My voyeur story began some months ago if I recall it rightly. I remember I almost fall through the door, desperate to escape the past few hours, my mind is awash with the intensity from which I have just run. The closing of the door, the clicking of the latch allowing me to take a deep breath, to exhale him from my thoughts, even if only for a few brief moments.
Turning to take in my surroundings, the muffled sound of the party seeping through the door, the distant sounds of laughter and occasional shrieks still fill me. I have to get farther away, needing my solitude. I need the calm, the quiet.
I need to think.
My eyes searching the room; the leather sofas, the subtle lighting bathing the room in soft shadows. The soft, shaded lamps, the rich, coloured walls. Walking towards the lightly lit booth at the back of the room, sitting on the soft, dark leather club chair, its cushions pulling me down into them, inviting me to calm myself. Pouring more wine into my glass, slumping down slightly, I am taking a deep swallow of the rich red liquid, holding it in my mouth, allowing its flavours to reach every part of me, rolling it around my tongue, its scent filling my nostrils. Leaning my head back, closing my eyes, the richness of the wine warming my stomach. Taking a deep breath, sighing, feeling the tension starting to ebb from me, my body no longer taut.
I linger for a moment, clearing my mind, emptying my thoughts. The wine, the quiet, the solitude are all taking me away from here, taking me away from now.
Suddenly, my peace is shattered by the sounds of a doorway as it is carelessly flung open, ripping me back from my solitude. Watching, my eyes are immediately open and alert, searching for the cause, my senses suddenly alive. The door is instantly closed, the room once more returned to me, except that something is different, something has changed.
Straining my eyes through the half light, I see the couple fucking by the doorway. My body stiffening, freezing as though I have committed some indiscretion by hiding away. I shrink further down into the cushions, watching, eager to remain silent in the shadows, which welcome me to them, grateful to receive more of me. I can see them glancing around the room; their excited, careless look passing over me, seeming not to notice me. I am beginning to relax again, content that I remain anonymous, my breathing starting to calm, willing myself to return to my thoughts.
Watching them for a moment, my eyes probing them, taking them in, their bodies against the deep, grey sofa that they now lean against. There is a familiarity to me, I am searching my memory to find them, yet they remain just out of my reach. My eyes keen to strain to see those who have entered my privacy, I think that I have seen him, I know that I have. Is it the tall, lithe man who had caught my attention at the bar? He had been glanced at by more than just me, his athleticism, his strong set jaw, his unkempt blonde hair had all oozed an allure of youthful innocence, the very thing that had caught my eye to begin with. I had wondered at the time if he realised how striking he is. Yes, I’m sure that is him.
Searching them, reading their forms, surveying them, watching his strong hand brushing through her soft hair. His hand is gently stroking her cheek, her eyes locked on his, their playful glint teasing him. Her tall, slender body quivering at his touch, straining her neck upwards, her lips parting slightly inviting him to her. He is leaning down, his lips brushing against hers, their tongues gently flick, just the faintest of touches, but enough for both of them to know the depths of each other’s need. His hand wrapping around her back, pulling her closer to him, his other cupping the nape of her neck. His strength pulling her in as he kisses her passionately, her response immediate, unequivocal.
I realise that my cheeks are flushing, the warm redness in them growing as I am transfixed by the couple’s kiss. I can feel the heat in my body, the sensation of it relaxing deeper into the cushions, sliding down further. I can’t help but think that I should not be a part of their intimate moment, that I am an intruder, yet I cannot move my eyes from them for the fear of being noticed, and yet, also through the excitement of seeing them locked in their embrace, their kisses growing deeper, more frantically passionate. I am making no effort to avert my gaze, becoming more entranced with each movement of their lips.
His hands are starting to move over the curve of her hips, gliding around, squeezing her thigh before moving back up, lightly glancing over her navel, brushing against her nipple which immediately stiffens beneath her blouse. I hear a faint gasp escape her lips, her desire clear in that moment. Without thinking, so lost in this moment, I am slowly stroking my body, circling my breasts, my fingers pinching my nipple, a faint ache starting to grow within me. My mind is wrestling with my body, telling me to stop, telling me to turn away, yet the desire I am feeling is too strong, too powerful to overcome. I grasp my breast, massaging it urgently, teasing it, my ache growing ever deeper.
