Opposite our hotel a building is being renovated. Scaffolding is being erected and the tradesmen have started early. The double-glazed window and heavy drapes in our room have blocked any sound that might have given us a hint of their presence. And, up until this point, the workmen have had no hint of our presence. But just at that moment one of them turns and see us. Or, rather, he sees you. His mouth goes wide in a perfect 'O'. He gapes like a fish for a moment before he recovers his senses long enough to shout to his mates, drawing their attention to what is on display. I can feel you trembling, still holding the curtains, and desperately wanting to close them. Gently but implacably I pry them from your fingers and push them completely open. You are like the leading lady of a play, almost literally 'centre stage' as the curtain goes up in the West End. Or perhaps it is more like a huge, high definition TV screen? The glass of the window is in one sheet from below knee height, all the way to the ceiling. A cluster of guys are opposite us on the scaffolding by the time I move the plush arm-chair in behind you. 'Sit' I whisper in your ear. I might as well have said 'collapse', judging by the way you tumble into the chair - your breath coming in rapid pants. You haven't said a word since the curtain opened - stunned, unsure how to react. Time to give the undoubted star of this show some 'direction'. I push the dinner trolley beside your chair. On it I pile a selection of toys.
'I want them to see what a slut you are My-pet. Give them a show they wont forget.'
Standing beside you I can see how your exposure makes you tremble. I note the flush of excitement and shame blaze across your skin. I know that you still want only to shut the curtains, shut out the view the builders have of you. I hold my breath waiting for your reaction. Then I see you drop your arms – and I let out my breath.
Across the road more builders have noticed you, framed by the large window of our hotel room. You can see that they are shouting and whistling – but can hear nothing through the double-glazed glass. But you can 'feel' their concentrated gaze as if were heat from the open door of an oven. Almost unconsciously reacting to their attention, your knees open, increasing the agitation of your audience. Reacting and responding to them you place your feet on the windowsill, spreading wider, exposing more. Your hand slides between your legs to the cleft between and I hear you moan as you begin to slide your fingers over your clit. I grab a small table and move it beside your chair, then pile it high with 'toys'. I move to a position where I can watch you, without obscuring the view of the workmen.
At first things are slow, quiet and almost shy. The overture to this sensual symphony is played 'adagiett'. Your eyes are downcast as you stroke the folds of your pussy. I wonder if the viewers can see the wetness leaking on to your thighs as I can. Occasionally your other hand brushes across your breasts to tease one nipple or the other. You seem lost in your performance, but becoming more involved in it with passing moment, stroking slightly faster. The tempo is now 'commodo' but it wont be 'comfortable' for long – not on either side of the performance. Accelerando is becoming the underlying theme of this passage. 'Poco a poco' the pace quickens, stoking is no longer enough. The display continues 'con brio' as you begin to play the instrument that is your body before an enthralled audience like a maestro.
I don't want to spoil the exquisite mood you are generating but I feel some 'conducting' is required. I want to make sure you perform to the best of your undoubted abilities. By now 2 fingers are buried deep and I can hear the sucking and slurping of wet cunt as you finger fuck yourself. 'Allegro ma non troppo' is only just appropriate, 'fast, but not too much'. It is certainly not too much for the guys across the road. They want more! The tempo needs to increase.
I lean forward and slightly open the window. Now you can hear the cheering and the whistling of the men watching you, hear their arousal at your display.
'Show off to them the way you showed off to me My-pet. Show them what a slut you are.' I see your eyes close and your head loll back on the chair and add some final instructions.
'But watch them all the time k! Watch what your performance does to them.' I notice you stiffen, your fingers slowing, 'meno mosso'. Then you raise your head and open your eyes to stare straight at the men on the scaffolding.
The mood, the tempo, the style all change in what seems like an instant. Now you can hear your audience, now that you have heard your conductor, it is like a switch being flicked to trigger a transformation in you.
After a brief interlude you pull your fingers from your pussy and lick them lasciviously clean, staring straight across the narrow gap that separates you from those watchers. I can see the intensity build in you as you plunge three fingers into your slit only to smear the copious sticky juices on your diamond hard nipples – so you can lick it off for the delectation of the crowd, now growing larger as word has spread.
It is like the best sort of performance, the performer feeding off the adulation of the audience and the resulting electricity being feed back and exciting them more. You press on – 'accelerando!'
