Balcony
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Balcony free porn video
Balcony
By Rosie
I wasn't completely finished with my cleaning, but the late autumn sun
seemed so inviting that I decided I'd take a short break before it
disappears altogether. After all, it could well be the last time before
spring that I get the chance to do so. Quickly, I made myself a nice cup
of coffee to enjoy along with a small, slim cigar. Normally, I'd change my
clothes before going out on my balcony, but this time I threw caution to
the wind and simply pulled on a thick sweatshirt over everything. Getting
to the balcony and back inside would be risky, true, but once I was
sitting down, the opaque fence of the balcony, my coffee table and the
potted plants would do a good enough job of shielding me both from the
cold as well as the peering eyes of strangers.
With my cup of coffee in one hand and my cigar case in the other, I
carefully peeked out through the French window of my living room. My
apartment was on the top floor of the building so that from the street
view, no one could see me unless I leaned over the fence, but my next door
neighbor's balcony ended less than three feet away from mine. Once made
sure she wasn't around, I scurried over to my comfy bench as fast as I
could without spilling the coffee. My heart was beating quite wildly and
my fingers were shaking as I clipped the head of my cigar, but after a few
sips from the cup and a couple of drags from the cigar, I began to relax
and to enjoy the nutty and creamy flavors of my coffee, the mild taste of
the tobacco smoke, but most of all, the warm, caressing rays of the late
afternoon sun. Lured into a sense of security I even unzipped my
sweatshirt and pried it open. Exposing myself to the sun rays even more
directly, I all but let it slide off my shoulders completely.
Suddenly, I heard the sound of doors being opened from my left side.
Waking abruptly from my dreamlike state, all I could do was to wrap my
sweatshirt around me before my neighbor, Mrs. Jones walked on her own
balcony.
"Charlie," she said, practically leaning over her fence, "Nice to see
you."
"Likewise, Mrs. Jones," I said.
The comfort, the coziness and the lazy Saturday afternoon feeling were all
gone, replaced by pure, unadulterated, nerve-wracking fear. In all
honesty, I had fantasized many times about meeting my neighbor like this,
but now that it was actually happening, all I wanted was to be inside of
the apartment, safely hidden from her view. There was nothing neither
quirky nor naughty about risking that Mrs. Jones doesn't lean over her
fence enough to get a view below the waistline of my hoodie.
"Nice weather we're having, isn't it?" she said.
"Sure is," I replied as calmly as I could, without letting her pick up on
my nervousness.
"I just came back from the town," she went on, "I thought I'd get started
on writing some papers but decided to catch the last of the sun for today.
Same goes for you, right? Having a little break on the balcony?"
"I was just cleaning my apartment," I answered, surprising myself. It was
as if I was hearing someone else talk, someone who spoke in the exact same
voice as me but I had no idea what they would say next, "I was going to
finish dusting the shelves, but I wanted to catch the sun before it went
down, too."
"That's nice," she said and then produced a long, thin cigarette from her
case.
"Could I possibly trouble you for a light?" she said.
My blood froze. My first instinct was to say "It was my last match,
sorry," but I didn't have to look on the table to know that my lighter in
full view, among my scattered cigar utilities scattered over my coffee
table. Resigned to the fact that I couldn't talk myself out of getting up
to light her cigarette, I helplessly fumbled with the zipper of my
sweatshirt for a moment, but then gave up on that, too.
Wordlessly, I picked up my lighter and stood up, well aware of how the
petticoat I was wearing under my uniform was making its pink satin skirt
flare out around my knees, offering Mrs. Jones an unobstructed view of
pretty much everything.
?Thank you, dear,? she said as I lit her cigarette, then, still leaning
over the fence towards me, gently pushed my sweatshirt off my satin-clad
shoulders, first one, then the other, until it slid down on the floor. I
felt a sudden chill on my thin, hairless arms, now covered only by the
short elasticized sleeves of my maid?s uniform.
?Is this what you wear for cleaning up?? she asked.
?Sometimes,? I admitted.
Of all the things that I could have said, of all the things I could have
done, stood proudly and told her to stuff it, the look in her eyes was
radiating the singular undeniable conclusion that I was now completely at
her mercy.
?Look nice on you,? she said.
?Thank you,? I said weakly.
?Makes a dull chore like vacuuming and dusting a bit more fun, does it??
she said, making it sound like a purely innocent form of entertainment.
?Yeah, I guess so,? I replied.
?Tell you what,? she said, now with a firmer, almost commanding tone, ?Why
don?t you come over to my place? Plenty of fun for you to have.?
I paused for a second, dwelling on the very clear implications she wanted
me to clean up her place. But did she want me to do it just now? I glanced
over my coffee table where thin columns of smoke were still emanating both
from my cup as well as my cigar. When I turned around again, though, Mrs.
Jones was gone.
Bending at the knees because my stiff corset prevented me from bending at
the waist, I picked up my sweatshirt off the floor and hung it neatly over
the back of my sofa. The clicking of my high heels, as I walked to the
kitchen for a fresh apron, seemed to reverberate deafeningly in my ears.
The bridge had been crossed and there was no going back. Freed from the
necessity of hiding, I felt myself slip back into the dream-like state.
With a new lace trimmed apron covering the bodice of my dress and the
front of my skirts, I quickly walked out to the hallways.
Mrs. Jones was already standing by her opened front door.
?Come in,? she said.
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