Eye of the Beholder

You have to wonder about Fate sometimes. Just because I happened to take a shortcut one evening, I suddenly found myself voyeur to a stunning, brunette exhibitionist/narcissist, and involved in the most erotic affair of my life. We'd been driving each other to shattering orgasms for weeks, and I'd never even touched her sexually until tonight. I'd been shushed with a finger to the lips every time I tried to speak.

And then, up pops another "Just because". Just because my cousin Jackie was deaf, I knew sign language; and since I knew it, I used a sign when I couldn't think of a pidgin wigwag way to signal "happy".

And now, suddenly, it all seemed to make sense. No wonder she never got phone calls: she didn't talk. No wonder such a beautiful woman became such a narcissist. At that time when "children" come of age, not talking can be a serious drawback. If she was a late bloomer, she might well have been her only lover through those years. I suspected her sex drive wouldn't have been much less then, so finding no others, she fell in love with her first lover and stayed that way.

As for her exhibitionism, Sharon was as new to it as I was to my voyeurism. She had noticed me outside her window one night, and it had turned her on. She started leaving the blinds open a little wider, watching for me, playing to me when I was there; and the more she did it, the more it turned her on. She put the footstool out so I could watch her in the bath, and worried that I'd wonder why it was there, whether it was a trap. Breaking the barrier of the window between us had taken even more courage than I imagined. She told me she was usually fairly shy. She almost didn't do it.

We 'talked' about all of this, sitting in our places on opposite sides of the window. She asked if I wanted to come in, and I said "More than anything. Do you think I should?" But she wasn't sure, and neither was I, so here we sat.

Sharon got a bottle of wine, and we sipped between 'chatter'. She was still wearing the sheer, white lace negligee, looking much more than just seductive. I was sitting outside with my pants off, probably looking more than just silly.

It was obvious to both of us that the relationship had changed, and we talked about the change. Though my well-timed lick had supercharged her last orgasm, unexpected as it was, she still didn't know if we should try actual, in-the-flesh sex. She had never had much luck with it. It didn't turn her on, and she said she'd hate to taint this relationship with a failed attempt. Should we try the same as usual with me inside the house? She thought it might make her too uncomfortable. I was pretty comfortable out here as long as the weather was nice, so it didn't matter that much. I certainly couldn't argue about the results so far.

All in all, we didn't decide much, but it was good to talk. Sharon thought she needed time to sort out her feelings, and as it turned out she had the chance. She was going out of town again for four days. She'd be back on her birthday. I had devised a plan, and now I knew when to implement it.

We finally said goodnight, with a light kiss through the window. She flicked her tongue across my lips at the end, perhaps to see if she could taste herself on them, but she didn't press it further and ended the kiss before I could respond. I don't know how it affected her, but I found myself thinking, "How could one kiss have gotten to me like that?"

- O -

I spent three of the days Sharon was away getting things ordered and pickup times arranged, then took all day the day she was to return setting up. It was pretty easy getting into her house: I had noticed the last time she went out of town that she left the bathroom window open a crack. This time she did the same.

The hard part turned out to be the mental questions. I had never been in an affair that made me as uncertain as this one. I was never quite sure if I was pushing too fast, or how anything would be received, and if I was pushing too hard before, this plan was in another league. All I had to go on was the fact that I had guessed right so far. I hoped I didn't ruin my record now.

Everything was ready by 8:00 PM; she was due back at 9:00. I just hoped she didn't pull a surprise like last time. Nice as it was to have her bring home a beautiful blonde and trick her into undressing before me, this time it would ruin my surprise for her.

When the cab pulled up at about 9:30, I was relieved to see that Sharon was the only passenger. The cabbie carried her bags to the porch for her while she retrieved three shopping bags from the back seat. One looked like groceries, one was from Liquor All Over, and the other looked like it came from a clothing store. She tipped the cabbie, and he drove off as she fumbled with her keys.

