Femme Fatale

Why, you little bastard! she thought. Well, no big deal. You still can't see beyond the window, and if seeing what I let you see up close makes you whimper and drool even more, then so much the better! She smiled, imagining him holding up the binoculars in one hand while he frantically stroked his erection with the other, moaning in frustration - oh my! What a thought.

Lying in bed that night Elaine thought about the performance she was putting on every night. It surprised her that it had become almost routine, and something that in a weird way she actually looked forward to! It was exciting to realize that she had the power to arouse the voyeur next door, but in a way that kept him in an agony of frustration, that used his perverted needs against him. She wondered if she could make it more intense, make it worse.

Maybe, she thought, maybe I should let him get a little peek at what he really wants to see. Perhaps I could take off my bra and stay in the window just for a second - all men wish they could see my naked tits, that much I do know! But again her self-consciousness arose - if my breasts aren't high and perky he'll probably lose interest, and I won't be able to torment him anymore! Well, so what, I really don't care! But she actually did care; she wanted to keep tantalizing this nasty pervert, to keep him excited but frustrated, never satisfied. He deserves it, he deserves to be punished, forever!

She lay seething as she tried to sleep, seething and thinking.

==========

The next day Elaine went for a walk during her lunch-hour. She stopped in front of a store she'd walked by many times in the past, but had never paid much mind; she'd certainly never been inside. "Desirable You": she'd just assumed it was some sort of specialty costume boutique, nothing that had any appeal for her. But now she was curious - the displays in the window were risqué and piqued her interest about what else might be available inside. Very soon after she'd entered and was examining displays of revealing lingerie and underwear, a young salesgirl approached her and asked if she could help. Elaine was on the point of saying no, she was just browsing, but on a sudden impulse said instead, "Yes, well I was looking for nightgowns, actually."

"Any particular style?" the girl asked.

"I'm not sure," Elaine said. "I'd like something that could deal with, uh, well with my particular body type, so that without a bra I wouldn't be so, well, you know, so..."

"I understand," the girl said, smiling. "You'd like to be as attractive at night as you are during the day! You certainly are stunning, if you don't mind my saying so." She leaned closer and said in a confidential stage-whisper, "Is there someone at home you'd like to make a special impression on, a husband maybe, or a boyfriend?" Elaine blushed, but said nothing. The girl took this as a yes. "Come on," she said, "I have a few things that might be what you're looking for."

Half an hour later Elaine returned to the office with a Desirable You package, which she quickly put in a desk drawer before anyone could see the store logo. The girl had been very helpful, and informative, too. Elaine had never heard of a "shelf bra" before, and the nightgown she'd picked out with the girl's help contained one. She was amazed when she tried it on in a dressing room - it somehow was able to support her heavy breasts from below, holding them up so that they dropped less than usual, and made them stand out in front almost as much as her regular bra did, even though she looked almost naked! It used cups that contained a strong, almost invisible band underneath, but higher up where they clung to the globes of her breasts they were thin and almost transparent. The nightgown she bought was full-length and deep purple, and came with matching panties that were "optional", as the girl said with a wink. Elaine was having second thoughts as she sat in her office now - what was I thinking! Would I actually wear this? At the same time she realized that she was looking forward to bedtime.

==========

That night, fortified with two glasses of Chardonnay, she stood in front of the window and slowly removed her skirt, blouse, stockings, and garter belt. She turned her back to the window and unfastened her brassiere. Tossing it aside, she covered her breasts with her hands, lifting and squeezing them as she briefly faced the window before moving out of sight to the side. Two minutes later she reappeared, now dressed in her enticing new nightgown. She'd let her hair down, and the effect of her dark wavy tresses cascading over the purple of the gown was sensuously erotic. Her mirror was not near the window but she pretended that it was just off to the side, and turned as if examining her reflection, turning this way and that, admiring herself in the new low-cut gown. She looked particularly pleased when she stood in profile to the window, with her hands held behind her back, to see her full breasts held high and provokingly seductive by the invisible shelf bra. She fondled her breasts, and gently pinched and pulled at her nipples to make them poke through the thin, translucent material that clung to her generous bust. She made a show of running her hands up and down her body, caressing her breasts and hips and prominent buttocks, and imagined that her admirer's hands were similarly busy, stroking his erect penis as he stared at her in rising excitement. She faced the window, looking to the side as if into the mirror, with her arms lifted and her hands grasping the back of her head. The gown clearly displayed the alluring contours of her voluptuous body, and was transparent enough almost to reveal her nakedness - almost, but not quite. She smiled, wishing she could see his cock as he worked on it. How does it feel to want what you can't have, pervert!

