House-watching for My Neighbor

I'm a voyeur. In fact, I'm a creepy kind of voyeur that watches women at the store, and on the street, even occasionally taking a detour downtown on my way to work, just in order to sit at red lights and watch the parade of legs and boobs in the crosswalk.

Having this proclivity, I was absolutely delighted when an attractive couple moved in right next door. They were twenty years younger, mid-thirties, but still couldn't keep their hands off each other. She calls me "Mr. Carson." Ouch.

She was perfectly formed, with a well-toned bod, and full, round tits that often greeted the world with erect nipples. Her long brown hair spills across her chest when she walks to the mailboxes wearing a wife beater in the summertime.

There were no curtains in the house when they first moved in, but they did put sheets up over the second story bedroom windows that so fortunately faced my study. Several nights I watched shadows moving across those sheets. The shadows would embrace and pull off clothes before sliding out of view. I even dug out my old camcorder and set it on a tripod peeking the lens out through a small gap in the blinds.

This was an amazing treat for a seasoned voyeur. One night a corner of the sheet fell, and then it only half covered the window. There wasn't much light, but at full zoom I was just able to make out what was going on in the bedroom. She was on her knees, with her arms pulled back behind her in a sleeve with bright buckles that sparkled in the dim light. I could see there was a gag in her mouth because he had a fist full of her long hair pulled back, raising her head and stretching her neck. Her perfect tits rubbed the sheets with the rhythm he pounded into her. Damn, I wished there was audio for this.

They ended my fun with blinds and curtains shortly after that. I never got over the sight of them fucking though. Every time I saw them, saw her around the neighborhood, I'd feel pressure of blood flowing into my cock. Once I even stalked her down to the neighborhood pool. Her thin, tan legs carried a perfect round ass barely covered by an orange bikini, and topped with an intricate tattoo. I bought a coke at the machine outside the pool desk and walked back home replaying their bondage session in my head.

Gosh, I wanted more of her. There was no way, I thought. Nothing better can happen. Then late one night a few months later I was outside in the dark turning off the garden drip-watering. I'd heard the forgotten trickle after my wife and I climbed into bed. When I got outside, I noticed the garage door at my sexy neighbor's house had just start rolling down. He was standing there watching her pull in. Damn! I missed her! Just as the rolling door cut off my view, he bent down and threw something large from the floor into her face! She pushed it away, and I could hear angry shouts as the door sealed to the driveway.

Wow! What was going on? My voyeur obsession took control of my good judgement, and I approached their house. As I got to the door, I could hear some more commotion, like people throwing things. Then I heard the unmistakable sound of shattering glass. Trembling with anticipation, I gathered my courage and peaked in through the garage door window. I was astonished. She was pressed face-down on his workbench and there was a blanket over her head. He was holding her wrists behind her back with one hand, and wrapping a cord around them with the other. The light fixture on the loose end swung around hit him in the face as he struggled with her.

I thought that must be Sarah, though I couldn't see her face. She was fighting and kicking backwards. Was this part of their bondage play, or was this something else? Something bad? Then he took the fixture-end of the lamp and attached it to the back of the workbench, stretching her arms up above her back and forcing her face down. She fought even harder at this point, and her yanking on the cord was bouncing wrenches and screwdrivers off the pegboard and onto floor with loud clatters.

This commotion set off their dog, a large golden retriever that lived in the backyard, and he barked furiously. That sound made me duck away from the window to check my back, but quickly I returned to the show! What the hell? He reached over and turned on a power grinder that was only feet from where her head was covered by the blanket! She stopped fighting.

What I saw next brought my swelling cock to full erection. He yanked down her white nurse's pants to her ankles, and pushed the top part of them under one leg of the workbench. Her white panties were around her ankles, so she couldn't spread her legs very wide. She was completely and masterfully bound!

Words cannot express what a vision like the one unfolding before me does to an obsessed voyeur. I could see them side on, his hips bumping her from behind. And I could hear! Not too clearly, but muffled "mfffs" and the occasional sharp crack of an ass-slap. The damn dog had settled into that annoying rhythmic barking that's cost me so much sleep over past few months. His "boof, boof, boof" seemed to keep beat with the pounding that Sarah was receiving. My wife would have called it a "vicious pounding."

