Watchers - Introduction

Ralston Woodlands is a cozy gated community in Northern Virginia that was developed to let commuters to Washington, D.C. live in a place that was far from the condo and townhome living hoi polloi that jammed the freeways every morning as they poured out of their densely populated hell-holes like an army of ants scrambling in single file towards a dropped piece of candy.
That’s what Ralston Woodlands was supposed to be.

But, as always happens, the best laid schemes o' Mice an' Men, gang aft agley. With the downturn of the real estate market, the intended inhabitants of Ralston Woodlands never quite settled there. Instead, an upper middle class clientele with a, as the developers mumbled under their breath, rough exterior, began to snap up the houses when the prices were slashed.

These roughians, these middle class people, having moved from the same condos and townhomes the developers mocked, thought they were in heaven. Every street was a cul-de-sac so that all the homes faced the streets at slight angles and no two homes directly faced other. The back of every home faced green zones that were, admittedly, only ten yards wide, but that still provided a modicum of privacy. And when the trees the developers planted grew to maturity, a process that would take about ten years, the residents would have complete privacy.

In these not-quite mini mansions, the master suites were as wide as the entire house and, of course, faced the green zones as well, leaving the master baths facing the blank walls of a next door neighbor. There was an exception to that rule, though. If a house was situated on a corner lot, facing a street, the master bath faced the street, so it also faced a master bath of the house across the street.
The environmentally sensitive developers of Ralston Woodlands sought to maximize the use of ambient light, so each master bath had a large window next to the shower. With the right type of curtains, light would be able to filter in, but no one would be able to see in. Unless, of course, wanted the neighbors to see in.

Some residents bemoaned the lack of privacy they thought the green zones were supposed to provide or the possibility of someone being able to see into the master bath. Others-well, others didn’t seem to mind so much.

****

Kelly Mansfield stepped into the shower, sliding the glass door shut behind her as quietly as she could. She glanced at the open curtains that hung over the shower window and, without closing them, turned the shower handle. The initial blast of cold water sent a chill through her and caused the nipples that topped her C-cup breasts to instantly harden, twisting and bulging to the point that they ached. Of course Kelly had to place her hands on her breasts to warm them, and of course she had to roll her nipples between her thumbs and forefingers to enhance the warmth her hands provided, but that only seemed to make her nipples ache even more.

When the water warmed, Kelly, raising her arms over her head and pointing her elbows toward the sky, slowly and purposefully massaged shampoo into her long, blonde locks. When she rinsed, she ran her hands down her ponytail to squeeze out the rinse.
Shampoo, rinse and repeat.

Again Kelly raised her arms and again she massaged shampoo into her hair. The water was warm now but the aching in her nipples didn’t fade-in fact, she ached even more. Kelly knew, she just knew, that someone was watching her. The lights in the house across the street were dark, but she sensed that someone was staring at her out of the darkness. This knowledge sent the aching in her nipples straight to her clitoris, creating an excruciating pain that she had to address.

Setting the shower head to massage, she lifted it out of its cradle, placed it between her thighs, grasped the window sill for balance and let the pulsating water take care of her pulsating pussy. She imagined the man across the street, a man she had never met and wasn’t even sure existed, bursting into the shower, tenderly taking her in her arms, pressing her against the travertine shower wall and making passionate love to her. She imagined him sliding his hands over her breasts, bending his head and guiding them into his mouth where he would massage them with his lips.

The pulsating shower head seemed to take on a life of its own. The streams of water that blasted out of it felt like hundreds of fingers attacking her and, in her imagination, those fingers belonged to not just one man, but many men, all of whom desired her, all of whom desperately wanted her.

Kelly needed more. She took the shower head, which she had been holding only six inches from her pelvis, and pressed it directly against her body. In addition to blasting out hard streams of water, the shower head vibrated against her clit, increasing the aching she felt until it became unbearable. Her orgasm, always violent, consumed her. Holding the window sill in a death grip, she dropped her head backward, held her breath and let the waves of pleasure flow through her, silently suppressing the screams begging to escape her throat.

When her orgasm finally ebbed, Kelly turned off the water and put the shower head back in its cradle. Letting the rough surface of her towel scrape the most sensitive parts of her body, she dried off, anticipating the second part of her morning.

****

Sam Jewel stood in the darkness of his master bath and stared at Kelly. His fingers drifted over his stiff prick, sending it into a bobbing frenzy as mini-orgasmic waves spread up from his sacks to the tip and then back down again continuing to race through his body until they reached his heart.

He marveled at Kelly’s beauty and her sensuality and wondered if she knew, if she knew he was watching her. Sam knew her name from the home owner directory and, after spending many hours on the Internet, knew just about everything there was to know about her. She was 36 years old and a lawyer who, for reasons known only to her, tried out for and made the cheerleader squad of one of the professional teams in the area. Of course, as often happens, she wound up marrying one of the players, a monstrous black man named Deke Kirkwood.

The Internet was full of Kelly’s pictures but, no matter how hard he searched, there wasn’t a single nude photo of her. Kelly, Sam decided, was not an exhibitionist, so why did she stand naked in front of the window? How was it she felt the need to use a shower head to have an orgasm? Surely, he thought, a woman as beautiful as she was would have no problem getting all the sex she wanted.

Any logical thoughts Sam was having evaporated from his brain when Kelly’s head dropped backward. Her orgasm was so obvious, but all he could do was imagine that she was desperate for love. He could see himself interrupting her. He could see the shock on her face when he slid open the shower door and took her into his gym-hardened arms and pressed her against his six-pack abs. He could hear her moans when he entered her and her sighs when he kissed her.

The problem was, though, that Sam didn’t have gym-hardened arms or six-pack abs. Oh, he tried off and on, but in D.C. there was so little time for working out. His home gym just sat and collected dust. There was no way he could compete with a former football player.
But he could dream. When Kelly’s orgasm hit her, Sam’s orgasm hit him. He cursed when he shot gobs of sticky cum onto his tile floor, but it would be an easy clean up. He had that part of his morning routine down to a science.