Blue Pool Fantasy

There's a woman who lives next door, she's been there for five or six years. I met her at a party there, a couple of years ago, and close up her face was extraordinary. She has rich brown eyes and olive skin, a light smattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose, and her hair is long and auburn and lustrous. When I first saw her she was at a sixth form college, and because they wore uniform I didn't look twice other than to smile and say hello, but now she's shed that skin, and I see her in figure hugging jeans and nice looking tops. She's around twenty two, twenty three, and I'm approaching thirty.

She lives with her parents, and when they go away for the weekend I hear her humping whoever she's brought home. She does a peculiar high pitched yelping when she's coming and it always turns me on.

It's July and it's sunny and hot, and with all the windows open wide I've been irritated all morning by the noise of her nephew and niece playing out in a little blue paddling pool. I'm trying to write, but the screams and the laughter keep interfering with my concentration, so in the end I hit the sofa for some TV. There isn't much on; Columbo, Sunday Kitchen, the weekly politics show, but I hear the kids and the brother and his wife saying their goodbyes, and them going with her parents following on in their own car.

The place is suddenly still, and quiet, the woman's little noises still there but all muffled by the dividing wall. I get up and begin the process of settling to my writing, so first I make coffee. I make a ritual of setting myself at the table, in front of the window so I can look out onto the garden. The trees at the back are shimmering with the heat. I start typing, slowly, as though my fingers have forgotten where the keys are, and gradually I establish a little rhythm, pausing here and there to light a cigarette or take a sip of coffee.

As I write, subconsciously I listen to her movements, footsteps on the stairs, drawers opening and closing in one of the bedrooms, a tap being run. Then back downstairs and there's the tinkle of ice cubes and I hear her go out into the garden. I can't see her because of the fence, but I hear her padding feet as she moves furniture around. I wonder can she hear my fingers, tapping at the keyboard. She's closer now. Her sounds are closer, and I feel distracted, self-conscious. I've done maybe two paragraphs. I go upstairs to use the toilet and pee at the side of the bowl so it's quiet.

I'm at the top of the stairs and I pause. I was going down, but I don't. I go into the back bedroom and, standing a little way back from the window I look out through the blinds.

She's on a sun lounger beside the pool, sitting while she applies sun cream. She's wearing a bikini, a little black one with a beige coloured floral pattern. Her breasts are cupped so I see her cleavage, her nipples slightly visible where they're pushing at the fabric in the bikini top. She's wearing sunglasses and her hair is tied back into a ponytail. She often sunbathes but I've never really dared to look. Her skin has a lovely golden sheen, intensified where she's smoothed in lotion.

It occurs to me that I shouldn't be looking now, but I can't peel my eyes away. I shake my head and turn away but her image stays there, in my minds eye, and although I want to go back downstairs and get on with my work I'm drawn back to the window for a second look.

With her hair that way I see that she has a slender neck. Her body is divine, and I admire the way she moves as she's rubbing in the last of the cream, using her fingers to apply it around her toes. Leaning forward her breasts are exposed down inside the top and I have tantalising glimpses of her big brown nipples.

She places a packet of cigarettes and a lighter on her belly and I see a little wobble, a cute belly button and a barely discernible trail of hairs, blonde against her tan skin, leading down inside her bikini bottoms. She settles back in the lounger to bask and puts her feet up. She has long shapely legs and wonderful flowing curves, through her thighs, through her hips, around her chest and her breasts, her shoulders and her neck. I am transfixed.

She exudes sexuality and I feel a hint of arousal. Every so often she rises from the middle to run her fingers through her hair, a goddess in cool sunglasses. I feel safe in the shade, standing back inside the bedroom a little way, looking out through the narrow slats, but I can't help wondering, can she see me? Her sunglasses are directed my way, her body in line with mine so her feet are pointing at me, but I don't think she can see in, and I'm silent. I study her movements and I can detect no hint of embarrassment or awareness of me coming from her, so I allow myself to continue looking.

I watch another minute and start to get cross with myself. I'm about to go when she sits forward and lights a cigarette. She puckers her glossy looking lips as she smokes and the hint of arousal in me grows. I can see into her top again and her skin is shiny in the sun, strips of reflected sunlight attract my eyes to follow their progress along her body. I stare. I'm hypnotised.

I move a little closer to the window. She finishes her cigarette and flicks it away, reaches for the glass and gulps juice down. I see her throat bobbing as she swallows and hear the ice cubes rattle. Her head is angled upwards and I freeze, convinced that she's seen me and is going to say something, but instead she rolls the emptied glass across her forehead and over her chest and abdomen. I see perspiration beading and her nipples jut.

