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From: The Bawdy Bloke <john@bawdybloke.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} Flash Fiction: A confused voyeur (mast, voy)
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Date: Wed, 30 Apr 2014 02:10:03 -0400
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Please hit me back with some feedback or leave it at my website at
http://bawdybloke.com/flash-fiction-confused-voyeur/
Thanks
* * * * *
I was most definitely being treated.
The arch of her back, the heave of her breasts, the swell of her pussy
salivating with delight and the soft glow of her radiant skin as her
massager drove intense vibrations against her soft cleave was
intoxicating. It was Tuesday evening: her show to me, and I was very
much enjoying her session of masturbation.
It was her weekly gift, and that evening was particularly intense: no
quick rub around her clit, but over an hour of delicious solo love
making, coaxing repeated climaxes from her deliciously lithe body: the
gentle curves, the succulent breasts that I would do anything to feast
on, and long, toned legs. Today, they were encased with the mesh of
fishnets. I wanted her.
I wanted to play too, watching as her body shook with unmistakeable zeal
and passion. I wanted to submerge my tongue beneath those thighs; I
could taste her enjoyment, almost smell her arousal and felt her
inflamed desires as she writhed on her luxury bed.
I felt my cock in my hand. It wasn't the first time I had stroked my
shaft as I watched, struggling to keep my binoculars steady one-handed.
She lives in the flat opposite: I watch her every week. Last week, she
had an unknown gentleman with her, nothing like her regular guy who was
none-so-regular any more. She knelt on the floor, taking his cock into
her mouth, and then slid gratefully down his shaft as her new pink dildo
filled her cunt.
All seen through the open curtains, from the apartment complex opposite.
As was the passionate, guttural romp the week before: the sexy minx
pressed against the window as she was fucked doggy style from behind. I
could sense the satisfaction from the desire in her eyes as she lewdly
acted out the fantasy drawn in my obscene mind.
She was gorgeous, as I watched transfixed, unable to contain the urge to
spurt wetness over my balcony.
Thursday night was my turn; the curtains always flung open as I knelt
onto the bed to reciprocate the show. Last week, I toyed with my arse,
sliding a thin dildo past my anus in my PVC catsuit. Jet black like her
hair, holes cut strategically for my play. I spent over an hour teasing
the most intense orgasm from my body.
She sent me a private message on Twitter that day. "Most amazing show,
ever. Can't wait until next week. Hope you like Tuesday. X"
I was buzzing, floating on cloud nine as I received that. She liked it,
but she always liked my displays, sending me complimentary words after
every show, just like I did for her.
She added another. "P.S. We should meet for coffee some time. I have
cake and biscuits too!"
I sighed. I wanted to join her for a date, but she's gorgeous and I'm
not. Well out of my league.
So I'm left masturbating to her fantastic shows of epic debauchery
wishing what I will never have.
--
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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