I seem to be into a window exhibitionist writing phase lately. It ties in nicely with my BDSM one and to a certain extent the reluctance/nonconsent genre as well. I think it has to do with the hot neighbor I have in the apartment next to mine. And the games I have recently started playing with him. (The dropping boards on a friend part because of a quickly flashed view, actually happened. And my muse slapped me and yelled, "hello, story here!") To anyone who may be wondering about older series, I never really drop anything, my attention just wanders. So purrrsssss to all.
katt
*
I woke up trapped beneath a man's heavy arm. For a moment I froze. I didn't have a man to be trapped under in my bed. Realizing the bed itself felt strange I cracked one eye and looked around. If I hadn't already been in frozen mode, that one slit eyed peek would have sent me there. I knew this bedroom. I had been discretely doing a peeping tom on it for months. That was before I started doing other, more dangerous things.
I'm not fully sure how I ended up here. But the fact that both me and man curved and wrapped around me are naked suggests I probably had a good time. I move a little and feel the stickiness between my thighs. That would be a yes then. I sighed and decided it really sucked that the one and only time I'd ever get fucked by this man I was too drunk to remember much but a few stray images. But from those glimpses in my memories, I knew this man was one wild, wicked lover.
Only problem was, I was pretty sure he was wild and a bit wicked in real life to. He rode this huge monster of a motorcycle, came and went at all hours of the day and night. I wasn't sure if he even slept. I was thinking he was probably a drug dealer. When I was in a more flamboyant mood I went with the idea of an assassin or a mercenary.
He certainly looked like he could handle any of those careers. He was at least 6'5", which made him almost a foot taller then my own 5'7". And he was big. But not in some bulky, lumbering way. Just broad shouldered, sn obviously ripped belly. I caught sight of him once while teetering on my bed on tiptoes trying to change a light bulb. I peeped quick, looked back to my job, then couldn't resist. I hadn't seen him in over a week. I peeped again.
Just as he whipped his sweaty T-shirt over his head. Gods above and below, the sight of those smooth shoulders, that taut, rippling belly, I could die happy now. I had seen the most perfect thing on earth. He was using the balled up T-shirt to absently wipe at the sweat beading his upper body. For the first time in my life I could understand the desire to lick beads of sweat off another's body. Then he looked up. Straight into my eyes. Caught me dead on.
And I promptly toppled over backwards off the bed, landing with a horribly loud thud and a yelp of pain.
I could have sworn I heard a voice yelling "Hey, are you ok?" The apartments were only about ten feet apart, so might have. I was a little busy crawling on my belly in complete mortification out the bedroom door.
I hid for about two weeks after that, shades pulled tight. Waiting for the police to come question me about my peeping tom tendencies.
It was quite possibly the worst two weeks in my life.
He was there almost every minute of those two weeks. I never saw him, was afraid to even try looking through the cracks of my blinds. But I heard him. And the women he started bringing home every night after about the fourth night. Part of me wanted to close the window. Hell, just leave the room and go sit in the kitchen with the TV on loud.
But I couldn't drag myself away. He always sent them home in a cab four or five hours later. I wondered if he had to pour them into the cab?
He would fuck them solid the entire time. And the noises these women would make! The first night I thought he was killing the one. And then I realized groggily-I'd been sleeping-oh, so that's what unbearable ecstasy sounds like.
By the end of the first week I was crouched in my bedroom. My ear pressed to the shade, everything that made a noise and could be turned off, turned off, listening as hard as I could. I kept having to remind myself to stop holding my breath when I got dizzy and almost toppled over. I did not want to fall into the shades and send them rattling.
Some nights all I heard were the woman's moans and his husky voice crooning lazily.
But on two separate nights it seemed almost as if the streets had closed down and it was so quiet I could hear everything, even the sound of his cock sliding in and out of the woman of the evening.
He like to talk to them. Although most of the women seemed only capable of moaning and whimpering.
He wasn't shy about it either. I'd hear him whisper "Yeah bitch, you like that cock, don't you. Makes your little pussy feel so good getting stuffed full." Or he'd whisper directions or compliments while some woman obviously sucked him off.
The night I heard him growl, obviously drunk and feeling a little more aggressive "You ready bitch? You want this dick pile driving your tight little hole, want me to shove it in your ass?" and heard a slurred voice moan "Oh god please, fuck my ass baby." I did fall off the bed. I just managed to do it silently.
