Watching Cyn (or Was It Sin)

Copyright © June 2020 by CiaoSteve

CiaoSteve reserves the right to be identified as the author of this work.

This story cannot be published, as a whole or in part, without the express agreement of the author, other than the use of brief extracts as part of a story review.

This is a work of fiction. The events described here are imaginary; the settings and characters are fictitious and are not intended to represent specific places or living persons.

Author's Notes

Foreword #1: All sexually active characters in this story are over 18.

Foreword #2: This is a story and intended purely for pleasure.

Foreword #3: This is an entry for the 2020 Nude Day Contest. I hope you enjoy it. If you feel like leaving a vote, I would appreciate it.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

"Naughty dreams, Trevor?" I whispered, placing a hand on the bulge in his pyjamas.

I had a habit of waking up before the alarm clock and would often turn it off, instead using my seductive charms to arouse my darling husband. It was much more exciting than having an electronic beep blast its shrill chirp into the still of the morning. It was a different type of chorus I wanted to hear, one full of passion and satisfaction.

"Let me take care of it for you, darling. You can't go to work like this, can you?"

I ran a leg across his hips, feeling his morning wood press firmly into my thigh. Oh yes, that was just what I needed, something long and hard to satisfy my carnal desires.

Every morning was the same. I would wake first, and stare across at my darling husband. Whilst some awoke relaxed and refreshed, for me it was the opposite. Each night my cravings would build, and I would wake with the same insatiable need... a need to be touched, to be caressed, to be seduced, to be fucked.

"Not today, darling," his uninterested voice responded, eyes barely open as he lay next to me.

I could have narrated the words in my sleep, they were so predictable. Every morning was the same. I'd wake him with my most seductive charms, but they always fell on deaf ears. My heart would pound with desire, fires smouldering deep inside, yearning to be stoked into life, but all I got was the verbal equivalent of a bucket of cold water.

It was like Groundhog Day. My mind was set on a good fucking, and his... well, I wasn't sure what he was thinking about, but it certainly wasn't getting up close and dirty with his darling wife. Of course, I was exaggerating. There was the odd occasion when he took me by surprise, responding in a more positive way. These were few and far between though, but I made sure I took full advantage when the chance arose. I loved to be on top, to control the pace... fast, slow, shallow, deep, however I wanted. Oh yes, those mornings were the best, the dawn chorus drowned out by a more carnal symphony. If only, he wanted it as often as I did.

I lay there in the bed, my heart heavy with disappointment, as he slipped out from under the duvet. Today... well I could add the notch to the many others... another mark of unfulfillment.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

The door slammed shut. I could almost feel the shockwave shoot up through the house, signalling I was alone once more. It had become the new norm. Every morning I would wake with that one thing on my mind, and on the majority of mornings I would end up here, leant up against the window, watching my darling husband head off for another day at the office.

It was my favourite place in the house. The full-length window, looking out over our quiet backwater of a street, had been boxed out to make a cute alcove. The previous owners had then filled the lower portion with a knee-high seat, soft cushioning sitting on top of storage drawers. Add a scatter cushion or two and you had the perfect place to watch the world go by. It was what drew me to the house in the first place, my secret viewing seat. OK, well it wasn't really a secret, but I could keep an eye on goings on without making myself obvious. Unless you were actively looking, you wouldn't notice that somebody was watching you from up there.

I had pulled back the thin curtains and sat down with my back against the cool plaster side of the recess, knees raised and feet up on the seat. My mind was filled with reticent disappointment as I watched him walk away into the distance, early morning sun casting shadows from the rooftops.

It hadn't always been like this. When we first married—another three years and we'd be racking up silver—he wouldn't have been able to keep his hands off me. Even in my early forties I still felt good. I had long since taken to frequenting the gym, several times a week, to keep my shape. Okay, so some things you cannot avoid. There were a few stretch lines, a lasting reminder of a child who had already flown the nest, and the effects of gravity had resulted in a certain droop to a fuller bust. Oh, and yes, I did tend to colour my hair—a caramel brown, shoulder length wavy bob was flavour of the month—but other than that, I considered myself to be the same youthful woman who had walked down the aisle all those years ago.

