At the Window

You aren't sure why you agreed to this. You don't even remember doing so, but you must have. Otherwise, you wouldn't be standing naked and blindfolded at the top of her stairs.

Standing behind you, she grabs one of your hands and places the other on your hip. Her hands are soft and her grip is somehow both strong (you cannot imagine being able to break free) and gentle (she isn't hurting you, and you don't even feel restrained).

She leads you down the first ten steps, turns you to the right, and then leads you down the final ten steps until you feel the cold, hard tile floor beneath your feet.

Coming down the stairs blindfolded should have been terrifying, but you feel safe with her. That, or all of your fear is consumed by you being naked and completely out of control of yourself and everything around you.

She guides you to a hard, wooden chair and sits you down. For what feels like several minutes, nothing happens and nothing is said. Then you hear the unmistakable sound of curtains being opened.

You immediately piece it all together. You are facing, maybe ten feet away, the large window by the front door. You are familiar with what lies outside that window. You know that there will be cars passing by on the road and pedestrians on the sidewalk. Not much more than a dozen or so per minute, but not much less either.

Will anyone turn to look? What will they be able to see? What will they think? About you? About your body?

You feel the warmth of her behind you, and a moment later her hands on your breasts.

She squeezes them like they were under-ripe oranges she was juicing. You let out a sound that starts as a yelp before fading into a soft moan.

She squeezes your nipples and tugs on them until they feel agonizingly close to popping off your body, then she releases them and they snap back as you squeal.

"Look at you" she says in a melodious voice just about a whisper, her lips so close to your ear, "when we met, you barely wanted to be touched, barely wanted to be seen. Look how far you've come."

She switches to gently massaging your breasts. You can feel... and smell... your body's response. You can hear the faint sound of cars zipping past some 75 feet away.

All your senses feel heightened. Her tongue grazes your ear, and you go all but limp. "Your body knows what you want, and I know your body."

You try to nod, but you can't manage the movements. Drool runs down your chin and drips down onto your chest.

"What would you do if I told you that there are people just outside the window? Watching? Gawking? Recording?"

You don't believe there are, but... maybe you want there to be?

Your mind resolves. If they are there, it is because she wants them to be. And if she wants them to be, it is because she believes it is best for you. And if she believes that, she is correct.

She speaks again, her voice still warm and nurturing, "open your legs". You obey without hesitation.

"You don't need to be ashamed of your body... of its abilities and desires... to give and receive pleasure."

"Now" she says, her voice momentarily sharp and cold like a shards of ice, before softening again, "touch yourself."

One of your hands reaches down between your legs, the other over your shoulder, touching her hair and massaging her head.

Her tongue and lips are on the soft, sensitive skin of your neck. Her hand toys with your breasts with an exhilarating roughness.

You want the experience to last for hours... days... weeks. The wetness of your sweat and arousal, of her soft tongue. Of pleasure blocking out fear, or being enhanced by it. Of your ravenous, frantic fingers and her strong, skillful ones.

But your orgasm stops you.

She holds you in the chair as you wildly thrash, screaming and flailing, until you subside into a calm, limp euphoria.

Some time later, she gently removes the blindfold. The room is dark and empty, the curtains closed. She kisses you softly on the forehead. You try to say something but are too exhausted to form words.

She leads you up the stairs, supporting your weight, and to her bedroom.

You want to sleep, curled up beside her... or under her watchful eye... or your head resting on her lap... or whatever she wants.

Because you know that whatever she wants is what's best for you.