Peep Show

by Starling, Isabella

  She wasn’t a girl who enjoyed pain.

  She was a woman who loved to please, and in her desire to do so, she’d gotten me off so fucking good my balls felt drained.

  But the beautiful girl in front of me wasn’t the reason my dick was still twitching.

  No, my mind was firmly on the girl next door, the silhouette in the window across the street.

  I’d never seen her that clearly before.

  Glimpses here and there, when I glanced out the window, remembering there was a life outside of my four walls. I knew she was a woman, and I knew she lived alone. But I’d never seen her this clearly. The streetlights had illuminated her body more than I think she realized, and in the moonlight, she looked like a dream.

  She got me curious. The memory of her fingers dipping into wet panties made me twitch as I took my camera out of the dresser and pointed it at the girl I’d filled up not moments ago.

  She tried to smile for me, and I sighed in exasperation.

  “Don’t smile,” I told her, and her expression faltered. So easily hurt. So perfectly timid. “Just look at me. Remember what I did to you. Let me see you open up like your pussy just did. Let me see you pull back the curtain, just like you did your knees, sweetheart.”

  She gasped and I took the shot.

  I didn’t need to look at it to know it was fucking perfection.

  The first ones often were.

  I took a few more to calm her nerves, and once she was done, immortalized on my camera, I set it aside.

  “Thank you for playing with me,” I told her, offering her my hand.

  Now came the hard part.

  “Thank you,” she whispered. “Thank you for choosing me.”

  I kissed the top of her head and she shivered beneath my touch.

  “I’ll call a cab,” I said gently, and she stiffened under my fingertips.

  I pulled back and reached for my phone, knowing it would be the first and last night I ever touched her.

  The girl had left in a mess of tears and whispered promises I didn’t want her to keep.

  I didn’t remember her name by the time she was gone. I didn’t need to, knowing I’d remember her, the night we’d spent together, by looking at her photograph. It was enough for me, even though it wasn’t enough for her.

  I remembered her whispered words, telling me how much she’d admired my work for years beforehand. How she’d dreamed of being my muse before she was even fucking legal.

  But if she really knew of my work, she must’ve been aware that my subjects changed daily.

  She was one of many, a number in a long line of women at my door, a muse for an hour, a fuck for a night.

  It didn’t mean I didn’t give a shit. I did, for as long as she was in my arms. For a few hours that night, the girl had been my world, my everything. I saw the possibilities of a relationship, of a future, of waking up with her in my bed, her eager lips on mine.

  But I put it all into a photograph, and then added her to my portfolio like so many girls before.

  I wasn’t capable of more.

  Never had been.

  Never would be.

  After getting her in the cab, I pulled my gray Henley off, pushing my tracksuit down my hips. I stared at my reflection in the bathroom mirror that took up the whole wall. I had to work hard to look the way I did. I had a fully equipped gym on the second floor, making sure I was in the best shape, even though I never left my apartment.

  My muscles were toned and defined, my skin covered in ink that told my story. I let my hands glide over it, down over my stomach and locking their grip around my thick cock, throbbing at the thought of her.

  My mystery neighbor, the shadow behind the curtain, the girl who fucked her pussy at the sight of me ravaging another woman.

  She intrigued me, the veil of mystery around her making me want to break my own rules.

  I never saw the girls I fucked beyond the night they spent bouncing on my cock.

  If I fucked this one, she’d be right across the street—forever.

  And I didn’t even know what she really looked like; her face had been shrouded in darkness.

  I stepped into my shower, the marble cool beneath my feet and the cold water beating down my back. It felt fucking good.

  I washed the girl’s cunt off my cock, off my fingers. I cleaned my body expertly, washing and scrubbing and taking extra care to remove every trace of her off me. I knew I wouldn’t be able to sleep if I could still smell her. I needed to be clean. Pristine. Scrubbed raw before I laid down to sleep.

  Fingers… dipping into wet panties.

