The soft, sensual music was only in her head; she glided softly down the pole, the cold steel against her warm, soft skin causing shivers to traverse her spine. She landed on her back, her legs up in the air; she licked her fingers sensually, then began playing with her pussy. Throwing her glance at the small one-way windows on the wall; she could see nothing, but, she knew there were people behind the windows, staring at her lustfully.
Slowly, she let the straps of her short, tight dress fall off her shoulders; she stepped out of her dress, wearing now only her high heels, and once more she firmly grabbed the pole, wrapping her legs around it, as she swirled about, her back arched to showcase her breasts to the viewers.
Her heart raced in excitement, as she crawled down on the floor, holding her ass up in the air; every time felt like the first time. She reached for her pussy once again, fingering herself tenderly while on all fours. As she increased the pace, she rested her head on the floor, moaning loudly, and fairly theatrically, in the small room.
She used both hands to stimulate both her pussy and clit, rubbing and fingering; repositioning herself on her back, legs spread wide in the air, offering an even clearer view to the unknown spectators. She bit the corner of her lips and glanced over at the windows, eager to make each spectator momentarily believe they were the sole cause of her excitement.
In her mind, she pictured the different faces that might be hiding behind the windows, seeing no one in particular, only strangers masturbating to her show, strangers burning with desire to take her.
Suddenly, she came and a phantasmagoria of joy erupted in her head; her legs began to tremble, as she continued to rub her convulsing cunt. Her moans turned genuine, as for a few moments she was rendered breathless and unable to control her movements with the precision her dancing routine normally incorporated.
The red light above the black curtain in the corner of the room blinked thrice; faintly stumbling on her high heels, she picked her dress up from the floor and walked through the curtain, and away from the peeping glares.
"Hey, Fey," Yvonne quickly embraced her still flushed from the dance friend, "good show!"
"Thanks," Fey smiled faintly. "Are you up?"
"No," Yvonne shook her head. "It's my day off, but..."
"You couldn't stay away, huh?" Fey smirked.
"Something like that," she replied with a sad smile. "So, what are you up to tonight?"
"All I need right now is to go home, relax... rest, for tomorrow."
"Same old shit every day, huh?"
"As long as it pays the bills," Fey shrugged her shoulders, quickly kissed her friend on the cheek, and hurriedly changed into her everyday clothes, so she could walk back home without giving pedestrians false expectations.
* * * * *
Fey leaned on the kitchen counter, reverently holding the tall glass of cheap whisky; the scent was strong, and somewhat tainted, but, after the first long sip, it felt as if heaven had flooded through her veins.
She could not help but smile, as she caught a glimpse of her neighbor peering through his window, staring intensely at her as was his wont; she lit a cigarette and walked around her one-bedroom apartment, completely naked, feeling the young man's intense stare piercing her. She had never acknowledged him, always trying not to look at his window for more than a second, in fear of scaring him away.
Being lustfully watched had a wildly tingling effect on her mind and body and therefore did not want to miss her most regular observer; others in her neighborhood of tightly-packed tall condominiums were too looking on at her, but, that young man living right across the small, dark alley separating the two buildings was the most faithful, and consistent.
When she put her glass down on the coffee table, she made sure she bent deep, theatrically; her legs slightly spread and she remained in this position for a few seconds, far longer than the simple task required.
Hers was a rundown neighborhood forgotten in time, where its residents refused to embrace progress; peep-shows (like the one she worked for), underground strip-joints, bars where a beer cost a buck, and bums and hoodlums were the norm. There were no fancy nightclubs for the youth, no proper mass transit, the streets had not been repaired in at least a decade, and the only bookseller of the area was confident CĂŠline was still aliveâand had
On the Road
on the window advertising it as
brand new
masterpiece.
In spite of these circumstances, Fey was fairly comfortable in her small, low-rent apartment, with her exciting job, as well as with her peeping neighbors; due to her work, she was rarely harassed on the streetsâeverybody knew her boss and everybody was terrified of him. It was usually someone new in the area, or a lost passerby, that would catcall her, or, make improper advances at her outside of her working hours, which usually resulted in the offender being jumped by Mr. Hughes' omnipresent henchmen.
She sat down on the only armchair of the apartment, facing the window, and kept her knees apart; she turned the TV on and had a long snort of whisky. She lit a new cigarette with the old one; a new cloud of grey smoke rose in front of her face like a veil, then quickly turned into thin air.
She rubbed her sore neck and quickly peeked outside her window; aside from the young man across the street, visibly masturbating furiously while trying to hide behind the white curtain, a few more of her neighbors were at their windows and excitedly discerned a few gazes directed her way.
