The House-Sitter

Claire knew about the cameras before she agreed to stay.

That mattered.

“Front door, kitchen and living room,” Marcus said, walking her through the app on his phone. “They’re for Baxter.”

Baxter, a twelve-year-old beagle, slept through the explanation.

Claire looked towards the small camera mounted on the bookshelf.

“And you’ll be checking them?”

“Only if you’re comfortable.”

“I’m house-sitting. I assume you want to know whether I’ve sold the dog.”

“Baxter has no resale value.”

The beagle opened one eye.

Claire laughed.

She was thirty-seven. Marcus was forty-one. They had known each other for three years through mutual friends and never quite become friends themselves.

Friendly, yes.

Enough that he trusted her with his house while he travelled interstate for ten days.

Not enough that either had ever called the other without a reason.

The first three days were completely ordinary.

Claire worked from Marcus’s dining table.

Walked Baxter.

Watered plants.

Sent photographs.

BAXTER REFUSES TO WALK.

Marcus replied:

BAXTER HAS NEVER WALKED VOLUNTARILY.

On day four she was making coffee when her phone buzzed.

Marcus:

YOUR COFFEE TECHNIQUE IS DISTURBING.

Claire froze.

Looked towards the kitchen camera.

A tiny light glowed.

She laughed.

YOU’RE WATCHING ME?

His reply came immediately.

CHECKED BAXTER. SAW CRIME IN PROGRESS.

Claire looked down at the coffee.

YOU OWN INSTANT.

FOR EMERGENCIES.

COWARD.

That should have been nothing.

It was nothing.

And yet Claire became newly conscious of the camera.

Not uncomfortable.

Aware.

The distinction interested her.

She moved through the kitchen knowing Marcus might check in.

Probably wouldn’t.

Might.

That possibility changed the room.

The following afternoon Claire deliberately stood in front of the camera holding Baxter.

“Your father says you have no resale value.”

Her phone rang.

Marcus.

She answered.

“Were you watching?”

“You addressed me.”

“I addressed the dog.”

“You said father.”

“Legal guardian?”

“Better.”

They spoke for twenty minutes.

Longer than they ever had in person.

On the sixth night Marcus messaged:

YOU’RE UP LATE.

Claire was sitting on the sofa reading.

She looked at the camera.

Then at her phone.

SO ARE YOU.

HOTEL ROOM. TERRIBLE PILLOWS.

TRAGIC.

She returned to the book.

Another message:

SORRY. THAT WAS WEIRD.

Claire considered.

Then typed:

ONLY IF YOU MAKE IT WEIRD.

He replied:

NOTED.

After that, the camera became part of the conversation.

Never hidden.

Never assumed.

If Marcus checked in and saw Claire, he messaged.

Sometimes she ignored him.

Sometimes she responded.

Once she held up a piece of paper:

GO TO BED.

Marcus replied:

BOSSY.

Claire:

YOU’RE THREE HOURS BEHIND ON SLEEP.

Marcus:

YOU’VE CHECKED?

Claire smiled.

NO. YOU LOOK TERRIBLE ON VIDEO CALLS.

He sent a photograph of himself looking offended.

The interesting part wasn’t being watched.

It was choosing when to be visible.

One evening Claire turned off the living-room camera through the app.

Marcus texted:

ALL GOOD?

She appreciated that he asked about her rather than the camera.

YES. PHONE CALL.

No questions followed.

An hour later she switched it back on.

Marcus:

WELCOME BACK.

Claire stared at the message longer than necessary.

She wrote:

MISSED ME?

Three dots appeared.

Vanished.

Appeared again.

YES.

The answer changed something.

Claire stood.

Walked towards the camera.

Not close.

Close enough.

She lifted her phone.

CALL?

Marcus rang immediately.

His face appeared from a bland hotel room.

“Hi.”

“Hi.”

“This is strange.”

“Everything becomes strange when someone says it’s strange.”

“True.”

Claire sat on the floor against the sofa.

Baxter climbed into her lap.

Marcus smiled.

“He likes you more than me.”

“Obviously.”

“I regret choosing you.”

“No you don’t.”

Marcus looked at her.

“No.”

The silence that followed wasn’t awkward.

It was simply more honest than either was used to.

“Claire?”

“Yeah?”

“Can I say something without ruining this?”

“That depends entirely on what you say.”

“I like seeing you there.”

She looked around the room.

“In your house?”

“Yes.”

“That sounds territorial.”

“Not what I meant.”

“I know.”

She scratched Baxter behind the ears.

“I like that you check.”

Marcus exhaled.

“Okay.”

“But.”

“Yes.”

“I want it to remain something I choose.”

“Absolutely.”

“If the camera is off, it’s off.”

“Of course.”

“No saving footage.”

“Nothing saved.”

“Good.”

Claire looked at the small camera on the bookshelf.

Then at Marcus on her phone.

“What if I choose now?”

Marcus went quiet.

“Choose what?”

