by Roz Lee
Isabel
I was so afraid
“He was late tonight.” Will's voice from the darkness is low, a thread of both irritation and sated desire running through it. He's not one for patience; never has been. “But I guess he must've come through in the end. Jeez, that was good, Izzy. You looked so fucking gorgeous when you came. You always do.”
He shifts in the chair, leaning his head against the back, and the springs protest. If we keep this up every week we'll probably need to replace that chair before too long. All that pelvis thrusting from Will is wearing out the support.
He prefers to leave his clothes on while he watches, letting his organ jut free from the zipper opening of his trousers, and fisting the turgid flesh when things get heated. He says the rasp of the fabric against his skin is a turn-on, as if he's out in public and indulging himself under the dubious cover of a linen-covered restaurant table.
I prefer the freedom of nudity. It's like everything is pared back to the basics, and I can concentrate on watching without the fetters of society dictating what I should or shouldn't feel.
“Thanks, hon. Glad I could oblige.” I flash him a quick grin. I'm in that happy, post-orgasmic state where my usual embarrassment has disappeared, and his answering chuckle tells me we'll both sleep well tonight.
The watcher, and the watched. A double edge to this game that's been unexpectedly enjoyable.
Will walked in on me about a month ago while I was watching Danny take his pleasure. That particular time it was with a male friend, though it could have been either. Danny is so popular, his allure so seductive, that it doesn't surprise me when he attracts both men and women to his boudoir.
The intriguing question is why. Why so many, and why so often? Is he going for the Olympic record of lovers? Is it because the people he invites back to his home decide not to return for a second visit, or is it Danny himself who doesn't want to engage with them more than once? Is he commitment-phobic? The possibilities in his story fascinate me, but I can't quite work him out.
If he were to invite me over there, into his bedroom, I think I would fight harder than I've ever fought for anything to stay there. I'd never want to leave.
Sometimes, in those dark moments that arrive unexpectedly—usually in the middle of the night when I'm worrying about Will's and my future—I ponder our arrangement. Am I somehow, “the one?” Am I the only constant in Dan's love life? I'm here every week, waiting pressed against the window, and yet strangely, so is he, whether accompanied or on his own. In a bizarre way, I feel that I've come to be as important to Danny as he is to me. Of course he knows I'm here. And yet, no matter who he brings home, male or female, I'm here in the shadows, and the idea that he enjoys my subtle presence fills me with a sense of purpose.
He needs me.
He always talks to his partner right before they start, and I can pinpoint by their stunned glance in my direction the moment he reveals they have an audience. I've been really surprised at how many of them don't actually mind. I never knew so many people like the idea of being watched.
Usually there's an instant of shock. A few seconds of resistance in which I observe the push and pull of both fascination and revulsion reflected in their features. I love that moment. A bubble of laughter fills my chest and I hold my breath to see which way the night will play out. Usually the titillation takes over and their resistance melts away to nothing, until we all end up together in this crazy game.
Only once since this started has my mirage lover shrugged in apparent regret before leaning across to close his blinds and block me out. The woman he was with that time stood scowling and holding her arms tight across her midriff, until the golden picture winked out of existence behind those heavy curtains. That night he looked directly at me for several seconds, the longest he's ever held my gaze, and I'm sure I saw regret softening his features. He touched his fingertips to his lips for a moment, then pressed them to the window pane right before he drew the curtains, and I looked at those smudges on the glass until even the thin edge of light around his curtains was extinguished and nothing was visible but darkness.
I cried myself to sleep that night, with silent gulping breaths, pretending to be asleep when Will finally came home from work, and trying hard not to wake him as my tears made wet tracks from the corners of my eyes down into my hair.
It was the very next day that my diamond earrings appeared in our mail box.
He thinks I'm beautiful. When I wear them, I feel beautiful. The thought makes me want to dance around the room, but Will would probably think I was crazy. Instead I stand still, watching. And waiting.
“Is he done, over there?”
Will's voice brings me back to the present and I glance toward Dan's bedroom to see the light on in the ensuite bathroom. We know his routine by now. When he's had enough for the night, he usually ushers his companion—or companions—out the door almost immediately and heads straight to bed. Lights out. No compromise.
When Dan takes a shower, it usually means an all-nighter is on the cards.
“Showering, I think.” Despite the previous orgasm my vagina clenches, letting me know my body would be up for more, if I want it. And for some reason, tonight, I do. Something in the air is keeping the desire humming in my veins, more intensely than it normally does.
Will lets out a slow, harsh breath, and in that sound I can tell he's also aroused for a second time. Despite his age, my husband can occasionally surprise us both with his endurance.
“Hon, can you lean forward like that again, please? Hold the window ledge. Your cunt clenches when you're turned on and I want to be looking directly at it when he starts round two.”
He's right. The part in question immediately clasps tight at his words and the already sensitized flesh throbs and aches.
The heady tang of his spent cum and the musky scent wafting from between my legs surround us with the titillating scent of sex. When I see the flash of his teeth as he grins it ignites an unexpected cascade of emotion. Butterfly wings beat gently against the walls of my stomach and I bite my lip, fighting sudden tears.
