Crystal City Voyeur

She took a swig of tea and set the glass down on a table beside a pair of binoculars she occasionally amused herself with in watching the urban scene in Crystal City, a pastime that Ryan had hooked her on. She unhooked her bra and took that off and then slipped out of her panties. There, that was better, she thought. She loved the freedom of moving about her apartment in the nude. She cupped her breasts, raised them, and massaged the undersides of them. Ryan had said he couldn't get enough of fondling her breasts. They were perhaps her best assets, she thought. She rather liked fondling them herself. The nipples hardened up and she felt wet further down her body.

She moved the tea glass to the back of her neck with one hand, while letting the other one drift down to where her fingers could tease her folds and rub her clit. God, she was horny. Maybe taking care of herself would stave off her building headache, she thought.

But coming in over that thought was the sensation that she was being watched. It wasn't the first time she'd had that feeling. She didn't really mind it. It gave her a little thrill and made shivers of pleasure rise up her spine. But, was it just a feeling.

While she was still fingering herself, she picked up the binoculars and started a scan of the apartment buildings across Jefferson Davis Highway. It didn't take her long to see that she wasn't the only one using binoculars. And she wasn't the only one in the nude. Directly across the highway from her, at the Crystal House complex she saw that there was a guy about two thirds up the building standing at his window and scanning back in her direction with binoculars.

He was nude and, god, was he built—and hard. He was too far away to discern more than that, but he was hung enough for that to be clear—and his body was muscular, his skin smooth. He seemed to be looking directly at her.

She waved. He waved back.

Well, OK, she thought. Enough of that. She moved the binoculars, and . . . shit . . . there was another guy at a window two flights up in the same building. He was waving too. She had two guys watching her through binoculars, the perverts. The second one wasn't naked when she waved, but he was as she watched—he'd been in briefs, which he slipped off his legs. From here he appeared identical to the first guy.

She moved her view from one guy to the other. Each of them seemed to be trying to relate to her. And they both had taken their hard cocks in their hands.

She felt her juices flowing. All semblance of a headache was gone. She felt a bit giddy. Why the hell not, she thought. Get a real good look, boys, she thought. She put the binoculars down and pressed her body against the window, smashing her breasts, lips, and pelvis to the glass, moving breast in circular motions on the glass. She kept her fingers working her clit, though. She rubbed against the glass, moaning, and showing with the expression on her face that she was in heat. It felt good, releasing. She heard herself moan. She continued for several minutes, bringing herself to an orgasm and realizing that she had really needed that.

She picked up the binoculars and trained them on the apartment building across the highway in time to catch both men shooting off against the glass of their own windows almost simultaneously.

Giving a little laugh, she pulled away from the window and retreated to the bathroom, where she drew a bath, soaked in it for more than an hour, and fingered herself to another orgasm.

She had put off buying blinds or drapes for the window, because it took up the entire outer wall of her studio apartment and covering it would cost a small fortune. She had rented the apartment for the view. She'd have to think about buying blinds at least now. She'd enjoyed that little indulgence in exhibitionism and voyeurism, but she didn't know if she wanted to be on display like that twenty-four/seven. She didn't want to give up the freedom of moving about her apartment in the nude, though.

She'd worry about that on Monday. She wondered about the two guys who'd watched her and jacked off to watching her. They probably weren't the type to make a commitment any more than Ryan was. They probably were just thinking of their own needs, like he did. Finding a decent guy in Washington, D.C., was the pits. All the guys she associated with at work—including Ryan—were pigs in this way. Just out for the one-night stand. Well, except maybe for Nathan Turner. He talked like he valued commitment. Lauren Dunn was lucky to have the black hunk pursuing her. She should give in to him soon, or Heather herself might be tempted to cut in.

* * * *

"Hot damn, that bitches is in heat." Ryan grinned at Austin as he, Justin, and Nathan moved beyond Ryan and into the back room of the Brass Rail. "And, speaking of heat, it's hot as hell out there on the tarmac even this late in the day," he added. "Maybe I should sign out sick and give her a visit. I'm feelin' the love bug tonight."

