The Game

A beautiful woman walks down the boardwalk. There are a lot of beautiful women around here, and a lot of them walk this way, this one didn't seem that special at first glance. Maybe it was the lack of fake blonde hair, fake boobs or fake tan. No, that wasn't it; a woman can carry all that baggage around and still manage to be interesting in her own right. I watched her for a moment, walking along, sketchpad under one arm.

I knew.

She was wearing a short, tight sundress. Nothing special, not when you can look around and spot a half dozen women in bikini's like they were born wearing them. The dress was a little on the small side, ill fitting. Normally that's bad, but this seemed deliberate, a choice. The low cut back and spaghetti shoulders precluded a bra of any sort, but the dress supported her bouncing breasts fine, almost shelving them for display. I could see from where I watched her nipples poking into the cups. I watched the hem sway around her upper thighs as she walked on her wedge sandals and I knew.

She wore nothing under that dress, nothing at all. It wasn't natural for her, that too short dress, the lack of panties. She walked like a woman with a secret. She walked like a woman on her way to get fucked. That was what had drawn my attention. I watched her walk and suddenly I was excited.

I wasn't alone in watching. She looked over and saw me watching her and smiled faintly. She knew I watched her, and she knew I knew her secret, or at least some of it. It was in her eyes, in her smile. She almost nodded, an imperceptible tilt of her head, permission to watch, bringing me into her secret confidence, making me part of whatever was happening. When I stood and moved towards the walk, she merely gave that Cheshire grin and turned to keep walking, perhaps just a tiny bit slower, a tiny bit more exaggerated.

People forget the boardwalk isn't built right on the beach but above it a good seven or eight feet. Women especially forget that there are gaps in the boards. No one really hangs out under there during the day. Too much dirt and trash falling down as people go by carelessly. Its filthy under there sometimes, especially during tourist season. But this morning she was the only one on the walk, and I was the only one under it, catching up to her as she paused near the very end, shaking out her hair in the morning sun. I looked up just before she stepped away, off the walk where I could no longer follow. I caught a glimpse of pale pink skin, a flash of her secret sex, and she was gone.

Well, not gone, not exactly. Regretting my missed chance for more of a show, for certainly she had stopped to give me one, I slowly made my way out from underneath, thinking that it was done. I looked up at a flash of movement; saw her lingering at a corner, as if waiting, before she continued on, out of sight. Hmm... this seemed promising. I liked watching, but only as a diversion, or a prelude. I could not tell which this was, but certainly she had invited me in, and I intended to follow.

I followed her a short distance to the houses that overlooked the beach in the hills nearby. I watched her walk up the stairs that lead to a door, enter and then she was gone. A moment passed before I recognized the house, there are so few people that live around here that it is hard to be a perfect stranger, especially if you are semi-famous. I had managed, in my own way, to be mostly anonymous, but that is another story.

The artist. He wasn't really that great, he'd made a decent living showing in galleries. His main income, however, was his students. Many of them rich, other's famous. It gave him the prestige he craved, and if rumors were correct, access to all the young women he could lure into his studio. The studio overlooked the ocean, and from most angles it was private enough, far enough from the beach, high enough up that you couldn't look in. The best angle was presumably by boat, with a telescope.

There was another option, of course. More daring but more rewarding. It was, of course, to stand on his very lawn. There were few bushes and trees, to avoid obscuring the ocean front property he had strived so hard for, but for the daring and clever there was enough cover to avoid a casual glance. I rested in the lee of a small tree, casually, unmoving in a way that caused the eyes to pass right over me. Once it had been a useful talent, now it was a mere parlor trick, and the key to an occasional voyeuristic foray.

The Artist was sitting at a Deco desk, all black lexite and odd angles. He was still youngish, just a shade past his prime and trying hard to hide it, masculine in that way that women seem to dream of. He was also a bastard, getting women to submit to his lust in return of a break on overpriced 'art lessons' until he tired of them.

The woman I'd seen walked into the studio, coming down the stairs from the front area of the house with a slow sultry walk, even more exaggerated than it had been on the beach. She spared a single glance out the window, a glance for me, and I knew she was playing him, letting him play her. I just didn't know why, and at the moment I didn't really care. He stood with a half smile, greeted her, entirely unaware of our little exchange. He kissed her hand with a little flair before taking her art pad and sitting down, inviting her with a wave to perch on the corner of his desk. She did, crossing her legs so that the hem of her dress rode up revealing even more smooth thigh. From this angle I could just barely see soft velvety skin between her legs, tantalizing, but he could not.

