She moaned when he entered her, and I felt so fucking jealous my knuckles turned white.
“Please Miles,” I begged as he grunted. “Please, can I touch myself now?”
“Sit the fuck down!” he barked, and I followed his command, shivering more when my ass touched the cold stone floor. “Open your legs!”
I parted them, fully aware he could see everything through the railing.
“Wider,” he panted, fucking the whimpering mess he’d made of Lana. “Fucking WIDER, Bebe!”
“I can’t do it wider,” I cried out.
“Fucking do it,” he growled, and I did.
I forced my legs wide and I felt so stretched out, my gaping pussy on full display, his cock buried inside Lana’s cunt. I could hear her boyfriend cursing in the living room through the phone as he saw them like that.
“Touch it,” Miles ordered me. “Touch my cunt, play with it for me, sugar.”
My fingers shook, finding my clit and touching, teasing, tickling myself into a desperate little orgasm I tried to hide.
“Fucking bitch,” Miles spat out. “Did you just come without permission?”
I looked away, blushing fiercely, just as he pushed the girl farther out the window. She screeched, and I wasn’t sure whether it was from getting her cunt pounded or from being so scared. I felt so jealous, wanted it to be me. Wanted to be fucked just like that.
“The more you disobey,” Miles growled. “The worse it gets for her. You don’t want her to get hurt, do you?”
“No!” I cried out.
“Why not?” he grinned, fucking himself deeper inside Lana.
“Hurt me,” I begged. “Choose me, make me, fuck me, give it all to me!”
He groaned and fucked her harder. Her eyes were on mine, wide and scared and needy at the same time.
“Tell her to come,” Miles barked at me. “Tell her to come instead of you, because you don’t fucking get to anymore.”
“Come,” I begged her. “Come, please, come, you have to…”
She dissolved in a fit of tears and whispered words, and he grabbed her waist and fucked her with desperate, fucking insanely hard thrusts that I could feel all the way over the street.
“Tell her to come on my dick,” Miles growled, and I did.
Lana came apart. Desperate cries, fucking desperate. She was a fucking mess.
“Bebe!” Miles called out, and I looked up at him.
Brown eyes on brown. Fucking desperation. Absolute desperation between us, longing to touch as he fucked someone else and I lost my mind staring at him, lost myself to my filthy fucking neighbor.
“Tell me to come,” he said.
“Come,” I whispered.
“Inside?” he asked. “Inside her?”
“Inside her,” I begged. “Yes, come inside her.”
But he didn’t. He slipped his cock from her, grabbed her throat and made her look up at him while he kept his eyes on me. He ripped the condom away and came with a curse and a growl like a fucking predator, his cum splashing her face over and over. I pulled my knees up and crawled back, curling up, crying for no reason.
“Fucking look at me, Bebe!” he shouted, and I did.
He held her crying, broken body in his arms. His cock was still leaking cum as he pulled her back in and handed her off to her boyfriend, his eyes dark and holding a promise as he stared me down. He’d just fucked me into a mess without ever laying a finger on me.
He was an animal.
And I was completely and utterly addicted.
Nefelibata, noun
Cloud walker.
I started every morning by staring through the window—into Bebe’s apartment.
She wasn’t a morning person, often getting up later than noon, and grumpily walking around until she had her first dose of caffeine. The girl was addicted to her coffee, making cup after cup. The worst thing though was that she drank a horrible, cheap instant mix. I made a mental note to tell her she was better off not having any at all if she wasn’t ready to splurge on the good stuff.
Despite her horrific coffee habit, she was a mesmerizing sight in the morning. A completely different woman to the dressed-up party girl who left the apartment in the evenings. Morning Bebe wore thick, fuzzy socks and a fluffy black and white robe with panda ears. Partygirl Bebe guzzled alcohol, morning Bebe nursed the hangover.
Partygirl Bebe made my cock twitch, and the vulnerable morning Bebe made my heart hurt because I fucking wanted her, yet I knew I could never have her.
It had been two days since I’d given Bebe the show she hadn’t wanted, and my gift for her was almost ready. I’d successfully kept my distance, knowing I was getting unreasonably attached to something that wasn’t even mine in the first place. I didn’t seek her out, didn’t call her, and she stubbornly didn’t even text. She was sulking, I could tell. She barely glanced out the window, and she kept her curtains shut a lot of the time, only opening them to tease me
She would wear the sluttiest lingerie, waltzing around her apartment and making damn sure I saw every lace-covered inch of that tight little body. And it only made me want her more, of course.
My life without Bebe collapsed back into its routine, though I hadn’t had a new girl over since the couple left. I carefully hid every broken, corrupted part of me from Bebe’s prying eyes. Because the little slut still fucking looked, as I knew she would. She’d look through the window hastily, hoping I wouldn’t notice, or watch me out of her peripheral vision, making sure she had the effect on me she wanted. And I couldn’t help myself. Not just because she was a hot piece of ass, but because she was somehow irresistible in all her sarcastic, bitchy glory.
I had a Skype call with my psychiatrist that morning, just like I did every Thursday.
I stared into Dr. Halen’s eyes and lied to her as smoothly as I always did.