Austin grinned back. He had been the first one to see Heather standing at her window in Crystal Plaza, naked, and fingering herself. He'd called Ryan, who had been taking a nap before their evening shift at the airport and who had rushed to his own window to enjoy the performance. And quite a performance it had been.

"What'ya talkin' about?" Justin asked, as Austin handed beers all around. Ryan's ground crew team was on break, and when they worked a rare evening shift like this and Austin was working the Brass Rail as well, they'd all retreat here for a beer mid shift and comparison of notes on their "getting it" lives. Justin nearly dropped his teeth when Austin and Ryan told him about the exhibition Heather had put on for them at her window.

"You think she knew it was us?" Austin asked.

"I hope to hell she knew it was me," Ryan answered. "I hope she's thawing out on holding out. I've invested more in her than any other woman just to get a one-time lay."

"And you both got off on it?" Justin asked.

"Yep, easy," Ryan answered. "The woman's sexy as hell. You should have seen the tits on that babe. God, I wished she'd give it to out like that when we're together?"

"You're not getting it from her regularly?" Nathan asked.

"No. She's looking for more than fun."

"I wish Lauren was like that," Nathan said. "I want there to be more, but she's just leading me on. She says she's just in it for the fuck—for the moment."

"You are fucking her, though, aren't you?" Austin asked. "Can't tell when we're all together. She acts standoffish—particularly to you."

"That's just her not wanting to hash it all out with the other girls," Nathan said. "That Amber wants to give and get blow-by-blow descriptions. Lauren doesn't want to play that game. But, yeah, until recently Lauren and me were getting' it on—and real good. She's a great fuck and likes it big—she says. I don't have any trouble believing her from the way she takes it."

"She give good head?" Ryan asked.

"The best. I'm just looking for more—more in the way of settling down. She's got the roving eye. Always talking about you, Ryan—always asking if you're bigger than I am."

"Too bad she's not here right now," Ryan muttered. "Heather's little show has me keyed up. So, the two of you aren't together anymore—you and Lauren?"

"Not that you would notice. So, what you're asking is if you can have a go?" He gave Ryan a hard look. Ryan grinned back. "I can't say no," Nathan said, with a sigh, and turned back to his beer. "I don't speak for her anymore," he said to the far wall. "But I don't want to see her get hurt either. You and your 'one and gone' philosophy doesn't set right with me. Can't say it wouldn't set right with Lauren, though."

"You're being awful quiet," Austin said, directing that to Justin, who'd been sitting there nursing his beer.

"You made Heather sound real randy," Justin asked after a moment, his voice quiet, but intense. "I saw her right before that by my reckoning. I offered to come upstairs. I'd die to get a piece of that piece. To think that I could have—"

"You just take the chances you have, ole buddy," Ryan said, punching Justin's bicep. "You gotta go for the gold to get the prize. But, break's over now, let's get our asses back out on the tarmac."

* * * *

If she hadn't had her white noise machine on to counteract the noise from the traffic on the Jefferson Davis Highway ten stories below, Heather might have heard the lock turn in her door. And if there had been a moon out that night of Saturday turned into Sunday, she might have gotten a glimpse of the man before he was on top of her on the bed, pulling a mask over her eyes and turning her on her belly to get her wrists into restraints. And if she didn't sleep in the nude and, on this hot night, on top of the sheets, she might have had time to struggle in some way before he was inside her.

But because of all of that, Heather was barely awake before he had her breasts cupped by broad palms, a snuffling face buried in the hollow of her neck, and a thick cock pushing its way between the folds of her cunt from behind and on top of her, working its way inside her, conquering and subduing her.

If she weren't so much in the need of what it was doing to her, she might have struggled more and screamed less. And if only she had a hand free to . . . but then the fingers on one of his hands was sliding off the root of his cock and through her folds to her clit, and he was rubbing her there, taking care of her there. He'd barely established a rhythm of the fuck before she was moaning and sighing and raising a bit on her knees to give him better access.

There were a few minutes when she did struggle and writhe more and mouth off her indignation when he pulled out of her cunt and she heard the snap of his condom being removed and then she felt the pain of the thickness of him relentless forcing his way into her ass. But, as one of his hands went to her muff and a finger back to her clit as he bottomed out in her ass and started to slow pump her there, she even capitulated to him in this and began to move with him in the fuck.

