Birdwatching
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Watching free porn video
“Men are all the same.” Anja muttered to herself as her colleague, Martijn left the room.
You can’t hold even the shortest conversation without them leering at your boobs or legs, she thought to herself. Martijn had clearly been a little less than entirely circumspect with his inspection of her form.
Not that she objected completely. In fact she was secretly a little flattered that many men would talk to her chest rather than her face. Even if it could be a little trying at work.
Anja leant back in her chair and gazed idly out of her office window. Beyond the glass lay a vista of urban domesticity. Her building was in a largely residential area of town, her office at the back of the building, overlooking a few small gardens and the backs of twenty or so apartments.
As she pondered Martijn’s unwanted attention, she scanned the nearby buildings.
Perhaps if she hadn’t worn this outfit he’d have been able to hold his concentration on the contract she had been trying to explain. Then again, why should she have to adjust her clothing to suit men’s simplistic view of the world. She was, after all, only wearing what she usually wore for client meetings: a plain white linen blouse (not transparent) with a simple black jacket and skirt. Sure, the skirt was a little on the short side, and the buttons on her blouse were in the habit of unfastening themselves over time, but it wasn’t exactly a tarty or needlessly daring outfit.
She chose it simply because it made her feel good about herself, attractive yet businesslike.
Beneath that understated exterior lay her secret confidence weapon – and the reason why she was so irritated at Martijn.
The small, silky and unsupportive bra was complemented by equally silky knickers, not so small, but very loose around the leg. Barely two flaps of material that served only to cover her embarrassment. And for the finishing touch, a pair of stockings held up by the obligatory suspender and adjusted to sit high up her thighs, with only a few centimetres of bare flesh exposed. The whole ensemble was in black.
Yes, she knew it was a bit sad to admit it, but she liked the feeling of power it gave her. Just having a secret that clients and colleagues would die to know. Basically, it gave her a tiny rush of confidence. But only as long as it remained a secret.
The prospect of Martijn spotting her underwear was enough to burst the bubble. Anja checked the buttons on her blouse, then cursed as she realised that one of them had indeed come undone.
She drew her eyes away from the apartments to look down. Just one button; the most he could have seen would have been a little more cleavage than usual. And maybe just a hint of black silk. No, no worries there. In any case, she was sitting behind her desk. She could have had her legs wide open and he’d never have known.
Oops, her mind was wandering. She didn’t like it. Or rather, she didn’t like to admit it. It was bad enough wearing the sort of underwear she’d usually reserve for the bedroom, without having her thoughts turn that way as well.
Refastening the wayward button to restore her modesty, Anja turned her attention back to the screen in front of her. She really needed to finish the client’s contract amendments. Somehow though, her heart wasn’t in it. She looked again at the world outside.
One window fascinated her particularly. At the same height as her office and no more than fifty metres away. Although her view was partially obscured by the branches and autumnally denuded foliage of a tree, she could see straight into what appeared to be a bedroom.
She knew the room well; plain, white and sparsely furnished. In front (from her point of view) was a balcony, the bedroom windows were, in fact, doors glazed from almost ceiling height to about a metre above floor level. Anja had no idea what lay below that threshold, but could see what appeared to be a bed, at least one chair and a table upon which was a computer. The latter items were right up against the window, affording Anja a spectacular view of anyone working there. Well, at least from the waist up.
Of course there was nothing especially fascinating about the room itself. Anja was far more interested in its inhabitants. And particularly so in the man who was frequently to be seen working at the table.
There was nothing sinister about her interest, she’d just noticed him on a couple of occasions.
Quite often he wasn’t around at all. But when he was, she’d usually see him working away at his computer. But that meant that all she’s see were his chest arms and head.
She rather preferred it in the mornings, because that’s when Anja had sometimes seen him get up. This, she concluded, was a variable process. He either leapt out of bed, got dressed and disappeared for the rest of the day, or he’d lounge around in a towelling dressing-gown for an hour or so before getting dressed. Anja preferred the latter, if only because he was less than entirely fastidious about how he wore that dressing-gown.
He’d sweep into the room with the cord undone, exposing himself to Anja’s eager gaze.