She takes his hand, guiding him to the sofa, kneeling before him. His hands are reaching down, running through her hair as she frantically opens his trousers, sliding them to the floor, his cock immediately springing up, beautiful and rigid before her. She is staring in amazement at his magnificence, the glint in her eyes playing in the light. Grasping him in her hand, she is taking his manhood into her mouth, her head moving slowly, softly, up and down its length, pulling back to reveal the strand of saliva that joins them together, before plunging her mouth deep onto him again.
My breathing is becoming more intense watching the beauty of the scene unfolding before me. Clasping my breasts, moving my other hand down, pulling my skirt upwards, touching myself through my panties, massaging the folds of my pussy. I want him; I want it to be me who is before him at his knees. I want it to be me who has his magnificence in my hands, in my mouth. My thoughts are betraying me, my mind is giving way. My hands are pulling my panties down, eager for access, the cool air against my nakedness sending a shiver through me.
The woman is urgent, strips off her clothes, no thought of seduction in her mind, just the carnal need to be taken, to be kissed, to be entered. I am gasping now, watching as she lies on the sofa. Her form is one of beauty, the curve of her breasts, her flat stomach, the slightly raised mound of her pussy evident between her thighs; her toned, slender legs stretched out. He is gazing down at her, kneeling beside her, his fingers are running over her body, his mouth kissing her nipples. She is moaning as his fingers slip between her legs, out of my view, yet the motion of his hand telling me that he is inside her.
I am parting myself, moving my fingers inside, gasping at the feel of my own touch, almost too loudly. In my mind his fingers are inside me, feeling my velvet, smooth pussy, savouring my most intimate of places. Freezing momentarily, I am looking intently at the couple, the woman’s head now resting to the side, her gaze in my direction feeling as though she is penetrating my soul. I cannot tell if she can see me, I don’t think that she can, yet she does not avert her gaze for what feels like an eternity, only broken by him moving his mouth downward, pulling her away from me. A trickle of my moisture is running down my thigh, running down onto the cushion beneath me, my excitement becoming heightened as the fear of being caught increases, yet it is also urging me on, watching as his tongue starts flicking between her thighs, his mouth closing around her.
He is kneeling between her legs, his manhood lowering, twitching as he is nudging against her, begging to be allowed. Her gasps are reaching my hazy mind, her deep moaning as he enters her is drawing me further in. Moving slowly at first, in and out, my fingers are matching their rhythm, matching their pace. My own mind wanting to cry aloud as she cries out at each of his thrusts; wanting to be beneath his body, wanting to have him filling me, wanting his pleasure for my own.
He is becoming more urgent, more powerful inside her, his body is straining. Taking his hair in her hands, pulling his head down toward her body, she is looking towards me once more, her eyes appear to be fixed on me, fixed on my shadowy corner, boring across the room into me. With no control I am staring back, looking into the pools of her eyes, awash with her carnal pleasure, soaking it up into my own soul. I don’t know if she can see me, I don’t care anymore if she can see me. Deep down I want her to, I want her to know that I am here, that I am a part of this. I want her to know that in this moment he is mine as well.
Lost in them, lost in us, the ache inside me is welling up, its fury starting to turn to uncontrollable rage. He is thrusting into her, his animalistic cries are ringing in my ears, his hips plunging deeper, harder, she is moaning loudly. His body is convulsing, her back is arching upwards, locking them together, their orgasms searing through their bodies. My insides are contracting, pulsing around my fingers as I am watching them buck and writhe, the waves ripping through me, small gasps escaping my mouth, my fingers clenched deep by the power of the orgasm that shatters my mind and racks my body. I am starting to calm, the shuddering in my body beginning to ease, my mind starting to return, bringing me back from the swirling maelstrom of pleasure in which I have been lost.
The couple are dressing, their laughter is heard through my dazed senses. They are kissing, walking towards the door, opening it to leave. She is looking into my secret corner, can she see me with my panties around my ankles, my fingers still inside? I can’t tell if she is smiling before they turn and leave.

