Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience.
 
 Warning: contains material of an explicit sexual nature.

   (C) 2006 Sleaze n Tease, not to be reproduced without permission.
Author: Sleaze n Tease
Title: Telescope and Coffee
Summary: Stephen is caught spying on someone.
Keywords: Msolo,Fsolo,voy,toys

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   Author's note:

   For a better viewing experience, please view my stories in their
original forms at:
/~Sleaze_n_Tease/

   E-mail me: teezer@hushmail.com

   Thanks for visiting!

   -Sleaze n Tease

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   Telescope and Coffee by Sleaze n Tease

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   "I don't suppose you'd take this off me?"

   Stephen's aunt Gill held up what looked like a shiny black bazooka. 
Upon a second glance, Stephen realised that it was a telescope.

   "You don't want it?" he said.

   "Nope.  Take it, it's yours.  It belonged to Ben, but he won't mind."

   Stephen and his aunt were in the attic, putting everything into boxes.
His aunt was moving house and he had volunteered to help.  Gill was a
laugh.

   "Thanks a lot.  It looks like a good one."

   "All the better for peeping on people," she said, quite seriously.

   Stephen laughed.  "I'm not going to-"

   "Oh, please - you'll look at the moon for two minutes and then you'll be
pointing it at every window you see!"

   Oh shit, he thought, suddenly thinking about the view from his kitchen
window; it was ripe for window-watching!  "That wouldn't be right," Stephen
said, smiling.

   "Everyone's a voyeur," Gill said, rummaging through a dusty cardboard
box.  "It's human nature.  It'd be wrong if you didn't."

   Stephen shook his head in amusement.  He looked down at the telescope,
hefting it, pleased at its considerable weight.  Must be well-made, he
thought.

   Gill coughed dramatically.  Stephen looked up.  His aunt was looking at
him, eyebrows raised.  He realised he was holding the telescope at a rather
suggestive angle.

   "Take it out and play with it another time, stud-muffin," she said. 
"Some of us are trying to move house!"

   *

   Stephen mounted the telescope on his camera tripod.  To his credit, he
looked at the moon for a whole fifteen seconds before pointing the barrel
down to the array of windows across the courtyard.

   He thought to himself, Stephen, you're 27, and this is how you're
spending Friday night?

   So what?  he thought in response.  He didn't feel like going out,
anyway. Not that he'd had any offers.  Stephen's social life was
non-existent recently.  His two best friends had married their girlfriends
within the past couple of years and he hardly saw them any more.  His other
friends all had partners and his work colleagues bored him to death. 
Lonely weekends were the norm nowadays.

   He looked for a window that was lit.  So I'm going to do a little
spying, he thought.  Is that a crime?

   Uh, yeah, Steve.

   Really?  He wasn't sure.  It's not like he was going to take photos.

   He found a lit window, albeit one with curtains drawn behind it. 
Screwing his eyes up, he fiddled with the focus for ages until he found the
correct setting.  When he did, the clarity of the image stunned him: he
could actually see finger-marks on the windows.

   Lifting his head from the viewfinder, he looked out his window.  The
view from his kitchen window was hardly scenic, but it was a voyeur's
jackpot, and for a single man on a Friday night with nothing but a
telescope for company, it was better than nothing.  There was a veritable
constellation of windows to choose from.  Stephen grabbed a chair and
brought over a mug of freshly made coffee from the kitchen counter.

   As he sipped his coffee, he peered through the telescope, panning across
the windows.  He was seeing bedrooms and kitchens, mostly.  He spotted a
Chinese woman on a ground-floor flat sitting at a dressing table, towelling
her wet hair.  She was wearing a bath towel and nothing else...so Stephen
figured.  So clear and enlarged was the image, he could actually see beads
of water on her shoulders.  Unfortunately, she stood up and pulled the
curtains shut.  Stephen ducked when she walked to the window; an
understandable reflex, considering how easily he could see her, and the
fact that he was positioned right at his kitchen window.  But there was no
way she could see him - he was in complete darkness.