Now don’t misunderstand, Anja was always discreet. She never stared and was careful not to be too obvious. She just liked to look.
Just once in a while, usually when the weather was warm, he’d not bother with the gown. Wandering in and out of the room, even working, completely naked.
Anja would watch at his smooth, pale, hairless torso. She liked his shoulders and the clear triangle they formed with his hips and groin at the point. And, to some extent, that was the point. Because little excited her more than watching him wandering around with his dick and balls hanging there.
Per se, she didn’t find men’s equipment very exciting. In fact, if anything she thought it rather comical, waggling around and generally getting in the way. But there was something about seeing this man’s complete nudity that was different, like invading his private space. Like turning the tables on all the men who stared at her, desperately trying to get a glimpse of flesh. It was that element which excited Anja.
On this particular day she was in luck. Having made an early start to be ready for her meeting, it was only nine-thirty when her attention turned out of her window and into that window across the way. The man had just woken up. As she looked across, Anja saw him walk into the bedroom distractedly. His gown was tied loosely at the waist and as he moved it came open to reveal a narrow slice of skin from shoulder to groin. Yes, he was hanging out.
She watched as he picked up a towel and gave his hair a quick but vigorous rub until it stood on end like manic toilet brush. She concluded that he must have been in the shower.
As he continued to move around the room, doing heaven knows what, the gown came open completely, Anja watched more intently than ever she had in the past.
After a few minutes, the man sat down at his computer and started to type. Not the continuous flow of somebody writing, but in spasmodic bursts, punctuated by his hand moving to a mouse. The typing stopped, but the mouse action continued and the man kept adjusting his position on the chair. He’d sit back for a while, then lean forwards and inspect the screen intently. Periodically, he’d get up and leave the room for a moment or two. On his return he’d have a cup in his hand, or even a cigarette.
Anja liked these temporary excursions, but only because they afforded her a better view of his body, albeit momentarily. A quick flash, if you like, of torso and tackle.
She saw him leave the room again with his back turned to the window. Anticipating his return Anja leant back in her chair and swung it round a little, just so she could keep an eye on the performance, without being too obvious.
Sitting back, Anja pushed her legs forwards into an altogether more relaxed position. An almost male, feet forward, body back position, in fact. But she wasn’t worried, there was nobody to see her in the office and the window didn’t go down far enough to reveal anything to the outside world.
In a moment of personal uncertainty Anja glanced down, just to check. Yes, her skirt had ridden up, and yes she could just make out the tops of her stockings, but that was all. No flesh and nothing inappropriate.
When she looked up her heart raced and she began to breath a little quickly. Because the man had just walked into his bedroom in a new state. He had an erection.
It wasn’t exactly huge but then nor was it small. The only appropriate description was – the right size. Enough length and girth to seem like it was worth having, standing quite upright and forming a gentle curve. Perhaps the man’s light build made it look relatively larger than it really was. Whatever, she liked the way it looked, even from fifty metres.
This was something entirely new for Anja. Certainly, she’d seen a few erections in her time, personally and in pictures. But never so divorced from the act of sex.
She’d watched her share of porn movies and even been to a couple of sex shows over the years. She’d seen huge dicks and small ones, limp ones and firm ones. She’d been personally acquainted with several, and almost always seen them hard. But this was utterly different.
This man was in his own home, not apparently engaged in fucking and not performing for an audience or camera. He was just being normal. Just living. And she was watching.
He may well not have been fucking, but he was certainly aroused. And that aroused Anja just a little more than she’d like to have admitted to herself.
As the man moved around his room, Anja’s eyes followed him. Or followed his erection, to be more precise. She cursed silently when the gown obscured her view and tutted when he turned away from her. She watched as he sat down at his computer again. There was more spasmodic typing and more mouse action. Still seated, he shrugged the gown off his shoulders, letting it fall back over his chair.
For a moment the implication of this movement didn’t occur to Anja. She approved, but because it meant she could see his pale shoulders and the top of his chest again.
Then it dawned on her. He was naked. Completely. And with that hard-on.
Now this put an entirely new complexion on matters. Anja’s attention was focussed entirely on the man; sitting nakedly, framed by his window. She could see his shoulders, she could see his chest. She knew that he was naked. But she could only imagine what was obscured by the lower edge of the window.