When working late and alone we should all take note of this hotwife sex story.
The only company I have with me tonight as I work late, yet again, is my reflection from the floor to ceiling windows and the outside night. My tired eyes are trying to focus on the paper that I am working on to meet tomorrows deadline. But my mind is not on it at all. Well, my body certainly isn’t. The yearning in-between my thighs due to absence from my lover has been building all day and I can no longer take it. Turning my attention to the screen on my laptop, I hit the FaceTime app and wait for my call to be answered.
Within a few seconds, his handsome face pops up on my screen. Relaxed and laid back, just out of the shower and ready to enjoy his early evening. Bare-chested and in the perfect position. Just viewing him laying there gives me the yearning to close my thighs tighter together for some kind of release and has my temperature rising and eager to be naughty tonight. His own laptop resting on him as he sips his drink.
“Hi, baby.”
“Hello Sweetheart, you’re working late.”
“I know babe, that’s why I’m calling you. I’m in a rather naughty mood tonight.”
“Are you now, have you been thinking of me today?”
“Oh I have, all day and my panties are wet just seeing you now.”
“Mmm, maybe you should show me how much.”
Removing my glasses, I start with a little tease. Dropping my dress from my shoulder to show the bra he bought for me not that long ago. The colour is his favourite and he knows my panties are to match. He doesn’t disappoint. Already the laptop has been set the side from him and his towel removed. Ready and waiting for the show I am going to perform for his eyes only. My one voyeur watching me closely.
Standing away from the desk, I slowly hitch up my dress behind me, to reveal my perfectly pale pertness and trace the shape with my gentle hand. Round and smooth for his enjoyment. I know his weaknesses, I know what turns him on.
The arousal that I am watching on my screen makes me want to test my own to see how much damper I am becoming in this little show of mine.
Resting my leg up on my chair, I part my legs and slide my finger in through the side of my panties. Edging the way through my already swollen lips and enter into the opening so ripe for the taking. I waste no time and show him how excited I am as my fingers slip out, glistening with the excitement stuck on them. He presents his own cock and strokes it as I do the same. Both lost in our own play while the other looks on. The rush of heat overtakes my body while he glides his heavy hand along his shaft. Encouraged with silent words I start my strip show for him to excite himself with. Undoing my dress I slip it off to the floor and with a rhythm to music that isn’t there, I dispel of my bra until I stand before him and the darkened outside world. I know how wet I am and from watching his reaction, I know exactly where it is taking him. His cock hasn’t left his hands, the echo of the depth of his breathing indicates to me how much he is enjoying my show. He slides his extended fingers over his length until it reaches the top where a gathering of pre-cum is forming. I can taste it in my mouth, the stickiness on my lips and the need for him to see my own juice is overwhelming.
Parting my legs once again, I push my panties out of the way as I show him the full view of where his cock should be. And how ready and expanded I am, if he was here to take me. Caressing my sensitive folds, the blood flows and pulses to where my hand is travelling. The need to touch myself is overbearing and I take my full breasts and knead them one by one as he watches on. My finger disappears inside of me between the lips that have more than doubled in size. In and out I slide them so easily as the juice spills and down my thighs. He needs to see where I want him to touch, where I would like him if he was here right now with me and where the next time we meet I am going to have to have him. Turning to the side, I dispose of my panties to bare all to him. Positioning for his view, I look at him from over my shoulder before widening my slit to show how wet and creamy I really am. My ruby red valley ready for the action it is desperate for, slippery, ripe and eager for his attention. From the view from my screen, I can see he is ready and waiting for me to pleasure myself.
Standing closer to the desk, my pussy in full view, I enter my greedy fingers one at a time, and start to pump them for his enjoyment and my pleasure. A deep thrill of sensations has me holding my breath as my fingers now play with the slit while he watches on. In and out they travel as the juice builds up. Feeling the tense walls inside and pushing as far as my womanly fingers allow. My own pleasure takes over his, as I keep the momentum and enjoy the ride. Closing my eyes, I think of him. Of me. Of us. Taking me with his hardness, his erect member, impaling me as I stand here with the night behind me and the glittering of nearby office building lights. His cock sliding in and filling my space and more. I involuntarily clench my inner walls around my digits, not giving me the fullness I desire but coming close, as the waves of enjoyment flow over me. My panting gets faster and my body heats up from the unleashing from deep inside. I can feel his touch on me, his hands travelling over my bare body, moving along my thighs, across my stomach and up towards my breasts. Pulling my erect nipples between his fingers before rolling their hardness as I move my fingers to my clit. Swollen and pulsing to be touched. I place my leg back onto my chair, opening the slit as I start to rub the nub of hardness. I’m craving for his touch, his heavier hand, his faster movements and I know he is craving mine. His own arousal is controlling mine and I want what he is unable to give from where he is, but I don’t stop visualising him here, with me. I can no longer stay silent within this glassed room. No longer keep my thrill hidden from the world. I can feel the build of my climax from my toes. My legs growing weak with each stroke I make, with each thought of him I have. And I know I can’t keep at this pace unless I take it over to the other side and come.
Holding on to the frame I take my pace to a higher level, faster and frantic. My only thought is my fingers are his, my pussy he is in and he is bringing me to my boiling point. I can’t stop the noise leaving my mouth and the groans from my fingers rubbing on my special spot. My legs start to quiver, my knees buckle with the jolting of spasms going through my body and the pure ecstasy of the climb I am going on. Higher it takes me as I reach the top and let my body shake out my orgasm.
With my face flushed and my fingers sodden, I can see he is still enjoying my little show and I giggled thinking of our naughty fun. Sucking the juice from my fingers one by one, I watch as his eyes pine for more. At that very moment, I see him suddenly explode in such a torrent of pleasure, I laugh to myself at our situation and being me, I wave goodbye to him with a big kiss and turn off the FaceTime. My aim to offer both pleasures achieved.
THE END

