VOYEUR
He got home early for a change, swinging his black Jag onto the beautifully pebbled surface of the driveway, and was surprised to see her red Porsche already there. It was a custom paint job - she had insisted on that color, he remembered, smiling. She had called it “arrest-me red”; it had cost a fortune, but he could never say no to her.
He got out of his car after checking his hair in the mirror. It was a habit, one he couldn’t seem to break. He was a lawyer, and a good one, and it was important to him that he always look the part. Satisfied with his smooth black hair, dark eyes hidden behind Serengeti sunglasses, and perfectly bronzed skin, he grabbed his leather briefcase, the one she had given him this past Christmas. It had his initials embossed in gold on the front. "It adds that final touch of class!" She had declared delightedly, clapping her hands like a child at the look on his face when he had unwrapped it. "Now everyone will know who they’re dealing with," she had said, and he had hugged her, feeling like the luckiest man in the world.
He went up the broad, rounded steps to the front door, unlocking and opening it with one hand; the ease of long practice. He stepped into a beautifully appointed foyer. An enormous crystal chandelier hung suspended above the winding oak staircase, and the paintings were carefully chosen, complementing the fresh flowers that were brought in every week. The marble floor was a true work of art, with its intricate whorls of color and texture. He tossed his briefcase on an elegant wrought iron bench upholstered in burgundy tapestry and began to climb the staircase, suddenly eager to see her. They were both lawyers, and their schedules didn’t mesh nearly often enough for his liking. He still wanted and loved her so much, he reflected as he mounted the polished stairs with their paisley runner. She was as exciting to him now as she had been when they met, over fifteen years before. Her beauty had merely mellowed with age; she had become the epitome of elegance and dignity.
And yet, he thought, as he walked down the long hall toward their bedroom, no one but him knew what a tigress she was in the bedroom. It had given him great pleasure over the years to watch her skewer a guilty client in the courtroom, every inch the lady in her tailor-made suits and fashionable pumps, her hair done up in a quiet chignon, and know that later that evening she’d be on top of him, riding him like a whore, her hair falling around them like chestnut rain. Winning a case always got her horny, and she was like a wild woman until she was satisfied.
The bedroom door was open, just a few inches, and he was about to push it open all the way and enter when he heard her voice, softly humming. He stopped in the act of loosening his tie and peered through the crack. He could just see her, standing at their dresser, clad only in her lingerie, brushing that gorgeous hair, and as the rhythmic movements pushed her breasts up and out with every stroke, he could feel himself begin to stiffen. She just looked so goddamn beautiful in the lacy bra that exposed the creamy curves of her breasts, and the tiny thong panties gave him a great view of her ass, still taut and delicious. The garter belt she wore was still attached to sheer black stockings, and his breathing quickened as he watched her remove them. When she had drawn them off and straightened up, she unclasped her bra and let it drop unheeded to the floor. She ran her hands over her breasts, pinching the pink nipples lightly, and when her head fell back and the nipples stiffened into points, he knew what was coming.
He removed his coat and tie as quietly as he could and leaned against the wall, where he had a better view of the bed. A few moments later she was on her back on top of the lacy coverlet. The sight of her nudity and her hair fanned out across the contrasting white of the bedclothes was almost too much for him. It had been quite a while, he realized as he watched her run her hands up and down her body, and his cock was now hard iron, pressing against his trousers in a way that was vaguely uncomfortable. She drew her knees up slightly and spread them apart, and now he could see the gorgeous pearl of her cunt, exposed and wide open. She reached between her legs and began to touch herself, and he had to press a hand against the front of his pants, unconsciously controlling his almost overwhelming urge to orgasm.
Her delicate fingers played with those moist pink folds, first up, and then down, briefly dipping into the wetness he could almost smell and taste, When her breath began to come faster and he saw her clit begin to swell he had to struggle not to moan himself. She slipped a finger into that moist cavern and her hips bucked slightly, and now he was undoing his belt, unable to stop himself from freeing his cock from the confines of his clothing. He began to stroke it through the material of his boxer shorts, and every time she rubbed a finger across her clit and gasped he would tighten his hand around himself, his reactions echoing hers. He pushed his shorts down and grasped himself, his knees beginning to weaken as her movements became harder and faster.
At last she began to climax, and his hand moved rhythmically, up and down his rigid penis, seeking the release she was now finding. He felt himself swell and his balls contract, and suddenly he was coming, coming all over the pristine white carpet she was so proud of. His knees gave way and he slumped against the wall, breathing hard, sweat beading his forehead. It was then that he heard her voice float to him from the bedroom: “Don’t waste the next load, darling. Come in here and join me.”
He had to wait a moment before the strength came back to his legs, but when he pushed open the door and saw her smiling seductively up at him, he was more than ready again.
Originally published February, 2008