“To be watched.”

His expression changed.

Claire stood.

“Still comfortable?”

“Yes.”

“Say it properly.”

“Yes. I want to watch.”

That was what she needed.

Claire put the phone on the coffee table so Marcus could see her clearly.

Then she switched off the security camera.

Marcus noticed.

“That one stays off?”

“Yes. This is live or nothing.”

“Good.”

Claire removed her T-shirt.

Marcus stared.

She smiled.

“Subtle.”

“Sorry.”

“Don't be.”

She took off her bra.

Marcus leaned back in the hotel chair.

Claire felt the awareness of his attention move over her skin.

Very different from the fixed camera.

Personal.

Chosen.

She pushed her shorts down.

Then her underwear.

Marcus swallowed.

“You're beautiful.”

“Thank you.”

Claire sat on the sofa and opened her legs.

“Your turn.”

Marcus blinked.

“You want—”

“Yes.”

He adjusted the phone.

Pulled off his shirt.

Then stood and removed his trousers.

Claire watched.

When his cock came free, already hard, she smiled.

“So that answers that.”

Marcus laughed.

“Apparently.”

“Sit.”

He obeyed.

Claire touched herself first.

Slowly.

One hand between her thighs, the other on her breast.

Marcus watched without speaking.

“Touch yourself,” she said.

His hand wrapped around his cock.

The sight made Claire's fingers move faster.

They watched each other masturbate across two cities.

No recording.

No hidden view.

No uncertainty.

Marcus stroked himself while Claire slid two fingers into her wet cunt and used her thumb on her clit.

“Fuck,” he said quietly.

“You like this?”

“Yes.”

“Good.”

She moved faster.

Marcus did too.

The camera angle was imperfect.

The hotel lighting awful.

None of that mattered.

Claire watched his face change as he got closer.

“Wait,” she said.

Marcus stopped.

He looked almost offended.

Claire laughed.

“Don't come yet.”

“That is deeply unfair.”

“I know.”

She kept touching herself.

Marcus watched, hand still around his cock.

Claire's orgasm built slowly.

She wanted him to see it.

Wanted the knowledge of his eyes on her.

When she came, her body tightened and her legs closed around her hand.

Marcus groaned.

“Now?” he asked.

Claire laughed breathlessly.

“Yes.”

He stroked himself fast.

She watched him come over his hand and stomach.

For a while neither said anything.

Then Claire looked towards the powered-off security camera.

“Still glad you disclosed them?”

Marcus laughed.

“Extremely.”

Two days later he came home.

Baxter became briefly capable of athletic movement and charged towards him.

Marcus dropped his bag.

Claire waited in the kitchen.

When he finally stood, they looked at each other.

The little security camera was directly behind him.

Marcus glanced at it.

Then at Claire.

He walked over and unplugged it.

Claire smiled.

“Good move.”

“This one isn't a screen.”

“No.”

Marcus stepped closer.

“Still want to be watched?”

Claire put a hand on his chest.

“Right now I want to be touched.”

He kissed her.

The difference between screen and body was immediate.

Marcus's hands moved over her back, ass, hips.

Claire pulled his shirt off.

They were already laughing by the time they reached the bedroom because Baxter followed them down the hallway and had to be bribed outside with a treat.

Door closed.

Claire pushed Marcus onto the bed.

“You've been thinking about this.”

“Yes.”

“How much?”

“A lot.”

“Good.”

She stripped.

Marcus watched.

This time he could reach her.

His hands went to her breasts when she climbed onto the bed.

Claire kissed him, then moved lower.

She took his cock into her mouth.

Marcus gripped the sheets.

“Claire.”

She looked up.

“Better than hotel Wi-Fi?”

“Much.”

She laughed around him.

Then took him deeper.

After a while Marcus pulled her up.

“My turn.”

He rolled Claire onto her back.

His mouth moved between her legs.

Claire's laughter stopped.

He licked her until she was gripping his hair and swearing at him not to stop.

When she came, he stayed there until the last shudder left her.

Marcus climbed back up.

“Condom?”

Claire pointed to the bedside drawer.

He put it on.

She wrapped her legs around him.

Marcus pushed inside.

Both stopped.

The months of mild flirting, the ten days of camera awareness, the explicit call two nights earlier—all of it collapsed into the simple physical shock of being together.

Marcus began moving.

Claire pulled him closer.

“Harder.”

He fucked her harder.

She watched his face from inches away.

No screen.

No lens.

Nothing between them.

Claire came again with Marcus deep inside her.

He followed soon after.

Later, naked under the sheet, Marcus glanced towards the unplugged camera sitting on the dresser.

“Ever again?”

Claire followed his gaze.

“Maybe.”

He looked at her.

“Rules?”

“Always.”

Marcus smiled.

“Good.”

Baxter scratched at the bedroom door.

Claire groaned.

“He has terrible timing.”

Marcus laughed.

The camera stayed unplugged.

The choice didn't.