I saw myself as being attractive, being desirable, being fuckable. Damn, there I went again. All I could think about these days was getting a good fucking, or more so, not getting one. It was so frustrating. There was a word for people like me, for mothers who, in the eyes of others, still had it aplenty. It was just Trevor who didn't always recognise the same.

For sure, I had the same carnal needs. No, that was wrong. My needs were now greater than ever before. The problem was... well... there was no easy way of saying it. He'd lost his interest.

Shit! That was no way to talk about my darling husband. I still loved him but love itself was becoming ever rarer. He'd taught me everything I knew, and now yearned for. If you'd suggested to me before we'd got married that sex could be so good, I would have laughed in your face, but for sure it was. I hadn't ever imagined there could be so many ways to enjoy yourself.

All I had to do was close my eyes and I could imagine my body shuddering as another huge orgasm hit. I guess that was the problem. It was now mainly imagination. Don't get me wrong, I still loved my husband, the happiness he had given me and the financial comfort which had come with his successful career. Yes, with hindsight, success was the problem. Over the years he had become more and more successful in his professional life.

They say success breeds success. What they don't tell you is that success kills intimacy. All he could think about these days was getting back to work and striving to achieve even more. My kicks still came from the most natural desires, whilst his were formulated in the boardroom. Any other wife might wonder if he was having an affair, but somehow the thought never crossed my mind. Trevor wouldn't do such a thing.

I wouldn't either, of that I was sure.

I sat there, my mind reflecting on where our lives had gone. Morning, night, it was always the same. The negligees used to turn him on, or maybe it was my ample bust and sweet sex inside which got his pulse racing, but now he would be asleep before I even had time to get him all excited.

The mornings? Well, he would wake up more interested in getting back into the rat race than getting into my sweet little pussy. I'd give him the eyes, those irresistible puppy dog eyes, but to no avail. Even my most suggestive charms didn't register. I might have gotten a better response if I had been discussing spreadsheets rather than suggesting sex.

So, here I was once more, leaning up by the side of the window, wearing just what I had gone to bed in last night. I'd given up on making myself sexy, as it made no difference anyway. It wasn't like I had nothing to wear. I had shelves and drawers full of the sexiest garments you could imagine. They were... lost on my darling husband. This morning I sat there, in a full-length black cotton gown, comfortable yet so not exciting, peering through around the edge of the pulled back curtains onto yet another new day.

I watched as he walked down the path, opened the gate, and disappeared out into the street. Half an hour later and he'd be on his train, heading towards the office once more, and I... well, at least there was my little friend. It was either that or my fingers. Morning and night, I'd cum on the end of my little vibrator. Did he know? Did I care? I guess not anymore. It served a purpose but didn't quench a fundamental need.

It was on this very morning that I noticed him. No, not my husband. He was there every morning. That came as no surprise.

It was somebody else, standing in the shadows on the other side of the road, who caught my eye. I sat up a little more and stared out at him, trying to get a better view of what he was up to. I guessed he was around twenty or so, short dark hair and lanky in stature. What was so strange about a young lad idling away a few moments? Well, nothing, except that we didn't have any such lads living along our street, and he most definitely didn't look the sort to be joining the morning rush. So, what brought him out at this early hour of the morning, and why this street? I was still pondering the same as I made my way back to the marital bed.

"Well, Livvy, looks like it's just the two of us again," I muttered, reaching into a bedside drawer for my favourite toy.

He'd have gone mad knowing how much I paid for this white and purple bundle of pleasure but, if you asked me, every penny was well spent. 'LIV 2, a modern icon of personal pleasure, guaranteeing the most luxurious of climaxes.' That was what it said on the site. A girl's best friend... well, I had called mine Livvy, and we had become very friendly indeed.

First to go were my panties, black lacy ones, not that Trevor noticed. Next, I pulled my nightshirt up, bundles of soft dark fabric now draped across my midriff. A pillow under my hips gave a bit more elevation.

