It had been eight months since her divorce was final and Jessica felt like she was coming out of a long, labored fever dream. She had caught him the year before, red-handed, cheating on her with a colleague. She had forgiven him, gone to marriage counseling, and then it happened again. She followed him to the hotel and watched the two of them disappear for a couple of hours and then reappear, his hands all over her. She was appalled, yet somehow relieved. It was over now. This was the kick in the ass she needed. She was rid of him.
They had no children, thank God for that. After the divorce, they sold the house and split the proceeds. Jessica moved into a quiet apartment complex, got a two-bedroom in the back, and started to work out obsessively. She was relatively young, 25, and still had her looks. She had modeled as a teenager but gave it up once she took her job at the magazine after college. She was an assistant editor when she met Frank, the publisher, and two years later they were married. She knew his reputation as a player but had thought marriage would tame him. Big mistake.
After the breakup, she had tried to date a couple of guys, setups by friends, but her heart wasn't in it. Too torn up. Too emotionally unavailable. Instead, she spent her Friday and Saturday nights eating take-out in her apartment watching movies. Mainstream Hollywood, independents, foreign -- you name it, she watched it. She joked that it was her "vicarious love life." Actually, she had always been a movie buff and they filled a void in her life at a time she really needed it. If that seemed pathetic, who cares? In her new life "after Frank" she was taking care of her own needs for a change.
It was during those late nights watching movies that she started to get into masturbation. Foreign movies especially -- French, Italian, Spanish. She'd lie in bed, watching the beautiful actors in their intricate dance of sex, and touch herself. It had been so long since she'd been with a man, and there was something about the lush photography, the music, not to mention the explicit sex scenes, that just did it for her. It was so easy and well...uncomplicated.
She'd rent a bunch of films and then find the one where she related to the heroine, or where the hero got her hot, and then she'd lie in bed dressed in her lacy bra and panties, or a sheer teddy, or sometimes nothing at all. As the heroine was being seduced, and kissed, and touched, she'd lightly touch her own lips and skin. She'd play with her nipples until they were hard and then glide her fingers over her tummy to her inner thighs. She liked it when he went down on her so she could finger herself to the sounds of her moans. And when he pushed himself inside her, and the actress gasped, she would start to rub her clit and start to moan as well. And when he thrust himself into her, over and over, and she cried out she would work her pussy with two hands until she too would come.
As the weeks went on, things began to escalate. She went online and bought some toys to heighten the erotic pleasure of her movie nights. Depending on the movie, and the sex scene, she would use a different toy. For scenes of cunnilingus, she would use her jackrabbit vibe, thinking of his tongue on her, flicking her clit and bringing her to glorious orgasm. For scenes of straight ahead fucking, she liked to use a dildo, a big one, to fill her and stretch her the way her husband never did.
She went on like this for well over six weeks. And it might have gone on for six more. But something happened. He happened.
Jessica's apartment was at the back of the complex, on the second floor. She had a view of the pool area from her balcony and from the bedroom window. Since most of the residents were either busy professionals or retired, hardly anyone actually use the pool. That's why she was mildly surprised when she heard the splash one evening as she was getting home from work.
She glanced out the window and that's when she saw him the first time. Tall, long-armed, muscular—gliding through the pool with smooth, strong strokes. He was young and well built. Dark curly hair. Maybe 20, 22 tops. She watched him intently through the bedroom window, obscuring herself behind the curtain. As he boosted himself out the pool, she couldn't believe his physique. Not an ounce of fat, a tiny speedo covering a perfect butt. As he raised his arms to towel his head, she felt a flutter deep inside her and she gulped. And then, just like that, he was gone.
In the days that followed she looked for him by the pool. It seemed he had a routine. Monday, Wednesdays and Fridays he swam in the evenings. On the weekend, he swam in the morning, either Saturday or Sunday. She found herself thinking about him at work. Who was he? Was he single? What was his voice like? What would it be like to have him inside her...
She made a plan to leave early and get in position to watch him. She raced home and ran up the stairs to her apartment. She hurried to the window and saw the pool empty. He hadn't yet arrived for his workout. Or maybe he's not swimming today at all? She nervously readied herself. She slipped out off her outfit and threw it on the bed. She stood at the curtain in her bra and panties and watched for him.
She heard the door to the pool area slam and her heart leapt. It was him. Sure enough, his tall frame sauntered out from below her. His thick curly hair looked so beautiful; he was like one of the Italian or Spanish actors in one of her movies. "Hello, darling" she whispered.
He began to stretch. Her eyes devoured his every move. He swung his arms in a windmill fashion. He used one arm to stretch the other across his broad chest. As he bent over to stretch his hamstrings, she felt a tingling sensation between her legs.
