THIS STORY IS PROTECTED UNDER THE LAWS OF COPYRIGHT. ANY REPRODUCTIONS, ALTERATIONS, AND/OR SALES WITHOUT THE WRITTEN PERMISSION OF THE AUTHOR IS STRICTLY PROHIBITED. This story is one of a series of stories published to www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/doalfer/www. Comments are very welcome. Jennifer Doalfer - doalfer@gmail.com
SUMMER by Jennifer Doalfer
This summer we went to France for a two-week trip. We had rented a flat outside Nice for one week and we were to go to Paris for the second week. During the week at the Mediterranean I had a fun little experience, which doesn't warrant a full story, so I thought I would just put it here in my publishing diary. Then at least my faithful readers will have something resembling a story while I finish off the real story I am working on.
The flat was really the ground floor of an old house, which had a first and second floor as well. The houses on the road were all similar, rather old, but very picturesque. They were lined up with only a few metres between each house, beach property being scarce.
Covering the space between our house and the next, the owners had put a glass roof creating a small utility room for the washing machine, dryer etc. On the second morning of our stay, as usual, I was the first person up, which is also the way it mostly is at home. I had my morning shower and was hanging up my towel to dry in the utility room, when I happened to look up through the glass roof. I was really just looking to see what the sky was like - beach weather or shopping weather, when to my great surprise I discovered a window belonging to the flat above looking right down through our glass roof. I was certain I had seen a face which had quickly disappeared when I looked up. Not having noticed the window before I thought the utility room, and for that matter the flat, were quite private, so I was happily walking around stark naked. As I always sleep naked, I hadn't bothered to pack a robe as I didn't think I would need in the south of France, and I actually quite like the idea of trotting naked around the house before the others get out of bed.
(I have included some pictures of the setting.)
I felt a bit funny being spied upon like that, and wondered why I hadn't noticed the window before. I walked down to the end of the utility room where the door was, and looked back up towards the window. Now I couldn't see it. The wooden beams, making up the roof and between which the glass was mounted, were rather high so from this distance they all seemed to join together when looked at from this an angle. You could look straight up and see it, but at about 45 degrees the beams blocked the view through the glass roof. From this end of the room I had looked up several times, but all you could see were the bare walls of the two flats above us.
I knew the flat above us was occupied by an English family with two daughters of 18 and 20 years and a younger son of perhaps 15 or 16. I knew the ages of the daughters because the mother, having learned the first day when we were introduced, that I was a doctor had asked me about an acute medical problem which the oldest daughter suffered from and during that discussion their age had been mentioned. I thought the head I had seen belonged to the boy, being the only one with short blond hair.
Suddenly I felt strangely aroused. I wondered how much of me he had been able to see from up there. I knew I had to be about 20 years older than he was, but knowing young teenage boys I guessed he could still easily get excited from watching somebody like me. Was he now sitting in his room jerking off thinking about me? My nipples hardened from the thought and I quickly made it back into bed, waking Poul for a quick morning love session.
I couldn't get the thought of the boy out of my head. I decided to try to find out if it really was him, so in the utility room I placed a make-up mirror on top of the washing machine hidden between boxes of washing powder. When I bent down to put clothes in or out of the machine, I could clearly see the window above, but I didn't think the mirror would be obvious from the window. During the day I washed a couple of loads of clothes, even though they were hardly dirty, this being only the second day of the holiday. I hoped to get a glimpse of a face looking out of the window, but I guess that as I was now dressed, I didn't justify another look, or perhaps they just simply weren't in at the times I looked.
Next morning I was first up again. I felt a thrilling sensation in my stomach as I walked into the utility room, then down to the far end where I had made sure my towel was placed, and carefully removed the pegs, folding the towel purposefully. Casually, I stopped at the washing machine and bent down to close the door, stealing a look in the mirror as I did so. Unfortunately, even if anybody had been watching, they weren't now. However, I was so wet and aroused that my shower took a while longer while I satisfied myself to the fantasy of the boy watching me. Pleasantly satiated, I wasn't too concerned with the situation when I went back to hang up the wet towel. I couldn't help pretending to close the washing machine door again, stealing another look in the mirror.
This time, however, almost to my surprise, I was awarded with a very clear picture of a blond head halfway out of the window staring down at me. I had no doubt that it was the boy, whom I now knew to be Nigel. I kind of froze for a second, then I stood up again as though in deep thought. I now knew that he was watching me closely, not worried about being seen from what he thought was a safe viewing position. I couldn't think of any good reason to stay in the utility room, so I reluctantly left, again surprised at my strong feelings of arousal.
We shared the garden and beach at the back of the house with the other families staying there. Even if I had been in any doubt as to who the head belonged to, I could be in no doubt after I watched the way Nigel was behaving around me in the garden or at the beach. He was the only one of the otherwise friendly family who totally avoided me, but whom I could tell was watching me at every opportunity when he thought I wouldn't notice. I probably wouldn't have either if I hadn't seen him in the window and therefore I was now conscious of his surreptitious stares. But I had, and now I just couldn't ignore his stares.