As she pretended to admire herself she was thinking about the man out there she was deliberately tantalizing. I wonder what his cock looks like? Is it big and hard in his hand, or just a little stick? Doesn't matter, really, he probably can't get enough of stroking it, must be totally addicted to the pleasure. I wonder what it's like to be teased while he masturbates, like I'm doing to him. Is it driving him crazy with frustration? Oh, I hope so, I hope it's tearing him apart! He's probably trying so hard not to come until he gets to see me naked, which he never will - God, what a fool! Every night he tries, and every night it's he same thing, just more maddening tease, just more sexual frustration and all he can do is come in his hand! I wonder if he uses both hands, so he can finger his balls as well as twist his fist around the big, swollen head of his cock. Oh, but he can't do that, can he, because of the binoculars - another block to full satisfaction, got to choose between a close up view of my big tits and more intense pleasure for his cock - good! I hope that gets him even more worked up and frustrated. He's probably pretending it's my hand stroking his hard prick, even though he knows that that will never, ever happen. I love that he knows that.

Her erotic posing and thinking about the voyeur's torment were causing her to become genuinely excited, and she closed her eyes, licking her lips as she squeezed her breasts with increasing urgency, and reached down to press her hand to the heat between her legs. You want this, old man? she thought. You wish this was your hand? Her lip curled in a sneering smile. Oh, you do, I know you do. Well, keep wishing, keep wanting...

She was still excited as she lay in bed later in her new gown. It had been a long time since she had masturbated, but now her satisfaction with the agony she had inflicted on the voyeur was converted to pure pleasure under the gentle ministrations of her knowing fingers. Vengeance was very sweet.

==========

Her days at work were pretty much as they'd always been - the work was the same, her coworkers the same, the daily routines the same. But something had changed. She finally realized that the change was in her, she felt somehow constrained, felt an energy that was struggling to find an outlet, an emotional itch that needed to be scratched. She was even more aware of her body than before, and of the effect it had on men; she had always been aware of that, but whereas before it had irritated her now she was finding that she welcomed it, to some extent she actually craved it. Maybe I need to get laid, she thought. But that wasn't really it. What caused the heat to rise between her legs was not the thought of fucking men - it was thinking about how badly they themselves wanted to fuck her. She wanted them to desire her, to ache for her.

And they did desire her, she knew that. She was no longer shy about allowing them peeks up her short skirts, which gave them plenty to drool over and - she hoped - to masturbate while thinking about it later. And she no longer considered her large, round derrière an embarrassment. Some guys go crazy for an ass like mine, she'd decided, wishing they could squeeze it while I slide up and down their hard pricks in bed - they wish! But still - she wanted them to want her more, wanted them to suffer just as much as that weirdo in the window that she drove crazy every night. It got her hot just thinking about it.

She had a thought, remembering something she had seen in Desirable You. She paid the shop another visit, and the next morning while getting dressed for work she was very pleased with what she saw in the mirror!

It was so simple, really. Just an ordinary brassiere in her large size - ordinary, except for the openings in the centers of the cups, so that while her breasts were held high and firm her erect nipples poked out enticingly through her clothing as if she were wearing nothing underneath. Appropriately enough, she wore her favorite jersey - it was tight and form-fitting, and its light cream color put her voluptuous breasts clearly on detailed display, almost as if she were naked. When she walked into work she acted as if nothing had changed, but she was very aware of the stir she was causing, and had to force herself not to look between the legs of men who were staring at her with their mouths hanging half open. When she walked across the office she knew she was passing through a gauntlet of erect penises, which was exactly what she wanted, of course!

