I cry out for him as firm pressure from wet fingers gives me the friction I need, and the hot flush preceding orgasm creeps over me. I hover on the brink, desperate to slip over it into ecstasy, and the sudden thought of him climbing onto the bed, pushing my legs wide and thrusting his hard, hot penis into me sends me spinning over the edge. Moans and cries come flooding from me as my body jerks and I writhe with my climax, coaxing every sensation from myself, riding it for as long as I can stay astride it. Beautiful, absolutely beautiful!
I stroke myself gently as my entire body continues to tingle, and I slowly sink back to reality. I smile to myself and a long, contented sigh leaves me.
Lying spread-eagled on the bed, absent-mindedly stroking my tingling crotch with one hand and tickling my breast with the other, I turn my head towards the window and open my eyes. It takes me a moment to focus and realise what I see.
The voile curtain has flicked up in the breeze and snagged on the window catch. Half of the window is exposed and through the gap, I can see a tall, slim, dark builder on a newly erected level of scaffolding watching me. I freeze in horror and expect him to look away but he doesn’t, and I’m sure a smile plays around one corner of his mouth as he raises an eyebrow. In a very undignified way, I scramble off the bed, snatch the curtain down and stand with my back pressed against the wall beside the window, hot this time with embarrassment, my heart thumping, not daring to move, holding my breath. How long has he been there? How much has he seen? Enough. Will he tell the others? How am I ever going to walk out of the front entrance of my apartment block knowing he might recognise me?
I began to smile, then giggle. Oh well, it’s too late now, isn’t it? What a naughty girl I’ve been.
I sprint out of the bedroom and into the bathroom, my cheeks still burning.
All day, horny as hell, Adam had nursed a semi. He’d seen the pretty, chestnut-haired woman before, coming and going from the apartment block opposite the building site. Today, Lady Luck had been on his side as he’d caught sight of her on her bed, through a gap in the curtains. His mind lingered on images of her with her legs spread wide, one hand between them teasing herself, fingers dipping inside. The other hand was stroking her breast, tweaking the nipple as she arched her back. Her long, silky hair spread over the pillow and covered part of her face as she moved her head from side to side, chin tilted up, lips parted, and he could imagine the soft, animal moans that escaped her, the words she might utter as she touched herself in just the right way. He wished he knew how to touch her in just that way, wished it was him she was crying out for, that he was the one forcing those sexual sounds from her with his fingers and mouth.
His working day finished, alone on his bed at last, in the small, stuffy room of the bedsit he was renting while he worked in this city, he could do what he had so badly needed to do since the morning’s chance viewing.
He grasped his hard penis through the sheet, wrapping the fabric around it as he imagined it buried in her hair. He hadn’t had good sex for a long time and he desperately wanted to make love to this beautiful woman. “Mrs Palmer” had been his only sexual companion for some time. It would be awkward now if she recognised him, but he had to find a way to meet this sexy lady.
It felt so good now to encourage his cock to its full potential after keeping it cruelly in check all day. He unwrapped it from the sheet and toyed with it, slowly squeezing and pulling. Oh yeah, it felt good to have a throbbing hard-on. His balls tightened and tingled. However slow and gentle he intended to be if he ever got this lovely woman to bed, in his fantasy now she was his for the taking.
Again, he pictured her on the bed naked, soaking wet from her own caresses and waiting for him. He’d stand at the end of the bed and watch her, hips tilted forward, feet apart and his huge, hard cock in his hand, pushing his foreskin up and back, the smooth head emerging and swelling in his firm grip. He imagined her pleading brown eyes veiled with lust and the way her firm breasts rose and fell with her quickened breathing – a female in full heat waiting for the hottest male to claim her.
He knelt up on the bed with a need to act out his penetration of her, and slowed his strokes. In his mind, he was kneeling between her taut, satiny thighs and she pushed her pelvis up urgently to meet him. He reached underneath her to grasp her buttocks and lift her higher, slipping a couple of pillows beneath them to keep them raised. As she lay in this ready position, he could feel himself rubbing the wet tip of his cock over the slick, perfect pink lips of her pussy, enjoying the scene before him while teasing her.
