The Neighbour 31

Restlessly, I kick the duvet off me and twist my exhausted body around for the twentieth time tonight. I've been willing myself to drift off since I first clambered into bed at midnight. Since then, sleep has been spitefully elusive.

It's no good. Now I'm shivering, wide awake and slightly irritated. I desperately need to switch off. In a few hours, I have to be present the project I've been working for months on. I can't afford to be tired.

Without the warmth of the covers, my skin prickles and my nipples poke alarmingly at my sheer vest top. Absentmindedly, I start to play, rubbing them with the tips of my fingers as if to warm them up. Swinging my legs off the side of the bed, I groggily reach for my glasses on the bedside table. I hate wearing them, but when I'm this tired, my eyes need all the help they can get.

I might just give up trying to sleep now. Decision made, I head to the kitchen where I flick the kettle on. In my weary state, I've not grabbed anything warmer to wear and the cold tiled kitchen floor makes me almost dance, hopping from foot to foot trying to keep warm. The kettle bubbles to a crescendo as I spoon heaps of coffee into my mug. As annoyed as I am about not being able to sleep, I love this time of night. It's so dark and still. It reminds me of wilder nights. Walks of shame as I stumbled home still tipsy and high on the excitement of having been with someone new. The smell of sex mingling with the night air and intoxicating me even further.

So far removed from the life I have now. That giddy, carefree girl long gone. Sometimes thankfully. But sometimes I yearn for those nights where I'd let a stranger run his hand up my skirt in a club. When we'd make out on the dance floor so furiously, it was almost obscene. His erection pushing against me as my pussy tingled with the knowledge that later my legs would be wrapped around him as his cock was buried deep inside me.

Wistfully, I slide my hands round the coffee mug to keep warm and make my way back upstairs. My trip down memory lane has made me more than horny now, but you're fast asleep.

I make my way to the window and climb onto the seat that borders it. The curtains are open. They're usually open. I like it that way. I like the way the streetlamps bathe the bedroom in soft light and the shadows of the trees dance along the walls. Our street is deathly quiet. It's a clear night and the moon is stunningly full. I glance down the road, looking at the dark houses, coveting my neighbours who are clearly tucked up in their beds fast asleep. Except one house. The one diagonally opposite us. A single room lit up. Another insomniac like me it appears.

We've lived here for years, but I don't know much about the occupants of this house. They've not long moved in. I know they have kids around the same age as mine. The mother is stunning. Slender, blonde and the type who is always impeccably turned out. I find him a little more intimidating. I don't know why. He's always perfectly polite when he sees me, but there's something in the way he looks at me - it makes me uncomfortably nervous. As if he can see through me.

Hugging my knees to my chest, I stare at the window wondering if it's him behind the dimly lit curtains. I suddenly get a mental image of him, his head between his wife's thighs. Her slender fingers weaving through his hair, her back arched as he laps at her pussy. I clench down on nothing and gasp as the feeling overtakes me. Fuck, I shouldn't be thinking this, I won't be able to look at either of them again.

But the damage is done. I take my glasses off and put the coffee mug down, sliding my hands gently over my nipples once more. I'm not cold at all anymore, if anything I'm flushed. But you wouldn't know it by the goosepimples forming on my skin as my fingertips brush over it. Leaning back into the alcove, I let my legs fall open and my hand wanders between them. I can feel the heat through my pyjama pants, as I start to stroke through the soft fabric. I want to close my eyes, but I can't stop watching their house. As if I stare enough, I'll be able to see them, their tangled bodies glistening with sweat as she moans into his mouth.

Fuck, did their curtain just move? No doubt just my overactive imagination or perhaps the breeze. I am now desperate to slide my hand down my pants. To tease my increasingly wet slit. To give myself that exquisite release. But I know the longer I hold off, the better it will be. So I continue to tease, pressing my fingers firmly against the now damp fabric.

I must have shut my eyes for a second, because I glance back over the road and the curtains have now definitely moved. Shit. I should stop, but I am crazily horny now and besides, surely they couldn't really see me from there. I feel more daring and slip the straps of my flimsy vest top down. The lace of the vest brushes directly over my sensitive nipples making me bite down on my lip hard.

Suddenly, the light from over the road goes off. A wave of disappointment washes over me even though I know I should feel relieved. I should stop now. Get back into bed and behave. But with that decision, my phone vibrates. A message. At this time? I glance at the screen. Holy fuck, it's him. I feel sick. I really don't want to open it, but I can't stop myself.

"Take your top off."

I hurriedly put my glasses back on, whipping my head back over to look at the house. And there he is. The curtains now open. His shadowy silhouette at the window. Shirtless himself, his cock straining against his boxer shorts.

What am I doing, I think as I obediently pull my top over my head, my tits spilling out into the cold air.

"Fuck," comes the reply. "Is your husband home?"

I'd almost forgotten about him. I glance behind me, but he's still peacefully sleeping. It would take an earthquake to wake him up. I look back over at the window and nod before realising he might not be able to see. Texting back my reply, immediately my phone pings again.

"Get your headphones. I'm going to make you cum."