Chapter One
With the evening sun all but gone, Avenmore Gardens slinked down under the shadows for the night, the colours draining by the second, and the traffic reduced to the odd taxi that whirred off elsewhere.
Neil Barton sat in the warmth of his living room, sipping from a hot mug of herbal tea. It smelled a lot better than it tasted. But he drank it anyway, as it helped him to wind down from a busy day.
The rest of the house lay in darkness, and even the living room flickered between darkness and little flashes of light that came from the TV as Neil raced through the channels, with a sigh borne of boredom. He gave up, and settled for Sky News, part of him hoping for an exciting disaster, or at least a big, interesting story.
Instead, the presenter bleated on about some local political issue in England and conducted an interview over the phone with a bloated man in his fifties, with purple cheeks and a wisp of white hair swept over his cranium. The photo remained in the corner of the screen as he grumbled from one excuse to the other.
"Jesus." Neil sat back on the sofa, and twisted his neck from side to side. Something caught his eye. Without taking time to think about it, he peered out through the blinds over the window, and saw someone moving back and forth in the living room of the house opposite.
She held what looked to be a phone to her cheek, her other arm waving about in front of her face. Maybe gesticulating. She paced from one wall to the other, and back again, with long, definite strides.
Neil moved to the side of the window and, with two fingers, he pressed down the blinds enough for a better look.
The main light of the woman's living room glared bright, leaving everything vulnerable to prying eyes. Neil's prying eyes.
He twisted himself onto his knees, and continued to watch. As she strode across the room once more, the bottom of her white dressing gown flapped around her bare legs, revealing the flesh just above her kneecaps. Neil found himself licking his lips, and a familiar sensitivity stirred in his groin.
He jerked back. His breath caught in his throat, and he held it there.
Did she see me? Shit.
She switched the phone from one hand to the other, and clamped it to the opposite side of her face.
Neil exhaled hard as she started moving again.
He smiled to himself, and shifted across the sofa, for a better view. His erection prodded at the front of his jogging pants, and he reached down to squeeze at it.
The girl across the street continued to pace back and forth, ignorant of his attentions. Neil hoped.
He pinched the head of his cock between his thumb and forefinger, watching the top of her dressing gown slip a little around her neckline. It revealed the merest hint of cleavage, but it served as enough to make his balls twitch. He stroked down the shaft, and pressed the full length against his thigh.
She stopped.
Neil sat back, ducked his head.
She peered right out through the window, the phone still held to her ear.
Neil sucked short, tight breaths. His eyes narrowed, and his jaws twisted with apprehension.
She moved away from the window. As she reached the wall at one side of the living room, the light died.
"Shit," Neil muttered. He kept a tight grip on the base of his cock, unwilling to give up so easy.
The illumination of the TV flickered behind her, a softer, gentler glow. She walked slower, covering less ground. The paleness of her cleavage remained visible. Tempting.
Neil lurched forward, peering through the blinds. He felt like a naughty child. But he didn't stop. His cock throbbed with excitement, and he let go of it, to push his hips against the back of the sofa. He parted his lips and moaned as his groin pressed hard into the cushions.
She raised one finger to her mouth. It paused. She scratched at her chin, and dropped the limb again.
Neil watched her every movement, no matter how small. He tried to picture her breasts. He knew from past sightings in the street, that they hung heavy, round, and full. In normal clothing. The idea of them bobbing about behind her robe, without a bra to restrain them, almost took him over the edge. He eased the grinding of his pelvis, to prolong the enjoyment.
She reached up again. This time her fingertips hovered just under her throat. She rubbed at the bare flesh, and swept the digits across her shoulder.
"Jesus," Neil said through a groan. More cleavage. He glanced around his own living room, but knew deep down he didn't possess anything to enhance the view. Instead, he locked his eyes back onto her chest. His tongue poked between his lips, just the tip cooled by the evening air that breezed through the window's imperfect fixtures.
She looked straight over.
Neil didn't have time to move. He froze. His cock twitched. Solid. It pulsed and throbbed against the sofa.
Did she smile? Holy shit.
Neil went through a million thoughts in the space of half a second. He couldn't move. His lips twisted on his face, awkward and uncomfortable. He tried to smile back, stopped in the middle, and managed to pull away.
She can't have. Maybe she was smiling at whatever the person on the phone said. She didn't see me.
He pushed and pulled his hips from the back of the sofa, almost fucking it.
It's impossible. She'd have freaked out. No way.
The light turned on again.
Neil halted his internal arguments, and watched her stroll back from the edge of the room. A smile still planted between her puffy cheeks. For a split second her breasts jostled, almost promising to show themselves, but her robe kept them inside. Just.
Neil slowed the grinding of his hips. His cock pushed tight against the sofa, rock-hard, and throbbing throughout the whole length. He licked the dryness from his lips, and tried to swallow, but his throat resembled a sandpit.
She turned her back to the window. With one hand on her hip, she used the other to keep the phone against her face. Her fingers moved.
Neil watched with baited breath. His groin ached, wanton.
She toyed with the side of her robe, bunching the material upward with such slowness, that Neil doubted he could last long enough to see how far she'd go.
The white fabric crept higher. Leaving behind inch after inch of exposed flesh.
She stopped. The robe fell back into place, like a door closing to hide the contents of a hidden room.
Neil sighed aloud.
His cock twitched and throbbed against the back of the sofa, and he reached down to squeeze it in his hand. He pulled back his hips to give him better access. Pre-cum moistened his fingertips, and he used it to slick around the bulbous head, and the sensitive patch on the underside. He tried for all his worth to replay the images of her bare thigh, and the idea that the whole thing might have been intentional.
He held his breath.
Right there, in front of her window, she appeared to be fiddling with the curtains. The top of her robe lay loose around her breasts, giving full view of her cleavage and fleeting glimpses of the darker flesh of the skin around her nipples.
Neil pinched the swollen head of his cock, drew back his hand and milked the entire length of his shaft. He had to cough, just to catch his breath.
She rose up. Reaching. One side of her robe dropped away.
Neil grunted. He blinked hard to clear his vision.
She clamped her hand to the front of her robe. The fullness of her large breast disappeared behind the fabric.
Neil gasped for air. His erection ached, so hard it hurt to the touch. But it didn't stop him. He caressed himself with faster, harder strokes. The bloated head tingled as he grew nearer to orgasm. He gritted his teeth, squeezed with more effort, keeping his focus up near the hyper-sensitive tip.
She pulled the phone from her face. She turned away from the window. She stood in the middle of the living room, fastened the tie of her robe, and walked out of view.
Neil ground his hips against the sofa. His wrist worked with short rotations. He fucked his own hand, urging the power of his imagination to experience it like the tightness of her pussy. With breathless moans, he shut his eyes, and shook beads of sweat from his eyebrows and the lengths of long hair that hung over his face.
He pictured her. Smiling at him. Showing him her breasts. Heaving them in front of him, playing with them, pinching her nipples and teasing him into a fevered lust.
Ding, dong.
"Shit," Neil muttered. He leaned back, replaced his cock into his jogging bottoms, and wiped at his hot, slick features with his forearm.
The doorbell chimed again.
"Right," he said, a little loud, with his voice high-pitched and crackled with frustration and fluster.
He pulled his t-shirt down over the front of his jogging bottoms, hoping it would be enough to hide his blushes. With slow, uneven steps he made his way across the living room. His chest pounded as his heart tried to climb its way back down from all systems go. He wheezed, coughed to clear the dustball in his throat, and inhaled deep through his nostrils.
