Voyeur… vol.1, part I

I received a letter in mail.  Well, several, actually.  Handwritten with lovely penmanship, but not handwriting I recognized.  It wasn't beautiful to the point of perfection; pretty enough to be pleasant to read and loose enough to seem hastily written.  There wasn't a return address and initially I was going to throw it in the trash but declined.

The first:

"Hello, Mr. Blackwood.  We don't know each other but I feel like I know you.  I noticed you some weeks ago by accident walking around in your kitchen.  Either you were about to take a shower or you just got out of one.  You were rushing to prepare your morning meal and hadn't put your clothes on yet.  The way your cock flapped around as you moved… it excited me.  I just wanted to let you know."

…

My curtains in the kitchen are sheer and while I formerly was self conscious about being seen through that window, eventually you just stop caring and no longer think about it.  Damn; I'm such an idiot.  What had I been showing off to the entire fucking world?

I cleared the thoughts from my head and dismissed it as a simple prank.  Had to be.  Surely this was Miss Priss, compelled by her penchant for exhilaration, sending me a letter to further our thrilling sexual dynamic.  It was proof of nothing.  Anyone who's been to my house knows that the kitchen windows have sheer curtains.  On the other hand, I couldn't know for sure.  I'd have to look at Miss Priss's handwriting next time we were together, because I honestly couldn't say that I would recognize her penmanship if I saw it. 

I realized at that moment that I was standing there in my kitchen in my boxer briefs with a full-on erection.  Whether that was from the thought of what I do with Miss Priss or from the possibility of being watched, I don't really know.  The latter possibility, to be completely fucking candid, unsettles me.  I went and sat in my den, out of the way of the windows, uncommonly unsure of what to do with my hard-on.

A couple of days later I received another.

"Mr. Blackwood, I apologize if you find this intrusive but I really can't keep from telling you this.  I watched you fuck a woman in your kitchen the other day.  Thank you.  Thank you so much."

That was it.  Again, there I am in my kitchen reading the letter and without thinking I looked out the windows scanning as discreetly as I possibly could for any windows that had a line of sight.  There were several.  And generally I wouldn't care.  I assume that just like I can only see what's in the window sill, I figure that they can't see in mine.  But could someone see inside?  All the windows along that side of my place face north which means light streams in all year round.  It's why I picked the unit in the first place.  If someone had a telescope -or a fucking camera!- what could they see?!

I went to my bedroom and decided against it.  I had to leave the house altogether.  I hung out with MissPriss that evening but we were at her place.  True to my secret-agent nature, I scoped out the place for her handwriting.  Oddly, I didn't find a single thing.  I considered it odd at first, since she's a sales rep and certainly had to keep post-its or a date book or something until I realized that in this electronic age that kind of thing is increasingly scarce.  Come to think of it, all my notes and reminders are on my mac or my iPhone.  I imagine Miss Priss is the same way.

The whole evening she seemed to be watching me.  Gauging me somehow.  I dunno, perhaps it was in my head but it was like she knew what was going on.  Surely it was her.  Had to be.  At some point, once we were done fucking, she excused herself to go to the bathroom and I relaxed in her bed staring at the ceiling.  For a fleeting second, it occurred to me that she probably kept a diary or journal.  Handwritten.

NAH!!  That was crazy.  It was her; no reason to even second guess it.  It was totally her m.o. and, again, she just had that "way" about her that evening.  Trust your gut, I always say.

Rolling over I pulled the covers up under my neck to get comfortable and something caught my eye:  a black book on the side table next to the bed.  On the cover written in silver letters was the word "journal."

NAH!!!  Too fucking convenient!  It just "happened" to be laying there within arm's reach??  It wasn't even on her side of the bed!  On the other hand, when I'm not there, who knows how she sleeps.  But why leave a fucking journal out like that?  On the other hand, why wouldn't she; it was her fucking house.

With no way of knowing how much longer she'd be in the bathroom and not enough time to weigh the consequences of being caught looking through her diary (after all, if she walked in on me glancing through it, there's no way I could explain it without making it seem like a lie to cover up snooping) I just went for it: opened it up and looked at the handwriting without trying to read anything.

Completely different penmanship.


What the fucking fuck…

"Watering the Lawn" …from the "Number 1" series - vol.2, part I

You have to know what this is about already without me having to spell it all out for you.  As a man who samples different flavors of woman and various shades of kink, I like to remain open-minded.  I don't have a pee fetish.  I just… well it's…

I mean…

Whatever.  What I think about it is not really all that important because I'm not on TRIAL here and feel it's inappropriate for me to have to quote-unquote "explain" myself or defend what I do or what anyone else does or…

…okay, I'm rambling.  And I know the protesting makes me sound, like, guilty.  Or something.  Whatever.

The point is that Hailey is young.  Younger than the gentleman's rule allows (half one's age plus 7 years).  As a sophomore in college, she's just really not an accomplished intellectual peer.  At the same time, you're not always looking for that.  Relationships span all kinds of dynamics.  This one is mentor-student in many ways.  That's just as real and as powerful as a relationship of peers.

And as something of a teacher for her (especially after having worked as one before) I know that you have to set rules which have rewards if followed and consequences if broken.  Without structure, your wayward pupil will learn nothing.  I gave Hailey a time by which she should have arrived.  A window, really, because I'm understanding to how life won't operate on my schedule and if you're realistic, you have to allow for that.  She would go by her sorority house after class and get changed, perhaps chat or send out a few necessary emails, or do something wholly unnecessary like check her facebook or the like.  Anyway, I get that.  So I gave a window with specific instructions on what she should and should not do to arrive within that window of time.

And she was 25 minutes beyond that window.

