Kara had been too long alone. That was about all she knew for sure. Brent was on a European business trip: week three of six. Their parting had been steamy and she knew he was going to miss her, but right now she felt empty. Just the idea of his breath on the back of her neck made her weak. "Damn," she thought, "Gotta get laid. Can’t. Damn." She poured ice water from the pitcher, hoping it would cool her, but it didn’t. She had left the windows in their apartment open and the feeble breeze did little to relieve her. She had long ago turned off the lights in favor of candles.
The only other glow in the room came from the computer screen. The time difference hadn’t stopped her and Brent from engaging in the occasional cyber-session. They had joked about it, but it became one way they could feel connected, though on opposite sides of the world. She remembered how wet she had become waiting for his words. No webcam, no audio, just the descriptions of what he wanted to do to her. The deep kisses. The hands caressing and pinching. She felt silly at first, slipping her finger into her panties to rub the aching he had produced, but as his words came faster, she grew slicker until he kept up the barrage of images and ideas until she surrendered, legs open, hand flying, coming. Blinking back to reality, she returned the favor, describing the feel of him, his cock pressing against her, her ass in the air, him slamming into her from behind. She was almost sure she knew the phrase that pushed him over the edge and when the simple word CAME flicked across her screen, she sighed, too.
But it had been a while since even that. The thought of checking out a little electronic smut had occurred to her and she had certainly taken advantage of it before. Scanning through all the pictures of couples and cocks and women and their friends reminded her of finding her big brother’s skin mags when she was a little girl. Those first images had burned into her until even today the sight of such photos aroused her easily. She jiggled the mouse and entered a few keywords to start her search.
Voyeurism was the first word she typed and there were literally thousands of hits. "Man," she thought, "how can all these people no know they are being photographed?" After looking, she realized many of them had posed for their shots, more exhibitionistic than voyeuristic. She clicked on links like Shopping Mall Upskirt and Dressing Room Goddess, but then she found one that caught her attention.
"Naked Kara Kam? This I gotta see. . . ."
She clicked and made out a grainy image, obviously taken with a low light camera. "This woman really had no idea she was being shot," she thought. "Look at her, at the computer. Cool. I wonder what she’s seeing. . ."
Kara clicked onto the next shot, larger than the last. "Telephoto lens on that digicam, attaboy… Nice shot of her playing with herself."
She froze.
The woman in the photograph had one hand in her mouth and the other buried between her legs. Her white tank top the only clothing beside her little bikinis. Kara blushed, reviewed the photo and was filled with a flood of emotions. "How the hell. . .?
Fuck. FUCK! SONOFBITCH!" Her temper flared, and if she felt hot before, it was nothing compared with the flame she felt in her blush and anger. Her head swiveled toward the window on her left. Now she saw the open curtains across the breezeway.