Rear Window

You've seen the movie, right?

It's a classic. Hitchcock in the director's seat. Jimmy Stewart in plaster watching his neighbours from his apartment window. Yeah, well, that's me right now. Only I'm no Jimmy Stewart - far from it. I'm nearly seventy years old and I didn't have a fall at a motor race while taking action shots. No, I tumbled down three flights of stairs and have what my hospital notes describe as "bilateral #NOF", i.e. two sodding broken hips.

Neither does sexy, young pre-royalty Grace Kelly come visiting at intervals, dressed in Dior, to check my crown jewels are still in working order. (She probably actually did suck the lucky bastard off. I hear she was quite the slapper in real life, behind that icy facade). No, my only visitor is Nurse Glover, a hefty community nurse with a brisk, unsympathetic manner who probably last administered a blowjob circa 1985.

God, I'm bored.

"You've seen the movie, right?" I ask Glover, trying to divert myself from the humiliation of a sponge bath at her hands.

"What movie?" she asks.

"Rear Window. The one when Jimmy Stewart's immobilised after an accident

and -"

"He witnesses a murder?" she interrupts. "Yes, I've seen it. I don't think there are many murders at ten o'clock on a Tuesday morning in a nice middle-class town like Roseford."

"Well, never mind that," I say. "I'm bored out of my mind here. Can you fetch me the binoculars from the dresser in the dining room?"

"It's not in my job description," she answers, predictably. "And what are you going to do? Watch your female neighbours getting undressed?"

In fact, this is exactly what I plan to do, but she knows she's overstepped the mark and, probably hoping to head off a complaint to her manager, fetches my binoculars without further protest before telling me she'll see me tomorrow and letting herself out.

Katherine and I bought this flat back in the nineties when I retired. We knew all the neighbours then, but now most of the flats are buy-to-let investments - the development being in reasonable walking distance of the main line into London - and the turnover among occupants is high. There is no-one to look in on me and help me pass the time.

Katherine herself left only a few years later. She always had a much lower sex drive than I, but when I was working I had an endless stream of young, nubile secretaries on tap willing to keep me satisfied in every possible way. I have such fond memories of blowjobs under the desk and debauched office parties. Adultery was not so straightforward once I was no longer out of the house from six in the morning to eight in the evening every weekday, and when Katherine returned home from a cancelled keep fit class one Monday afternoon to find me fucking Belinda (one half of John-and-Belinda, a couple on our dinner party circuit) doggy-style on the marital bed she lost no time in packing her bags and beginning lengthy court proceedings that robbed me of half my savings and pension and our villa in Spain. My friends pointed out that it had been beyond stupid to shit on my own doorstep like that, and I can't fault their reasoning, although I can't say I am really that sorry. Belinda had the tightest pussy and arse I have ever experienced.

Anyway, such nostalgia aside, the second floor flat across the courtyard has been empty for a week and today a new neighbour is moving in. This is the best entertainment I've had for days. The new occupant is female and a knock-out. She can't be more than twenty-three or -four and she has a perfect hourglass figure, currently clad in skintight low-rise jeans, a short tight t-shirt that exposes an inch of olive-skinned midriff and red Converse sneakers. Her hair, tied back in a ponytail, is a mass of snaky black curls. I strongly suspect she has Italian or Spanish ancestry. In middle-age she will probably be heavy, but right now she is voluptuous, firm and ravishing. She kisses the two men who have helped her bring in her boxes and who are now leaning back on the kitchen counter drinking beer, but only on the cheek. They are dark like her - probably brothers.

It looks to me like she will be living here alone. Result!

After the men have left, she sets up speakers in the bedroom first, plugs her iPod into them and is soon dancing round the flat, her lovely hips undulating, her arms above her head, as she decides where to put her possessions. My cock is hard just watching her. Suddenly, enforced convalescence is a much less dull prospect with this hot piece of ass across the way.

