by Bridy McAvoy
She looked up from the card as he reached the doorway.
“See you Monday, Chloe, and by the way, we’re informal here, so you can call me Simon.”
Chloe smiled at him and ran her tongue over her exposed teeth.
“Yes…sir.”
They both laughed.
Fantasies Incorporated – Through The Window
By: Bridy McAvoy
All rights reserved
Copyright © Oct. 2012, Bridy McAvoy
Cover Art Copyright © Oct 2012, Brightling Spur
Bluewood Publishing Ltd
Christchurch, 8441, New Zealand
www.bluewoodpublishing.com
Names, characters and incidents depicted in this book are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of the author or the publisher.
No part of this book may be reproduced or shared by any electronic or mechanical means, including but not limited to printing, file sharing, and email, without prior written permission from Bluewood Publishing Ltd.
Through the Window
Delia brushed her hair as she stepped from the en-suite into the bedroom. Her husband was lying on the bed smiling at her and she smiled back, knowing how he liked to watch her brushing her long, brunette hair straight from the shower.
“Kinky so and so.”
He just grinned wider, very deliberately running his eyes up and down her body, covered as it was only by a thin, wispy nightgown.
“Kinkier than you’ve noticed.”
“Oh?”
Steve nodded toward the window on her left—their bedroom opened out to a tiny terrace overlooking the backyard and the woods beyond. Delia gave out a squeak as she saw her reflection in the window, having expected to see the drapes fully drawn as usual.
“Hey!”
He chuckled.
“Don’t worry about it. No one can see in.”
“What if there’s someone in the woods, they’d be able to see. What if it’s one of the neighbours?”
“What are they going to say if there was anyone out there? That they’re peeping toms, looking into bedroom windows for kicks? Don’t think so. Besides there’s no one out there.”
“Draw the curtains!”
He shook his head and brandished the room remote control.
“Steve!”
He chuckled and touched a button on the multi-function device. The lights brightened.
She took two steps back into the safety of the bathroom, out of line of sight of the bedroom.
“Close the curtains, now, Steve.”
He continued to chuckle and she reached behind her and started to wrap a towel around her body, not noticing in her moment of panic it was a damp one. She noticed the mistake as soon as the clamminess touched the thin lace and nylon of her nightie and dropped it to the floor in exasperation.
Steve beckoned her from the bed and she frowned at him but he just shrugged and repeated the gesture.
Delia took two steps into the bedroom, knowing she was back in the line of sight of the window, and then stopped again, holding her hand out for the remote.
“No way. Besides, you look really beautiful tonight, especially the way that nightie is plastered to your breasts. Ravishing, totally ravishable.”
She glanced down and realized he was right. That contact with the damp towel had transferred the dampness to her nightie and the white partially see-through fabric had stuck to her, increasing the way it outlined her body. Despite herself, her nipples hardened.
“Close the curtains or give me the remote.”
He chuckled and pressed a button, increasing the intensity of the lights once more. This time Delia stood her ground.
“What’s it going to take to get you to stop this game?”
She’d realized early on he was playing with her, indulging in one of his little set-ups prior to taking her in his arms and making love to her. That part of it was something she was more than willing to agree with—this little play-act was a bit more than she bargained for.
Steve used his hand to gesture for her to go round to her side of the bed, which just so happened to be the one nearest the window. Delia stood still for a few seconds then put the hairbrush back down, reached back and switched off the bathroom light, which would at least cut some of the illumination in the bedroom. Steve chuckled and she realized he’d recognized why she’d done that.
She took a deep breath and walked around the foot of the bed approaching her side but stopped when he held his hand up to her.
“That nightie is damp; you don’t want to get the sheets wet, do you? You’ll catch a chill.”
“So, what are you suggesting?”
She knew exactly what he was suggesting but wanted him to say it.
“Stand there and lose the nightie, babes, I want you nekkid.”
His arm was clamped down on top of the covers stopping her from getting into bed. The remote control for the curtains and the lights were the other side of him, out of her reach.
“And then what?”
“Then I intend to make mad passionate love to my beautiful wife. Do you object?”
“That depends.”
“On what?”
“On when you’re going to close the curtains.”
“I’ll swap you.”
“Swap?”
“Yeah, the remote for the clothes. Lose it, honey.”
She bunched her fists at her waist and frowned at him. She could see this little game was having an effect. His eyes were wide open, the pupils dilated, his breathing steady but heavy as he looked at her. Lower down, the sheets bulged where his semi-tumescent cock lay along his thigh. She knew it would tent to hardness as soon as she gave in and removed the single item of clothing she wore. She wanted him as much as he wanted her; it was this little bit in between that was giving her concern. She could sense her body responding to the sexual signals pervading the room, her own breathing, and the way her nipples irritated themselves against the constricting fabric as well as the telltale moistness between her legs.
