Little Perversions - Sex Stories

Little Perversions

... feels wet and heavy just before a storm. A little bead of sweat hangs on the crescent of my belly button and I watch it trickle slowly down toward my slippery cunt as my fingers work deeper inside. Soon, I’m urgently rubbing my sweet spot until I feel the ache all the way up in my throat. Fuck, I want to come. I sigh and re-light the joint on my nightstand, taking a long drag. I know you think I’m a hedonist and something of a narcissist too. I also know it gets you hot thinking of me walking around nude in my apartment, with its walls of many windows. You think I crave the attention and that’s why I put myself on display to be watched, but it’s not. After all, I barely pause in front of mirrors. I’m not after affirmations and my behavior doesn’t stem out of any latent insecurities. I just like exploiting opportunities, and they seem to present themselves more often than not. For example, right now there’s a man working late in his office in the building across from mine. I don’t know what company he works for or what he does. He has that kind of nondescript private office with expensive furniture, black cabinets and a corner desk that most corporations favor, only this particular one comes with a man’s favorite kind of view. He’s been pretending to scroll through the same document on his computer screen for the past hour, not even bothering to touch his keyboard. I can practically see the beads of perspiration on his forehead as he discreetly watches me, with his cock no ...

... doubt straining against his expensive trousers. I’m openly watching him too. I spread my thighs wider and rub my clit, vicariously enjoying the tension I know I’m creating in his head. I like watching the flicker of desire in the eyes that watch me from the building across the way. Sometimes it’s him and sometimes it’s someone else. Occasionally it’s a woman in a fitted suit getting in touch with some hidden aspect of her sexuality while indulging in a little voyeur overtime. It doesn’t really matter. I’m their nameless Babydoll in a little box in the sky, a window to desires they can’t completely own. I enjoy their attempts to not look obvious or needy about drinking in my kind of sexuality, as though they don’t want to show all their cards right away. They remind me of the way you look at me, except to them I’m just a fantasy of skin and tight curves and long blonde hair. To you, I’m flesh and blood. Your dirty little whore. And in this gray concrete playground, this city of infinite possibilities, you’re mine too. Minutes are quickly elapsing and soon you’ll be here. Eventually I abandon my perch in the window, leaving the businessman without a satisfying finale, except for the one he’ll make up later as he’s driving home to his suburban nest. Now I’m on my feet, the joint dangling preciously in my pink pout as I pull on a pair of tight low-rise white panties. They curve into the cleft of my ass, leaving most of the cheeks exposed, just the way you like it. The fabric holds ...