My Neighbor Caught Me Watching

Chapter 1

A funny thing happened to me today.

I was on the metro on the way home from my office in central Paris, and a woman approached me. She was beautiful, fashionable, and she held herself with a confidence I would have loved to have.

"Bonjour," she said softly.

"Bonjour, madame," I replied.

She switched to English, she must have recognised by the way I spoke French that I was American, despite living and working here for nearly a decade. I wasn't surprised because French people seem to have a knack for sniffing out non-native speakers.

"I hope you don't mind," she said, removing her large sunglasses to show me her eyes, and also to allow me to make eye contact, "but I saw you arrive at the Gare, and I thought you were the most beautiful woman I'd seen all day."

I blushed. Was I being propositioned? So forward. I pushed my long dark hair behind my ear, and looked up at her, face red.

"I am sorry," she said, but I could see she wasn't in-fact sorry, she had intended this, "I have made you blush."

"Yes," I laughed, "thank you for the compliment."

The metro jerked as it turned, but even with the additional movement, the woman made an effort to maintain her distance from me. It felt respectful; a male flirt would have had no qualms about gyrating in front of me with the rhythm of the cabin.

"I would very much like to know you more," she said, "are you available for coffee?"

"Oh," my blush deepened, she was certainly convincing, though I wondered why she'd asked me out before even knowing my name. It was new, but not unwelcome.

"Thank you, but I'm afraid I'm not..." I let the words trail off, unsure of how to tactfully express my preferences.

"I understand," she nodded, "but, if you give me one coffee, I could change your mind."

"I'm sure you could, you are very beautiful," I said, giggling like a schoolgirl, "but my sexuality is firm."

She smiled sweetly, there were no hard feelings at the rejection, no manipulation, no guilt. "It's a shame, but I understand. Thank you for your time."

She replaces her sunglasses and returned to whence she came.

It was the first time I'd been openly propositioned by a woman since living in Paris; sure I'd engaged prior in casual flirtation, but I was always able to defuse them before it became an open request.

See, I'm not here in Paris to find love - I know, why come to the city of love if I'm not looking for love? I am here to become financially independent and further my career as a fashion designer, so even if the most gorgeous man in Paris asked me out, I think it would most likely be denied. Fashion takes the entirety of my mental effort, I don't have room for a man, or for that matter, a woman either.

However, I couldn't put into words how much that experience had improved my mood. I had so many stresses of late that I was regularly arriving back at my apartment in a zombie-like daze after the vibes of the day had sucked my energy away. Today was no different, but the French woman had revitalised me. Maybe I did need to date more.

My journey home had vastly improved my mood, and I unlocked my apartment door almost feeling excited for the evening, instead of early sleep, I would curl up with a book. It wasn't a dramatic change to an outsider, but it did feel dramatic to me.

My Kindle was loaded with The Way of Kings by Brandon Sanderson, it was a fantasy epic, that I could throw myself into.

I cooked myself a very simple cut of cod with a creamy garlic sauce, ate it quickly at the small kitchenette, and then poured myself a warm bath ready to get stuck into my new book. Within the water, I witnessed the assassination of King Gavilar and then I got out, dried off, and put on some soft nightclothes. I may be a fashion designer by day, but by night, I was definitely more function over form. The pyjamas were soft, cotton, floral printed and came in a button up shirt, and matching trousers.

My final step of the evening before I turned all my lights off and entered my bedroom, was to concoct a beautifully dense and rich chocolat chaud, and climbed into bed ready for another chapter. It was nearly ten at night, the latest I'd gotten to bed in months and all it took was the affection of a random French woman from the metro.

Climbing into bed, I picked up where I left off in my story, whilst sipping my hot chocolate. The liquid warmed me from the inside out as it travelled into me, triggering a pleasant relaxation feeling to wash over me.

I sank into the bed, fully immersed in the book, and the bedclothes. This night would be remembered as one of my highlights of my sad little workaholic life for some time.

A light caught my attention as it flicked on in the apartment across the way.

