Peep Show

by Isabella Starling

I lay back and I stared at my ceiling, letting myself think about what my life had become, but only for a short minute. The key was never to focus on it for too long. I had to forget, and drinking, dancing and partying, was the only way I could do it. If I stopped twirling, stopped tipping back glass after glass, I risked stopping long enough to think about what I was doing. And that was the last thing I wanted to do.

I needed to forget about Posy. She was long gone, and there was no bringing her back.

I pushed myself off the bed shakily, and walked over to my window to let some fresh air in. There was nothing quite like a nice fall breeze to clear my he...

Being a trust-fund baby definitely had its benefits.

My mouth gaped in surprise, and I moved a little to the side, hiding in the darkness and watching the show they were putting on with a smirk on my face.

I wanted more. I wanted to keep watching.

He fucked like a beast, and he looked like a monster. I fell in love with him right then and there.

I wanted to watch. I wanted to see his face when he filled her up. I wanted to see if he’d pull her hair back like I imagined he would.

Suddenly, I felt awake and sober, staring into the cold night outside and wishing I could swap places with the wild-haired beauty. I wanted him inside me.

A burst of inexplicable jealousy bubbled in the pit of my stomach, but I did my best to ignore it. Instead, I kept snapping pictures of them. Of him.

I was so wet. In fact, I was fucking leaking all over my panties, the image across the street making my pussy drool so much I flushed in embarrassment.

I liked having someone to go home with. It made me feel wanted.

I really didn’t do nice guys, because I wasn’t a very nice girl.

She was crying. He was fucking her so hard, so savagely, with so little mercy, that the poor girl was crying her eyes out, all the while coming all over his dick.

He grinned at me, and stroked his cock lazily with one hand as he wrote on the steamed-up window with the other.

He liked what he saw. And how couldn’t he? I was always sure to be groomed to 5 feet and 10 inches of polished, manicured and slutty perfection.

My pussy tingled at his crudeness. My heart thumped in anticipation. And my mind reeled with the possibilities. I DARE YOU TO GO NEXT.

“I need you to cry,” I told her plainly. “Cry some more for me, you pretty little thing. I want to taste your beautiful tears.”

Desperation and fear mixed with lust in a delicious cocktail I just couldn’t resist.

I loved torturing them this way. Loved seeing them so desperate for me they would do anything in the world for my approval.

The girl in front of me was fucking ripe for it. She would do anything, and gladly fucking so.

I admired the sway of her full hips, the way her tiny body was still so feminine despite its petiteness. She was a fucking stunner, and now, with my cum dripping down her thighs, she was finally ready.

Today’s girl was demure naïveté mixed with an almost palpable need to please. She wasn’t a girl who enjoyed pain. She was a woman who loved to please, and in her desire to do so, she’d gotten me off so fucking good my balls felt drained.

But the beautiful girl in front of me wasn’t the reason my dick was still twitching. No, my mind was firmly on the girl next door, the silhouette in the window across the street.

“Just look at me. Remember what I did to you. Let me see you open up like your pussy just did. Let me see you pull back the curtain, just like you did your knees, sweetheart.”

I didn’t need to look at it to know it was fucking perfection. The first ones often were.

I remembered her whispered words, telling me how much she’d admired my work for years beforehand. How she’d dreamed of being my muse before she was even fucking legal.

She was one of many, a number in a long queue of women at my door, a muse for an hour, a fuck for a night.

It didn’t mean I didn’t give a shit. I did, for as long as she was in my arms. For a few hours that night, the girl had been my world, my everything. I saw the possibilities of a relationship, of a future, of waking up with her in my bed, her eager lips on mine. And I put it all into a photograph, and then added her to my portfolio like so many girls before.

I wasn’t capable of more. Never had been. ...

She wasn’t a pairing, she was a silhouette, nothing but a shadow, a stark dark cutout on white paper. It felt oddly calming. Strangely clean. It calmed me down, and it got me so worked up I placed my palm against the shower wall and exhaled roughly, my palm working, pulling, tugging, getting ready to blow another load all over the glass and marble.

Fuck her, I wanted to fuck her. Right here, in the sterile shower where a woman had never been, push her against the stone and take her pussy with my fingers first, my cock second, and my mouth third. I wanted to know what she tasted like with me inside her. I wanted to know how sweet that cunt was after I’d forced orgasm after orgasm out of it.

My doctors always told me not to focus on these little obsessions. That I should let them go. That they weren’t healthy. But god-fucking-damnit, they made me feel alive.

She used her dainty little fingers to fuck that pussy. I was going to use a whole damn fist.

Don’t obsess. Don’t get attached. Don’t think you need her. Don’t make it into a problem.

Mystery girl was now firmly rooted in my mind, my heart, and my fucking dick. And none of them would rest until I’d had a taste.

They didn’t get me wet like the ones who choked me and spat in my face while they fucked me. And if they called me a slut on top of it all, I was fucking guaranteed to squirt all over their dicks.

I looked at him and saw something in his eyes that scared me. Desperation. The same ugly, bad, broken desperation that looked back at me every time I passed a mirror.

With shaky fingers, I took my phone from my purse lying on the floor and sent him a message. Dare you to call me.

“Why are you acting shy, sugar? We both know you’re fingering that tight little cunt at the sound of my voice.”

“Now stop fucking lying and taste your fingers for me, sweetie. I want to know what my cunt tastes like.”

“Don’t act coy,” I reprimanded her. “Fingers. In. Your. Fucking. Mouth. NOW.”

I heard her sucking and it made precum run down my cock in a stream. Jesus fucking Christ, she was getting me off like a pro. I could only imagine what that pussy would feel like stretched around my dick. For now, my imagination would have to do, but sooner or later, I was going to have her bent every which way around my cock.

“Okay, sugar,” I said. “Let’s see what you got. Let’s see if you can make me come with your words.”

Her voice changed in a second. From poor little horny girl to a seductive vixen that had me jerking in seconds.

She moaned. God, how she fucking moaned.

“Good little girl. Sweet little girl. My favorite girl.”

I wanted her. On her knees, sucking me off, being a good little bitch for me. But I couldn’t, not now, not ever. Not this one.

It was what Posy and I used to call ourselves. The slut club, and Arden, the innocent one, was forever our wing woman. But not anymore.

“So now you can finally fuck someone else,” I said. “He was your practice cock. Now you can have another one!”