Every now and again, the man would move a little, adjusting his position slightly, leaning forward a bit or leaning backwards. Every time he moved, Anja willed him to stand up and face her, so she could look again at his erect member.
It was almost as if the rest of the world had ceased to exist, so complete was Anja’s monitoring of the situation. This was concentration on a grand scale; like some sort of voyeuristic tunnel-vision, ignoring everything but her target. Every particle of Anja’s being was focussed on the anticipation of seeing the man’s tumescent phallus again. She knew that if she let her attention wander for just a fraction of a second she might miss a crucial glimpse of shiny, resilient flesh. Oh how she longed for a pair of binoculars, the better (and bigger) to see the organ she craved.
As her concentration increased, Anja found herself leaning forwards, her nose hovering just millimetres from the glass of her own window. Did she see something? Maybe, maybe not. It was hard to tell. Anja stared even more intently and realised ... yes, there was something new, right at the edge of her view. Movement. Just slight, but movement nonetheless. Slow and rhythmic, as if he were ... no, he couldn’t be.
A moment later and there was no question. The man leant back, and as he did so he must have thrust his hips forwards and upwards a little. A small movement for sure, but one that revealed quite clearly the outline of his hard penis. And of his hand stroking the shaft, up and down and up and down.
Anja caught her breath at the realisation of what she was witnessing. Suddenly the tableau took on a new and even more exciting dimension. Here she was, intruding on a man who was pleasuring himself, completely unaware of her interest.
With that realisation came another. That Anja was getting quite aroused herself. She had leant forward, resting on her arms, with her hands together gripping the front edge of her chair right between her legs. As her interest grew she had pushed her own hips forward slightly, until the loose gusset of her knickers was touching the bone of her wrist. Suddenly she was aware of the gentle pressure of wrist against crotch.
Purely in the interests of academic confirmation, Anja freed her right hand and gently explored the material of her underwear. As her finger pushed the silky material softly against her vulva a delicate tingle ran from her crotch, straight through her belly. She thought her fingers detected a slight dampness and pushed just a little harder to check the sensation. Then a little harder still. On the third stroke, Anja’s finger caught the edge of her gusset and slipped it out of the way allowing finger to make direct contact with labia. Bliss.
Anja continued to watch the man quite intently. As he stroked and rubbed his erection with increasing speed and abandonment so Anja matched his movement, stroking herself first gently, then quite vigorously. Her labia were as slippery as the man’s penis was hard. As his hand moved down the length of his shaft, so Anja’s finger explored the length of her own opening, from bottom to top. And as the man toyed with his knob, so Anja began to massage her clitoris.
The two of them slipped gently into synchronisation and Anja began to wonder if they were going all the way. In fact, she didn’t just wonder, she was willing it on. Closer and closer she drove herself to the inevitable orgasm. Faster and faster she tormented her clitoris. But something began to impinge on her consciousness. At first she ignored the distraction, but it became more insistent. More demanding of her attention.
As the electronic warbling of her phone finally pierced the barrier of Anja’s concentration, her rhythm faltered and the carefully fanned wave of ecstasy collapsed.
With her phone ringing, Anja was suddenly overcome by self-consciousness, embarrassed at having been caught out, even though nobody had actually caught her at all. She reached for the phone and put it to her ear only to discover Martijn on the other end.
As Anja answered his question she glanced once again at the man’s window. Alas, he had gone, and when he returned a few minutes later his erection was gone too.
Anja, however, remained very aware of her own arousal for the rest of the morning, continuously adjusting her position to pull her underwear tight against her somewhat over-sensitive crotch.
Usually, had she been disturbed pre-orgasm, her arousal would’ve subsided almost immediately. Today, however, was different. As the morning wore on she became more and more aware of her aching sex. Simply thinking about the man’s self gratification wasn’t enough. Neither was the smooth stimulation of her underwear. Anja needed more, she needed to explore not herself (that would surely come later) but her own limits.
This was no good at all, Anja had to sort herself out. And the first thing to do was to rearrange her underwear. That should deal with at least one level of discomfort.