In this fictitious piece, PJA Woode imagines the lead up to the moment when Zac met Stella, before she masturbates his shy cock.
It was like walking past a fenced off area at a festival. Or like going through a door marked private. There was clearly a sense of exclusivity about it – like entering an executive club lounge or turning left at the top of the steps at the top of the entrance to an aeroplane.
He was buzzing even before he reached the hotel door. Now inside, even though he had yet to utter a word, he could feel his head getting hotter and he was sure his cheeks were reddening, at the thought of his sexual fantasy coming to life. He was conscious of his heart beating and he knew that as soon as he spoke, something rushed, garbled and unclear would emerge from his lips. The excitement was almost too much to bear. And yet it was also intoxicating. Moments like this, he sensed, would be very, very rare. It was probably a once or twice in a lifetime moment.
To complicate matters – and perhaps a reason for the intensity of the moment – there was a nagging doubt about what he was doing. The moment he had stepped through the door – the very instant he had crossed the threshold – he knew he was doing something that his parents wouldn’t have liked. Well, rather more than that. They would have been livid.
He was a good boy. He always had been. He had never been sent to the headmaster at his prep school, nor his senior school. He had never even had a de-merit. He got straight As in his GCSE exams (well, apart from Art, but he was never really able to draw) and straight As at A Level. He had been a prefect and head of his boarding house. And he was studying at a very respectable university. His chosen subject could not have been more appropriate for someone like him: Law. Actually, it was Law with Italian (he had done two languages at A Level – French and German – and he liked the idea of studying a new language at university). In short, Zac had always done the right thing.
That was until right now when he had entered the room and the door had closed behind him.
His path to this moment of heady expectation had been a long one. Zac had always enjoyed sampling the pleasures of nubile women when surfing the net. And the more he surveyed the online beauties, the more certain faces kept cropping up. One face, in particular, appealed more than the others (though it wasn’t just her face, she did have absolutely amazing breasts, a cute butt, great legs – well a pretty stunning everything). This was Stella Cox. She appeared so homely. She had a classic ‘good girl’ face. Needless to say, looks can be deceiving, and Zac had seen that she engaged in rather a lot naughty activities – both with men and with women. All of which made her that much more attractive, especially to a ‘good guy’ like him.
He started to follow Stella on social media – along with a few hundred thousand others. He liked her posts, replied to some of them, and tagged her in his own posts. Just like several thousand of her followers.
Zac, like everyone else who adored this buxom brunette, often imagined what it might be like being with her. God how he envied the guys on screen who actually got to run their fingers through her long hair, and who got to cup those wonderful breasts and kiss her nipples; and those who were able to handle her tight arse and touch her smooth pussy. Every time Zac thought about any of this he would very quickly get hard. It was his all-time favourite fantasy. And the thought of putting his rigid cock inside her pussy, mouth or butt never failed to bring him off when he was wanking.
Fantasies were one thing, but seeing Stella in the flesh was something else. It was a thought quite beyond all others. Of course, the chances of it happening were miniscule. Zac had tried to make direct contact with her on social media. But she had never replied. He could hardly expect her to. She had nearly two hundred thousand followers for heaven’s sake. But that had not put him off trying.
He had always been told at school to persevere – even in Art. If he kept at it he would succeed. So he didn’t give up. He would try to think up a novel response to one of her posts – a joke, perhaps, or a witty remark. But he would never over do it; he didn’t want to appear a bore or a bit too intense. Yet, despite these efforts, he remained unnoticed.
It was Zac’s perseverance that led, one January, to Stella replying to one of his posts on Twitter. It was in response to a rather naughty photoshoot she had shared with her followers. She had just finished a rampant sex scene and had tweeted a photo of herself, with a splattering of cum across her mid-riff, suggesting a liaison with more than one bloke. Zac tweeted in reply: Looks just like you could do with a cup of tea. Happy to bring it to your room.
All Stella had tweeted in response was Ha! Ha! But that had been enough and every now and again she had responded to something he posted. Gradually, the dialogue continued, and there must have been about fifty or so messages exchanged between them. The messages become more jovial and in a sense more real. They shared a bit of detail about themselves: Zac said that he was on his year abroad in Tuscany; Stella said that she was part Italian and was often in the country either visiting family or filming. But nothing more personal than that was mentioned. Their tweets, after all, could be read by everyone.