After he'd pulled out, spent his load on the small of her back, turned her and knelt between her thighs and buried his face in her cunt, she was fully with him, so that when he rose up, sheathed himself again, and penetrated her cunt she was open to him bucking with him in the fuck and crying out for the churning of the cock inside of her rather than any objection at violation. He pulled orgasm after orgasm out of her, leaving her moaning and purring like a mound of Jell-O.

He lay on top of her, both heavy and satisfyingly possessive afterward, going flaccid inside her. She realized that he was waiting for her to go to sleep, so she worked at regularizing her breath. She was so successful at this that she, in fact, was dozing off when he released the restraints holding her arms captive behind her back and was across the room and out the door before she could get her numb hands up to her face to pull the mask off.

For a brief moment, she tried to convince herself that it had all been a dream—that she had been in such a state of want that she had conjured it all up. But the numbness of her wrists and the pain in her ass channel assured her it had all been real. Part of it being real, though, was the horror of realizing that she felt gloriously fucked.

Somehow she'd known it would come down to this—that he'd get tired of sparing with her on their relationship and would just take it. Some part of her had dreaded that day coming. Another part of her, though, had pined for it to be just like this. Seized from her. God, he could fuck. She'd always assumed he could.

* * * *

"Damn, that hurt! What did'ya do that for?"

It wasn't exactly what Heather had expected when she slapped Ryan as he started to walk by her and into the back room of the Brass Rail when they were gathering on their coffee breaks Monday morning. Somehow she expected an effect somewhat greater than a mosquito bite on the cheek. She didn't know quite what to expect from him when they first saw each other, but his little grin set her off.

"Yeah, Heather, what's that for?" Austin said as he approached.

Somehow it sounded hollow coming from both of them, though. It's not that they didn't have in mind what had happened that weekend but that Heather seemed to be fickle about it. The mind of each had gone immediately to their dipping into the voyeur in watching her fingering herself and exhibiting an orgasm to them at her apartment window Saturday morning. Their eyes now both went to her prominent breasts, now clothed, but easily imagined otherwise now that they'd seen them bared. This instantly, to them, answered the question of whether she knew they'd been the guys watching her from the Crystal House.

"You damn well know why, you bastard," Heather exclaimed, maintaining her focus on Ryan. "That assault Saturday night. You had to take it your way, didn't you?"

"The assault? What assault?" Ryan responded, confused, dropping his grin. "You put yourself on display. And it was Saturday morning, not Saturday night."

"I'm talking sexual assault. Coming into my apartment. Tying me up. Fucking me." She couldn't bring herself to call it worse than assault. She had been embarrassingly quick in melting to it. And it wasn't like she wouldn't want it again. If she cried "rape," she knew she'd lose him in an instant. But the liberties the pig had taken . . . "And I want the key to my apartment back now. Right now."

"Someone attacked you in your own apartment Saturday night?" Ryan's eyes shifted to Austin. He was going to need help here. "Why would I do that? And I gave you your key back. All I did was bring your mail in for you while you were on vacation. And I gave the key back to you."

He was right, she realized. For her last vacation, the key had gone to Lauren. Ryan had brought up the mail but he'd completely forgotten to water her plants and some had died. So she'd switched to Lauren to cover for her next vacation. But there was another possibility.

"Then give me the duplicate you had made."

"I didn't make any fuckin' duplicate. Listen, you're saying you were assaulted Saturday night, and you're claiming I'm the one who did it?"

"Yes, you fucking bastard."

"I wasn't even in town Saturday night. Tell her, Austin, you and me. We went to Baltimore Harbor for an Elton John concert after work Saturday. Barely got there on time. Had too much to drink afterward and crashed in a motel in Colombia, Maryland, before making it home Sunday morning. Tell her, Austin."

"Yeah, it was like that," Austin said, although he didn't look directly at Heather when he said it.

"Like hell you did. You're just covering . . ." But then she stopped, an astonished expression zipping across her face, turned on her heels, and was gone.

"What the hell?" a voice exclaimed from inside the break room. Justin Miller was there, the only other member of the group who had arrived as yet. There was a scared expression on his face.

Ignoring him, though, Austin turned on Ryan. "Why the fuck did'ya tell her we were together after work on Saturday."

