A Beach (Audio) Voyeur
I heard them, that first night, before I saw them. Just ten feet away in the beach cottage next door. I had gone out onto the little back deck, beer in hand, to watch the heat lightening play it's magic on the water, the breaking waves.
First there were just moans. "Uh-hhh ... Oh-hhhh"
I had to listen closely to be sure it was a woman, not some animal come down to the water's edge looking for leftovers.
"Ah-hhh ... "
Then, with urgency: "Oh, yes! ... Lick it again! Right there."
It definitely was not some animal come down looking for leftovers. Unless you considered the possibility that the male doing the licking might be a bit of an animal! (Although, at this point I wasn't sure that it was a male doing the licking. Only that it was a female being licked!)
"Oh, yes! ... right there, right there! Ah-hhh ... uuuu."
Then there was just the sound of a great sucking in of air. Followed by: " ... give me a minute. Oh, god! You make me cum so good. I knew you were gonna make me cum so good! Oh, god."
I could just imagine this woman clamping her inner thighs tight around some lucky guy's head, trapping his face between her legs, his mouth covering her pussy.
I had gone to my brother's Outer Banks beach place for a nine-day-week: some peace and quiet to do a read through and a final edit of a just completed work of fiction.
The first two days there I had had the street pretty much to myself, nobody in the houses on either side of me. Then a shiny new silver Saab 9-3 convertible showed up late afternoon on the third day, Maryland plates. At just dark I went out to raise my truck windows and lock the doors. A BMW 1300GT cruiser with DC tags and a State Department sticker on its windshield was parked next to the Saab. I hadn't seen either of the people belonging to those vehicles coming or going.
At around 9:30 I turned off the lights, got a beer, went out to watch the distant storm out over Onslow Bay. I heard the two people belonging to those vehicles.
"I'm gonna fuck you now," the voice said, an upper mid-west accent - Wisconsin maybe. "Enough of this fooling around." It was definitely a guy. " ... gonna fuck your sweet pussy.
"No!" the woman said. "Not yet. I want 'a see him. I want to hold him. ... I want 'a see how big he is."
Then: "Oh, my god! ... I can't get my hand around him! I knew he was gonna be big! ... not this big!"
There was silence, deep breathing. I knew she was licking him, holding the cock in both hands, licking him. Working her mouth around the head of this cock.
"Oh, baby," the guy said. "He wants some 'a you. Needs to feel that warm wet thing just sucking him in. Needs to be balls deep in that sweet pussy." I heard her mumble around the head of his cock, working her mouth on the smooth swollen hardness. "I want to sit on him. Let me sit on him," she mumbled.
Again there was silence. I reached a hand inside my running shorts, felt, stroked my own swollen cock. Felt the clear drops of cum on the tip.
Then, from her: "Oh! ... Easy.
From him: " ... hurry. Oh, sweet Jesus!"
Her: "An inch. A little at a time, baby. ... Oh, oh!"
Him: "Just look at 'im! ... God, just look at 'im. Sliding up in that pussy. Disappearing in that pussy. Oh, god you feel so good! ... Just look at 'im go in that pussy.
They fucked and stopped, caught their breath. He spread her legs, got between them, mounted her, fucked her again.
"Oh, yes!" she shouted, " ... stick 'im in me. Oh, I love it. I love it!"
The guy, the fucker, just made sounds deep in his throat; slammed his cock into the wet pussy, slapped his balls against her bare ass.
The sounds on the adjoining seaside veranda degenerated into moans and groans and the sound of flesh slapping against flesh: a pair of balls slapping against a well formed and firm young ass. I timed the stoking of my own cock to cum just as the girl screamed into the night. I considered the possibility that I might be, might become, an audio-voyeur.
Daylight came at 6:00; the sun was starting to come up out of the sea by seven. I had done the first leg of my morning run to the west, the better to watch the sun rise and get a bit of a breeze on the return leg.
They were astride a pair of bikes in the drive-way, between the Saab and the BMW cruiser and the street, strapping on riding helmets. She was a fine looking woman, maybe 32. She was blond and tan with long hair and long legs ... legs made for riding a bike, among other things ... and nice tits; cleavage showing between the lapels of her riding tights.
The guy was black with tall, angular; narrow hips and wide shoulders ... hands and fingers. I knew he was an athlete: the kind you see on TV on Sunday. Or on the cover of GQ. I was betting that she had him by a couple of years, maybe three.
They both waved, them leaving their driveway, me walking into mine: sweat dripping.
"Morning," she said from the street. "It's gonna be a great day."
I bet it already has been, I thought. South Georgia, I bet, she's from south Georgia.
"Have a good ride," I called after them, waved.
I didn't get much editing done that day. I watched out the window for them to return. Watched, when they did return, him run a long finger along her jaw line, wipe away the sweat (I always did love southern girls and sweat!) She took two tiny steps, then a third, toward him; bringing her body, her chest closer to, and then into contact with him. He laughed, ran his hand down her side, cupped her ass. She slapped it away, moved her tits against him - laughed.
They disappeared again early in the afternoon, the deep throaty rumble of his motorcycle headed out toward Morehead City and Beaufort. She was leaned back in the seat, blond hair flowing in the wind; her hands on his hips, thumbs stuck through the belt loops of his jeans.
I checked out the Saab in the driveway next door. It had that same State Department sticker on the windshield as his motorcycle.
They work together, I surmised. Been building toward this rendezvous for a while ... I bet you could 'a cut the sexual tension with a knife. Them in the same room together ... attending some high level meeting. I wondered what Hillary would have thought if she knew.
I went to a hunting-fishing outfitter in Jacksonville, bought a pair of night-vision binoculars. Picked up four boxes of really high-speed film; the kind you use when there isn't much light. It took a bit of searching to find a fifty foot cord that worked with my mic and mini-recorder.
Getting it all set up was a piece of cake. Drop the cord out of the upstairs window, staple it against the side of the house like a TV or computer cable. Bury it in the sand across the four feet separating the two cottages. Up the adjacent wall, hid the mic in the proverbial potted palm on the deck.
'I hope to hell she likes to fuck outdoors ... like last night,' I thought. I checked to be sure I could see the upstairs window in my seaside cottage, my vantage point.
I took an afternoon nap, getting ready for, looking forward to, a long night. I was unsuccessful in my efforts to not play with my own cock, save the pleasure for later. What the hell, I decided, I'll just enjoy it now and again then.
The rumble of the motorcycle sounded in the street just before sundown. Forty minutes later they left again in the Saab; dressed for dinner and dancing.
"Shit," I said. They would be a while getting back home.
From the upstairs window I checked the focus on the binoculars, zoomed in on the double-wide chaise. I watched the Braves on TV, watched Denzel Washington kick the Mexican mafia's ass.
Sometime before 1:00 AM I heard the crunch of tires on the oyster shell and crushed gravel driveway next door. I killed the TV. The house lights were already off.
The girl must have walked directly through the cottage and out onto the ocean facing veranda. She appeared there almost immediately. The tall, black athletic guy only a minute later; a wine bottle and two glasses in hand.
She watched him pour, ran a hand from his belt buckle down to the swell in his crotch; squeezed him.
"Damn, these are a good set of binoculars!" I said to myself. "That Marine kid gave me the right scoop." I could almost reach out and touch them, it seemed.
He laughed. "Show me your panties," I heard him say. "I want 'a see your panties."
