She was sunbathing on the roof across the street from my office window. From the 15th floor, I could look slightly down on her. The nearby buildings, also taller than hers, surely had more gawkers.
My seat was just close enough to see her, yet I still remained seated at my desk.
A quick look over my shoulder and voila, she was right there, but if my boss popped his head in past my cubicle partition, my face was already back on the computer again.
When I first noticed her coming out, a week earlier, I was like, "Pfft, whatever, what a brazen attention suck." Her generous applications of sun lotion, which she took forever to rub all over herself, reinforced the idea of trying to be the centre of attention.
I was able to brush her off and focus on some accounts that were nearing deadline, requiring my full attention. Unfortunately, because she was so easily in view, my peripheral vision immediately picked up even the slightest movements she made such as sipping demurely from her water bottle, swatting a fly away, smoothing out an oil splotch on her belly, picking up her phone.
Over the past week, however, the accounts increasingly became more and more of an albatross, more and more difficult to concentrate on. The deadline was coming up in a couple of days. I cursed there were no blinds, as my window faced northwest, never getting any sun. I even thought of positioning my chair and desk to the opposite wall.
Instead, I just tried to bear down, my nose to the grindstone, and ignore the tall, slender girl, too far away to tell if she was Latina or African American, 19 or 25 for all I could tell, in her white crochet bikini, with that dazzlingly glistening-with-oil, dark skin.
Each day she came out, the harder and harder, and rock fucking harder, the bulge in my pants would get. The more it throbbed, straining against my pants, the more it shot bolts of electric bull-lust all though me. My shaft swelled defiantly against its increasingly cruel, textile confines.
It felt good to occasionally sneak my hand over my warm bulge, gently kneading it, forcing me to type one-handed at those points. I cursed myself for this hampering of productivity, a week ago I was laughing at her for being a barstar on the roof, and now, I was her blueballed fool, falling behind on deadlines that were actually crucial to my placement at this firm.
I was flustered at how could she get away with suntanning all day like that. She had to have worked nights. Regardless, as long as she was there, I was giving her more and more attention time, and this both angered me for leading my attention astray, as well as arousing me for leading my attention astray.
It was two days before deadline, and I was hopelessly behind, reduced to a ball of nerves, or, a blueball of nerves. In the last day or two she had taken to stretching out on a yoga mat. This really slowed down work.
She was nimble, her long, thin, preying mantis legs spreading into an insanely wide “V” as she raised her tight ass high up in the air, and then swoop her long, lithe frame down, down towards the mat like a bird of prey, rearing her head up again so that her long, shining back was now arched, and repeat.
It was in the middle of these swooping exercises that I saw something that I will never forget for the rest of my life.
The roof door opened, and a man came out, dressed in black slacks and white shirt. I figured it was some office stooge on his work hour. However, upon closer look, it turned out to be my boss. He looked up toward our building and I found myself ducking my head out of sight.
I slowly peeked again. My boss approached the statuesque, mocha sunbather. Meanwhile I was trying to process how this could possibly happen. Was everyone in the office (with this view) doing the same thing? Watching? Eventually participating? How on earth was he able to hook up with her? Did he just wing it and make a cold call on her?
This was all too surreal to take in. My jowly, overweight boss with hair plugs, nonchalant, hands in his pockets, stood next to her, chatting her up. As she lay down on her belly, she picked up the lotion bottle and waved it at him, not looking at him.
Ogling her like the disgusting-joke-telling-pig that he was, he loosened his tie, and then shot another glowering glance up my way, making me stupidly duck again. When I peeked up again he was rolling up his sleeves, and took the oil bottle from her and cumbersomely squatted down over her.
As he began to apply the oil with slow, admiring ministrations, I realised: well, okay, fuck it then, I guess I don't have to worry about him popping his head in here, when his other one could soon be popping in somewhere else.
Dying to be freed, to hang out, way out of my pants, to point throbbing north, my erection sprang out immediately. It felt good to be jerking my cock in an awkward place where there was no worry of being caught. The accounts took a back seat for a bit.
My leering creepo of a boss, who unfortunately bore a resemblance to Rob Ford not just in looks but in classiness, actually turned around while he was on top of her and looked back up my way with a leer that I didn't really need to see.
I didn't let that affect what was otherwise a hot situation, and was able to stroke away as she hiked her thumb up in the air, indicating him to get off.
He did so, as she pointed to the ground.
My boss was now on his back, his pants off. His surprisingly large cock started to curl its way to hardness as she grabbed it, spat on it, and stroked it into quick rigidity. She had a condom on him before I could blink.
She was squatting on him, her back to him, so that she was facing my way. I loved this position because she completely blocked the fat, gross fucker out of my view, except for his pasty, ghost-white legs sticking out underneath her. Not to mention having a nice frontal view of her.
I swivelled my chair closer to the window. Slowly, I worked my hand up and down my comparatively modest six inches, making sure to quickly cup my palm over the mushroomy head of my erection at the top of each downstroke, always giving me that extra zing of pleasure.
My other hand kneaded my balls, slowly pulling them down until they gently “popped” out of my grip, repeatedly doing this until I reached a good, solid, edging horniness.
The sunbather slowly rubbed my boss's erection, back and forth like a metronome, against her slim, tight, glistening, brown tummy, almost creating the illusion that the cock was hers. Her loins slowly ground forwards, back, forwards, back, forwards, back, in a gracefully “mini-swooping” manner. This made him lock his hands on her ass, and made me want to explode, but I managed to hold back to savour this.
And then, I noticed her head move oh-so-slightly to precisely where I was. Or, so I thought, as my heart beat more quickly.
I stood up from my chair now, and went right up to the window. As demonstratively as I could, my right hand gently stroked up my erection, immediately followed by an upstroke with my left, and back and forth, right hand, followed by left hand, a nice, quick, easy rhythm, each fist alternating their way up my shaft, like I was constantly pulling up a rope.
Wonderfully, the mocha temptress whipped the condom off and began stroking my boss's hard-on in the exact same way I was, with alternating upstrokes with each hand. Occasionally she would gently slap his erection against her tummy, and then resume the left-hand, right-hand upstroking again.
This gave me an idea, and I started slapping my erection at her. Whack, this way, whack, back the other way. Back and forth, giving my cock good hard smacks, letting her know she was driving me crazy.
Nodding at me, she began slapping my boss's cock this way and that, just like I was. The animalistic look in her face, glaring eyes, mouth open, baring teeth, was enough to send me over the edge. She looked behind her to say something to my boss, giving his shaft a couple quick strokes, and then turned to look at me again, going back to alternating slaps of his erection, nodding at me.
I put my hands against the window and placed my erection right up against it. At first the cold glass stole a little bit of mojo, but all the pre-cum that I was starting to coat the window with provided the necessary lubrication to get my erection standing at full attention again.
I didn't care about nearby windows that provided views of the show that the roof bar-star was making me put on for her now. The thought of onlookers contacting police to report them about indecent exposure (or lewd public acts, or?) crossed my mind, but only briefly. Part of me cursed this brazen hussy for bringing me down to her level like this, while another part of me was on fire for her, at her beck and call.
I'm glad my boss was still blocked out of view as I fucked the gooey window.