Breaing the Duc!

An occasional series of short erotic stories and novellas about first time sexual experiences... some are funny, some are sad and some have strayed into the realms of the taboo or the unusual...mostly the stories are about people and relationships rather than just sex although there are explicit sexual descriptions in some if not all of the tales. So be warned!

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PEEPING THOMASINA

Thomasina's Story - Before Dogging there were Peeping Toms

Chapter One: FRIDAY NIGHT

It was the perfect night for my illicit little pleasure trip. It was a typical warm July evening with low broken cloud which revealed only a black sky sprinkled with silver pin-pricks but obscured the bright halo of the moon. A velvety dark night, a stalker's night.

The well-groomed lawn was wet beneath my bare feet the soft dampness felt almost as erotic as the warm wetness at my crotch. These little night-time excursions always made me horny and worked up and this was the second one of the night. The anticipation of a second thrill was sufficient that my hands were starting to tremble and my knees felt weak and a little wobbly and I knew that very soon I was going to need to take action to relieve the build-up of sexual tension.

I crept closer to the half open window and silently crouched beneath the windowsill listening to the unmistakeable sounds from the darkened room of two people engaged in sex. I desperately wanted to peer in, to try and catch a glimpse of them, but until I was sure that they would not notice me I would have to content myself with just listening to their moans and sighs and whispered endearments.

This was one of my favourite Friday night voyeur locations, I knew that there was always a good chance that Brianne Walsh would bring one of her men friends back to her place after the pubs closed and that they would shag for an hour or two until either he fled hurriedly back to his wife, or she asked him to go. Brianne liked her beauty sleep and had to be dressed and behind her counter at Debenhams in Oxford by ten-to-nine on Saturday morning, primped, brushed and fully made-up.

These new private Wimpey housing estates springing up everywhere were perfect locations for the thrill seeking night-time voyeur like me, with the means to be able to drive to the outskirts of the town for their vicarious pleasure. The front gardens were mostly open plan with neat well-kept lawns, silent underfoot and dotted with nicely clipped shrubs providing deep shadows up to the footings of the houses and emergency concealment for a crouching watcher. The modern hinged windows were usually horizontal and swung outwards and were mostly fitted with new venetian blinds rather than old fashioned thick impenetrable drapes. Best of all the bedroom windows were mostly at the front or side of the neat modern bungalows, no shingled drives or back gates to negotiate.

The risk of being spotted or caught was low. Gone was the village Bobby on his bicycle who could silently come upon the careless peeper. In this motorised era of 1969 the local constable in his panda car only swept through these estates once a night and never investigated the poorly lit side roads and probably had a sixty mile circuit of a dozen villages and suburban estates to cover before he could park up for a flask of tea and a cigarette. The occasional late night dog walker often scurried guiltily away if they came across you or were easily distracted with a request for directions. Who would suspect a woman of stalking anyway?

The sounds coming from the open bedroom window were unmistakeable. Brianne and her partner for the night were energetically fucking on her newly purchased double divan bed. The impassioned gasping grunts, like the sounds given off by a rutting pig, indicated that the guy was probably middle aged, overweight and full of Watney's Red Barrel bitter and the wet slurping sounds of a meaty cock ramming into Brianne's well lubricated vagina assured me that they were both unlikely to be watching the window.

I raised my head a little, my short blondish hair tucked safely out of sight in a dark blue silk headscarf, and carefully peered over the sill. The room was in darkness but Brianne had left the door open as usual and the light from the bungalow hallway illuminated two white, mountainous buttocks heaving remarkably energetically between a woman's upraised knees clad in black fishnet stockings. Christ! ... the silly bitch was still wearing her high heels as well! No wonder she had needed a new mattress!

"Oh fuck, Babe... You've got the sweetest little honeypot..." A panting Manchester accented voice gasped and the thrusting Midlands arse renewed its efforts to power a prick of monster proportions deep into his partners love tube as if trying to reach her throat from inside.

