There are some morally dubious elements in this story. It is meant to be a pure fantasy and not an endorsement of such behavior in real life. This is meant to be sexy, not instructive. All characters are eighteen or older.
For the purposes of this story, my name is Kate. I am a young woman with a certain sexual inclination, which is that of voyeurism. I enjoy watching other women in their most private, intimate moments, and while to many that may seem perverse or absurd, it is the foundation of my sexual identity. Of course, I am not a criminal or a pervert, but I suppose I will allow the reader to judge my moral character. This document is meant to be edifying and provide a look at the inner elements of my psyche.
My first foray into voyeurism began the summer after my senior year of high school, two days after my eighteenth birthday. In high school, I was a quiet girl with a small group of friends, and very much unexposed to the world of sex and dating. Of course, like every girl my age, I had grand aspirations for my college years - romance, love and sex all awaited the wallflower virgin girl walking home on a hot summer evening. I had just spent the day hanging out at the mall with my friends, and taken the bus back to my typical suburban neighborhood.
As I walked up the street I'd grown up on, I noticed something odd. The fence that had always stood between our house and the neighbor's was gone. The posts had been ripped out cleanly, implying this was no accident. Curious, I stopped before walking into my house and instead padded up the side lawn that faced the neighbor's house. The lawn was marked by two large cypress trees, between which the fence had run, and within one of which was my childhood treehouse. The house itself was one story, smaller than our family's, but I'd always thought it was prettier. My suspicions were confirmed as I took a look at the beautiful arched windows cut into the side of the house, glinting red in the setting sun.
"Kate!" a voice cried out, and I turned around to spot my neighbor walking towards me. "How are you doing? Your mom told me you just turned eighteen. That's a big one." She carried a trowel in her hands, and wore gardening gloves.
"Hi Ms. Flores," I said, waving at her as she walked up to me. "Yeah, just a couple days ago. My friends and I went bowling." Ms. Flores was a short Latin woman with dark, curly hair that fell to her shoulders, and cheerful brown eyes. She'd been divorced for a few years and her kids were already in college. Despite being in her early fifties, she looked pretty good for her age. Today she wore a white tank top that displayed her significant cleavage and her curvaceous hips filled out her blue jean capris nicely. A sheen of sweat clung to her face and slicked down her chest. My eyes lingered on her bosom a bit longer than they should have, and I quickly looked away.
"Sorry for lingering, er, I mean standing around here, I wasn't snooping." Why would I say that? She wouldn't have any reason to think that. "I was just wondering what happened to the fence."
"Oh, that, don't worry about it!" Ms. Flores said, waving a hand carelessly. "The fence posts had some rot in the bottom so your parents and I discussed it and we're getting the whole thing replaced. Splitting the cost." She smiled cheerily at me. "I've spent the whole day out here doing some gardening." Her eyes flicked over to the horizon, as the sun dripped away and the sky darkened into twilight. "But it looks like I'm done for the day. I think I'll go hop in the shower and get dinner ready." As she mentioned showering, my eyes flicked back down to her sweaty cleavage and I felt my cheeks flush a deep red as an unbidden image of her soaping up those heaving breasts popped into my mind.
I was clearly going mad. I'd always thought Ms. Flores was pretty, for a neighborhood mom, but I'd never had a sexy thought about her. I didn't have sexy thoughts or dreams very often. In fact, I had never even had an orgasm. I'd read some articles online about masturbating, but I didn't know how to acquire a sex toy without my parents finding out, and I'd never been able to get anything to work with my fingers.
Anyway... I shook my head. This was not something I needed to think about right now. "Er, right, I should probably get home too. Mom will have dinner ready soon." My eyes flicked over to the large windows on the side of the house. With the sunlight fading, I was surprised to see that they were the windows to her bedroom, complete with a large queen bed and study desk. "I love your windows, Ms. Flores. I'd never really seen them from the outside before."
Ms. Flores clapped her hands together, delighted. "
Gracias,
Kate. I love them. That's probably the only nice thing my ex did for me. He was the one who picked the design. I love looking out at the cypresses from inside." She laughed. "When he suggested the design, though, I was always worried about privacy. Mostly because the guy who lived in the house before you guys was a bit of a weirdo."
I felt a little blush rise in my cheeks. I hoped she hadn't noticed. "Oh? Is that why you had the tall fence?"
"Yes, Brian had that installed, but honestly, it was being overly cautious." She waved her hand dismissively. "The trees are tall and there aren't any windows on that side of your house." Ms. Flores glanced down at her watch. "Oh, I need to shower and start dinner. Talk to you later, Kate." She turned around and bent over to grab her gardening toolbox. As she did, her black thong peeked out from her tight jean capris, displaying a perfect whale tail.
For the first time in my life, I felt my cunt throb.
As quick as it had been shown, it retreated, and she turned around to flash me a smile and a wave before heading back inside her house.