Elaine herself went through the day with a new sense of taut excitement, a warm, erotic glow. When she chatted with men she looked deeply into their eyes, and when she smiled her tongue sometimes curled to her upper teeth. As the days went by, she wondered if people might begin to object to her newly seductive image, particularly the women. To her surprise, however, she noticed that some of the younger women seemed to be taking her lead, dressing in much more suggestive ways themselves. Oh, the poor guys, how will they get any work done now! Well good, serves them right; if they can't concentrate it's their problem. There are several talented female coders here, we could do with more of them, who needs men! Oh, but we do need the men, too; who else are we going to torment, after all?

==========

Every night Elaine continued her campaign of deliberate teasing of the pervert next door. Whenever she put on the nightgown - offstage, of course - she pinched and massaged her nipples, so that when she stepped in front of the window they were hard and erect, and she imagined the man across the way licking his lips, wishing that he could be licking and sucking and slobbering all over them! Her bed faced the window, and some nights instead of turning on the overhead and dresser lights, which provided the brightest illumination of her entire body, she lit only the single bedside lamp. This, she realized, lit her from behind, creating a silhouette that allowed the voyeur to see the shape of her body through the gown - the generous curves of her hips and derrière, the inviting space between her thighs, the swell of her pubic mound, and of course the high, full globes of her magnificent tits! She made sure to turn around to offer views from all sides, and imagined him whimpering as he masturbated desperately, staring at what he couldn't quite see. She laughed softly to herself; suffer, you pathetic little man - your life is nothing more than stroking that cock now, and aching for what you'll never get.

One night, after more wine than usual, it struck her that she'd gone to quite a lot of trouble to... to what, exactly? To please men, to appear to them the way they wanted her to be, or at least what she thought they wanted? She became angry. Damn! Why the hell should I have to worry about what I look like to them, waste my energy on lighting up their fantasies? I am what I am, my body is what it is, and if that doesn't meet with their approval then fuck them! She'd already changed into her gown, and her shelf bra supported breasts were heaving with anger. Why am I bothering with that worm over there, changing myself just to get him going, showing him what I think he wants to see? I really don't give a shit about him! If he can't deal with what a real woman actually looks like, then why the hell should I care? I don't!

She made a decision. She'd noticed that the house next door was a little higher than her building, so that the pervert's window was a bit higher than hers. When she lay in her bed she was able to see all of his window, which meant that he could see her, too, when she was in bed. She left the room and returned a minute later with a large towel, which she spread on her bed. Then she went to the window and once again pretended that her mirror was off to the side, examining her reflection, running her hands all over her voluptuous body. This time, however, as she stood with her back to the window, she slowly lifted the gown and removed it, tossing it aside. She was wearing the lacy purple panties under the gown, and now she grasped her bottom and gave it a squeeze, and adjusted the panties, pulling them up to make them tight and snug. Covering her naked breasts with her hands, she slowly turned to face the window. She closed her eyes and squeezed her breasts, lifting and kneading them sensuously as she licked her lips. Opening her eyes she removed her hands, exposing her naked tits and allowing them to seek their natural position, sinking downwards three or four inches, her erect, brown nipples in their lighter areoles pointing slightly outwards. Smiling proudly, she cupped her breasts from below and lifted them, the flesh of her ample globes overflowing her hands, and moved them apart and together as she squeezed and caressed them. Cooing with pleasure, she lifted them to her mouth and ran her tongue around her sensitive nipples, licking and sucking them, closing her eyes and frowning at the erotic thrill that traveled all the way down to her sex. She no longer cared about the effect she was having on the voyeur; she was loving this.

Finally she looked out the window and hooked her thumbs in the waist band of her lacy panties. She slowly pushed them down, one side then the other, but before she was exposed she seemed to change her mind, and pulled them back up again, smiling as she looked out the window. She went to turn off the lights, all but one on a bedside table. She stood in front of the window again, knowing that the man could see her only in silhouette, and pushed her panties down to her knees. Looking across at the man's darkened window she could see that the faint circles of the binoculars were still trained on her. Well! she thought, I've still got him; I guess he doesn't need a young girl's high, perky tits after all - good! I'll bet he's going near blind now trying to see something between my legs.