"Come on Harry... Do it for me, lover!" Brianne responded encouragingly. I guessed that she was getting tired and wanted to get some sleep...although I suspected that Manchester Harry was not going to be got rid of that quickly, he had probably been setting his date up with drinks all evening, and good time Brianna could consume a considerable quantity of vodka and limes. Harry would be looking to recoup some of his investment.

His grunting and humping suddenly increased in speed and vigour and started to produce moaning squeaks from his red-haired trembling partner as each thrust rammed home.

"Oh Fuck! Yeah!" Harry bawled as he pumped his load into Brianne's already sopping vagina. Even from ten feet away at the window I could see the glistening goo which had squirted backwards to coat her thighs and could smell the pungent odour of their combined sex juices. The stupid bitch wasn't even using a rubber, but she was the one who would need to wash the bedsheets in the morning.

My breathing was starting to become restricted with my own excitement, I had to be careful not to gasp or pant out loud. This was the big thrill... The one that I really got off on, when I managed to be there for the end to watch the guy fire off into some stupid woman's willing womb. Christ, but Fat Harry must have been weeks overdue for relief, he had pumped out what seemed to be a bloody gallon of spunk one of the biggest loads I had ever seen not just the usual teaspoon-full, more like an eggcup.

It was a vicarious pleasure, I listened and watched but never shared the thrill first hand. Not really. Not for me the feel of a man's powerful embrace and the sweat-drenched bodies locked together in frantic copulation. The thought of actually having a lust crazed man thrusting his long, thick erection into my soft, precious, gently flowing pussy was repulsive and frightening.

But watching... and listening...

That I could really get off on, that was real excitement. That was why my pussy was aching and so moist with lust and anticipation that my juices were rolling down my thighs like pungent tears, and I desperately needed a pee.

I needed to leave now before they started to move around. I silently crept backwards away from my victim's house until I was level with the foot path, drew my shoes out of my coat pockets and pushed my feet into them and then stepped out suddenly and began to walk briskly up the road to where my car was parked as though I had every right to be there. The casual watcher would see only an average height woman wearing a fashionable black belted Mackintosh and a dark headscarf going about her own business. At night nobody would notice my pale legs, a give-away that I was not wearing stockings or tights. They couldn't know that my nice clean little knickers were neatly rolled up in my handbag in the car.

The only thing that I kept in my coat pocket was my keys. No identification of any sort, I could always just walk away from the car and come back to it later if I thought that I was being watched or followed.

*

I had nearly been caught several years back. I had stupidly been snooping around a newly built complex of flats in Bicester which offered a tempting twenty or so ground floor flats set around two or three quadrangle gardens. I had been in the town visiting the home of a client attempting to teach one of their talentless offspring to murder Mozart with a violin and had called at a pub for supper and a drink afterwards. I hated those private lessons with moronic tone-deaf brats but the money was good and it kept the car on the road which most single women couldn't do, and paid for my little luxuries, like real silk imported lingerie from Harrods and the expensive glossy pornographic magazines from Sweden which I had posted to me in plain brown paper wrappers under an assumed male name.

It was at the peak of my obsession with peeping, I had become totally addicted and was unable to resist the temptation when-ever I found myself gifted with an opportunity to find a thrill spying.

I had spotted a likely couple in the pub, mid-twenties, snogging and groping in the snug bar and had followed them out at closing time hoping to catch them making love in the car park perhaps. Instead I had trailed them to the blocks of apartments and had decided to have a snoop around the ground floor windows. It was the prime time to stumble upon love-makers, just after the pubs had turned out and not too late for those men who needed to get to work the next morning. It never ceases to surprise me how careless most people are about closing their curtains at night even when they enjoy their sex with the light on.

My only profit from that night was watching a young girl in her late teens undressing in front of her bedroom mirror bopping to a record of the Beatles and Billy Preston singing 'Get Back'. I crouched at the corner of her window my hand pressed tight to my crotch and watched her carefully remove all of her precious fashion treasures and fold them into a neat pile before sitting straddle legged on her dressing table stool and begin to masturbate, first with her fingers and then with the cylindrical handle of her plastic hairbrush, every young girl's favourite lover. Her other hand fondled and tweaked at her breasts, first one and then the other. I could feel my own nipples starting to stiffen in empathy. She had a pretty face and a nice little slim figure and watching her rolling her head with her eyes squeezed tightly closed in ecstasy was turning me on even though I would have preferred it to be a strong young stud I was watching fisting a huge erection.