I watch her for most of the afternoon as she comes and goes. She seems to spend most of her time in the kitchen and bedroom, whose windows face me. She is blissfully unaware of the peeping Tom spying on her. As the natural light fades she switches on the brass chandelier overhead and I sit in my wheelchair in the gloom, eating a microwave ready meal off my lap. Finally, she decides to get ready for bed and I can't help stroking my swollen cock. She crosses her arms and pulls her t-shirt over her head. Underneath, she is wearing a plain black bra - no lace or seams which would show through her t-shirt. She unties her shoes, kicking them off, and then turns her back to wriggle out of the jeans. She is wearing thong panties so tiny that her big round buttocks are completely exposed. Fuck, they are perfect - smooth, gleaming orbs of tender, succulent flesh. I yearn to bite them. She leans over to pull her jeans over her feet and I glimpse her fleshy pussy-lips, to either side of the tiny scrap of fabric. My hand is now moving in a blur.

At last, she turns to face me again and reaches behind her to unclip her bra. I hold my breath, increasing the magnification on the binoculars, grateful that I blew such a vast sum on really good ones that time Katherine and I went on safari. The back strap of her bra falls free and, despite their weight, her big tits hardly sag at all. They still have the gravity-defying perkiness of extreme youth. The shoulder straps slip to her biceps and she crosses one forearm across her chest, holding the cups in place. I let out a little growl of frustration as she reaches out and draws the curtains. All I can see now is her shadow behind the curtain as she finally removes her arm and her bra dangles from her hand. Fuck, fuck, fuck. My cock is rock hard and there's no relief. I can't believe I didn't get to see her boobs.

I close my eyes, seeing her again in my mind's eye, wanking furiously until I cum in torrents over my hand and wrist.

. . .

She is up early in the morning and so am I - my cock engorged as I watch her dress. To my chagrin I somehow missed seeing her emerge from the bathroom. When I catch up with her she is already wearing a mesh fitted camisole with suspenders dangling from the bottom. Today's hot news though is that she is not wearing knickers. She moves the chair away from the dresser and puts one leg up on it, smoothing a seamed stocking over it and securing the deep lace top of the stocking to the suspenders. She pirouettes in front of the dresser mirror, checkng her seam is straight. Then she repeats the process with the other stocking. She stands on tiptoe as she spins, tightening her calf muscles and glutes, and I get a good view of both her beautiful backside, framed perfectly by the suspended straps, and her pubic mound. She has what I believe is called a 'landing strip', the rest of her pubic hair trimmed away. Her pussy lips wink pinkly at me from between her thighs.

She steps into a pair of very high-heeled black shoes and then selects a knee-length pin-striped shift dress from her wardrobe. She zips herself into it. It skims over her curves, only hinting at the riches beneath. Finally, she adds a matching jacket and tosses her hair to free any strands that have been caught. She still has not put on any knickers and I realise she plans to commute into London without any. I envy any lucky man who secures the seat opposite her on the train or tube. As she sits her skirt will ride up offering a glimpse of her stocking tops and - if she uncrosses and crosses her legs, possibly even her cunt. I shiver with desire. She looks so like some of those pretty little secretaries I used to bang twenty years ago. I wonder if she sucks off a middle-aged boss at lunchtimes.

I am very close to cumming and, as she grabs her bag and leaves, I wank to orgasm.

. . .

She really loves to dance. She dances round the flat in her underwear in the morning as she chooses the day's outfit. She dances when she gets in from work, often shedding clothes as she does. She dances as she cooks her dinner. And when she dances so do her breasts, jiggling and bouncing.

And she likes to go out to dance too.

My neighbour is going clubbing tonight. She emerges from the shower, damp, pink and delectable, with a towel wrapped around her and sits at the dressing table, tipping her head forward to dry her hair. When she's done it cascades down her back in wild abandon. She applies heavier make up than usual, smoky grey eyeshadow, lots of black eyeliner and mascara and bright pink lipstick. She moves out of my line of vision and returns - damn! - dressed in a strapless black bra and matching boy-shorts. She selects a dress from her wardrobe and wriggles into it.

The spaghetti-strapped dress is form-fitting and very short, barely covering her bubble butt. It is covered in overlapping rows of shining, metallic discs. She lifts her hands above her head as she so often does when she dances around the flat and gyrates. My trousers are suddenly very tight. The discs on her dress ripple and shimmer tantalisingly but she is unaccountably dissatisfied with the effect. She shimmies again and pouts at her reflection. Then to my delighted astonishment, she crosses her arms, pulls the dress over her head and reaches behind her to unclasp her bra. She tosses it onto the bed and at last I see her breathtaking breasts in all their naked glory.