Watching him move on the pool deck was hypnotizing. She didn't even notice that her hand found its way to her breast, massaging the nipple, imagining it was him who was touching her. She imagined his big hands on her, his strong arms enveloping her, his muscled body on top of her. As he slipped into the pool, her hand slipped into her panties.
His slow, languorous strokes mirrored her own. It was like a dream. She lost track of time, watching his repetitive motions, stroking, moving as if in slow motion. She fingered herself imagining him touching her, licking her, fucking her. She slid two fingers inside her, then three, then four. The cascades of pleasure grew steadily until he pulled himself out of the pool. Standing there, glistening in the afternoon light, the water streaming down his hard body, she could stand it no more. She came, completely and totally, her body shaking violently, convulsing with pleasure.
The next day, she found herself obsessing about him at work. Her secret lover. So secret, she didn't even know his name. Can this be happening? All she could think about was the next time she'd see him. She had it all planned.
Sure enough, two days later she hurried home to get ready. She had actually bought an outfit for their "date." It was a super sexy bustier, with garters and stockings. It pushed up her breasts, showing the creamy white skin and just covering her nipples. The thong underwear showed off her lovely ass. Her stiletto heels made her ass stand up and out. She felt so hot in it, it made her heart pound. I look really sexy, she thought. For him. Only for him.
Next, she pulled the marble-top side table to just beneath the bedroom window. She looked out the window and positioned it just so. Then she went to the closet and, from the top shelf, pulled down a cardboard box and placed it on the bed. From it, she pulled out a object wrapped in plastic. She unwrapped it and in her hands she was holding a large, life-like dildo. This, too, was only for him.
She had seen this particular toy on a late night cable TV show. The kind where female hosts officiously sell vibrators and suction machines and other paraphernalia via an 800 number. It was bigger than her normal dildo, about eight inches, and thick, and had a suction base. She laid it on the marble top table.
Now she was ready. She was as nervous as a teenager waiting for her date. What if he didn't show? After all this? She poured herself a glass of wine to settle her nerves. She put on some sexy French music on stereo. Just waiting for him, the anticipation of it all, was a turn on. She looked at herself in the mirror and practiced a slutty, come hither pose. "You want a work out. I'll give you a work out" she purred.
Suddenly, she heard the familiar slam of the pool area door. She darted to the window and watched intently. Sure enough, there he was. He looked even more gorgeous than before. Her hand immediately went between her legs. She was already wet, in anticipation. As he warmed up, she fingered herself hungrily. She was already incredibly turned on. Her breathing was audible and she started to talk to him in a husky, lustful voice. "Come on, baby. Show me that body. That's it. Stretch for me. Yeah, baby. Now bend over and show me that ass of your. Oh, yeah, baby." She was already close to her first orgasm by the time he finished stretching! As he slowly slipped into the pool and started his languid swimming, she climaxed and let out an animalistic moan.
A frenzy took over her. She went to the bed and grabbed the dildo. She needed it NOW. She licked the base and placed it on the edge of the end table. Her legs were shaking. She was still incredibly aroused. She turned to the window with a wild look in her eye. She stood leaning on the sill, her legs spread, and reached back to position the phallus.
He was doing the backstroke now. His long arms windmilling, one after the other, his head tilted towards her, his chest and stomach and crotch rocking back and forth. She guided the tip of the dildo to her now dripping wet pussy. She watched him rocking back and forth and slowly, very slowly, lowered herself on the tip. It was big, bigger than she'd had before, and it spread her pussy so beautifully. She was glad she had already come once because she was very wet and could handle the size. She let it push into her, centimeter by centimeter, lowering herself onto the shaft. Her hands were spread out, holding onto the sill, her legs spread wide. She imagined him entering her from behind, her breathing quickening, and she started to moan involuntarily. "Fuck me from behind, baby, fuck me from behind" she growled. Watching him rock back and forth, she started to ride the cock, rhythmically, to the tempo of his strokes. With each stroke she took it deeper, and with each inch the moans got louder. She closed her eyes and took the dildo deeply and suddenly she was coming, her mouth agape, and she let out an anguished cry. Her body bucked and shook and trembled as the waves of pleasure broke over her. It was the most intense orgasm she had ever had pleasing herself.
As her body went limp, she slowly opened her eyes. What she saw terrified her. He had stopped swimming and was standing at the end of the pool closest to her. He was facing her window and seemed to be looking at her. She immediately ducked behind the curtain. In her passion, she had completely forgotten to hide herself. What an idiot! Did I think I was watching one of my movies? After what seemed like an eternity, she slowly peaked around the curtain. He was getting out the pool and starting to dry off. Thank God. Maybe he hadn't seen me after all.
