tagExhibitionist & VoyeurEye of the Beholder Ch. 09

Eye of the Beholder Ch. 09

byKundalinguini©

The following day was a haze... a busy haze, but a haze nonetheless. I had to get the video equipment loaded out and back to the agency, then spent the next eight hours mixing down the video for a tape to give to Sharon... and, of course, for me.

If you've never done a video mix, you might not have any idea of what exquisite torture those eight hours were. Imagine a room with a bank of video decks, both tape and digital, a state of the art mixer mixing to a huge studio monitor, and me trying (desperately) to choose the best mix from four screens of unbelievably erotic video.

Sharon had outdone herself in every way. I had noticed her playing to the camera, but looking at the video it was like she was born to it. She knew where all the cameras were, and made love to them even as she was to me. There were a thousand things I hadn't noticed, because she played them to cameras that weren't on the main screen.

When she trailed a finger delicately up over her clit, she smiled so completely seductively at the camera on her face that it melted me on the spot. She closed her eyes and slid a finger inside, drawing it out wet and away like a strand of spiderweb. I had seen that, but I hadn't seen her lift the finger to her lips in another shot and softly, slowly suck it off with that look a woman gets when she's giving you head and she looks up to watch you enjoying it. And how could you choose between the rear view with her back arched over that incredible ass, rising to show my cock for a moment, then slipping down to engulf it, and the front shot rolling her nipples between her fingers, a look of complete rapture on her face.

I ended up doing a great deal of split screen, all the while regretting the loss of picture size. I finally had to just do the edit as if it were a live broadcast, because it quickly became apparent that I could have easily done a dozen different mixes, any of which would have made a dead man cum.

I was glad there was almost no one around, and that I could lock the door, as I often did while mixing. I had such a raging erection I would have been embarrassed to get up and open the door. At the start I had been rubbing myself through my pants, but by the end it was all I could do to keep from cumming without even touching myself. I didn't want the orgasm; I wanted to do the entire mix in the unabated fever of the moment.

Finally it was finished. I took a copy I had made of the mastering run to give to Sharon, locked the source tapes away in my vault, and headed out into the night.

It was just after eight o'clock, the sunset still lingering in the sky, a completely gorgeous evening. I tried not to hurry, to enjoy it as I walked, but that didn't go very well. I reminded myself of Chevy Chase 'enjoying' the Grand Canyon in National Lampoon's Vacation, all the while tapping his foot impatient to move along. Still, it was hard not to be seduced by it: the warm evening air, now more gardenias and magnolias than lilacs, a gentle breeze, the crickets droning away... it was idyllic. Tap tap tap.

Turning the corner into the courtyard area in front of Sharon's house, I had a pang of disappointment. It looked dark. But wait... as I came closer, I could see dim light in the back of the house. I wondered for a moment if I should knock, but why? I walked around back.

The only light I could see seemed to be coming from the bedroom window, dimmer than usual. Making my way to the window, I avoided the beam of light coming from it, then chuckled at myself for it.

Wow, this was different. The room was remade. Sharon had obviously been busy. The parachute was still there, though she had figured out the controls enough to draw up the front side, from my window-centric position, and dropped the back three sides all the way to the floor. She had put lights behind the parachute, soft and amber. They lit the entire room in a honey-colored glow. The bed was gone, and the space under the parachute was hung with wide strips of cloth, something gauzy and semi-sheer, like a series of veils.

I peered in, trying to find Sharon. The music was playing, soft and sultry, and the streamed veils were shifting and rippling in the light breeze. I thought I saw her as they parted, but just for a moment. I laughed softly, knowing she could hear me. This was so completely sexy.

She danced in a swirl from behind one veil, and in behind another, a closer one, but I had little time to see anything except that she was naked. Now there were fewer veils between us, though, and I could see her vaguely behind the veil, a tease and a promise all in one. She leaned into it, and there was her entire body like a sculpture shaped in fabric, falling gently away from her breasts, nipples barely visible but jutting against the fabric with arousal. She slid down, no doubt enjoying the feel of it on her nipples, then turned slowly, the fabric curving over her hips, then form-fitting her delicious derriere.

