Window to Window Tease

I couldn’t stop aching after those first two nights. Every time I closed my eyes I saw Marcus’s cock jumping in his fist, the way his mouth had fallen open when he finally shot against the glass, thick white streaks sliding down while I was still grinding my palm against my clit, so close and then left hanging. Forty-two years old, freshly divorced, and suddenly I was the woman who kept her curtains flung wide and every lamp blazing so the twenty-four-year-old across the alley could watch me come apart. The heat hadn’t faded; it had only coiled tighter low in my belly, a constant throb that made sitting at my desk impossible and sleeping worse.

That evening I texted Lena the second I got home. “He’s already there. Curtains open. Shirt off. Looking straight at my window like he owns the view.” Her reply came before I even set the phone down. “Do it. Give the boy the full show, you filthy tease. I want every filthy detail. Make him beg without a single word.”

I smiled, heart hammering, and started turning on lights—bedside lamps, the overhead, even the little vanity bulbs so the room glowed like a stage. Then I walked straight to the window, stood dead center, and let him see me. Marcus was right where I knew he’d be, jeans low on his hips, hand already cupping the thick bulge that had haunted me for days. Our eyes locked across the narrow alley and I felt that same electric jolt race straight to my cunt.

I started slow. First the buttons of my blouse, one by one, rolling my shoulders so the fabric slipped down my arms and puddled at my feet. My black lace bra was next; I reached back, unhooked it, and let the cups fall away, catching my breasts in my hands and lifting them like an offering. His cock visibly hardened, the outline straining against denim. I mouthed “for you” and watched his free hand shove the jeans down just enough to free himself. Thick, already glistening at the tip. Lena’s next text buzzed in my palm. “Is he hard? Tell me how hard.” I typed one-handed while I thumbed my nipple. “Painfully. He’s stroking it slow so I can watch every inch.” “Good girl. Now lose the skirt and show him that wet pussy.”

I unzipped, shimmied the fabric down my legs, and stepped out of it wearing nothing but the soaked scrap of my panties. Turning sideways, I hooked my thumbs in the waistband and dragged them down inch by inch, bending just enough that he got the full silhouette of my ass before I straightened and kicked the lace aside. Completely bare under the bright lights, forty-two and shameless, I planted my feet wide on the rug and slid one hand down my stomach until my fingers parted my slick folds. Marcus’s stroke got longer, firmer; I could see the way his wrist twisted at the head. I pressed closer until my nipples touched the cool glass and I started talking—silent words shaped carefully so he could read every filthy promise. “I want this cock in me. I want you to stretch me while the whole street watches. I’m so wet for you I can hear it.”