Window Lady.

Some secrets were best left unsaid. He knew this as he watched her through the slit in the curtain. It was cold out but he was warm as he watched her in her bedroom. He came here most nights, to watch her getting comfortable after a long day at her work.

He was happy she got home when the light was gone, easier to hide in the dark of the yard. He didn’t remember how he had found her. It wasn’t as if he had been looking to become this voyeur, but something caught him, something in her eyes that made him follow her so long ago. He had never spoken to her, he always just watched. He imagined himself in that room sometimes. Imagined having a life with her.

Of course right now he was more focused on her getting ready for bed. She always went to her room 30 minutes after she got home. Just enough time for him to get himself over to the window. She walked into the room still in her black skirt and white blouse. The skirt was one of her favourites, he thought of a life where he had helped pick it out. The blouse was silky and already unbuttoned to her naval. Her bra was white lace, hooked in the front.

God he felt guilty sometimes just watching.As was her routine, she unzipped the skirt from the side, slowly untucking her blouse. The blouse was just long enough to appear as a very short dress as the skirt fell to the floor. She never wore pantyhose or tights, just her bare skin. Now her legs looked as soft as anything he had ever seen and he marvelled at the pale magnificence that stood about 8 feet from him.

Through the glass he saw her stretch, the blouse raising slightly, just enough to see the black panties beneath. He was already excited by this, already feeling himself enjoying the view. Part of it was the thrill, he knew this. What he did was wrong and illegal. It added to the danger. Maybe he should stop while he could, maybe he should just go back to his own wife.

No he couldn’t do that, not while this was always waiting. He stared at her as she finished unbuttoning the blouse. She slowly let it cascade over her shoulders. She turned from him as it fell to the floor revealing her ass in one of her black thongs. She bent over as she stretched, her ass taught and round. He let his own hand fall, as she arched her back seductively.

She straightened out and turned to face the window. He already knew she couldn’t see him, he tested this himself one night. He leaned closer, almost close enough for his breath to fog his side. She reached up to her bra and unhooked the front. Her breasts exposed to him. They were not big, but they were perfect to him. The nipples round and perfectly positioned. She reached up to rub them, relaxing after a day in that bra.

To him she was rubbing them for him. He could feel himself pushing against the material of his track pants. She turned from the window and walked to a door at the other end of the bedroom. She walked in and closed the door. End of the show he guessed. He slowly turned away from the window and quietly headed home.

As he reached the door he still felt himself hard and longing dearly for the window. He opened the door and walked in, hearing his wife move around. So he followed the sound to their room. They had some hard times recently, but he really felt that his window girl had been helping. Hell he was so hard, that was one of the problems. He walked into the room and saw the mess. He wished she would pick up after herself. He reached down and picked up his wife’s black skirt as she opened the door of the bathroom just in black panties.

“Hey hon, long day for me. How was your run.”

“Fuck the run, come over here.”

Yeah the window lady helped.


Fetish Train

He positions himself across from her. She is deep within her book. He imagines touching her nylon wrapped thighs, legs crossed. He sees far up the thigh.

He waits for her legs to tire, as all women’s eventually do. He senses the moment, she uncrosses her legs and crosses again. He plays the image in his mind. The white under nylon, he is sweating.

She is looking straight at him.

“Freak,” she leaves the train.

She is Woman.

She wasn’t sure how she got to his room. One moment she was sipping on her Caesar, the next she was standing in his room at the hotel. He sat on the bed. She stood, afraid to approach him. She felt the tingles running up and down her spine, a quiver of memory of love so sweet it could last all night if meant to.

She was unaccustomed to attention. Her mind raced to the man who was her husband, even now probably searching for her. His anger would be a painful display when she returned. The man on the bed was moving. She watched him as he stood. He was a strong-looking man, dark shoulder length hair that looked silky to the touch. She wanted to touch it. He stood just shy of six feet, the perfect height for her. His shoulders were broad and tapered down to his waist. God she wanted him to take her.

Almost as if reading her mind, he moved without making noise, no shuffling or soft scuffing on the carpet. It was like he danced to her in some unknown tango of seduction. Before she could sigh, he was behind her, so close she could feel his breath on her bare shoulder. He placed his hands on her. The heat burst through her body, being caused by nothing other than the fact he finally touched her. She felt a slight murmur release from her lips, a pitched sigh giving permission to his advances.

His hands swam around her ocean blue dress. Exploring the surface and diving below when necessary. She felt her world swim too, feeling alive and wanted. He finally slipped her out of her dress and it fell to the floor exposing her to him. She wore only a laced thong under the dress. In truth she was hoping to find something this night to take her away from the life she had. His hands swam, her body shook.

She turned to face him, looking into his dark eyes. His smile was genuine, as was his excitement. She fumbled with the few buttons of his shirt, giggling to herself as his hands caress her backside. As she undid the last and peeled the shirt off, she was greeted by a strong chest. She kissed it, thanking whatever god had forged this man.

She kept her attention on his chest as her hands fell to his waist. Her hands knowing what they wanted to have, to feel, throbbing and warm. She needed to feel like a woman, like a woman who could please and entice. As she found what she was looking for, pressing against the front of his slacks desperately trying to escape, she felt his finger find her. She shook as the first spasm of pleasure shot through her body. My god had it been that long, she thought as she fought through the pleasure to release what she wanted.

They stood there in front of each other naked and wet. For a second she found his eyes again, such loving eyes for a man skilled in love-making. Her gaze slipped from his and down to the tool that she wanted to control. She needed to show this man that she was skilled too. She dropped slowly down to her knees, allowing her nails to drag down his chest. It was his turn to moan and she heard it…like a beautiful piece of music playing in her mind.

She used her tongue, gently tickling him. She continued until she could feel him try to push himself toward her. This was the time; this was the moment when she would make him know she was a lover. She opened her mouth and allowed him to slide into her. She could feel him spasm in response to the pressure she applied. She took all of him deep into her throat. She was alive, in control. She was not just a bride, taken for granted by the man who said he loved her so long ago. Her lover was loud now. His grunts and moans making her go faster. She wanted him to know, she needed him to know. She was more than a wife, more than a plaything, she was…independent.

She bit down hard, her fangs piercing him allowing his blood to flow. He screamed in agony at first, but slowly it subsided. He dropped to the floor, but she held on, sucking on him with a wild fervour she had not felt in years. She felt him spasm and go rigid and then limp. She released him and stood wiping the warm liquid from her mouth. He wasn’t moving, he was too weak from her skills.

She moved without making noise on the carpet. Her dress was back on in moments, she glanced back to the still man covered in his own blood.

“I’ll be downstairs, lover,” she laughed as she left the room. She felt powerful again, whole again.

At the bar he saw her, she was radiant. His eyes followed her shape as she moved towards him. This was the woman he remembered; this was the Sasha of their youth. He felt the lost feelings return to his dead hands.

“ I’m leaving you Vlad,” she said quickly, not stopping to take his hand or sit at the table.

Sasha walked with her head held high. She left the hotel bar, smiling as she noticed the eyes of men follow her. She knew, she finally knew, she was woman.