I'm not going to keep tabs.  I don't send texts asking where she is or call.  I don't have time for that.  It's not in my nature.  The clothes she was to wear were at my place already so she was just going to shower and change after she arrived.  Being the lithe, athletic 19-year-old that she is, I told her she could just make the starting point of her scheduled run her room on campus with the end point being my place.  When she buzzed me, instead of buzzing her up, I used the intercom.

"How many minutes?" I asked, referring to the extent of her tardiness.

"Twen- twenty… uh, four minutes?"

"Have your clothes in your hand when you get up here…" I said before buzzing the door open.  The front door to the building is loud so I could hear it open then close.  Additionally, the floor is old and footsteps echo off of the high ceilings, so I could hear her come in and run quickly up the stairs.  There was a momentary shuffle outside of the door to my apartment and then a knock at the door.  I opened it just enough to stand in the space as I leaned against the doorframe and there stood Hailey, completely naked with her running clothes folded and neatly rolled in one hand and her sneakers in the other, still panting from her run over and then up the steps.  She was looking down at her feet, avoiding eye contact.

I admired her body for a bit… the way in which being a fucking teenager in her head certainly had its effect on how we interacted on an intellectual level, but I'm not blind.  She was gorgeous in all the ways that college coeds are with her red hair and freckled body.  She's got these big slightly pink nipples each with puffy areola.  I reached over and rubbed her right nipple with the back of my index finger watching as it came to attention.  As I brushed over the top of it, I let it slip between my index and middle finger and gave a slight tug and noted just a trace of a quickened breath.  I pulled a little harder listening to her swallow a bit.  I teased her there for several moments, just the one nipple, occasionally slipping a finger into her mouth and using her saliva to lubricate it.  As my cock began to harden as well, I rubbed it and squeezed it through my jeans.  Just as I heard one of my neighbors open his door, I opened mine fully and told Hailey to step in.

Once in she stood there naked, eyes still to the floor, perhaps unsure of what I was going to do.  She knew that being late warranted some sort of punishment but I had not clarified precisely what it would be for such a thing.  I had been intentionally vague, of course, since there were a number of intangibles that I would have to consider at the time of infraction.  Punishment needed to appropriate.  So I asked her how she felt at the moment.

"Sweaty.  Hungry.  Thirsty.  Horny… and… and I need to pee."

There.  There it was.

"Look at me." I directed her and the moment her eyes met mine I slapped her clothing and shoes out of her hands, grabbed her by the arm and pushed her over the back of the couch with her face in the seat cushions and her pretty feet going into the air a little bit.  I gave her ass a good hard smack, leaving a handprint there, unzipped my jeans and allowed my dick a measure of freedom while still in my boxerbriefs and pressed my erection between her legs.  Hailey had one of those asses that though round and not-so-small, in most positions her cheeks simply spread of their own accord showing her anus.  It was pink and hairless; the tip of my cock seemed as if it was straining through the cloth of my underwear to get to it.

I let her go and backed off of her, zipping my pants back up.  "Get a glass of water and then you can shower and put on those shorts and the tank-top we got the other day.  No underwear.  Get a pair of sandals and bring that little denim, wanna-be jacket that you girls think are all the rage these days.  And find the smallest miniskirt that will fit into that purse you have.  We'll get food at the fair."

Her horniness, sweatiness, hunger and thirst had all been acknowledged but one issue remained outstanding.  I waited another second and added as if an afterthought while she walked to the kitchen "…oh, yeah.  And don't waste time to pee; we've got to make it to the park in time…"


She didn't show it, but I knew that she knew what I meant to do.  Drinking that glass of water would only make her need to pee more.  She was never one to wear underwear anyway but if I told her to she would.  I had her drink another glass of water before we left.  Along the way there, I even made sure to hit every bump in the road for good measure (my suspension can handle it).  With her right foot resting on the dash to give me a view of her pussy through the roomy gap of her shorts, every now and then I'd slide my hand in, pressing my thumb against her clit and pressing my palm against her bladder.


We did get food at the fair, though it was crazy expensive for what we got.  Hard to pass up the fresh cut fries and Bratwursts and real lemonade though.  I got plenty of pictures of her legs and her toes or shooting down her shirt to get photos with a hint of nipple or the subtle folds of her labia visible when she sat and spread her legs for me.  It may not be a particularly sophisticated way of spending time with a lady but there's something to be said for some simple fun.  Besides, who wouldn't enjoy feeling up a hot college sophomore on a ferris wheel?

When I figured she'd had enough, we found a nice quiet spot in the nearby park and I told her to first take off her pants & shoes and then squat & lean back on her palms.

"You want to release, don't you?" I whispered in her ear.

"Yes, sir…" she breathed.

I licked her ear while rubbing her nipple through her shirt, enjoying my over-the-shoulder view of those puffy nipples through the fabric.  I stood to walk around her and view the complete exposure, her knees parted to display everything.  I loved how her feet arched in that position, her pale toes so cute in the grass.  Both her pussy and her anus were the same blushed pinkish color.  I had half a mind to play with either or both area and make her ache to release even more but told her to go ahead and let go.  She began spraying almost immediately, the stream arcing away from her body towards some flowers not far away.  Because she maintained a fairly healthy diet drinking mostly water and few other liquids it didn't have a pungent odor, but you could smell it slightly and could see it foam a bit at the spot where the stream hit.

From behind her I began to fondle her nipples again.  She smiled a bit, partly from the relief of her bladder and partially from the stimulation.  I can't even explain what was sexy about watching it.  I didn't desire to have her do it on me or vice versa but seeing the act was sexy.  For her there's a sexual relief in it but for the life of me I can't explain the nuance of it having never experienced it.  But it's intriguing to watch when someone who gets into it.

I stepped away to take a couple of photos before she finished as a voyeur might and watched as she used a tissue and a baby wipe to ensure that she was properly freshened…