They did not speak as the lift doors closed behind them, preoccupied as they both were with their own thoughts.
Her nervousness mounted, and she felt a knot in her stomach. Doubts and shame gnawed at her, for the umpteenth time. She also had a slight nagging fear for her own safety, though he seemed genuine enough; she had met him three times after making contact on the internet, and his manner seemed to allay her concerns.
Besides, the classiness of the hotel and the fact that he had paid for the room with his credit card gave a degree of reassurance.
They exchanged nervous smiles.
In a chivalrous gesture he opened the door of the room and allowed her to step in ahead of him. He also allowed her to close the door behind them. It reassured her to turn the key in the lock rather than have him do it. She removed her navy blue jacket and draped it over a chair. She was wearing a black, lace-trimmed camisole that was tucked into the waistband of her navy blue trousers.
She wandered through the suite, raising her eyebrows in pleasant surprise at the relative luxury of the decor and furnishings. She had only been expecting one room with a small bathroom attached, and the relative spaciousness surprised her.
He didn't follow her, but she was aware of his admiration of her slender frame, and of his gaze upon her trousered legs and backside. She smiled to herself, knowing that however hard he tried to discern it, he would be unable to see any panty-line under the tight-fitting trousers of her business suit. She wondered whether he assumed that she was wearing tiny underwear or whether he guessed that she was naked beneath her trousers. She knew that as she walked, the tight fit of her trousers showed off the shape and sensual rolling movement of her bum cheeks. And she knew that his gaze was drawn to it. An involuntary shudder ran down her spine.
She sensed his gaze on her breasts, and his silent, passive attention aroused her. Her breasts were small but firm, and as she glanced in the mirror she noted the way her satin camisole shimmered. She paused for a moment and exchanged smiles with him, coy, but less nervous than before. She savoured his admiration of her face and of her blond, bobbed hair.
She switched on the two bedside lamps and a wall light, and switched off the ceiling light, eager for the room to be softly but well illuminated. She walked slowly to the window, again very conscious of his intense stare upon her, even though her back was turned to him. For a moment or two she stood, undecided. The likelihood of being watched was daunting, and she had debated this detail of her plan many times in the past few days.
She had told him this, of course, and although she now half-hoped that he would help her to decide, he said nothing. She glanced at the mirror again and saw his transfixed eyes on her backside.
Her mind made up, she drew the curtains open. A shudder of shame and nervousness ran down her spine. She knew that the room interior would now be on view to the apartment block opposite; some of its windows were in darkness, but others were lit behind their drawn curtains. A few rooms were unlit and with curtains unclosed. She avoided looking for any potential watchers, however. Instead she stepped to the upholstered bedside chair.
She swung her bag from her shoulder & bent down to place it on the floor, conscious that the tightness of her trousers emphasised the curves of her bum. He took the video camera from the holdall and placed it by his feet. She spoke, and such was the intensity of the atmosphere that she startled him.
"Can you give me a hand with this?"
He picked up the chair and carried it closer to the window. She sat in it and looked out, checking its position. She adjusted its angle slightly more towards the window, then sat upon it again.
She stared intently at him but said nothing as he got the camera ready and took up position to one side of the window.
She watched his intense expression as he focussed the camera.
Her heart was pounding with shame, embarrassment, and nervousness. She had often pleasured herself, but always in private, and often with a sense of guilt. She had never even done it for her former partner. Having been to a convent school she felt guilty even about masturbating in private, let alone to allow anyone to watch her. Perhaps the shame had fed her unfulfilled fantasy of being watched while doing it. He particular fantasy -- that had grown to an almost irresistible scale recently -- was to be watched knowingly by a stranger, or even perhaps being secretly spied upon in the act. Perhaps even both scenarios would combine.
She fixed her eyes upon him and traced her right hand lightly over her breasts through the black satin of her camisole. With a thrill, she saw him zoom in slightly, then out again. She glanced down at her fingertip as she teased her flat nipple. She gave a sigh at the delicious sensation, and at his rapt expression.
She ran her fingertip along the lace trim of the neckline, and between her breasts, still over the warm soft fabric of her camisole, and down over her flat stomach. Like him, she watched the course of her fingertip over the shimmering satin. She looked up at him, sensing that her expression was distant and intense; her reflection in the mirror confirmed it.
A series of images came briefly to her mind. Her parents' and headmistress's pressure upon her years ago to go into the teaching profession, much against her wishes, and which she had left after just two years; the high demands of her present job as a senior manager of a marketing company. Last but not least was the recent betrayal of her former partner. He had somehow kept secret his affair of just over a year with a colleague of his. During this time she herself had still loved him, rallied round him when his mother had died, and slept with him. She had felt betrayed, disillusioned, and sullied. He had come home late from work one evening and declined her advances; a week later she realised it was because he had satisfied himself with his floozy.
Her self esteem had hit rock-bottom for a while. But she had begun to take stock. At thirty-seven years old, she took pride in her appearance. She was fairly slim, and whilst she was neither particularly leggy nor busty, her slender frame was fairly curvy, her legs relatively shapely and her 34B breasts were firm and in proportion to her build.
