Through the Kitchen Window

Lazily, Maura ambled into the kitchen of her small apartment to put the kettle on for tea. It was late afternoon, the sun was already setting, and she hadn't managed to change out of her baggy sweatpants all day. She hadn't even bothered to put on panties or a bra on that morning, and now she enjoyed the feeling of her nipples swishing gently inside her comfy old XL t-shirt as she reached for the box of teabags.

With one hand on the knob of the kitchen cabinet, she paused and caught her breath.

Out of her small kitchen window, she could just see into the larger window of the apartment opposite hers, one floor lower, across the tiny courtyard that separated her building and the next. She had peeked into this window before, especially in the late winter afternoons, when the dusk fell early and the trees were bare, giving her an unobstructed view into her neighbor's bedroom. But all she had ever glimpsed in the past was an empty room, lights on or (more often) off, and for the warmer half of the year, when the trees were leafy, she saw nothing at all. Once or twice Maura had seen a person's legs as they moved around their room casually, in jeans or slacks, doing nothing in particular. The distance from her window was only about 25 or 30 feet, so Maura could observe plenty of detail. Now she saw something altogether new. And very exciting.

It was a man's leg, and with a flutter of her heart Maura realized it was bare. He was seated in a chair, with his back to her. From her angle, Maura couldn't see much of the man: just a knee, a thigh, and an elbow. It looked like he had his hands folded in his lap, although his elbow was moving rhythmically back and forth, as if he were doing some exercises. Looking harder, it occurred to Maura the leg was at a bit of an odd angle, perhaps as if the man had spread his legs. She sucked in her breath and craned her neck to see more, then stopped herself.

What if someone saw her peeping and reported her? Quickly, she flicked off her own kitchen light, sinking into protective darkness. Now she could gaze undetected. She groped for the kitchen stool and moved it closer to the counter, so she could kneel on it, gaining a little more height and a better angle.

A much better angle. Now Maura saw not just the man's thigh and elbow, but exactly what he was exercising. For the second time in as many minutes she sucked in her breath, this time more sharply. The man was masturbating.

Wide-eyed, Maura opened her mouth and licked her lips. The man's cock was erect, not especially large (or so she thought) and he was stroking it rhythmically, as men do. Every few strokes he'd pause slightly, pulling on the shaft, and then resume his rhythm. Maura was transfixed.

She found herself wondering if he did this often and if so, why she'd never caught him before. Never mind, she told herself. Here we are. Free show, all for me... I'm like the cat that's caught the canary. Sexy time!

Like a teenager reaching for a forbidden candy bar, Maura pressed the fingers of her right hand against her pubic mound, rubbing herself slowly through her sweatpants. I hope he isn't almost done, she thought.

But the man seemed to have plenty of staying power. He stroked, paused and stroked, over and over, while Maura rubbed herself harder. Presently, she reached her left hand under her t-shirt and grabbed her bare breast, giving it a full, friendly squeeze. With a finger she circled her nipple as it stiffened.

Quietly she whispered an imaginary instruction to the man in the window below. "Go on, love," she murmured. "Stroke that cock for me. Keep stroking it good, just for Maura."

She wondered what his name was and decided on the spur of the moment to call him Brad. "Stroke it, Brad baby, go on, stroke it."

A funny idea came to Maura and she reached for the little squeeze bottle of vegetable oil she kept next to her stovetop. Letting go of her breast, she took the bottle in her left hand and held it in front of her crotch as if it were a cock of her own. Squeezing a few drops of the oil onto the palm of her right hand, she began stroking the bottle in time with the dude downstairs. In her mind, she immediately became a cam slut, giving jerk-off instructions--something she knew she could never bring herself to do in real life. She grinned at the idea.

Meanwhile, the guy hadn't let up his pace. "Come on, Brad my love, show me how you stroke that massive cock for me," she cooed to herself, running her hand faster on the shaft that was her oil bottle. "Make that cock rock-hard for mama."

Maura pressed the base of the bottle against her mound, the hard curve of the bottle against the soft fabric covering her, making her clit tingle. Across the way, the guy paused to lick his palm and spit on his fingers, and Maura mimicked his action, minus the licking. Vegetable oil was not what she wanted to taste just now.

She wished she could taste his magnificent cock, but she would have to settle for her own juices. Deftly, she took the bottle in her right hand and slipped her left hand into her sweatpants, her fingers reaching into the cleft of her labia and touching her wetness. She found herself a lot wetter than she had realized, and scooped some of it with her fingertips, bringing it up to her mouth.

Lustily she licked her fingers and cooed again. "See what you're doing to mama, Brad? You're making mama so wet for you. So, so wet for you, Brad my love."

Holding the bottle in front of her crotch again, Maura went back to pantomiming the JOI. "Keep it going, Bradley darling," she said. "Don't come til mama tells you." Bradley couldn't hear her, of course, and was following his own agenda. His muscular ass by now had slid forward on his chair and he was stroking more wildly, seemingly near climax. Maura put the bottle down, slipped both thumbs under the elastic of her sweats, and pulled them down below her rounded buttocks. Carefully she slid her knees as far apart on the kitchen stool as her perch would allow. As she did so, the air touched her moistened labia, giving her a little thrill. With the fingers of her left hand she pulled her outer labia up and apart, while her right hand began to flick back and forth quickly across her exposed clitoris.

Downstairs, Brad was half off his chair now, his knees stretched wide apart, his hand pumping only once or twice before pausing each time, as he tried to edge longer and longer before coming. Maura knew she needed to catch up and couldn't afford to pause--she rubbed herself harder, feeling the tingle deep in her groin building, slowly building up as her gaze stayed fixed on the man-meat in the window below her. She wondered how much longer he would hold on. Feeling her own excitement surge, she switched techniques and began pressing in circles on her clit with her left hand while the middle finger of her right hand slipped into her pussy and probed for her g-spot.

Suddenly, Brad stood up, waving his cock like a proud flag, and Maura could not suppress a yelp of surprise. For suddenly it became clear Brad was not alone in his room. As he stood, naked and reaching the climax of his wank, another man had stepped forward and knelt before him, engulfing Brad's cock in his bearded mouth.

The sight of that instantly put Maura over the edge, her groin exploding in an electrifying orgasm. Losing her balance, she toppled off the kitchen stool, only barely saving herself from harm as she crumpled to the floor, gasping and giggling, overcome equally by surprise and the waning aftershocks of her orgasm. Catching her breath, Maura put her fingers gingerly to her pussy, scooped up some of her juices and savored the tart, pineappley sweetness as she licked herself clean.

Slowly, she stood up. Across the courtyard, the men had vanished. The light was still on, but the room appeared empty again. Presumably Brad and his paramour had tumbled into bed somewhere out of sight.

Now it was really time for Maura to make tea.