  The shine of a silver sequin, almost blinding in the night.

  The way she put her palm on the window, as if she was trying to touch me.

  Her body silhouetted.

  A stranger.

  My fist wrapped around my cock and I tugged on the tip.

  I was hard. Painfully fucking hard, my dick throbbing desperately, begging me to relieve it of another load of hot cum, squeeze it out, dump it all over the Italian marble, drain myself of the filthy thoughts that seemed to reside inside my head permanently.

  I worked my cock with fast, mechanic motions. I let my mind wander, never to the shy girl I’d made cry, always back to the mysterious girl next door, who’d been so eager to pleasure herself at the sight of me.

  I thought of my life beyond the apartment.

  The fact my name was getting bigger and bigger.

  My photography, the words critics used in their reviews feeling nasty and cheap when I thought of them, even though they were meant as praise.

  The way I took my photos, joining two images in one using double exposure, coupling stunning naked women in their most vulnerable state with the item, the scene that reminded me of them the most. Today’s girl had gotten candles, her wishful thinking coupled perfectly with the candles’ glow. My agent would be pleased.

  In my fucked-up head, riddled with thoughts of keeping things in order, with ways to rid my skin of the scent of the shy girl, my neighbor didn’t have a picture I wanted to couple her with.

  She wasn’t a pairing, she was a silhouette, nothing but a shadow, a stark dark cutout on white paper.

  It felt oddly calming. Strangely clean. It calmed me down, and it got me so worked up I placed my palm against the shower wall and exhaled roughly, my palm working, pulling, tugging, getting ready to blow another load all over the glass and marble.

  Fuck her, I wanted to fuck her. Right here, in the sterile shower where a woman had never been, push her against the stone and take her pussy with my fingers first, my cock second, and my mouth third. I wanted to know what she tasted like with me inside her. I wanted to know how sweet that cunt was after I’d forced orgasm after orgasm out of it.

  I jerked faster. My cock felt impossibly hard, throbbing in my fist, desperate to unload. Desperate for my mystery girl.

  Her pussy.

  Her mouth.

  Her tight little ass.

  My doctor always told me not to focus on these little obsessions. That I should let them go. That they weren’t healthy.

  But god-fucking-damnit, they made me feel alive.

  The thought of her. Shit, the thought of her playing in her bed, hoping I’d open the blinds again, taunt her, dare her again.

  She could’ve been anyone, I wouldn’t have cared. I wanted that tight cunt wrapped around my dick.

  And then I was coming.

  Coming for her.

  Hot cum mixed with the cold water beating off my chest as I groaned my release and palmed my dick into a fucking frenzy.

  She used her dainty little fingers to fuck that pussy.

  I was going to use a whole damn fist.

  After I was done, I cleaned myself off meticulously. I didn’t use bleach that night. I didn’t feel like I had to.

  As I lay in my bed, the pristine Egyptian cotton sheets atop my skin, I let myself think about her.

  Don’t obsess.

  Don’t g
et attached.

  Don’t think you need her.

  Don’t make it into a problem.

  By the time dawn rolled around, I knew it was too late for any of that crap.

  Mystery girl was now firmly rooted in my mind, my heart, and my fucking dick.

  And I wouldn’t rest until I’d had a taste.

  Wonderwall, noun

  Someone you find yourself thinking about all the time; a person you are completely infatuated with.

  Lights flashed in my eyes, the drinks I’d had making my body numb. I swayed to the music, my fingers in my hair and running down over my face and my curves seductively. I kept my eyes closed as I danced, knowing I had everybody’s attention on me. It felt fucking good.

  I loved nothing more than dancing like this after I’d had some shots. I loved the music they played in the clubs, too; loud and boisterous, perfect for blocking out anything and everything else.

  “Bebe!”

  I heard someone shouting my name over the sound of the music, but I pretended not to notice.