“Are you sure, Miles?” she asked me gently. “Are you sure you’ve been out this week?”
“Yes,” I lied. “I went to the corner store two days ago to pick up some bread.”
“How come?” she asked, scribbling something on her notepad, her wise gray eyes inspecting mine.
This was our routine. Dr. Halen knew I was lying, of-fucking-course she did. But she never called me out on it, apart from posing questions that I dodged like bullets. Part of me wished she would catch me in a lie, but I was too good a bullshitter to let that happen. So, we played our little game of cat and mouse week after week, and I never admitted the truth.
“The housekeeper wasn’t here,” I said. “I gave her the day off.”
Dr. Halen stared at me before pushing her glasses higher up on her nose.
“How many bleach baths this week, Miles?” she asked me gently, and my skin prickled at the memory of the tingling sensation still left over from when I’d scrubbed myself dry after the couple left.
“Only three,” I said, almost feeling proud.
Usually, it was five or six.
On bad weeks, it was over eight. More than one a day.
I’d never tell Dr. Halen that, though.
She’d get me fucking admitted.
Again.
I knew better than to tell her the truth, and she knew better than to pry. It was the real reason we lied to one another. We both knew I needed to be in an institution. Staying out here, fucking up my life and my body, meant me going against the advice of every single doctor I’d ever met.
“Has anything happened?” Dr. Halen went on, peering at me over her glasses.
I adjusted myself in front of the camera, my eyes glancing behind the computer and towards the window. Bebe’s curtains were shut.
“Not that I can think of,” I said lamely, and the doctor smiled at me.
She didn’t smile often.
“Something has,” she said. “Your number of baths is down. You seem restless. Have you met someone?”
Dr. Halen knew about the visitors I entertained. She knew about my job, and she was discreet about it, which
was the main reason I’d decided to work with her. I liked her.
She was a kind woman in her forties, with a pinched face and a calm, friendly manner. She never pried, and she did her best to help. Whether she actually gave a shit about me or not, I still wasn’t sure. I had a feeling she was one of those people who turned off her brain after her work hours were over.
I tried to imagine Dr. Halen being a party animal like Bebe, and a small chuckle escaped my lips.
I looked back into her knowing eyes and smiled.
“Yeah,” I finally admitted. “There might be someone. I’m not ready to talk about her yet, though.”
A hint of a smile played on the doctor’s lips as she muttered, “There always is someone.”
She looked back up. “I’m afraid our time is up, Miles,” she said softly. “I have to get to my next client. But please keep track of your bleach baths and monitor your activities. And, Miles…”
“Yes?” I asked, my attention already shifting back to the girl across the street.
“This girl, whoever she is,” Dr. Halen went on. “Does she… does she know?”
I stared at her on my screen.
No, she didn’t know.
And it wasn’t like everyone did. It wasn’t like ‘head case’ was tattooed on my forehead.
But the women, the men who came to my apartment, could tell I was fucked up. They didn’t know exactly how or why, but they sure as fuck knew something was going on.
As for Bebe, she was completely cut off from my reality. She only saw the bits I wanted her to see, and I didn’t let her see much. It was for the best, really, because nothing could ever happen between us.
“No,” I said simply and cut the Skype call.
I stared at my blank screen for a second, looking at my own reflection in it.
There was nothing wrong with me at first sight, and there was no reason Bebe would know how fucked up I really was. And I didn’t want her to know. As badly as I wanted her in my fucking arms, bouncing up and down on my cock, this was more important. This semblance of normality, this pretense that everything was going to be okay.
I needed Bebe to believe it, because if she did, maybe I could too.
If only for a night.
I texted her that afternoon because I was getting way too fucking restless. I’d spent all day doing work stuff, trying to ignore her presence right across the street. But she was like an itch I couldn’t scratch—omnipresent and gnawing away at me until I finally gave her the attention she so badly craved.
She’d been walking around the apartment sulkily in a silky robe, not giving me a single look, pretending we didn’t share a history anymore. My text would see to that right away.
Hope you’ve had enough time to rest, sugar. Your new toy arrives today.
She didn’t text back. The little slut left me waiting for two hours before she graced me with a reply.
What makes you think I still want you to play with me?
I grinned to myself and my fingers worked on the screen to send her a reply right away.
Because the second you got my text, your little fingers went straight to those panties. Don’t lie. I saw it.
She got up to her feet furiously and I laughed in her angry little face as she shut the curtains. She knew I was right, but she wasn’t ready to admit it just yet. She was also in a bit of a mood, but I didn’t give a shit. The online tracking number for what I’d ordered her showed me the delivery man was only 10 deliveries away. Soon, she’d have my gift, and we’d be able to play again.
I watched the tracking number like a hawk, and once her delivery was up next, I looked down on the street to find the van parked on the pavement.
A middle-aged man rang her doorbell and a minute later, she opened the front door, shivering in the cool evening air. She signed for the package, completely oblivious of the man’s stares. I wanted to fucking throat punch him but I convinced myself to keep my cool. Instead, I watched impatiently as Bebe went back to her apartment. I waited until my phone rang. She was calling.
