Caught Looking, page 8
Lizzie understands my need and indulges it, and has done so from the very beginning of our relationship. I’ve always enjoyed watching her shower, even when we lived and fucked in a cramped one-bedroom, one-tiny-bathroom apartment, and I had to sit on the toilet to watch her do her thing through that hideous but tantalizing dimpled glass. When we moved on up and were house shopping we always rushed to the main bathroom first, no matter how gorgeous the canyon or city views were. The voyeur’s dream layout of our current master bathroom was what sold us on this house in the Hollywood Hills. Whoever did this remodel was a kindred spirit. The bathroom is floor-to-ceiling slate with candleholders built in. Skylights let in sunlight and moonlight. The tub is a huge sunken Jacuzzi oval big enough for four people to have sex in—easy. The shower is a floor-to-almost-the-ceiling curved glass enclosure at the foot of the tub. I can and do imagine what went on before we took over.
Lizzie and I are what you call a modern couple. We’re in a committed, long-term relationship but we’re not into monogamy. We play around, always together and always safely. It turns me on to watch her with another man or woman, but even though I’m a dedicated voyeur, my watching is usually a prelude to doing. Good watching is foreplay, building up the anticipation as an invitation to participation. After Lizzie’s been lost between someone’s thighs, and her legs are spread, and I’ve watched her writhe and heard her come, I enjoy joining in the crush of bodies so I can fuck Lizzie in her sensitized sexed-up state. It’s such a thrill for us both to find each other after we’ve begun our intimate contact among an anonymous collection of entwined bodies. She’s done the same to me after I’ve been lying on my back, some tasty morsel sitting across my face. I’m eating pussy, and I feel those signature lips on my cock, and I know it is Lizzie settling her cunt onto me while she kisses the woman whose pussy I’m eating. I know it is Lizzie not just because I know how her pussy feels but because I’ve seen the photos and the videos.
Yeah, I love to watch, and she likes to show off, and this particular night had been a fabulous feast for les yeux. We’d hosted one of our regular parties for like-minded modern friends and selected newbies. Lizzie had been in a fine flirtatious spirit. She’d wasted no cocktail and nibbles time before bedding a guy she’d had her eye on for quite some time. She’d taken him upstairs to a candlelit bedroom, and I followed and watched her fuck him from the balcony while some bright soft thing he’d come with sucked me off. The moon reflected on the girl’s pale cheeks and on Lizzie’s ass as she moved up and down on her conquest. It was a wickedly magical synchronicity. Feeling the tight sucking on my cock as I looked from the girl to Lizzie’s ass as she bounced up and down made me feel like I was fucking Lizzie in the ass. Such are the pleasures of being a voyeur with a voracious imagination. Transference is easy.
By the time we came downstairs there were people fucking everywhere. The place was an ecstasy-fueled pleasure dome in more ways than one. Everyone was rolling from encounter to encounter. It was sexual and primal, hot and amazing, and through it all I kept my voyeur’s eye on Lizzie as she flirted and fucked. My eye, even if it was just the littlest bit of a corner looking over some hottie’s shoulder as I kissed her, was never far from clocking Lizzie’s every move. The woman is amazing in the way she always seems to be doing something to turn me on, even from far across the room. Her pull on me is as pervasive as the sun’s tug on the planets. I orbit her space, forever feeling the universal, undeniable force of her attraction. We are made for each other. Our sexual peccadilloes yin and yang together. It’s a match made in Freud’s heaven.
It was about four in the morning after some six hours of nonstop sex when the party started to wind down. Some people had passed out so we let them sleep it off on the floor. A few of our close friends settled into the spare bedrooms. Some people took taxis home. Others had designated drivers. Some were still going at it; just like Leonard Cohen, we don’t let anyone go home with a hard-on.
Lizzie was kissing a couple good night while stroking their still-naked genitals. She’d enjoyed a debauched threesome with them that had added a few more entries to the Kama Sutra. I whispered into her ear that I was going to take a bath to clean off all the various bodily fluids I’d accumulated on my skin. She said she’d join me soon, and I knew what that meant. After all the sex with other people and our own share of fucking each other she was flying high and not ready to come down, so she was going to give me a special shower show. Even after all that actual fucking my heart raced and my erection returned at the prospect of watching Lizzie dish out her special blend of sex and showering. I followed my hard-on upstairs and ran a gorgeously hot full tub and added some Hells Belles oils to give the water just the right slippery consistency for maximum-pleasure masturbation. I lit candles and turned off all the lights and settled into the elixir, making sure I had a good view of the shower through the steam and candlelight.
