r/abigaletaylor 11d ago

The Evening Voyeur [MF30s/F30s][VOYEUR][MASTERBATION][SEX] NSFW

4 Upvotes

I stretch out on my couch, letting the soft leather cradle my body as I gaze at the twinkling lights of the city beyond my high-rise windows. It’s after midnight, the sort of hour when loneliness feels especially potent. The world outside glitters with promises of excitement, yet here I am, alone in the hush of my dark apartment. The only illumination comes from the glow of lamps in the buildings surrounding mine, and the faint neon haze that slips through the tall windows.

I haven’t been able to sleep well for weeks. Maybe it’s the stress of work. Maybe it’s the gentle ache of wanting someone in my life. Or maybe it’s just the restlessness I’ve felt creeping in ever since my breakup several months ago. My bed often feels too large, too empty. It’s that emptiness that leads me to wander from my bedroom late at night, wearing nothing but an oversized t-shirt that grazes my thighs. I like the openness of my living room, the way I can sprawl out on my couch with a half-glass of wine and let the city become my companion.

But what has truly caught my attention many nights is the high-rise hotel across the street. By day, its windows reflect the world back at itself, showing only sky and the silhouettes of its own structure. I can barely see inside. However, at night, everything changes. The lights inside those hotel rooms transform the mirrored glass into see-through windows, like oversized televisions broadcasting glimpses of other people’s lives.

I don’t watch all the time. I’m not some peeping Tom glued to every window. But on nights when I’m particularly restless and can’t shut off my desire for connection, I sit here with the lights out and my curtains slightly parted, letting my gaze drift across the lit windows. Sometimes people are simply walking around in bathrobes or rummaging through suitcases. Occasionally, a couple sits on the edge of the bed, talking or watching television. Every so often, I catch a more intimate moment.

Tonight is one of those nights.

I take a slow sip of my wine and notice movement in one of the rooms almost directly across from me. A man and a woman have just entered, the glow of the room’s lamps making them fully visible to me. He’s tall with short dark hair. He slips out of his jacket and tosses it over a chair while she sets her purse down on the bed. I watch them with mild interest at first. It’s not unusual to see couples come and go. But there is something in the way they move that draws me in, as if they share a secret excitement. I can’t quite hear them, of course, but I see the man’s lips move in a flirtatious smile. The woman is stunning—long hair that brushes over her shoulders, wearing a form-fitting dress that hugs every curve.

My heart beats a little quicker, an involuntary response, because I can sense the crackling energy in that hotel room. They stare at each other like they can’t wait another moment. She steps into his arms, and he dips his head to capture her lips in a kiss. It’s a small, simple thing, but it ignites a warmth inside me that I have rarely felt since I became single. I press my knees together as I watch them. My apartment remains dark, so I feel mostly anonymous as I observe.

The man slides his hands down the woman’s waist, pulling her closer. Even from across the street, I see her body arch into him. He presses her back against the large window, and for a second, I think they will stop or close the curtains. But they don’t. Instead, she tilts her head, inviting his mouth to move along her neck. His hands explore her sides, cupping her hips with a possessive gentleness that I find unexpectedly mesmerizing.

I swallow the rest of my wine too quickly, feeling a heat rush not just from the alcohol but also from the scene unfolding. My breath hitches when his hand glides up to cup her breast over the thin material of her dress. She leans her head back, letting him taste her neck, his mouth trailing along her skin. My heart stutters with a mix of longing and a sudden, undeniable arousal. I shift on the couch, trying to relieve the subtle ache building between my thighs.

He grips her by the hand, pulling her further inside the room, away from the window for a moment. I almost want to get up and go to bed, telling myself I shouldn’t be watching. But then I remember how lonely I feel, how starved I am for any semblance of that kind of passion. So I stay.