He groaned as he skimmed a finger over his bulging cockhead, the skin stretched to the limit, his own juice oozing from the end, and imagined blending it with hers.
Propped in that position she wouldn’t be able to reach him so all the play would be in his hands. He would press a thumb into the puffy flesh on each side of her succulent labia, the whole area swollen with arousal, and watch her deep pink petals open like a flower to reveal the silken flesh inside, inviting him to come in. And in his mind, he did. Still holding her open with his thumbs, his palms and fingers splaying her legs wide, he pushed in hard.
He could imagine how her tight tunnel walls would engulf him, how she’d squirm to accommodate him, unable to move away. He was big and he knew it. He gripped her hips now, to hold her still and thrust again. This time he imagined the feeling of his balls hitting her bum and the head of his cock butting up against the top of her vagina, no further to go, totally immersed inside her.
This was the superb feeling that always pushed Adam to the edge – indeed, in his early days of lovemaking it had, many times, to his embarrassment, sent him over it far too quickly. A wiser and more experienced lover now, he still craved this feeling but was able to control it, toy with it, push it to the limit and pull it back until he and she were ready. Some women couldn’t take it but he so hoped she would. Now when he wanked he liked to bump the head of his cock against the palm of his free hand.
He masturbated in his favourite way, with both hands, kneeling on the bed. In the hot, stuffy little room, sweat ran down his back and the centre of his chest, every muscle in his body tensing as he fought for release, wrestling the beast in his hands into submission. The heat and tension built until his orgasm hit him with its full, explosive force. He wanted to roar out loud but had to stifle it to a strangled moan for fear of being heard. Hot come hit the palm of his free hand and he pulled and pulled until the contractions subsided, coaxing out every drop of fluid.
He collapsed back onto the bed and the sheet felt cool against his damp skin. His breathing settled and a sense of peace spread over him. He didn’t knock one out very often but tonight he was rampant. Christ, he felt that after a rest, he could imagine her in another position and do it all over again. But it was late and the very physical job of erecting scaffolding meant tiredness was taking its toll, the calm after sex making him drift off…
Adam found himself looking forward to work tomorrow.
Deliberate Display
by Abigail Thornton
I noticed them immediately as they made such an odd couple – at six foot, Ruth towered over her husband and there was something thrillingly Amazonian about her wide shoulders and gym-toned muscles. I couldn’t help but imagine Ruth dominating the bedroom; holding her husband down while she …
Those unbidden thoughts proved to be close to the truth; there were numerous complaints and, as the holiday rep, it was my duty to deal with them. Most of the routine complaints I dealt with day to day in my work related to levels of noise but these were very specific: allegations of “improper business” being conducted in one of the rooms. I had been pleasantly surprised by the details of what had been observed, but not at all by the perpetrators – the newlyweds, Ruth and Callum.
They’d been painfully demanding since they’d arrived and I’d upgraded them to one of the posh suites at the top of the hotel, both to shut them up and keep them out of the way. But they were still overlooked by hundreds of
other rooms from the neighbouring hotels. And, this being Benidorm, most of those rooms were full as people grasped one last lingering taste of summer. The season was drawing to a close and I was feeling jaded; run down by the demands of the 18-30 crowd looking for a bit of sun, sea, sand and sex. As a way of getting away from it all, and my relationship break-up in particular, it had been a wonderful experience, but I was more than ready to get back to my friends and family. However, by giving in to Ruth’s initial demands, I’d set myself-up for a stream of calls, and, since I wanted an easy final week, I’d been inclined to say yes to her every request, rather than enforce company policy.
The complaints had gathered in the form of phone messages and bits of paper tacked to my desk. I don’t care, I thought to myself. Let them have their fun, they’re newlyweds – what do you expect? But then I’d been shown the photos, taken as “evidence” by the husband of a couple staying directly opposite the room in question. I dutifully copied them on to my laptop, then gasped at both the clarity and the content as I clicked on the thumbnails.
