tagExhibitionist & VoyeurWatching Me in the Window

Watching Me in the Window


He stands outside my window and I know he's watching. A silhouette in the darkness, blending in with the scenery around him.

I could pull the blinds on my window but I don't. Instead I start removing my jacket and drop it on the bed, leaving me standing there with my straitlaced print blouse that I wear to work even though I don't like it.

The skirt that matches it is grey in color and feels drab, the light wool scratching my nylons. Oh, those not sheer enough stockings were the first thing to go right after I stepped inside my apartment. After kicking off my heels, I removed my nylons and felt the rush of warm air on my legs. I turned on the AC and then moved to the bedroom to shed the rest of my uniform.

The man who stood outside the window has been there before on other nights just like this one. But the only sound I hear is the wind picking up outside, causing the branches of the tree to tap on the window. I smile as I look out into the darkness and then my fingers move to my blouse.

My body's itching to lose it but my hands tremble slightly as they reach up to the top button, which has already popped open exposing the fact that I'm wearing small pearls around my neck. The other buttons follow one by one, my fingers unfasten them and the blouse begins to separate, exposing at first hints of my lacy peach bra. A soft peach color that comes with matching panties but it's my own secret. After all, look at the work attire and you might think that that my body's favorite parts are sheathed in white cotton. Only three buttons left and I undo them methodically, my eyes occasionally glancing to the window.

I'd seen him looking at me more than once when I'd entered the bedroom, enough to recognize him. I'd know him for six months after I moved into the apartment complex; I just hadn't known that he'd been a voyeur. It never came up during our idle conversations in the laundry room on Saturday mornings or when we passed each other in the parking lot.

He wasn't bad to look at each other, the opposite in fact. Ruggedly handsome, as if he'd been an athlete once, he had dark curly hair and the bluest eyes, like a summer sky. He favored rugby shirts and faded jeans, which I'd seen him while he'd been coming and going often with a young woman with him.

The guy never wanted for female attention but if that were true, then why was he standing out my window watching me? And why was I letting him? I'd always been a good girl, always suppressed the part of me that wanted to break loose. Got up in the morning to wear the same type of clothing to blend in with the corporate world, when I wanted to wear a dress that molded to my curves instead, let my hair hang loosely around my face rather than twisted into a tight bun...but I'd become too used to the way I lived each day to change.

I remembered all that yet one button on the bottom of my blouse remained to be unfastened and my fingers let it loose, allowing me to slowly peel the blouse off of me, sliding it down my arms and then gladly letting go of it.

Now I stood in front of my window showing him my breasts, as much as could be seen sheathed in soft lace edged in lace. I palmed them enjoying how the material felt against their ripeness, a trace of the nipples hardening and then I decided I needed to lose my skirt.

It unzipped down the back and the rasping sound of the zipper moving down its track filled me with anticipation that even know he might be staring at the dimple in my lower back, waiting for the skirt to move down my thighs, showing off my panties. High cut at the hips and gently cradling the globes of my ass. I drop the skirt allowing it to fall at my feet and then I step out of it.

A feeling of freedom whips through me as I stand in my bedroom wearing only my lingerie, my secret unveiled and only the man outside looking knows. That makes it all the more delicious; I think as I smooth my palms over my body, enjoying the textures of rough lace and soft skin. I imagine it's his hands that are fondling me, stroking my skin which tingles beneath his touch and his hands on my bra, itching to unhook it, so that the rounded creaminess inside spills out into his hands rather than my own.

But the man is just content to watch me so I reach up to unhook the clasp in front and my breasts feel nice, outside of the confines and I place my hands on them, massaging them gently until they feel less constricted, more free. I caress them, and the aureoles darken into scarlet, as they harden. I imagine his hands on my torso as he strokes my breasts with his warm tongue, circling them invoking sensations that threaten to made me cry out until his tongue approaches the ripened tips, which ache for his mouth.

I have to content myself with myself sending shivers outreaching everywhere else of elation even down to my pussy as it dampens my panties. My breath starts quickening from what my hands are doing to me and that the man watches. But my hands move again across my slightly rounded belly to the upper rim of my panties. They glide flirtatiously across the dampness of my panties and then back up again.

Is the man still watching me, as I move onto the last item of clothing on my body? I inch my fingers to the waistband of the panties and move the scrap of fabric down my body, slowly unveiling my pussy and as I turn towards the window, I know I'm giving him a good show.

The lacy underwear moves down my toned thighs and disappears down at my feet.

I know what I have is more than enough to arouse him further, as I stand there, showing him the soft brown curls that cover it but if he's close enough, he can see the soft rosy petal like lips, glistening with my juices. I move even closer to the window, feeling suddenly brazen enough to give him a closer look so he won't lose any of the details in his voyeurism.

He's not visible to me except I can see that he's there, more his muscular form than his face. Will he just stand there and watch, or will he unfasten his own pants to release his erection that's hard enough to hurt, to grab his shaft and jerk himself off outside my window?

The thought of him doing that doesn't disgust me as it should, but the whole idea that I had turned him on so much, filled me with headiness. My fingers on one hand reach down to my pussy and I touch myself, gently at first but already I feel the slickness as I ride the sweetness breaching the lips of my pussy flirting with its entrance. My fingers brush my clit and I gasp, the sharpness of the contact causes me to pause but the desire that wells up inside me compels me to place my free palm on the window, as I look out into the night.

My other hand continues stroking my pussy lips, flirting with sliding one of them inside where it's tight and wet. My muscles protest and I use my hand on the window pane to help stay standing, as my fingers slickened with my lust continue rubbing, my clit swells and then finally, one finger thrusts inside while I arch my back, just before the walls of my pussy hug it firmly. Oh the friction that generates with sliding it in and out just makes me mew like a pussy cat. But the thickness of the glass doesn't allow him to hear me.

I feel the sensations spiraling inside of me threatening to rip control away from me, I try to hold on because he's watching me and suddenly I feel shy to let him see the part of me where pleasure dominates, and the wildness it generates. I buck my hips not being able to stop myself, my legs are splayed and my hand's riding my pussy.

The thought of him watching me, his eyes on my writhing body, his hand perhaps stroking himself drives me over the edge. I forget my shyness and I just open my mouth to scream into the glass. My palm trying to hang onto it but meeting smoothness as overwhelming pleasure grabbed hold of me.

I felt my legs debone and the sensation of falling almost hit me. But I remember him and place both my hands on the glass as my body returns to earth looking for him.

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byrubyrosette2011© 5 comments/ 33523 views/ 6 favorites

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