Tom Peeps

Always one to watch pretty women, Tom Ranger began to focus on them with growing interest around the time he turned fifty, with sexual activity at home on the downhill run. Mary was piling on weight, the blubber making her less agile and a little wheezy. More often than not those undesirable traits encouraged her to be 'asleep' when Tom came to bed and to rise before he awoke in the morning.

As head of IT and the training officer in a branch office of a leading insurance company, Tom had little difficulty tagging a woman when he felt rising need for sex. He was a popular boss and several females in his department were only to happy to be the chosen one to stay behind to work late and that included bending over Tom's desk.

When discovering his interest watching his women undress for insertion had become more personally satisfying than actually ramming home his erection and firing when appropriate, Tom wondered how to satisfy this developing fetish. One day when checking out the magazines in an adult store he found something of interest and purchasing Peep Magazine. It delivered amazing information, the most profound assurance being he was not alone. The magazine claimed research indicated that one out of twelve males aged sixteen years and over was a peeper. The figure for women was one out of twenty-seven. It did not surprise Tom that a reference to the origin of that 'research' was not published alongside the claims but he was intellectually liberated to have confirmation he was not alone.

Tom knew he could log on to any of hundreds of seedy websites and some a babe or a hag would undress to satisfy her voyeur client but what he wanted was to see real flesh revealed by some unsuspecting female only yards away from him. His son a daughter-in-law stayed with them ever six weeks or so but he was rather off Maxine these days. He and Maxine had screwed a few times ever since she walked in on him in the bathroom and her eyes bulged at the size of the pecker he was massaging. She was down on her knees in front of him before he was halfway toward blushing at having being busted. After the last time they fucked the filthy whore said unless he gave it to her up the poop chute next time he could go back to tugging himself off. So Tom had decided there would be no next time.

Tom purchased a pair of high-powered night binoculars from a military surplus store and tried them out the next time Maxine and Kevin stayed at his home. Good girl, she undressed without closing the shades as he lay on the roof of the garage on a moonless night, He licked his lips as he watched. After straitening her hair with her fingers Maxine then rubbed her nose and had moved her hands down to fiddle with her pussy when Kevin arrived behind her, licked a finger and shoved it into her. The next thing Tom knew his son had unzipped and was pusher his meat up her ass. Tom's erection that was pressed uncomfortably hard inside his trousers against the roof tiles deflated instantly and he almost vomited. He didn't stick around to see if the whore would suck after the withdrawal by his disgusting son.

Tom became aware that some people, particularly women, regard peepers as social undesirables perhaps akin to Jack the Ripper. They had their tits in a riot over concern about nonconsensual voyeurism. Tom regarded that 'crass ignorance'.

According to Tom, peeping is an art form, requiring skill much like a skier or a surfie selecting the optimum slope or catching the right wave. The peeper needs good judgment to know who to look at, when and how to interpret what he/she sees. Escaping detection, moving in close enough to get a real eyeful and avoiding guard dog bits require skill.

Most women (Tom only peeps at women) make terrible subjects, being ungainly, misshapen, uncoordinated in movement and being unable to hold a pose for a reasonable length of time. Some women who are move lazily and pose like bean bags and carry flaps of fat are the ones most likely to bad-mouth peepers because they've got much to hide.

People who condemn peepers are probably unaware that some subjects would be chuffed rather than offended that they'd come under sexual surveillance. After all, what's the use of having exquisitely sculptured breasts when in a closed relationship if no one other than the woman's partner sees her boobs? At least that was Tom's thinking.

Further, who else would know that Bette at number 27 has the most powerful looking vulva in the street unless a peeper has been able to establish that fact and discreetly made his finding known? Even it he remained tight-lipped, Tom suspected Bette would glow if she knew someone had seen her in all her glory and been able to reach such a profound conclusion. Many women were unhappy with their vulva and if Bette had been one of them, the peeper's anonymous note dropped into her mailbox might change her life around.

