Truman Revisited

This is my entry for the Winter Holidays contest.

For those who are bothered by such, it contains a high element of voyeurism and some mild BDSM. If that's a problem for you, please go to one of the many other excellent stories here.

Enjoy!

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Truman sat glumly in front of his apartment window. There was, he thought, something he was meaning to do. It was mildly annoying that he couldn't remember.

He closed his eyes briefly, reopened them, shrugged. No matter. It would come to him. The ol' subconscious mind would work on it in the meantime.

It was clear outside. It was always clear outside, he thought. Such fine weather these days - warm and perfectly clear, with perfect visibility.

And there was no annoying noise to bother him through the open windows, no horns or screeching cars, no intrusive music, no sirens. All the children must've gone to bed, for the apartment complex playground 12 stories below was empty and silent.

Truman had left his watch somewhere, but it felt like it was 11 PM or so.

He took a pull at his long-necked Sam Adams, felt the cool liquid run down his throat. It was at times like this that he really wanted a cigarette, but it had been almost three weeks since he had resolved to quit.

19 days since the last one,

he thought.

Not too shabby.

He put the bottle down on the floor, caught it as it began to wobble.

Truman's eyes jumped as the lights came on in an apartment in the building opposite his, a floor down and just off to the right.

A slender figure within approached the sliding door to the balcony. The girl -- and girl it was, Truman could see now -- shrugged out of her long coat, tossed it dejectedly onto a nearby chair.

The light in the apartment left her face in shadow, but he could clearly see that she was dressed up, as if for a party or a date. Yet, as she turned away from the window, the expression on her face was anything but happy. Indeed, Truman now saw that she had been crying; her makeup running in tracks down her cheeks from her eyes.

The boy Truman vaguely remembered belonging with her in the apartment was conspicuous by his absence. A framed photograph of him stood on a side table by the bed, a broad smile on his face.

The girl turned, picked up the coat and hung it in a closet before going into her bathroom. She emerged a moment later, tissue in her hand as she blew her nose. Here head swept around the room, settled on the photograph. She picked it up, made as if to throw it across the room. Truman could clearly see the tears on her face. Instead of throwing it however, the girl dropped the photo, frame and all, into a garbage pail.

Ah!

he thought to himself.

A break-up. That's too bad.

Truman watched as she made her way to the kitchen, took out a cooler from the refrigerator. She looked at for a moment before apparently changing her mind and putting it back. Instead, she poured a small amount of red wine into a large wine glass, hesitated a moment, examined the glass and continued pouring until it was half-full.

She returned to the bedroom, glass in hand, sagged into an armchair. A small sip of wine turned into a large gulp, then several gulps before the girl stood up and went over to a second chair in which was resting a very large teddy bear. Even sitting on the chair, the stuffed toy was almost as tall as the girl. The brown-furred bear was wearing a red Santa hat and had a large, giftwrapped present in its stubby arms.

From where he sat, Truman could see the broad, stylized smile stitched onto the bear's face.

As she picked the bear up, the package slipped, fell to the floor. She looked at it for a moment before kicking it savagely. The present skidded across the floor, coming to rest near the door. Ignoring it, the young woman dragged the bear onto her bed, turned its head towards her shoulder and pulled it in for a strong hug.

Truman took another pull on his lager, watched the girl's figure shake as she began sobbing in earnest.

Oh, girl,

he thought to himself.

I wish I could give you a hug, tell you that it will get better.

The girl's sobs slowly died down. Suddenly she sat upright on the bed, arranged the bear so that it was sitting up, its head turned towards her as if watching. She moved around the room, lighting an array of candles already resting on every horizontal surface in the room.

The woman left the flickering bedroom, killing the overhead light as she stepped through the door. Once in her living room, Truman could see her squat down and turn on her stereo. Flipping her black hair off her face, she fiddled with it a bit, stood up and started dancing, slowly.

Truman watched as, maintaining a slow beat, she drifted back into the bedroom, turning and swirling gracefully, pausing briefly in front of the bear.

The girl danced, her arms sliding over her body, swirling in the air. Her hand slid to her blouse, undid a button, then another. Her blouse slid off her body as she turned and spun, drifting to the floor by her feet. Kicking it aside, the girl continued to dance.

