Voyeur - Lacey Alexander [12]
So she’d finally given in to the temptation. At least for now. She might have regrets later, but in this moment, it was show time. And there would be no cotton pj’s tonight.
She took a deep breath and moved barefoot from the bedroom into the living room, then turned on the lights, but used the dimmer to keep them soft.
His eyes were on her, she could feel them—instantly.
The very knowledge made her nipples constrict within the scalloped edge of red lace that held her so snugly.
As she moved to the sofa, she felt like she was returning to the scene of a crime. Deliciously wicked. Her cunt vibrated against its lace confinement, the tender scratch of the fabric a further titillation.
Upon sitting down, she gently bit her lip, looked toward the webcam, and spoke quietly. “I wasn’t going to do this, but here I am, for reasons I can’t explain.” Then she peered more intently at the green light, imagining she could see him, eye-to-sexy-eye. “Are you ready?”
She envisioned him—drawing the image from the photo on the bookshelves—sitting behind his desk, getting hard for her. The thought nearly took her breath—everything about this was utterly overwhelming. In fact, she feared if she thought too hard about what she was doing, she might get scared again and back out. So instead, she simply began, reaching both hands up to cup the lower halves of her breasts.
They were heavy, full and round in her palms. She imagined her flyboy groaning at the sight of her touching herself for him and wished she could hear it. Wished again that she could see him, just like he could see her.
She closed her eyes and gave her lower lip a small, sensual nibble, imagining how grand it would be if he sat right across the room from her. The camera should provide a sense of safety—and maybe it did, maybe the distance between herself and her voyeur was the one factor that allowed her to do this. Yet at the same time, she wanted him nearer, wanted him here.
Watch me, she thought as she tweaked her nipples through the lace that barely concealed them. She then massaged them fully, wishing for his hands, thinking of his cock doing what he’d said this morning—gliding between the plump mounds of flesh.
Watch me, she thought as she slipped her fingertips into both red cups, lowering them just enough to free the beaded pink peaks. Her face warmed at revealing them to him again. She remembered how “fucking beautiful” he thought they were and toyed with her hardened nipples, letting the sensation trickle through her, all the way to her lacy panties, making her pussy quiver.
Oh yes, watch me, baby, watch me. She ran her hands down over the smooth curves of her stomach, sliding them over the lace at her hips, letting her fingers splay onto her thighs. Moving slow but never stopping, she parted her legs, let her hands glide inward, both of them sweeping firmly over her crotch before drawing back to the panties’ top edge.
Do you want to see me? See my pussy? She kept the words inside, but her own hunger to show him, to be this other entity, to release this other part of herself she was just now discovering with such shock, drove her. She’d never known she was such a dirty girl. She’d never known such forbidden fires burned inside her.
But burn they did—hotter and hotter with each passing second, she discovered—until she rose to her feet, squarely facing the camera, then smoothly lowered her panties over her hips, down her thighs, pulling damp lace from in between, then pushing the thong past her knees. The fabric fell to her ankles, allowing her to step free of it, at which point she turned around and bent at the waist, bracing