He studied her artwork slowly, carefully. I knew what he was doing; looking for ways to convince her she needed improvement, but that only a few more lessons with him would change her forever. Her face fell on cue, the perfection of her act only broken when he looked down as he rested a consoling hand on the bare skin of her thigh. I couldn't hear the conversation, but I could follow the subtext. Now he was selling her on the idea of more advanced lessons, more expensive lessons. Hope, then loss on her face, on cue, she couldn't afford his prices, but she so desperately wanted to learn. She leaned back a bit, leaning down towards him. Now she was playing the reluctant ingénue, pretending to awkwardly seduce him, even as she played him like a fiddle. I wondered, just for a moment, how many layers to this game there were. His hands were a little too familiar. At first I thought he was playing along, and this was all for my benefit, but as I watched it became clear. They'd done this before, they'd played through this little scene, he'd already raised his rates and had already fucked her, probably every time she came in. This was a new hand, new stakes. Curious, I thought. She was biting her lip, afraid, unsure now. There! The nod of assent, the surrender to his demand, whatever it was. He rose to meet her halfway, kissing her fully, passionately, letting her respond. Her act was dissolving into reality now, but he was still playing the game, still seducing her; every action was designed to put her at ease, to lose her in the moment, the passion. You could see it in his deliberate reserve, almost rehearsed behavior.

She stood, facing the windows, facing me, and he came up behind her, totally engrossed in her, focused on her like he might on a canvas. Her eyes were one me, on the window as his arms caressed her body, his lips on her neck. She melted into him as his hand groped her breast, palming the hard nubbin poking through thin material, she closed her eyes when his other hand pulled up the hem of her dress, stroking the bare skin over her sex; her hips grinding against his.

He untied the spaghetti strap that held up the top of her dress, peeling it down her body, letting soft breasts swing free, bouncing slightly as she breathed deep. In a quick second he had her undressed completely, and as she stepped free of the discarded garment she turned and crouched before him, tugging at his jeans, freeing his cock. It was already hard, out only a moment before her lip locked around it, sucking it in, devouring him whole. He was enjoying her mouth on him, his eyes closed his head thrown back as she fondled and caressed him. After a moment he tugged his black t-shirt up and off, tossing it aside before pushing his jeans down and stepping free, never breaking contact with her mouth. I could see her hand between her legs as she sucked him.

He smiled and said something, tugging her gently to her feet, pressing her back against the desk. She sat, then stood as he shook his head, turning her around. I tried to picture the conversation in my head, tried to imagine what he was saying, but I came up empty. Perhaps this had something to do with their deal?

She bent over the desk, her breasts barely touching its surface. Her nipples looked hard enough to score the surface, and I could only imagine how they felt. He rested one hand on the small of her back, kneeling behind her, pressing his face into her sex, his nose buried in the crack of her ass. He ravished her with his mouth, his tongue. He was not gentle or slow, his every move vigorous, he coated her cunt and ass with saliva until her skin glistened. She moaned, wriggled against him, crying out in what appeared to be a small orgasm as he licked her thoroughly. I started to get an idea about what their deal was, though I could not begin to guess who's idea it really was.

She lay limply draped over the desktop, relaxed and ready for more. She looked at him with bedroom eyes, completely into the moment now she had no attention for me. I didn't mind. He stood, his cock as hard as ever, angry and throbbing in his hand.

To my surprise he angled straight for her ass, which was conveniently turned so that I had a good view of the action. He pressed the purple head against her tight rosebud, now slick from his tongue. Slowly, so very slowly he buried himself in her sphincter until his hips blocked my view. Her eyes were closed, moaning, crying out, her face wet with tears or sweat or both. After a moment she began to grind against the intruder, bucking slightly against him, experimenting. Her legs were tense, the muscles in relief against her taut skin, stretched out, she rocked using her ankles, her entire body moving against him. He stood there, luxuriating at the feel of her hot body swallowing his member.

As she warmed up fully he grabbed her hips and began to piston into her, sodomizing her with obvious relish. I watched as she orgasmed again and again against him, writhing on the desktop like a woman possessed, her cries faint beyond the glass that separated us.

Obviously worried about his stamina he pulled back, pulled out with a gasp. The look of dismay, of shock was obvious on her face even as she slid off the desktop to her knees, reaching for his cock with her hands, her mouth open and seeking his heat. He pushed her away, taking her hands and helping pull her to her feet. He led her towards the back wall, to a small loveseat against the wall. He sat, throwing himself into the cushions; his legs splayed out in front, his cock standing nearly vertical. He said something, evidently instructions and she nodded with a smile; slipping out of her wedges as she straddled him, lowering herself onto his cock, facing the window, facing me.

