop me.

A few taps, a short scroll... and there it was.

VID_309. mp4

I pressed play and he watched me watching it.

Just five seconds.

My voice filled the room in low stereo.

Soft at first. Then a moan. Then a sharper one. Then a man's voice - Josh's voice - telling me to take it.

I watched his face as he listened. I saw the guilt flood back.

I locked the phone and handed it back.

"Delete it," I said softly.

He hesitated - not out of resistance, but because he knew what it meant. Then he tapped the screen, and just like that, it was gone.

A breath left both of us.

"But that doesn't mean we're finished," I added, leaning closer.

His brows lifted.

"I want to film something better," I whispered, lips brushing his. "Something that's ours."

His eyes locked on mine - and in that moment I knew: we weren't done.

We were just getting started.