the consensual voyeur...

mf


He peered out through the fogged windshield of his Mustang at the
approaching headlights. The light of the street lamp across the street from
his car illuminated the nearing vehicle enough for him to recognize the
outline of her car. It seemed to him her car glowed as the street light
reflected off the rain-slicked skin of the auto's roof.
He looked at his watch impatiently. Expecting her 45 minutes ago, he decided
a bit of good-natured nagging was in order; she would not have spared him
had he been the tardy one.
As she emerged from the car, she bowed her head in mock shame. "So sorry
mah-stah," she growled in a gravelly voice. He cocked his head to one side,
his eyebrows to the other.
"You slacker!" he thundered like a Shakespearian giant. He had half an urge
to thump his chest in the universal language of manly assertion techniques.
"Consider yourself lucky time is the only currency I ask for the use of the
hot tub!"
Ouch, he thought."Those who sponge must not be too pushy." Shut up, he
thought.
"Come inside, goofball," she clucked. Stepping through the threshold of her
door, he felt a warm rush of energy. He liked it here.
"Shorts?" he queried. He had a loaded gun in that question.
"Yes, you have to wear shorts." She got the first shot off as she rounded
the corner, disabling his intention.
"No fun, no fun at all any more. No sense of adventure!" he shouted as she
threw the shorts at him.
The rain leapt in little drops and streams onto her hot tub cover. He
wondered what the water was like, hoping it was almost too hot to bear. She
had never liked it that hot.
She emerged from her room wearing a dress she had excitedly told him about
earlier. He had been awaiting its debut on her delicious form for a whole
day. The mental images he had conjured up many times in those 24 hours had
been grossly incomparable to the image of her there in front of him.
She said nothing as she did her little turns in front of him in her living
room. His eyes followed the black silhouette of her smooth curves. She
looked illegally delicious, he thought, and unconsciously wet his lips.
She tilted her head innocently to one side and her hair fell like satin from
her supple bare shoulder. His heart beat a little faster. A smile crept
across his face and his eyes sparkled when she looked into them. An
invisible arc of electricity crossed the room between the two of them. Their
friendship warmed itself by the fire that she created in him.
He had never thought a platonic relationship could be so incredibly charged
and remain at that level without sex becoming an issue. He knew it at that
moment.
"Do you have pearls?" he wondered out loud. She ducked into her room and
returned with a short strand of cultured pearls around her strong,
well-toned neck. The picture in his mind of her sitting in that dress
looking better than he'd ever seen her... it would be indelible. His resolve
weakened to her. But like a child, she remained perfectly in a state of
feigned innocence and ignorance to his desire for her. He did not mind;
rather, it pleased him to be tantalized by her, unattainable as she was to
him for anything but a playmate; he could be nothing more and remain as true
to her.
She looked at him as if to verify his pleasure with the dress, but she knew
what he was thinking. Still- to hear him betray himself- she gently tugged
at his hand, urging his heart to reveal its secrets. And readily, he was led
to betray his soul for her.
She knew of his affection for her and the feelings he had struggled to
suppress, and she was gentle with them. She had struck the perfect balance
between rejection and acceptance of what he wanted and what they both knew
he could do for her. He knew the boundaries of acceptance and respected
them. It was a quiet, unspoken joy they shared; but she could make him
sweat, and the both enjoyed that without regret.
He felt like he should be sweating then, as she proceeded to slide out of
her stockings; she teetered, first on one foot, then the other- letting him
see just far enough up the tight black skirt to make him close his eyes and
sigh heavily, groaning longingly.
The danger of the moment drove them both to their unspoken threshold. He
wobbled there just long enough to wonder about his own limit of control.
When she had put on her suit to go soak with him, he went out and moved the
lid of the tub. She walked lightly over the chilled dampness of the darkened
porch, squinting against the rain. She had mixed a drink, and was carrying
it carefully as she stepped into the tub. He let his eyes follow her
barely-clad figure out from the kitchen onto the porch. He shot a jealous
thought at the water of the tub as it engulfed her feet... her legs... her