There were nearly 200 in total – enthusiastic “proof” of the whole sex session. Something struck me as odd about the lovemaking in the pictures: not only were the curtains open and the lights on, the couple were positioned awkwardly across the bed, facing the window. It seemed unnatural – not that I’m an expert. Were they doing it in purpose? Did they want to be seen, to be watched? Was Ruth’s final spunky smile directed at her own reflection in the window … or at the audience beyond? Had it been a deliberate display? Intrigued, that was what I set out to investigate as I caught the lift.
‘There have been, er, complaints …’ It was difficult to have a polite conversation with a man who had an erection moving under his towel. It was bobbing, throbbing – not that I was looking.
‘Complaints? What kind? About the noise?’
‘No – not about the noise.’
‘Who is it, darling?’ Ruth’s distinctive voice sounded from somewhere deep inside the suite.
‘It’s Julie,’ Callum said.
‘Julie who?’
‘Julie Thompson,’ he called back, having read my name badge. I felt a flutter of annoyance. There had been no mistaking the fact that Callum’s eyes had wandered from my badge to the subtle cleavage afforded by my regulation blouse. He was a newly married man and shouldn’t have been doing that. I had an urge to fasten another button but knew that it would be too obvious and would only draw further unwanted attention.
There was the sound of soft footsteps. Ruth arrived, wrapping an arm around her husband’s waist. They were indeed a very odd couple, mismatched somehow: Callum was Irish, five-foot-seven, and liked to talk about the incomprehensible things he did with computers. Ruth, over six feet tall and with silky hair cascading over her broad shoulders, came across as being totally up herself. Yes, she was beautiful, but it’s hard to like someone who sees themselves as being “superior”. I wasn’t surprised to discover that she still didn’t know who I was despite having made daily demands of me for nearly two weeks.
Ruth was wearing her husband’s creased shirt, no doubt having picked it up from where it had been thrown at the start of this latest round of lovemaking – even the maids had been complaining. Her hair was lighter than when she’d arrived, and most of the silkiness had gone. I couldn’t help but feel a thrill of satisfaction that she was failing to prevent the sun and salt water from turning it into something approximating straw – like they had done to mine. Annoyingly, the lack of hair control had increased Ruth’s beauty – she seemed softer now, more real … more attractive, more alluring; a vulnerability exposed. Her sun-kissed skin was vibrant and energised, perfectly highlighted by the stark whiteness of her husband’s shirt. Ruth had done up only two buttons, the lower one being mismatched – the result of which was half the shirt was being tugged up and I could clearly see the “V” of her pubic area, although it wasn’t hosting a single pube.
Officially, all I had to do was say something subtle, perhaps ask if they wouldn’t mind closing their curtains before they went back to bed. But I wanted to know why they were doing it. Before I managed to find the right words, Ruth gave me a dazzling smile and swept her arm around my shoulder – dragging the shirt up towards her navel – before offering me a swig of champagne from the bottle dangling from her fingers.
‘Ahh, Julie! Come on in. Come and help us celebrate our marriage.’ I was too numb to resist the faux friendship as Ruth happily wrestled me into the room, with her husband closing the door behind us. She was holding on to me, steering me into the lounge. Another trail of clothes, as described by the maids, told the tale of what had been happening in the time leading up to my arrival. Shoes scattered by the door; trousers scrunched by the bin; a red dress tossed over the television; a pile of underwear by the couch and a purple tube of lubricant standing erect on the table. My mind skipped back to the sordid pictures. Not content with “normal” sex, Callum and Ruth had been indulging in more “unconventional” sexual practices – and looked set to repeat them tonight.
‘I want to be able to sit on my balcony without seeing that anal slut,’ had been one of the more specific complaints which had been carefully filed “for urgent attention” on my desk. I wondered whether the people who’d made it were watching now as I engaged with a man hiding his erection under a towel and a woman unconcerned that her pussy was on show. I looked down – I couldn’t help it – and they looked down in unison so that all three of us were staring at Ruth’s exposed crotch.
