As the day grew hotter and my temper shorter I noticed three things as I pulled on my third shirt of the morning. One; I was running out of shirts, two; the breeze blowing my curtains aside was warmer than the shower I'd just taken and three; She was watching me again.
Now, Mrs Brady (Old Lady) as we knew her had lived in the flat opposite for as long as I could remember. She wasn't all that old but she acted like she was. If I had to guess I'd say she probably wasn't any more than about 45 but the way she walked, the way she spoke even the things she bought to decorate her home said "Old Lady" and she was watching me again.
"OK then old woman." Shrugging my shoulders so that the fresh shirt slid down my arms, "I'll give you something to watch"
--
I walked to the window and pushing the frame wider, leaned forward, inspecting the baking street below with it's stalls of withering fruit, fading fabrics, pasty patrons and loud repeating, repeating, repeating voices. Head downward facing I squinted, searching the windows opposite to find Mrs Brady indeed, still watching my semi-nakedness. "Well, if you really want to look."
"Paul, no. That old woman is watching us again."
"So? Let her watch, she won't be seeing anything she hasn't seen before."
Folding her arms Lynda turned away and assumed the 'No nonsense' position, her back straight, shoulders held stiffly and with a dismissive shake of her head flung her red fringe from her narrow forehead.
"Oh baby." Paul stepped forward to let her know he was still close by, not touching but close by.
"No. Not again" Shaking her head once more, this time re-arranging the loose strands to form a veil across her reddening face, Paul read the sign and stepped closer still.
Her shoulders relaxed ever-so-gently as her boyfriend applied just so much pressure to her knotted muscles, working his thumbs against either side of her ram-rod spine. The feel of his callused fingers through her silken shirt was a pleasure from which she would never grow weary.
"I know you like it." He breathed in her ear. "You know you enjoy it as much as me." He challenged. "Remember the cricket pavilion?"
Lynda's mind flew to that afternoon last summer, as Paul's fingers coaxed the memory from her body. That was probably the culmination of their hot weather out-rages which saw the two of them indulge their sweat-soaked yearning bodies in public places. She, with her elbows locked supporting her weight on the sill, feet placed just-so. And Paul, waist naked probing heavily and heavenly between her soft, distended lips, grinding slowly, deliciously.
With her elbows locked supporting her weight on the sill, Lynda placed her feet just-so as Paul shed the remainder of his clothing and without warning pulled open her shirt to reveal her pouting breasts to the window and the watching world.
As lust and embarrassment vied to deepen the glow of her face Lynda succumbed once more to the weather and her nakedness.
--
Carl held his erection in plentiful view as he imagined the woman huffing and puffing climbing the stairs to his flat. She would walk in without so much as a tap and cross, determined and anxious, to wrap her wanting lips around his meat. In her hurry she would be breathless and tired and she would stumble to her knees and begin crawling along the fine-patterned Indian weave almost delirious in her desire for his cock.
Then, stark bollock naked, he would tease her without mercy, making her say out loud what she wanted. Make her shout it. That she wanted to suck his man-muscle. Make her use the foulest language from that tarty mouth.
Say "I want to suck your knob" and she would.
Say " I want to feel your cock in my throat." And she would.
Say "I want my lips round your dick." And she would.
But he would just stand and smile and stroke his shaft before her streaming eyes, watching her caked-on make-up smear and run.
--
Leaning my thighs against the window ledge, I straightened a little and reached behind to unhook my bra. I stopped when out of the corner of my eye I noticed "Naughty Norman" staring straight up from his crockery stall.
"Naughty, naughty Norman. These aren't for you." I stepped back a half pace. "Might as well go the whole hog if I'm going to put on a show for her"
With my elbows high and hooked fingers below the wires I pulled slowly upwards. As my already stiffened buds contacted my silvered fingernails I shivered and making my back muscles writhe, played my thumbs across their taughtness.
Contrasting heavily with my tanned stomach, my breasts began their languorous, leisurely, gravity induced slide down my ribcage. Frowning as the ball of my thumbs lost contact with my nipples I gave a slight gasp as the lengthy nubs grazed past my long fingered nails on their inevitable journey.
Freed and jouncing, I made my tits wobble as I pulled the bra over my head and as I looked up Mrs Brady (Old Lady) was smiling as her head tilted forward.
