No Man is an Island

The sound of a chair scraping over the plaster alerts me I’m no longer alone. I turn my head, the binoculars still held to my eyes, to find a man, across the way, in an adjoining building, watching — us? — through the window.
Built from experience. Designed for practice

The sound of a chair scraping over the plaster alerts me I’m no longer alone. I turn my head, the binoculars still held to my eyes, to find a man, across the way, in an adjoining building, watching — us? — through the window.

My luck, that’s when she’ll notice I’m getting the world’s greatest peep show. The cherry on the icing is that she’s paying me to be here.

I’m holding him in place with one foot and rubbing the other in long, rough strokes up the front of his cock. Each pass over the bulbous tip, I separate my toes to brush against his frenulum.

I remember staring, mesmerised as the woman's breasts bounced when she walked, swayed as she was thrust into, hard and deep. My face mimicking her expression of bliss as she climbed a peak only she could see.