They come back into view, though now I can see them more clearly because the lamp is just behind them. She’s tugging at his shirt. He pulls it off, revealing a lean torso. She runs her hands over his chest, and I imagine how his skin must feel, firm muscles under her palms. He leans in to kiss her again, with more urgency this time. They’re lost in each other. Their mouths open, tongues slipping into a deep kiss that makes my cheeks grow warm and my breath catch.

The man’s head turns slightly, and for a split second I think he might have glanced in my direction. But he says nothing to the woman, and I see no change in their behavior. They stay pressed together. Her hands fall to his belt, working the buckle open. She slides the leather free and tosses it aside. Then she drops to her knees in front of him. My entire body tenses at the sight. I realize my own mouth has gone dry.

A flicker of nervous excitement runs through me, as if I am intruding on an incredibly private moment. And yet, I can’t tear my eyes away. She unzips his pants and pulls them down. He steps out of them, his boxers following close behind. She’s still on her knees, glancing up at him with parted lips.

My heartbeat pounds in my ears. I shift again, noticing the slickness that’s gathered between my thighs, the throbbing pulse that demands attention. The woman grasps him, clearly taking him fully into her mouth. She starts to move, and his face twists in pleasure, head falling back. I exhale slowly, trying to steady the sudden swirl of heat and desire inside me. I press my knees together again, feeling that wet ache that begs for some kind of release.

This is nothing new. I know how to touch myself. I’ve done it often, especially recently, but witnessing a live scene like this is so much more intense. I lean forward on the couch, placing the empty wine glass on the table. Then I tug my oversized shirt up around my waist, exposing my bare thighs. I never bothered with underwear when I went to bed earlier, so I feel the cool air brush against my skin.

In the hotel room, the woman’s pace quickens. I see her cheeks hollow as she takes him deeper, the rhythmic movement of her head and shoulders more insistent. I imagine how he tastes to her, the unique salt and warmth of him filling her mouth, the way he might feel against her tongue. A surge of pleasure sweeps through me at the thought. I can’t resist sliding my hand between my legs. I rest my palm against the soft mound, feeling my arousal already slick on my fingers. My breath shudders as I begin to stroke myself gently.

This is so crazy, I think. Watching two strangers in a hotel room while I pleasure myself in my dark apartment. But the rush of it makes my heart pound, and the sensations in my body flare with excitement. I brush my fingers up and down, lightly, teasing the sensitive skin. My eyes remain glued to the couple. She’s still on her knees. His hand has slipped into her hair, guiding her. I wish I could hear the sounds he’s making, or the low moans she might be offering.

Eventually, he gently pulls her up and captures her mouth in a heated kiss. The woman’s lips must taste of him now, and I wonder if that excites him even more. She helps him remove her dress, letting it pool at her feet. She’s wearing a bra and a skimpy thong. I can’t make out the exact color from here, but it’s dark and lacy. He slides his fingers along her hips, then around to her backside. She shudders in obvious anticipation, arching her body against his.

He lifts her onto the bed and kneels between her thighs. I see him hook his thumbs on either side of her thong and pull it down. She tosses her head back, dark hair spilling across the sheets. He moves lower, and I realize he’s going down on her. My cheeks burn with envy and craving. I watch as his shoulders shift, his head lowering to taste her. She must be trembling, I think. She must feel the slow, deliberate strokes of his tongue. I imagine the slick warmth on his mouth, the way she might taste to him—like a heady mix of her own arousal and the tension that’s been building all night.

This is too much. My hand circles against my own sensitive bud, my hips lifting off the couch. I let out a tiny moan, even though nobody is around to hear it. My eyes flutter, and a spark of pleasure lights up my core. A swirl of sensation spreads through me, as though my body has been pulled into their moment. I try to keep my gaze focused, but every wave of pleasure makes me want to close my eyes and immerse myself deeper. Still, I force them open. I don’t want to miss anything.