   It was getting late, and, disappointingly, most of the windows were
dark. They're all out, cause unlike you, Steve, they have social lives.

   Stephen ignored the voice and tilted the telescope up to the top floor
of a building he hadn't tried yet.  A flash of pink moved across his view
and he tilted back down to locate it.  A girl's bedroom, it looked like. 
In the far corner, a computer monitor glowed.  Somebody moved across his
field of view; he panned across to catch whoever it was.  It was a cute
little brunette, dancing to music he couldn't hear.  She was wearing a
white baby-doll T-shirt andWhoa!  'Little' is the operative word there,
wouldn't you say, Steve?

   Shut the fuck up, he said to the voice in his head, panning away from
the girl's bedroom.  He really wasn't interested in the girl, but his mind
was cruel.

   A fluorescent light flickered and caught his attention.  After a few
seconds, he located it - it came from a kitchen.  A young woman (about his
own age, he reckoned) was standing over a kitchen sink.  She was wearing a
white blouse tucked into a tight black skirt, and as she walked to the
fridge, he could see that she was also wearing black tights or stockings
and black shoes with thick heels.  Probably just home from work, he
thought. She poured a small glass of purple grape juice, it looked like,
and downed it in one.  Then she placed the glass in the sink, and leaned
against the counter, clearly exhausted.  She ran her fingers through her
straight brown hair and walked out of the kitchen, kicking off her shoes
into the hall in the process.

   Damn!  Stephen thought, just as it was getting interesting.

   But his luck was in: the bedroom light came on.

   She padded into the bedroom in her stockinged feet and collapsed on top
of the bed.  Stephen felt his heart race: he couldn't get any closer to
this woman unless he was on top of her.  It was like he was in the room
with her.  He felt a stirring down below.

   The woman yawned dramatically - one of those full-body yawns, extending
her arms above her head and curling her toes first one way, then the other.
Stephen was already in love.

   She sat up and began unbuttoning her blouse.

   Stephen's phone rang.

   "For fuck's sake!" he shouted, and in his rush to get up to answer it,
he bumped one of the tripod legs, throwing the telescope out of whack.

   "Shitting...fuck!"

   He picked it up.  "Yes," he said, rather loudly.

   "Hello, is Brian there?"

   Stephen shut his eyes in disbelief.

   "Wrong number, fuck-nuts!" He slammed the receiver down too hard and it
fell off.  He replaced it.  He suddenly hoped that he hadn't called some
mad gangster a fuck-nuts.

   On his way back to the telescope, he paused: where had he put his mug of
coffee?  Another coffee spill he could do without.  He switched on the
light and located the mug on the floor next to the chair.  He put the mug
out of harm's way below the tripod and quickly lowered his head to the
viewfinder, praying that he hadn't missed the show.

   All he could see was black.  Don't touch the focus, he reminded himself,
as he searched for the woman again.

   A-ha!  He found the bedroom at last.  She was no longer on the bed,
though.

   Shit.

   He panned to the right and his breath caught in his chest.

   She was standing at the window, staring at him.

   His head jerked away from the viewfinder in shock.  He looked out the
window, open-mouthed.  There she was, a vague figure on a top-floor window.
But how could she-?

   The light!  The fucking light is on!

   "Shit!"

   I must be lit up like a bloody Christmas tree, he thought.  She'll be
able to make out the telescope, too.  Or at least the tripod.  Maybe she
thinks I'm taking photos.  Christ Almighty.

   He stood up, thinking that he was going to switch off the light.

   But if I do that, it'll be so obvious that I'm trying to hide from her!

   The damage is done, Steve.  If you act quickly, maybe she won't have
time to figure out which flat you're in, and phone the cops.

   The cops?  His stomach lurched.

   He stood there, unable to decide what to do.  The figure disappeared
from the window.

   She's picking up the phone right now, you sick pervert.  It's too late!

   But she reappeared.  Walked to the window again.  What was she doing?

   Slowly, Stephen sat back down and peered through the viewfinder again.

   She had binoculars!  Oh Jesus, now she knows what I look like!

