Landlord Voyeur
Author's Note:
This story was inspired by a news article about a guy who went to jail for eighteen months for doing approximately this. Don't try this at home, folks.
Her name was Molly Ling, a petite young woman of Asian descent who answered my ad about a basement suite for rent. As I showed her around the small but well-appointed suite - living room with a television and a sofa, kitchenette with a small fridge, hot plate, microwave and toaster oven, private bathroom with shower, bedroom with enough room for a double bed and a work desk - we chatted about her situation.
She was a grad student in Psychology, just starting her second term of study in January and anxious to have her own place rather than staying another term in the student residence, hence her interest in a basement suite close to campus and on a bus route. She was a full-time student, but between scholarships and a position as a graduate teaching assistant, she was confident that she would have enough cash flow to be able to keep up the rent. And she had the damage deposit and first month's rent with her in cash.
As we sat at the kitchen table signing the paperwork, I discreetly looked her up and down. Long, straight black hair, blunt-cut in typical Asian style. Delicate features, but exuding a strength and confidence that you don't always find in Asian women, although that wasn't surprising since she was second generation Canadian - it had been her grandparents who had first immigrated to this country. Nice, medium-sized breasts, bigger than the teeny-tweenies that Asians often carry, the tops peeking out suggestively from a shirt with the top two buttons undone. Narrow waist, delicately curving hips. Twenty-three years old, she told me. All around, a very appealing package.
She phoned a friend who had a car with her possessions in the trunk, and I left her to get settled in. While she and her friend arranged her things, I went into my office and tried to work on the quarterly report that had been due six days ago.
I found it hard to get Molly out of my mind. I don't like to think of myself as a letch, but I had been single for a while, and having a woman like that under my roof was sparking a massive fantasy overload. I kept thinking about what those breasts might look like with the rest of the buttons undone. Was her pussy natural, trimmed, or shaved clean? Did her pussy lips extend up far enough that you could see the beginning of a cameltoe cleft between her legs, or was her pussy completely hidden unless she spread her legs and showed it off? Did she have tan lines under her clothes (unlikely in late December, but nice to speculate about)?
I finally gave up trying to concentrate on my report, slipped my pants down, and began pumping my now rock-hard dick. As I pumped, I turned the image of Molly in my mind slowly around. Of course, the mind-Molly was naked, and of course she answered all of the above questions (bare pussy with a nice cameltoe, small but very shapely ass, no tan lines). It didn't take long for me to shoot my load, and it took three tissues to contain it all.
***
Three days later, I was on a stepladder installing a spy camera in Molly's bathroom while she was in class.
I didn't do anything as obvious as putting it in the ceiling over the shower. Instead, I replaced one of the screws holding the light over the sink with the camera. It was tiny enough that you couldn't see it even if you looked straight into the hole. It just looked as though one of the screws was missing. I just had to hope that she wasn't handy enough to want to replace the screw, but I hadn't seen any household tools among her various possessions, which were strewn around the suite in the typical student haphazard way.
The shower had a completely clear glass door, so I would get a good view not only of what she did in there but also what she did entering and leaving. I wasn't particularly interested in watching her brushing her teeth, but if she did it in the nude after her shower, that would be a bonus. I didn't bother to angle the camera to cover the toilet area - I don't happen to be one of those guys who is especially turned on by watching women peeing.
I had a pretty good idea of her movements. She had a class at nine on Tuesdays, so she got up at seven thirty, jumped in the shower, grabbed a coffee and a light breakfast, and was out the door by eight thirty.
That night, I set my alarm for seven and went to bed. I had a hard time getting to sleep, as you might expect. My head was full of visions of Molly soaping her tits, Molly scrubbing her pussy, Molly rinsing her asscrack and rubbing soap over her asshole. I tried to ignore them, afraid that my view of the real Molly wouldn't live up to expectations, but it was no use. I finally got up, jacked off into a tissue again, had a stiff drink, and then went back to bed. This time I succeeded in dozing off.
The next morning, I was up bright and early, sitting in front of my computer with a coffee and a muffin and looking at a fascinating view of an empty bathroom. But I didn't have to wait long before I saw Molly enter, wearing a pair of skimpy red panties and a t-shirt with the logo of some long-forgotten metal band. Good, first question answered: what did Molly wear to sleep in?
