Curtain Twitcher

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The weird thing was I’d never taken the slightest bit of notice of my neighbours. For one thing, it was a shared house so there were probably people coming and going all the time. And for another thing, I didn’t have time. Working all day, coming home knackered — I wasn’t about to pop round with homemade jam and try to make friends.

It was only when I was at home with my baby, my beautiful son Connor, that I actually had time to look out of the window and see what the neighbours were up to.

Even then, I probably wouldn’t have paid the slightest bit of attention had it not been for a particularly difficult morning.

I’d argued with James just before he’d left for work and then Connor had been a nightmare to settle. I’d finally managed it and had sneaked next door into our own bedroom, intending to grab some washing to put into the machine.

I walked idly over to the window and leaned my head against the frame, closing my eyes for a moment.

This stay-at-home mum business was bloody hard work. I actually wished I could be back at work, with an ordered to do list and people to delegate to. I felt tears prick at my eyeballs and then immediately became angry at myself. It was just looking after a baby for God’s sake, I told myself furiously. Women had done it for centuries — my own mother had stayed at home with three kids.

I opened my eyes and looked blankly at the view, my thoughts still churning. The bedroom overlooked the back of our Victorian terraced house. I could see the side passage running alongside the fence that separated our garden from the neighbours’. On their side, I could see their matching side passage and the window to what was probably their kitchen.

I looked at the mass of broken plastic chairs in their garden, different from our own al fresco dining table and realised I’d never really looked out of the bedroom window before. There had never been any time. The only time I was in this room I was either rushing to leave it in the morning or collapsing into the bed late at night.

As I looked out of the window, I saw a movement in the kitchen. From my vantage point, I could see about half of a kitchen table and the work surface running underneath the window.

There was a dark-haired girl in the kitchen, sitting at the table eating toast. It was half eleven in the morning and I wondered whether she had a job that meant working odd hours.

She was dressed very glamorously for eating toast. She was wearing a well-fitting, 1950s-style tea dress that was red with a white polka dot pattern and bright red lipstick. I instinctively glanced down at my own clothes — faded, baggy jeans and a woolly jumper with holes at the elbows.

She must have time on her hands, I thought enviously. She seemed to be enjoying her toast as well. She was taking large bites into the bread and licking the butter from her red lips with obvious relish.

I suddenly realised that if she looked up, she would be able to see me. I stood back from the window and was brought back to the reality of my own life. I didn’t have time to spy on the neighbours — there was washing to do.

I spent my afternoon doing household chores and then took Connor to the swings. I put him down for a nap when I got back and then contemplated the stack of unopened post that I had to deal with. I grabbed the pile and took it upstairs with me. I might as well lie comfortably on the bed whilst reading the bills, I thought. And I would be close by to Connor if he woke.

I settled myself on the bed and worked through the mortgage statements and credit card bills. My attention began to wonder and I sat up and pulled back the net curtain to look out of the window.

I don’t know if I was even thinking about the girl in the polka dot dress or not. I just wanted to break to monotony of the day. I was completely unprepared for the sight before me.

The girl was bent over the kitchen table, her red polka dot dress bunched up around her waist, exposing her white bottom. There was a man fucking her from behind. I couldn’t see anything of him except his hips and arse, moving rhythmically back and forth as he gripped her hips.

I gaped in amazement, the stack of bills completely forgotten. My first thought was ‘but it’s the middle bursa eve gelen escort of the afternoon!’ as if it was absurd that anyone could possibly be having sex at such a time.

I was about to draw back from the window when the girl raised her head from the table. She looked back over her shoulder at her partner, her dark hair slightly tousled but her bright red lipstick still perfectly in place.

She didn’t look as if she was enjoying the sex — in fact she looked positively pissed off. She began saying something to the man, her thin brows drawn together in a frown. The man stopped his thrusting.

She was actually having a go at him, right in the middle of it all! I watched her face spit out angry words to the man and I felt a distinct twinge in my loins. She turned her face back to the table and the bloke resumed his thrusting, but at a slower and more measured pace.

I dropped the curtain and sat back against the pillows, completely flabbergasted. I couldn’t take it in — it all seemed so incongruous in our quiet, middle class street, in the middle of a sleepy weekday afternoon.

I could feel the wetness in my knickers and thought about how long it had been since I had last felt aroused. Me and James still did it occasionally but it was mainly for his benefit — to give him a quick release when he had a hard on. We hadn’t properly had sex for almost eight months now. And we had certainly never done it like that on the kitchen table.

But it wasn’t the kitchen table that had turned me on. It was the way the girl had ordered her lover about. I smiled to myself, pleased to have something else to think about that wasn’t housework or Connor-related.

