Restless in my sleep I toss and turn, I can feel your eyes upon
my sleeping body, entwined in the drape of the silk sheets. My
eyes open as if you have flicked a switched, and I know what I
have to do to get some rest. The only thing that will help me to
get a good nights sleep.
I slip out from under the covers, and pad across the carpet to
the bedroom door. My crumpled nightie falls, flowing gently
around my thighs, the carpet spills between my toes. It's a cool
night, but I refrain from slipping on my robe. I have a slight
goose flesh from the chill, my nipples are constricted and erect,
grazing the smooth material of my night dress as I move.
I enter my modest study, feeling your watchful eyes follow me,
locked on to me like a sniper waiting for the order to strike. I
know that you wont though, there is no satisfaction in it. I am
grateful for that, it's been a lonely month, and the attention
you give me is somewhat comforting. Usually I am not one to crave
attention, but sometimes you just have to know that someone
cares. And you care don't you? You care enough to stay up every
night and watch over me. For me it's for comfort, for you I know
it is for sexual fulfillment.
As I lower myself in to my chair, sleep in my eyes I flick on the
computer. I don't switch on the light, but let the screen cast
it's glow upon me. I have often wondered if you reflect on your
observations. Do you watch merely to catch a glimpse of my naked
form? Am I the object of your obsession because I am the only one
in your line of sight that doesn't have her curtains drawn? Or is
there something deeper? Something that helps to calm your heart
as well as your manly frustrations?
I doubt you can see my screen. I doubt you even take your eyes
off of me to try and identify the web page I have loaded. If you
did you would discover the truth. You would find that you and I
are not that dissimilar. You would discover my secret. My best
kept secret... That I am a Peeping Tom too.
Yes, I too enjoy observing another. Only I prefer to do it from
the safety of my computer, rather than a telescope at my window,
my subjects are those that place their assets on display for all
to see. Men as lonely as my womanly self hoping to feel something
more than just the hand that envelops their manhood. Men bored
with their wives that want to be seen by more than just one
woman. Women that love to feel the thrill of having a thousand or
so lust over them as they place forward their most intimate
treasures for the world to see.
I find a well endowed man in his early twenties. I am in the mood
for men tonight, you have had that effect on me. I am a regular
on this site, and although I never broadcast I am well known. I
have watched this man before, his chest heaving above his
washboard stomach as he strokes the seemingly never ending length
of his erection.
I type a few words of encouragement as I think of you somewhere
in that apartment building opposite, your stare never faltering
as you wait to see what I will do next. Are you doing that same
act as the hunk on my screen? Are you even turned on? Maybe this
is mere foreplay as you await the main event.
I have always been a visual person and the sight of the man
rubbing lube into the shaft of his smooth cock and balls is
enough to make me tingle. I haven't been with a man or a woman in
over three months, and I haven't touched myself in weeks. This is
due mainly to you. Ever since I discovered the twinkling of your
telescope and the dark shadow crouched over it, I have been a
little too self-conscious, shy even. It has been enough to know
you have examined my naked curves in intimate detail, and I found
it difficult to find the courage to go further.
But tonight... Tonight I am ready, I felt it before bed. That
need for physical contact, that need for release, and the action
on the screen before me only strives to turn me on, and provide
me with the stimulus required for such an act.
I feel natural at the first touch. It's like old times as my
fingertips trace the bronzed skin of my legs, freshly waxed and
feeling fabulous in the dark. I stretch them out, raising one to
the desk and gripping the hard corner with my toes. The hem of my
night dress, silky and light rides up to my hip.
Are you watching? Yes, I am sure you are. Never turning away for
second, letting nothing distract you as I raise my other leg. Can
you see my undies? You should know which ones they are, after all
you watched me put them on after I had showered before bed. The
small, tight, black ones that I love to wear when I am aroused.
The grip of the seat and crotch put a squeeze on my opening and
the swollen nub above, just enough to help, just as the man's
rigorous movements on the screen in front of me have helped as
He's really going at it now, inspired I hope my by words of
encouragement. I am fixated on the crease and stretch of the
sheath of skin that envelopes the reddened shaft every time his
fist slides up and down in a ferocious grip. Have you got a grip
too? Are you punishing your self in repent for your sins? Are
your balls as smooth as his? Are they dancing a free tango as you
torture their companion? I hope so.