She pulled her panties back up and climbed onto the bed, turning on a second bedside light. Now that she was between the lights her body was well-lit, but with shadows that emphasized her curves even more. She made herself comfortable and then began to feel herself up, running her hands up and down her body, squeezing her breasts and spreading her legs and caressing herself between them. Biting her lower lip as she looked out of the window she began to lower her panties again, and this time pushed them all the way off, lifting herself to allow them to slip past her full, wide ass. Once the panties were off she raised her legs and spread them wide, giving the man across the way an unobstructed view between them. She never shaved there, but she did keep herself trimmed, so what was open to his gaze was the luxuriant triangle of her dark public hair, and below it the pouting lips of her vulva, which had become very wet. She began to writhe on the bed, spreading her legs and thrusting her hips upward as if she were fucking, running her hands all over herself, squeezing her tits and rubbing her excited cunt, licking her lips in a frenzy of sexual lust. Remembering the binoculars, she opened her legs wide and arched her back, raising her hips and spreading the outer lips of her vulva with her fingers to give the masturbating voyeur a clear close-up of her pink inner lips, where she knew he was dying to plunge his needy, hard prick.

She knew he must be masturbating furiously, but this was no longer just about his excitement - it was about hers as well. It excited her to show him what she'd be like if he could actually be in bed fucking her, loved how that must frustrate him, and she loved the sexual pleasure she was giving herself with her busy hands. Finally she reached down between her legs and set to masturbating in earnest, pushing the fingers of one hand deep into her soaking wet cunt, thrusting in and out, while the other rubbed a finger in circles of thrilling pleasure over the sensitive nub of her clitoris. She arched her back and almost screamed when her orgasm took her, then lay exhausted. She kept playing with herself gently, enjoying a series of continuing mini-orgasms.

When she got between the sheets and turned off the lights, she noticed that the binoculars were no longer visible in the voyeur's window. Well, I guess he got himself off this time, she thought; it would be pretty unbelievable if he didn't! But he better not get used to this; this is the last time I'll be so generous, this is the last time he'll get a come as good as what I just gave him! Would have been nice to see his cock, though, as he jerked it silly and it spurted in his hand, knowing how bad I had teased and frustrated it getting to that point. Oh well.

The last thought she had before falling asleep almost immediately was that she was very glad she'd thought of the towel, which was lying soaked beside the bed.

==========

When Elaine returned home from work at the end of the next day she found Margaret sitting on the stoop in front of the rooming house smoking a cigarette. She seemed more subdued than usual.

"Everything okay?" Elaine said, sitting down next to her.

"Not really," said Margaret. "I lost a client today."

"That's too bad!" said Elaine. "What happened?"

Margaret put out her cigarette. "You have a minute to talk?"

"Of course," said Elaine. "You want to come in?"

"Sure," said Margaret. "I'm done for the day anyway."

A few minutes later they were sitting in Elaine's living room, each with a glass of wine. "So, what happened?" Elaine asked.

"Well, one of my best clients died yesterday night. One of his friends found him dead of a heart attack in his room this morning. He told me about it... the friend I mean. Kind of embarrassing!"

"Embarrassing?"

"Yeah, well the man - Mr. Durrant - he was sitting in a chair with no clothes on, and his hand... he was holding his penis you know? And it looked like he had... well, there was stuff on his hand and his stomach, you know? A lot of it."

"Oh my!"

Margaret sipped her wine. "I wasn't going to bother you with this, but I thought maybe I should, because... well, Mr. Durant was the one whose room was right across from your window, and the chair he was sitting in was facing in that direction, and..." She took another sip of wine. "Oh, hell, Elaine, the thing is he had a pair of binoculars hanging around his neck! I don't know if that means anything, but it could be that he was, you know..."