Slowly, I worked my fingers over my snatch, teasing at my meaty flaps, feeling dampness return once more. I dipped a finger inside and caressed my inner sex. Oh yes, even the simplest of touches sent excitement flooding through my body. With plenty of practice I knew exactly which buttons to press, alternating between clit and pussy to get my sweet juices flowing. It wasn't a moan though which left my lips, it was a sigh. A sigh of disappointment as the tell-tale buzz of that vibrator filled the bedroom once more.

I closed my eyes, feeling the tingle as the tip touched my aching sex. The rest was like clockwork, practiced to perfection as I sank the toy deep into my pussy before pulling it out once more. Slow, deep insertions, searching with the curved tip for that very spot. That spot which, when found, I couldn't resist but letting everyone know about it.

"Mmmm," I moaned as I hit the very spot. "Mmmm."

I was breathing heavily now, eyes screwed shut as I imagined it was my darling husband ravaging my sex and not a silicon encased toy. With one hand I worked the curved tip across my g-spot, moaning each time the vibrations hit that hidden bundle of sensitivity. I couldn't resist but play with my now hardened nipples, pinching each in turn with the fingers of my free hand.

"Yesss," I called out. "There, right there... mmmm."

I switched my focus from nipples to clit, drawing little circles over the nub of nerve endings, working myself into a carnal fervour as the fires built inside. I could see him now, my darling husband, working my sodden sex as I lay bound to the bed, restrained by hand and foot, unable to resist his torment. One day I would tell him of my fantasy, but at this very moment I was interested only in cumming, and boy how I came.

I stiffened as I felt the first wave build to breaking point, a squeal leaving my lips as pure euphoria flooded my body. Still though I worked my sex, now thrusting the vibrator in and out like the cock I imagined it being. The fingers over my clit were a blur of activity as I worked myself towards the big one. By now the room was filled with a solo symphony of moans and pants as I drew ever nearer the point of no return.

And then I did, a scream drowning out any other sound as I bucked on the bed.

I lay there, still, silent except for my panting breath. In my mind I could see Trevor looking over me, smiling, knowing just how he had taken me to yet another huge climax. In my mind I could see him... could see... could see them.

Them? Yes, somewhere in the distance, slightly out of focus, there was somebody else... somebody watching. Without a second thought, I found myself smiling back at the blurry image. Did he like what he saw? I certainly didn't mind the idea of him watching, or was it... was it the idea of him joining in? My thought went back to the lad in the shadows. Was he the blurry figure in my imagination? Had he been the one watching?

I struggled up from the bed, my legs weak from exertion, breathing still a little laboured, and my mind filled with the memory of my latest passionate release. I found myself, drifting back towards the window, this time kneeling upright in the middle of the seat. I stared out onto the street, wondering if the lad was still there.

He wasn't, but it didn't stop me wondering.

Why had he been there in the first place?

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

A few days later he was back, standing in those same shadows across the road from ours. I glanced out of the window, watching my darling husband disappear off for another day. No sooner had he turned the corner out of sight, than my attention turned towards the young lad. This time the morning light seemed a little brighter and I got a clearer view of him. It just reconfirmed my thoughts. He cannot have been any older than twenty, and most definitely on the lanky side. There was though something about him though, something intriguing, something beguiling, something which simply drew me to him.

What was he doing here? Why was he alone? Was he waiting for something, or somebody? But why now? Why so early in the morning?

I started to wonder, my mind taking on the role of a cunning detective as I pondered the mysterious stranger. There was something just a little strange about his behaviour, his mannerisms. I'd glance down at him, but his gaze would always be elsewhere, his eyes fixed somewhere down the road. I'd follow his line of sight but there would be nothing to see. Then the strange thing, whenever I returned my gaze to him, it was like... like... like he glanced away... intentionally not making eye contact.

Suddenly my mind flicked back to that image, the one as I lay there recovering from another climax, the one where my darling husband smiled down at me and somewhere in the background a blurry figure stood there. I wondered. Was he waiting, or was he watching?

I made to look away but didn't. In that instant, I caught his eye and smiled down at the lad. For a few seconds, time seemed to stand still, before the lad turned and left. He was a real enigma, a stranger in the shadows, his intent unknown but my mind convinced he wasn't just passing time.