   She lifted her head from the binoculars and appeared to look directly at
him.  He watched her put them down on the bed and look over at him again.
Then she rushed out of the bedroom.

   Stephen's heart was racing again, this time for all the wrong reasons.

   She reappeared and sat down at her dressing table.  Stephen had to
fiddle with the focus again.  She seemed to be writing something.  Suddenly
she stood up and walked out of view.  Damn.  He moved to catch her.  There
she was at the window again.  Holding up something...a sign!  It was
blurry, though.

   He tweaked the focus.  Black letters morphed into view, reminding him of
an eye exam.

   'NAUGHTY BOY!' the sign read.

   He gasped.  And then laughed.  He felt like he had been pardoned for a
terrible crime.

   He leaped out of the chair and dashed into his bedroom, swiping a piece
of paper out of the printer and a black marker pen from his desk.  Would
she able to read a sign with her binoculars?  He had to try.  'I'M SO
SORRY!!!' he wrote, as large as he could.  He darted back into the kitchen,
almost killing himself on the tiles.

   He pressed his sign against the window pane and saw her figure move,
knowing she was getting the binoculars.  He prayed that she could read it.
He saw her move away from the window.  He put the sign down and looked
through the telescope.  She was writing a new note.  She held it up for
him.

   At first glance he thought she had it upside down.  Then he realised
that it was a string of numbers.

   It's her phone number!  She wants me to call her!

   It's a trick, you idiot.  As soon as you blab your name to her, she'll
cut you off and phone the Perv Squad.

   I'll tell her I wasn't spying on her, he thought.  I'll admit that I did
look at her (maybe she'll take it as a compliment), but I honest-to-God
wasn't spying.

   Oh yeah, cause looking isn't spying.  Fucking hell, you're an idiot.

   But he memorised the number and went to the phone.

   His hands were shaking.

   He punched in the number on his second attempt and heard the ringing on
the other end.  He could just see her window from where he was.  She wasn't
in view.

   She picked up.

   Silence.

   "Hello?" he said.  His voice sounded a bit high.

   Shit, she must be pissed off.  Maybe she really is going to call the
cops.  Say something!

   "Look, I really am sorry.  I know how it looks, my...my aunt gave me
this telescope today and I just...I was testing it out and I wasn't spying
on you, honestly."

   Great, he thought, I sound about twelve.

   More silence.  Then:

   "I'll give you something to spy on," and the line went dead.

   Huh?

   He put the phone down and looked out the window.  She reappeared in the
bedroom.  He rushed over and took up position at the telescope.

   It was still shocking to see her looking right at him, which is what she
was doing.

   While she was unbuttoning her top.  Right at the window.

   Stephen swallowed.  He shifted the focus back and forth just to make
sure he couldn't get the already-perfect image any clearer, as if he was
about to take a photograph of a unicorn.

   She was undoing the buttons so slowly and theatrically, and it was just
for him.  He couldn't believe his luck.

   She stepped back from the window as she undid the last button.  Then she
took the blouse off, keeping her eyes on him.  She threw it on the floor.

   Her breasts were bigger than he had imagined; she had a hell of a
cleavage, but maybe the bra was doing all the work.  He'd seen that before.
She reached behind her back to undo the bra, and he felt his cock stiffen.

   She chucked the bra on the floor, her round, perky tits jiggling from
the motion.  They must be C-cups, he thought, excited.  He put his hand
down to his crotch, where things were becoming rather painful.

   To his delight, she started feeling her breasts, rubbing them in
circles, her eyes closing in pleasure.  She stroked and pinched her
nipples, awakening them.  Stephen's mouth was dry from breathing with his
mouth open.  He swallowed.  She opened her eyes and he stood up.  He took
off his T-shirt, wanting her to see him.  Then he slipped his trousers
down, having to press his erection down to do it.  His boxers were next,
and he didn't give a shit if someone else could see him.  He sat back down
and looked through the scope.

   She had a broad smile and was clapping, as if to say Well done!  He
grinned.