hips, oh... her waist... mmm, her breasts...
She pretended not to notice the blatant stare, coyly measuring his state of
arousal. He was still in control of his thoughts, though barely. She knelt
on the seat of the tub and turned on the jets. He closed his eyes and
concentrated intently on the spot in the small of his back where the jet
gently pulsed.
He was floating in his mind... in the water... in time. His hand reached out
in his mind to caress her thigh; and as he touched it, she let out a soft,
low moan. He opened his eyes, startled at the reality and the sheer
sultriness of the sound. He strained to see her face through the steam that
rose between them. She had her eyes closed and wore a suspiciously contented
grin; reaching slowly for her drink, she looked at him in a way that pushed
him past the point of bodily restraint.
She sipped her drink languorously, as if the action of drinking the liquid
in that shimmering glass drenched her soul with fire. She was glowing at
him, like an ember of passion through the dark across the hot tub. Only her
face, awash in a secret ecstasy, was visible to him through the steam; the
rest of her warm body rested beneath the broiling surface of the tub's
water.
The energy of the moment ignited his imagination. The sky behind his eyes
was on fire. As she opened her eyes, her gaze found him measuring her every
movement. Time froze for him there in the dim glow of light from the
kitchen.
He seemed paralyzed; she embodied fluid freedom. She had complete unspoken
control of the moment; and she knew she would not lose it- or his attention.
Her foot brushed his somewhere in the depths of the bath. He was buzzing.
His head spun wildly with fantastic images and possibilities, all of which
seemed completely in her control.
Would she decide to extend the unspoken boundaries of their relationship
then, there? He waited for her to move to him, through him. But she stayed
there in her corner, his gaze her captive.
He knew she wanted him to remain where he was, but there was also a flash of
mischief in the words her eyes were whispering to him.
In the water before him, he could see a piece of clothing floating his
direction. As he held them up he realized from her smile she was enjoying
her secret immensely.
Before he could react, she turned away from him and had thrown her feet over
the side of the tub as if she was going to float face up in the bath. He was
silent, wondering what to do, when he realized he was only to watch.
She didn't lay back in the water as he thought she might; she was instead
holding on to the slats in the bannister around the tub. With a flash of
light inside his head he became aware of the jet in the small of his back;
watching her position and movements he tried to imagine how high the jet
would be pulsing against her body... her torso pressed tightly against the
wall of the tub; she was arched forward, the taut muscles of her back
glistening in the subdued light of the patio.
He examined the clothing in the water, exposing her secret to him. He
clenched them in his teeth, seething with an erotic electricity.
Her hips pressed closely to the jet on the wall of the tub, gently flexing,
thrusting, twisting... his condition advanced towards unbearability.
A raging torrent of blood raced through his ears, traveling south towards
his own fire, threatening to burst the seam on his shorts. He longed to show
her, but it was her show.
With each quick breath from her, he hurtled headlong towards a thunderous
collapse of all control. Yet he knew he would not move from this spot-nor
could he- so strong was her influence. Only she could say yes or no.
As he writhed, her writhing became increasingly more impassioned; hands
searching, grasping for a better hand-hold form which to meld with the
source of her mounting pleasure. He studied her intently, shivering from
each gentle moan wafting across that distance between them from her
direction. He imagined himself to be the jets beneath her; painting her with
his tongue; lightly, rhythmically, frantically smashing down the barriers of
pleasure she did not know existed. His was a complete, hollow ecstasy; with
her but not within her.
He wanted to be inside her, feeling her emptiness as he would withdraw;
feeling his own completeness as he joined with her, further driving them
past the boundaries of fleshly sensation.
Her ecstasy had reached its apogee; and as she came tumbling from those
heights, his hips thrust forward spasmodically in time with her own. Could
there be a more complete marriage of torture with pleasure? he thought.

Another flash in the darkness behind his eyes, and a sudden realization he
was not where he had been. He awoke in his own bed, disoriented.

Disappointed.

A purging of desires forever unsatiated...