Without thinking, she stood up and pulled her skirt up to reveal her stockings, suspenders and disarray of her knickers. First she straightened her stockings, making sure that they were quite level on each leg. Then she reorganised her gusset, straightening and smoothing it to conceal her dark public hair and pink labia.
As Anja did this it occurred to her that she had just exposed her private underwear to all the apartments opposite her office. Slightly panicked, she scanned the windows for an audience. The windows were empty. But there had been a frisson of excitement mixed with her panic. A frisson that she quite liked, that she could repeat, without going too far. And with that thought Anja slipped out of her knickers, smoothed her skirt down and sat at her desk once again.
For a while, Anja was almost painfully aware of her now absent underwear. All she could feel was her own exposure. As if her sex was glowing like a neon sign. Moving around the office didn’t help and she found herself making only essential trips to the copier or other parts of the building.
After a few hours, the self-consciousness began to subside and Anja could carry on her work almost as though there was nothing unusual about her attire at all.
The test came, of course, when her client arrived for the meeting she had originally dressed to facilitate. Luckily the meeting was in Anja’s office, she stood to shake hands with the client when he was shown in, then sat down again quickly, over aware of her vulnerability.
But protected by her desk Anja began to feel a little bolder, and as the pair discussed business matters she gently opened her legs. The action drove the skirt up her thighs, so had the client been able to see beneath her desk he would have seen the tops of Anja’s stockings framing her dark bush with a small, glistening, pink highlight right in the centre.
This was a completely new sensation for Anja. A mixture of superiority and vulnerability. A little like the confidence boost that her risqué underwear choice would usually give her, but with the added rush of knowing that she was pushing her own limits. That she was displaying, publicly, her most private parts. It was a sensation that Anja found herself enjoying. Yes, part of that enjoyment was the thrill of novelty, but a bigger part was the outright brazenness of what she was doing.
As if to confirm the feeling of freedom around her crotch, Anja leant back in her chair while she listened to her client. Pushing back from the desk very slightly, she glanced down.
There they were; her stocking tops, two bands of pale thigh and in between the tuft of her pubic hair beneath which she could just make out the skin of her public mound. She knew it was there and completely visible. She also knew that what she could see, her client might too. If she let him. This she liked.
With business concluded there only remained for Anja to show her client out. She stood up, being careful to arrange her skirt quite modestly, and walked the man downstairs to the reception desk where they parted as if nothing had been out of the ordinary. If only he knew, she thought to herself.
For the remainder of the afternoon, Anja sat at her desk, skirt pushed up as if by accident, enjoying the sensation of exposure. Colleagues came and went, and Anja gained new confidence as each left the room.
The trip home after work proved yet more interesting. Freed from the complication of having friends and colleagues learn her little secret, Anja discovered an unfamiliar boldness in herself, and with it came a new dimension of excitement.
First she walked from her office to the tram stop. This was an easy first foray into the outside world as her office was in a relatively quiet residential street. Aware more than ever of the nakedness that lay beneath her skirt, Anja walked carefully down the tree-lined street. She could feel the cool, autumn breeze playing around her thighs. Why, she wondered, had she never noticed this before? The only difference in her clothing was the now absent knickers. How could their loss make her thighs so much more sensitive?
In the end it was the wind itself that blew the conundrum from Anja’s thoughts. As she walked up to her tram stop the wind gusted around a corner, catching her skirt and lifting it just a little more than she was ready for. The gust seemed to eddy between her thighs, caressing her pubic hair then moving past her labia and back up between the cleft of her buttocks. It was a sensation of complete insistance and sublime delicacy. The wind was feeling her up and there was absolutely nothing Anja could do to stop it, even if she’d wanted to.
Frankly, the fact that her skirt had lifted enough to give at least one passer-by a clear view of her secret really didn’t seem to matter. In fact it only helped, and as she stepped up onto the tram a few minutes later Anja felt a noticable slipperiness between her thighs.
After that brief but all-consuming tryst with the wind, the tram journey was just mundane. Yes, Anja thrilled at her closeness to so many people and revelled in her secret nakedness. But the pleasure was tempered by distraction of her aching vulva and the attention it was craving. It simply wouldn’t let her relax into the trip.