Then it was over. He pulled back and lifted his pants. As he headed into the house, he switched on the radio - loud. That was curious. And the grinder was still running ... really strange. At this point, I was in full-on obsession mode. I moved quickly to the side door, the one that faces the side entrance to my own garage. I tried the knob as quietly as possible - it was unlocked! I held my breath as I pushed the door open, as if that would prevent any squeak or rubbing sounds.

I could only see her beautiful ass across the hood of the car, but pointed straight at me. It was Sarah, as I expected. The flirty tattoo on her lower back confirmed this. Silently, with shallow breath, I made my way around the front of the car. Her feet were working frantically at the legs of her pants to try and free herself. There were tools and broken glass scattered all around on the concrete floor.

I felt something crunch under my shoe as I approached her. I froze. Sounds from the radio covered for me. I began to breathe again. Closer I moved with wary glances at the door which I knew opened into the house. This was nuts! I had moved to an entirely new level of stalking; I was in her house! Now so close I could touch her, I examined her perfect ass. The tight dark ring had a glistening glob of white sperm in the center.

What would I dare do next? Excitement like I'd never felt before overwhelmed me. I watched my hand reach forward on its own and cup the soft mound of her cunt. She stopped squirming as soon as the warmth of my hand approached her crotch. "Mfff." One word. That's all she said. I pulled back as if caught. Then her silence prodded me. I knelt down to examine her perfection. Her lips were full, and the mound was puffy, it looked every bit as soft as it felt.

I reached up and teased the lips, and was rewarded again with some muffled sounds. There was a screwdriver with a red handle lying next to her foot. I picked it up; the handle was cold. I rubbed it under my arm for a few seconds, then lifted it to her cunt. Immediately the sounds started pouring from under the blanket and her feet kicked as she shifted left and right to avoid the touch of this foreign object. Undeterred, I slipped it in.

The screwdriver had a round knob on the end, it went in smoothly, but the handle had hills and valleys for grip, and I gave it a twist as it disappeared between her lips. She kept kicking, but now she was holding her perfect ass completely still. The muffled squeals continued. I moved the tool in and out ever so slightly, letting my fist bump her cunt firmly on each stroke.

That was amazing, but then I got a better idea. I put the tool down; the sounds stopped immediately. I reached back between her legs again, this time with fingertips, and traced the lips up to her clit. I slipped my thumb into the wetness she exuded. Her muscle clamped on my thumb as I reached the ridges inside. She was tight. I'd not felt this tight of a pussy for many years. I let the crook of my forefinger cuddle and caress her clit. The muffled sounds were distinctly different, and seemed somehow more encouraging. I fingered her this way for at least a minute or two.

Sarah grew silent again as I stood up and pulled my sweats down, hooking them under my balls. It was only then I realized she wasn't spread wide enough to accept me. I tried lifting her left leg with my left hand, but there just wasn't room. I dropped to the floor and yanked at her left pants leg until it finally came off over her shoe. I slipped her plain white panties off over that same shoe, and got back to work.

I fisted my rock-hard cock and moved it toward her. I moved it side to side, using just the tip to part her dripping lips. My fist was now slimy with her husband's splooge, but I didn't care. The head of my now throbbing cock entered the warm wetness. I felt her clamp down just above my foreskin, and I stopped.

All through this I was on heightened alert. The radio, the stupid dog, and I shot anxious glances at the door every few seconds. She was perfectly still as I stood there, poised for a glorious thrust. Then my brain kicked back on. Was this rape? What the hell, I've never even cheated on my wife. Is this is how it's going to be? What if her husband comes back through the door? Will I fight him? Will he kill me? Will the police come, and I lose a lifetime of accumulated happiness?

It's too late. The tip is in. There is no difference if I pull out now, or if I pound her to sweet release. She must think that she's clamped onto husband's cock. At that very instant, I heard pounding from inside the house. He was running down the stairs. He was RUNNING! I yanked my cock back from her eager cunt. She protested. I squirted. I felt waves of cum squirting out of my cock as I yanked my sweats up over it, and I bolted for the exit.

I leaped through my own side door, directly across the property line, with my heart in my throat. I had instinctively headed up the stairs when I realized the water was still running in the garden. What would I tell my wife, how was I going to account for the last fifteen minutes, the stain on my sweats, the smells of sex on my hand?

Ah, I've thought about that night so many times over the years. What might have been, what might have happened? What if I'd gone through with it? What if she showed up with a baby? What if I'd been caught? What if I'd been arrested?

Nothing better will ever happen to me, of this I am sure.