  I needed to drown it all out. The noise helped me replace the endless pain in my head, the horrible memories that made me feel sick, the knowledge that I was heading down the same path Posy had taken, even though I’d sworn to myself I wouldn’t do it.

  “BEBE!”

  I opened my eyes, anger flooding my body as they locked with my friend Arden’s.

  “What do you want?” I hissed at her, but instead of answering me, she grabbed my arm and pulled me to the side, leaning against the wall and staring into my eyes with determination.

  The music thumped through my body as I waited for Arden to explain herself.

  “That guy over there,” she told me over the sound of the bass. “He asked me if you were Bebe when I went to get us drinks. I think he’s into you.”

  She motioned to one side of me, and I looked over to see if he was of any interest to me.

  The guy she was talking about had a stocky build. He was taller than me, but not that tall, wearing a varsity jacket over a V-neck shirt and distressed jeans. His hair was long on top and short at the sides and he wore biker boots with the outfit.

  He was handsome.

  Sexy.

  But painfully boring.

  I guess he would do for the night.

  I looked back at Arden with a smile playing on my lips and winked at her. She smiled wide.

  “So who have you got your eye on tonight?” I asked her, and she shrugged with a grimace.

  “I don’t know. I’m not really into anyone here. I guess I’ll just call Nick again…” she sighed.

  “That guy is boring as shit,” I reminded her.

  “But he adores me,” she said, and I nodded thoughtfully.

  I couldn’t see myself with anyone like Arden’s Nick. He was her oldest friend, blinded with love for her since she’d been a little girl. He was always following her around, trying to convince her he was worth her time. But the thing was, neither Arden nor I were interested in good guys like Nicholas Mackey.

  They didn’t get me wet like the ones who choked me and spat in my face while they fucked me. And if they called me a slut on top of it all, I was fucking guaranteed to squirt all over their dicks.

  “I guess I’ll see you soon?” I asked Arden, and she shrugged again, miserably this time.

  I felt sorry for her, but my pity didn’t last long because as soon as I walked away from her, the guy who’d been checking me out came up to me.

  He wore a sexy smirk on his face and a look of determination passed through his eyes as they locked with mine.

  “Hello, trouble,” he said with a toothy grin, and I fluttered my lashes at him.

  “Hi, handsome,” I purred as he reached for my arm, gently stroking down my skin.

  Once he reached my wrist, he grabbed onto it, his fingers rough and calloused against my skin.

  “You wanna have some fun?” he asked, opening my palm up with his fingers.

  I looked down to find a small pill in it.

  Memories flooded me with the intensity of a punch to the face.

  Posy.

  Pretty Posy with her red hair and full lips, laughing, smiling, chattering away.

  Promiscuous Posy in a sexy hot pink dress that clashed with her hair spectacularly, dancing, always dancing.

  Sad Posy, crying, telling me about her fucked-up family, about everything she’d been through.

  Sexy Posy, leaning into me, capturing my lips in a kiss that told me all her secrets.

  Dead Posy. Her face unnaturally white, her lips blue.

  She was gone gone gone—and I was here here here.

  I smiled weakly at the guy, raised my palm to my lips and licked up the pill with the tip of my tongue. I showed it to him and he leaned into me, taking my mouth in a rough kiss. I swallowed it before he could get a taste, the drug disintegrating inside me and showing me how to have fun fun fun.

  Like Posy never would again.

  He moved away from me and I opened my mouth wide, sticking my tongue out to show him I’d swallowed.

  “Good girl,” he muttered in my ear, his fingers wrapping around my waist possessively. “Come on, let’s dance.”

  I let him lead me to the dancefloor and I let the pretty little pill work its magic.

  I danced with the guy, never stopping to wonder what his name was.

  The club exploded in front of my eyes in a beautiful mess of lights and sounds. I watched, mesmerized, as the whole room was transformed into a magical wonderland where I held Posy with one hand and the guy with my other. I danced and danced and danced, and drank so much I felt so dizzy, I thought I was going to be sick from the world spinning around me so very fast.

