The Voyeur - a short, erotic story
She’s late today. She normally reaches home around six-thirty, but it is now six-forty five and I swivel the telescope from left to right to take in the whole of the apartment. But there’s no sign of her. Fuck, I hope she’s okay. Perhaps she’s working some overtime. Then I give a sigh of relief as I see the door opening and she comes into view. She’s wearing her normal, dark business suit and carrying her briefcase, which she drops on to the chair as she kicks off her heels, leaving them where they land.
I can feel the heat rising in me. My heart is beating a little faster, because I know what is coming. She never varies the routine. She strides into the bedroom and I move my telescope to catch her arrival. No curtains or blinds thank God. I suppose she thinks that these aren’t necessary on the fourteenth floor.
I can see the stress of the day leaving her as she begins to strip off her clothes. First comes the jacket, which she carefully puts on to a hanger in the closet, every movement slow and deliberate. She has a crisp, white blouse underneath and I can see her full breasts pushing against the front of it. Soon they will be released from the cage they have been in all day, desperate no doubt to burst forth in their freedom.
The zip on her skirt is pulled down and the skirt is slowly lowered. A bead of sweat appears on my forehead, but I allow it to stay. I can’t be distracted from the scene before me. Now she stands in just the blouse and her underwear. Her hands move to the four buttons on the front of the blouse. It’s almost as though she is listening to some slow, mood music while this is taking place, for her timing is spot on – about three seconds for each button. Tantalising. Deliberate. If I didn’t know better I would think she is teasing me. But she doesn’t know I am here, watching, does she? How can she know? This is a powerful telescope and I am surely beyond even the best eyesight.
She lets the blouse slither to the floor, but she doesn’t pick it up. Instead she reaches up and releases her thick, dark hair from the top of her head and shakes it free, before walking to the window in her bra and panties and looking out. I wonder what has caught her attention. My telescope picks up her red, luscious lips. What I wouldn’t give to have those lips clamped around my cock. I can picture her in my mind running them up and down, drawing me into the moist depths of her mouth, and my cock hardens at the thought.
Today her routine is different. Usually she removes her underwear and walks into the bathroom to take a shower. But today she turns and walks towards the bed, covered in white satin sheets and stretches herself out on her front, lifting her face up and resting her chin on her hands. Her breasts are tantalisingly on display, pressed together by her arms, and her black, lace panties do nothing to hide her lusciously rounded bottom that rises up like the curves on the side of a cello. What made me think of the cello? It’s many years since I last played, but I can still remember putting those curves between my thighs and holding it there while I played. I fantasise about putting the curves of her hips between my thighs while she kneels on the floor in front of me, and allow her to play my instrument for as long as she likes. I almost come, but I manage to pull back from the edge. The show is not yet over and I want to see it through until the end.
She turns on to her back and begins to stroke her stomach and the front of her thighs. Is she going to touch herself there? I hold my breath in anticipation, but she doesn’t move her hand to the golden triangle. I wonder what she is waiting for.
The answer comes unexpectedly, as the door opens and a man walks into the apartment. He is dressed in a dark business suit and carrying a laptop case, which he places on the table. Is he a colleague? He looks a little older than her, maybe ten years. He takes off his jacket and drapes it over the back of the chair, and loosens his tie while walking towards the bedroom door. He pauses in the doorway, watching her while leaning nonchalantly against the doorpost. He remains still for several seconds, simply looking intently at her. She looks up at him, but they don’t appear to be speaking. Perhaps it is one of those scenarios where words are unnecessary. He walks over to a chair in the corner of the bedroom and sits, legs akimbo and arms resting on the sides, as though waiting for something to happen.
My emotions are in turmoil. Is he a new lover? I am sure that he has never been here before. I want to fly over there and tear out his throat. I should stop looking; I want to stop looking, but my eyes are locked on to the bedroom, and I can’t tear them away from what is happening. He gives her a hand signal and she rises on to her knees and looks straight at him, waiting for further instructions maybe. He watches her for several seconds before making another signal with his hands, at which she removes her black, lacy bra and drops it on to the bed. I cannot see her breasts because she is facing him and away from me. What the fuck is this guy doing? It’s me she should be concentrating on. I’m the one who has been here day after day, for weeks now, and he just marches in and commandeers her? It’s just as well that my binoculars don’t come with a trigger attached, for he would be a dead man now.
He beckons to her, and follows it with a finger pointed to the ground, and even I know what he wants her to do. She rolls off the bed and drops to her hands and knees, and begins to crawl towards him. All she has on now are a pair of black skimpy panties, which stretch tightly across her ass and hide nothing. As she reaches him she sits back on her haunches and awaits his instruction. He doesn’t have to point. I know what he wants now. He wants what I want, a mouth around my cock. She reaches up and releases him from his trousers before lowering her head, and does to him what I have fantasised about her doing to me for so long.
I can’t help it. I unleash my own stiff erection and begin to stroke it as she gets to work on his. I want her to bite off his dick, but of course she won’t. She’s probably enjoying this, the fickle slut. As my anger grows, so does my cock. It is rock hard and I pump it through my fist as though I am competing with him. The anger inside me fuels the raw, sexual need that courses through my body. Who will she bring off first, him or me? I never find out, for with a mighty roar my eyes close for several seconds as one of the fiercest orgasms of my life erupts and my jizz shoots out across the floor in front of me. As I open my eyes and re-focus the telescope I see him lying back in the chair, eyes closed, and she has her head resting in his lap. He strokes her hair in the first tender touch of the encounter. I push the telescope away from me and turn away from the window. They can both fucking go to hell.
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