He cocked an eyebrow as if to say, I’m waiting.
Delia thought about whipping the nightie off and over her head swiftly, diving onto the bed and wrenching the curtain control from him, but knew he would appreciate something more. Giving in, she smiled at him and allowed her hands to fall to her sides. The short lace shift only came as low as her finger tips so it didn’t take any effort to grasp it in her fingers and slowly start to raise the hem. Steve smiled and she saw his cock twitch and start to grow under the sheet. She smiled at him and swished her hips to one side as she drew the hemline higher, exposing her thighs to his hot gaze.
Impishly, she stuck out her tongue and spun through one hundred and eighty degrees to face away from him as she pulled the bottom of the nightie up to her waist. A moment later she realized her mistake, she was now facing the window, lit up by the lights in the bedroom to anyone watching—not that there could be, but still…
Knowing she didn’t want to admit defeat by turning back to face him before completing the mini striptease, she pulled the nightie up over her head, tossed it on the floor in front of the window, then stood still for a few seconds, knowing his eyes were riveted on her ass, then spun round to face him again and walked seductively toward the bed, taking her time. Any damage was already done.
She held her hand out for the remote as she reached the side of the bed but he smiled up at her and shook his head.
“We had a deal!”
“Yep. The nightie for the remote, and I haven’t got the nightie.”
His eyes feasted on her breasts and she tore her eyes off his face, looking behind her where the white lace she’d discarded lay in front of the window, right in front of it.
“I took it off.”
“Now give it to me, then. A deal’s a deal.”
“Bastard!”
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He just laughed and continued to drink in her body with his eyes. Delia licked her lips, spun round again and walked slowly over to the window. She stood there looking out into the dark and realized he’d turned the lights up to their fullest intensity.
In for a cent…
Bending at the waist, she leant down and picked up the nightie, bunched it into a ball, turned her back to the window and approached the bed again. This time he held out his hand and she passed him the nightie. Steve then kept his end of the bargain and passed her the remote.
Delia let out a sigh of relief and dimmed the lights as she pressed the ‘close’ button for the curtains and heard them sliding closed behind her. Steve moved his arm and she slid between the sheets as he wrapped her willing body in his eager arms.
* * * *
Three days later, Delia came home from dropping Steve off at the airport on his way to a three day whistle-stop tour of the mid-west on one of his periodic sales trips. Since getting up at six in the morning in order to get him to the airport wasn’t her idea of fun, nor was spending the next three days and nights alone, she was more than a little irritated when she pulled back into her driveway a little after eight in the morning.
She’d decided to go back to bed for a couple of hours and simply veg out for the morning when she noticed the package sitting on her front porch. The box, about fifteen inches square by about five inches deep, was hand addressed to Delia Barron, and there was no return address.
Strange!
She carried it inside and left it on the kitchen counter while she made another pot of coffee, all thoughts of going back to bed washed away by the surprise delivery.
Steve must have organised this. Some kind of surprise!
She picked the parcel up and shook it gently, things bumped inside but not much, and she’d already noticed it wasn’t all that heavy.
Only one way to find out.
She fished out the scissors from the knife block and scored down the center tape, neatly clipped the sides open and folded the top of the box open. Inside were two boxes, both not much smaller than the outer one and, on top of them, a manila envelope, just over legal size. The envelope had a large clear number 1 hand-written on it, while the box just underneath had the number 2 and when she lifted that the bottom box had a number 3 on it.
Very strange!
Since it was obvious to her which sequence the sender wanted her to open each package, she slit the end of the envelope and upended it to allow the contents to fall into her hand. Everything in the envelope was upside down, so Delia couldn’t see what each piece was. There were three sheets of legal size paper and half a dozen photographs. She turned over the first photograph and screamed.
Oh my God! That’s me! The other night!
The photo had been taken from outside, and very clearly showed her outlined against the window in the act of removing her nightie at her husband’s insistence three days earlier. The image was pin sharp and bright and she could clearly see the intimate details of her pussy and nipples in the shot. She quickly turned over the other photos and shuffled them into sequence. The first one she’d seen was chronologically number three. Number one showed her just outside the bathroom door, number two in front of the window with her back to the window, but already raising the hem of her only item of clothing. Number three she’d already seen, number four was a close–up. You couldn’t see the window frame—the cameraman had zoomed in on her body, showing her face, breasts and pussy as the nightie disappeared out of shot above her head. Number five showed her turning toward the bed, the nightie in mid-air falling behind her, and number six showed her bending over in front of the window, which must have been when she picked up the nightie after her husband sent her back.
I’ll kill him, I’ll fucking kill him! Just wait till you get back from your trip! You’re dead, Steve, fucking dead!