They are more magnificent than I could have imagined. They barely sag, despite their size. I estimate they are at least an E cup and possibly larger. Her areolae are large and dark brown and surround dark, dark, nipples - probably not much bigger in circumference than the rubber on the top of a pencil but long, and lengthening as she tweaks them to make them stand erect. They point slightly skyward as she squeezes the beautiful globes together and pinches the peaks. Then she puts her hands above her head and performs the same shimmy as before.

Oh my God! Her breasts describe great circles in the air as her body undulates. I watch in fascination, thinking about how they would look with my cock nestling between them as I titfucked her - and I blow my load in jets so powerful some droplets adhere stickily to the window-pane. I have watched a lot of porn and fucked a lot of women, but this is the most erotic thing I have ever seen in my life.

Her boobs bounce almost obscenely before they finally settle and she pulls the dress back on over her braless chest. She does one final shimmy and her unsupported breasts dance in abandon beneath the glittering discs. She smiles at herself in satisfaction, tosses her head, grabs a clutch bag and turns out the light. I am left to clean up my mess.

. . .

It is no surprise when she brings a man home in the small hours.

Like an anxious father on the night of his little girl's first date, I have waited up for her - and like an anxious father I am initially jealous and outraged. But I soon realise that, despite my jealousy, this has its advantages. I am going to get to see a live sex show.

The man is what I believe is in common parlance known as "ripped". His skin is dark brown and shiny and his chest and arm muscles bulge beneath his fitted t-shirt. I imagine how they must have looked together on the dance floor, she grinding her butt against him, he wrapping his arms around her waist from behind and sliding them up to find her breasts swinging free. His cock must have stood to attention then, pressing into her arse-crack as he tongued her earlobe and said, "Your place or mine?" Possibly.

Anyway, it's her place and she pulls her dress over her head in one fluid motion. His eyes widen as he finally gets an unobstructed view of those glorious tits. He squeezes them together and lowers his head to suck her left nipple and then her right. He tongues them for a long, long time and her head falls back in ecstasy. Then he lets the nipple he's been sucking pop from his mouth and hooks his thumbs into her boyshorts, pushing them down her legs. When she steps out of them she is buck naked but for her high-heeled shoes. He is still fully clothed.

They talk for a moment as his eyes roam over her beautiful, nude body and he pulls her in for a long kiss. Then she draws back, a strand of saliva still connecting her bottom lip to his, and pushes him on to the bed. He kneels and she gets on all fours in front of him, and unbuckles his trousers. She pulls his trousers over his snake-hips - he doesn't have on any underwear, and his erection springs free. He certainly lives up to the stereotype - it is long and thick and she gazes at it in wonder for a moment. She sucks the very tip gently and then lets it pop from her mouth. It bounces back and slaps her in the face and she laughs.

She wriggles to get into a comfortable position and turns slightly. To my excitement, I can clearly see her pussy lips. They glisten with arousal and anticipation. She settles to sucking again. She is clearly talented - she takes the whole thing into her mouth right to the hilt, despite his size. The head must be well beyond her tonsils. He throat-fucks her for long minutes, holding her hair, and her eyes are streaming. Her butt wiggles as she takes it and her anus winks at me. He has more self control than I would in his position: he manages to withdraw from her and then lies back on her bed as she undresses him, admires his sculpted pectoral and abdominal muscles, straddles him and guides his spit-soaked monster into her pretty, wet pussy.

He has made an excellent choice: this position showcases her body to best advantage. Her breasts jiggle seductively on her chest; he holds her narrow waist. Both he and I watch, entranced, as his glistening cock appears and disappears repeatedly between her rosy labia. She cums quickly. He lasts longer than I can. I manage only about half a dozen bounces before the fireworks go off.

. . .

She wakes in an excellent mood, spinning around as she dances naked around her flat on Saturday morning - but she didn't ask him to stay the night. Nor does she see him again.

The following Friday evening she prepares for another night on the town, and I get another treat. After her shower, she moves her chair to face the window to make the most of the natural light and attends to personal grooming matters. First she paints her toenails whore-red. Then she shaves her pussy.

