Cleo's Fantasies Ch. 03

**Cleo**

Cleo opened the door and entered her apartment: no music - a sure sign that Lena was not at home. It was already half past nine and, of course, dark outside. She had worked much longer than planned again, which was sometimes unavoidable in her job.

Cleo checked the temperature of the hot water jet. In this apartment, she finally had the long-awaited bathtub - a small luxury she would never do without again, if at all possible. A few candles, soft music, and a glass of red wine would also provide the relaxing setting today to soak up the comforting warmth and let the day pass in review.

She walked into the unlit bedroom and looked out the window. Light in the neighbor's window, as always. Also, as always and without further thought, she turned down the shutters and left the room.

She opened a bottle of red wine, poured herself a generous glass, and sipped on it. The slight sweetness always delighted her. The alcohol would put her in a loosened, relaxed mood in no time. Glass in hand, she entered the bathroom, lit three tea lights, and checked the temperature of the water.

Perfect.

She took off her pants and blouse and looked at herself in the mirror in her black underwear. She turned slowly back and forth, posing a little. "Not bad," she thought with a grin.

With a practiced backward grip, she undid the bra, dropped it somewhat carelessly, and involuntarily found herself thinking of her neighbor again, in particular of that highly unusual scene on the street that morning. The excitement returned with a thud. For a moment, she paused and could feel and see her nipples swelling.

Without questioning herself, she went into the dark bedroom, carefully draped the bra on the end of the bed, and opened the shutter a bit, just enough - she estimated - for him to see the bottom of the bed and the bra from his window. Then she went to the door and, with a slight, mischievous grin, flicked on the overhead light.

She paused in the doorway momentarily, looking at the black lace bra on the white sheet. It looked like it had been carelessly thrown there, and the shutter was down far enough that the remaining open gap could have been a mere oversight. Satisfied with herself, she went into the bathroom.

She slipped out of her panties and let herself slide deep into the water, took a sip of wine, and closed her eyes.

She wondered how long the neighbor would take to see the light in her window. Would he even notice?

But more importantly, why had she done that just now? She couldn't or didn't want to analyze it because she already felt the all-too-familiar arousal gaining momentum.

Besides, what had she done anyway? Thrown a bra on the bed? Who could possibly say anything against that? The neighbor was a peeping tom; she couldn't help that. Not her fault entirely.

From her point of view, at worst, it was a somewhat crazy little game, nothing more.

She relaxed, enjoyed the water that caressed her delicate skin, and smiled contentedly, ignoring the white lies she had come up with. Of course, she knew that she was at least bending the truth a bit.

Besides, what else did the poor wretch get out of life? A woman like her was out of his reach, always had been, and always would be.

She couldn't avoid another grin. Her attempts to justify it were somewhat ludicrous, but her hand had already found its way into her lap by now, and her nipples were painfully stiff, despite the warm water.

With each sip of wine, she relaxed more; with each touch, her quite outlandish fantasies excited her more. She wondered again what he would do when discovering the light in her window. As always, she imagined him the same way: standing there, a hand on his thick penis, trembling and aroused beyond measure - this time because of a carelessly thrown bra. What a poor slob.

While she gently massaged her clit and the arousal threatened to bring her to the point of no return, she considered her next move. Should she show him more today? And if so, what? Her legs, her breasts? Or maybe just how she would take her bra off the bed, wrapped in a bath towel, and then turn off the light? She laughed briefly: how mean she could be.

But no, everything had to seem believably random. There was no way she could risk him getting the impression that she was putting on a show for him.

Again, her thoughts returned to his shaking hands, and her arousal intensified. She let two fingers sink deep inside, rubbing her clit more vigorously with her other hand. More enthusiastic thrusts and water splashed over the tub's edge, slushing on the floor.

She opened her eyes abruptly and paused, her excitement still high. She sat up hurriedly, drained the water, and exited the tub. She grabbed a towel, wrapped herself in it without drying herself, and quickly entered the brightly lit bedroom. Her eyes fell on the bra, then on the window. Her excitement was almost unbearable. She wanted to finally lie on the bed and finish what she had started in the tub. So she headed for the bed, fully aware that at any moment, she would be visible to him.

Stopping in front of the bed, she picked up her bra, her towel opening a tiny bit to reveal half of her thigh. She was aware that he could see her like this, actually a pretty harmless sight, but the idea of him standing there, trembling from arousal, excited her even more.

If he was looking at all, a little voice said in her head.

But that didn't matter at all right now. In her imagination, everything was perfect and exactly how she wanted it. She was aroused beyond belief, and the desire to lie naked on the bed and finally come intensified further.

Yet she hesitated once more, suddenly feeling a bit insecure. Even though the encounter in the morning had given her a feeling of power and safety, at the same time, she was aware of being somewhat crazy.

Turning away from the window, she slowly slid the towel off her body and tossed it onto the bed. If he looked, he could see her bare legs, maybe even her bottom. A shiver ran down her spine; the idea was insufferable and electrifying simultaneously! Her hard nipples ached, and she felt the blood swell her labia and a pulsating sensation in her abdomen.

She couldn't stand it any longer, went to the door, flicked off the light, and lay down in the dark so that he could have seen her, probably just up to her breasts, if she hadn't turned off the light. The idea of presenting herself was overwhelming and indescribable. With small, circular motions, she began to massage her clitoris, imagining him watching her. She spread her legs even more and lifted her pelvis a little. It was almost unbearable; her touches became much more aggressive. Only seconds later, she was surprised by an overwhelmingly long orgasm, the likes of which she rarely had, at least not for a long time, experienced with such intensity.

Her whole body vibrating, she felt exhausted and remained motionless, her legs spread wide, one hand on her belly, the other on her mons veneris - any touch now would have been almost painful. Unusually slowly, the tingling in her skin subsided, and her labia finally stopped pulsating. She glowed and felt a chill at the same time.

Had she been loud? She didn`t know. Very unusual.

She didn't care how strange the fantasy might be to other people. Nobody knew anything about it - and that was just fine. She was having the best orgasms in ages and was thoroughly enjoying her newfound pleasure. That was all she needed to know. Without getting up again, she fell into a dreamless, deep sleep.

In the middle of the night, she woke up and pulled her covers over herself. She opened her eyes and looked at the window, which she could dimly make out, and briefly smiled.

She closed her eyes again, and when the alarm clock rudely jerked her back from sleep at five-thirty, it felt like only a few seconds had passed.

She got up but, on a whim, refrained from turning down the shutters. But contrary to her habit, she also refrained from opening the shutters in the morning before leaving the apartment. She wanted to make it look as if she had just forgotten to do it.

Of course, she didn't know if he had looked, but she assumed he had. Once a Peeping Tom, always a Peeping Tom.