"See you later, Ms. Flores." I turned around and walked down the side of the house, intending to go inside. Dinner would be ready soon, and my mom would start to worry about why I wasn't back. And yet, despite what my brain told me, my cunt wouldn't rest. Beneath my jean skirt, inside my white cotton panties, it was begging me to satisfy my curiosity, to see if I could get a look at what lay beneath those pesky layers wrapped around Ms. Flores's body.
There were no windows on this side of our house, it was true. But there was a view from the treehouse.
It was an impulse decision. I made sure I heard Ms. Flores close her side door and then I ran back to the larger of the two cypresses. Grabbing the rope ladder, I scampered up like a girl possessed and crawled into the small treehouse. I was no longer able to stand up inside, and crawled forward on all fours, over the blankets and pillows I had left there, to press my face into the glass window my father and I had installed together, over ten years ago.
It was fully dark now, and the suburbs were quiet but for the chirping of crickets. The heat had dulled to a pleasant warmth as a breeze drifted in. The treehouse's old wooden joints creaked, but this was as structurally as sound a building as could be. I had inherited my father's love and skill for home development, and I regularly ensured the treehouse was up to snuff on my own.
The bedroom windows were dark, and I issued a grunt of half disappointment, half relief. It felt like such a violation to spy on Ms. Flores, who was a really nice woman. But I was eighteen, and I had never felt such a vicious hormonal urge before. I was utterly at its mercy. Even now, my pussy felt restless, constricted, within the trappings of my underwear.
The bedroom light flicked on. My body grew tense, rapt with attention. From my vantage point, I could see everything inside her bedroom.
Ms. Flores entered the room, still wearing the tank top and blue jeans. She walked across the room and stretched her arms, yawning. She reached into a dresser and grabbed what looked like a scrunchie, and pulled her curly hair back into a ponytail. Then she reached for the hem of her blouse and pulled it up over her head.
I had to grit my teeth from gasping. Her tits, though encased in a lacy black bra, were every bit as large and sexy as I could have imagined. Without thinking, without understanding, I slipped my hand under the waistband of my skirt, my fingers slipping into my panties. It was wet down there and my fingers began to move of their own accord, rubbing against the hard nub that I did not fully understand at that ripe young age. A moan escaped as my breath pressed against the glass.
She laid her white tank top on the bed and then began to unbutton her jeans. They slid to the ground, pooling around her ankles. She had a bit of a tummy, but it fit her physique well, as her broad hips and muscular thighs were a sight to behold, cellulite marks and all. The thong she wore matched, and so irritatingly concealed what lay between her legs. She laid her jeans upon the bed and turned around, displaying the exquisitely shaped and prominent derriere that I knew she had always possessed. My fingers found their way inside of me for the first time, and I could feel my wetness dripping through my panties onto the blanket below.
I so desperately wanted her to take off her undergarments, but my wish was only partially obliged. Her back and ass facing me, she unhooked the strap of her bra and let it go, then proceed to walk to the other end of the room with her back turned, denying me a view of those breasts I so desired to see. Still, I groaned and abused myself like a wild animal as I admired her ass. Turning, a flash of side boob was doled out before she walked into the next room. My frustration was building.
Another light went on and I was thrilled to see the other window exposed the bathroom. The view, however, was less than spectacular. Ms. Flores was too short to appear in the window, and though there was a mirror above the sink across from her, I could only see her face and shoulders reflected in its surface as she sat down. She appeared to be reaching down and adjusting her underwear and I realized that she was sitting to urinate.
Viewing her in such a private moment, as her sweaty, shiny face tilted back in relief, was driving me to the edge. I desperately needed her to stand up and show me her tits. My fingers were working inside of my cunt with furious, primal instincts, and I knew that an orgasm, though conceptual to me at this point, was near.
But even as she stood up, I could see only the back of her shoulders and her hair reflected in the mirror before she turned and disappeared from view. I heard the shower turn on, and whimpered as I imagined her nude form entering the spray of hot water, but it was not enough to satisfy me.
My phone buzzed in my bag. With my free hand I reached inside and seized it. My mom was texting me, asking where I was. Sighing, my frustration aching from my cunt through the rest of my body, I pulled my hand out of my panties so I could text her back.
Just outside the house. Need to change and I'll be ready for dinner.
My panties were soaked and my jean shorts had a few blotches as well, so I quickly changed into sweats when I got home, then wolfed down dinner before heading back out to the treehouse. But by that point, the lights in her house were out, and the curtains were drawn as well. Achingly frustrated, I returned to my own bed, where I masturbated desperately, picturing Ms. Flores in all sorts of lewd scenarios. But I was unsuccessful.
Though I knew it was wrong, I had to see her again. I was going to spend every evening in that treehouse, if that was what it took. Something had awoken in me, and I intended to see it through.
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