The apartment complex featured three separate, identical buildings, with naught but a small alley separating them. There was no car park, but it was within walking distance of the metro. I drew the short straw when I rented this particular space, because all of my windows alongside my apartment had the misfortune of facing the opposite apartment in building two. Building two was close enough that if the occupant of the apartment opposite and I both opened our windows and leaned out, we could touch fingertips. This reduced my natural light intake to miniscule levels; just as well that I work in the centre, really, otherwise I'd likely have some sort of Vitamin D deficiency.

When the light in apartment two-one-four flicked on, I realised, I'd forgotten to close my window blind.

Our bedroom windows faced each other, and whilst the light was dim in my room, hers was lit like a lighthouse, revealing all details of the interior. In this apartment complex, our bedrooms had a single, relatively thin, floor-to-ceiling window that had a blackout blind we could pull down to block out any encroaching sightlines. But with my blind open, and the neighbours, we could both see everything, light willing.

A woman walked in, hung her handbag up on a hook on the wall, and then slowly pulled an armchair across to near the window. If she'd sat in the armchair at that position, she would have been able to look directly into my apartment if she tilted her head a little to the side.

The woman was in her mid-to-late 20's, and wore a skin-tight, grey pencil skirt with plain black heels, complete with a matching grey blazer, and a light-blue shirt that was open at the neck underneath. Her dark brown, almost black hair was tied tightly up in a bun, and she wore black rimmed glasses that matched perfectly with the pink colour she'd chosen for her lips. She was astonishingly beautiful, and that feeling didn't go away when she retrieved something from her bun and let it all shake out. It felt like I was watching a hair-shampoo ad the way it unravelled and fell to just below her shoulders, waves and layers dancing as they unfurled. She ran her hands through her hair, giving it more volume, then removed her glasses.

I felt like I was witnessing something unbelievable, her beauty was a sight to behold, and it felt as though, just for a moment, that she was performing this just for me.

She slid off her plain black heels, then walked over to the chair, sat herself down upon it, and relaxed into its cushions, tucking her legs up to her side. She closed her eyes and stretched her neck whilst rubbing it, after what I can only assume was a tough day at the office.

As she flexed her neck around, she took a deep breath, a sigh, breathing out all the stresses of her day. Then, after a moment of quiet contemplation, she opened her eyes looking right at mine. My blood ran cold, and I sunk down into my bed, snapping my head to my book to pretend I was still reading about The Stormlight Archive.

I knew she saw me watching her.

My cheeks flushed - how would I explain this?

I slowly turned my head back to her apartment, and she still sat in the chair, looking into my apartment, but this time, she had a wry smile upon her lips.

She began to unbutton her blouse, and my lips instinctively fell open.

So yeah, this is the 'funny thing' that happened today: I turned down a beautiful French woman because I'm not attracted to other women, and then, the moment I laid eyes on the woman in apartment two-one-four, I realised I very much am.

Chapter 2

My hot chocolate stood cooling on the night stand where it would remain until it reached room temperature. My kindle was held open at location 89 and the hand that held it began to lose it's grip, not through weakness, but through distraction.

I couldn't tear my eyes away from her as she continued to unbutton her light blue blouse. I could already begin to see her bra as the cotton fell open and the faint ridge of her abdomen running from her sternum to her midriff.

She kept her eyes locked on mine, and I felt myself flush with redness.

She ran a hand gently up her stomach, sensually touching her skin, between her breasts above which she opened her hand to spread out at her shoulder. That hand made it's way across her chest, and dipped slowly into the cup of her bra's left side. She held her breast as she arched her back and gasped.

I exhaled slowly, attempting to keep my composure as I was unable to unhook my eyes from hers.

The glass was sound proof, so I was able to see her gasps but not hear them, however this did nothing to quell my rising shame. My lips remained tight; the embarrassment of being caught watching her was softened by her performance, but that didn't eliminate the sickness that festered within my chest.

My heart rate picked up as she sat forward allowing the, now opened, shirt and blazer to reveal herself further. Then for the first time since this had started, she removed her eyes from mine, as she turned her body back to pull her blazer and blouse by their sleeves one at a time, giving me a more thorough look at her body.