  I left the wonderland and came back to earth when we stumbled out of the club, laughing loudly and making out. He tried to hail a cab and I giggled and retched over the pavement, then giggled again. I wasn’t going to throw up. I didn’t want to. It would mean the pretty fun pill would stop working, and then I’d have to remember.

  I hated remembering.

  We chose my apartment, and the guy pushed my legs apart in the back of the cab, trying to feel up my pussy.

  I moaned for him, pretty noises meant to get him harder.

  It was distracting the driver, who kept glancing back at us in the rearview mirror. I grinned at him and parted my legs wide, showing him a glimpse of my pussy because I wasn’t wearing panties that day. He stared at me, his eyes harsh and unforgiving, and I laughed my ass off.

  The guy whose name I still didn’t know paid the cab driver, and I dragged him towards my apartment building. In the elevator, he was all over me, his mouth hungry and his fingers too daring for such a public place. He fucked my pussy carelessly, as if it meant nothing, sliding his fingers so deep inside I squealed in pain and delight.

  I didn’t usually come across guys who were this rough.

  I unlocked the front door with shaky fingers and we fell laughing into my apartment. He poured us drinks and I wandered into the bedroom, standing next to the window and taking one last breath of fresh air. I knew in the next few minutes I wouldn’t be able to breathe with his fat cock stuffed down my throat.

  I reached for the curtains, feeling dizzy as fuck as I tried to force them to close. I glanced up to see what the problem was, but my eyes locked on the apartment across the street instead.

  He was in his living room, his palm against the window, his grin discernible even from this distance.

  He was staring right at me, his hand down the waistband of his pants and his fingers jerking, tugging, getting off.

  I looked into his eyes, his face shrouded in darkness but still making my pussy clench at the sight of him.

  Through the haze of the drugs I’d taken, the drinks I’d had, I tried to remember the night a few days ago when he’d fucked that girl while looking right at me, getting off with her as if she were nothing more than a cum-toy ready to please his dick.

  He was staring at me
as he jerked himself off, and I couldn’t tear my eyes off him.

  He tilted his head to the side, giving me a questioning look. And then I remembered it, his silly dare, the tight feeling in my pussy whenever I thought about it.

  My turn.

  I shook my head and smiled at him and he sighed with a big grin.

  He made my heart pound, and it was only a moment later that I realized my hand had wandered between my legs and I was stroking the inside of my thighs.

  He laughed at me, throwing his head back and pulling his hand out of his pants. I stared and stared and stared some more. There was something about him. Something that made me want to do everything he said.

  Strong, muscular arms wrapped around me from behind, and I kept staring into my neighbor’s eyes as the guy from the club kissed a line down my jaw and over my throat.

  His hand went back inside those pants and I watched him get off while I moaned for the man inside my bedroom, grinding my ass all over his dick. He grunted and tore my dress off, shredding it to pieces. I gasped at the feeling of cool air on my skin, my eyes fearfully seeking out my neighbor’s.

  He looked like he was in pain, his muscles taut and stretched as he palmed his cock. He pushed his pants lower down his hips and showed me his fucking impressive cock, throbbing and ready to burst in his fist.

  I let the guy from the club push me against the window, my tits exposed for everyone to see if only they glanced up. But there was only one person I cared about, and it was the man across the street. I wanted him to see me like this. And I was going to stare him down as I came, thinking it was his cock rammed all the way inside me.

  The guy fucked me savagely, slapping my legs apart and pushing himself inside me, a groan leaving his lips as his cock entered my cunt. He started thrusting, long, painful and deliciously perfect movements of his hips sending my body into overdrive. I was desperate to get off.

  I felt the effects of the pill loosening as I got ravaged. I felt the numbness from the alcohol going away, seeping through my pores and leaving me horribly, painfully aware of what was going on.