A few weeks later, after seeing one of her films set in front of a log fire with a Christmas tree in the background, and feeling desperately envious of the guy who had fucked all her three openings in one session, Zac tweeted: I see you are already in Christmas mode. I have your Xmas present here. Would you like me to bring it round?
To which Stella had replied: Of course. Great.
Zac then did something he had never done before. He had thought it rather poor manners. Etiquette had been drilled into him at school. DM-ing someone like Stella was just not the done thing. But now he felt very alone. Christmas was a fortnight away and his parents had flown off to the Caribbean leaving him with no reason to go home. The combination of loneliness and sexual frustration now fuelled him. So Zac messaged back: When and where? Realising this was a step too far, he quickly added, in a separate message: Only joking, of course!
And then Zac received the message that he simply could not believe.
BTW – would you be interested in being one of my ‘clients’? They are a bit like followers, only a bit more ‘intimate’.
Zac wasn’t exactly sure what this meant, but before he had time to tap out a reply on his mobile, another message came it: Filming at a hotel near Firenze. Aren’t you near here? Why don’t you call in once I have finished a set? You can bring the present! Ciao.
He went straight back: Quando?
18.30 she replied and then gave him the name and address of where she was filming.
That was a couple of hours ago. And here he was, entering the hotel room. The anticipation was massive, but he was also fighting back feelings of guilt. He really ought to make his excuses and head back to his student digs. This was such high risk. In the next few minutes he could blow his whole future career as a lawyer. What if someone knew where he was and who he was with?
But he rationalised: who could possibly know? This was a private meeting and so what if she was an adult movie star? No-one would find out.
The producer of the film had let him into the room. She had been very reluctant to do so. She did not like disturbances during films, and she was not aware that Stella was expecting a visitor. She had turned to Stella to check that it was all right to let the young man in, and Stella – who had been reading a magazine in between sets, looked up, smiled and said ‘It’s Zac. He’s one of my newest clients. I never thought he would actually come round. That’s great’.
So here he was. About five metres from this woman he idolised. She was perched on the edge of a bed wearing a golden silk pyjama blouse. She looked sensational – every bit as sensual as he had seen on screen.
He walked towards her, trying to slow things down in his mind. But that was impossible. He was holding a brace of presents in his hands, which he had rushed out and bought on his way here. He had gone for chocolates (partly because the Italians always wrap them so beautifully) and a book – a first edition Man Ray, which he had seen in an antique bookshop near his university. This was high risk, he knew, but probably not what she was expecting so potentially a clever idea. But would it work?
As he moved closer towards her, Zac began to think about what might happen next. Would they just sit and talk? What would they chat about?
Stella stood up, kissed Zac lightly on both cheeks in that European way, and – sensing his nerves – said ‘Are these for me? Thank you! Come and sit down here.’ She patted the bed next to where she was sitting.
Zac mumbled a ‘Hello, nice to meet you’, awkwardly handed Stella the two gifts and sat next to her.
‘Can I open them now?’ she asked, and ripped off the paper on the book before Zac had time to reply. ‘Man Ray! I love his work.’ She flicked through the book. ‘This is the one with the woman whose back looks like a double bass. ‘ She looked inside the front cover. ‘Oh my God – it’s a first edition. Thank you. Thank you so much.’
The risk had worked. She gave him another kiss and also a hug, and then opened the chocolates.
‘I am afraid that I haven’t bought you a present,” she said. ‘But I do like to look after my clients and I do have something to give you…’
Zac’s mind started to race. What was it? Surely she wasn’t going to take her top off? And if she was to put this proposition forward, would the camera crew and producer leave them alone? Surely they wouldn’t hang around. God forbid, what if they filmed any interchange between them?
And would she let him touch her amazing breasts? Or kiss her lips? And were tongues going to be out of the question? More importantly, what about himself? Would she take his clothes off? And if she did, what about his cock? Would it rise to the occasion? It always did when he wanked, but would it stand to attention with someone else’s hand? Would it feel too different? Would he come too soon? He had only every done it with a couple of women, so would it all prove too much and would he ejaculate within the first few seconds?
‘Well,’ said Stella, ‘I think it’s your time for your present, now. So why don’t you take your clothes off?’
Zac simply could not believe her request. He quickly complied and noticed Stella looking approvingly at his well-toned body. ‘How about you take a quick shower first?’ she said, ‘I’ll wait here until you are ready. I was thinking about giving you a very special wank. What do you think? Are you up for it?’
Ends