She was slender, pale of skin, with breasts that heaved with an excited breath hidden behind a gorgeous black lacy bra. Her form filled the cups completely and I found myself wondering how they looked without the lacy fabric, and when I'd be able to see them fully. I scolded myself at this, remembering quickly that I was the creepy one in this situation, watching a woman undress through her window

Down her back as she turned to remove the sleeves on her shirt from her arms, I saw a small angel tattoo on one shoulder blade, and a small devil tattoo upon the other. They were both of an interesting, almost abstract, design that was intended to obscure their meaning, but as a fashion designer, it's my job to manipulate the form of an image into something new that can be constructed into a piece of fashion, and whilst it was skin and not fabric, the tattoos' depiction, to me, seemed obvious.

She lifted her hair up at the back as the blazer fell, then she let it down again, where I could see it slowly bounce at full stretch. I could only fantasize about having hair at that volume, and as I focused on her I could almost feel the tickling sensation of the hair's tips dancing upon the skin of her back, as if by telepathy.

When she turned back, I could see her the lace of her bra more fully. It had a beautiful intricate floral pattern to it, that snaked up her shoulders to fall down her back to the strap that held it to her body. Everything she wore looked just right on her exceptional body, she didn't have a flaw upon her. I felt as though, for a moment, I was looking at someone who had been created specifically to satisfy my own enjoyment, and at that, her performance began to arouse me. I combated with my shame over enjoying what I was seeing, and both the shame and arousal began to coexist within my body, providing a response in different locations; the sickness in my stomach, warmth upon my cheeks, wetness within my core.

Once her top half became naked but for the lace, she closed her eyes arched her back and ran her open fingers down her body from her neck. As her hands passed over her perfectly sized breasts, I felt a movement in my groin. Empathically, I felt her hands upon mine, and I began to, without thinking, hold my own breast upon my nightclothes.

Her hands made their way over her toned stomach, her fingers reaching downwards as they neared her legs. Then her hands danced across her thighs seeking the edge of the pencil thin skirt that she still wore. Her fingernails gently sought a route back up her thigh, this time beneath the fabric of the skirt. As her hands moved back towards her pelvis, the skirt slid higher, revealing everything of what she'd hidden beneath.

My eyes followed the edge of the skirt as they passed the tops of her nude-coloured stockings, where fastened upon their top-edge, was the black clasp of suspenders. My mouth dried slightly through my bated breath as her hands revealed more of her lingerie. The black lace pattern of her bra matched with the suspenders, and as the skirt reached the end of it's journey, it stalled, unable to stretch over her seated rear. At this position, I could see her lingerie, but her panties were hidden by the angle of her thighs. I desperately wanted to see more, and I looked up to her face once more; her gorgeous lips stretched as she saw me look, a smile that told me that I was playing directly into her hands, and she was right, I felt like I was under her spell.

She raised an eyebrow, then turned her body to show me her panties, but they were absent, Instead I could see her gorgeous soft, hairless public mound, and beneath them lay her glistening pink folds. Her breath heaved as she witnessed my reaction; my mouth had fallen open and she saw me reaching south with my own hand. I caught myself, clenching my fist, causing her to pout theatrically, her eyebrows upturned at the centre and her mouth frowned downwards enough to accentuate her bottom lip.

Not wanting the show to end, I unbuttoned my cotton shirt and slipped in my hand, cupping my warm breast. She could see the topography of my covered chest adjust to accommodate my hand, then even more so when I squeezed my breast. My nipples had become sensitive to my touch, which is usually a tell-tale indicator of my arousal. I encircled my areola with my finger gently whilst I looked back at my performance partner.

She placed the tip of her finger into her mouth, wetting it with her saliva. She lifted the fabric of her bra cup away revealing her pointed pink nipple perched atop her perfectly shaped breast. I squeezed mine tighter, reaching for my own sensitive nipple just as she took her wetted finger and began to run it gently across the tip of hers, watching me as she did so.

I let out a small breathy gasp, and she did the same, despite no sound passing between us, our chests and mouths made no secret of our enjoyment.

