April 3, 2015

Friday Free Read: Friday Night

Every Friday night, I had a little routine.  It was a simple routine, very mundane… one might normally think nothing of it.  I sure didn’t, in the beginning.  I simply did it to relax, to unwind after a long week and prep myself for the fun of the upcoming weekend, refreshed and feeling good.



Every Friday night I made it a point to take a long, luxurious shower.  Not like the quick five-minute rinse-downs I took every morning before work to wash my hair and face, and maybe shave my legs if I had an extra minute.  No, my Friday night showers were for me.  They were warm, indulgent escapes—I lit candles and turned on music, and I took my time bathing, enjoying the warm spray of the water, feeling the smooth, pleasant texture of my favorite body wash as I rubbed it all over my skin.

Like I said, it seems like it would have been innocent enough.  And for a long, long time, it was. Then, the new neighbors moved in.

I don’t know why I never noticed it before, but the one window in my master bathroom looks directly into the neighbor’s window, twenty feet away.  The older couple who lived there previously must have just kept that window shut, because it never even occurred to me that it was there at all.  A few days after the couple moved out, though, a new family moved in—a young family, newlywed, proud owners of their first house… and a perfect peeping spot.

I finally noticed the window because whatever room it looks into has a large mirror pointing right at my house.  One night as I was brushing my teeth and getting ready for bed, I caught an odd movement out of the corner of my eye.  Glancing out, I was shocked to see myself, looking back at me with identical astonished surprise, as I realized that anybody standing where my confused little reflection was standing had a perfect view of me—and I wasn’t wearing a shirt.

At first it almost seemed sinister.  But of course, I couldn’t blame my neighbors… they hadn’t put the windows across from each other like that, now, had they?  I resolved that I would have to keep it closed whenever I showered, and avoid the whole messy business altogether.

The problem was, I forgot.  I forgot to close it regularly; I would step out of the shower in the mornings and see my naked self staring back at me, and, flushed, I’d dart across the bathroom to shut it before I could be seen.  This happened a few times; I was just about ready to look into methods of blocking the view, when it happened just one time to many…

And our new routine was born.

It happened on one of my Friday nights to myself.  I had my music playing—something low and meditative, Sounds of the Rainforest Jazz or some other mood music.  I took my time, enjoying my little escape, and, without a care in the world, I pulled back the shower curtain and stepped onto the mat, loving the feel of cool air against my wet skin.

That’s when I realized I had once again forgotten to close the window—and this time, there was someone other than my own reflection staring back at me.

It was the husband.  I averted my eyes quickly as I realized it was his face peeking out at me from across the little strip of yard between our houses.  Quickly grabbing a towel, I ducked out of sight.

Yes, at first I was embarrassed.  I wondered if I should say anything; apologize for neglecting to close my window perhaps.  In the end, I was too mortified… so I kept quiet and neither party made a mention of it to the other.

The next Friday, as I was preparing for my personal escape, I almost forgot the window again—just before I shed my robe, though, I remembered, and went to shut it.

He was there again.

I paused, my hand on the shutter.  He was watching me, his expression impassive; he didn’t look away when he realized I’d seen him.

After a moment, my confusion turned to anger.  With a flush rising to my cheeks, I slammed window shut. 

I resolved that the next time I saw the man’s fresh little face over the fence between our yards I would give him a piece of my mind.  I might even tell his perky little wife and let her deal with him and his ballsy little stunt.  I was angry, that was for sure: who the fuck did he think he was?

I got my chance the next day; when I stepped out to let my dog into the backyard, the neighbors were mowing their lawn.  The wife was watering plants on the opposite side of their property but the husband—shirtless and glistening with sweat—was pushing his mower just near the fence that separated us.

Even just seeing him there, nonchalant, lifting a hand to wave at me, I wanted to walk right across the yard and slap the smirky little grin off his face.  I was determined to do just that, and stalked over to the fence with my eager young Doberman bounding at my heels—but as soon as I made it within arm’s reach, that little bastard threw me a wink, and blew me a kiss.  I stopped in my tracks, jaw dropping, a heated blush flooding my cheeks.  The furious talking-to I had been determined to give him went out of my head, and I could only stare at him, flabbergasted.

Finally, I spun on my heel and stormed back into my house.

The next Friday, as I got ready for my shower, I was careful to check before getting undressed.  Sure enough, the husband was peeking in from his room across the way.  I slammed the window shut.  The next Friday, it was the same thing—very quickly I came to understand that my typical relaxing ritual was turning into a maddening, frustrating irritation.

And also… it was getting me very worked up.

One Friday, as I slammed shut the window another time, I found myself so angry that even the warm water and the pleasant sensation of my rich, lathering body wash wasn’t enough to soothe my tension.  I had on a relaxing Songs of the Orient CD and I just couldn’t seem to find that place of serenity I had always associated with my wonderful ritual.  It was so upsetting that I was almost crying in exasperation.  With an angry huff, I resorted to the only thing I could think of.

I started masturbating.

