Author’s comment:
This story has been translated from the German original using DeepL AI. I have tried to fix as many of the small translation errors as possible and improve on the flow. Let me know what you think.
I love to create deep characters and take my time to elaborate on the changes in people over time, what they think and why they do what they do. Feel free to comment, I appreciate all input.
**Cleo**
After a long day of work at the clinic, the longed-for hot shower had rinsed the leaden tiredness from her. For a moment she looked at herself motionless in the mirror. Checking, she pulled up the base of her breast a little. As she often did, she then put her hands under her breasts like little bowls. She liked this sight. Gently she ran her thumbs over the comparatively small nipples, which, as always, immediately hardened.
Water droplets had formed on the tips of her hair and now rolled across her chest and back, leaving wet trails. Quickly she dried her hair a little and carefully wrapped the small towel around her head like a turban.
Despite her 39 years, two early pregnancies and a demanding job, she had “held up quite well,” as she had described it somewhat mockingly, but also proudly. Her skin was wonderfully soft and supple, even if her critical eye had recently noticed one or the other blemish. She even found herself quite beautiful most of the time, but knew that her beauty wouldn’t last forever – a fact that could unsettle her a bit on bad days.
She wrapped the large towel around her body and knotted it expertly between her breasts. From a small, but all the more expensive jar, she dabbed some lotion onto her fingers and gently massaged the expensive stuff under her eyes. Again she looked at herself in the mirror: at least she would delay the aging process as much as possible through intensive care, sports, sleep and a healthy diet. She sighed, but smiled at the same time, stepped out of the bathroom and into the brightly lit bedroom.
Carelessly she threw the big towel on the bed and picked up the bottle with the body lotion. Placing her left leg on the bed, she generously squeezed lotion onto her thigh and already lost in thought, placed the bottle on the small nightstand. Methodically as always, she first massaged the body milk onto her arms, then slid her hands over her neck and décolleté. Again and again, she briefly dipped her fingers into the small reservoir of lotion on her thigh and massaged it in. Her hands efficiently roamed over breasts and belly to the base of her legs, but without lingering anywhere. As best she could, she contorted and spread lotion over her back. Finally, she mechanically rubbed the remaining body milk onto her feet and legs, up to her buttocks.
When she occasionally had some free time and was in the right mood, she imagined strong, massaging male hands. She would then linger a little longer on individual spots, then lie down on the bed, close her eyes and begin to stroke herself, already quite aroused.
Then she would play a little movie in her head. The back story was mostly identical, but depending on her mood she varied the fantasy. The subsequent erotic part changed, from gentle and tender, to raw, wild and animalistic the next day. Some variations were almost brutal, others romantic or magically transformed. She knew exactly how she would react to each fantasy, how long it would last and how intensely she would feel.
But today she had an appointment, so she would stick to the usual ritual with no extras. Shortly before she finished applying the lotion, she saw something flash in the corner of her eye. She looked calmly at the window before realizing in a split second that she had forgotten to lower the blinds. Just then she could see the curtain on the neighbor’s window move slightly and with a leap she jumped away from the bed, stood against the wall, grabbed the crank and turned down the shutter as fast as she could.
The neighbor’s house was slightly elevated and from the topmost window one could see directly into her bedroom. She felt her heart beat all the way to her throat and the blush of shame shot up her face. For a moment longer she remained standing like that against the wall, not daring to move. Her breathing was rapid and she thought
*”For God’s sake, not the neighbor, of all people.”
In this neighborhood, people still greeted each other as they passed – and he greeted in a peculiarly unpleasant way, especially when his wife wasn’t around. An older, somewhat shabby guy, whom she had actually suspected for quite some time, for no reason at all, to be a Peeping Tom.
That’s why she always had the shutter down in the evening.
Always.
Except today.
*–*
And now he had seen her naked. He of all people.
He had seen how she had rubbed in the lotion, her hands roaming over her body, almost caressing it.
Had he really watched her during her beloved, private ritual?
Fortunately, today was a day without “extras”.
Still. So embarrassing.
A shiver ran down her spine as she imagined him watching her, hidden behind his curtain.
How his thick penis had slowly filled with blood. Trembling with arousal and already half-hard, he had stuck a hand down his worn-out workout pants.
How he had secretly watched her while she had let her hands glide over her feminine curves.
How she had spread the lotion all over her naked body in her intimate habit.
She shuddered again.
And then she scolded herself a fool.
*”Stop exaggerating!”*
she suddenly thought angrily.
She had to think about something else, she really didn’t have time to stand around any longer, so she finally opened the closet: what to wear?
While looking at her clothes, she couldn’t stop thinking about this situation and felt an unusual nervousness, a tingling, and also her abdomen felt strangely cramped.
“Childish,” she scolded herself again.
When she pulled up the plain panties and adjusted them a bit between her legs, she was surprised to find that her pubic area had swollen and become quite moist. The slight pulsing in her abdomen was also not so easy to ignore.
Her body was obviously playing a trick on her.