I was watching through the window in the kitchen door, which allowed me a view of part of the living room, including the front door. She brought everything in, then closed the door and slipped out of her jacket. It was a business suit I'd never seen before, but it held just as closely to the bottom of the acceptable-for-business range as all of her others. The silk blouse over those peerless breasts did more to tantalize than to conceal. She stepped out of her skirt and started to unbutton the blouse as she walked into the bathroom, glancing at the window to see if she could see me. She was a little early. I was still outside the kitchen window, but I moved quickly so I could see her reaction to the first of my surprises.

Her eyebrows went up when she saw the table by the bathtub, containing a dozen red roses and a champagne bucket with a bottle, two glasses and a bow proclaiming it to be a Happy Birthday. There was also a small note that said "Same treatment on my glass, if you don't mind." She smiled as she turned on the bath, then popped the cork, filled a glass, and raised it to the window. I didn't think she'd seen me, but she had to be pretty certain I was there. Good. Hurdle number one cleared. She knew I'd been in her house and accepted it with a smile. That would make it easier when she saw the bedroom.

She folded the skirt over the back of the chair by the door, hung her jacket on it and unbuttoned her blouse, taking her time slipping it off, trailing the silk lightly across her nipples, bringing them to full attention. She stood for a moment, sipping champagne and looking luscious, her hair cascading around her breasts, her beautiful tanned skin contrasting the white lace, French-cut panties. Then she stepped out of them and turned to the tub. Big smile. I had put bubble bath across the bottom of the tub and it was in full glory when she first noticed it. She laughed softly, and slipped in.

She was happy, but I could tell she was also tired. She lay back, just sipping champagne and soaking. Before long she was seduced by the allure of the bubbles (both kinds, now that I think of it). She couldn't resist the temptation to rub the suds over her skin, first wetting and smoothing, then scooping a handful of foam and tracing it lightly over her skin, leaving a trail of bubbles. It was only a matter of time before her fingers drifted down to those delectable shaved lips. Always thoughtful of her audience, she slipped a leg over the side of the tub to give me the best view in the house, trickling a couple of handsful of water to wash the suds away and leave herself open to my eyes.

She was very languid about it this evening; gentle, easy strokes up and down the whole length of her pussy, lingering a bit over the clit. I had no idea what was going through her head, but she liked it. She had a very content smile on her face.

I never got tired of watching her make love to herself. She was such a good lover. It was entertaining and erotic. She played herself like a fine instrument, arousing herself quickly, building slowly, then coasting on the edge, never in a hurry to arrive. I loved watching her fingers slipping and hiding between her cuntlips, glistening over her clitoris, the feeling playing out on her face. She was wet tonight, not that that was unusual, but she was already wet enough to prepare my glass, taking it and turning it on edge so the rim would slip between the lips of her pussy, then rotating it to coat the rim. Then she set the glass down, used the sprayer to rinse herself, got out of the tub and dried off.

She had placed one of the bags inside the bathroom door when she came in, and now she took out pair of panties I hadn't seen before, a deep jade, made of some satiny fabric. When she had slipped them on they looked so smooth they just invited a hand to pass over them, feeling every hidden inch silky slick. It was a temptation she couldn't resist, and I smiled as she gave in and felt herself through the panties, closing her eyes for a moment and enjoying the feeling before slipping on a short robe of a fabric so sheer it was hard to tell what color it was... dark anyway. Then she picked up the tray with the bucket, glasses and roses and headed into the bedroom.

I was glad she had gone straight into the bathroom earlier. If she had headed for the bedroom, she would have gone in by way of the door from the hall, and she would have come to a fabric curtain and a note that said "Not Yet". But this way it was a complete surprise: she just pushed open the door from the bathroom to the bedroom and walked in, flipping the light switch on with her elbow.

I'm sure she was stunned. The brass four-poster bed had been moved to the center of the room, along with the chair and end table. The rest of the room was cloaked by a white silk parachute, coming down from a point over the bed, and out to form four fabric walls. There were arches drawn up at four corners: she was standing in one now at the bathroom door, another framed the dresser with her stereo on it, and at the feet of the bed were the mirror and the window.