This being France, and me being me, I was naturally sunbathing topless in the garden. I did try to be as decent about it as the other females around me, which meant wearing the top when walking around and swimming. However, when seated in the sun chairs or lying on the sandy beach, I didn't wear a top. Naturally, guys look at ladies' breasts when they are topless on the beach, that can't be avoided and is actually quite nice. It doesn't bother me and it rarely gets me excited, probably because it is quite a natural thing, and doesn't give any signals of sexuality. But knowing that Nigel had seen me completely naked, and under such particular circumstances, made it a very sexual thing when he looked at me. I kept thinking of what kinds of dreams were going through his head as he was watching me, and I was constantly finding my nipples go hard with the pictures that came to my mind. At one point I had to go swimming to hide what I feared would be an obvious stain on my turquoise bikini bottoms.
Strangely enough, when I think back over it, I never had any fantasies involving a meeting between the two of us. I had no pictures in my mind of him doing anything to me or me doing anything to him. Probably because he was so much younger, and neither was he particularly attractive. What got me excited was just the thought of exhibiting myself in front of him, and the thought of what this did to him, and eventually what he did to himself. The idea of him, sitting on his knees, peeking out of the window while masturbating, possibly ejaculating into his hand, while staring at me walking around naked only a few feet from him, was just enough to get me extremely excited. Any real sexual actions which I might have needed as a result of these fantasies, I found relief from during my later lovemaking with Poul.
The next morning my legs were shaking as I got up, ready to go and get my towel. I had left a load in the washing machine, so I had an excuse for again walking around naked in the utility room. I was torn between feelings of excitement, frustration and guilt. As usual when this happens to me, the excitement seems to win over the guilt. I took a deep breath and walked out boldly into the light of the utility room. Opening the washing machine door I caught a glimpse of Nigel in the mirror. I had been prepared to wait before emptying the machine until after bathing if he hadn't been there. Now I could take my time emptying it slowly and carefully, giving him the opportunity to look at me for long enough to be able to climax while watching me. I hung up one piece of clothing at a time, giving him a good look at my hanging tits each time I bent down. I made sure that I presented both frontal, side and back views to him, only a bit sorry that I couldn't sit down and spread my legs for him. Finally, when I couldn't stretch out the time any longer, I took my towel and hurried to the shower, longing to be able to touch myself. I was so wet and aroused I didn't even wait until I was in the shower. I just locked the bathroom door and leant against it, my left hand on my right breast and right hand wetting my clit with the juices flowing down my legs. My legs almost buckled under me as I came after only a few seconds. The second orgasm I enjoyed while showering, directing the jet of the water from the handheld shower between my legs. Oh god, I wished I could do this in front of Nigel and see his reaction.
The following days turned out to be terribly frustrating. Every morning I looked in vain for Nigel's head in the mirror. Definitely a huge anticlimax. Neither did I see him in the garden. It was actually my young son who solved the mystery. He had asked for the ball he used to borrow from Nigel and was told that he had gone on a tour along the coast with a friend of theirs who had a boat moored at Nice harbour, and that Nigel wouldn't be back for a couple of days.
I don't know why I felt so frustrated. We had a good time as a family, enjoying the sun. In the evenings I would go with Poul for a walk along the beach, visiting the bars and discos, while the family upstairs looked out for the children. However, they are now big enough to call us on our mobiles, which we always took along, so we didn't worry about leaving them behind. That gave us ample opportunity to go skinny-dipping late at night, make love on the beach, show me off at the bars and discos with the revealing clothes I had brought especially for the occasion. So why, every day, was I looking to see if Nigel had returned? What was so fascinating about showing off my body to a teenager? I had written stories about sex with teenagers, but knew I didn't have any specific wishes to be with them for sexual reasons. Was it really only the exhibitionism that made me feel like that?
Early one morning I woke up after a nightmarish dream. I had just been reading about succubuses, female demons who have sexual intercourse with sleeping men. In my nightmare I found Nigel in his bed only covered by a thin sheet. I carefully pulled it off him, blew on his shaft until it awoke, whereupon I continued to give him a hand-job until he spurted all over me. I woke with a burning desire for sex, pulled the sheet off Poul, who contrary to Nigel, woke immediately. Without any explanation I continued doing to him what I had done to Nigel in my dream, except that I ended up straddling Poul and riding him until I collapsed with a much-needed orgasm. When we finally roused ourselves late in the morning, we made love again. Poul wanted to know what had prompted the early morning action, but I just told him I had a dirty dream of us doing that, and I had woken up and wanted to live it through. Poul knows me well enough to know that that might very well have been the truth.