"I couldn't tell her where I was," Ryan said. "I was with Lauren."

"You were fucking Lauren Saturday night? You want anyone to believe that?" Austin was incredulous.

"Fuckin' right I was. And don't go after me. I gave you the alibi you needed."

"Me? You think Heather would believe I'd attack her?"

"You've wanted to fuck Heather like forever," Ryan said. "You've told me how you want to tie her up and fuck her in the ass."

"Hey, don't try to put your fuck ups on me," Austin growled. "I was with Nicole Saturday night."

"You were fucking Nicole?" The angry voice came from the break room—Justin. "You fuckin' bastard."

"So, you say," Ryan retorted. And then he stalked off.

"Who you lookin' at?" Austin rounded on Justin. "You've fantasized plenty about doing Heather whether she wanted it or not. And aren't you a super at her building? Don't you have access to all of the apartments? Where were you Saturday night, Justin?"

"Fuck you," Justin exclaimed as he brushed past Austin as Amber, Lauren, and Nicole approached. He avoided looking Austin directly in the eyes. There seemed to be a lot of that going on between the men over the last few minutes.

"What?" Amber asked. "What was that all about."

"You don't want to know," Austin said, as he headed for the restaurant's bar.

* * * *

Heather had walked out onto the airport concourse from her encounter with Ryan and stopped beside a blank wall to catch her breath. It had seemed that she'd walked off in exasperation, but it was more because of a revelation. When she'd just been up close to Ryan moments earlier, it hit her that men had distinctive scents about them. That was as true about Ryan and the other guys in the group as it was about other men. It wasn't a noxious smell with any of the guys in her group—it was just a distinctive scent, probably enhanced by each of them using a different aftershave or deodorant.

The guy on Saturday night had had a scent about him to. She was familiar with it but only now had thought about it. She knew now, though, what she hadn't known Saturday night. And it was fine. She just now had control she hadn't had before.

She didn't take any precautions that night that she hadn't taken before. She stripped down to move about her apartment, be damned whoever might be watching. The only thing she did differently was that she rummaged around in the boxes in her closet until she found her penknife, which she tucked under her pillow before turning out her lights, stretching out on the sheets—and waiting. This time she was hoping as well as waiting.

Sure enough, after she'd drifted off to sleep, he entered her apartment again, the sound of the key in the lock hidden by the white noise machine she had going. It was riskier tonight, though, as there was a sliver of a moon out and the apartment, still missing draperies on the floor-to-ceiling wall of glass, was dimly lit.

Once again she was masked and her wrists were tied behind her back before she was fully awake.

This time, however, there was no surprise and thus no pretense on her part. No reluctance. Pure honesty.

"Yes, yes, fuck me!" she cried out, as he dragged her down the bed by her ankles, split her legs, sank between her thighs at the end of the bed, and started feasting on her cunt. As she was being dragged down the bed, she'd dug her head into the pillow so that it—and the knife under it—came down the bed with her.

"Yes, yes, yes!" she cried out as she raised her torso up, propped on the heels of her bound-together hands. She raised her legs to hang onto his broad shoulders. While he was busy with his lips, tongue, and teeth in the folds of her muff and with sucking her clit, as she exhibited her welcome by thrusting her pelvis up into his face, her hands were busy pulling the penknife out from under the pillow and sawing away at the wrist restraints.

Her wrists freed, she waited for him to rise over her and start to prepare to fuck her before she murmured, "I want to taste it. I want to suck it."

Clearly surprised but also clearly aroused and fully erect, he kneed his way up along her body as she reclined back. Dragging his hard cock up her belly, he ran it between the cleavage of her breasts and took a few moments to squeeze her ample orbs in his hand as he stroked in her cleavage, before thrusting his pelvis forward as his hands when to the back of her head. She opened her lips to the cock as he pulled her head forward and went immediately to sucking on the bulb and flicking the piss slit with her tongue.

Groaning, he leaned his torso back, pressing the knuckles of his hands into the sheets on either side of her thighs. Heather took the cock ever deeper into her mouth, sucking it like a popsicle as he closed his eyes and moaned. The citrus scent of him grew stronger. She'd been right. She'd remembered rightly.