She turned on the water to let it heat, then crossed her arms and pulled the t-shirt over her head and off. She was turned sideways to the camera, so I had an excellent view of her breasts when they came into view. Yes, just as I expected: smallish, but much larger than the little pimple-titties that you see on some women of Asian descent. Perky and carried well, with no trace of droop, as you might expect in a twenty-three-year-old. Her nipples looked hard and prominent, probably as a result of their sudden exposure to the cool air of the bathroom.
And no tan lines. Just a nice, even golden colour from head to toe. No tattoos either, which I appreciated. I don't think female skin needs embellishment.
The hand holding the shirt disappeared out of my view and came back empty, indicating that she had hung the shirt on the hook behind the door. She hooked her thumbs in the waistband of her panties, and I held my breath as she started to slip them down. I had an excellent view of her small, rounded asscheeks as she bent to slip them down her legs and stepped out of them. Then, as she turned to toss them in the laundry basket, she answered another of my questions.
Her pussy was shaved perfectly bare, with the cutest little cleft of a cameltoe showing between her legs. Jackpot! I zoomed the camera and moved the angle down slightly to savour my first - but I was sure, not the last - view of that succulent little morsel Molly was packing. I was certainly glad I had paid top dollar for a camera with pan and zoom.
She piled her hair up on top of her head and gave it a clever little twist to hold it there. I imagined that, even though her hair was fine, it was long enough that it would take a while to dry, and she didn't want it to get wet when she had a bus to catch. If I waited until the weekend, I would probably get to see her wash it, which would mean a nice, extended session in front of the camera.
She reached into the shower, tested the water, and evidently found it to her liking. She climbed in, turned once around to wet her skin all over, and took a pump of shower gel in her right hand. She started with her front, soaping up her chest below her chin and then both breasts. They were perky enough that she didn't need to lift them to wash their undersides, but I could see them jiggle slightly as she swished the soap over them. Even though I had jacked off in anticipation the night before, my cock was stiffening in my pants as I watched.
It just kept getting better. There was a ledge to hold products at one end of the shower, and she put her left foot up on it, reached down, and washed from her toes all the way up to her hip. I was viewing her body from the left, so I couldn't see her pussy, but that improved when she switched to her right leg. As she soaped all the way up her leg, I had an excellent view of her tender little pussy. Then my heart almost stopped as she stood back up, spread her legs, and soaped her pussy itself. To top it off, she reached behind her, spread her cheeks, and did a quick wash of her asscrack all the way down to her asshole.
The show was pretty short - the penalty for starting my adventure on a weekday, I guess. A quick wash of the arms up to the armpits, a final rinse, and she turned the water off. I couldn't help noticing that she hadn't washed her back, which made me think about how much cleaner she could have been if she had invited me in to help her wash the hard-to-reach bits.
She climbed out and toweled off, which was a good show in itself. Then, without putting the t-shirt back on, she faced straight into the camera - which, you'll recall, was mounted in the light above the sink - and started to brush her teeth. Her pussy was below the level of the counter, but I had a good view of her tits as they jiggled slightly with the motion of her arm as she brushed.
She rinsed, spat, and disappeared from my field of view. Show's over, I said to myself. I imagined her getting dressed downstairs from me as I replayed the file, pausing on the most interesting bits. When I got to the pussy-washing scene, I froze the frame and pumped out another deep and satisfying ball-clenching orgasm.
I saved the file with a date and no other identifier, buried several layers deep in a folder whose name had nothing to do with "shower," "bathroom," "camera," or "Molly." Then I went to my bathroom to wash off my cock and get ready to face the rest of the day.
***
Saturday. Molly's weekends weren't as tightly structured as her weekdays, so I was up early and working away at my report. I got quite a chunk of it done before a popup told me that the camera's motion detector had sensed movement in Molly's bathroom.
I switched to the camera app and watched as Molly repeated her usual shower ritual, turning on the water and then shucking off the t-shirt and panties - green ones this time. But she didn't pile up her hair. Instead, she climbed in the shower, held her head under the water and let it sluice down over that lovely mass of black. She squirted shampoo in her hand and worked it carefully from her scalp right to the ends, then returned to her scalp and massaged vigorously with the fingers of both hands.
I was entranced. I don't know quite why I found watching a woman wash her hair to be so sensual, but it was. I could imagine standing behind her with my hands massaging that scalp, running through that hair, carefully working the shampoo through to the ends, while watching the hot water run down her skin, over her breasts, down her stomach and into the cleft between her legs. Oh God, I thought I was going to die right there from the sheer joy of watching.