Smooth jazz filled my minimalist apartment as I removed my teal blazer and kicked off my red stilettos. Left with a formfitting white corporate dress and black nylons, I slid open my glass door to the balcony, oddly letting the wintry air in before turning back to relax on my crimson massage chair.

Mr. Latsis was inside his penthouse across the street, oblivious to my awareness that he had been watching my boring life in my crib from the camera he set up months ago to replace his binoculars.

I had anticipated that he'd be holding his classically hand-cut whisky glass, puttering inside his brightly lit abode in his crisp shirt that he wore at work minus his silk tie, with three top buttons open, showing a portion of scruffy hair that complements his broad chest and matches his chiseled face's five o'clock shadow. That Greek looks like a god!

After a while, he sauntered to the full-height glass window, silently observing the urban facade before him. When he had finished his drink and placed the crystal tumbler on his bar table, he removed his shirt, revealing his sculpted torso. I have dreamed of running my hands over his hard-looking body and limbs.

Following his brief striptease, he instructed Alexa to dim the lights. At least that's what I could read from the muttering of his lips. His room was filled with a relaxing, dusky blue light, sufficient to illuminate his sexy silhouette. At a closer look, he was smiling, a contrast from the austere aura he displays in public.

Like clockwork, I knew that he would utilize his equipment to ogle at me from a distance. He would stand behind his partially open dark curtain, caressing his crotch over his trousers for a while, massaging and cupping it. When he was no longer satisfied with only fondling himself over the fabric that was worn to provide him decency, he'd unbuckle his leather belt and slip his large hand under the waistband. I won't see exactly what his hand will be doing, but I presume it's something that brings him more satisfaction. His facial reaction showed it. After several minutes, he unbuttoned and unzipped his pants, unceremoniously pushing them down along with his plaid boxers.

His smiley-printed black boxer briefs on a Sunday came to mind. It's not bad as standalone intimate wear for a solitary day at home. I chuckled when I remembered that I was only wearing cheeky yellow boyleg shorts with the word smile printed in bold black letters at the back that day.

I couldn't care less if the Greek gods battled in namesake for the mouthwatering V-shaped pair of shallow muscular grooves that run from his external oblique abdominal muscles alongside his hip bone down to his pubis. Apollo's or Adonis' belt—I'll settle with Aphrodite's saddle. I blushed with a mischievous smile, thinking how mythical it would be to be a cowgirl riding that saddle.

Unbeknownst to him, an acquaintance casually told me that he had delivered a long-range camera to the penthouse across the street. I also upped my game in this clandestine solo watch by viewing him from the comforts of my crib when I saw his setup on a tripod. Call it presumptuous, but my instincts never failed. When I noticed that watching me had become his routine, I knew we were both in for a good show.

It was premature to consider it his routine, but I've observed the pattern.

Unlike the previous times I caught him, his openness to show more became better. With the help of the projector feature of the long-range camera that has multi-focal modes, like an R-rated live show that's better than porn, I could clearly see him fully naked like a mighty god, shamelessly stroking the rigid length of his frontal appendage.

As if cast under a magic spell, his erotic visual enchantment hypnotized me into a trance.

I've never done this, but I did it anyway. I stood from my chair, my back facing his direction. I collected my long hair to my right shoulder, instinctively moved my hand below my nape, and reached to untie the pink lace bow attached to the zipper slider at the top of my sleeveless dress, letting the loose ends with dangling pink pearls fall behind. With the non-dominant hand holding the top of my dress where the zipper opens, my other hand tugged on the loose lace bow, allowing the slider to run down along the teeth track to the stopper, exposing the set of white lace bra, garter, and thongs, including the cleavage of my plump bottom.

Empowered with lust, I stood in place and slowly looked behind me to make him aware that I knew he was watching, plain mischief written all over my face. The nonstop music led my wide hips to sway in a seductive way. My hips swayed sideways, imitating a pendulum swing, while I freed both arms from each armhole. The front top of my dress hung on my bosom, but it showed my bum in full view and my garter straps while I did the unchoreographed dance.

I glanced at the projection to check on my avid audience. Unfortunately, his face was hidden. I bet his head was drawn back behind the thick curtain. It didn't stop heat from seeping through my veins, and it didn't disappoint when I saw his tumescent member more engorged in his hand.

A willing captive of my burgeoning desire and emboldened by my free spirit, I enthusiastically swayed my hips and shoulders, letting my dress completely fall to the Persian rug. The surge of blazing fire inside me prompted me to turn around, never stopping my spontaneous, graceful body movements. I danced as if my life depended on it, looking in his direction, touching my body and limbs, and trusting my bravado.

As if on cue, I saw him peek through the curtain when I glanced at the screen. His phallic strokes matched my tempo in an unplanned, flawless rhythm.

