The Voyeur

The Voyeur

Watched

Monday Evening 8pm

Our backyard neighbour’s house also looked out over our garden at the back. Her’s was a leased house, and I knew from the ‘For Lease’ signs that had gone up that she would soon be gone. We had never met the women who now rented there, but had seen her walking down the street.

Tall and lithe, I had only seen her dressed smartly for work. She favored trench coat styled overwear, long and tailored, flaring out with panache, displaying the slender body that it clothed. Her long auburn hair dropped down straight onto her shoulders, and then curled up in an alluring way. Always presentable, always chic, she projected the aura of a successful business woman as she went her way.

When we had first seen her in the neighborhood, Andi had nick-named her “Trenchcoat” on account of her style. Whether that was fair or not, I cannot say, but it did give her an air of mystery, a potential spy in our midst. We had never seen her standing at the windows at the back of her house, but we had seen her shadow flitting around the rooms as she drew the blinds or entered the rooms. I was not then particularly concerned about our privacy; nothing ever untoward had been noticed before.

I was standing in our bedroom’s bay window looking down at the lit-up fountain, when Andi walked in. I had just had a hot bath and felt fresh, if not somewhat flushed. My hair felt clean and fragrant, and the scent of the bubble bath lingered on my skin. There was still a chill in the air, and despite the heaters, I could feel the goosebumps on my upper arms. Where my gown had slipped apart, one of my nips peeked out, responding coquettishly to the teasing cold; it was succulent and erect, just waiting to be tweaked.

Andi snuck up from behind me, and pulled a soft scarf across my eyes.

“You are my captive now,” she teased, ever bubbly, always looking for mischief. I played along, letting her fasten the blindfold, standing stock still as I waited for her next move.

The Silver Topped Box

Tuesday Evening  8pm

Andi found the small gift box that had been left in our post box the next day when she got back from work. With a navy blue base and a sliver top, it was perhaps a couple of inches square and half an inch deep. A beautifully tied blue ribbon sealed it closed, and a card with a feminine handwriting was attached to the lid.

“An erotic performance! Thank you!”

Andi brought it into the lounge and looked at me quizzically; I shrugged my shoulders and shook my head. No idea!

When she opened the box, a pair of clover leaf clamps lay inside.

“Well sweet pea, what do you think?”

I had a glimmer of an idea.

“I think the timing is right; let me go and have a bath. I will see you upstairs in half an hour,” I responded.

My heart was racing this time around. My nipples were as erect as they had been the previous day, but this time around, it was more from anticipation than from cold. I welcomed the blindfold that Andi wrapped around my eyes and swooned as her arms embraced me and she gently cupped my breasts. Her hands felt warm, her fingers light. It was as if a spigot had been opened between my legs; as she gently rolled my nips, the juices flowed.

Andi gently eased the first clamp apart and trapped my nipple; the pressure increased and I heard myself involuntarily cry out.

“Pant, baby ,welcome the pain.” Her voice was silky, hypnotic and reassuring.

I felt my jaw hang open and my breathing deepen. I was panting furiously by the time the second clip was attached. My moans were of pain, passion and submission. Andi swung me around, and kissed me deeply, a hand of hers driving unapologetically down into my swollen cunt, frigging me urgently as she drove me on.

I heard myself squealing, brushing my nipple clips against her top, desperately trying to knock them off, trying my best to cope with the pain.

I was crying tears of agony and arousal when she freed me at last; flashes of pain coursed through my breasts as the blood flowed back, accompanied by a throbbing need between my thighs, which her fingers drove on. We collapsed onto the bed to finish it off, for her to kiss the pain away and to make it all better.

The Dream

Tuesday Night 11pm

My dream that night was soft and arousing, one of the kind that you never want to end. It went something like this, although the sensuousness of the experience is hard to relate.

We were in a large room which was practically bare of furniture except for the boudoir chair in which Andi sat. A curtain of some diaphanous material sectioned off a piece of the room at the side.

Andi was dressed in a long flowing silken shift, a silver hilted riding crop flexed between her hands. She looked regal and domineering, yet compassionate and sensual.  She was looking down at me, an enigmatic smile playing across her lips.

I was kneeling in front of her on a brightly patterned Persian matt that provided my knees with a cushion from the hardness of the glossy marble floors. My thighs were spread, my back was straight, my breasts were thrust forward and my head was up.

Andi laid down the crop on a table at her side and picked up a book. It’s glossy cover had a beautiful picture of a Gorean slave kneeling in the same position that I had now assumed. She flipped through it slowly, her eyes absorbing the exquisite photographs, each one erotic, each one beautifully posed.

“Ready for show-time?” she asked in that silky voice.