Now, before we go too much further, I'd better explain a bit. I work in the theatre department at the university. The parachute and its rather elaborate control system (you'll see), were the set for a play I'd just directed. I had access to almost any available staging supplies and equipment, since the department was trimmed way down for the summer. The other equipment (I told you, you'll see) I rented from a tech supply company we used a lot.

Sharon stood and looked for a moment, amazed, then followed the cues offered by the setup: she walked over and set the tray on the end table, crossed to the stereo and put on her current favorite, and mine, whatever it was. As she reached out a hand to look behind the fabric, she noticed the note (they were hanging at all four corners): "No Peeking!" She smiled and signed "You're one to talk!" then went back to the table and poured me a glass of champagne and brought it to the window, still smiling as she set it down.

"Surprise party!" I signed. She smiled and signed back "You shouldn't have." My response: "I hope you're wrong."

I motioned her to the chair. She pulled it over to the window and settled into it, one leg draped over one arm, the other splayed out against the other arm.

Sharon had been absently stroking herself through the satin of the panties, and they were beginning to get damp. She traced a finger gently up and down her slit, up and down, watching me. It was unbelievably erotic. I licked my lips, hoping she noticed and thought about it. She dipped her fingers in through the side of the panties, bringing them out wet. She licked one off, then the other, a wicked smile coming to her lips. Then she slipped one finger back in. This time when she brought it out, she ran it around her lips, wetting them with her juices. Then she leaned forward in the chair, motioned me forward, reached out and kissed me. I licked her lips, fenced with her tongue for a second, the kiss just threatening to turn into a deep, wet one when Sharon suddenly spun away, out of the chair, her face hard to read, but smiling. She slipped out of the panties as she went back to sprawl on the bed. Good. I had wondered how I was going to get her there. I had put only one pillow on it so she'd be tempted to lie where the pillow was. She did. I dimmed the lights a bit. Sharon looked around, wondering.

(Her bulbs were unscrewed. When she'd hit the light switch with her elbow, I turned on the lights installed behind the parachute. I had a small console that let me control the room.)

Bringing the music up, I entered a code and tiny motors pulled in two wires, drawing up one of the parachute walls. The opening framed a large mylar mirror, its base halfway up the wall, angled toward the ceiling so she could look into it and see down her body.

Sharon looked at me, her eyes sparkling with anticipation. I smiled, raised my glass to her, took a big sip of champagne, my head spinning from the scent of her on the rim, and motioned to her to lie back and relax. She took my advice, scooting over a little so that her body was centered in the mirror, thus putting herself exactly where I wanted her. I flipped on a small spotlight. It shone through the fabric of the parachute, pooling her pussy in a soft puddle of light.

She liked that. She looked into the mirror, trailed her fingertips down across her abdomen, through the auburn curls, sliding them down over her shaved lips, then watching in the mirror as one finger glided between her lips, up over her clitoris. She licked her finger and traced it gently all around her clit, one way then the other. Her left hand was lightly caressing her breast and her eyes were locked on the mirror.

Sharon's eyes closed momentarily as she worked two fingers up into her now sopping pussy, her fingers sliding out to slip easily over her clitoris, caressing, teasing, then giving in to the feeling with quick little flicks. Her left hand stroked down her body, across her hip, and down behind her, her back arching so she could reach her cunt and slip two fingers inside.

While her eyes were closed, I touched a control and two more wires silently pulled up a large rectangle her, exposing a large plasma TV monitor, flanked by four smaller monitors, two to the side and two below. (There were small, semi-concealed cameras at all 4 corners. All were autofocus, and could be zoomed from the control console.)

Opening her eyes to look into the mirror at the foot of the bed, she noticed the monitors. It was instant infatuation. I had focused in tight on her pussy with the best camera for it, then put that shot on the big screen. There, bigger than life, were her two fingers, gliding up and down her clit, while the two middle fingers of the other hand slipped between those glorious, shaved lips.

She licked her lips, her eyes glued to the screen as she brought herself closer, her pace picking up, her breathing starting to become a bit ragged. This excited her. A lot. Her eyes had a fever in them I hadn't seen, as she made love to herself in the monitors.

