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Despite the savage wank I just had downstairs, my cock immediately begins to get hard again. I can see her pale stomach, the gentle curves leading into the hem of her tight pants. But my heart stops when the sweater comes off, and I see the little black lace number she’s wearing.
My god. I never would have dreamed my innocent Faith would own such a thing. But it does the job and makes my blood run hot. She looks so fucking sexy in it. Her breasts are round and nearly spill over the edge of the cups—my obsession.
Faith stands in front of her mirror, admiring herself in the bra. My heart is pounding fast, coursing through my veins with the excitement of watching her. She pinches the waistband of her leggings with both hands and begins to fold them down.
I almost worry she can see me due to how agonizingly slow she peels off the pants. I can just barely see the upper hem of her red underwear when I unbutton my pants and pull them to the floor, standing in the middle of my guest room wearing nothing but a sweater with my throbbing erection hanging loose.
Faith is still oblivious to her open blinds, and though I will lose nothing when she decides to close them—thank you, cameras—I hope with all my being she stands there just a little longer.
She pulls her pants down to her knees, and I appreciate the gentle curve of her ass as she bends over. Her skin looks so smooth, untouched, unmarred.
Her hands are nearly on the ground as she steps out of her leggings, and she is positioned perfectly for me to get a view of her entire ass. I can just barely make out her pussy from here, the one thing I have not yet seen up close, but she straightens up before I can squint harder.
My hand is on my cock as Faith looks herself over in the mirror for another moment, bouncing slightly on her toes. She smiles and puts her hands below her breasts, laughing and bouncing again. I can see the ripple in the mirror.
This is the best Christmas present I’ve ever received.
Suddenly, Faith stops and gasps, turning around to face her window. I step back quietly, sneaking away instinctively as if she could hear me. Realization settles over her face as she turns and crosses her room in a few strides. She has to lean over her desk to close her curtains, and I am treated with a heart-stopping top-down view of her cleavage. My cock jumps in my hand, electrified by the perfect view. I watch her chest heave one last time before she pulls the curtains shut, and I am denied the pleasure of further peeping.
My heart is still rebounding in my chest. I am still feeling some residual shame at my depraved wank session in the foyer, and combined with the fear that she might have caught me, it’s enough to make me dizzy. Taking one more step back, I lean against the doorframe. The painted wood is cool, and I take a series of deep breaths. The effect that Faith has on me is unnatural. No woman has ever occupied my thoughts the way she does. Many have tried. But not have succeeded like sweet, innocent Faith has.
Worst yet, she has no idea, and hopefully, she never will.
Confident that my heart rate is back in a normal zone, I step forward and tug my boxers out of the puddle of my pants. My cock has gone soft now, and I tuck it behind the underwear. It won’t be long until I’m looking at her again, anyway.
I head to my bed and click the spacebar on my laptop a couple times. There’s a nightstand exactly level with my bed, and at night, I set the laptop on it. It helps me to sleep, to look up and see my obsession, almost as if she were sleeping across from me.
Like in an old TV show, the screen glows to life, and I enter a series of passwords that only I know. You can never be too secure. After I type the codes, the live feed of Faith’s room fills the screen. Bliss fills my veins when she enters the frame. She’s wearing a big, baggy T-shirt with those same red panties from earlier. I can see the black bra on the floor, and I feel a pang of regret that I didn’t get to the laptop sooner. I’ve seen Faith naked many times at this point, but to watch her take off that slutty lace number would have been divine.
My stomach twinges slightly with both guilt and hunger. Quickly, I take out my phone and place an order for egg drop soup and General Tso’s online. Some enterprising Millennial gig worker was probably trying to earn a few bucks on Christmas Eve, anyway. It only takes a few taps to complete the payment, then I’m back to watching Faith. The guilt is still there, but I reason that I must simply learn to live with it. I’m not giving up this obsession. If I can’t have her physically, then I’ll have her any way I can.
She’s sitting at the edge of her bed, thumbing through some battered paperback. I can’t make out the title from here, but I can see her quietly mouthing the words to herself as she reads. More than ever, I wish that I could reach out and hold her, comb my fingers through her hair as she reads to herself.
Maybe she would read to me, run her fingers over my skin, wrap her arms around me.
Only in the dark, voyeuristic space of this bedroom can I admit it to myself, I want Faith to take care ofmejust as much as I want to take care of her.
5
FAITH
I don’t knowhow or why, but last night, I had that weird feeling again. Like somebody was watching me. It was just like when I was in the kitchen; there I was, lost in my thoughts when suddenly, I could feel someone’s eyes on my back. It was like my whole spine was on pins and needles. What made it worse was that I had left my curtains open.
When I went to shut them, I noticed that all the windows in Vincent’s house were dark. He wasn’t there. My window faces partway into his backyard and the backyard of the house behind us. Maybe the guy behind us had been watching me? Or maybe…
No, no way. I am just being paranoid. Even though Vincent had seemed so kind at the beginning of his visit, when he ran away, it hurt. He didn’t want to be around me. So why would he be peeping on me? Please.
I told myself as I took off the black lace bra and slipped on an old camp T-shirt.The simplest explanation is most likely the right one. I’m just on-edge and paranoid. No one’s watching me.
Before falling asleep, I read more of the novel I’d been working on earlier today.
I’s a fantasy romance about an Elf King who whisks a peasant fairy girl away to his castle and treats her to splendors she never could have imagined. All she has to do is agree to be, in essence, his sex slave. It’s a filthy read, but books like that are my guilty pleasure. I can experience all sorts of things—things that I would never have the courage to ask for in real life—from the comfort of my bed.
After I read about the way the Elf King dressed the peasant girl in nothing but solid gold chains and paraded her around the town square, I tuck my bookmark back between the pages and put myself to bed. Part of me wants to touch myself before falling asleep, but I nod off before making a decision. After all, it has been a long, exhausting day.
I dream of Vincent all night. Most of the dreams are fuzzy and incomprehensible: shots of his face, his smile, his intense stare. Memories of the way I lit up when we brushed against each other. Fantasies of his strong arms lifting me, pinning me against a wall, dressing me in nothing but gold chains while looking at me as if I were a meal…
When I wake up, I can feel the throbbing between my legs before I even open my eyes. Fantasies of Vincent still dance behind my closed lids, and I want to hold on to them as long as possible. Without rolling over or opening my eyes, I use one hand to slide my white cotton panties all the way off. I’m lying on my side, so I kick both feet over the side of the bed to drop my panties onto the floor. Then I swing my legs wide open, feeling the cool morning air on my already-wet slit.
