Peep Show

by Starling, Isabella

“Like what?” he wanted to know.

  He was making me blush, tears gathering in my eyes, even though I was too stubborn to let them fall. I hated it, and I didn’t want him to know.

  “The way I am,” I explained. “The way I look.”

  “Why wouldn’t I like it?” There was a hint of anger in his voice.

  “Because you like beautiful girls,” I whispered. “Beautiful, thin, sexy, flawless dolls.”

  He was quiet for a second too long, and it killed me inside. I was just about ready to end the call when he spoke, gentler this time.

  “Look over here,” he said, and I moved towards the window, my palms landing on the cool glass, my eyes finding him.

  There was a message scribbled on the window, the letters clumsy and fucked up from where he’d tried to make them face me. The words were written in thick slashes of pink lipstick, probably something the girl from a few days ago had left in his apartment.

  YOU’RE SO BEAUTIFUL IT HURTS

  My fingers slid down the glass and I looked at him, so fucking far away, feeling closer and yet farther away than ever.

  I was falling for him. Slowly slowly slowly falling, feeling my body getting pulled by the current, sinking, sinking deep.

  Miles was in my head.

  In my pussy.

  He was in the shivers down my spine.

  In the tremble of my fingers.

  Miles was in my body without ever being inside me.

  Thank you, I mouthed. His face contorted in a grin that looked almost painful, and I let myself fall because I knew it was inevitable.

  I already belonged to him.

  “Now, sugar,” he said gently through the speaker. “Back to your little task, don’t be a bad girl.”

  I took the camera and panned it over my face, my eyes downcast, my lashes resting against my cheeks.

  “Beautiful…” Miles’ voice was gentle yet firm on the speaker. “You’re so beautiful. Show me more. I fucking want more.”

  I held the camera in front of me, slowly opening my eyes, my lashes going up and up and up until he could see my eyes, still filled with a few tears and sparkling with emotion. I heard him take a sharp intake of breath when I looked at him through the lens, and I smiled shyly at the camera.

  I stared at the camera, feeling like I was looking straight into his eyes. Then, I slowly panned the camera down over my body. I arched my back and my tits jutted out for him, so desperate to have him take me, to feel something special other than meaningless cocks and the numb emptiness that had filled my days since we lost Posy.

  “Strip,” Miles ordered me, and it was my turn to gasp. “Come on, sugar, be a good girl for me and strip. I want to see you.”

  With shaky hands, I placed the camera down on the side table; it seemed to be around the right height to capture all of me. I stood back, smiled at the camera, and slowly peeled off my kimono.

  The silk felt cool and pleasant against my skin as I slid it off, the pretty fabric pooling around my feet. I loved having this power over him, hearing him gasp over the speaker on my phone, his voice a low rumble and his words demanding more as I teased him. I didn’t understand why he didn’t just come over. I had never met a guy who was as patient as Miles was.

  Because we both knew how this was going to end.

  With his cock all the way inside me and his hands around my throat.

  With my pussy spasming around him and Miles filling me up like I wanted him to.

  It would be the best sex I’d ever have, I was already certain of it.

  But what scared me was that I already wanted so much more.

  I blocked the dangerous thought as soon as it entered my mind, instead focusing on taunting him, making sure he saw every inch of me exposed for him.

  “Do you want more?” I asked, my body swaying to the rhythm of the music playing in my mind.

  “Fuck yes,” Miles growled. “Of course I want more, sugar. Get naked for me. Everything off. I want to see every gorgeous inch of you.”

  I felt my nipples tighten at his words; felt the rush of heat to my pussy as I slipped the straps of my nightie down my shoulders, revealing inch after inch of my tanned skin. He growled at the sight of it, but it only served to encourage me, and I slid the silk off, over my tits, exposing myself to the camera.

  “Do you like me?” I asked softly, my hands touching my pebbled nipples and tweaking them into hard buds desperate for Miles’ lips locking around them, biting down until I had tears in my eyes. “Do you like what you see? Doesn’t it make you want me, Miles? Doesn’t it make you want to come over here… and just… fucking… take me?”