It was showtime, she realized; and she didn't mind if this one was for free. It was for her own pleasure and, most importantly, there were no restrictions, nor obligations. It could last for as long as she wanted and could be anything
she
wanted; her fascination over being watched was definitely what initially drove her to working at the peep-show, but, she never really liked the controlled environment and the strict rules to which she had to adhere.
At home, however, it was a completely different ballgame; she put the half-full glass down at the coffee table and ran her finger along her skin, waves of cold shivers traversing her spine. She swirled her finger around her erect, light pink nipples, copped her breasts sturdily and squeezed; leaning her head backwards, opening her mouth wide open pretending to moan, but, producing no sound.
Fey was getting wetâthrough her half-closed eyelids she discerned at least five spectators behind five different windows on the condominium across the streetâand she lowered her hand to her burning cunt, rubbing her clit slowly, as her moans gradually turned real, her body shivering...
She could hardly discern the faces of her spectators, but, she didn't care, she envisioned them jerking off and slipped a finger in her pussy, making a 'come over' gesture inside her, her back arched and her muscles tensed, both of her hands now working on her pussy; she had soaked the armchair's cushion, sitting on a poodle of her own cum, working faster on herself, driving two fingers in and out of her cunt, rubbing her clit fast and hard, biting down her lips and grimacing, eyes shut, and her orgasmic scream rang loudly in the tight confines of her apartment.
She slowed down the pace, still playing with herself, her hands were sticky and wet and she still convulsed; enraptured, she licked her fingers off, opening her eyes to ensure her spectators were still thereâand they were. Thus, she sucked her fingers off sensually, slowly and with methodical movements, picturing them masturbating for her; finally, she leaned back on the armchair, her legs still spread and turned her focus on the TV, to the old black-and-white movie on the screen, while still panting in complete satisfaction.
* * * * *
Down at the drugstore, she met her most faithful viewer. She offered him a broad smile, as they stood close to one another at the vegetable section; the man looked away embarrassed, desperately trying to keep his focus fixed on the tomatoes he was holding.
Fey's smile expanded, as she grabbed a long cucumberâinitially intended for her bag, and subsequently her dinner salad. She held it firmly with one hand and stroked it with the other, slowly and sturdily, in fascination staring at the now crimson-faced young man.
An old man abruptly stopped his cart and remained petrified, with an astonished look illuminating his exhausted facial features, while Fey continued to jerk the cucumber; she hardly acknowledged him, her sole focus at the moment being the young man she so adored to tease from across the street and now had the rare chance to do so in an even closer proximity.
She took the tip of the vegetable in her mouth and swirled her tongue slowly around it, wrapping her soft, full lips around it... the old man dropped his wife's shopping list, and his jaw, and watched in sheer disbelief (and utter joy), while even the cashier abandoned his place in order to come nearer.
Fey giggled, as she noticed the amassing crowd, everyone staring at herâeveryone, that is, except the young man who had spent many a nights watching her behind his curtain.
She took a step closer to him; she heard his heavy breathing, noticed the crimson color of his cheeks, his bright blue eyes still fixated on the tomato in his hand. She pushed the cucumber deeper in her mouth, swirling it with her hand, wetting it with her lips, her hazel eyes beaming.
With the cucumber down her throat, sucking it off slowly and noisily, pushing the tip against the inside of her cheeks before swallowing it all down, then pulling it back out, her eyes fixed on the scarlet young man unable to look, walk away, or in any other way react, she lifted her short dress over her ass, revealing her nakednessâa collective gasp echoed inside the store, as everyone had seemingly frozen.
Fey slapped the dripping cucumber against her pussy and rubbed the tip on her clit, allowing herself to moanânot loudly, but deeply, just enough to be heard by everyone and to let her sounds enflame their loinsâand teased herself with the cucumber, pushing the tip against her cunt.
Her knees almost buckled, when she thrust the vegetable in herâat first, only the tip, then a bit more, and a bit more afterwardsâas she leaned over the counter and ran her tongue along her lips, her stare intently fixed on the young man stealing glimpses of her from the corner of his eye, unwilling directly to look... suddenly, two rough hands grabbed her from behind and forced her to pull the cucumber out.
"All right, Fey," the tall, robust man in an old-fashioned checkered suit said with a stentorian voice, "time to go. Show's over, folks!"
Everyone quickly, and shamefully, looked down on the floor, flushed, and several people nervously, and absentmindedly threw things in their carts and basketsâthings they, in seconds, put back on the shelves.
"What the fuck do you think you're doing, Fey?" the man demanded, pushing Fey out of the store. "Mr. Hughes has
explicitly
told you to stop putting on shows in public,
for free