As soon as she walked out of the elevator bank and onto the street, a big whoosh of breath expelled from her and flooded into her. Cecily had barely been breathing, she had been working so hard. She had had a long day at work—all of her days were long, to be honest; her job was demanding and detail-oriented.
She entered the nightly race to the subway station and hustled down the stairs at the sound of the Pavlovian ding-dong that meant the subway car doors were about to close. Cecily found a path through the sardine-packed crowd and on to the train where she managed to find a seat.
“Excuse me,” she said softly to the people on either side of her. Taking the subway might be an animalistic activity, but she was determined to be human. She searched for her novel at the bottom of her tote bag and did not bother to remove her golden shades which made the pages of the book look like age-yellowed pages from a vintage book.
A sudden stop on the train jostled her, and she fell into her neighbour and apologised again profusely.
“No problem,” the woman beside her replied with a smile and a nonchalant wave of her hand.
Cecily picked up her book from her lap, and that is when she looked up and saw him.
The fellow commuter sitting across from her had his suit jacket haphazardly thrown over his lap, and his tie was undone. It was clear he had had a long day as well, but his eyes were focused on her, and she felt herself moisten at her temples and between her thighs.
Cecily was not aroused merely just by looking at an attractive man. This man was becoming a regular part of her evening commute. She had never been this close to him before though, or rather he had never been on display like this before her. He usually was close enough that she could look at him, but this close that she had to avoid looking up because he was the obvious thing to look at. And she could not hide her eyes because usually, she wore dark shades, but the golden-hued shades she was wearing would make it evident if she looked at him for anything more than a second. She wore them because they matched with the cream-coloured dress that also matched with the similar coloured bra and panty set that she wore underneath.
It was summer, and she wanted to look like light.
But it was while she was wondering where to place her eyes that she noticed that he was looking directly at her. He looked at her face and allowed himself a slow, careful
survey of her body that made her feel vulnerable and desired.
As she looked at him, he looked back at her his eyes unflinching. Cecily smiled, and a small laugh escaped her against her will. She crossed and uncrossed her legs, as his eyes followed the movement of them.
Cecily was dismayed with herself because she knew that he had somehow gotten under her skin. On previous nights to this one, when she snuck a look at him, she just stole a glance without him knowing. Or he looked at her fleetingly like ships passing in the night. But tonight their eyes lingered, his eyes slit like she was the actual sun.
They kept looking at each other, and it felt anti-climactic after a while even though between her legs throbbed as she let him see her survey him. She looked at his smooth-shaven face and his eyes that seemed like a combination of amber, green and blue from subway stop to subway stop. Her own reflection in the window behind him showed that she looked curious, her knees parted as she looked at his chest and his biceps. He certainly looked like he went to the gym often. His thighs, when he lifted his jacket also suggested they had seen a lot of action at the gym. His calves too. His body was so appealing to her.
He looked at her with a smile as he saw her eyes dart from his package, and he spread his legs a bit too definitely to tease her. She liked that he appeared a gentleman and had let her eyeball-fuck him, but still maintained his composure. On the other hand, she was soaking wet, and not sure what she was going to do if she was not able to alleviate her pressure soon.
Would she be like the female character in the Anais Nin story who pleasured herself in public on a train in front of others?
No, she would maintain her own composure.
Here.
She closed her book—as if she was going to get off at the next stop and only because she had not been reading it. Her legs parted, she shifted in her seat and if he wanted he very possibly could see her cream-coloured panty before she crossed her legs again tightly, then loosely. If her legs were that tight…she might lose the composure she struggled to sustain.
Her heart started to race because she knew he was getting off at the next stop. He did not move, did not budge at all until the door was just about to close. He nodded at her, and she watched him walk out of the car. His slight but shapely backside had her undivided attention, and a sudden whoosh of breath escaped her. She became aware that her breathing had gotten shallow again while she was observing and being observed by him.
The same shallowness she had had when she just left work.
This was the most connected that they had been since she had seen him for the first time on the train. She wondered if he thought that she was going to make a move? Or if it was only a game because he had noticed her and because they had looked at each other before?
When her stop came, the only thing echoing in her station were her high gold heels escaping out of the subway car, and up onto the street. The sun was still up and sweet, and Cecily wanted to enjoy every last bit of it.
When she got into her apartment, she ran her hand over her stomach and realised she was exceptionally sensitive to her own sound and touch. The sound and vibration of her heels were arousing her even more than she had been aroused on the train.
Their vibration ruminated through her core.
She had hoped that she would be able to at least take a bath before she proceeded with the evening the way that she had planned to. But she was too turned on to wait, too turned on to wait until she was done with her bath. She pulled her dress off over her head, the movement of the dress tearing over her skin aroused her. The movement and the sound of the dress was more than she could bear until she finally threw it to the floor. Her heels vibrated as she wandered into her bedroom, and got on her knees before her goodie drawer. Cecily had an assortment of toys in a myriad of colours and sizes, but she wanted the simple glass dildo that she had with the balls that reminded her of her ben wa balls. Thank goodness she did not have them in today, because she would have come on the train if she had.
Stepping out of her golden heels, she walked in just her web-textured cream-coloured bra and panties over to the window and sat down. She picked up her book as she curled up into her window seat so she could reenact the scene in the subway the way it should have gone. The way that she would have put the protagonist in Anais Nin’s story to shame.
Cecily looked restlessly over the words in the book—the same page she had been reading on the train because she had not really read at all—the words and the pages were still yellow the result of her still wearing her shades. The sound of the pages turning placed her on high alert, Cecily had to touch herself sooner than later. The novel she was reading was about a woman who saw her name on her own grave, and the impending sense of doom that followed her made Cecily desire another type of little death.
She had to put the book down over her thigh finally, and let her hands begin to move over her body. Cecily imagined that she and her sexy fellow passenger were on an empty subway car so they could be lawless as she stripped to her underwear already while he came over to her side of the subway car.
The unbearable throbbing between her legs was more than she could bear, Cecily did not even look to see who could see her in the window outside of her house. Her hands had been all over her body, and her pussy pounded with need. She was so wet when she finally put her hands between her legs, so wet and hot and her heavy breath made her heavier between her legs. She was so wet, she could hear the clicking between her legs as her fingers moved over her wet pussy lips before she really touched herself.
Or put a finger inside herself.
“You make me so horny…” she said out loud because it turned her on to say what she was feeling in her head, and because she was so far gone in her fantasy that she really felt like he was there. The sound of her voice gave her goosebumps, and now that her fingers caressed her wet lips she imploded. She pulled the crotch of her panties aside and soothed the goosebumps that emerged there. Her freshly shaven pussy was a soft delight of flesh to rub before she removed her panties—still not looking to see who could see her outside in the real world. Biting her lip, she narrated the subway scene in her mind as if to her fantasy lover.
“And then you lick my pussy,” she murmured, biting her lip. “You make me so wet.”
She was soaking as she watched herself in her fantasy subway ride watching him lick her pussy. Cecily cradled his head and listened to her moisture beneath his lips, the dampness she saw when he looked up at her, his mouth wet.
Her fingers pumped in and out of her pussy before she was even aware of it. That was what she wanted him to do more than anything. She had studied the bulge between his legs long enough. The thickness that she noticed changed each time she looked at him and was the thickest she has ever seen it tonight.
“I love feeling you so big and hard inside of me,” she murmured still biting her lip as she reached for her glass dildo to fill her the way she needed him to. On the screen of her fantasy, he was inside her, and she was mesmerised by the point at which they joined. In reality, she cried out as she climaxed from her own penetration of herself. Cecily was nearly howling as she rode her glass dildo which slipped easily in and out of her.
One final cry escaped her, as she moaned out.
“I love you.”
Her legs closed together, she felt herself ruminating from her pleasure. She did love what he had made her do to herself. Would she ever do this with him? She did not know. But she did know that the next time she saw him and they smiled their secret smiles…he would not wholly know how very secret her smile was. She would remember this moment, and she would really be golden