She sat down and thought through her anger, which was directed at Steve. After a couple of minutes of staring at the photos, she realized she needed to be directing her anger at the peeping tom rather than the husband who’d put her in such a compromising position.
“Who the fuck are you?”
The sound of her voice startled her and she realized she’d been speaking out loud. Delia couldn’t help the quick guilty glance around the room, even though she knew she was alone in the house. She swept her brown hair back from her face and picked up the first sheet of paper. When she turned it over she could see it was covered in close typed words, obviously computer printed except for the large number 2 at the top, which was in the same script as the number on the envelopes and the numbers on the boxes. She checked the other two sheets and noticed they were numbered 1 and 3 so picked up sheet number 1 and started reading.
* * * *
Halfway down sheet number one she was horrified, and by the end of that page she was angry. Sheet two turned anger into mortification and sheet three turned that back full circle into horror. Delia put down the third sheet and sat on the stool, shaking with emotion as the logical half of her brain tried to analyze the situation.
On one hand, I have some stupid prick who’s trying to blackmail me and I should call the police and get his ass busted. There again, that would mean showing the pictures to some grinning police officers and knowing they’ll appear in court. I can’t face the embarrassment of that.
On the other hand, I don’t think it’s a blackmailer at all. I think it’s my husband playing one of his tricks and I don’t want to end up on a charge of making a false statement, let alone get the little shit into trouble. He could lose his job over this if it is him.
Yet again, he’s not making any threats—all I have to do is go along with his little game.
What to do?
What to do?
Delia fumed in an agony of indecision for several minutes, while looking at each picture closely, searching for a clue. She was currently between projects in her freelance web design business so she decided to put her computer knowledge to work. Decision made, she gathered up the parcel and the sheets of instructions, put the photos on top and headed upstairs to their master bedroom. She dumped the boxes on the bed, picked up the six pictures and walked over to the door to the en-suite, looking at the first photo.
She carefully aligned herself with the same position the picture showed her to be standing in and, when she was sure she was right, she put the photo down in front of her left toes. She picked up picture two and repeated the process. It took a couple of attempts to get herself aligned with the window frame correctly, but she persevered and worked her way methodically through all six pictures.
Pictures two, three and four had been taken with her more or less standing in the same place, picture five further away from the window and picture six much closer still. Leaving the pictures on the floor, she walked back to where she’d put the first picture and tried to work out if there was a sight line. Unfortunately, the bed was in the way so she couldn’t see that picture at the same time as the others. She picked it up and stood straight, orienting herself with the other pictures.
Bingo! There was almost an exact straight line straight out of the window into the woods beyond—give or take a couple of inches.
Gotya!
She quickly sighted along the line of the images and picked up the distinguishing marks on the nearest tree to that line on the edge of the back yard. She almost ran downstairs, pulled on her old trainers and dashed out into the yard, making for the same tree. Once there, she looked back at the bedroom window and nodded to herself—it was exactly the right place, according to the indecent images now burned into her brain. She suddenly realized the pictures showed ceiling but no floor, so had to have been taken from below, rather than on the same level.
They only had a two-strand wire fence across the bottom of the garden, with nothing but woods behind them for about fifty feet, leading to the edge of the drop-off into the deep gully beyond. They’d never seen the need for anything more. Hopping over the top
wire took only a second and she studied the area around the tree carefully. Seeing nothing, she took a stride into the wood and turned back to look at her bedroom window once more. The view was partially obscured, so whoever had taken the pictures had to have been right next to the tree at the time.
A small horizontal line caught her attention on the tree itself and she peered more closely at it. As soon as she could see it clearly she immediately recognized it.
It’s a camera bracket, and it’s in exactly the right place!
Delia took a deep breath and grinned to herself.
There wasn’t anyone here that night. The camera was fixed and operated either remotely, or on constant timed exposure—one shot every three seconds, or something like that. The only person I know who could have set that up was Steve! He’s always fiddling with gadgets for his camera. Gotya, you little shit!
She almost skipped as she walked back into the house, discarded the trainers and padded barefoot back upstairs to the bedroom.
So, why the charade with the fake blackmail and the boxes of, no doubt, kinky clothing?
She sat on the bed and looked at the as yet unopened boxes. It was decision time. Should she just laugh it off and text him to tell him to go fuck himself, or should she go along with the game and play it out, having a bit of fun with him, which was what he wanted. She felt her nipples pucker inside her plain satin bra at the thought of deliberately exposing herself like that; she could feel a trace of moisture leaking into her panties, too.
Hmm… Might be fun at that.
* * * *
The instructions had told her not to open the second box until after six that evening, when it was already getting dark, then to open it, dress in the clothing inside and follow the instructions. She was, under no circumstances, to open the third box until instructed to do so.
Delia agonized over breaking the seal on the box but decided, in the end, to simply follow the instructions rather than break them and ruin her husband’s surprise.