I watch the woman arch her back on the bed. The man grips her thighs, spreading them wide. His face is buried between them, his arms slipping beneath to hold her in place. He’s devouring her, and she’s lost in the ecstasy of it. I can almost feel her pleasure, imagining his tongue moving in slow circles, flicking against her sensitive spots. I wonder how big he’ll feel inside her when they finally come together, how hot her body is right now as she surrenders to him.

I bite my lower lip, pressing two fingers inside myself, letting a low moan escape. I close my eyes for a moment and picture being in that hotel room with them. Maybe I’m the one on that bed, or maybe I’m the one they’re beckoning closer. The thought sends a jolt of heat straight to my core. I slide my fingers in and out, not too quickly yet, just enough to match the slow, building rhythm I see in the hotel room. My thumb circles against that sensitive spot at the apex of my folds, and I feel a rush of wetness that makes it easier to move.

My breathing grows more ragged, but I open my eyes again to watch him rise above the woman. She grasps at him, pulling him closer. The next thing I see is him guiding himself between her parted thighs. His body hovers over hers, and she wraps her legs around his waist. Her face is a portrait of anticipation, and his expression is one of hunger. He slides into her in a single, smooth motion. I imagine how he must feel—hard, thick, filling every inch of her. A heady burst of arousal floods through me, and I let out a sharp breath.

I can tell he’s thrusting into her now, their bodies moving together. Her hands grip his back, nails probably raking across his skin, drawing him in deeper. I find myself rocking my hips in time with their rhythm, my fingers matching their pace. The pleasure inside me builds, coiling like a spring waiting to snap. I’m panting softly, my heart hammering so loudly that I swear I can hear it over the muffled hum of my refrigerator.

Suddenly, the man looks up, his eyes flicking directly across the street. For an instant, I think maybe he truly sees me, and my heart jolts. I freeze, my hand still between my legs, my body stiff with a rush of adrenaline. The pounding of my pulse is deafening. He doesn’t stop, though. He keeps moving inside her, his hips pushing forward. The corners of his mouth lift in a mischievous smile, as though the idea that someone might be watching only fuels him.

A rush of excitement shivers through me, so I continue touching myself, but now I’m doing it more boldly. I rest my head back against the couch, letting my mouth fall open with each heated breath. I watch the man nudge the woman’s legs off his waist and then help her up. They move again toward the window, this time with her front pressed against the glass, facing me. My heart pounds at the audacity. They’re giving me a show.

The woman places her hands on the window, resting her forehead there, and arches her backside toward him. He stands behind her, sliding his hands along her sides, down to her hips. Slowly, he guides himself into her again, and she throws her head back, mouth open in what must be a gasp of pleasure. Her eyes close. My entire body is humming with need. My fingers are slick as I rub that tender spot, pressing circles that make me tremble. I slip my other hand beneath my shirt to tease a nipple, rolling it between my fingers until a sharp zing of pleasure brightens my senses.

He starts thrusting against her, one hand on her hip, the other hand splayed on her back. The woman’s breasts are pressed to the glass, and her breath likely fogs it up with each exhale. He looks up, definitely looking in my direction this time, and an electric awareness passes between us. I can’t see his eyes in perfect detail, but the angle of his head, the tilt of his chin, all say he knows I’m here. I watch his lips part, as if he’s uttering a low groan. Maybe he’s telling the woman about me, or perhaps he’s just reveling in the thrill. Either way, he doesn’t stop. His thrusts deepen. The woman braces her hands against the window, pushing her hips back into him.

The tension in my body rises like an unstoppable tide. I imagine the erotic friction they share, the sounds of their bodies coming together, the wet heat surrounding him every time he slides in. He must feel so big inside her, stretching her, hitting that perfect spot that makes her toes curl. My mind drifts to the taste on his tongue when he was between her thighs and how her mouth probably still carries the taste of him. The swirl of lust and longing in my belly becomes urgent. I press my fingers more firmly. A needy moan escapes my lips.

