The Watcher Ch 01 5

"The Watcher"

Chapter One

I stand and watch from outside her window. Will I enter tonight? Will I wait a little longer? It has been almost more than I could stand. Each night I stand out here and watch. I watch her perform the ritual and I understand the meaning of each movement.

I see her bathe herself, and I know she is anointing herself in preparation for welcoming her unknown lover. I watch as the water cascades between her breasts and soaks her pubes. She turns, and now it runs down the lines of her firm buttocks, only to disappear between her legs once more. I watch as she dries the droplets from her skin and hold my breath as she touches the nipple of her right breast to remove the drop that lingers there like a lover's kiss. I watch her stand before her mirror like some erotic princess, asking, demanding of it if her beauty does not surpass all the other women in his life. She knows there must be others but she does not care. As long as he returns to her once more, she does not care about the others.

I watch as she perfumes herself and I understand. She prepares herself for me. She knows what a powerful aphrodisiac scent can be. I cannot sense her from this distance but I know the scent of her breath and her skin and her hair and her pussy and her ass. I know it so thoroughly that I can almost feel her beneath me straining after the pleasure explosion. The perfume will be subtle. It will not mask or cover, it will enhance. Her own muskiness is my motivation and her saltiness is my drug.

She dresses herself with care. Each night she has donned a different trousseau. One night, merry widow, stockings and high heels. Another, feathers and lace and chiffon. Another, crotch-less panties, heels and a collar. She has a well-stocked lingerie collection and it is clear that it is here that she struggles the most. What will tempt me into the room? What will cause my passion to rise so suddenly that it is I who will be caught unawares and swept away in love's wild dance? She experiments. And with each passing night, her choices become more difficult. If the last did not work, what will?

Then there is the candle. It is obvious that she takes great care with it so it must be important to her. One night she places it near the bed. Another near the window. The first night there were many candles but she realized that too much light might scare her moth away rather than draw him to the light. She wants him to come to the candle flame and not to avoid the light.

Then there is tonight. Again the ritual of bath and perfume and candle. Again I wait and watch but I think tonight I will enter.....room and lover both. Just as I come to that decision, I pause because something is different. She has dressed simply tonight. Belt and hose, heels and push up bra with a light peignoir. She is more restless than before. She moves around the room touching this and that, picking up her glass and sipping and moving on again. Touching this and lifting that and moving on and sip and sip. And pause by the full length bedroom mirror to admire what she sees. I can see her clearly here by the candle light and I can tell that something holds her here. But what?

She takes a little wine, and a single drop falls from her lips to the curve of her breast. With a single fingertip she wipes the drop from her skin and touches it to her lips. For a single second she stops breathing. Then her hand falls slowly to the breast again and covers it and gently squeezes. One hand, one breast. Two hands, two breasts. The wine is set aside and both hands are pressed into action. She throws her head back and tosses her hair and opens her mouth. And the tiniest growl comes out. Her hands knead the hot flesh of her breast and the nipples harden into marble cherries. Her fingers entrap the nipples and squeeze them gently but this sets off its own needs.

The hands leave the breasts and begin to tug on the nipples' tips until they stand out far from the breast, itself. Then they are rolled between thumb and forefinger, ever so gently but even this tender caress becomes too much. The fingers reach to the mouth and the tongue darts out from between parted lips to moisten and lubricate. Then it is back to the work at hand. Brushing the tips, now tugging, now rolling and all the while the tongue darts back and forth from corner to corner as lips become increasingly sensitive to the tender touch.

But these are not the only lips becoming increasingly demanding and she slips into the arm chair in the corner of the room, hooking the back of one knee over the arm and forcing her pelvis forward. A hand returns to that darting tongue to be bathed anew in hot saliva, and then it dives between the legs into that secret place. Gently she teases the lips until they begin to sweat with their own special moisture, then deftly the manicured nail and finger slip inside the folds of flesh. Gently at first, she rocks the invading finger in and out of her tight hole. Slowly the lubrication increases and the lips begin to sag outward with the weight of their desire. Faster and faster that finger moves until it is suddenly joined be another.....and a third. While they saw in and out of the inflamed pussy lips, another hand joins the exercise and touches itself to the centre of all her pleasure. The first touch is electric and she knows that she cannot stay like this. Breathing a little raggedly, she lifts herself from the chair and drops on the bed reaching into the drawer of toys so close. She chooses her favourite and she tries to swallow it. Her saliva coats the lance and prepares it to slay the dragon that lies within her.

As soon as it is ready, she grasps it in one hand and moves it to the throbbing centre of her need. Circling her clit, touching, not touching, touching, not touching until she can no longer stand the tension building up inside of her. She moves the tip to the lips of her hole, the deep hole where she hides her greatest desire. She slides it slowly between those swollen lips and then, when the tip is completely engulfed, she buries it so deep inside her that she gags as if it were in her very throat. Then she is once again an animal. A mad thing of the wild as she plunges the dildo deep inside her cunt, over and over again. For what was once a vagina has progressed through being the almost prissy "pussy" and has now become the uncompromising "cunt", a ravenous and controlling mistress whose demands must be met or die in the attempt. In and out, in and out, faster and faster, almost fainting with the waves of pleasure, bucking her hips up to meet the downward stroke, over and over until her hand is almost a blur welded to the handle of her pleasure stick. The moves get even wilder as she tosses herself from side to side trying to touch every atom of her inner walls in the same stroke because every atom is crying out for more. Then she yells and it is the yell of a woman possessed. Possessed by her own cunt, possessed by her own sex, possessed by her own passion. Her hips levitate from the bed and seem to hang in mid-air for a moment. Then they touch down for an instant and then lift as she impales herself once again. The action is repeated and the rhythm slows until she lies, with mouth gasping for breath, and cunt-stick hanging wantonly from her crotch. Her breathing slows, and slows, until her pussy pushes out the invader as muscles relax. I know what was in her mind. I sense her satisfaction and her frustration. I dare not wait too long or she will find another who is willing to cum with her.

For the first time I become aware of myself. I have been entranced with the scene and if a jealous husband or lover had found me I would have been oblivious to his approach. I notice that what has gone on inside has had its effect on me. I look down to see my manhood in my hand, dripping with the cum that has been spent. I wish I could share it with her but that must wait for another night. I know that night must be soon. I steal to the window and place a rose on the ledge to let her know I was here and chose not to enter. Maybe she will also understand that I saw her performance. To prove that what I saw moved me, I touch my prick to card and leave a spot of cum and a one word note that says,

SOON

B