It felt good to wash the sex from my skin. As much as I enjoyed our flings, I enjoyed our time together even more afterward. All that public fucking was foreplay for our private fucking, and it was always supercharged after ecstasy-fueled nights like the one we’d just enjoyed. It was our way of staving off the coming down, and getting cleaned up in our special way was our transition from sharing our sex with others to focusing on the love and lust that was purely ours. We’ve come to appreciate that so much of the enjoyment of sex with other people is in the recounting. Like Chinese or Italian food, sex is better reheated. Hearing Lizzie tell me while we fucked what she thought of some guy’s cock, or how he kissed, or how tight some girl’s pussy was and how it tasted adds another pleasure dimension to my voyeurism. I’m convinced it’s why I became a smut writer. Transcribing the sex I’ve watched is in many ways as much of a pleasure as watching it, and Lizzie always gives me so much grist for my sexual mill.
I was gulping down the necessary bottles of cold water when Lizzie came into the bathroom. She blew me a kiss and slipped out of the slip top she’d worn off and on throughout the evening. She turned on the shower and stepped inside.
Showtime…
It begins with Lizzie putting her face into the hot water stream. She is five-and-a-bit feet of sex on legs so she’s the perfect height to angle her face upward a little, like she does when she kisses me. Under the shower, the pulsating rain kisses her face and drips down, exploring all those lovely curves on its delightful journey down to the drain. If I were shower water, this is how I would want to go to that big sewer under the ground. Those water drops are lucky. What a joyous journey they have from the moment they spurt from the showerhead, hitting Lizzie’s forehead, trickling down over her closed eyelids, channeling either side of her nose, kissing her lips, where, if they’re lucky, a few might get swallowed to make it out the other side of her delectable body when Lizzie pees. The survivors cascade over her chin to trickle down her neck, following the path that I especially like to nibble on that leads to those pert and petite tits with nipples that never seem soft.
I’m convinced empathy is an essential element of my voyeurism. It’s not just watching. It’s watching someone or something go where I have boldly gone before. I know how good that someone or something must feel enjoying Lizzie enjoying herself, and that makes me feel good, like I have seen something beautiful unfold. Even though I am just watching, I have, in some causal Karmic way, orchestrated the ecstasy and made the Universe a better, sexier place.
Those water drops ought to thank me, the lucky little buggers. I watch them carom over the curves of Lizzie’s breasts and nipples, zooming down to that slight convexity of her lower belly where they often pool in her strip of light brown pubic hair before the lucky ones trickle over her pussy, and the less bold just leap off to plummet to the shower floor or ski down her thighs and calves and angelic ankles to wallow around her feet.
I know all this because I have been there, done that. My tongue has been everywhere those lucky water drops have, and that, as I have alluded to, is the key to my voyeurism. Maybe some voyeurs who are more on the Peeping Tom side of things can get off watching anonymous people, but for me, my ogling has to be personal.
So far all Lizzie has done to excite me is stand in the stream and angle her head upward to get wet. Me, I’ve been stroking my cock under the oil-infused water, lost in the finest hour of Lizzie’s body being revealed in the chiaroscuro of our candlelight- and steam-filled bathroom. Watching Lizzie like this feels like when I’m inside her. I feel my cock working inside her cunt as I stroke myself. In my bath, watching Lizzie, it’s like I’m immersed in her enfolding, dripping wet, luxurious pussy.
The fun really starts when Lizzie begins to soap herself clean. That’s when she stretches one arm upward as the other soaps underneath, emphasizing her tiny waist. Then she alternates and spins to rinse off and every delightful muscle tenses. It’s like she’s dancing naked in the hot summer rain. Then she stops, and her ass is facing me, and she pauses. The lower curve of her butt draws attention to the slight separation of her legs, and in the flickering candlelight, through that shadowy space between her thighs, I see the drenched tufts of her silhouetted pubic hair. She parts her legs further and pees, and I see the trickle join the shower water. After a little sigh of relief, she soaps her cunt and ass and cleans every little fold that has captured so much pleasure tonight.