I knew what I was doing was wrong. I did know that. I was invading this man's privacy. I wondered often and quite seriously if I'd just get a fine or actual jail time when he finally got fed up and reported me to the police. I kept telling myself I had to stop. And every night found me curled with my ear to the window again.
Last night, around dinner, I decided that I simply couldn't go another night like that.
I've never got myself off these two weeks while listening to him fuck all these different women silly. Any one I told that to would laugh and call me a liar. I wouldn't blame them. I mean isn't that what a person does when they are spying on someone and hearing what I was? I just felt so guilty already.
I didn't ever do it then. But after he'd walked the women out to their taxi and came back to usually just go right to bed?
I would try so hard not to. Asking myself what the hell is the difference between doing it then and doing it now? But I'd last an hour at most before I'd remember some dirty, nasty sexily raunchy comment that had really excited me and one hand would fly down into my panties to desperately rub and pinch my clit while the other one danced between my breasts, rolling the nipples and pulling on them hard. I knew he liked to play rough with a woman's breasts and nipples. And that he paid them almost constant attention while he was fucking someone. A lot of my lovers have been the squeeze a time or two then seem to forget I own them variety.
So every night I would pleasure my body. Sometimes just once, other times I'd have to come over and over before I could finally fall asleep.
And then the other night he brought two women home with him and I almost broke my cardinal rule.
It was the most erotic thing I had ever listened to. The two women obviously knew each other. And I do mean in the biblical sense. And enthusiastically fucked each other, as well as him. I had my lights off as usual and I have never been more tempted in my life. I wanted so badly to quietly slide one of the blinds up, and peek. Just one quick peek. I knew I'd see everything. He had become even more of an exhibitionist then I was over the last few months. I knew his shades would be completely pulled up. His light, at least the bedside one but probably the ceiling light, on. And I would have the perfect view of his bed. Like mine it's centered directly beneath the window. He has a queen though, always covered with luscious sheets and buttery soft looking comforters. Obviously expensive, and perfectly matched yet still masculine. Strewn with a half dozen pillows. Which always match as well unless they are deliberately meant to contrast tastefully. My bed is always a house beautiful nightmare. My top and bottom sheets rarely match. One always seems to get dirty before the other. And I don't think my two pillows have ever matched each other, let alone either top or bottom sheet.
I live alone, and I support myself, admittedly at times just barely, by writing. And when I write, reality goes away, and there is nothing that means anything to me but the words and the world I am trying to create. One day the world will end and I will look up a day later wondering, hey where'd everybody go?
So, I tend not be the greatest at seeing to laundry as often as I should. Luckily I'm not much for eating, and when I do it tends to come in a container I can tidily toss when done, or dishes would pile up. And sometimes the only thing that will drive me out of the house to the store is using up that last roll of toilet paper. All I really need, is a laptop, and a place to sit and curl my long legs around it.
I did love his bed though. I'd often thought, like a silly little girl, that I would love to curl up on it, cuddling one of those fat pillows, one of those yummy looking comforters tucked under my chin, and just nap like a worry free child.
He made the bed change a month or two ago. Probably because spring was getting close. Before I couldn't even see it. I just had assumed because our two apartment buildings were identically built that his bedroom coincided with mine.
So I knew I'd see. And God I wanted to look so desperately. But on the other hand I didn't want to end up with a morals charge or an actual jail term. So I just listened to three people doing things I'd only ever read about. Not to mention the few I'd never have even dreamed where physically possibly, for almost four hours.
I didn't wait more then five minutes after I knew he'd gone to bed. And I knew my fingers wouldn't be enough this time. They usually are. I come quickly and easily. When I use a toy I come so fast there's no time to enjoy the sensations.
I brought myself to orgasm after orgasm. And the frenzied lust that bastard had inspired in me had barely subsided. I was thinking seriously of trying out the vibrating anal toy a visiting friend had brought that I had refused to allow him to use, other then in my pussy, when I realized I was two steps away from totally losing my mind to this madness.
I got out of bed, cleaned my toy, then quickly got myself drunk enough that I could sleep. Desperate situations sometimes call for solutions one normally wouldn't look to. And I eventually managed to fall asleep.
That's why the next day while eating dinner I made a decision. To put it crudely I really, really needed to get laid. And since I knew I could not let myself get involved with the "boy next door" I had to throw caution, and sanity to the winds, and hit a bar.