Her hand came to her waist, searched for just a second before finding the zipper tab, then slowly slid it down over her swaying hip. Her skirt fell in fits and starts with her movements before collapsing completely around her ankles. It too was kicked to one side as the girl continued her dance, now clad only in a matched set of bra, G-string and a garter belt holding up thigh-high stockings.

A classy outfit,

Truman thought.

A classy girl, too.

Truman leaned forward, fascinated. No more than 50 yards away from the other building, his view was almost perfect. The woman was slender, lacking large hips or breasts, yet Truman saw her as totally feminine, very pretty. Her body moved sinuously, seemingly without the hindrance of bones or joints. Her legs were long, her buttocks firm and flawless in the candlelight. Graceful, lithe, her movements seemed effortless.

As the girl continued to dance for the motionless bear, her hands began to stretch out, caress the animal as it sat in front of her.

Suddenly, she paused, moved to the garbage pail. Retrieving the photograph, she stood the frame by the bed, as if daring her lover -- her ex-lover -- to witness as she begifted the bear with her love and erotic presence.

Truman wished he could hear the music the figure before him was dancing to.

The girl returned to her dance, stroking and caressing the stolid stuffed bear with what, Truman was realizing, would have been a pretty good lap-dance if she'd had a human partner.

Pity the bear couldn't support her weight,

he thought.

A hand slid behind her back as she spun and her bra fell to one hand, exposing small but very shapely breasts with what, to Truman's way of thinking, were absolutely

perfect

soft-brown nipples and aureolae.

Her steps led the topless dancer over to the framed photo. Without pausing, she draped her brassiere over it as if to emphasize what the boy had lost.

Her hands alternated between stroking her own body and that of the bear.

I wish it was me,

Truman thought to himself.

Me instead of the bear. I'd show her how lovely she is, how much she could be loved.

The girl's body was starting to show a sheen of perspiration as she moved for her ursine paramour, turning, swaying, swirling in a seductive ballet.

Truman found his erection growing uncomfortably under his clothing. Without taking his eyes off the spectacle in front of him, his hand rearranged his length under his sweatpants, slowly began to stroke it through the cloth with one fingertip.

Somehow, the dancing figure had shed her G-string without Truman noticing. It too was looped over the boy's photograph, leaving but one of his eyes still able to watch what he was now missing in his life.

Truman could see a carefully-trimmed patch of darkness at her groin as she pirouetted in front of the bear, her fingertips languidly stroking its cheek as she passed by.

Truman, his mouth suddenly very dry, took another long pull at his Sam Adams, emptying it.

The girl, now clad only in pale hose and garter belt, suddenly stopped dancing, bent the bear's legs out straight and pushed it into the middle of the bed. Lying down beside it, she put her lips to the sewn smile and ran her hands up and down its furry form.

Truman stared, amazed at the eroticism wasted on a toy, longing to be the one she was with, knowing it would not happen. Not tonight.

As he watched, she pulled the bear up into a sitting position, straddling its legs. The bear's muzzle came up to just about even with her breasts; the girl began to gently rub her nipples against the animal's soft fur.

In a moment, her other hand slid between her legs.

Truman watched transfixed as the woman rocked back and forth on the animal. Her eyes were closed, her head back.

He pulled down his sweatpants, releasing his rigid manhood and began to stroke it in time with the girl's movements.

Slowly, slowly,

he thought to himself.

We've got all night.

As he watched, the young woman pushed the bear down flat on the bed and shifted her stance so as to straddle one of its tubby legs. Truman watched as she began to rub her sex up and down the stuffed animal's leg while at the same time rubbing her swollen nipples through the soft fur on its chest.

Faster now, Truman stroked his cock to the spectacle. He was tempted -- very tempted -- to cum with the girl, something he could see from her expression and evermore-frantic motions was imminent. Something made him slow down, wait.

The evening was young.

The girl rubbed her sex harder and harder, faster and faster. Suddenly, she sat up and pinched both nipples in her fingers. Her head was thrown back, her eyes screwed shut, her hair dangling behind her back.