The reality is that peeping is simply a variation of astronomy, the main differences being one discipline uses night-vision binoculars instead of massively powerful telescopes and the peeper's target is close-by rather than in some distance galaxy. Both, of course, aimed to focus on hot stars. Interestingly, women didn't go about bad-mouthing astronomy. Then again, thought Tom, women tended to be careless thinkers.

As in many activities, not all peepers are born equal. Some stumble through the garden breaking shrubs, crushing flowers and drive the dog crazy by announcing their presence noisily. They also send bad scent to the dog because of sweating. Contrast that with the accomplished guy like Tom dressed head to toe in black who glided in, fed the dog and then would stand in front of the bedroom window just outside the lighting cast to calmly record what he sees on cam-recorder with night vision facility or through his binoculars if it were impossible to get sufficiently close.

More often than not advance students of peerography like Tom have the astonishing gift of knowing when to reveal themselves to their advantage -- revealing in the sense of purposely disclosing their presence rather than unzipping, though that could be the next step. To demonstrate peeper expertise, let's accompany Tom on two night patrols -- following him stealthily so he is unaware we are behind him.

It's a Sunday night, a great night for peeping as people are often tired after a very active weekend and their defenses are down -- they may undress slowly and not bother to close the shades as they usually do.

When walking Trevor (the dog) at nights, Tom had noticed at house recently purchased by a young couple they appeared to walk around the house partly dressed or even nude. Leaving Trevor at home on this Sunday night, Tom walks into the property of the young couple and leans against a tree on the edge of the garden, only thirty feet from the big bedroom window. We are agog, hearts pumping as we watch Tom lick his lips.

Tom is close enough to be seen but he's dressed in black and knows to keep movement to a minimum to avoid attracting attention. When someone comes into the bedroom he raises his binoculars, careful to keep his mouth closed (flashing white teeth are noticeable).

The young wife arrives in the room and begins undressing; had it been her husband undressing Tom would have been out of there. The woman's tidiness impresses us observing. She hangs her jacket, shirt and skirt in the wardrobe and puts her shoes away in a box. As soon as the skirt came off Tom has a beautiful heart-shaped ass under the panties to examine in wonderment and he probably almost shot a load when she stood on her toes to push the shoe box on to the shelf above the clothes bar carrying the hangers.

The woman walks to the window and reaching behind begins undoing her bra. She seems to be looking straight at Tom. Fearlessly he remains motionless. If she were looking to see a man in black peeping at her, she almost certainly would see Tom. Instead, she appears to be looking at the bedroom light making patterns on the lawn and then lifting her gaze looks right over Tom at the tops of the trees that are backlit by city lighting.

The bra unclipped falls below her boobs; the woman's hands, stretched out behind her, had pushed her boobs forward. The tits are big with the right one showing extra droop.

She tosses the bra on to the bed and stands with her back to Tom (and we observers). A casual peeper might have cursed about that, but Tom smiles happily. He knows what's coming. She's wearing hold-ups. After stepping out of her panties and throwing them on to the bed she leans forward to roll her left stocking down. It's not the best of views, but Tom licks his lips. Her ass faces straight at Tom as she removes the second stocking, with her legs slightly spread, giving him a magnificent view through the binoculars of a light-haired and fat pussy. Oh yeah! One can almost hear Tom's heavy breathing and because he has his back to use we can't see if the front of his trousers is tenting.

The husband enters the room nude, rubbing himself up. Without foreplay he lifts his wife's leg on to the bed and begins inserting his cock into her pussy from behind. Normally Tom doesn't bother to watch sex but this time he's interested to see if this young woman can recover from a low-rev start. She doesn't. Just as the poor woman turns her head for some tonguing the young guy howls like a wolf and obviously ejaculates into her.

The husband pulls out, sits on the bed and begins wiping his dick on his wife's panties while chatting to her. She remains as a tragic figure with her right leg on the bed looking as if she's just missed a train. Her husband goes to the bathroom, leaving her to finger herself off.

"Oh, pretty woman," murmurs Tom. "Come out into the garden for a frustrated walk and walk right on to my meat. I'll fuck you till you're screaming."