I was so absorbed with sharing her pleasure, if only by visual proxy, that I failed to notice that a uniformed security guard had entered the garden area and only just had time to scramble away from the window and pretend to be fiddling with my shoe before he was on me.

It was a frightening experience. Despite being a well-dressed, well-spoken woman he was suspicious and demanded that I produce identification, but seemed satisfied with glancing at my driving licence and accepted my explanation that I had been visiting a friend and had got a stone in my shoe whilst leaving.

The most frightening part of the episode was that I instinctively knew that he was probably using his uniform to cover his own 'Peeping Tom' activities. He was about thirty and quite bulky with a red complexion and unpleasant thick slobbery lips and roving eyes that I could feel raping my breasts, and had kept a firm grip on my arm throughout the interview. I had a nasty feeling that if we had not been out in the open I could easily have been groped or even raped by this unpleasant young man with his leering smile and yellow stained trousers which smelled of recent urine spillage, or worse.

I decided there and then never to give real identification, especially anything which contained my address or employment details. I would chance being able to lie my way out of any situation that arose. I was a reasonably attractive woman and was an adept liar.

*

Normally, after a late night peeping expedition, I would simply drive home to relieve my sexual tensions and take pleasure in my collection of explicit magazines and naughty novels before going to my cool, virginal bed after a hot bath and fall into a satiated deep sleep and that was my intention after leaving Brianne's place.

That night I had been out since early evening and had called in at a city hotel bar for a drink. The type of bar where a respectable woman on her own could have a quiet drink, meet friends, or sit in the reception and watch the transit clientele. I was particularly interested in the all too obvious adulterous liaisons and had become adept at spotting the couples who were simply wasting time before rushing off for a heated fumble or frantic sex in the back of the man's car, they were easy to follow to one of the local 'Lovers Lane' park-ups and too desperate to copulate to worry about concealment.

There had been nothing interesting happening in the city and so I had driven out to the new estate where Brianne lived, always a good hunting ground for the addicted voyeur, had parked on the outskirts and taken a casual stroll around the poorly lit residential streets. As luck would have it I stumbled upon a real little gem of opportunity.

To the veteran peeper there are certain tell-tale signs in people's behaviour that telegraph their prohibited intentions. One of those is the overly cautious and silent way that a girl will try to sneak her boyfriend into the house after her parents have turned in for the night. Most nice respectable middle class families climb the stairs about eleven o'clock after the television finishes broadcasting and so the sight of a pretty teenage girl in a baby doll nightdress ushering a young man quietly through the back door immediately draws the voyeur's attention like a magnet.

My experience told me that she would not try to take him up to her bedroom and that the favourite destination was probably the family sitting room which would inevitably have a big comfortable couch or at worst thick carpet and rugs on the floor. I was rewarded a moment later when the low glow of a table lamp lit up a clear strip below the Venetian blind in a large window at the front of the house with a convenient bushy conifer screening the corner which provided me with concealment.

My young lovers had wasted no time and by the time that I had wriggled into position to peer through the glass they were already wrestling frantically their mouths glued together and his hands roaming to clasp and massage her breasts and then down to her neat little buns which were revealed in their nakedness beneath the hiked up short hem of her nightie.

The young man was about twenty quite handsome and muscular and was dressed in a casual shirt and cricket whites which with his neat haircut labelled him as a probable second year academic student at an Oxford college rather than a local boy.

The girl I knew, she was a couple of years younger and was Joanne Carey, her father was a bank manager and she had been one of my music students at the High School for Girls a few years back. Joanne was a remarkably beautiful young woman, a brunette with long thick flowing tresses with a natural wave which any woman in her right mind would have given a decade off her life to possess. She had large soft brown calf's eyes with fantastically long eyelashes and a pert nose and cupid lips the sort of cute face that appeals to most men, the Mary Tyler Moore look. Even in the flowing whispy nightdress her breasts swayed and bounced unrestrained by any supporting bra, it was positively shameless I thought with a hint of jealousy which caused a tiny tingle in my crotch.