As if on cue, Connor woke up and began to cry.

For the next few days, I was kept busy with play dates and the never ending washing, ironing and cooking that had to be done. But I kept returning to the image in my mind — the girl with a cock inside her, imperiously commanding her lover with a raised eyebrow. Summoning that image into my mind made me instantly wet.

I peeped out of the window at least twenty times a day but didn’t see anything. In the mornings I would glimpse the other housemates in the kitchen, making tea, eating breakfast but I didn’t spot polka dot dress girl.

I didn’t dare look in the evenings for fear that James would catch me at it and accuse me of being a voyeur. Though if had been him who’d seen the girl on the kitchen table he would have been at the window with a pair of binoculars day and night.

It was another quiet weekday afternoon. I had put Connor down for his usual nap and felt a strange sense of déjà vu as I walked into our bedroom. I told myself I was going to do some dusting, despite having never dusted anything in my life.

It just a one off, I told myself, as my hand reached to twitch back the curtain. It’s not as if she only ever has sex on the kitchen table. I looked down.

She had a different dress on. This one was dark green and contrasted pleasingly with her dark hair and pale skin. The red lipstick was still in place.

She was on the kitchen table again, but sitting on it this time with her legs open. Her eyes were closed and her head was thrown back, her mouth open. My eyes moved down and I saw a head bobbing between her legs. The long blonde hair and slender shoulders told me it was definitely a female head.

My mouth dropped open. She clearly swung both ways, though she looked like she was enjoying this more than last week’s rogering. Her hand moved to the other woman’s head and she tangled her fingers in the woman’s hair.

Her nails were painted the same shade of bright red as her lips and there was something about the sight of those red nails in that blonde hair that sent shivers of pleasure through me.

My neighbour pushed the blonde’s head further into her crotch and the girl reached her arms up to clasp my neighbour’s exposed, white thighs.

My neighbour was close to coming. I could see from the way her mouth was moving that she must be crying out and her hips started to buck, pushing her crotch roughly against the other woman’s face.

My pants were soaked through and I reached down and pressed the palm of my hand against the bursa escort crotch of my jeans. I closed my eyes for a moment as a wave of anguished pleasure flowed through me.

I opened my eyes and met the gaze of my neighbour. She was mid-orgasm, the muscles of her throat tensing as she screamed, her face flushed and her hand pushing the blonde head against her cunt as she shuddered and bucked.

But her eyes were open and fixed squarely on me.

I yelped and jumped back from the window, falling backwards onto the bed.

My heart was pounding and I felt my face burn with shame. She had seen me watching her. My neighbour had seen me spying on her having sex. There was no way I could pretend that I’d accidentally caught a glimpse. She would’ve seen me standing there with my eyes closed for God’s sake!

I sat up on the bed and put my head in my hands. God, what an idiot! She was probably calling the police right now, to report the peeping Tom next door.

Ridiculously, I started going through my defence in my head. Well, she was doing it on the kitchen table officer, in full view of my bedroom window. I wasn’t perving officer, two women doing it certainly doesn’t turn me on —

My thoughts ground to a halt. Two women doing it had never turned me on before. I had tried watching lesbian porn with James once, on a kinky night in, but it had done nothing for me. In fact the sight of two bleached blonde girls with fake boobs fingering each other had me feel slightly nauseous.

So why had the sight of my neighbour being eaten out by another woman made me so wet? It was something to do with her — the way she was so totally in control and commanding. She could have any man or woman she wanted and they would do exactly what she said, becoming mere tools for her pleasure. My pussy stirred at the thought.

My mobile rang suddenly, making me jump. It was James, asking if I could meet him from work with Connor so we could go to the park together. I made the arrangements with him mechanically and threw a guilty glance at the window.

I spent the next few days on tenterhooks. Every time the doorbell rang I jumped out of my skin, expecting either the police or my neighbour herself. But then imagining her standing on the doorstep, hands on hips, glaring at me made my nipples tingle with desire and so I see-sawed between dread and arousal.

I began to pay more attention to comings and goings next door. They were all unremarkable. The same girl left for work at the same time each day and there was a young man who left soon after her. The girl wasn’t blonde and the boy looked too skinny to have been the owner of the kitchen table cock. I saw the boy put the bins out on bin day. I caught a glimpse of the girl in the garden, making a half-hearted effort to sweep up leaves. I never saw the polka dot dress girl.

When a week passed without either my neighbour or the police showing up on the doorstep and I began to relax. Maybe she was as embarrassed as I was, I thought.

But I didn’t really believe that — after all, she hadn’t jumped off the kitchen table when she realised someone was watching her.