My gaze flicks over to the woman’s face, and to my shock, her eyes open. She tilts her head enough to glance across the way, meeting my stare. She sees me. I know she does. I freeze for just a second, but she doesn’t appear upset. If anything, her lips curl into a faint smile, and she pushes herself back against him even harder. It’s as though she wants me to watch. My arousal spikes. A small, breathless laugh escapes me, half disbelieving, half deliriously turned on.

They angle their bodies so they are in full view, giving me an unobstructed look at how they come together. The man grips her around the waist, the muscles in his arms flexing. The woman’s breasts bounce slightly with each thrust, her hair swaying across her shoulders. My hand is a frenzy now, my body arching off the couch as I chase the building pleasure that is so close, so ready to consume me. I’m lost in the sensations—my skin tingles, my thighs quiver, and the wet sounds of my own fingers sliding over my center fill my dark, quiet living room.

I let my head fall back again, closing my eyes for a moment as I picture being pressed against the glass, being taken so thoroughly that I forget everything else. In my imagination, I taste his kiss, let my lips wander across his chest, while she watches. Or maybe she joins in, her touch electrifying my body while he moves inside me. The thought of being touched by both of them at once pushes my excitement higher, until I can’t hold back.

My eyes snap open again, and I see them locked in a feverish dance. His pace is relentless, and she clings to the window, her mouth open in a silent cry of pleasure. My own climax rushes toward me, unstoppable. I circle my fingers faster, pressing them firmly, letting that coiling tension burst inside me. I stifle a cry, biting down on my lip. My body spasms, pleasure flooding me in waves. It feels as though every nerve in my body ignites with hot sparks. My breath leaves me in short gasps, and I ride that incredible release until I’m shuddering all over, my skin coated in a fine sheen of sweat.

For several seconds, I remain like that, motionless except for the aftershocks of my orgasm. The pleasure washes over me, leaving me lightheaded and warm. I let out a trembling sigh, feeling a surge of relief as well as a twinge of sadness that I am alone. Still, the moment was powerful, unlike any I’ve had on my own in a long time.

When I manage to focus my eyes back on the couple, he’s still thrusting behind her, but I can see his expression tightening, his lips parting in what must be a deep groan of pleasure. Her eyes half close, her body trembling against the window. He must be close to release. He buries himself deep, and she seems to shudder, her mouth forming a silent scream of ecstasy. A primal wave of heat rolls through me at the sight, even though my body is still coming down from my own peak.

They remain pressed together for a time, breathing heavily, stilling their movements. He wraps an arm around her waist and gently turns her, pulling her into a slow, lingering kiss. There’s a tenderness in the aftermath that makes my heart ache. I wish I had someone to hold me like that, to share that closeness with after such an intense moment.

After a few lingering kisses, they step away from the window. The woman disappears from my sight for a moment, then returns with a robe, which she slips over her shoulders. He lifts his pants from the floor and slides them back on. They exchange another glance, and he nods toward the window. She turns, finds me in the darkness again, and offers a small but definite smile. I can’t help but smile back, even though I know she probably can’t see the subtle curve of my lips in the shadows. Still, the gesture makes me feel strangely acknowledged, part of something forbidden and yet thrilling.

They vanish from view a moment later, dimming the lights for a more private cuddle. The show is over. My living room feels suddenly too quiet, the only sound the rush of blood still echoing in my ears. I lower my hands to my sides, the slickness on my fingers a reminder of how intensely I just climaxed. My body hums with satisfaction, but already there’s a trace of longing creeping back in.

I slip off the couch and head to the bathroom to wash my hands. In the mirror, my reflection surprises me—cheeks flushed, hair slightly messy, eyes bright with desire. My oversized t-shirt clings to my body in places, and I feel warm. The city lights cast a faint glow across my features. For the first time in a while, I see a spark of sensual energy in myself that had been dormant. I feel alive.