I slid my hand up my naked thigh and beneath my skirt until the tip of my finger found my already engorged clitoris and just gently pressed down on the tip causing a wave of tingling warmth to surge through my body. I had to stop. I removed my hand before the need to bring my own body satisfaction became too compelling.

The guy had slipped his hands up under her little nightie and was massaging those generous breasts and the thought of his caresses squeezing and tugging at her nipples was making my own teats harden as they became engorged with blood rushing to my erogenous zones. Joanne's face had taken on a look of positively disgusting joy as she snuggled closer and slid her hands down the front of his white trousers rubbing and squeezing at the erect bulge tenting out the front of his loose cotton Oxfords.

Then she was dragging at his shirt until she had torn the buttons open and moved to start work on the cord ties at the waist of his trousers.

The window was open just enough to hear her urgently hissed words. "Hurry up Craig...I want your cock in me... I s-o-o-o-o need you to fuck me!"

I shuddered as I heard the foul language from the mouth of such an innocent looking girl, I never was able to get used to hearing those crude words spoken out loud even though they filled my own head every waking minute of the day. There was little doubt that the pretty brunette had done this before. That cute little girl that I knew as a student had grown into a lust filled little whore. She was no virgin she was a woman in heat wanting to be filled with a man's cock... and this young man's exposed pole was everything that a girl could desire, long and thick with a large red mushroom at the tip.

Her skimpy nightdress followed his clothing onto the floor so that they were both totally naked as they sank to the carpet her shapely round thighs already looping around his thick muscular waist. I guessed from his sleek musculature that this young buck was probably a team rower, his powerful legs would be like pistons.

There was no prolonged foreplay, Craig settled himself in the cradle of her thighs and simply thrust brutally into her. I winced in empathy with her discomfort at the bruising force that stretched open her soft and yielding vagina but the muted howl that she could not completely muffle with her hand was not just of pain but of deep pleasure and fulfilment. Christ, but I longed for that gorgeous pain, to have my own tender little pussy subjected to that brutal male pounding, to feel that deep pleasure that I had watched so many other women experience.

I suddenly realised that I was panting in time with the gasps of carnal lust coming from Joanne as she writhed and bucked beneath her energetic young lover. The light in the room was dim but I could see well enough. If anything the low glow from the table lamp made the naked flesh stand out brighter in contrast to the dark coloured carpet and the shadows at the edges of the room.

There was a soft titter and then a whispered feminine voice "Oh Craig... Your cock is enormous... It is completely filling me!" She gave another sharp gasp. "A-h-h-h-h, God! I feels like a bloody tree trunk..."

"Your little slash is worth a million pounds... O-h-h-h-h...do that again...squeeze my cock with your fuck-tube...yeh!"

The words were so basic and filthy, so perverted! From the mouths of two decent young people, I could hardly believe it, but the sight of their frantically humping bodies made tremors undulate through my body and I felt my already over excited pussy start to tingle and ooze moistness. I wanted to be fucked like that. I desperately needed to be fucked like that. But it was never going to happen. I did not dare put my hand back down there again because I would not have been able to resist the need to make myself orgasm.

Craig began to grunt loudly and his hips started to move faster, each punishing thrust raising the girl up off of the floor and slammed her back down with a muffled scream through the fingers of both hands which she had clamped tightly over her mouth.

"No Craig! You mustn't...not inside me!" She gasped her hands now pushing at his muscled shoulders.

"N-u-u-r-g-h!" With a groan Craig did the right thing and pulled out. God, but his cock was massive and glistened gorgeously in the dim light dripping with Joanna's love juices. He had it grasped firmly around the root but was so ready that he did not need to massage the length, he just shook the thing hard, just once and it exploded like a volcano shooting a thick stream of his semen high in the air to fall with an audible splishing sound onto the girls stomach dribbling down to puddle in her little navel. The second stream splattered across her breasts causing her to gasp and giggle. As I watched she carefully dipped the tip of one finger into the sticky goo and then brought it to her lips.