Comments and feedback welcome on this piece, hopefully the first of a three-part series if the first is well received. Special thanks to Literotica User 'SpreadLegsWetLips' for her help in the Volunteer Editor Programme. Enjoy!
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Lots of jobs have perks, little things that can make an otherwise intolerable employment bearable, enjoyable even. Maybe you get the occasional freebie. Maybe the people you work with are just really great.
Well, I had neither of those perks. In fact, it occurred to me as I ambled into the alleyway behind Bartlett's Sandwich Emporium, that someone who observed me there and then might have a hard time discerning what possible perks I might enjoy. I was spending my lunch hour loitering outside a rundown fast-food style sandwich place, in the blistering July heat, a full four miles from the second-hand computer repair shop that employed me.
Well they'd be wrong. Admittedly, I would have to admit that I led a fairly sorry existence. I'd worked at "Izzy's Computer Solutions" for three years now, ever since I had dropped out of college. There were five of us working there, dealing mainly with the, shall we say, older clientele who weren't exactly computer-literate, and so most of the stuff we were given to fix was fairly simple, repetitive and boring.
And, admittedly, it was true that even at 23, I was sort of the errand boy and nothing more. It wasn't that I was particularly unskilled or anything - I was just as competent as the others (more or less). It was just that I didn't have the most outgoing of personalities, and I never really fit in with the other guys there. When it came time to dump an unwanted job on someone, "oh Peter can do it" was the go-to solution.
But recently, things had got a whole lot better.
I smirked to myself from the end of the alleyway, checking as usual that no one had seen me come down (always a challenge when you're next to a 'sandwich emporium' and it's lunchtime). I made my way around to the back of the building, where the fans blasted out the smell of fresh bread with a steady drone. Almost there.
I had been doing this for about four weeks now, every lunch hour I would rush down here, running if need be to make sure I was here by 1220 at the latest. This was my 'perk.'
Let me explain.
About a month ago, John, the manager at Izzy's (I never have discovered who 'Izzy' is) decided in his great wisdom that we would start offering a pickup service -- we would collect people's virus-infested laptops, bring them in, and take them back out when done. This wasn't exactly a popular move among the rest of us, but the others soon discovered a neat little solution.
"Oh Peter can do it."
So, four weeks ago, I found myself trying to find Bartlett's Sandwich Emporium, which I had never heard of before, and the owner of which had an old Mac he wanted us to look at. Since I inevitably got lost, I was feeling pretty miserable by the time I eventually got there. I was running into my lunch break, and was a little annoyed when the owner just gave me a key to the storage room on the second floor and left me to get it.
It was clear the room was never used - cobwebs everywhere, and junk lined the floor. I found the Mac, and sat down. I figured I might as well spend my break there since it was nearly over...
And so it was, that I first saw her.
You see, the sandwich place was on the same road that ran behind the Playfair Hotel, one of the classier and more upmarket hotels in town. From the front it was pretty imposing, but from the back - the view that I had from the window on the second floor of this rundown sandwich building -- all you could see was the windows of hotel rooms. And just as it was that I was beginning to get bored of sitting in this graveyard of an attic, I glanced up into one of the rooms, and saw the face of an angel.
OK that sounds cheesy, so let me rephrase that. I looked up, and saw the
nipples
of an angel.
It was only for a second, but there she was. All I could make it out was a flash of blonde hair, and her very much naked chest, glide by the window.
I had shot up and pressed against the window, but I couldn't see anything anymore. Now maybe someone else, some one more sensible, would have left it there. But people like me, people who work all day in computer shops and go home to their single flat and watch TV all night alone, we don't see much in the way of actual nudity.
So I figured, if I can almost see her from the second floor, maybe I just need to get higher? I rushed downstairs, ignored the obnoxious sandwich seller, raced around the building, hoping desperately there'd be an access to the roof, and there it was. The very same fire exit steps that I was now climbing up, four weeks later.
That first time, I had sprinted up without a second thought. I didn't even think to duck when I reached the roof, in case anyone saw me. I had scanned the hotel building frantically, trying to find my blonde angel again, and there she was. There's a good fifty feet between her window and the edge of this roof, but we were almost exactly level, and I could see her room quite well. It had seemed fairly spacious and luxurious from what I could make out, but that was hardly the focus of my attention. I was transfixed by this vision. My new blonde friend, whom I could now see was completely naked, examining her wardrobe. The pale flesh of her gorgeous buttocks displayed for my eager gaze.
And so it had begun. The next day I had come back at the same time, not optimistic about a repeat showing, but there she was again.
The day after that I brought binoculars.