I knelt on the soft chair cushion with my hands holding onto the backrest. My bum ground in the air like a skilled seductress clad in nothing but white lingerie and black hosiery. I felt the cool air fan on my barely-naked bottom, drawing out goosebumps and a shiver.

With the knowledge that he was watching, the tingles between my legs intensified into throbs. The wet spot on my French lace thongs is proof that I have been aroused. I may have been possessed, dancing uncouthly in the lounge, all inhibitions gone with the wind. He was cooperative in showing himself more tonight, so I decided to indulge him a bit more.

With his lens, he will see me clearly anywhere on this side and at this angle. Still kneeling and gyrating my hips, I teasingly stripped off my soaked underwear from my hips to my thighs to my lower legs and off my feet. Some of my juices of arousal dribbled on my thighs and smeared the couch when I removed my thong. The cool air felt cooler against my bare skin.

I opened my legs and found my fingers dirty dancing back and forth along my dewy petals. I don't know if he's aware, but I could see him more at this time on the screen to my right, rubbing his penis under his wrist while his other hand cupped his balls. A fiery gaze of sheer lust in my direction is painted on his face.

Pushing the boldness of my depravity deeper, I rubbed my slit to my nub, thinking it was his treacherous tongue licking and flicking on my precious pearl. The passion to please my loyal viewer, mixed with a strong sense of sensual gratification, brought me to a cloud of pleasant quivers with a cry of pleasure.

Still panting and feeling mini-quakes all over my body, I turned around to sit for support. My body slid into a slouch. My legs opened for his sight. He was stroking again, at a faster pace than earlier. If I'm not delusional, his glistening penis seemed even longer and thicker. I wondered how it would fill my tight holes.

From my orgasmic high, my mind drifted to the reality that I was moving the next day to a new city for a higher post in a new company. We work in unrelated fields and move in separate circles. He's out of my league, so I don't think I'll bump into him ever again. He comes to my workplace to piss off the big boss, who happens to be his cousin.

To hell with decency and privacy now; my inhibitions are totally gone!

Watching him through the open door, I unclasped the front lock of my lacy bra, freeing my soft breasts and leaving my garters and stockings as the only form of skin covering. I felt carefree and relaxed, except for my tender nipples. I squeezed both breasts without touching my sensitive buds.

I think he was becoming bolder and more shameless out in the open. He was stroking at a steady, faster pace. Sensing an uncommunicated challenge, my resting hand moved from my side, extending to reach my soft mound. My middle finger lightly tapped on my hood to check my readiness for another round of peep shows.

My dominant left hand caressed my body, hips, and thighs while my right hand massaged my boobs. My hands aren't big, but they should suffice to elicit delight. I lifted my feet on the chair and parted my thighs more, displaying a fuller view of my wet womanhood. He smiled onscreen.

That's enough encouragement for my fingers to sport a private act I've known through experience. I gently rubbed my hand over my swollen labia, dragging it to my weeping vagina. Caressing with an intent to please, I watched him straight ahead as I rubbed myself, hungrily sucking two fingers like I was sucking hard on his cock. I stroked my hidden pearl and sucked on an erect nipple while maintaining distant eye contact. My most sensitive spots are both wet. They felt so good that I was climbing to the climax again.

He pulled back his curtain to show himself in the open. I almost lost my tempo on my clitoris when I saw him facing my direction, in full view. Undeterred by the weather and ongoing edging, I stood and ambled to the balcony, disregarding the fine snowflakes that were dramatically blown in my direction. We both have the perfect view from our vantage points.

I hissed a sigh of surprise when my bare bottom touched the cold surface of the wooden bench. I knew it was cold because winter had begun, but I didn't expect it to be that cold yet. I mumbled a prayer that I wouldn't freeze my bum.

Once settled, I resumed pleasuring myself, with my eyes on him and one hand on my clitoris. The wetness in my vagina allowed easy insertion of a finger from my left hand, repeatedly pushing in and out and adding another finger afterward. I continuously stroked my vaginal wall until I hit my G-spot with a glorious tsunami of yoni delight. He stroked his thick cock until he reached the pinnacle of his elusive pleasure, painting abstract spunk art on his clear glass window from his fresh ejaculate, dripping like tears of carnal joy.

Pensive, I used to cringe at first until I craved catching him catching glimpses of me at work until he was home and pulled into his peeping corner to pleasure himself by watching me. Wave by wave, I was consumed, dipping my mind, body, and soul into ephemeral pleasure with a stranger who had his eyes on me. But it had to end.

On my first day at work, I found out that his company had completed the stock acquisition of the company I moved to. Hence, he's now my corporate overlord. Fuck my luck!