Climbing in through the window, I settling into the armchair in much the same posture as she had used. My pants were off, and the console was propped on one arm of the chair. The movement caught her eye, and she glanced at me, then back to the screen. I cross-faded to the camera with the best lips shot so she could watch the fingers of her other hand disappearing into her cunt, emerging slippery wet. Sharon looked over at me again, her eyes on the console this time. I could tell this possibility intrigued her. She looked back at the monitor as I zoomed the camera in, the screen filling with slick lips, her fingers deep inside. She looked back at me. Well, here goes nothing, I thought. I held out the console to her, question in my eyes. Hers lit up.

She reached out for it and I slowly stood and crossed to the bed, handing it to her as I arrived. I showed her how it worked, briefly: pointed to a camera, pushed the button, point, push, oh...and zoom, see? In the process I set up the shots for what was to come next. Then I handed it to her and sat down at the foot of the bed, out of the way of the cameras. She had the console in one hand, her other trying out the controls, but alas, none for herself. I reached up a helping hand, switching to the camera by the window, a medium shot, from her breasts to her knees, trailing a forefinger down her arm as I withdrew. Finding no resistance, I let the finger drift down the curve of her breast, and into the camera shot, tracing a lazy circle around the nipple, then slowly and softly down the middle of her stomach, straight through those well-trimmed curls.

Sharon's eyes never moved from the screen, watching as the finger slowly slipped between the lips and lightly over the clit (she writhed, trying to get more pressure). I drew it in the same straight line down over the hot, wet opening to her vagina, never changing the speed, dipping in just slightly as it crossed, but rising out at the bottom to lift from her skin just as it crossed the perineum. She arched in protest, but I brought it back up, trailing the back of the fingernail across her anus, once again over perineum and halfway up her slit before I plunged the finger in to the hilt. She gasped, never looking from the monitor. I have no idea what emotions were surging through her, but the whole sequence was incredibly sexy to watch. I slipped in two fingers. She zoomed the camera all the way in, then set down the console, her fingers dropping to join me, gliding up and down her clit as I dipped in and out. She smiled as one of her fingers joined my two, leaving to carry some of that wonderful lubricant up to her clit, where her fingers settled back into rhythm.

I finally dared to hope for everything. I leaned forward, licking up her left leg. They spread wide. I licked the hollow behind her knee, a tiny nip up the inside of her thigh, now in the camera's view, and slowly in between her legs.

Such a dilemma: she still wanted to watch, but she also wanted to lie back and give herself to it. She settled for just the other side of half-lidded. Myself? I was finally in heaven, spreading her lips and lapping in slow, long licks that covered the entire length of her slit, drinking her up. The foreplay had been so long I nearly fainted from the intensity: her fragrance and her sweet, musky flavor flooding my senses. Her moans grew; she arched as I hit her clit, and this time I lingered, flicking back and forth, then a long lick, a soft nibble, then flicking again. Her eyes were open, shifting: to me, to the mirror, to the camera (adjusting her position to open herself up to it more), to the monitor. I just licked for all I was worth, delirious that after all this time we had finally graduated from remote control foreplay to hands-on, tongues-on foreplay.

Sharon seemed to be mighty happy about it, too. She edged toward the top of the bed, widening the shot as she did. This had the side effect of making me climb up onto the bed for the first time. She slid up into a sitting position at the top of the bed, grasping the brass railings as my tongue caught up with her movement. As she began to turn, I saw her reason: she brought her head down toward the foot of the bed, rolling me onto my back. She had positioned my rigid cock in the center of the camera shot, but she couldn't see the monitor.

I reached over and keyed in a couple of codes, the parachute rising at the foot of the bed to expose another large monitor. It was directly in front of her, with a cock about a foot and a half tall displayed on it. She glanced over her shoulder at me, grinning, then turned and planted her lips on the head in a soft, wet kiss. She dropped down and licked up me in a long stroke, then dove in with a vengeance, playing to the camera as much as me, but who was I to complain? I had this luscious pussy dripping over my lips, soon around my lips. I watched her in the monitor as my tongue slid into her.