Waiting.

The anticipation hangs over me like a cloud but my ears are buzzing with excitement. How am I going to feel? So many things are flashing through my head.

Why hasn’t she called yet? We said seven and it is nearer quarter past. My sexual fantasy—our fantasy—is about to become a reality.

It started as dirty talk in the bedroom. But in a moment it will be played out for me to hear. Tonight my adoring, admirable hotwife will be fucked by another man while I listen.

I am sitting by the drinks cabinet in the living room, staring at my mobile. A neat scotch at hand.

Suddenly Lionel Richie chirps out from the phone, Hello, is it me you’re looking for?

Yeah, my ringtone. I know it’s her and it’s time. Still, my heart jumps just a little, like in those heady early days of our relationship.

When I click accept her voice comes through in a whisper,

“He’s here. Just pouring himself a glass of wine.”

“Are you OK? Sure you want to go through with this Tina? You sound nervous.”

I had to ask. I’m feeling responsible now it’s really about to happen. And, I will admit, a little nervous too.

I wonder what this stud looks like in real life. We both saw his photo when we were, you know… choosing him. He looked handsome, I suppose. Tina liked him. That was obviously important. I don’t have to fuck him. I’m not being flippant but once she got into the whole idea it was literally full steam ahead. However, knowing we agreed at every stage isn’t stopping me feeling shaky. I wasn’t expecting that. I’d been so confident with the decision to expand our sex life.

“Huh, now he is touching my leg.”

Oh my, I can hear her breathing. She’s getting excited. I know her so well. It must be the anticipation. I could stop this. I’m certain. Ask her to come home into my arms. I’m sure she would if I wanted her to. Wouldn’t she? We are in love, after all. I’m not just the voyeur listening in.

I’m trying to picture them in the hotel room. I know what she’s wearing. We went out together and chose her outfit. Settled upon a gorgeous figure-hugging black dress. A glittery little number that shows her curves off to perfection. The rest was her standard fuck-me accessories. She always wears hold-ups and heels when going out. Such a hot babe. My work colleagues at the plant can’t believe her. Every time I take her to the social their tongues are practically hanging out their mouths.

So now he is touching her gorgeous long legs. I bet his dick is getting hard already. Mine is, just knowing how her thighs look with that lacy stocking band gripping at the flesh.

“Tina, don’t leave me out, what’s happening? Tell me.”

“His hand is sliding slowly up,

and up… and up…

it makes me shiver already

mmm… uh… my god… very firm hand

I like it… and I let him do it…”

The urgency in her voice tells me there is now no turning back.

“…and I let him slide those fingers right up to my pussy… oh my god I’m wet already…

he’s gonna finger me.”

Yep, if my cock wasn’t stiff before it is now—rock-hard in my pants. The thought of him touching my woman is hot. Even though, I’m still feeling a little mixed about it. She has to be enjoying this attention—hell, that’s the whole point. Sounds like she is. If Tina’s feeling hot, I am too. I love her getting off. And the mere fact that a guy, a stranger I have never met, is at this very moment pawing her, myownwife—it’s just mind-blowing.

Yet. Yet at the same time, I want to lash out and tell him to get his frigging hands off her. But instead I just fucking listen.

We’ve been happily married for eight years. Always faithful to each other and yes, we have a great sex life. About six months ago our friends, Rob and Sarah, came round to dinner. While the girls were making gin cocktails Rob took me aside, winking, and spilled out the story of a hot scene the pair of them had recently become involved in. Cuckolding, he explained. Another man—some guy they found online—has sex with his wife, while Rob watches. It’s the hottest thing they’ve ever done and he loves it. Likes to jerk off just as Sarah climaxes riding the other guy’s cock. A free-for-all orgasm.

And as I listened I could feel myself heating up. I loosened my collar and asked a few questions. In a flash, I could really see how this could work for me—for us. Tina has always been a bit of a trophy wife. I was punching above my weight when we’d married, everybody knew. I love to watch men ogling her. Knowing she’s mine and will do anything for me. Mine to have and to hold. Or to give.

Of course, the reason Tina would do anything for me is she truly loves me. So, at first, I was unsure if she would actually want another man to fuck her, even at my request.

For days it was all I could think about. Then I started bringing it into our sex life. Talking dirty as I pumped her pussy. Telling her I was watching in the corner while a stranger took her—and fucking her hard. She really got into the role play, asking if I was wanking while she was being taken. We’d both have the most intense orgasms, screaming, and lay back giggling, holding each other. But would Tina enjoy it so much if it was more than just a fantasy? I knew I would have to box clever to coax her onside.

I called Rob and enlisted his help. The plan was to encourage Sarah to talk to Tina and tell her all about it. Apparently, Sarah was a natural and had really bought into the whole hot wife scenario.

And that is precisely what happened. Sarah was very open, very honest. Told Tina how this was not something that was about to rip their relationship apart—in fact, it had brought she and Rob closer, stronger as a couple. Their sex together had got even better.

It was after that conversation that Tina first suggested trying it for real. Being a hot wife. She tackled the subject with me, actually thinking it was her own idea.

“If you don’t want me to, that’s fine. But we are always so honest with each other, I had to say.”

At that moment I had to stop myself smiling and punching the air. Instead, I went along with her and replied,

“I see. You want to do it for real? Okay. Let me think about that, Tee.”

I couldn’t believe my luck. She really wanted to go that one step further, like Sarah. I was made up that in the end, it had been her own suggestion. I’d merely planted the seed.

However, now I had the opportunity to go ahead, I realised I had to behave responsibly. To me, Tina is a bit of a princess. I treat her like one and want her to have it all—anything, and the best she can get. The idea of some stranger fucking her would send my cock to bursting point every time. But she had to understand what she was getting into.

A few weeks passed as we discussed it further. Tina said she was really excited about the prospect even if her tummy was churning a little at the notion. But that was to be expected, having never done anything like this before. Her main worry was how she might feel having me in the room, watching. Would she feel she had to please me, rather than enjoying the experience herself?

That was when I suggested we let the phone connect us instead. I would be able to hear whatever was happening. She promised to let me be with her every touch of the way, so to speak. It would still be a shared experience, to enjoy in our respective ways.

So we agreed to try it for our anniversary.

But now waiting to hear what she’s going to say next is making my heart beat a little faster. I’m slightly anxious. I’ve kept her gorgeous body to myself. It was always me driving her pleasure. I adored doing that and right now, at this moment, someone else is holding the wheel.