I’m a single woman and I’ve never had a problem getting myself off.  I had the requisite toy drawer beside my luxurious bed, and now I turned to it for a little help.  Grabbing one of the shower-friendly massagers, dripping all over my floor and my satin bedcovers, I was just about to return to the shower when I had a thought.  Stopping the relaxation CD, I switched it for a mix album of my favorite upbeat 80’s music.

In seconds, She Bop was rocking from my speakers, and it brought a satisfied smile to my face.  Dancing a little as I returned to the shower, I dropped the towel on the rack and slipped back in under the spray, setting the speed on my vibrator to high and singing to myself as I slid it down to my wet little pussy to play.

I was leaning against the tile, spreading my pussy lips with two fingers and letting the water run over me while I ran the vibe up and down against my clit, surrendering my mind to the beat of the music coming from the bedroom.  My body was already starting to climb towards release and I spread myself a little more, teasing myself with the buzzing pink head, when a thought struck me out of nowhere.

He should see what he’s missing.

I opened my eyes suddenly, unsure what in the world had made me think it.  Let him watch?  It was ridiculous.

I let my breath out in a short scoff and returned to my play, but again, after a few minutes just as I started to climb towards climax again, I found myself thinking it.

Just let him know what you’re doing… he doesn’t get to see it.

I sighed—the sound came out like a quiet little laugh.  You know what? I thought.  Sure.  Yeah. Let him know what he’s missing.

I ducked out of the shower again, wrapping the towel loosely around me and crossing the bathroom to the window.  When I slid it open, he was still there—he looked up when he heard the sound of my music, and I grinned at him.

He returned my grin, a little naughty, a little secret smile.  While he watched, I held up the vibrator—there was no way he could mistake what it was.  His eyebrows went up a little, and I nodded: he knew what I was getting at.

Without shutting it this time, I turned around and walked back to the shower.  Still holding the vibe out where he could see it, with my other hand I unwrapped the towel, my back to him, and stepped back in.  I grabbed the shower curtain with my free hand and closed it as I turned around, shutting him out.

I collapsed against the tiles then, my heart thumping rapidly, and quickly slid the head of the vibe inside me.  I groaned loudly—I was sure he’d be able to hear me, and it brought a wild little flutter to my chest.  I ran my fingers over my clit, rubbing eagerly in circular motions; now I was really getting revved up—I could already feel myself getting close, a thrilling tickle running through my thighs and my pussy as I thought about that jerk sitting across the way, knowing what I was doing and unable to see it.

As my orgasm suddenly caught me, echoing up through my body with bright, exciting thrill, I laughed loudly, surrendering to it and moaning as it crested and sighing happily as it faded.

There was the satisfaction I was looking for.

Over the next few weeks, I made a point of turning on my upbeat, thumping music, and taking a different toy with me to the shower.  I’d leave the window open and let him see what I was playing with that night, let him watch the towel fall from my body with my back turned to him, and let him hear the sounds of my bright, aggressive, joyful climaxes, unable to watch the show.

One night, I was just getting ready to start the tease when he actually caught me off guard.  I came to the window in my towel, as usual, and held up the toy I’d be playing with that night—a slick, multi-speed pink jelly vibe, one of my favorites—and turned to step into the shower.  Just as I dropped the towel and got ready to step in, I heard him whistle for my attention.

Turning only a little to look back at him over my shoulder, I raised an eyebrow.  He looked back at me with a charming smile, and raised a hand, twirling a finger in a circular motion, indicating I should turn around.

I laughed once, shaking my head with disbelief.  He brought both hands up in a pleading prayer gesture.

I shook my head again, and turned to get in the shower. 

In the bedroom, I had set a CD to play my favorite sexy music: just as I was about to slide the shower curtain behind me, I heard the first strains of exotic drums and strings—Harem, one of my favorite works by Sarah Brightman.  I paused, as—once again—a stray, sinuously naughty thought came to me.

Let him watch this time.

I weighed the idea in my mind; in the bedroom, Sarah’s soft voice came haunting along, teasingly alluring, tempting my resolve.

Should I?

I think he sensed my hesitation.  I’m not sure why… he didn’t whistle again or try to get my attention, but there was some sort of hinting pause between us.

“Oh, what the hell?” I muttered, and I put the vibrator down on the shelf next to the body washes and shampoos, and stood up straight, leaving the curtain untouched.

I threw him a quick glance as I turned towards the spray, showing him my profile.  His eyebrows popped up in surprise, and a sly grin spread across his face.

I purred to myself, running my hands over my wet belly and breasts.  The music, slow and spellbinding, bringing to mind floating petals on reflecting pools and the sensual sway of a belly dancer’s hips, got me swaying a little myself.   I poured a handful of rich body wash into my palm, rocking with the music, even singing along to Sarah’s lilting melody as my hands traveled slowly over my slick body, exploring, attentively massaging.

Evidently he liked what he saw—I could see he was leaning a little closer to his window, paying rapt attention.  I grinned and resolved to forget about him watching, and shower as though I had no idea at all that my new neighbor’s husband was watching me get off.