It didn’t take long before I was back to checking the window again. It was almost a routine — put Connor down for his afternoon nap, check window for signs of sexual activity. A week passed and nothing happened.

Perhaps she’d moved her sexual antics to somewhere private. I felt a twinge of disappointment but then immediately denied it.

I told myself I should stop checking. It was starting to obsess my thoughts to an unhealthy degree so I forced myself to take Connor out more often, going to cafés and even walking round a museum with him asleep in the pram.

I came back from one of the trips to the café at about four o’clock one Wednesday afternoon. Connor was fast asleep in his pram and I carried him gently up the stairs and laid him in his cot. It had been almost three days since I had last checked the window.

I stood on the threshold of the bedroom, telling myself I was being both ridiculous and pervy. But then I thought of her face, flushed and taut as she came with her eyes fixed steadily on mine. I crossed to the window and moved the curtain.

She was not having görükle escort any form of sex on the table. She was instead sitting at it with a cup of tea, reading a book.

I was taken aback, as if I’d almost forgotten what kitchen tables were for. She was wearing the red polka dot dress again and I smiled.

As if she could sense it, she raised her head from her book and looked at me. I felt a jolt pass through me and would’ve jumped back from the window immediately if she hadn’t smiled back at me.

It was a knowing, amused smile. She closed her book and laid it flat. Then she stood up and seated herself elegantly on the edge of the table, directly facing where I stood.

I held my breath. What was she doing? Was she about to stick two fingers up at me?

Very slowly, she raised her skirt up her legs, revealing the creamy white flesh of her thighs. She lifted her skirt all the way up, revealing that she wasn’t wearing any knickers. I gasped at the sight of her pussy, neatly trimmed into a curly black triangle. With her eyes still on me, she opened her legs, revealing pink, moist lips that made me think of a tulip.

My mouth dropped open. She smiled again, her red lips parting slightly. She reached up behind her back and unzipped her dress. The straps fell off her shoulders and her breasts tumbled free. She wasn’t wearing a bra, which must have been deliberate because her breasts were large.

She took one of them in her hands, rubbing the white, firm mound and twisting the small red nipple between her fingers. Her red nails were vivid against the white breast and I instantly became wet.

She slowly reached her other hand between her legs and delicately parted her lips, revealing a further cave of glistening pink. I heard myself groan then and I put my hand inside my own pants, pressing my palm against my clit.

My neighbour tweaked her nipple fiercely as she slowly inserted her red nailed index finger inside herself. She lifted her hips slightly to accommodate it and then gently pushed her middle finger in alongside it.

Her mouth was open and I could almost hear her gasp at the fullness. My own nipples were aching and I moved my other hand to grab at my own breast through my shirt.

She began to move her fingers in and out of herself and I could see her slickness coating them as they drew back and pushed forward. She was rolling her nipple with her other hand and her head was tipped back, her mouth open in a perfect ‘O’ and her eyes still locked on mine.

I looked back at her as my own hand rubbed furiously at my clit whilst the other squeezed my breast.

She leaned back, taking her hand from her breast to brace herself, and raised her hips off the table.

She pumped her fingers wildly in and out of her dripping cunt.

I tore my eyes back to her flushed face and saw her eyebrows arch upwards as she neared orgasm. Her hips bucked sharply and her teeth gritted as she came, her whole body shuddering, her breasts trembling but her eyes never leaving my face.

“Fuck!” I gripped the curtain in my fist as my cunt exploded into white fire, searing up my entire body.

My eyes closed as my knees buckled and my hips bucked against the window sill. I let out a scream between gritted teeth as the orgasm rode over me, again and again.

I virtually collapsed against the window, holding on to the frame for support. I raised my eyes slowly.

My neighbour hadn’t moved from her position, her legs still splayed wide open.

She smiled again as she met my eyes, a slow, languid smile with more than a hint of triumph in it.

I was breathing hard, blood pounding in my ears as the last throbs of orgasm passed through me.

She slowly moved her hand back between her legs and dipped her index finger into her wet vagina. Then she brought the finger to her lips and sucked it like a lollipop.

I moaned aloud and felt a new wave of moisture rush into my already sopping pants.

She removed her finger from her mouth and wagged it at me, as if telling off a naughty child. Then she jumped nimbly down from the table and moved to the window, giving me an even better view of her breasts with their still erect nipples.

She looked at me for a moment, long enough for me to finally register that her eyes were green. Then she flashed me a mischievous grin and moved her hand on something next to the window.

A blind dropped down immediately, obscuring her from my view and leaving me standing by my own window, with my hand still in my pants, gaping in disbelief and admiration.

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