He went into her ass easily now. She was loose and slick, all warmed up from before. When she was all the way down she flushed, bending over, hands on his knees as she ground onto him. I could no long see him, just his legs and the base of his cock where it met her flesh. His hands came up around her, squeezing her breasts, pulling her back. She nodded to something I couldn't hear, leaning back, bracing herself against his chest behind her, putting her bare feet up on his thighs. As she lifted herself up it occurred to me that this was so very, very much an act of performance that he had to have been in on something. Did he know someone was watching? Were then in on it together? I looked around, wondering if I was the one being played here, until I spotted the innocent looking security camera mounted above the wide window. Innocent but for the fact that in faced inward, perfectly tracking the events inside. Security cameras do not generally face inside the house... they face out. Layers upon layers. She was watching me watch him, he was watching himself watching her... every time he had looked out and not seen me it was because he wasn't looking out, he had been looking up.

His amateur porn star fucked herself silly on his shaft, unaware of this latest twist, her eyes screwed closed in concentration, her mouth open in a perpetual Oh. She worked him hard, fucking her ass against him with enthusiasm all out of sorts with her earlier reluctance, fully lost in the moment. I watched as she lost her grip on him in the throes of orgasm, her feet slipping off his thighs, slamming her down harder than expected, the bolt of lightning carrying her orgasm over into a whole new climax. As she shuddered and twitched he pushed her off of him, pushed her over onto the couch, onto her knees, her face buried in the cushion as he rose behind her, pulling her ass around to face the camera, and by extension, me. The soft seduction was over, she'd fucked herself, and that was over. Now it was his turn to fuck her, bent over, helpless and weak before him, her body entirely at the mercy of his pent up lust. His game was over; he'd gotten everything he'd intended; now it was his turn to claim his prize, to use her. I wondered if he would kick her out after he was done, of if he'd string her along for a little while longer. I wondered what her play was, either way. I wondered why I was still there, my cock burning inside my shorts, seepage soaking the front. I could have jacked off on his lawn; maybe she had wanted me too. I could have left and taken care of it elsewhere. Hell, I could have left and picked up my choice of beach sluts, and I knew a few who wouldn't even ask, who didn't seem to know the meaning of the word 'no'.

Instead I watched as he took her ass, brutal and deliberate. He'd held back before, let her pick the pace, let her enjoy herself. Now he didn't. I could hear her yelling, pleasure mixed with pain, could see her bucking and thrashing under the abuse, under relentless climaxes that he tore from her body. If I listened closely I could hear the slap of flesh on flesh, see her ass cheeks turn red. I could see drops of sweat flung from his body. He came hard, going rigid, thrusting into her, his body flushing, muscles straining as he emptied himself into her.

When he went limp he bent over her, whispering something, kissing her cheek. I thought of leaving then, the show was over, after all. He stood, pulling free of her, slapping her ass and staggering away, up the stairs, out of sight, out of mind.

It was curiosity rather than lust that kept me there. I'd seen everything she had and more, how could the sight of her nude body lying limp and sweaty compel me any more? She rolled over with a groan, a wince. She didn't bother with her wedges or her dress, nor did she head up the stairs. Instead she walked towards the glassy wall between us, ignoring the window and headed for the sliding door off to one side, headed outside. I stayed still, freezing in uncertainty. Had I deceived myself? Had I seen an invitation that wasn't there, an acknowledgement that was entirely in my own mind?

What did it matter? Nothing would come of it but angry words, hollow threats. Nothing I couldn't handle. I waited.

She walked outside, gloriously nude in the sunshine, in full view of any neighbors, even more than I was. I heard a car start in the distance, as she headed straight out across the open lawn, the soft grass curling around her bare feet. I could see a trickle of cum sliding down the inside of her thigh, hers or his I couldn't tell, didn't care. She stopped, not ten feet from me, arms raised as she stretched her arms overhead, not even looking my way.

"He's headed out, he always does after we fuck. Going to brag to his friends, I expect, in a couple of hours he'll fuck some other bitch in heat, probably come back here in the evening to pretend to paint for a while before throwing a party." She spoke, addressing me indirectly. Her voice was soft, rich like chocolate, throaty with promises. It matched her, yet seemed totally at odds with her.

"This is some sort of revenge then for you? Letting someone watch him?" I asked, incredulous.

"Don't be silly. This is all for me. That was the best fuck I've had for a long time. I expect you'll do him one better. Knowing I was being watched, that was fun. And tonight, when you come to the party and shake his hand, that will be even more fun. The neighbors will see us, they will see you, and they will smile and nod politely. He'll never know he is shaking the hand of the man who cuckolded him with his latest conquest on his own lawn, right after he'd finished up... obviously leaving me unsatisfied. It's all a game, you see, and I'm the only player." Only now did she turn to look at me. "Now, have you seen enough or do you just like to watch?"

But you already know the answer, don't you?