Finally, on the day before we had to leave Nice, Nigel came back. I was sitting in the garden, when he casually came walking from the house towards the beach. I don't think he had thought about me much, or that he would have expected to see me there. Neither had I seen him approaching, until suddenly he was only a few metres from me. I looked up startled, straight into his eyes. I saw them drop to my naked breasts, then quickly meet my eyes again before he flushed red like a tomato. He had stopped within arms' reach. Something happened between us in those few seconds before the rushed off to the beach, passing close enough for me to smell him. It was as if we both knew that the other one knew. He knew that I knew he watched, and he knew that I knew he did, and didn't mind. I went back to my book, but couldn't concentrate. How embarrassing if he knew that I knew, and that I was wilfully exhibiting myself in front of him. But also so arousing.
The next morning I really did have a load of washing to hang up. Big was my disappointment, however, when I saw no face in the mirror at any point during my show of hanging up the clothes. I had my shower in great frustration. I went back to hang up the towel and managed a glance in the mirror. This time he was there. So clearly visible this time, as though he was making no attempt to hide. I had used up my load of washing as an excuse for staying, but I didn't want to go away. This was the last opportunity for him to watch me, and I didn't want it to be this short. I stretched as if yawning, pulling back my arms, pushing my breasts forward.
Leaning my head back slightly, I could actually see him right above me. I had my eyes half closed, but could clearly see him only a few metres over my head. He must have known that if I opened my eyes I would be able to see him, but he still didn't try to hide like the first time I had looked up. God, I thought, he wants me to know he is watching. He wants to see if I will stay even if I know he is there. I wanted to open my eyes and let him know I knew, but I was afraid that he would shy off, and I didn't want him to go, not now. My nipples were growing hard, my legs were wobbly and I was getting very aroused. I ended my stretch by running my hands over my breasts, as though it had happened casually. I shook as my hands touched my nipples. I let my hands slowly return back up to my breasts, cupping them and squeezing the nipples between my fingers. I didn't care if Nigel knew I knew he was watching. I was losing it.
A ripple like a small orgasm ran through me, and I almost lost my balance. I leant back against a small stepladder, sitting on the top step. I pulled one leg up to the next rung of the ladder, opening up my legs as far as possible, making my shaved pussy visible to him. I had stopped pretending to have a good excuse for being naked in the utility room. I was just too aroused to care.
Leaving one hand to play with my breasts, I let the other one slide down between my legs. I just barely touched the wet lips, but that was enough. I pulled my head back again as I frantically dug two fingers inside me, bending my pelvis upwards to make sure he could see what was going on. Without thinking I opened my eyes and found that I was staring right into his big eyes. A shock like electricity shot through me, as I am sure it did through him. But he didn't pull back. I could clearly see him swallowing, but he kept up the stare. Finally the action of my fingers made me close my eyes for a second, and when I opened them again I could see his eyes were now focusing on the activities of my hand. I almost came, but slowed down to make it last longer. I had a picture in my mind of what must have been going on in Nigel's mind. I could see him wishing he was between my legs, pumping his young, hard rod in and out of me like my fingers were doing now. For a second his picture became mine and I could almost see and feel him between my legs.
I should have brought my dildo out here, I thought, knowing he would have liked to see it pumping in and out of me as I rocked back and forth on my fragile seat. Then my eyes fell on the hedge shears I had used the day before to trim the hedge. It had large, red, soft and rounded handles. I reached over, pulled it off the wall and ran one handle up and down between my legs. The soft rubber finger grooves of the grip felt good as they rubbed against my clit. I leant back again as I slowly let the handle enter me. Again, I looked right into his eyes, but only for a short while, then his eyes focused on the handle which I now had in as far as it would go. Pulling it out again I clearly felt the finger grips. This was as good if not better than the dildo. Soon I had it pumping in and out of me, while I stared at Nigel's face in the window. I kidded myself into believing I could see his own rocking motions as he was masturbating hard at the sight below him.
I could feel a big orgasm approaching making it difficult to sit on the narrow step. I leant back against the wall praying the ladder wouldn't slide away from under me. As I felt the first warm rushes, I saw Nigel's eyes return to mine. Suddenly he closed his eyes and stretched his neck. Then he doubled over, leaving me in no doubt what was happening to him. A few seconds later I came too, squeezing my legs together around the handle as the shakes hit me. When the last spasm had subsided I just sat there for a while, still looking at Nigel's face. His eyes again met mine. His mouth moved as if he was trying to say something, but there was no way we could communicate. I slowly removed the handle of the shears, wiping it on my still wet towel before I returned it to its nail on the wall. I turned around and looked up at Nigel again. I didn't even feel bad about this. It was as if I had done him a favour and had enjoyed doing it. I smiled at him and moved away before I could see his reaction. Later that day we would be gone and we would never see each other again, but I thought I had given him an experience he was not likely to forget for a long time. Neither would I for that matter.