She stands there in her full length robe with the feeblest of belts holding it in place. It would only need a slight tug and the whole sartorial arrangement would release her body for view.
She sits down and takes a sip of juice, crossing her legs provocatively, revealing a toned thigh that is asking for a stroke. She uncrosses her legs and sits in a straddled position so that the eyes cannot avert from what the voyeur knows is between her legs.
But he sees nothing.
She stands and walks towards him but at a distance so that he cannot possibly touch the flash of flesh as it glides by. She opens the belt at the time his view of her profile is at its sharpest, and she reveals the full length of her body; upright, naked with no genitalia on show.
He sees everything but he sees nothing.
She walks inside and along the hallway, playfully with him following behind and wondering what else is going to be exposed on this most subtle of spring days. She turns towards him as he stands in the kitchen, as she stands at the foot of the stairs. And stares at him, fully, openly, knowingly as she undoes the cloth belt and opens the robe to expose the full length of her divine body, rippling with loveliness that they voyeur so desperately wants to touch.
He sees everything.
And then she is gone: the prick teaser, whilst he is left with an arousal that needs to be enacted, needs to be released. Only she is gone, and he is standing there in a bewildered desire, desperate to kiss, desperate to hug, desperate to fuck.
She returns, fully clad with a cheeky grin on her face, knowing that she has excited the onlooker to the extent that he needs to make love. But there is work to be done. There are other people returning to the place and a mass of papers to deal with.
He manages to shake off the wonderful moments of seduction and continues to do the job that he is here to do. She smiles, and occasionally leans over to kiss him and look longingly at his cock that seems to be at a permanent sense of semi arousal, often leaping forth into a full pre-climatic state.
They work in silence, with a few practical words spoken as they drift into their own purposeful activities with the glint of hope of what is to come.
After what seems like an eternal amount of hours, they are alone once more and she rises from the table and walks to the bottom of the stairs. She stands and expects him to follow which he dutifully does; duty to her and to his own very obvious needs.
They do not need the seduction now. That happened a few hours ago, and they undress themselves and dive under the covers of the bed. They make love with a frantic urgency and forcefulness that would imply that they had not had sex for weeks. Only it was like this yesterday too, and the day before that, and the weeks and months and years before that too. These people know one another’s bodies all too well and yet the urgency of desire can still spring forth with the most subtle or the most obvious of foreplay.
She pours spunk out of her body with the slightest of touches. She is clearly aroused by her seductive behaviour as much as he is, with his rigid cock that wants to pump her with the excesses of his desire. They orgasm consecutively and lie down in the bliss that only love-making can bring.
The morning flashes of thigh are but a distant and delightful memory. The pinnacle has been reached and the teasing is now a comfortable and adorable part of a sexual day.
She leaves him in bed to ponder as she glides into the shower for a thorough wash over that beautifully sexual body. He dresses quickly and returns to the paperwork that still has to be seen to.
Overhead, he can hear the shower stopping and starting in the methodical approach that she has to her ablutions, and in no time, she is back at the bottom of the stairs with a towel wrapped around her satisfied body, calling him in conversation to act as a voyeur once more.
He stands at the door as she stands at the bottom of the stairs, mirroring their placements from the morning and releases the towel just as she undid the belt earlier, revealing once more a toned, perfect body, fresh and enticing from the splash of water that has left its tidy mark over her clean and comfortable torso.
He looks and stares and delights that what he sees in front of him has been so near to him, has been so intertwined with him a mere few minutes before. He is perfectly satisfied yet seeing her body once more makes him full of a desire that he would readily indulge himself in once more, if she would have him again.
..............................................................................
Only none of the above is true. It is pure fiction. There was no lady with a bathrobe smothering her beautiful body. There was no male onlooker who was dripping with pre-lubricant as his eyes wandered lasciviously over the form of her legs and thighs and chest and genitalia. There was no woman standing at the bottom of the stairs, nakedly throwing her sexuality for the man to see, to hope, to desire.
Only all of the above is true; every fine detail of it. Only the man was a woman and the woman was a man and it was utterly delightful and perfectly arousing.
He stood there in his full length robe with the feeblest of belts holding it in place. It only needed a slight tug and the whole sartorial arrangement released his body for view.
He sat down and took a sip of juice, crossing his legs provocatively, revealing a toned thigh that was asking for a stroke. He uncrossed his legs and sat in a straddled position so that the eyes could not avert from what the voyeur knew was between his legs; a great bulging mass of cock and balls that she was dying to rub.
He stood and walked towards her but at a distance so that she could not possibly touch the flash of flesh as it glided by. He opened the belt at the time her view of his profile was at its sharpest, and he revealed the full length of his body; upright, naked with no genitalia on show.
............................................................................
Does it make the reader think differently? Is there a problem with this reversal of roles? Does it feel less real when one realises that the voyeur was a horny nymphomaniac rather than a lustful male with a cock full of spunk that needed a release?
I hope not because it shouldn’t. A man can be an object of desire and cheeky teasing as much as a woman can. A woman can be as turned on by voyeurism as any man, if only we eradicated the myths and inequality of sexual expectations.
There is a world of sexuality out there waiting for many to discover, who have been tied for too long in expectation and gender defined roles.
It is time for change and for a sexual revolution to spring forth.
I fully intend to do both the voyeuring and the prick teasing for as long as I can, and I am aroused either way.
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