   He watched as she reached to her side to unzip her skirt.  It slipped to
the carpet and she stepped out of it.  She was wearing light blue panties,
which didn't match her white bra or anything else she wore, but he wasn't
about to phone and complain.

   She was wearing stockings, thank God, not tights.  She sat down on the
bed and rolled them off one by one, stretching out her long legs each time.
Stephen rubbed the top of his shaft back and forth, imagining his hands on
her legs.  When she stood up, all she was wearing was the tiny blue
panties.

   She walked around the side of the bed, now facing away from him.  Then
she bent down, baring her beautiful, skimpily covered ass to him.  Her hand
reached behind and her finger traced a line up her panties, from her pussy
to her anus, and back again.  Jesus!  She knelt down and took something
from under the bed.  Turning around cheekily, she showed Stephen what she
had.

   A purple dildo.

   Oh God, he thought, and gripped his cock.

   She threw the dildo on the bed and pulled down her panties.  Stephen
thought he was about to have a heart attack, and didn't care.  He produced
some saliva and spat on his circumcised cock, slicking its length with his
right hand.

   When he looked again she was on the bed, sucking on the dildo; her eyes
were on him, her other hand between her legs.  That mouth on my cock, he
thought, grabbing himself tightly as he moved his fist back and forth.

   The dildo was wet with her saliva.  She rubbed it against her clit and
used it to part the lips of her pussy.  Slowly, she eased it inside her. 
Her body arched back in pleasure and her tits pointed at the ceiling.

   The tip of the dildo popped out, and she rubbed the long shaft against
her clit, her other hand kneading her breast.  She pulled her breast up to
her mouth, then reached down and flicked her nipple with her tongue.  She
sucked and teased it erect.

   Stephen had been working himself quickly, and already felt that he was
going to explode.  He squeezed his cock and dug his fingernail into the
shaft to slow himself down.  Not yet!

   The dildo disappeared into her pussy as she worked it inside her, her
buttocks shifting on the bed as she tried to hit the spot.  She pistoned it
in and out, and Stephen matched the action by pumping his fist in time with
her.  In his mind he was inside her, slapping against her, her tits
jiggling with each stroke.

   Her face was flushed and her mouth wide open; he wished he could hear
her moans.  Her hand moved furiously as she worked the purple shaft in and
out, her whole body shaking.  Stephen's vision was blurring as he got
closer to the brink, and he had to spit on himself again and again to keep
up the rhythm.

   She stopped...eased the dildo out slowly...and rammed it in all the way,
her whole body jerking in response.  She was coming; he could swear he
could hear her cries.  Her chest had broken out in red blotches.  She went
into a fast rhythm again, her tits shaking, and Stephen pumped furiously,
feeling the come rushing through him, and then he was letting go, crying
out as his cock shot out its creamy load.  It spurted out so violently that
the tip of his penis hurt.  His semen hit the window first, then splashed
the legs of the tripod, some of it dripping into his coffee.  He sank into
the chair as his penis spasmed again and again, the come dribbling out with
each pulse, some of it running down his leg.  He couldn't move to do
anything about it, and didn't care.

   Eventually, he looked through the scope again.  She was motionless on
the bed, the dildo to one side of her.  She looked as knocked out as he
did. He watched as she got up shakily and walked out of the room.

   His phone rang.

   On jellied legs, he walked over and picked it up.

   He could hear her breathing.  It tickled his ear.

   "What do you do for a living?" she asked.  The words came out very
slowly, as if she were drunk.  The question surprised him.

   "I'm in IT," he said.

   "You're not a serial killer or anything?"

   He had to think hard about a response; his mind was in a fog.

   "I feel guilty when I swat a fly."

   She snorted lightly through her nose, and a warm feeling enveloped him,
even though he was standing naked in his unheated kitchen in the middle of
October.

   "I live at number 56, flat 5a.  Come over at eight tomorrow."

   He grinned.

   She said, "You won't need your telescope, and I won't need my dildo,"
and the line went dead again.

   And his dick came alive again.

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