Here's a peek at my story, a voyeuristic little fantasy called "Room With a View":
I wondered if they had any idea just how much I could see from my window. I should have done the neighborly thing and told them. Gone over with some tea and biscuits and a casual “Oh, by the way, you do know I can see absolutely everything from across the road, don’t you?” But of course I didn’t.
One evening they looked dressed for the opera – he in an elegant dinner suit and she in a lovely clingy red satin gown. They never left the flat. They had a long, intense conversation in the bedroom and even without the binoculars I could tell there was a strange dynamic. Their body language intrigued me. She hung her head, clasping her hands nervously behind her back while he frowned down at her. Then she knelt on the floor before him. Heat surged through my body as she lifted her arms, offering him her wrists. He tied them with a little silk scarf and suddenly I understood the scrolled iron bed frame.
My sex pulsed as he led her, not to the bed, but to the door. He pushed her back against it and looped her bound wrists up over the coat hook. Her face was flushed as she arched her back and rolled her hips invitingly. Then he tore open her dress at the front, exposing her breasts. I gasped at the sudden violence as if the exposure were my own. With firm hands he traced the swell of her bare breasts, each dusky pink nipple stiffening beneath his touch. I pressed my legs together as he held up the riding crop.
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