By the time Anja arrived home it was getting dark outside and for the last part of her journey there had been little, if any, chance of public exposure. This had served only to highlight her now desparate need to finish what she had started while watching that naked, masturbating man so long ago; to satisfy the craving she had been nurturing all afternoon.
Anja climbed the stairs to her apartment with a renewed sense of purpose. Looking down at herself she confirmed what she had suspected all the way home; that lifting her leg revealed the tops of her stockings, and sometimes even a sliver of pale thigh. Had she really been so brazen? Anja wondered. Oh yes, she thought and smiled ever so slightly.
From her apartment door she went straight to the bedroom, discarding her bag and coat as she strode through the hall. She turned on the light and inspected herself in the mirror. When she stood normally everything appeared, well, normal. There was no indication of her clothing deficiency. She lifted her leg slightly, as if to mount a step. Now that was better, just a discreet sliver of stocking-top was visible. She lifted her leg a little higher, as she had done to get onto her tram. That revealed a whole lot more, not just the dark band on her stocking, but a broad stripe of flesh too. She hopped around slightly, checking out the angles until she found a position, almost straight ahead, where she could just make out the shadowy triangle of her pubic hair. It was rather more obvious than she’d anticipated.
With her standing inspection done, Anja sat down on the bed quite slowly. She was still facing the mirror and saw quite how clearly she was displaying herself. Still watching herself in the mirror Anja allowed her right hand to slide down to her knee.She then drew it slowly up her thigh, pulling her skirt right up to reveal everything. When she was completely exposed, she gave herself the gentlest exploratory stroke.
Anja traced the length of her labia with a fingertip, starting at the bottom and lingering where her lips thicken slightly. Finally she completed the stroke, dragging a fingertip straight over her pulsating clitoris. How could this be? At any other time Anja wouldn’t have gone near her clitoris so quickly, it would be far too much, far too soon, almost painful even. But tonight was so very different; her labia were pouting and wet, her clitoris was already buzzing with pleasure, just begging to tormented some more. And Anja was going to oblige.
This was little more than an urgent, single-minded pursuit of physical pleasure and release. Anja knew that her only purpose now was to deliver the orgasm she had been denied earlier. As her middle finger began its driving, rhythmic pattern of stroking just between the labia then giving four quick rubs of her clitoris, Anja’s left hand undid the buttons on her blouse.
Lips, clit, clit, clit, clit. Lips, clit, clit, clit, clit. Anja muttered under breaths that were quickening along with the pace of her finger. Lips, clit, clit, clit, clit. Lips, clit, clit, clit, clit. Her left hand was now inside her bra pinching at the nipple concealed there. Her blouse had fallen open as the last of the buttons had been undone, and she shrugged it off her shoulders then lay back on the bed and closed her eyes. Lips, clit, clit, clit, clit. Faster, lips, clit, clit, clit, clit. Faster, lips, clit, clit, clit, clit. Steady, lips, clit, clit, clit, clit. Steady ... steady.
Anja’s head rolled over and as she teased out the pleasure with her fingertip she opened her eyes slightly. She could see her bedroom window and her own reflection there. But she could see beyond too, a window. Lips, clit, clit, clit, clit, a light. Lips, clit, clit, clit, clit, a shadow. Lips, clit, clit, cli...
When it arrived, the orgasm overwhelmed Anja utterly. She spasmed, uttered a low guttoral groan and clutched her thighs together, trapping her hand and forcing her finger down onto her clitoris. Her legs twitched three, four, no five times. And then as quickly as they came, the oscillations of pleasure departed with just a final wave goodbye.
Anja wasn’t entirely sure how long she lay there afterwards, but she really didn’t feel able to stand, or even to move, for quite some time. She just lay back on the bed with her hand resting gently on her pubic mound, its hard-worked finger just touching her throbbing vulva. When she began to worry that she may never move again, Anja forced herself up to sit on the edge of her bed.
She looked outside again. Yes, she had seen a window in the office behind her house. There was indeed a light on, and she noticed a clearly silhouetted shape there too. A person in fact, looking down at her. The figure moved back a little and Anja saw that it was a man. An oddly familiar, young-looking man.
Touché.
Marisol
- 27.04.2020
- 8
- 0