“Hello, sweetness,” I greeted her.
My cock was painfully hard before she even opened her mouth, but the second I heard her speak, it twitched for more.
“Why did you get me a camera?” she asked.
“I want you to take some photos for me,” I told her. “I’ll text you a connection code to input into the camera for sending direct to my computer, so whatever you film or shoot will come straight to me.”
She was silent for a second, making my heard pound nervously. I could hear the shakiness in her voice when she spoke up again.
“What do you want me to take photos of?”
“Everything,” I told her. “I want to watch you live your life. I want to watch you go out. Come home. Strip down. Get dressed. I want to see it all.”
I kept staring at her window, watching her pull the curtains open slowly. She stood in front of the glass, her body illuminated by a streetlight and her face curiously beautiful. God, she was fucking incredible. A mystery, a precious little whore who was going to do my bidding, whatever the fuck it was. I was in deep, probably too fucking deep, but it was too late to get out now.
“But won’t that be boring?” she asked me.
I thought of the alternative.
Empty fucking days in my apartment.
Cleaning myself, and everything that surrounded me with vigor.
Finding new girls to abuse, new men to break. Fucking with my head, fucking with theirs, fucking everything that moved.
And I thought of her.
Sweet, broken Bebe.
Morning Bebe.
Partygirl Bebe.
My Bebe.
“It won’t be boring for me,” I told her.
She didn’t need to know the whole truth.
She didn’t need to know I hadn’t been outside in fucking weeks. That the last time I left my apartment I had such a bad panic attack I clawed at my own wrists, and I still bore the slashes and red scars I’d made. That I was so fucking terrified of it all it was easier to stay in my safe, pristine, clinical apartment, and live my life between four walls.
“Are you sure?” she asked.
There was a hint in her voice, an opportunity to explain, to tell her how fucked up I really was.
And I deliberately ignored it.
“Yeah, sugar,” I muttered instead. “Now turn it the fuck on.”
Scintillate, verb
To emit sparks, to twinkle as the stars.
I fiddled with the camera, finding the power button after a few seconds of searching.
“You sure you want to see me?” I asked him, feeling self-conscious. “I don’t have any makeup on.”
“I don’t give a shit,” Miles growled. “I’ve seen you without plenty of times.”
My heart swelled. I’d always made an effort to wear something nice for him, to wear nice clothes and pretty makeup. Which meant he’d been looking at me when I wasn’t ready for him. I should have known, really.
“Been stalking me, Miles?” I asked him playfully, and he growled into the phone, sending shivers down my spine.
“You wish I was,” he said. “You wish I’d come up behind you and drag you into an empty fucking alley. Fuck your brains out in there and toss you aside like you meant nothing.”
It hurt to hear him talk that way, but I didn’t care, because it made me impossibly, unbearably wet.
“You want to use me?” I asked, my voice shaking.
“Don’t you want me to?” His voice was gentle and sweet, calming.
It was a sharp contrast to the words coming out of his mouth, yet I found it fucking irresistible. His whole demeanor, the way he was condescending yet dominant, caring but cruel. It was a delicious cocktail and I needed another sip.
But the whole time, there was a nagging voice in the back of my head, whispering nasty things in my ear and making me think I wasn’t good enough.
I really wasn’t. I was a poor little rich g
irl, abandoned by most of her friends and family. I had all the money in the world but I had fucking nothing to show for it. An empty life filled with thousand-dollar handbags and smudged designer lipstick, a pussy forever dripping with cum, and lips that tasted like whatever drink was trending.
“Bebe,” he interrupted my thoughts. “Where did you go, my pretty little slut?”
My hands shook as I switched the camera on and turned it towards my face. I heard him groan in seconds, and a sheen of cold sweat covered my skin, nerves getting the better of me.
Not. Fucking. Good. Enough.
Never was, never would be.
“I’m here,” I whispered, my eyes darting between the camera and the window. I couldn’t see him anymore and it made me feel alone. “Can you see me?”
“Yeah,” he muttered. “I can see you.”
An awkward silence followed, and finally, he spoke again.
“Put your phone down and put it on speaker,” he said.
I was so fucking scared my legs barely carried me over to the living room area. I placed my phone on the coffee table, following his instructions. His deep, booming voice filled the room.
“Good girl.”
God, he got me so fucking wet. Just two little words in that sinful voice of his and I was putty in his hands. I had to bite my tongue before I gave him more. Before I fucking humiliated myself and promised him anything and everything he ever wanted. Because I was already fucking ready to give it to him. But I’d never let him know that. Never ever.
“Hold the camera out so I can see you,” Miles said, and I stretched my arms out, giving him a good look.
I panned the lens over my body, the little silk nightie I was wearing and the kimono robe on top of it. I deliberately ended the shot just above my lips.
“Your face,” Miles rasped. “Let me see your fucking face, sugar.”
“I don’t want to,” I whispered.
“Why?” He didn’t sound angry, or disappointed, and it almost scared me more.
“I’m…” I swallowed thickly, the embarrassing weight of the truth heavy on the tip of my tongue. “I’m not ready, I… I’m worried you won’t like me like this.”
Peep Show Page 6