Why has he joined our sordid little game of voyeurism? It must be so difficult for Will to watch as I get turned on by another man. I know I'd hate it, if the situation were reversed. I did hate it, when I found out what he'd done at that conference. But am I not doing the exact same thing with Dan? Even though we've never actually met, never spoken, never touched, Dan and I are using each other's secret fetish needs to gain sexual pleasure from the experience in a way that could be construed as cheating.
I was so afraid, when Will uncovered my dirty little secret. Afraid that he would hate me, or think me disgusting, or somehow be completely turned off by my aberrant behavior. Equally scared that my saving grace might be taken away for good. What if Will doesn't want me anymore? I couldn't bear it. And yet…what if I can never look at Danny again?
I remember wanting to cry, mortified, but I was so afraid that if I started, I wouldn't be able to stop. How can I possibly choose between the man I love, and the sexual urges I desperately need to fulfil?
And yet I needn't have been concerned.
When Will told me he's turned on by what I've been doing, I heard his truth in the rough edge of his voice and the harsh inhale and exhale of breath.
Will. What am I going to do with you? Are we ever going to fully rediscover the happiness we shared only a couple of short years ago?
The truth is, since Will joined our little game I've been enjoying myself even more than before. The fact that my husband is willing to share this fantasy, and watch me, as I stand in the shadows watching Dan…
When our neighbor moved in five months ago, there was something about him that drew my attention, right from the moment I first saw him. Something about his self-confidence. His “I don't give a shit what you think” attitude. I couldn't stop looking at him, standing here in the darkness of our bedroom and wondering about the man in the apartment across the alleyway. How do
es someone become so uncaring of what others think?
I'd never seen anyone masturbate before. Never dreamed that someone would do it right in front of an open, lighted window.
Will probably did it, but never when I was around, and damn sure when he did he wouldn't have the light on and the blinds wide open. That look on Danny's face…
The way his mouth hung open, slack-jawed. The way his eyes were half-shut and his head thrown back in obvious enjoyment. One hand pulled at the rigid flesh of his cock while the other gripped the rounded end of some kind of implement that he'd reached behind to ease into his own ass. I'd never even seen another man's penis. Never in my whole life.
Oh my God. How big is that thing he's pushing up his bum? Does it hurt? Is he going deep? He's fucking himself into a frenzy.
I couldn't help it. I brushed my fingers over my mound and felt the flare of heat even through my plain cotton pyjamas as my body sizzled to life. It wasn't enough, to touch myself through my clothing. I needed to feel the slippery glide of my own juice, tease the swelling bud and then slide a finger into my creamy channel to find the sweet spot deep inside.
Encouraged by the exhibitionist nature of Dan's display, I began to touch myself in a sexual way. The first time ever I'd experienced sexual arousal from watching someone else. And after that first time, I was so intrigued I started waiting for him. And while I waited, I took off my pyjamas. Later, I added the heels.
Right now, though, I'm thinking about my husband, and a smile curves my lips as I reach down to run a finger through the moisture leaking from my sex. I know my action will turn up the heat for Will. I swipe up and along my slit with a light feathery touch that mimics what Danny did to his companion and a shudder rattles through my body.
Are you watching this, Will? I lift a wet finger up to my mouth and trace my lips before slipping it inside to taste. Musky, yes. Also salty and creamy. No wonder they like to eat it out. Do you want to taste this nectar?
My husband lets out an agonized groan and the sound resonates deep inside my body. Those delicate butterflies become frantic, flapping furiously as a wave of elation leaves me trembling. For better or worse, Will is taking this crazy voyeuristic ride right along with me, and I couldn't be happier about this strange turn of events.
I love watching, but to know that, at the same time, someone is watching me in the throes of sexual passion…
To know that it's my husband watching me…
Yes. I love that, too.
William
Enjoying the ride
Izzy bites her bottom lip and does as I ask, leaning toward the window and resting her hands on the sill, giving me a perfect view of her privates.
I love that view. There's a certain visual element that you just don't get when you're pressed up against your lover. While the skin-on-skin embrace might feel like heaven, you don't get to see and appreciate the little things like you can when you stand back and look.
Little things such as the way her pink vulva lips clench in and out as she waits, almost as if her channel entrance is breathing with a life of its own. Like the way her butt-hole looks like a tiny starburst just crying out for a finger to dip into its beckoning center. Like the way her dark hair cascading down her back turns a brighter, richer color in the glow cast by the street lamp. That same glow turns her pale skin almost radiant and smoothes away any imperfections.
Izzy is beautiful in so many ways that I would never have seen, never have appreciated, if it weren't for this time spent watching.
There's been a shift lately in how we're interacting. I'm not sure how to explain it, except that I feel like things might be improving. That first night when I found her here, she had eyes only for our neighbor. Now she's aware of me too, and while she still likes watching him, it seems like maybe she's making room for me in this game.
She's aware of me now, and I think it heightens her pleasure to know that in a weird way we're kind of doing this together.