  I mewled when I pinched my own nipples, and the low growl that came over the speaker made my legs go weak. I backed up against the window without looking over my shoulder, my back leaning against the cool glass, my ass pushed against it so he could see me from all sides—my front with the camera, my ass with a look through the window.

  “Don’t fucking tempt me,” he said as I took hold of the hem of my nightie, lifting it slowly, revealing my tanned thighs.

  “Or what?” I asked, and peeled it all the way off.

  I stood in front of him in nothing but a lacy black thong, and I could feel the tension coming off him from all the way over the street. He wanted me just as much as I wanted him, but for some reason, he was staying the fuck away. And an evil little part of me wanted him to break, wanted him to say fuck it and just come over and feed me his cock until I choked on his hot cum.

  But he wouldn’t. He groaned and growled and cursed but he didn’t break, and it made me feel so fucking useless I had to blink the tears away.

  “Please,” I said in my softest voice.

  He didn’t hear it. He couldn’t, I was too far away from my phone. But then he spoke again, and hearing his voice again made it all okay.

  “Bebe… sugar,” he said, his voice torn. “I want you. I want you too much.”

  “I know,” I whispered, my thumbs hooking under my thong, toying with it. “I know you do, Miles, I want you too…”

  “You don’t get it,” he said, his voice strained. “I fucking want you.”

  I slid the thong off, over my hips, onto the floor. I’d had a fresh wax only a day ago and he groaned at the sight of my bare pussy as my fingers slid over the lips, opening them up for him, offering him a look inside me.

  “Tell me what to do,” I rasped. “Tell me what you want me to do to your pussy, Miles.”

  “Move the camera closer,” he said. “I want to see close up.”

  I did as I was told, moved the camera to the low coffee table and then I sat on the sofa in front of it, opening my legs for him.

  “Like this?” I asked him.

  “Perfect,” he said, “Now, open for me,” he growled. “Open your pretty slit for me, sugar, I want to see you fucking exposed.”

  My fingers trembled as I pulled the lips of my pussy back, showing him my clit, shivering from the cool air of the room hitting it in a way that almost felt like a tickle.

  “Do you like me like this?” I asked gently. “Do you like that I’d let you do anything to me, Miles?”

  “Yes,” he said. “I love it. I fucking love it. The way you are. What you want. This fucking… need to…”

  “To what?” I whispered, my finger dipping inside me for just a second.

  Miles cursed as I brought it out and licked at the juice on the tip of it.

  “The need to fuck you,” he went on. “I’m not like this. I’m not some fucking animal. It’s you, you make me this way. I fucking need it. Need to take you. Need to hold you down. Need to take it all away from you.”

  “Let me fuck your pussy for you,” I said, my mind spinning from his words. “Let me do it, please.”

  “Fuck it,” he ordered. “But don’t you dare fucking come. Remember, you always need permission for that.”

  “Y-yes,” I whispered.

  “Yes what?” he demanded.

  “Yes… Thank you
, Miles.”

  A silence followed, and I wondered whether he thought I’d call him a name that suited his dominant nature. But I couldn’t—didn’t want to. Miles felt too perfect on my lips, so fucking intimate and special.

  “Fuck it,” he growled. “Fuck. It. Now.”

  I did. Hitched my ass forward and sunk two fingers deep.

  I heard him breathing, shallow and desperate, and I could tell he was palming his dick. I fingered my needy cunt and brought myself so close I thought I was going to pass out from the sensation of having only my fingers inside me, and then I dropped to my knees and looked into the camera on the coffee table.

  “Want to see something?” I asked him shakily, and his answer came back right away.

  “Show me.”

  “Let me come,” I begged, placing the camera between my legs so he had a perfect view of my cunt. “Let it come for you, Miles. See how desperate I am? See how fucking wet I am?”

  I pulled my pussy open, making it leak all over the hardwood floor beneath my ass.

  “Jesus fuck,” he said. “Fucking come, Bebe. Count to five and come with me.”

