699mowgli, Author at NSFW story

The Watcher [M48/F34] [voyeur/masturbation]

I watch. It’s what I do. But never like this.

I’ve watched you leaving the building across the street from my own, sometimes with him, sometimes alone. You caught my eye, yes, but not my imagination. Not then.

But later – some weeks, maybe a month later – early one evening, as I stood at my window watching the light change as the workers scurried home, just a glimpse of something. So brief that I thought perhaps it was my imagination. Had you really left your blinds open as you dressed? It was so fleeting I couldn’t be sure. But in my mind there was skin, shape, suggestion. I was still standing there, intrigued, when the front door of your building opened and out you stepped, on his arm, the two of you chattering and laughing.

And that became my place. To watch for you. You became my fantasy, my muse, my obsession even. Rewards were few, but every now and then my patience earned me what I yearned for. I have seen you in every state of undress. I have seen you take him in your mouth. I have seen him choke you, spank you, even hit you. I have seen you masturbate; sometimes with toys – a glass dildo seems to pleasure you most – sometimes with your fingers. Read more »

After you left (MF)

I’m still thinking of you, even though you left. I’m still thrilled by our brief conversation, our connection, even though his arrival broke it so suddenly. I’m still imagining you, even after the lift doors close behind you both and whisk you upwards. And if this hasn’t happened, something’s wrong

If he hasn’t made you swoon a little, then he’s doing it wrong

If he hasn’t made you flush and flutter, he’s doing it wrong

If he hasn’t kissed you with such intention that you are pressing yourself into him as the lift takes you to your floor, he’s doing it wrong

If your breathing hasn’t quickened, he’s doing it wrong

If you aren’t rushing and fumbling to get your door open, he’s doing it wrong

If you aren’t lifting your dress as you lead him inside, he’s doing it wrong

If you aren’t craving for his touch to return, he’s doing it wrong

If you can’t feel his lips roaming your skin, he’s doing it wrong

If you can’t feel his fingers caressing your clitoris, he’s doing it wrong

If you aren’t so wet that he can’t slide his full length into you, he’s doing it wrong Read more »

Oil (FM)

There is a cloth covering your eyes. The oil is warm on your skin, pooling between your collarbones. Then my fingers dip in and sweep up your neck, into your hair. My palms press at your temples, just below each ear, then slide over your shoulders, down the outside of your arms, reducing your world to this moment and everything in it. Without sight, every other sense is heightened. You can hear my breathing, soft but deep. My touch is firm, confident, establishing our connection. I knead your shoulders, your forearms, loosen your wrists, your fingers. Then my hands leave you.

You are turned, onto your back. You feel more oil drizzled onto you, a line from your throat, between your breasts, to your belly button; it makes trails down your chest and flanks. I cup your breasts, feel your nipples stiffening into my palm. My hands shift, movement inspired by the shape of you, warming your breasts, circles around your belly. I feel your body soften, become heavy. My hands run down your thighs, almost to your knees, then back up, fingers spreading, trailing lightly over your mound. Over and over again, stoking the heat within you. Read more »

Scent (FM)

It’s your breath that wakes me. Soft and warm, it glides over my throat, across my shoulder; gentle, reassuring. I allow the sensation into me, to draw me from sleep. I feel no rush. Other senses stir. I smell us. Musky, primal, salty. At my flanks I feel your skin against mine. Are you straddling me?

I open my eyes, but it remains dark.

I move my arms, but only an inch before they are constrained. My legs are spread.

I am awake. I am blindfolded. I am bound.

The breath on my neck changes to a colder stream, and draws patterns now. Along the lines of my collar; across one exposed armpit and then back to my chest. My nipple. Circling. Leaving and returning. Exploring.

You are straddling me. Now I can feel the hardness of your knees against my waist, the points of your ankles against my thighs. It is a gentle but certain grip. It holds me. Places me.

The breath on my skin disappears. There is stillness, that to me feels broken only by the stirring in my cock. There is silence, except for my pulse. It quickens. Can you hear it? Read more »

The Watcher (MF)

I watch. It’s what I do. But never like this.

I’ve watched you leaving the building across the street from my own, sometimes with him, sometimes alone. You caught my eye, yes, but not my imagination. Not then.

But later – some weeks, maybe a month later – early one evening, as I stood at my window watching the light change as the workers scurried home, just a glimpse of something. So brief that I thought perhaps it was my imagination. Had you really left your blinds open as you dressed? It was so fleeting I couldn’t be sure. But in my mind there was skin, shape, suggestion. I was still standing there, intrigued, when the front door of your building opened and out you stepped, on his arm, the two of you chattering and laughing.

And that became my place. To watch for you. You became my fantasy, my muse, my obsession even. Rewards were few, but every now and then my patience earned me what I yearned for. I have seen you in every state of undress. I have seen you take him in your mouth. I have seen him choke you, spank you, even hit you. I have seen you masturbate; sometimes with toys – a glass dildo seems to pleasure you most – sometimes with your fingers. Read more »

The Connection [MF] [mast]

A soft sigh, half-nose half-throat, reaches me as my eyes feast on you. The clear line of muscle in your forearm that keeps your hand pressed firmly between your legs. I wonder why you remain like this, almost frozen in this pose, but then my mind wanders once more. “Open your legs,” I whisper, and sure enough, your knees rise and your thighs part.

I think of what I might do…that I might kneel on the floor at the end of the bed and lean forward between your legs and breathe on you, my lips forming an 0 to cover you with hot breath, then contracting to an o, changing the sensation, turning the stream to cold. And as I stand over you I watch your body relax and a smile appear on your face – replaced by a sudden look of shock, eyes and mouth wide open, and a wriggle in your hips as if trying to escape, your legs writhing.

I think of extending my tongue, tasting you, fireworks in my mouth as new and wondrous and bright as the first time I ever did so. And I watch your fingers extend and lightly brush the outline of your pussy, making your lips swell. Read more »