The following day I was back at the window. This time I was not so much watching my husband on his way to work, I was looking... yes, I was actively looking for the young lad. He wasn't anywhere to be seen. Was I mistaken? Maybe he hadn't been watching me after all. There would be a most plausible, mundane reason why he had been there. My reaction surprised even me. Inside, my innermost feelings were tinged with just a touch of disappointment as I returned to my bed and my moment of 'me' time.

A few days later though, he was back. This time he seemed just a bit more confident as he stared up towards the window. Even when I smiled back, he didn't turn and flee. And so, it continued. With increasing frequency, he would be there, looking up at me as I watched my Trevor disappear into the morning rush.

I had become besotted with the young lad. Here he was, a total stranger, getting his kicks by spying on a married woman as she sat in her bedroom window. He was nothing more than a pervert; young, naïve, inquisitive, but still a pervert. I should have been picking up the phone and dialling the police, yet something inside told me not to.

For all I despised his actions—why should anyone think it was right to impose themselves on another's privacy? —there was just something else gnawing away at my conscience. The lad was showing me some interest, something my darling husband had long since forgotten to do.

Attention... it was what I wanted from Trevor, what I yearned for every morning. All Trevor needed to do was show a little interest. Trevor could admire my figure, comment about my clothes, or simply say he liked the way I looked. I'd done so much to keep myself for him, but I might as well have been invisible from the compliments he gave me. It didn't matter how I adorned myself. Frumpy, sexy, revealing, slutty, damn... even stark naked... the answer would be the same.

'Not now, darling,' had become his stock response.

Yet now I had an admirer. Admirer? I guess it would be better to call him a voyeur. I was sure it was me he was looking at, the young lad standing there in the shadows on those early mornings.

Should I report him, or should I...

I felt my heart skip a beat, a tingle of excitement inside as I pondered the alternative. What if I gave him something to stare at, something to... admire? It was all a bit of innocent fun, wasn't it? It's not like I was having an affair with the lad. All I was doing was giving him his morning kicks, staring an attractive older woman—yes, I don't mind blowing my own trumpet as, despite my years, I still thought of myself as being attractive—and at the same time I got what was missing. He got his morning excitement and I, well I got the attention I so craved, and with it my own thrills.

And so it continued. Most mornings he would be there, standing back in the shadows waiting for my appearance. I was becoming obsessed with the lad. It was no longer enough to be seen. I desired... needed... craved the feelings of being wanted.

I was becoming more and more adventurous. Instead of peering around the curtains, I would make sure they were tucked neatly behind me, leaving nothing to obscure his view. I'd even taken to turning on a bedside lamp, the dim light inside helping to illuminate the view I gave to my young voyeur.

Each day I took my chance, excitement now ruling my mind. From that sensible gown of the first morning, I had worked my way through my collection of nightwear. Long, strappy yet sleeveless came first, giving the lad a glimpse of bare shoulders and just a hint of deep cleavage. I made sure to lean forward a little, exaggerating my full bust as my heart pounded inside.

Yes, I knew the risk. Was it just a private audience down below? I would be as careful as I could, glancing up and down the street to make sure there was nobody else, but I was becoming infatuated with the idea of giving him a show. The more risqué the show, the more I wanted to do it.

Oh yes, over the mornings, I had worked my way from long, full opaqueness to short revealing sexiness, but always with a modicum of decency. I hadn't shown him anything more than a sexy clothes show. My latest was a lace trimmed negligee, the hem sitting just on my knees as I leant back in my window space. For sure that got his attention, the lad seeming to ogle my sexy frame.

It was so exciting, the feeling inside that another was getting his excitement just by watching me. It was so thrilling to feel this way. Without thinking, I took it to another level, sliding the hem slowly upwards. Inch by inch, I revealed my long legs to the young lad, not stopping until he had a full view of my black panties. It wasn't my intention but, in my mind, I couldn't help imagining the young lad easing them down and burying his head between my legs. Oh, yes, I could feel the tingle inside as his imaginary tongue worked my aching sex. That morning, it was my desire to satisfy that ache inside, which finally dragged me away from my window seat.