Next she bends to soap her legs and her long, drenched hair drapes to her feet. She’s bent over so she shows me the heart-shaped curve of her ass and the winking pout of her pussy, not now obscured by shadows, and it’s all I can do to stay the voyeur. Faced with such an inviting sight, I want to be the doer. I want to get out of the tub, go dripping all over the floor and enter the shower and fuck Lizzie into tomorrow. In previous shower shows I’ve come many times by now, but tonight, after so many orgasms leading up to this moment I’m Tantric by necessity and desire. To come right now would spoil the shower for it is in no way over. This is my finest hour and I’m going to enjoy every sexy second of it. I have so much to look forward to. She’s going to wash her hair and when she does, her breasts will move up and down with every massaging of the shampoo and conditioner. Then she’ll wash her bush and pussy again, and it will look like she’s playing with herself. Finally, she’ll soap her ass, making sure she’s clean for later when I’ll rim her.
She does all this and I watch, and no matter how many times I watch her go through these motions, they never get old. They keep me and our romance young. Every time she showers it’s like I’m seeing her revealed naked for the first time.
Now that’s she’s soaped clean she’ll start to relax under the water, putting on more of a show. She lets the heated stream soothe her muscles. Her head rolls from side to side as the hot water eases out the kinks but not the kinky. She bends over into a stretch. I sink lower in the water to get the best low-angle view of Lizzie’s ass. She’s fully bent over, touching her toes. Her butt glistens from the cascading water; the candlelight flickers, revealing details like a developing photograph. From this vantage the view is unbelievably sexy, sweet and raunchy too, and my eyes drink in the puckered rosebud of her ass as it winks at me. This is the kind of peekaboo view that men in raincoats would pay lots of sticky money to see.
I am a lucky man. I don’t need a raincoat; this show is free and much better than I’ve ever seen in any strip club or peep show around the planet.
The bathroom door opens, disturbing my enjoyment, and in comes an intruder. It’s a guy. I vaguely recognize him as one of the newbies. He’s wearing a suit and tie—something expensive and black—probably Dior. He’s tall and his hair is longish and black. I’m not sure which woman he was with. He seems out of it. I’m about to tell him that this is a private show, that the guest bathroom is downstairs, but I hesitate. I’m a voyeur and these little accidental moments are what I live for. They give me a god-like feeling of watching mortals at play.
He doesn’t pay any attention to Lizzie, she doesn’t notice him, and he can’t see me in the tub. I hold my breath just to make sure I don’t shock him out of his trance. He makes his way over to the toilet, takes out his cock and pisses. It’s a long piss from a big cock, and I hold my breath all the way through it. I don’t want to disturb him. I want to see what happens once one need of his cock is taken care of. My heart pounds, and I feel the pulse in my cock as I squeeze the shaft, the head engorging.
Obviously relieved, he leaves his cock out after flicking off the last few drops, and he moves to the sink and washes his hands. He splashes water on his face, and as he looks up to the mirror he sees Lizzie in the shower, and yeah, his cock stiffens from the sight of Lizzie bent over. He watches her perform her show for me, and he strokes his erection into a hefty fullness I know Lizzie will enjoy. My finest hour just got a whole lot finer. I’m watching them both do their thing—Lizzie showering and her intruder watching and wanking—and I’m stroking my cock.
He walks over to the shower, opens the door and steps in, fully clothed, cock out. Lizzie is startled. I think at first she thought the guy was me, but she quickly realizes the differences and straightens. She looks in my direction with that what-shall-I-do? look that really is more of an I-know-what-I-want-to-do-but-should-I? request for approval. This is my finest hour, our private time, the party is technically over, and it is nice of her to be so considerate. I smile and blow her a kiss to let Lizzie know that whatever she wants to do is okay with me. She blows me back a kiss and makes no attempt to repel her bespoke intruder. Our sex party continues in my finest hour. Picture this: he’s fully clothed and getting wet. Lizzie is naked and drenched. He pulls her to him and they kiss. It’s not a tentative hi-pleased-to-meet-you kiss, but a full-on let’s-not-fool-around-with-foreplay, let’sfuck kiss. She wraps her arms around him and they kiss in the torrents. He puts his hands on her ass and lifts her to her toes, spreading her asscheeks toward me. He doesn’t know I’m there, I’m sure, but he gives me a fabulous view of my girlfriend’s sodden asscheeks pulled apart as her pussy grinds against him.
