Bad Neighbor Ch. 01byHandsInTheDark©
"Hey, Bill... is it legal to eavesdrop?"
I was at work, and Bill was ex-FBI. He knew stuff.
"Oh, baby. That's not a simple question. For the government, pretty much yes. If it has reason to do it, it can make it pass muster in court. For you, in this state, depending on circumstances... it may be legal, but you can get into invasion of privacy pretty damn fast."
He called everyone female and under 40, baby. It was impossible to take offense.
"Ok, so, hypothetically... listening through an apartment wall."
He didn't even blink. "It could go either way. It would probably come down to whether someone living in an apartment really had an expectation of privacy and if they were taking steps to maintain it, like whispering. The ACLU would instantly say eavesdropping is illegal, but a judge might take a more nuanced approach. Why? Loud neighbors?"
"Kinda. Now let's assume that they aren't being quiet -- like loud arguing. And I was, say, concerned about someone's safety. And I wanted some sort of device to make listening in easier."
"Sweetheart, this ice is so thin I can hear the cracking noises. If you think someone's in an unsafe situation, call the police and let them sort it out. But the simple answer is that you won't get caught so you won't get prosecuted. If you hear something that makes you think the police need to be called, you don't have to say you were explicitly eavesdropping; just say you heard stuff through the wall involuntarily. And devices that do what you want are about 40 bucks on Amazon. You can also do stuff with tape, fishing line and a plastic cup. But the electronics will do it better."
"Okay. Thanks, Bill."
"For what? I guarantee we never had this conversation." He grinned, crookedly.
I chucked. "Thanks again."
So, second day shipment costs a little extra. So what? I was just... curious. Tony had instructed his girl to appear again on Sunday, and I'd have the listening device Saturday.
I knew I was being silly. The weird thing was, I wasn't into porn. Most of those videos on the internet... yuck. Fake, tawdry, unbelievably unrealistic, and way too many closeups of the mechanics. More of a turn-off than anything.
But listening in was different. Maybe it was because there was no ridiculous camera crap going on. Maybe because, being unable to see it, I was left to the mercy of my imagination. Maybe because this was, well, real.
Saturday night, I stuck the (tiny!) device to the wall, and tried it out.
It was creepy how well it worked. It was almost like being in the room with him. And from my experience in the gym, I knew immediately from the sounds, that he was working out.
I got shivers. I was being so bad. There was a word for this -- voyeurism -- and I had no idea that I leaned that way, but just listening to him working out was much, much hotter than it should have been. It was like being in junior high school all over again, spying on the jocks.
He was doing weights on a weight machine, and it was probably close to the wall because I could even hear the wheels spinning. He was doing a slow, steady pace, with a low grunt on each. It was impossible not to picture it -- he'd be wearing only shorts, building up a sweat, muscles bunched, face expressionless. Focused. Pushing himself. Legs tight.
I took out the earphones and ran to get a glass of water. When I got back, he was going faster, breathing deeply.
The fantasies started. Making that slave of his lick his sweat up as he worked. Making her sit on his legs to brace him, and making her masturbate to the sight of his hard, hot body. Damn, all those iron bars and straps... workout machines have always looked like bondage devices. Strapping her down, her legs apart, her arms bound down, and then making her watch and wait until he finished his workout...
Who was she and how had he talked her into this relationship? I knew there were women out there that liked their men strong, bad and commanding. I mean... sure. I totally got that. I was more of a wine and tickets to the theater type, myself. But I could at least see the appeal of a guy like this, even if no amount of money could tempt me into his apartment. But to get to the point where they guy controls your body, makes you worship him with foot kisses... hell, women were already way too prone to yielding control to men -- damn, I can't even believe I thought that. My mother had raised me to be a good feminist, to demand and expect equal treatment. Especially after the divorce, she'd been adamant about it. "Never give a man an inch," she'd say. "They think an inch is a foot and a foot is a mile."
When Tony's slave showed up tomorrow, I'd be able to hear every single noise. Images flashed through my head in rapid succession.
I sipped at the water, and was surprised it was already two thirds gone. Damn... I'd been listening for half an hour already.
Ohhhh -- he'd switched to situps. I recognized the rhythm. It was either sit ups or pushups, and you wouldn't do pushups right after weights. Well, you might if you were Tony. Those arms...
Fuck... pushups. That body, rigid... and then the image formed: me, naked, under him as he did them. Having to kiss him each time he came down, but not allowed to do more...
I took out the earphones, very calmly and deliberately, and finished my water. This was quite enough for one evening. I put on some quiet music, and tried to read.