My penis stiffens. She extracts an ice cube from the glass and pops it into her mouth and I hear her gasping at the cold against her teeth, then she stands and turns so that her back is to me, water flowing the length of her, reaches up behind and unfastens her hair. It tumbles and sweeps at her shoulders and I follow it down over the valley of her spine to where it spreads out into the luscious curves of her bottom, the bikini pants stretching to contain her and somehow enhancing her arse cheeks. She has two pronounced dimples in the small of her back.

I'm inflamed, and I dare to push even closer and feel cautiously for the bulge in my trousers. I rub at it gently. My mouth is slightly open.

She pauses in the garden and looks back at the fence, and up towards my window, her head angled for listening out. I withdraw a little. She stays this way for a few moments, then I see the tension leave her body and her hands reach up behind and unclasp the bikini top. I stop breathing. She drops it onto the floor beside the glass of melting ice.

She turns and I see her breasts fully exposed, those big brown nipples pronounced against the pale orbs and tan lines, erect, holding onto my wide open eyes like magnets. She settles back down onto the sun lounger. I see her breasts spread and watch as she adjusts her shoulders and bottom to get comfortable. Her legs are slightly apart and I feel all warm and relaxed. I quietly undo the buttons on my fly. I reach in and draw out my penis, hard, hot to the touch, it feels nice out in the air. I feel it, grasping it gently and stroking. I can smell its musk.

She seems to have a little smile playing on her lips and I wonder what she's thinking about. Her foot taps and she sits up again and begins to smooth on more sun tan lotion. She smoothes it into her neck and shoulders, up as far as she can reach around the back, over her bare hanging breasts and across her tummy, then she massages it the length of her thighs and calves, ending with her fingers slipping and sliding about between wriggling toes.

My penis is throbbing with desire, and I tighten my grip a little bit, rubbing along the gorged shaft very slowly. My heart rate and my breathing quicken slightly. I'm masturbating.

She lies back and takes off the sunglasses and her eyes are locked onto mine, seeing me, and I gasp. She stares and I can't see whether she's frowning. Does she look cross? She doesn't move and nor do I. Her eyes are penetrating into my shade. I wait. She closes her eyes and lies back, her hands are outstretched and she wriggles her fingers because they're all sticky with lotion.

I move backwards into the room and take off all my clothes. Can she hear them? Sliding down? Peeling off? I run my hands over my stomach and chest and imagine that they're hers, that she's feeling me.

She's lying with her head back, eyes still closed, and she tries to wipe the excess lotion from her hands and away onto her belly. I watch as she turns them over and over, rubbing the cream away into her soft flesh and getting nowhere, and I watch as her fingers brush against the bikini pants. She rubs at the little hollows in between her stomach and thighs, seeing if the material there will absorb away some of the sun cream.

She pushes her hands further down so she's wiping them down by her pubic mound, and I see her skin tighten. Goosebumps rise, and she's no longer wiping, she's feeling and probing gently, and her face is concentrating on the sensations. I'm gasping, my breathing coming hard.

I see her middle fingers creeping further still and she's touching herself outside of the panties and her breathing changes, her chest swelling to hold in the air as her arousal begins. When she pushes with a finger I see the sheen on the bikini material tighten up, and I can almost trace the outline of her labia where they part. She pushes and caresses and lingers a little bit where it feels nicest. I'm stroking at my tip, firming up along the shaft.

Her mouth is slightly open and I can see her white lower teeth. She nibbles at her top lip. I slow myself. The trees at the end of the garden shimmer with the heat.

Now she is developing a rhythm, her breasts and her belly wobble ever so slightly, keeping time. She fumbles at the bikini bottoms where they lie against her skin and she makes a little opening. Her other hand pushes in and I can see the fingers where the material gets taut as they creep downwards and curl.

She's frowning now, her face slightly screwed up with the initial stirrings of pleasure, her craving, and as I fondle myself I want to be down there in her garden, to kiss, to feel what she feels. I too close my eyes and I imagine our lips pressing together, our tongues touching, I can taste her breath. I imagine myself kneeling in mute adoration between her legs, her bronze thighs all slick, pulling her bikini panties aside.

I imagine her pussy, all burning hot and swollen and pink, and I press my mouth against it and taste her salt, her sea. I trace the moistened contours with the tip of my tongue, I look at its parting and I can see her, glistening, wet and open for me. I imagine us beginning to fuck, my dick nudging at her, and my own rythm quickens.

