Sometimes I ask myself if I’m actually an exhibitionist or just an idiot who fucks his girlfriend on a rooftop terrace while some stranger stares from the window across the way. But when Julia places her hand on my thigh, her fingers slowly traveling upward, and puts on that little, mischievous smile, I know: She doesn’t care. Neither do I.
The First Look
It’s warm for May, the air smells of summer rain and the neighbor’s grill. Julia’s dress is thin, a gossamer fabric that glides over her skin with every movement and hints at the contours of her body. She leans against the railing, her hands behind her on the warm stone, and looks at me with those eyes that always promise a little too much — dark, moist, full of silent promises. “He’s been staring the whole time,” she says softly, her head tilted to the side, a lock of hair falling into her face. I follow her gaze. Three houses away, a window on the first floor. A man, maybe mid-forties, stands there, arms crossed, chin slightly raised. He makes no move to look away. His gaze is greedy, unabashed.
“Should we give him a show?” I ask, half-joking, but Julia’s answer is a kiss that leaves no doubt. Her lips are soft and demanding, her tongue finds mine immediately, she tastes of mint and the red wine from dinner — sweet and tart at once. Her hand pulls me closer until I feel the warmth of her body through the thin fabric, her breasts pressing against my chest.
“I like it when he watches us,” she whispers in my ear. Her breath is hot, her voice a rough scratch that goes straight to my crotch. “It makes me so fucking horny.”
I swallow. My pulse hammers, not just because of her closeness, but because of the idea of being watched. I feel the stranger’s gaze like a touch, a tingling on my skin that spreads through my entire body. Julia notices my arousal, grins wickedly, and takes a step back. Slowly, very slowly, she pulls the straps of her dress over her shoulders. The fabric falls — a sound like a sigh — and pools on the floor around her feet. She steps out of it, naked except for the black panties that hug her hips. The man at the window hasn’t moved, but I see his gaze intensify, how he stretches to see more.
“Turn around,” I say softly, and Julia obeys immediately. She turns slowly, a dancer on an invisible stage. Her hips sway, her breasts are silhouetted against the dark sky, the hard nipples pressing through the thin lace of her panties. The man leans forward, his face close to the glass, his breath fogging the pane. Julia laughs, a soft chuckle, and her hands wander over her belly, up to her breasts. She strokes the hard nipples, circles them with her fingertips, and I see her nipples stiffen under her touch. She plays with them, pinches lightly, and a soft moan escapes her. The sound is carried away by the wind, but the man sees her lip movement. His hand moves into his pants, I can guess the motion under the fabric, the soft rubbing of cloth on skin.
“He’s masturbating,” I whisper, and Julia shudders. “Yes,” she breathes, “that makes me so wet. I can feel it, running out of me.” She turns around again, bends forward, and braces herself on the railing. Her ass sticks up, the black lace stretching over her firm muscles, a sight that makes me hard as stone. I step closer, stroke the fabric. She pushes back against me, and I feel the dampness that has soaked through her panties, a warmth that reaches me through the thin fabric. I push the fabric aside and see her wet slit glistening. A thin strand sticks to her thighs, glittering in the light of the distant streetlamps. I run a finger through her wetness, she twitches and moans louder. “Yes, right there,” she murmurs, her voice a choked whimper. I slide my finger into her, she’s tight and hot, her muscles closing around me immediately. She pushes against my hand, taking me deeper, and I feel her muscles clench around my finger, a rhythmic pulsing. “Do it,” she says, “fuck me. Now. Here. In front of him.”
The Foreplay
But I want to tease her first. I want to hear her beg. I pull my hand back and bring it to her mouth. She opens her lips and licks my fingers, tasting herself, her tongue slowly circling my skin. “You taste incredible,” I say, and my voice is hoarse with desire. She grins mischievously and kneels on the stone floor. The mosaic of the rooftop terrace is cold under her knees, but she doesn’t seem to notice — or it arouses her even more. She opens my belt, my pants, and frees my hard cock. It stands stiff and throbbing before her, the tip glistening wet. A last glance at the window: the man hasn’t moved, his hand is still in his pants, his mouth half open, his breath fogging the pane. Julia sees it too and grins. Then she takes me in her mouth. Her lips enclose me, wet and warm, her tongue circles the tip with quick, precise movements. She knows exactly how to torment me. She dives slowly, until I feel her throat, then comes up, plays around the tip with her tongue, sucks gently. I groan and grab her hair, push her deeper. She speeds up her rhythm, her hand wraps around the shaft and massages in time with her lips. The man at the window leans forward, watching us through the glass. His hand moves faster now, I can hear the soft smacking. Julia spits on my cock and licks it again, the wetness intensifies the feeling, every nerve on my tip is overstimulated. “I want to see you come,” she says softly, then takes me deep in her mouth again. I feel the wave rising, building in my loins, but I don’t want to yet. Not yet. “Stop,” I gasp, and she obeys immediately, a wicked glint in her eyes. “Turn around and lean against the railing. I want to see him watching us while I’m inside you.”
The Scene
She stands up and turns around, her hands gripping the cold stone railing. Her back is slightly arched, her legs slightly spread, an invitation I can’t resist. I step behind her, feel the warmth of her body, the heat radiating from her skin. I slide her panties down, they fall to the floor. She’s completely naked now, her body glistening in the faint light of the surrounding houses, every curve, every muscle is
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