“My god so wet,” she purrs down the phone.

He must be fingering her pussy. Tina is tight—really tight, and silky—completely bald, or occasionally just a snip of hair down the front, a strip pointing the way to her heat.

“I’m coming so fast!”

With that in mind, I can’t hold back and drop onto the sofa, phone in one hand. With the other, I tug at my belt and flies. My cock springs free, swollen and ready. If Tina was here, she wouldn’t be able to stop herself. At this point, her lips would bind around my shaft and she’d massage it while I held her head in place. Pulling her hair. She likes that. Does he know what she likes?

I think he must by now—I can hear them moaning, gasping. She’s coming—for him. I squeeze my balls and press my ear to the phone to savour her familiar moans and whimpers.

This is agonising. Maybe I should have insisted that I watch. Next time I must. She could be cuddling into his chest. Maybe he’s kissing her. I wouldn’t like that. Kissing is intimate, a special thing. Fuck me, what are they doing? I’m desperate to know.

“Tina, what’s happening now?” A little crazed, I practically shout at the phone.

“I can feel his hard cock—I wanna fuck him.”

I took a deep breath…

“I wanna feel your cock inside me, much bigger than my husband’s. I wonder how it would feel inside me…”

Fuck! She’s forgotten about me! she’s talking to him now. Damn, I hadn’t thought this bit through. Maybe she won’t be satisfied with my cock now? I’m not a jealous guy. I have never worried about the size of my dick and never had a complaint from past lovers. Quite the opposite actually. Come on—get a grip. I push the hair back from my forehead, feeling a little clammy and warm. Of course, he is bigger. It’s his bloody job to be bigger.

When I told Rob we were going try this too he recommended a male escort company. We didn’t want it to be someone we knew. Or anyone we just met who fancied her. For me, this really mattered.

I know he will rate her. He’s a lucky fucker. My wife is gorgeous and so sexy, with or without make-up. Or clothes. My mates from the pub always joke with me saying—oh Mike has such a hot wife and laugh. Well, now she really is that hot wife.

“He’s fucking me, it feels so fucking good.

Yes, ah, mmm… really deep, hard inside me… ah

oh my god… yes… this feels good.”

I picture him driving himself into her pussy and start to stroke my length, slowly.

Then I hear her talking quietly to him. Is she trying to share a moment without me?

“Almost better than my husband…”

The noise tells me they are fucking like animals now. So involved in what they are doing, in their lust, they couldn’t stop if their lives depended on it.

She said almost better—OK I can deal with that.

I check my reflection in the sitting room mirror. My cock looks great from this angle. Balls firm. Looking ahead and listening to the phone I tug my skin forward and back. Imagining him loving her pussy. Her pussy is my pussy, my cunt. She hates me using that word.

Now she’s talking to me again,

“Gonna ride him…”

I can picture it. Groaning, I tighten the hold on the base of my dick. She’s fantastic at cowgirl. She slowly lowers herself and throws her arms in the air, mouth open, little titties bouncing as she takes what she needs.

There’s pre-cum on my the tip of my cock. Shining in the light streaming through the window. It’s only seven pm and my wife is fucking another man. I’m feeling better now. Cool and in control. My wife is a dirty bitch and I love it.

“Oh my god, my legs are fucking shaking.”

He must be pumping like an engine for her legs to shake. She’s fit—goes to the gym four times a week. Her legs are lean and strong. Great thigh muscles that can grip like crazy. I can hear them both now, frantic breathing, his cock filling her wanton cunt. She must be dripping. Her juices running along his shaft. What a slut she can be, I know, loving every dirty second of this, for him, for herself, for me.

Now I jerk my cock and then angle it down. The throbbing reflection stares back.

“I didn’t expect this to be so good, aaah—oh yes I’m still riding him.”

How much longer must I fucking listen? I am about to explode. My knob is so defined the skin can’t pass over the ridge. Balls so tight I can hardly see them in the mirror.

“Now I’m gonna suck him, suck my pussy juice off his cock, feel this big hard dick deep inside my mouth…”

No—I can hardly believe it, after all that fucking she is going to give him a blow job! I’m wishing I could see his cock entering her mouth. I can bloody hear it—she was never the quietest of lovers that’s for sure. It sounds like he is almost gagging her. Go on mate, take all she has to offer—use her.

“I love my husband—haha! Yes!”

I should bloody think so.

“Uh! He’s in me—he’s rubbing my butthole, yeah, that’s right! Ah! Ah… no, you never did that to me.

Frig my tight… little… butt-hole while I’m riding him deep inside my…”

Damn, I can hardly bear to hear this. I’ve always wanted to fuck her arse. I mentioned it to her before but she never seems that keen. Maybe things will change after tonight.

I close my eyes, my hand returns to my dick. Jerking gently now, so as not to come too soon, and in my mind I watch my cock inching into her tight arsehole. Pushing slowly, deliberately, as she relaxes and takes all my hardness.

“Fuck me like my husband never fucked before.”

Ah, the licentious tart. I begin to come. I am fucking that cute little arse of hers and spurt all over my shirt. My head falling back onto the sofa cushion. I’m spent. That was exhausting. Then I hear her…

“I’m absolutely covered in come—all… over… my tits—aah.

“I’ll see you soon at home darling.”

And I can’t wait to see her when she walks in—the hottest wife a guy ever had.