She's more patient than me when it comes to the waiting part, though. I can't see what's going on over there when I'm sitting down, and it's really hard not to rush over and push my greedy cock right between her legs. All I really want to do is touch my wife, then fuck her senseless. But on Sunday nights that isn't my role. Instead, I sit here and watch, learning how to appreciate the little things, and feel the slow burn in my groin build to an almost unbearable level.
I shift in the chair, occasionally touching myself to release the growing pressure. My balls are tight and hot, aching for release, and I grunt in relief when finally she blurts out, “He's back, Will. Looks like they've both showered. They're naked, and still wet, and…oh!” Her pelvis tilts in a squiggle of what appears to be excitement. “Looks like he's carrying the strap-on.”
“Fuck yeah.” An involuntary hiss escapes my lips and the burn intensifies. I could care less what the hell goes on over there. As long as Izzy is happy and aroused, I will be, too, and I know she loves it when that bastard brings out his toys.
The strap-on is a new favorite for Izzy. She says it's about the titillation of watching a woman with a cock step up and fuck a guy as virile and strong as Dan…
I can't deny it. The idea gets me horny as hell, too, and a drop of pre-cum squeezes out to decorate the head of my dick.
“She has the harness on already, Will. Looks like she's done this before.”
Of course she has. The damn man certainly knows how to pick 'em.
I try and contain my snort, though. Izzy doesn't hate him the way I do. “Enjoy the ride, my love.”
I stay quiet after that comment, sitting here in the shadows to watch, and after a couple of minutes she becomes engrossed once again in the activity in the opposite apartment.
“He's lying back on the bed, grinning from ear to ear.” Her voice has the hoarse edge that always gives away the extent of her desire. “And, oh God, Will, she's leaning over to take him into her mouth. Deep. He's lying at a slight angle so I can see the ripple in her throat as he pushes into her.”
I imagine this other woman kneeling beside the guy Izzy calls Dan, her hips encased in the leather harness strapping and an erect, dusky-colored penis jutting out from her snatch.
Is she hairless, like Izzy's current look, or does she have a bush that gives the cock a bed of hair to sprout from?
I wonder if her breasts are large and pink-tipped. I love Isabel's breasts, though she always gets so self-conscious about the effects of age and gravity.
When the woman leans down to take him into her mouth—hell, deep into her throat from what Izzy's saying—do those breasts swing back and forth as she works him hard?
Izzy lets out an agonized moan and I know things are heating up over there. What's going on? How hard is that woman working him? Is she as good as my wife at giving head? Or has she stopped using her mouth and started to fuck him instead?
“Izzy.” I can't help it. Her name whispers out of my throat in a groan of pleasure as I grip my cock and pull. The sensation is so intense my hips begin to buck and the chair starts its incessant squeaking. One day we'll replace it. But for now…
I groan again, and watch Isabel's fingers play briefly with her clit before her middle finger disappears up inside her channel.
The neighbor must love it. What guy doesn't? I wonder if he's a talker, with real words and phrases like “Fuck me”, or “Suck me harder, you dirty little whore.” I can't quite imagine it. I think he's more of a groaner like me. When Izzy sucks me off I can't string two words together. All I can do is moan and groan and release my load in her mouth, or sometimes all over her breasts.
Isabel
The last taboo
What does he taste like, my mirage lover? My tongue darts out to moisten my lips as I imagine taking him into my mouth. I will never know the reality, at least not with Diamond Dan, but my imagination works overtime to make up for it.
His companion finally comes up for air, and I see her swipe her thumb across his glistening tip and t
hen smear the resultant moisture onto her fake cock. He leans up on one elbow and takes the head of it into his mouth, brief and shallow with his sucking. It's just a quick sampling of flavor that he licks away with an eager tongue before reaching up to squeeze the twin globes of her breasts.
She smacks away his hands and gestures firmly. He laughs in what looks like a wicked chuckle, and then he's rolling over to lay on his stomach between her straddling thighs.
There is a delicacy to her movements as she bends down onto all fours and lowers her pelvis toward his butt cheeks. She prods his crack with her toy and then uses her body to stroke it downward into the shadows between his legs, and then back up again where I can see.
Do you like that, Dan? Is it a turn-on to feel the hard flesh of another cock teasing you from behind?
She lowers herself further, laying right on top of him with the lower part of her body, while the upper part is held up by her forearms resting one each side of his ribcage.
His legs spread wide to accommodate her hips and she starts with tiny driving movements that grow in strength and frequency, until he too thrusts against the bed cover. His movements become so vigorous he lifts her with him into the air. Up and down, over and over, each of them thrusting and squeezing the bed clothes with tightly gripping hands.
A sudden movement from Dan and he is up again, this time on all fours, and his companion lines up her dick with the welcoming pucker of his ass. She hesitates, then says something, and he responds by reaching across to his bedside table and handing her a tube.
It must be lubricant of some kind. She smears some on the head of her toy, then holds the tube above his crack, letting more of it drip down into the seam. This joining is going to be wet and sticky.