After watching the master roard to his finish we glide away ahead of Tom who presumably walks off home, drops off his binoculars and camcorder and takes his dog Trevor for a long walk.

* * *

On a Friday night Tom stopped outside a property on another street in his neighborhood. Friday is also a good night because office women go out for drinks to celebrate the end of the working week and to interact socially.

Hoping that tonight will be the night, Tom stood in the garden of a woman in her early forties but there was no sign of her husband. On and earlier visit Tom saw this woman playing with herself out on the terrace when her husband was in the room behind her watching TV. If the older man bothered to watch her he'd see what she was doing and perhaps take charge.

This night the woman made a phone call that ended with her appearing frustrated. She stretched then poured another wine. She was looking straight at Tom but obviously she was in another world.

"Hi!" called Tom, deciding to take the risk.

"Who's there!" the woman answered nervously. Tom appeared ready to flee but began to relax when it was obvious the woman had not shouted.

"An admirer."

"What?"

"An admirer."

"Of what?"

"You, your body."

There is a long silence, almost too longer. Had Tom blown it?

"Come into the light where I can see you."

Tom stepped forward with a big smile and held up the binoculars.

"Hi, I'm Mark. I'm bird-watching."

"Bird-watching my ass; you're a fucking peeping tom."

"You're too smart from me, guilty," confessed Tom, well aware of the power outflow of women when they have or think they have outsmarted as male.

"Why on earth would you want to peep at me?"

Tom was aware that he should answer that question carefully; it was a defining moment for him. It could go either way -- the prelude to a fuck or a call to the police. Alternatively she might simply shoo him away. Tom astutely mixed a flattering comment with a sexy overtone. "The lovely way you move and that gorgeous bust of yours have attracted me."

"My boobs? Goodness, you know nothing. I'm becoming an old cow."

"Not in my book."

"Hmmm. Care to join me for a drink? My husband won't be home this side of midnight."

"Hi, I'm Mark Johnston."

"That's not your real name, so let's dispense with names. Are you intending to rape me?"

"Good heavens no, how could you think that? I'm only into consensual couplings and my expectation is to receive mutual satisfaction and enjoyment through tenderness and enthusiasm. My only problem is that these days I just don't get set up for it like I did in earlier years."

"Sound like my problem -- here, this is merlot. Good health. So, you'd like to get at these titties of mine?"

Tom smiled enthusiastically and nodded.

"Well, come on then but be aware that this is not very private out here but I'm not taking you to my bed that I share with my husband."

She was on a solid-wood sun-loafer, very adequate for sex because they are built strongly.

Tom reached for her right breast. She caught his hand, looked him straight in the eye and asked, "Are you clean?"

Glad that she was interested enough to ask, Tom replied: "Absolutely."

She smiled and lifted her face to be kissed, lips parted.

Tom went forward carefully.

She yanked his head down and they kissed open-mouthed.

When they came up for air she said, "I've been waiting to be fucked by a man who cares; my husband is having an affair."

Tom being experienced didn't go down that path. Rather than discuss philandering hubby he kissed her again while sliding a hand under her dress and thumped the other hand against her twat. She squealed joyfully.

Tom guessed if hubby wasn't using it much it would be hairy, but he was wrong. Through the panties he could feel it was very closely trimmed.

"Let's get these off," he murmured and before he moved she'd already raised her ass off the mattress to assist with their removal.

"How big are you?" she asked, as the panties came off.

"A fraction under seven and a half, according to my wife and her ruler."

"Fucking far out. Give it to me, baby."

"What, now, without further preliminaries?"

"If you please. I've really never been a time-waster. A couple of licks and usually I'm very ready. I'll get these tits out for you while you get those tight black clothes off. You must be hard to see in the dark dressed like that?"

"Very hard."

"Ooooh. Please talk dirty to me like that."

Within minutes his pecker docked.

* * *

Peeping is not without trauma. Tom has had three lucky escapes and a lucky capture

One woman chased him but couldn't climb the fence after him. She awoke the neighborhood screaming foul abuse. Tom was left to trot home undetected.