They continue to kiss, hands roaming and exploring. Lizzie’s hand drops between their crushed-together bodies and she’s stroking his cock. He pulls away from her slightly, reaches into his suit pocket while still kissing and pulls something out. He tears the package open with his fingers and slips the condom over his cock. He puts his hands on Lizzie’s waist and lifts her up. She swings open her legs and wraps them around his waist. He pushes into her, pressing her against the glass. He doesn’t waste time. He’s into her like a steam train, and I have the seat at the end of the tunnel. It’s breathtaking. In all my years of watching Lizzie I’ve never seen her fucked from this angle. Lizzie has strong legs and abs that come from miles and miles of biking and hours and hours in the gym and she puts them to good use doing sit-ups on his cock. She arches her back and that little motion pulls her up and he thrusts into her and she folds down with a thump that I just know is working her clit into a thundering rumble.
It’s hard to believe what I’m watching is actually happening and not some ecstasy-fueled sex flashback. It’s made all the more fanciful and exciting because of the dim flickering candlelight and the diffusion of the water and wet shower glass. It’s extreme peekaboo, and what I don’t fully discern I make up in my vivid imagination, only to have it confirmed or amplified as shapes shift and reality emerges. Picture this: she’s naked and drenched. Picture this: He’s fully clothed and soaked. Picture this: it’s the most erotic sight I’ve ever seen in all my finest hours of watching Lizzie shower. Picture this: I am the cameraman of a hardcore porn vid. From the lowly vantage of my watery lens I’m transfixed by the sight of his condom-clad cock sliding in and out of Lizzie’s tight pussy. Picture this: with every lunge, her ass presses tight against the shower glass, and as his cock goes in and out I actually see the grip of her pussy lips dragging along his shaft. I feel it too, because I crave that sight when we’re fucking. I often look down and watch my cock going in and out of my girlfriend when we’re fucking, and it’s just like what I’m seeing now. Only it’s not my cock because my hand grips my cock like Lizzie’s pussy would, and I have to stop stroking my erection because I’m afraid I’ll come and miss something in the brain-melting state of my release. Picture this: my finest hour—watching Lizzie get fucked in the shower.
By now Lizzie and her paramour have reached a noisy rhythm. Their moans and Lizzie’s encouragements to fuck her hard rise over the roar of the cascading water, and now it’s not just a visual show but a complete Sensurround experience, like when we fuck. Lizzie likes to be taken hard and loud, and this guy rises to the occasion. He’s fucking her like she’s a rag doll and she loves it. They haven’t stopped kissing since he entered the shower, and with each slap-slap of Lizzie’s ass against the shower’s glass walls they’re making one hell of a din. It’s the noise of unabashed wet fucking, and it’s the soundtrack to my visual treat. If I wasn’t so captivated I might worry that the glass could shatter, but I’m not about to be bothered by such design worries right now because I saw the plans from the previous occupants. Like I said, the people who fucked in our shower before us were kindred spirits. Our shower was designed for an orgy of fucking. Lizzie and I have tested it many times. It’s safe for sex of any kind, including the extreme, soaking-wet, butt-slapping-against-the-glass kind I’m voyeuring right now. No problem.
Lizzie breaks away from her fucker’s kiss and throws her head back. She’s laughing, and that tells me she’s coming really good. When Lizzie explodes from deep inside her pussy she laughs. It’s not just a little giggle; these are bring-the-house-down hysterics that have often totally sent an otherwise serious orgy into delirium. Once she starts, it’s infectious. Other women laugh and come and guys fuck harder and lose control no matter how hard they were trying to last. Lizzie’s orgasmic laughter is a siren song inviting all around to join her on the rocks of lustful abandon, and right now she’s about fifteen on the one-to-ten out-of-control scale. She’s gasping for breath and pulling herself up and down on his cock, and he’s not distracted by her laughing —which is a good sign. Less-than-confident guys shrink in the face of such an unabashed outburst, but I do believe Lizzie’s fucker has a smirk on his face, and he doesn’t miss a beat. He keeps fucking her like he means it.