Maybe there was something reprehensible about all this, maybe I was crossing some fundamental moral line. But I didn't care. For the last four weeks, this had been the highlight of every day, my visits with "Ms. Tits" as I thought of her (yeah so I didn't exactly have a great imagination when it came to names, who cares?).
I felt like I was getting to know her pretty well. Her blonde hair, natural from what I could make out, was straight, and shoulder-length. She looked like she was in her mid-thirties, but her body was kept well-toned and fit. And her body! I'd seen every inch of it over the last month -- usually I caught her getting dressed or undressed for a shower or something. She was quite pale, and it was a good look. Her breasts were perkier than most twenty-year-olds', with the cutest little puffy, pink nipples. On those rare, perfect days when I could see below the waist, her ass was almost enough to make my hands holding the binoculars shake -- round, yet oh-so firm.
And today, here I was again, for my date with Ms. T. The sun was bright, brighter than it had been on that first day. I settled in with my binoculars, lying on my stomach, wondering what would be on offer today.
I didn't have long to wait. The door to what I had decided must be a bathroom (her hair was always wet when she emerged) opened, and she stepped out. I grinned to myself. She was entirely nude.
She was casually brushing her hair while she strolled around the room. Her skin was glistening still from her shower, her milky white ass cheeks on display just for me. The usual fantasies poured through my head. I thought of walking right into that room, imagined seeing that up close, tortured myself imagining what it would be like to actually screw her, there in that room. In my head she grinned as I strode confidently into her room, spread those gorgeous legs to show me up close what I had glimpsed from afar, and groaned and moaned as we fucked on that bed.
She was fumbling with something in her drawer. I pushed the binoculars to my face. Anything that wasn't 'getting dressed' was surely a good thing. When her hand emerged from the drawer, it took a few seconds before I realised what she was holding. It was plastic, purple, and phallic.
It was a dildo.
Ms. Tits -- my perfect, blonde, naked angel -- had a
dildo
. This was insane, it was like I was living in a porn film. From what I had discerned about the woman, she seemed pretty classy. She obviously rented this expensive suite on a permanent basis, on the brief occasions I had seen her with clothes on, it was always an expensive-looking suit of some kind. Not the sort of woman you thought of as going to her hotel room every lunchtime to get herself off.
She seemed to pause for a moment, giving me a few seconds to feast on the sight of her seemingly perpetually-tensed butt for a few seconds more, before walking into an adjacent room and out of sight.
No --
no
! This was torture. I had been tantalised with something beyond anything I had ever seen before -- Ms. Tits furiously masturbating for me -- and now she was out of sight.
I craned forward, as though this would allow me to see through walls. Minutes passed.
I could have left. I really could have. I could have just given up, gone back to work, or something,
anything
.
But no. Ten minutes I lay there, binoculars pressed to my face, eager for a last glimpse before I left, and oblivious to the world around me...
"Hello."
I'd never really known panic like I felt in that first couple of seconds after hearing that sound.
There was someone behind me
! I span around, onto my back, and backed up against the railing.
A woman was stood there -- she was well dressed, and she'd been right behind me. Did she know what I'd been doing? She certainly looked angry. She had this really familiar-looking blonde hair...
Oh shit
.
I hadn't recognised her immediately, maybe because I wasn't used to seeing her up close and, you know, with her clothes on. But there was no mistaking it now. Same hair, same perfect, pale skin, same slender yet suddenly very imposing body, which her expensive light-black suit seemed to both hide and show off.
"Hi," I answered weakly. She said nothing. She wore an expression of what I can only describe as calm fury -- she only had a slight frown, but her eyes seemed to positively radiate hatred. She knew exactly what had been going on.
I started to get to my feet, but at that moment she struck her foot out and placed it on my chest. There's something about having an angry woman's stiletto heel pressing against your chest that makes you kind of lose it.
"Look! I- I- I was just... I'm sorry!" I blurted out. At this point I was too terrified to think of anything much really. She still didn't say anything. She leant over me slightly, looked me directly in the eyes, and shoved a slip of paper in my top pocket.
I could only meet her gaze for a few seconds, but she continued to stare at me wordlessly after I'd looked down. Just as I was feeling the urge to blurt out something else, she took a step back, turned around, and walked casually back to the fire escape, leaving me to my dazed and confused thoughts.
"Christ Peter, you're an hour late!"
It was true. I had walked back, barely registering where I was going most of the time. I had more pressing things to worry about.
"Sorry John," I mumbled. Without so much at looking at anyone, I strode over to my corner of the room and sank behind my computer.
Fear and confusion were battling it out for prominence in my head. What was she going to do? Successful entrepreneurial businesswomen did not just let you get away with spying on them naked. Surely she would call the police, or had done so already. Would they be able to find me?
The whole situation was so
bizarre
. Why had she just left without saying a word? How had she known I was there? What,