My panties are not the only thing squeezing my erogenous zone
beneath. I have my hand cupping myself as I slide my palm over
the dampening material. My fingertips stray under the elastic
that surrounds the tops of my thighs, I can feel the soft fuzz of
my neatly trimmed pubic hair as I let my fingers bury in it. And
they are there, sliding down the warm slit and working my natural
lube into the lips as pre cum runs down the shaft of my man on
the screen, dripping on to the clasped fingers. They are almost
white from the pressure of his grip, and I can only imagine the
feeling of his pulsing cock in my hand.
He's getting close, I can tell by the increased urgency of his
thrusts. Are you? I hope not. It won't take me long, but I want
you to see it all with that lust you are feeling right now. He's
going to finish very soon, but that's OK, he's not the one
My fingers tips enter me, I don't go for theatrics. I know what I
like and I know what gets me off. It's simple, but effective. A
small push and two sink in and are hooked around into the soft
warmth of my pussy. The lips closing around them, absorbing them,
drawing them in as I tense my muscles.
I press in and out, occasionally deepening to the next knuckle as
my thumb presses over my clit in slow, circular movements. My
other hand is busy too, grasping at the mounds of my breasts
through my nightie. My nipples, erect when I first awoke,
protrude dominantly through the night gown and I tease each in
turn with a pinch of silk. I love to feel a grip, cupping my
breasts, just as I enjoy rough hands on my body as I make love.
There is something very intimate, primal and close about stray
hands that can get me very worked up.
The man on the screen throws his head back, his hips convulsing
as his hand stops dead, visibly squeezing as hard as he can. I
feel elation as a white jet fires into the air. It's long and
thin and splatters the man's six pack and chest as a second
stream lurches out, higher this time, before the first has
landed, I watch as this lands on his neck in soft pools. He
grimaces in pleasure as a third is released, not so high or as
energetic as before. Then the remnants follows, flowing out in a
thick, white, pearly stream, drizzling out of the slit in the
pink mushroom. I runs down the head, flooding over the fingers
that are still tightly wrapped around the shaft.
The man has collapsed backwards, laying down and panting, and a
final dribble oozes out of the end of his cock. I realise I am
salivating, transfixed by the magnificence of his ejaculation. My
fingers are buried deep within me, working faster, harder. My
hand is holding my breast so hard that my hand shakes, I have to
relax. It's then it that it takes hold.
It's sudden. Unusual for me as I usually like to keep building it
up and negotiate when I cum. I don't get that choice as my thumb
was pressed harder than I realised. My womanhood catches fire, my
body convulses like my man on the screen and my hand locks to my
pussy, fingers still inside. My muscles contract around them
without choice and my clitoris pulses as if struck by
I moan, loudly. Did you hear me? I gasp for breath, my chair is
in danger of rolling away I have to grip the corner of the desk
with my toes to stop it as my legs spasm weakly. My hips are
raised and a warm slick runs over my hand and down to my wrist,
sweat covers my face and cleavage. I am lost to my orgasm as my
eyes close, stars dancing beneath my lids.
As my pleasure subsides, my hands idly slip into the neck of my
nightie. Absent-mindedly fondling my breasts and teasing around
my areolas. I take a deep breath, letting it out in a sigh of
complete ecstasy. As my palm continues to massage my pussy I
smile a satisfied smile to myself. For the first time in over a
month I feel at peace. You finish too? Did you erupt like that
man on my computer? I can only hope your climax was as intense
as his, it makes me warm inside to know that it was caused by me.
Something's wrong, lights flash outside as my haze of sexual
lethargy falls. I am out of my chair in an instant as a loud bang
rocks the street. I am aware of my sopping panties clinging to my
flesh, as I reach the window in time to see two burly policemen
drag a half dressed, disheveled form from the entrance to your
building. It's you, I know it's you even though we have never
met. You have had your eyes on me in my most private moments, but
this is the first time I have seen you. You look up and I smile
again, trying to catch your eye, trying to comfort, still trying
to workout the chain of events. My fingertips brush my lips as I
watch you packed into the back of a police car, I can still smell
the remnants of my orgasm.
As the car drives away I make my way back to bed. Yet somehow
even after such an eventful night, sleep continues to elude me.