Fucking hell, this is a great show. She parts her legs and puts one foot up on the bed. Her pussy lips are spread in this position and she spreads them further as she lathers up and begins to shave, pulling the skin taut to avoid cutting herself. It is beyond me why she does not perform this task in the shower, but I am definitely not complaining. Oh God, she has the prettiest cunt. She takes care to get a sharp edge to her landing strip and then trims it very short with nail scissors. Then she goes over every crease and crevice of her groin to ensure she is otherwise utterly smooth and bald. Finally, she wipes off the shaving cream with a washcloth and strokes lotion over the reddened skin.

By this time I can see she is turned on. Her labia have darkened and swelled up. She begins to masturbate. Two of her fingers slide into her wet hole and she thrusts them in and out as her head falls back. Then she is circling her clit with the two fingers, spreading her own juices around it. She rubs it gently, gradually increasing the speed and pressure. With her other hand she squeezes a breast, pinching and twisting her nipple. A flush is spreading over her upper chest and abdomen and I see she is getting close.

I have, of course, been matching her movements by stroking my cock, holding the binoculars to my fascinated eyes. As her body begins to buck, I too explode. We have achieved simultaneous orgasm.

. . .

She seems to have a preference for black cock.

Tonight's conquest is mixed-race, another gym rat, well-built and good-looking. She is wearing wet-look leggings tonight that cling to her like a second skin, showing the outline of her pert, round arse.

Her front door isn't even closed before she wriggles out of her tube top and begins to dance, topless. He stands behind her, watching her tits doing their own erotic dance in the mirror and then covers them with his hands, dancing with her, pinching her nipples as she grinds her backside into him. She turns in his arms and strips off his clothes then loses her leggings, and they slow-dance naked for about three minutes, probably along to a song playing on her iPod.

She falls to her knees and I can no longer see her - the wall's in the way - but I guess from the rapt, slightly vacant look on his handsome face that she is sucking his cock. He stands there for a while then bends and lifts her to her feet. He stands behind her at the dressing table, she leans forward and he enters her from behind. He holds onto her waist and stands still while she moves, as if she is still dancing (and perhaps her iPod is still blasting out music at 2 a.m. - I pity her closer neighbours who get to hear her but not to see her), fucking herself on his erect penis. He is smiling, with his eyes closed, lost in the silken grip of her pussy. Then she looks back over her shoulder and speaks and his smile widens. Clearly responding to what she has said to him, he pulls out of her cunt, slides his dick up her arse-crack and pushes it into her anus. Her eyes close and her mouth opens and she resumes her gyrations. His eyes are open now and he is watching with a face-splitting grin as his prick fucks into her backside.

That lucky bastard. He knows it, too, and is taking full advantage. He now has one hand on her shoulder and the other is holding her hair and he is matching her rhythm, pulling away as she does and then slamming back into her. He's being really rough with her. But she is loving it. I can't see her face but it's not hard to read her body language. She is meeting him thrust for thrust. And then, her body tenses and begins to buck against his. She turns her head again and her mouth is open, her eyes rolling back. She is cumming.

Now, in my experience it is exceedingly rare for a woman to orgasm from anal sex. My wife, Katherine, would not let me fuck her arse at all. My friend's wife, Belinda, would let me do hers now and again but she only came from clitoral stimulation, never from anal penetration. I've only ever come across one girl who came with my cock in her arse before: a slutty, skinny red-haired copy typist by the name of Janine.

Janine was nineteen when she came to work at the company whose board I sat on, way back in the 1980s. Within weeks of joining the company she had earned herself quite a reputation. By that Christmas she had sucked off at least half the board and the Director of Finance brought her in to the last Board meeting of the year and stripped her naked. She was passed around the table as we conducted our business.

I was fifth in line and didn't fancy her sloppy stretched-out pussy. When it was my turn, I had her kneel and suck my cock to stiff slickness and then sat her in my lap, impaling her arse on my erection. She bounced enthusiastically as I cupped her tiny tits from behind and then I held her in place, grinding into her depths. It was at that point that she went rigid and cried, "I'm cumming!" and juice gushed from her, soaking my suit trousers. Luckily I kept a change of clothes in my office for such eventualities and sent her, reeking of cum, to the dry cleaners after the meeting. I was sorry when the little slut became pregnant and left.