She danced back, swaying seductively to the strains of that smoky sax, now lost to view, now a leg and gone, then spinning with her arm arced so she caught up the scarves and left herself clear to see for a few seconds. She looked over her shoulder at me with a toss of her hair, and a smile that would melt steel, before continuing her spin, the scarves falling back down to hide her from me again.

But wait... there... two arms entwined like serpents snaking out between two side-by-side scarves. They danced, like something from a belly dance, then led the body from behind the veils. There was now only one narrow scarf between her and me, and she had moved forward until she was against it, those perfect, perfect breasts on either side of the fabric falling between her legs and settling to accentuate the mound between her legs. Swaying to the music, she slid down, the fabric making a soft silky sound as it slid over her, her eyes dreamy and half-closed. She rose again and I could see her clit against the cloth, protruding as her nipples had earlier. She continued to sway in place, her hands drifting down over her body, across her tummy, one sliding around her hip to caress her bottom, the other slipping in a slow beeline to rub between her legs.

She stretched the fabric tight, outlining herself for me as if it were painted on, her clit, the folds between her lips, all clear to see. She stroked a finger gently up her pussy, pressing the fabric in between her labia. Her clit was even more clearly molded, and she teased it with a finger, feather-light. Her eyes were closed now, and her hips were rocking gently side to side in time with her finger.

She slid two fingers under the cloth, and I could see them dip in for lubrication, deeply stroking herself inside for a moment, then sliding out, one on either side of her clit. I could see on the cloth where it had been between her lips, damp and dark. She was really wet. Her fingers were moving with more purpose, but I had seen her when she was trying to make herself cum, and she wasn't. She was working herself up, but not over. Never losing the rhythm, of either the music or her fingers, she danced her way toward me, her eyes now locked on mine, the fabric sliding up higher and higher the closer she came.

And then, there she was, the fabric no longer covering her, her fingers dancing over her clit a mere meter from my eyes. It was only when I noticed her eyes between my legs that I realized I had freed myself from my pants and given in to stroking. Fingering herself in time with my slow stroking, she closed the gap between us, her pussy now just through the window from me. She spread herself for me, stroking with her middle finger just inside herself, then leaning back so that she was thrust toward me, she spread her lips wide, inviting my tongue. I leaned and licked her hard, dipping in then sliding my tongue up over her clit, then leaned back watching the smile on her face. She opened her eyes, and looked at me, a kind of soft-focused look that barely made any attempt to hide its arousal.

Holding out her hand to help me in the window, she lifted the other and sucked on her fingers, smiling into my eyes. I noticed she had put a small stool outside to make it easier.

God, she was gorgeous... standing there naked in the amber light, still sucking gently on a finger. She helped me out of my clothes, which sounds ordinary put like that, but was not ordinary in any way. She never touched without caressing, her hand smoothing down over my ass as the pants fell away, freeing them from my feet, sliding her hand softly up the inside of my thigh — shiver —then cupping my balls in her hand before standing and taking me in her arms.

We were dancing, or kissing, or both, and she was leading. I let her, since I wouldn't have dreamed of doing anything to take the initiative away from her. This was her party. We swayed, as close as we could be, through the veils. She was making a point of dancing us around so that they would caress us both, sometimes in passing, sometimes wrapping us both in one, but always moving toward the back of the room. Then I saw why. The bed was gone, but there was a large mat behind the veils, covered in satin.

Here I finally took the initiative, kissing my way down her body till I was kneeling between her thighs, a nuzzle and a soft lick —holy, was she ever wet—and then she was pushing me down till I was lying on my back on the mat. She settled to straddle me, her eyes never leaving mine, taking my cock in her hand and gently guiding it in just between her lips, then slowly, excruciatingly but so delectably slowly, impaling herself on me, here eyes closing part-way as she did. She moaned softly, rose just as slowly, then took me deep inside her again.

It was slow-motion at its best, feeling every millimeter of her vagina slipping around me. She was holding her breath as she took me in, then rocking slowly side to side to take me deeper, before exhaling with a slight shudder before she rose up my length again. Her fingers were on her clit now, their movement a faster counterpoint to the slow fuck, but it was ultimately the rhythm of her fingers that won out. The slow pace was wonderful, but her coming orgasm drew her faster, which drew me faster as well. It was plunge and slide, the slides slower than the plunges, but the pace always faster.