Even with windows closed and being that far away, Truman thought he could hear her cry of joy.

He started to speed up his own strokes when his eyes were caught by a light coming on in another apartment.

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"That went well, I think."

"Indeed. Full points."

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Truman scarcely noticed as the slender woman lay down beside the bear on her bed and appeared to go to sleep. His full attention was now on two other women entering an apartment off to his left. Deliberately, he released his cock, let it wave in the air above his lap.

For some reason, he thought knew these two. He couldn't remember ever having seen them before but they were, in an odd sense, old friends.

They would, he was sure, put on a good show.

The two were of about the same height. The older woman was just slightly stocky, with short auburn hair. Her somewhat younger companion was more dark -- dark skin, dark-eyes and dark hair in a page-boy cut.

Both, Truman reflected, were hot. Super hot. Both had superlative figures.

Truman raised his eyebrows as the blonde woman stopped submissively just inside the door while the redhead closed the door, carefully locking it with an inside key. She removed the key, holding it up before the blonde girl's eyes before pocketing it.

Looks like you're locked in, Blondie.

She said something and the young woman instantly began to shed her clothes, obviously moving as quickly as possible. There weren't all that many of them to start with and Truman hoped for a moment that she hadn't been outside in the cold air for too long. A long, patterned skirt and a simple peasant blouse were removed in seconds, leaving the girl totally bare, for Truman could see no sign of underwear. Stooping, the girl picked up the garments, folded them and placed them on a chair by the door.

The young woman was totally shaved. Her bosom was well out of proportion to her slender frame. Normally Truman wasn't turned on by huge boobs, but this girl was an exception, one he was more than happy to make.

That ass is just gorgeous, too!

he thought, smiling to himself.

Just freakin' awesome!

Truman noticed she was wearing a thin, dark collar.

The older woman spoke and the bare girl began to undress her. This time, she moved quickly but carefully and without haste. Each garment was carefully folded and placed on the chair. The auburn-haired woman turned out to be wearing undergarments, but these the blonde left on.

Leather, of course, does not fold well.

Moreover, the black leather underbust corset forming the woman's remaining clothing matched her tall boots.

Finished, the young woman stood back in a submissive posture, eyes down, hands at her sides.

Her mistress - for what else could she be? - had prominent nipples and larger-than-normal areolae; she had left her bush untrimmed.

The older woman began to run her hands over the girl's body. She lingered over her sex and breasts and Truman could see the blonde girl shiver just slightly.

He reached down beside his chair, his fingers seeking his big 7x50 binoculars. Pulling the heavy glasses to his eyes, it was if he were standing on the girls' balcony, just feet away.

I should get a camera someday. Yeah, that would be ace! One with a good telephoto lens on it.

The older woman spoke and the younger one returned from the kitchen in a few moments holding a large silver wine glass. She knelt with her head bowed as she presented it to the other. The redhead accepted it, took several large gulps before passing it to the kneeling girl in front of her. The young woman took a sip, then another.

The older woman looked down at her for a moment, ran her hands through fine blonde hair.

A smile formed on her face. Casually, she took the goblet from the kneeling girl and tilted it inwards towards her body just below the corset. As she raised its base, Truman could see a red stream flow down over her lower abdomen. The older woman said something and her younger partner instantly bent forward, her lips diving into the wine-soaked bush. Truman's cock twitched as he watched the blonde head bob up and down, licking and sucking the liquid from her mistress's snatch.

Truman smiled to himself. The bear-girl had been fun, but he'd made the right choice in waiting. He began to lightly stroke his stiffness in time with the movements of the girl's head.

Eventually, apparently satisfied, the older woman pushed her back, stalked imperiously into the bedroom, switching on the lights as she went. The blonde woman rose gracefully, followed.

Curious, Truman stopped stroking, merely squeezed his spongy head slowly, over and over, a long pause between squeezes.

The bedroom was dominated --

an appropriate word,

the young man thought to himself -- by its furniture. The four-poster bed, heavy as it was, might have passed without comment, but the presence of a St Andrew's bondage cross and a spanking bench beyond it instantly revealed the room's secrets.