Andi snapped a finger and a light behind the curtain came on. It revealed a figure kneeling on a large cushion behind, her posture was very similar to mine. I recognised her in my dreamlike state; she represented the “Trenchcoat”, the willowy women who lived in the house behind ours.

Unlike my hands, which were turned up and resting chastely on my thighs, hers were active, the one buried between her thighs, the other massaging her breast, tweaking her nipples, stroking her flanks. While my eyes were cast down submissively, hers were devouring us, using our interaction to fuel her desire.

 We were the actors, she was our audience.  

Nadu, Bara, Lesha, Bracelets. I moved as gracefully as I could, changing position at Andi’s command. I was desperate to please her, to win an approving nod of satisfaction. I was also aroused, constantly aware of our audience, cognisant of the sexual appetite I was feeding, deeply aroused to be the stimulus that was driving her lust. The chain from my collar dragged across my skin with every move, a pleasant reminder of the shackles I wore. I knew that in every position I opened myself up for display, showing my bits, exhibiting my subservience.

I could see Trenchcoats’  thighs tensing as she struggled to cum, raising herself up to increase the flex. Her fingers plunged inside herself, furiously at work, her breathing was hard, a contorted smile seemed to play on her lips. Her eyes were furrowing and  her body trembling, and I could sense the relief she was striving to get. 

I had never before considered myself an exhibitionist; it excited me now and I could feel my body respond.

Andi flicked her fingers. “Lights!” she commanded.

The light behind the curtain veil extinguished, and once more it was just Andi and I in the room alone, our privacy assured, our voyeur banished to another realm. 

“Discipline!”

I assumed the position bending position, and waited breathlessly for Andi to approach, the sliver hilted cane once again flexing in her hands.

I didn’t want to wake up when Andi drew the curtains in the morning. The sun flooded into the room, dust motes dancing in it’s unfiltered beams. The dream had been so real and I didn’t want it to go away; I wanted to just lie there and make it go on and on, to believe it was a reality for just a little while more.

The Cane

Wednesday Evening 8pm

There was a cardboard tube in Andi’s hands when she walked in from work, the type that is used for transporting maps or posters. She was rattling it; definitely not maps or posters protected in there!

When she drew out a cane from the one end, its handle beautifully bound in leather, a wrist loop curving out from the base, we both instinctively knew who it was from; Trenchcoat was upping the ante. I could feel my breath quicken; submission, not pain, was my kink of choice. She was somehow tapping into an unknown yearning; perhaps being an exhibitionist was a character flaw I should add to my list.

I found myself standing on a low coffee table next to the window that night; Andi didn’t want the window sill to obstruct any view. The lights across the garden were off, but I sensed that she was there, watching our performance, taking perverse pleasure in my pain. Andi giggled as she pulled out a stepping stool to get her to the right height; it may well have seemed amusing if you were on the right end of the cane!

I had never been swished before and could not have imagined how painful it would be. The performance I put on is not something I am proud of at all; I never was the was the greatest stoic.

Andi took it slowly, making sure that she extended the show. A myriad little flicks that seemed innocuous at first, before they united into a fierce storm of pain that I battled to weather.

She slowed the tempo down as she picked up the force, and with every stroke I put on a show. It was not a show of pleasure, nor one that I intended to impress; it was pure reaction to a growing distress. My hands would shoot back to protect my backside, only to be tapped away by a quick rap on my knuckles. I could feel by backside swaying in a desperate attempt to alleviate the pain, could feel it pull in each time the rod made its mark.

I cannot say how long that performance went on, but when Andi hugged me afterwards, I could smell the earthy scent of arousal on her skin. We were standing in front of the window with my head snuggled on her shoulder, and I could feel the tears drying, tightening the skin on my cheeks.

Unbelievably, the light in Trenchcoats’ window came on for a moment; she was standing watching, the top of her naked torso framed for us to see. She looked at us for a few seconds; even at that distance I could sense a touch of sadness in the expression she wore. Then she raised her one hand, and wiggled her fingers at us. It was a tentative gesture, perhaps even wistful. Rather than the sadistic, domineering women I had imagined her to be, she suddenly seemed lonely and vulnerable. My heart cried for her as the light flicked off.

All I was left with was the ghost image etched in my mind. Once again, Andi and I we were alone.

We realised the next morning that it was a farewell wave we had received; the moving truck was outside her house and we never saw her again.

Andi and I were more circumspect about our privacy from then on; the people who moved in were not the type we chose to invite in to our lives.

Advertisements

8 thoughts on “The Voyeur

  1. Hi Gail,
    This hot story is so cleverly done! I really enjoyed it. Kinda sad the neighbor left though – I wanted it to go on forever! 😉 Thanks for sharing.

    Like

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s