I come back into the real world and I open my eyes and she's standing. She's taken her hands out of the bikini bottoms and she's peeling them off and stepping out of them. I see a little triangle of pubic hair, jet black and stark against the white where sunbathing in pants has made her skin seem underexposed.

She knows that I'm here. She knows what I'm doing, I can feel it in the air, but I can't stop. She bends to pick up the glass and I see her rear parting a little, and the dark private place beneath, a flash of pinkness. She goes indoors, her feet padding on the little paved area. I think I catch a quick glance up my way but I'm not certain. She moves out of sight and when I hear her going in through the door I groan and step backwards away from the window. I sit on the edge of the bed and sigh.

I hear her coming back and I get up to see. She's refilled her juice and the ice cubes are tinkling. I'm thirsty too, thirsty and dry. My penis stays erect and it's hard and smooth. I return myself to a slow rhythm and watch breathless as she moves. She puts the glass down next to the paddling pool and I moan to myself as she lowers her body into the water and lights another cigarette.

I watch in fascination as the water ripples, dappling her body with reflected light, her underside a translucent blue. She slides her legs so that her thighs are pressed up against her tummy and she sits there, smoking, staring in at me through the blinds. She has no expression on her face. She smokes and she stares.

I see little visions of her darkness as the water shifts and allows me brief glimpses. I'm melting. My body glistens like hers as perspiration drips down out of my pores. She smokes and she stares, and I watch her place the other hand in between her legs. I watch as she slides a finger down and draws it back upwards, stroking gently at the swollen pink ridge that emerges from her other lips.

I'm masturbating hard, humping my clenched fist without caring, beyond primal. The world doesn't matter any more. She matters. This matters.

I can see that her fingers are pressing in deeper and I hear her sighing. Her eyes are narrowed but they're still locked onto mine and our strange behaviour feels somehow right, we're together. I wonder am I dreaming?

I'm verging on coming, I feel it building up inside, and I want to be next to her, feeling her, inside of her - to come with her. I want her to take me in her mouth and run her hands over my skin. I want to come inside her warm special place and to not stop coming.

I'm tensed and ploughing at my burning soul, sighing and moaning and groaning audibly now, and I want her to whisper things into my ear, rude things, dirty things. My heart is hammering and still we stare, me down into her sexual paradise, and her up into my den, my hide.

Our rhythms fall in with one another. My hands are hers and her hands are mine. She has two or three fingers inside herself and she pushes them in and pulls them out in abandonment, an irrevocable frantic ecstasy. I hear her panting, little snorts as she exhales the air through her nostrils. I picture a horse, a fine mare all slicked with running and her eyes hidden away behind a hanging mane.

She's licking at her lips and I watch her tongue as it moves from side to side, little pinkness, so wet and horny, and her eyes. Her eyes. My penis is jerking with the longing to come. I want it to spray into her open mouth. I want to see it dripping from her chin and down onto her wonderful breasts. I want to kiss her lips and taste myself there. I want to begin all over again and push it up inside her, to feel her pussy wrapping itself around me, drawing me in, deeper and deeper. I want to be lost in her.

But I hold back. I have to wait. She's not finished and I have to wait for her. The water in the little blue pool sloshes over the sides and she's letting go of herself, head back, eyes closed, and she makes that little yelping sound I like, so I know that she's coming. My body shudders and I'm shaking. She's coming. She's coming.

Her breasts and her belly quiver and she tosses away the cigarette so that she's free to run her hand over her skin, her neck and her shoulders, and her nipples, and hot semen gushes out of me, thick gobs of it splashing onto the curtains and down onto the carpet. I can't let it go. I rub and squeeze and tug and pull and caress my balls with my free hand. I've stopped breathing. I'm in rapture.

She slows her rhythms gradually until the orgasm has faded. She's lying prone, gasping for breath. Her breasts float in the water. She slumps down and her legs slide forward with the release of tension. She closes her eyes and rests her head against the blue inflatable and I can see the blood pulsing in the veins on either side of her neck.

My hand is still working, pumping slowly, up and down, up and down, milking the last few drops of semen out, strings of fluid streaming and dangling from the tip of me. She sighs and opens her eyes. She looks up and deep into my shaded hide. She withdraws her fingers from deep inside and sucks on them, one by one. She puts the palm of her hand to her lips and blows me up a kiss.