Somewhat confused, she slipped into her clothes.
How could she be aroused after this super embarrassing moment?
Very confusing.
*—*
For the next few days, she was meticulous about closing the blinds completely in the evening and really pulling the thin curtains all the way during the day.
But every time she now began her ritual of applying lotion after showering, she couldn’t help but think of that one evening again. And when she lay in bed at night, actually just wanting to fall asleep, those feelings and thoughts would come up again as well.
She found herself enjoying more and more often in her fantasies not to close the curtain all the way, not to lower the shutter completely – knowing and with full intention that the shabby neighbour could – and would – watch her.
In her fantasies, she controlled the scenery and thus the neighbour, manipulating him at will. She knew exactly how to pose so that he might see her bare legs but, to his great regret, nothing else.
Then her hands trembled as she stroked her body, spreading lotion. She imagined his eyes following her movements, lingering longer and longer on her breasts or between her legs.
She put on a show for him and could physically feel his gaze, feel the unusual energy coursing through her womb.
Sometimes she’d let him see her breasts or buttocks, careful to make it seem unintentional.
Again and again, she imagined his hands trembling with arousal, his thick penis filling up, him tucking a hand into his baggy workout pants. As much as this repulsed her, it also excited her.
When she was feeling particularly brave – and that was wonderfully easy in her fantasies – she would lie down on the bed after creaming herself and enjoy stroking herself, knowing full well that he could watch her do it.
Always, in her fantasies, he was aroused beyond measure. And always the fantasy was limited to this watching. Or showing, however you wanted to interpret it.
The neighbour was actually the exact opposite of what excited her in a man. Not a muscular, handsome, well-groomed charmer, but rather an aging, scruffy lecher. And yet – or perhaps because of this – her lust increased daily as she gave free rein to her fantasies.
She was absolutely aware of the contradiction, but she also couldn’t help but admit that currently no other fantasy excited her so much. And the worse and more repulsive she imagined him, the more arousing it was.
And more confusing.
Every night her fingers stroked her wet pubis and as soon as she was at the point where he was trembling with arousal because of her, she drilled two fingers deep inside her, while at the same time massively increasing the pressure on her clitoris. Then it took only a few seconds before a violent orgasm literally shook her whole body.
And the excitement intensified with each time, the following climaxes became better and better, somehow deeper. This was also amazing in that she had usually only stimulated herself externally before.
The fantasies with the neighbour became more outlandish with each day, or rather with each night, the climaxes longer, more intense and sometimes downright overwhelming. Not surprisingly, this had soon displaced all her earlier fantasies.
But still every evening she checked the shutters twice, made sure they were all the way down. Even the thin curtains always had to be perfectly drawn during the day.
This would never become more than a weird fantasy.
The strange contradiction between what would normally arouse her and what was happening in her fantasies made her doubt her sanity a little.
Was she not normal?
A few times she had even considered confiding in a friend, asking for advice about what might be wrong with her.
But in the end it had been too embarrassing for her and she had left it alone.
-***-
A few weeks later, something very unusual happened.
She stepped out of the house a little earlier than usual in the morning, turned to her left and suddenly saw her neighbour coming towards her on the sidewalk. Their eyes met, his eyes grew wide with shock, he literally lost his composure and his features showed a hint of panic. He quickly lowered his gaze and, without paying any attention to her, moved to the other side of the street and literally fled from her into a side street.
Cleo stopped for a moment, looking after him. A faint smile played around the corners of her mouth, and she felt those thrilling feelings of power and control rising inside her that she had felt so often lately in her fantasies. That strange mixture of embarrassment but also superiority that had excited her so much.
In the fantasy, she controlled everything, had the ability to arouse him, control him, manipulate him whenever she wanted – or not. Only she determined what he could and could not see. He was actually only a tool for her, nothing more.
And now this surprising encounter. Two things were clear now: he had been watching her and knew that she had caught him doing it. There was no other way to explain his reaction.
And he had to be infinitely embarrassed. Perhaps he was also afraid that she might tell something of his voyeurism to his wife or other neighbours.
The scene on the street filled Cleo with such a strong feeling of superiority that it already made her a little uncomfortable and she involuntarily wondered about herself again. She had never thought of herself as particularly dominant. Not submissive either, of course. Just normal. Normal?
Even as she continued to walk to the streetcar, she clearly felt how this encounter, or rather his reaction to it, had aroused her. All these fantasies had increased in intensity in the last weeks, instead of decreasing as expected.
She instinctively felt that this encounter represented a kind of turning point, that something had fundamentally changed.
If until now she had felt a strange sense of uncertainty, almost fear, alongside the admittedly extraordinary excitement, his reaction today had surprisingly also given her a sense of security. She was now suddenly fully aware of her superiority. And in a fit of coquetry, she thought:
*”Tonight, maybe I won’t turn the shutter all the way down for once. “*
She grinned. Of course she wouldn’t. No way.
*”Definitely not. “*
she thought, smiling, and walked on, elated.