  “One,” I whispered, slipping three fingers inside myself. “Two…”

  “Faster,” he said, his voice needier than I’d ever heard it. “Fucking faster, Bebe!”

  “Three.”

  I fucked myself so hard my legs kept spasming and my pussy made wet squelchy sounds.

  “Four, please, Miles, fuck, please…”

  “Five,” he grunted, and I came for him, spraying the camera when my pussy squirted and my fingers came out.

  I fucking howled and he laughed at me, laughed with a desperate edge.

  “You fucking dirty little slut,” he said, and I fell back on the floor, raising the camera over me and licking the lens. “Jesus, Bebe, you’re something fucking else.”

  I stared at him, my breaths slowing and my pussy starting to ache.

  “Thank you, Miles,” I whispered. “Did I make you come?”

  “Yeah,” he grunted. “All over my fucking fist.”

  “Let me lick it off,” I said softly.

  He went silent.

  And it took me a minute to realize he’d ended the call.

  Sillage, noun

  The scent that lingers in the air, the trace of someone’s perfume.

  I was addicted to her, and there was no point in denying it anymore.

  That morning, I called a man who I worked with on occasion. Flint Meyers used to be a journalist, but now he spent his days finding out shit for rich people. Mostly women trying to find out whether their husband was having an affair. But I used him for background checks on the girls I fucked, and now, I had a new task for him.

  “Good morning, Miles,” he answered his phone cheerily. “Another background check?”

  “Not this time,” I replied, running a hand through my hair.

  I risked a look through the window towards Bebe’s apartment, but she was nowhere in sight. Probably still asleep from the late night she’d had.

  “I want you to follow someone around,” I said, letting the words hang out there in the open. “It’s a woman. She lives across the street from me. Her name is Bebe Hall…”

  “Got it,” Meyers said simply. “What should I watch out for? Anything specific you need info on?”

  “No,” I said curtly. “I just want to know what she does. Everything. And bring me some shit to look at. Photos—plenty of photos, and anything discarded, like receipts she left behind, that kind of thing.”

  “You’ve got a deal.” I could see Meyers smiling in my head.

  All he saw was the hefty sum of money I’d let him have for helping me, but all I saw was the opportunity to get more of her. More of Bebe. I needed so much more.

  “I’ll see you tonight,” I said, ending the call.

  I got off the sofa I was sitting on, pacing the room. The way Flint worked, he usually came to meet me in the evening to give me a roundup of everything he’d found. But he also sent me updates throughout the day, so I decided to keep my phone close, so I could see exactly what my Sleeping Beauty was up to.

  But now, the day stretched out in front of me with nothing to do. I felt jittery and nervous in a way I wasn’t used to, and it worried me.

  Usually, a bleach bath would help, but weirdly, I had no desire to damage my skin that day. I just wanted information, I wanted to know what she was doing, what filled her days. I needed it like a fucking addict needed their drug, and I resented myself for not being able to track her myself. But there was no way I’d be able to go outside, no way I could follow her around with every thought focused on germs, on the fucking disgusting people around her, when all I wanted to focus on was Bebe.

  What she ate for breakfast.

  What kind of outfit she wore when she left her house.

  Whether her hair was up, exposing that slender neck I wanted to bite into, or down, falling down her back.

  How she held herself when she walked; how her tits bounced.

  How she smiled at others.

  What she ate for lunch. How often she pissed.

  I wanted to know every fucking thing about her.

  I paced the room restlessly, finally deciding I might as well do some work while I waited for Meyers’ first find of the day.

  Leaving the living room, I walked into the all-white room I used as a studio. There was a hidden door in the wall behind the bed, and it led into the room no one knew about. The room of shame. The one space in the whole apartment I couldn’t let anyone see because they would finally know just how badly fucked up I really was.

  I opened the hidden door, stared into the fucking mess, and retched at the awful stink.

  It was a tiny room, used for storage by the previous owners. There was only one small window to the outside, but that was grubby with grime, and the ceiling was so low I had to crouch to get in there.