The blonde paused at the door as if waiting permission. A word from her mistress had her enter, stand quietly by the foot of the bed. The redhead producing red leather cuffs, it took but a moment for her to fasten them on the smaller girl's ankles and wrists. A minute later and the girl's wrists were fastened high above her head to one of the bedposts, her feet spread wide apart with a spreader bar.

Truman was hard as a rock by now. His stroking became faster, but still light as he tried to delay his pleasure.

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"I told you, I think, of his likely reaction."

"Yes. Quite remarkable, even if equally predictable. Poor creature."

"Which one?"

"A joke in poor taste, I fear."

"Is it?"

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The woman's practised fingers took no time at all to fit the girl with a ball-gag.

She paused, admiring and caressing the bound form in front of her. Turning to the bureau, she took out a red leather flogger, dragged its tails across the girl's belly and thighs. The girl's eyes followed it as it was tossed to the bed beside her.

The leather-clad woman traced her sub's jawline with a forefinger. Truman, still stroking, found it an incredibly tender gesture. She unbuckled the ball-gag. Holding it in one hand, she leaned in for a long, long, very hard kiss before refastening the device.

Picking up the flogger again, she examined the girl, her hands bound high, feet spread wide, back to the bedpost. She frowned a little and, without letting go of the flogger, grasped her captive by the waist, bodily turning her to face the bedpost. She ran her hand gently over the girl's buttocks.

Then, without further ado, she stepped back and began methodically to flog the girl, starting with her back and moving down to her bum. The slim girl lunged and jerked under the lashes, her skin turning red, yet Truman had the impression that this was not really all that painful for her. When her tormentor paused for a second, for instance, the girl's eyes opened, as if looking around, waiting for the next blow.

When the girl was evenly pink from neck to ankles, her mistress changed her efforts, spun the flogger in a vertical plane and landed several whirling strokes between the girl's cheeks.

That

had to hurt,

Truman thought to himself as the girl rose on tip-toes on either end of the spreader bar. At the brink of orgasm himself at the sight, he slowed down, tried to prolong his pleasure, keep from going over the edge.

Turned again so that her back was to the post, the blonde was now being flogged on her front. Her huge breasts wobbled and jerked under the lashes, her belly and thighs turned pink in their turn.

When the domme finished and tossed the flogger on the bed however, the blonde girl was still standing on her own feet, as opposed to hanging by her wrists.

The older woman stepped back and from a closet pulled out a three-legged stand holding a large wand vibrator. Plugging it in, she brought the stand forward to rest immediately in front of the bound girl, pressing its bulbous head into her sex. Truman could see the girl gasp at the sensation.

Next to appear was a pair of chromed nipple clamps, each with a golf-ball-size bell dangling from it. Truman began to stroke a little harder at the sight. The girl's eye's opened wide at the sight of them, opened wider as the jaws grasped her now-prominent nipples. The clips were obviously firm, for the young woman began to squirm slightly. Her mistress slapped gently her face, not hard, in reproof. Her finger came up, pointed at the girl's nose inches away as she spoke. Thereafter, the girl held herself still.

The last things to be produced were a blindfold and a pair of earbuds.

White noise?

Truman wondered to himself. In any case, the blonde girl's eyes were almost immediately covered and an earbud placed in each ear.

The mistress stepped around the girl, watching as she tugged on her tethered wrists, tried to shift her feet, somehow move away from the tormenting wand. She might as well have been cast in concrete.

Smiling, the older woman stepped towards the door and into the other room, flipping out the light as she closed the door behind her, leaving the room lit only by a small nightlight near the floor in one corner. By its faint light, Truman could just make out the silhouette of the tethered girl, now contorting herself slowly against the bedpost.

Truman's eyes flicked back and forth between the darkened room and the auburn-haired woman, now sitting and watching television in the other room. He was tempted to finish himself, but decided to wait a little while. Red wasn't going to leave Blondie there all night.

Another light came on, in another apartment, one directly opposite him. Through the hallway door came a young couple.

Professionals,

he thought to himself.

Lawyers, maybe?

The pair was well-dressed, anyway - well-dressed, but not formal. Both appeared to be in their late 20s.