My Kindle fell to the side of my thigh as my body squirmed in response to the show. I could feel a very obvious wetness that had transferred onto my panties; it was almost imperceptible in its temperature, but I could feel the ease at which my lips now began to move around one another whilst I moved sensually beneath the bedclothes, the slickness of my juices lubricating my nether.

She held her hand out in front of her, and I could sense her intent so I copied her movement. She giggled as she rotated her hand and I copied. She knew what she was doing to me, her control over me was unrelenting. Her eyes were intoxicating, and her beauty almost hypnotising. She rotated her hand once more, and as I mirrored her, she touched her tongue with her finger tip, a move to which I copied. She smiled, then grabbed her breast tightly, but slowly. I could see the shape of her breast deform, giving me the clearest indication yet of it's ample size. I copied with my hand and she bit her lip watching me move my own hand at her behest.

Then, she turned her hand downwards, and her fingers began to reach for her pussy, the beautiful pinkness of her opening vying for attention from her warm finger tips. I copied without thinking, and my fingers followed the shape of my body and entered below the duvet cover. The stretch of my pyjama bottoms allowed for plenty of extra space and the panties I wore accommodated the presence of my plunging fingers. I moaned softly as I felt past the groomed thicket of hair over the edge and into my slick folds. My finger danced across my lips, spreading the wetness around me, sending my eyes almost to the back of my head.

I looked across and saw her doing the same; she held her legs open showing me everything she was doing, and for a moment our movements around our vulvas synchronised. As they did, my mind began to trick me into thinking that the movements I felt from my fingers were instead caused by hers. Despite the panties, pyjama bottoms, bedclothes, two sets of triple-glazed windows and an alley between us, for a brief time, her touch connected with my lips.

"Oh god," I said quietly, as our fingers moved around each other. I imagined the feel of her skin, the soft wetness of her insides as I played with them, and I mirrored the movement of my imagination upon my own eager folds.

I had never before engaged in this behaviour. It was so unlike me that I began to doubt that my actions were really mine - who was controlling me? I felt hypnotised by her piercing eyes and wry smile, even more so when I could see the expressions in her face alter with her touch; gasping, lifting her eyebrows, rolling her eyes back into her head and any other way she showed me the pleasure of our collective actions.

She slid two of her fingers inside as she placed her thumb upon her clit, I tried to copy, but my clothes restricted my movement. Instead, as she began to massage herself inside and out, I removed my pyjama bottoms being careful not to reveal myself to her, then slid down my panties, feeling the cool wetness on the outside of the fabric as it passed across the skin on my legs and feet. I kept the duvet cover tight around me, but now planted my feet upon the mattress with my knees pointed skywards.

My inexperience with anything of this nature showed as I kept myself firmly hidden, the anxiety and wrongness of what was happening grew more stark as I wrestled with the very real possibility that the show would end when she knew I would not return the favour of revealing myself to her.

I thought of the neighbours above and below her apartment who also had a very good chance of seeing me if I threw back the bedclothes. In truth, I knew that if they'd looked closely into my dimly lit apartment window, they'd almost certainly be able to discern the activity with which I engaged. However, being able to figure out what I was doing, and being able to witness it first hand felt like very different things.

My mind raced as my fingers found their way back to my eager pussy, I played with myself as my eyes flicked all over her body, desperate to take it all in. I watched her throw her head back as her fingers entered her even deeper, I focused on her massaging thumb and it's gentle rotations upon her clitoris; I watched her breasts heave with her quickening breath, and I watched her cheeks flush with excitement. I was awash with points of focus all across her writhing form and any one of them had the opportunity to send me over the edge. Everything she was doing and everything she was, was so alluring, her unmatched attractiveness and her real presence so close to me was even better than the best pornography I'd ever watched, or read, or heard.

With her other hand, she ran it through her luscious thick hair as she tipped her head backwards, and her eyes to the sky. Then, she slowed, looked back into my eyes, and held up her hand showing all five fingers.

I continued to play with myself, holding my breast with one hand and soaking the other with my pussy's juices as her outstretched thumb folded down to her palm leaving only four fingers remaining up.