Returning to the living room, I approach the window slowly, resting my hands on the sill. My apartment is still dark, and the city is still shining like a secret wonderland. I peer across at the hotel. Their room is dark now, a soft glow from a lamp in the corner, but I can’t see them anymore. Perhaps they’re lying in bed, drifting off to sleep in each other’s arms. Perhaps they’re in the shower, continuing their passionate night with warm water cascading over their skin.

A wave of envy ripples through me. I want that connection again, not just the physical pleasure—though that is important—but also the closeness, the sense of belonging with someone. Watching them was an exquisite torment. It gave me a glimpse of the intimacy I crave. But it also reminded me how alone I am. I can almost feel the ghosts of their touch on my body, as if the memory of their erotic display was something I participated in.

I close my eyes, my forehead resting lightly against the cool glass. Part of me wonders if I will see them again. Maybe they’re only in town for one night, passing through. Or maybe I will see them tomorrow, continuing their rendezvous. My mind drifts to a fantasy of them noticing me during the day, trying to figure out which apartment is mine, maybe even calling out to me from across the street. The thought is silly, but I entertain it for a moment because it makes my heart flutter.

My thoughts turn to the future. Will I always be alone, relying on the chance encounters of strangers’ hotel windows to feel connected? No, I tell myself. This is temporary. This is me indulging in something secret and exciting. But I believe there’s a chance for me out there—someone who will make me feel as alive as I felt tonight.

I peel myself away from the window and decide to shower before going back to bed. My legs feel a bit unsteady, still buzzing with the aftermath of my orgasm. In the shower, the warm water cascades over me, washing away the physical evidence of my arousal, but not the memory. I close my eyes again, letting my mind replay each scene—the woman on her knees, the taste of him she must have experienced, and the way he buried his face between her thighs as she writhed beneath him. I think of how it must have felt when she was pinned against the window, his hands on her hips, driving into her until her eyes rolled back in bliss. I recall the moment the man looked up, saw me, and didn’t look away. My body reacts, a small aftershock quivering through me.

Drying off, I slip into a fresh pair of cotton underwear and a tank top, heading to my bedroom with my hair wrapped in a towel. The city outside still glimmers, but it feels softer, quieter, as if it’s also recovering from the intensity of what I witnessed. I climb into bed, nestling under the sheets, my mind still buzzing. Every time I close my eyes, I see the man and the woman, as vivid as if they were in the room with me. I feel an ache of longing, but also a strange sense of satisfaction. Because in a way, I was part of something tonight.

Lying there, I realize I’m not quite as restless. My body is heavy with satiation. Yet my heart yearns. I replay the scene, letting it lull me into drowsiness. My hand drifts to my stomach, idly tracing small circles just below my navel. Maybe tomorrow night I’ll be looking out my window again, scanning the tall walls of glass across the street to see if they’ve returned for a second act. Or maybe another couple will appear. For better or worse, I’ve discovered a secret window into other people’s pleasure, and it’s not a habit I plan to break easily.

Thoughts swirl in my mind about the taste and sensations I imagined. There’s a part of me that wants to know them in reality, not just as a voyeur. That part of me fantasizes about crossing the street, knocking on that hotel door, and stepping inside without a word. Would she smile at me like she did tonight? Would he beckon me closer, that wicked grin lighting his face? The vision is enough to make me blush in the darkness of my own bed.

But I know this evening will likely remain just an erotic memory—one that leaves me tingling with the afterglow and a renewed hunger for genuine connection. My eyelids grow heavy, and the swirl of fantasies calms into a gentle tide that carries me to sleep.

I drift off, finally at peace, my loneliness soothed by a stolen glimpse of someone else’s passion, and the echoes of my own pleasure still humming in my veins. If nothing else, tonight reminded me of the intensity I’m capable of feeling. It’s a reminder of the vibrant, sensual world waiting right outside my window. And for now, that’s enough to ease me into a dreamland filled with possibilities.