As the rhythm picked up, I let my fingers stray down to my sex, smooth and slippery.  I traced a tiny circle around the bead of my clitoris, pressing lovingly with every beat, shutting my eyes while my other hand found my breast, squeezing softly and running my thumb over the nipple.  A very tiny moan escaped me as a throb of pleasure went through my pussy; tapping my clit twice more, I slid my fingertips a little further and was soon gently slipping them into the warm, wet opening.

I rocked my hips slowly from side to side, pinching the hard little peak of my nipple as my fingers explored, slipping them in with the rhythm, fast, fast, then slow, drawing them leisurely along the inner walls of my quivering cleft as hot water dripped down my flush, slick body.  I could already feel myself warming up down there: it was a wild, volatile feeling, a sudden and swift arousal I couldn’t remember feeling since I’d been a teenager sneaking my first look at dirty magazines.  I couldn’t believe how eager I was, how much I wanted to play out my fun, taking my time to build to a truly spectacular orgasm. 

After a few moments I withdrew my fingers and leaned forward, putting one hand on the back rim of the tub while the other quickly retrieved the vibrator.  Leaning over, I switched my toy to its low speed and moaned as I ran the tip of it along my wet cleft.

I laughed to myself, moaning at the smooth feeling of pleasure that spread through my belly when the buzz of the vibe ran over my swollen clit.  I was only supposed to be getting him all hot and bothered with this teasing game—but already I could feel the urge to slide the long, smooth toy into me, fucking my naughty, impatient little pussy until I came hard around it.

I shook my head at myself, gently pulling the vibrator back along my cleft.  Another moan escaped me and I gave in just a little, sliding the smooth, pulsing head into my eager hole.  I felt my muscles tighten joyfully, and clicked the vibrator to its high speed, sliding it in, out, in, out…

Ooooh,” I moaned.  In the bedroom, Sarah was climbing through the scales, the music rolling sensually, and I felt myself climbing with it.  The light, tempting sensation quivered through my slick pussy-lips, and I increased my rhythm to match the hastening melody, running my tongue over my lips as the desire to come became stronger, throbbing, demanding.

I made a small sound of joy, pulling the toy out of my pussy and forcing myself to click it off.  My pussy gave a throb of disappointment; switching the toy to its highest setting, I lifted one leg up on the edge of the tub and spread myself with two fingers, sliding the toy all the way in and uttering another long, adoring moan.

I could imagine what he was doing across the way, and it made my pussy quiver.  I imagined him with his dick in his hand, rapidly jerking the shaft while I masturbated for his pleasure.  I felt my pussy tighten around the head of my vibe as I thought of his urgency, of the way his cock would bob in his fist while he watched the water roll off my slick, naked body.  I put one hand out to steady myself on the wall as I felt the first wild stirrings of orgasm beating to life deep in my sex, and I deliberately lengthened my strokes to feel every inch of the slippery-soft jelly sliding in and out of my pussy.

My orgasm caught me with a strong, impending shudder—I cried out as my muscles suddenly clenched, and moaned as I switched my rhythm to match the waves of pleasure suddenly flooding my body.  I could feel the slick heat of my own juices as I slid the vibe in almost to the hilt, my pussy lovingly tightening all around it again and again as I came.  My free hand came to my breast, pinching my nipple gently as I rocked my hips in time, delaying, drawing out the orgasm as long as I could hold onto it.

When the rocking waves of climax finally subsided, leaving only that pleasantly buoyant, happy sensation in my still  quivering muscles, I slipped the vibe out of my hot, dripping sex and held it up, out of the spray of the water.  Knowing my peeping tom was still watching—imagining he must be quickening his own rhythm now, jerking it in his palm desperately as the naked woman across the way ran her hand up and down her naked, flushed skin—I brought the vibe up to my mouth and slowly, adoringly started to suck on it.  Two fingers slid down to my pussy and stroked the wet pink lips, and I played my tongue along the surface of the vibe, licking the taste of my own cunt off of it while I soothed the excited flesh of my sex.

Finally, as the last little tingle of pleasure calmed itself into a satisfying sort of hum just beneath my flesh, I put the toy aside, and left the shower.  This time I didn’t wrap a towel around myself; I came to the window dripping and naked, my nipples flush and pert with excitement.

I caught my peeping tom’s eye, and gave him a winning smile   Winking once, I blew a kiss at him, then slid the window shut.

Ever since then, when I turn on the CD player and get ready to shower, I make sure to open it up.  I never liked closing it anyway.




Discover more of Brantwijn Serrah's erotic romance


Even fallen angels
Can have a Christmas Wish

A courtesan's love...
A vampire's curse.

She's not your typical Graveyard Ghost.


Ronnie meets a
black-magic boy
in "Rhythm and Blues",
Part of My Bloody Valentine
Dreaming is a waking nightmare
when an incubus makes you his prey.
The dragoness Sarayana
meets her wizard for
a heated fertility rite
in "Equinox", part of Ravaged, Vol.2

No comments:

Post a Comment

What do you think?