She was moaning on the exhales, catching fast breaths between them, her fingers faster and faster on her clit. She was so tight, so warm and wet, and I could feel my climax coming hard. I wanted to hold off, wished for a second she would slow down, but she was beyond stopping now. She was starting to buck a little, panting with short gasps and moans alternating. I could feel her muscles tensing around me as she closed her eyes tight, pushing herself toward her orgasm, and then it broke like a dam over her, and any thought I had of holding off became pointless, as if I could have anyway. She came so hard it made me gasp as it pulled me headlong into my own, exploding inside her in a seemingly endless eruption. I couldn't believe how overwhelming my orgasm was. But then, I'd only been watching her drive me mad for eight hours today. It was a miracle she didn't set me off with her first touch.

I could feel her throbbing around me as her breathing finally slowed, and she settled down on top of me. We lay like that for a while before I rolled us onto our sides, kissing her softly as I did. Her smile would have melted me if the orgasm hadn't already done such a good job of it. I don't know how long we lay in each other’s arms, just feeling each other breathe before we drifted off to sleep. Perhaps even a couple of minutes.

When I awoke in the morning, she was again gone. The note this time simply said:

Thank you.


It was laying on top of a folded scarf... the narrow one she had been rubbing herself against, her scent lingering on it like perfume.

I left the videotape for her where the scarf had been.

The parachute apparatus had to be back for a new staging this evening, so I took down the veils, folding them and setting them on the mat, then began to bring down the parachute. It was only then that it dawned on me how there had been so much space in the room for her dance. Frankly, I hadn't given it a second's thought. But as the three walls of the parachute came down, I saw that all of the furniture had been removed. She had obviously gone all out for this. Amazing. I finished dismantling the apparatus, then opened the door to load it out.

The living room was empty except for the low table she'd originally left outside for me... when was it? I'd lost track by now. On it there was a large candle burning inside a hurricane lamp glass, and beside it were a rose, a peacock feather, an envelope and a box wrapped like a gift.

The envelope had the same kiss on it as before, but was sealed with wax. I opened it; it was a real letter, a solid page of her neat, flowing script. I read it in an increasing blur, as its import sunk in.

My Sweet Lover,

Words don't come close to expressing how deeply you've touched me, first with your eyes, then with your heart, then with pretty much every other part of yourself. *smile*

I'm sure you've noticed that I've been away a lot more lately. I've been interviewing for a job in New Orleans. It's a huge career step for me. I didn't want to say anything until I knew for sure, but by the time I did, I didn't know how to tell you. I'm sorry I didn't have more courage. I hate goodbyes, and I hate leaving even more, but it's done now. I start day after tomorrow. Everything is moved except what's left here. Keep it for me, OK?

I've thought a lot about all of this, and the more I've thought, the more I know that what we've had is the best it will ever be. I know that's a cop out, but it's also true, and if you open up and listen to your heart you'll know it is. For all I know, you've had the same thoughts yourself. At this moment, we're perfect, and with my leaving, we always will be. You mean more to me than anyone ever has, because you understand me in a way I never could have imagined. That lives inside my heart.

This isn't goodbye. It's just a change. Any time you can get free, there's always a place for you in New Orleans. (Probably outside my window, if I know you. I have a small, secluded backyard garden. You'll love it. *wink* ) It's an eight hour drive, less if you drive the way I imagine you do, and cheap flights come up a lot. Come see me any time.

Oh, there's a present for you inside the box. I think you'll like it. (A lot.)

Lovingly,

Sharon


Taking a deep breath, and yes, blinking back a tear, I opened the box, and smiled. Inside were a webcam and a card with all of her contact info. Still smiling, I put the box down with the rose and the feather, blew out the candle and loaded everything into my PT.

When I was finally finished, I locked up and walked around that path I knew so well to the back of the cottage, then stood for a few minutes just absorbing everything. Everything except the lilacs. They had finished blooming for the season.

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