A Weekend with 'k' Ch. 06

Opposite our hotel a building is being renovated. Scaffolding is being erected and the tradesmen have started early. The double-glazed window and heavy drapes in our room have blocked any sound that might have given us a hint of their presence. And, up until this point, the workmen have had no hint of our presence. But just at that moment one of them turns and see us. Or, rather, he sees you. His mouth goes wide in a perfect 'O'. He gapes like a fish for a moment before he recovers his senses long enough to shout to his mates, drawing their attention to what is on display. I can feel you trembling, still holding the curtains, and desperately wanting to close them. Gently but implacably I pry them from your fingers and push them completely open. You are like the leading lady of a play, almost literally 'centre stage' as the curtain goes up in the West End. Or perhaps it is more like a huge, high definition TV screen? The glass of the window is in one sheet from below knee height, all the way to the ceiling. A cluster of guys are opposite us on the scaffolding by the time I move the plush arm-chair in behind you. 'Sit' I whisper in your ear. I might as well have said 'collapse', judging by the way you tumble into the chair - your breath coming in rapid pants. You haven't said a word since the curtain opened - stunned, unsure how to react. Time to give the undoubted star of this show some 'direction'. I push the dinner trolley beside your chair. On it I pile a selection of toys.

'I want them to see what a slut you are My-pet. Give them a show they wont forget.'

Standing beside you I can see how your exposure makes you tremble. I note the flush of excitement and shame blaze across your skin. I know that you still want only to shut the curtains, shut out the view the builders have of you. I hold my breath waiting for your reaction. Then I see you drop your arms – and I let out my breath.

Across the road more builders have noticed you, framed by the large window of our hotel room. You can see that they are shouting and whistling – but can hear nothing through the double-glazed glass. But you can 'feel' their concentrated gaze as if were heat from the open door of an oven. Almost unconsciously reacting to their attention, your knees open, increasing the agitation of your audience. Reacting and responding to them you place your feet on the windowsill, spreading wider, exposing more. Your hand slides between your legs to the cleft between and I hear you moan as you begin to slide your fingers over your clit. I grab a small table and move it beside your chair, then pile it high with 'toys'. I move to a position where I can watch you, without obscuring the view of the workmen.

At first things are slow, quiet and almost shy. The overture to this sensual symphony is played 'adagiett'. Your eyes are downcast as you stroke the folds of your pussy. I wonder if the viewers can see the wetness leaking on to your thighs as I can. Occasionally your other hand brushes across your breasts to tease one nipple or the other. You seem lost in your performance, but becoming more involved in it with passing moment, stroking slightly faster. The tempo is now 'commodo' but it wont be 'comfortable' for long – not on either side of the performance. Accelerando is becoming the underlying theme of this passage. 'Poco a poco' the pace quickens, stoking is no longer enough. The display continues 'con brio' as you begin to play the instrument that is your body before an enthralled audience like a maestro.

I don't want to spoil the exquisite mood you are generating but I feel some 'conducting' is required. I want to make sure you perform to the best of your undoubted abilities. By now 2 fingers are buried deep and I can hear the sucking and slurping of wet cunt as you finger fuck yourself. 'Allegro ma non troppo' is only just appropriate, 'fast, but not too much'. It is certainly not too much for the guys across the road. They want more! The tempo needs to increase.

I lean forward and slightly open the window. Now you can hear the cheering and the whistling of the men watching you, hear their arousal at your display.

'Show off to them the way you showed off to me My-pet. Show them what a slut you are.' I see your eyes close and your head loll back on the chair and add some final instructions.

'But watch them all the time k! Watch what your performance does to them.' I notice you stiffen, your fingers slowing, 'meno mosso'. Then you raise your head and open your eyes to stare straight at the men on the scaffolding.

The mood, the tempo, the style all change in what seems like an instant. Now you can hear your audience, now that you have heard your conductor, it is like a switch being flicked to trigger a transformation in you.

After a brief interlude you pull your fingers from your pussy and lick them lasciviously clean, staring straight across the narrow gap that separates you from those watchers. I can see the intensity build in you as you plunge three fingers into your slit only to smear the copious sticky juices on your diamond hard nipples – so you can lick it off for the delectation of the crowd, now growing larger as word has spread.

It is like the best sort of performance, the performer feeding off the adulation of the audience and the resulting electricity being feed back and exciting them more. You press on – 'accelerando!'

The builders are on their mobile phones, either trying to take pictures or calling friends to come and swell the crowd. You grab a fat dildo off the table and spread your lips with two fingers and plunge into your squelchy depths. With a growl you then grasp it with two hands and pump it deeper – all the while staring at the guys across the road with an intensity that is erotic and scary at the same time. I am stunned with the intensity and raw passion you are displaying – and incredibly aroused.

Overcome with desire I grab your wrist and pull you to your feet. In my lustful haste I roughly pull you round to bend you over the back of the chair, so you face the window. The dildo slithers from your pussy, just in time to be replaced with my urgent, thrusting cock. I groan as I fill you in one, balls-deep thrust – revelling in the wet evidence of your excitement. I pause in that delicious moment of stillness, then pull back my hips to ram my cock home again 'largamente largo'. The solo has become a duet.

Gently I gather your hair in my hand and pull your head gently up and back so I can whisper in your ear. 'Watch them my sweet, let them see how you enjoy my cock.' Then I let go of your hair and begin to thrust – 'tempo giusto'. Soon my hips are banging against your buttocks as I drive every thrust home as deep as I can. Your lovely DD breasts swing wildly with every stroke. I can hear the builders cheering, hooting - hollering even. I know they must be enjoying the show. I can see your face partially reflected in the glass, showing me that your orgasm is nearing.

'You can cum when I cum k, not before.' I manage to gasp as I grab your hips for purchase to fuck you deeper, to hear you grunt with each connection of my cock head with your cervix. The crescendo, the climax of this erotic concerto, cannot be long delayed. I forget those watching, forget any performance analogy, any regular tempo and focus solely on ramming you as hard as I can.

If you obeyed instructions and waited for me to cum then your timing is superb. So close together are our climaxes that they can only be described as simultaneous. I feel the glorious weightlessness of total release; my cock still nestled in you from behind, slowly deflating.

The mood is ruined when the phone rings. Leaving you draped over the chair I sit on the edge of the bed to answer it.

'Hello?' I enquire, irritation obvious in my voice

A very Cockney voice answers me. 'Alright guv? Really sorry to bother you. Look out the window.'

As I do I see one of the builders holding a mobile to his ear and waving. (He's worked out what room we are in somehow. Counting how many floors up and how many rooms across perhaps?)

'You need a 'and over there pal?' I see him speak through the window and here the words over the phone. I press the speaker button on the phone so you can hear the rest of the conversation.

'We've enjoyed the show so much' he continues 'that quite a few of the lads over here would be willing to put in a bit of overtime, if you know what I mean.' I see his face fall a little, the cocky bravado going out of him – perhaps as the reality of what he is suggesting sinks in. The guys around him on the scaffolding are however very much up for it. There are many palms being slapped to biceps and forearms raised with clenched fists. A couple of them even have their cocks out, waving them at our window, making it plain what is on offer.

'Let me think', I say, holding the phone away from ear. I stare at your lovely backside, still bent over the chair, with a lop-sided smile on my face – finger tapping my chin in a parody of contemplation for the benefit of our viewers and for you – if you can see me reflected in the glass.

What to say?.