His balcony was his refuge. No frilly patio furniture for him. He liked solid, comfortable furniture sized for a man, but only one chair and one side table for his beer. He didn’t share his balcony. At least, not with other humans. Peanut was the exception, but even his Pitbull wasn’t allowed out here when he watched Her.
Eric was never more grateful for the shadows than he was when she performed. He was hanging free for the world to see and he didn’t relish the idea of being seen with his pants down, literally.
Despite being in the shadows, she knew he was there. Watching her. She had to. All evidence said that this was a private show just for him and he’d be damned if he wasn’t going to watch. Hell, who was he kidding, he’d gone from watching to participating weeks ago.
As he stroked his erection, he wondered if that was truly her intent. Was this a show for him? Did she do it to torture him? Drive him to distraction? Tease him to madness? Or was his ego leading him off a cliff?
What if she didn’t know he was there? Maybe she just liked the idea that she might be seen. It could just be the thrill of potentially getting caught that got her off.
Eric rejected the notion. Her performances were as regular as clockwork. Two o’clock every Thursday afternoon. He’d begun clearing his schedule in order to guarantee he’d be home when she performed.
Without fail, he’d find her next to her small swimming pool, stretched out on one of her blue and white striped chaise lounges. She always wore a straw hat and sunglasses with a fine, white linen cover up. In the beginning, she’d worn a barely there bikini, but over the subsequent weeks she didn’t even bother and now, she was always naked under the cover up.
If there was no thought of him watching, why be so regular? Everyone knew he ran his dog training business out of his house. She might be new to the neighborhood, but his advertisements were everywhere and most of their neighbors used him to train their dogs. She’d have to be completely self-involved not to know.
But still, maybe he was wrong. She’d never said more than two words to him when they ran into each other. In fact, she seemed to always be in a rush to get away from him. The few times he’d tried to engage her in conversation, she’d looked at him like he had two heads.
Eric had first seen her the day she moved in. Her long, brown hair had been pulled back in a simple pony tail. She’d worn no make up and had looked fresh and young. She’d glanced up at his house and he’d gotten a glimpse of clear skin, brown eyes and full, rosy lips. He’d instantly imagined those lips wrapped around his dick and he’d had to think of Roseanne Barr naked to force the sucker down, so he could go meet a client.
Only later had he found out that her name was Susan Mallory and she was some kind of executive suit at a local firm. He steered clear of those types. They always wanted to put you in a box and he’d had enough suits to last him a lifetime in his father.
Despite owning a successful business, his father had always treated him like a loser. The refrain never changed. His business was infantile, he dressed like a slob, he had no ambition. Their conversations consisted wholly of criticizing Eric and highly unwanted “suggestions” that were for Eric’s “own good.”
When his mother had been alive, Eric had tolerated his father for her sake. Once the cancer had taken her, Eric didn’t even bother. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d spoken to his father and that suited him just fine.
Nope, he stayed away from suits. He liked his life and he wasn’t changing to satisfy anyone else’s opinion of what he should be doing with himself. If someone didn’t like him, they could just fuck off.
Which brought him right back to her. Maybe these performances had nothing to do with him and she just liked to masturbate in her back yard. Maybe she just wanted to pleasure herself in the open air with the sun heating her skin and drinking in her cries as she came. Sometimes, though, he could swear she said his name
Either way, she was going to kill him. Literally. It wasn’t going to be an easy death either. No. She clearly planned to make it slow and tortuous. Killing him bit-by-bit, until he begged for death rather than submit to her torture.
As it was, he didn’t think he could stand it even one moment longer. The ache was excruciating. He needed relief. He needed peace.
One way or another he had to end this madness, but when he did, it would be on his terms NOT hers. She’d be the one begging. She’d be the one screaming and writhing. She’d be the one under his power.
Today was especially intense. She’d gone slow, prolonging each moment. She’d started by rubbing some kind of oil all over her body that left her glistening from head to toe. She’d lingered over her breasts, rubbing each one in turn, pushing them together and massaging the oil into them. She’d made sure to rub and play with each nipple until they were deep red and jutting out from her body before continuing down her stomach.
When she’d reached her legs, she’d lifted each one in turn. She’d massaged her calf and thigh for long moments as she exposed her pussy to him. He imagined he could see her moisture glistening, even from this distance.
After rubbing in the oil, she’d lain back and continued to leisurely rub her belly and breasts. As he watched, his impatience grew. He wanted her to continue, not leave him in suspense. He thought about standing up and demanding she go on, but rejected the notion before it was even a complete thought.
What was she doing? Why was she waiting?
Just when he thought he’d go crazy, she’d reached for her glass, some kind of blue, girlie drink, on the table next to her and sucked an ice cube into her mouth. She then slowly drew it out from between her lips.
He swallowed hard and imagined her sucking him in and out of her mouth like she’d done to that ice cube. His dick had gotten so hard at the thought that he was gritting his teeth as he worked to hold back his climax. He wasn’t ready to come yet.
She began to slowly rub the ice over each rosy, nipple. He could see her belly clench and contract with each frigid touch. Her eyes were hidden by her sunglasses, but her mouth was parted slightly and he could see the tip of her tongue darting out periodically to lick her bottom lip. He wanted to feel that tongue darting out against his cock.
She continued stroking down her body with the ice cube until she reached her pussy. As he watched, she opened her legs and spread her outer lips and then inserted the ice into her pussy.
“Holy Shit,” Eric groaned as he watched her fuck her pussy with the ice. His cock was jumping in his hand as he pumped his hips up and down in rhythm with her thrusts.
She strained against the chill, pushing her hips upward. Her thigh muscles flexed convulsively and she clenched her free fist around the end of the lounge chair as she worked her pussy. She kept thrusting the ice in and out until it melted and then she shocked the hell out of him by licking the moisture from her fingers.
She lay there for several moments, breathing hard. Her breasts rose and fell with each inhale. He drank her in as she lay there. The sun glinted off her skin in small flashes with every breath.
Soon, but not soon enough for Eric’s cock, she resumed her ministrations to her pussy. Parting her lips and stroking her clitoris in small, lazy circles. She seemed to have all the time in the world today. There was no rush, no urgency.
She dallied over her pussy. Alternating between thrusting her fingers deep and then circling them around and over her clit.
Eric wanted to scream his frustration. She was killing him. He couldn’t stop himself from imagining what her pussy would feel like wrapped around his dick. He barely held his climax at bay. He panted through clenched teeth as sweat began to dribble down his back. He seriously contemplated barging into her back yard, throwing her legs over his shoulders and pounding his cock into her until she screamed his name over and over.