‘You like my wife’s pussy?’ Callum asked, tugging at his shirt to fully expose his wife’s groin. Ruth’s legs parted slightly and I caught a glimpse of glistening labia before I dragged my eyes away. My head was swimming.
‘Perhaps you’d like to see my husband’s cock?’ Ruth asked, adding a sultry look to the husky tone in her voice. My body was frozen in place by overridden thought processes. I did want to see Callum’s cock in the flesh. My level of arousal leaped as Ruth tugged at the knotted towel and did a slow reveal to leave Callum naked with his erection pointing in my general direction. He stood there shamelessly and I felt the heat rising as my body responded. Who did that? Particularly newlyweds in a goldfish-bowl of an apartment with the curtains open and the lights on.
Moments later, their nudity was complete as Ruth twanged the remaining buttons and dropped the shirt on the floor. She wore no jewellery – she had the kind of body where any kind of adornment would detract rather than enhance its effect.
They were so brazen and my breath caught as Ruth’s hand moved down and gripped her husband’s cock. They were both watching me, eager for my reaction as she began stroking it, pulling the skin back and forth, revealing more and more of the angry purple of Callum’s glans.
As the initial shock began to fade, I was overwhelmed by feelings of guilt. I felt like a pervert, intruding into the consummation of a marriage. But intertwined with the guilt was a terrible excitement. It was the first time I had seen two people naked together and my official duties were forgotten as the hunger between my legs became irresistible. As I watched Ruth caress her husband, my mind was filling with a fantasy where I stepped across the gap and grabbed a handful of cock with one hand, then brought the other up between her legs and slid a finger along her moist slit before hooking it up inside her pussy.
My own pussy was quivering with excitement, the nerves firing in anticipation of being stimulated. But for now I just watched – there was a weight of inhibition pressing in on me. Part of me was still their holiday rep, watching as they touched each other inappropriately.
It felt like I was in a daydream as Ruth started wanking Callum’s cock. He let out a few noises of appreciation as her hand worked up and down his shaft. I longed to do the same, to wrap my hand around it and feel the skin moving back and forth over the hard core within.
A ghost of a smile appeared on Ruth’s lips. They knew – we all knew – that the fact I was still there spoke of my acceptance.
‘Why don’t you come over and have a feel?’ The words came from Ruth’s lips but I suspected that she was voicing Callum’s desires. As though in a trance, I stepped forward and took his cock in my hand. So hot, so hard, so eager. Natural instincts took over and my hand started stroking by itself; lightly at first, feeling the length of it, the girth and the fiery heat. This cock belonged to Ruth – I was wanking a “married” cock for the first time. It was against my beliefs to do this. Married men were strictly out of bounds. But that rule didn’t take account of a willing spouse watching me, encouraging me to do it.
I wanted to feel it inside me. The thought was so dirty. I closed my eyes as I imagined it probing between my fleshy labia, searching for my opening, and, having found it, squeezing inside me. I groaned as I pictured the scene in more detail and felt my pussy clenching around the phantom intruder. I hungered for him – desperate to push him back onto the sofa, mount him and feed his cock into my twitching hole. I needed to feel him inside me.
Lips on mine snapped me out of my little reverie. My eyes flew open and saw Ruth’s face pressing against mine. My hand found her hip and then dropped down on to her bare bum. As she pulled in closer, I allowed my hand to move around her waist and then trail between her buttocks. My whole body was thudding with excitement as my fingertip explored the moist roughness of Ruth’s arsehole. She sighed and wriggled against me, enjoying what I was doing to her. I liked girls’ bums but I’d never felt a bumhole which had been stretched open by a cock before. At least, not that I knew of. But as I stood there being kissed by Ruth, I knew that the cock in my right hand had been inside the bumhole I was exploring with my left middle finger.
I don’t know what I’d been expecting – I thought there’d be a tell, something physical which would flash like a beacon to advertise what she’d been doing; that she’d been having anal sex. But it just felt normal. Tight, even. I pressed my finger into Ruth’s anus, expecting my slender digit to penetrate her easily. Instead, her sphincter resisted and she pushed in against me even harder as she tried to escape.
Watching Me, Watching You Page 6