  And it was a fucking mess.

  A terrible mess.

  Trash everywhere. Not things I’d used, actual trash I’d collected on rare trips outside. Trash from a garbage can, ranging from soiled newspaper clippings to tissues, some food well past its prime, just anything I could get my hands on. The tiny room stank so badly. It was disgusting. Fucking gross, fucking unbelievable for a man of my stature.

  I walked inside calmly, to the small wooden desk that stood against the wall. I sat on the stool in front of it and leaned against the wall because the room was so small I could do that. And then I started thinking, with the trash surrounding me, the oppressive stink of the room making me want to gag.

  It was the only way I could work. The only way I could clear out the constant buzz inside my head. And I was fucking ashamed of it. I’d never let anyone see this part of me. My parents made me ashamed of what I did in there, and they made sure I kept it my dirty little secret.

  I heard flies buzzing in the pile of trash on the floor. The stench was overwhelming, but I made myself take it because it was the only way I knew how to function.

  My phone vibrated, and I grabbed it from my pocket, desperately checking for a message.

  It was from Bebe, and the moment I saw her name on my screen, my heart thumped a little louder in my chest.

  I wish you’d talk to me when you weren’t just trying to make me come.

  My fingers ached from wanting to reply so badly, but I made myself wait. Couldn’t look too eager, could I? Couldn’t let her know how badly I wanted her, how much I craved her.

  The phone buzzed with another message, this one from Meyers.

  She’s been out for brunch. Three mimosas with it. She had Eggs Benedict.

  It fucking hurt to read it, because it was the most normal thing in the world, and I knew I’d never be able to do it with her. Simple things like grabbing food at her favorite place or going out shopping seemed insurmountable to me. They were like a mountain I had to climb without the proper gear and equipment, and the mere thought of it sent me into a panic. I needed t
o breathe.

  I broke out of the room, cold sweat running down my back, and only just made it to the bathroom before I finally gagged and retched up a whole load of puke into the sink. I felt disgusted. Mostly with myself. With what I’d let myself become.

  Thoughts filled my head, dirty, horrible thoughts that reminded me of my childhood, of what I’d ran away from, of what I’d left behind.

  My parents. Rough, hardened faces, staring down at me, always with that faraway look in their eyes. They rarely spoke to me. The only person who bothered to do that was my grandmother.

  Nana. Where are you, Nana? Are you still out there? Are you wondering where I went? Did I take a piece of your heart with me? Do you wonder if I’ve fallen down the same hole as your son and his wife? Do you wonder if I’m okay? Or have you turned into a rotting pile of flesh just like them? Is there nothing left of you but decaying meat and fucking bones? Are you cremated? Are you a pile of ash and regret, Nana? Where are you? WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOU? WHY WON’T YOU HELP ME?

  I collapsed on the floor. Shaky limbs, beating heart, a pile of shit, a diamond in the rough. Fuck, fuck, fuck, not this, not again, not now, not right now. Please make it stop. Make it go away.

  I slammed my fists on the floor, trying to break out of the vicious cycle. But it held its grip on me, its talons harsh against my skin, digging, fucking digging into my flesh, making me submit, making me fall down down down. I couldn’t fight it. Couldn’t break away from the madness. It was fucking clawing at me. Tearing me apart.

  I could handle pain.

  Emotional, physical, what the fuck ever.

  But I couldn’t handle this.

  This fucking numbness, the panic, the crazy, the fucking insanity of my life; what I’d gotten myself into.

  Fear and adrenaline pumped through my veins, and I managed to pick myself up on shaky feet. I wanted to call Bebe, ask for help. Something I hadn’t done in fucking years… But I couldn’t reach for my phone. Couldn’t muster up enough strength to take my damn phone and call her number and beg her to come and help me. I couldn’t do a thing. Just stand there, shaking and utterly broken.

  I didn’t know how long it lasted, I never did. The helplessness started to go away, slowly leaking out of my body, along with the sweat that seeped from my pores.