On the next occasion the sharp-eyed victim quietly called the police. A cruiser arrived and just as Tom reached his vehicle -- he was several miles away from home -- he heard a loud-mouth patrolman say, "Here's the dog unit ma'am, we'll have the snake-ass tracked down within minutes." Tom drove quietly away, heart pounding.

The third heart-stopper occurred when he stood a little too close to the window. The woman with a near-perfect set of modest boobs left the room -- Tom assumed for the bathroom. He looked at her older guy who remained asleep in front of TV. The next thing he heard was the click of a revolver being cocked, just behind his back.

"Stand and deliver."

"Er yes ma'am," Tom swallowed, having difficulty to breath with his chest tightening.

She circled and peered at him. "I don't know you."

Tom looked nervously at the long barrel of the gun. He had to assume the gun was loaded. "No ma'am. I live a little away from here."

"You're a creepy peeper."

Tom knew not to lie, not with an angry armed woman nude above the waist. But a straight confession was unlikely to cool her anger.

"Untrue." He saw her mouth tighten. "I'm a married to an over-weight woman with huge breasts. I am out here to study the magnificence of any smaller breasted woman I can find artfully undressing without the windows covered."

"And you chose me?"

"How could I not, ma'am?"

Her face relaxed and she smiled lightly. "Do you fancy having sex with me?"

She didn't wait for his answer. "Unzip and on you back."

As she straddled him she said, "You will feel cold steel against your balls. Any attempt by you to disarm me and I'll blow your balls asunder and the bullet in all probability will tear through your stomach and lodge somewhere in your spine."

They completed a sixty-nine. He was great with his tongue and got her off three times. On her third release he jerked and jerked a tremendous load into her mouth, generated by fear.

"My God," she coughed and spluttered and handed the revolver to Tom to hold while she spat out semen and wiped her face on his shirt. "My husband is old dry balls compared with you."

She noticed the revolver in Tom's hand. "Oh God, be careful. It's loaded. Here hand it to me."

Tom was only too happy to oblige and watched her in the faint light as she disarmed the gun.

"Can you go again?"

He nodded.

She turned on to her hands and knees. "Well, in you go, but only in the larger orifice please."

Tom had barely started when he noticed the TV room lights go out and then half a minute later saw her husband staring out the window of the bedroom in their general direction.

"H-he's looking at us."

The woman turned and peered at the lighted windows. "Oh, he hasn't got his glasses on. He'll squint and think the blurs are a couple of dogs mating. Keep your head down."

She reached under and squeezed Tom's balls.

All was well. Tom felt himself swell.

After having had a loaded gun pushed up against his balls Tom decided that it was time to trade in his binoculars and camcorder. He arrived home with a large format film camera and studio lights.

"You're not messing up my home with that rubbish,?" fumed his wife.

Uncomplaining Tom simple converted his workshop into a studio and darkroom thinking he'd take family portraits but no one was interested. At work he complained to his PA that the trade deal had cost him his binoculars and camcorder and he'd handed over eight hundred bucks to complete the deal. "I must have been mad."

"Nonsense," Milly said. "Put that gear to good use. Look beyond your family. Oh hand on, I have three children overseas -- I'd like you to take some photographs of me."

Tom took some conventional photographs of Milly. They had been drinking so she asked him to photograph her tits. She showed the photos to the women at the office and soon Tom had a thriving after-hours photographic business going, with at least half of his female clients wanting unconventional photographs including pussy shots and around 50% of those women ended up fucking Tom.

Until last night Tom was had been starting to become jaded and a little bored of that activity. Last night the Morgan twin sisters in their late twenties called, wanting Tom to photograph them using their giant dildo.

After Tom said he was convinced he'd taken some good shots, Jesse and Veronica invited Tom to join them on the floor rug. He lapped it up and exhausted himself manfully. Although both married, the twins said they had enjoyed themselves so much they would book in for the next three Wednesday nights.

THE END