Caught Watching
She wasn’t even thinking about it.
Still dressed from the conference, her heels kicked off by the door, her blouse clinging a little too tightly after a long day, she wandered to the hotel window with a half-finished glass of wine. She hadn’t pulled the shades yet. It wasn’t dark enough to bother.
She just meant to take a breath. To watch the city settle in for the night.
That’s when she saw them.
A few floors down, across the narrow alley, a wide apartment window glowed warm gold against the encroaching dusk. A man and a woman. Half-dressed. Close.
At first, it felt accidental.
The woman was straddling him on a couch, her skirt rucked up around her waist, hips moving slow and rolling. His hands clutched her ass, guiding her, their bodies working together in a rhythm too intimate for anything but sex.
The businesswoman froze.
Oh god. They’re fucking.
Her breath caught. Her thighs pressed together. Her hand slipped almost thoughtlessly under the hem of her skirt, fingertips brushing the soaked cotton of her panties. She wasn't even thinking yet — her body reacting faster than her mind.
The woman shifted, laughing, and slid to her knees between the man’s legs. Without hesitation, she took him into her mouth — deep, messy, eager — hands braced on his thighs, head bobbing slowly.
The businesswoman moaned under her breath, her hips grinding down against her fingers. Jesus Christ, she thought. I'm watching them. I'm getting off watching them.
Across the way, the woman glanced up.
And locked eyes with her.
The businesswoman staggered back from the window, cheeks flaming, heart thundering in her chest.
They saw me. They fucking saw me.
Panic clawed at her. She should close the curtains. Hide. But something — something hot and reckless — made her look again.
And what she saw punched the air out of her lungs.
They were moving.
Toward the window.
No. They’re not… they’re not going to—
The man hauled the woman to her feet and spun her roughly to face the glass. The woman braced her palms against it, legs spreading, back arching. The man stepped in behind her, dragging his cock along her slit, rubbing the thick head against her, teasing—
—and then thrust inside, hard enough to make the woman cry out, her breath fogging the window.
Oh my god, she thought. They’re fucking. Right there. They know I’m watching.
The businesswoman whimpered, stumbling closer to the glass, her hand shoving her panties aside, fingers slipping slick and desperate over her clit.
It was obscene. It was thrilling. It was for her.
Every rough thrust made the woman’s tits flatten against the windowpane. Her forehead rested against the glass, her body jolting with each savage stroke. The man looked up — looked directly at her — and smirked, snapping his hips harder.
She could feel it — the dirtiness, the danger, the absolute, reckless fuck it all energy of it pouring across the alley into her bloodstream.
They’re showing me. They want me to see. They’re doing this for me.
Her body ached. Her panties were soaked through. Her knees trembled.
But then — it wasn’t enough.
She wanted them to see more. She wanted to be part of it.
She stumbled back from the window, heart hammering.
Her suitcase sat open near the bed, half-unpacked.
She pawed through it — frantic, trembling — until her fingers closed around something small and black.
A vibe. Packed just in case. Never meant for this.
Her whole body shook as she tossed her blazer aside, ripped the buttons open on her blouse, pulled her bra down until her flushed nipples jutted into the air. Her skirt stayed bunched high on her hips, panties shoved aside.
She walked back to the window.
She let them see.
One hand cupped her breast, squeezing, plucking at the aching peak. The other slid the buzzing toy between her slick folds, pressing it against her throbbing clit.
Across the alley, the couple froze.
The man growled something against the woman's ear — she saw it, saw the way the woman smiled and pushed herself harder against the glass — and then he started fucking her harder, hips snapping, his cock driving into her with brutal, beautiful force.
The businesswoman moaned helplessly, rocking the vibe against herself, her hips bucking into it, her forehead thudding softly against the cold windowpane.
They’re watching me. They’re fucking harder because of me.
The man’s gaze locked with hers across the alley — daring her. Challenging her.
Come for me.
She was already there — the orgasm slamming into her like a truck, her body seizing, spasming, her wetness dripping down her thighs as she moaned and cried out against the window.
Across the way, the man shoved deep one final time and came, his face twisting with pleasure, his hips jerking as he emptied himself inside the woman.
The woman shuddered against the glass, mouth open, eyes fluttering closed as her own orgasm took her.
The three of them — connected across the night air — came together.
For a long, breathless moment, nothing moved.
And then —
The man and woman turned.
They smiled.
And raised a slow, mocking little wave goodnight.
The businesswoman stumbled backward, half-naked, shaking, staring at the empty, glowing window.
Her chest heaved. Her thighs trembled.
She had never — never — done anything like this in her life.
And she already knew — she wanted more.
The next morning.
She woke in tangled sheets, heart pounding, thighs still sticky with dried arousal. For a second, it didn’t feel real.
She pulled on a crisp white shirt, fixing her hair for her meetings, pretending she could be normal again.
Pretending she hadn't stood naked against a window last night and let strangers watch her cum.
God, she thought, flushing hot even alone. What the hell is wrong with me.
As she buttoned the last button, she risked a glance out the window.
And froze.
Taped to the inside of the apartment window across the alley, big enough to read:
Apt 708. 9:00 PM. If you'd like to join.
Her knees nearly buckled. A fresh pulse of heat flooded her core.
There was no mistaking it.
It wasn’t over.
They wanted her.
Tonight, the choice would be hers.
And her body already knew the answer.
Up Close. (Day two)
The knock at the door sounded softer than her heartbeat.
For one wild second, she thought about running. Back to the elevator. Back to safety.
But then the door opened.
And there they were.
The man leaned against the frame, casual, drink in hand, smiling like he already knew exactly how this night would end. The woman stood just behind him, fingers hooked lightly into his waistband, her mouth curling into a slow, wicked grin.
"Hello," he said easily. "Nice to see you up close. Thanks for joining us."
Her legs barely carried her inside. Her hands clutched her purse strap like a lifeline.
"You want a drink?" the woman asked, already moving toward the small kitchen. The sway of her hips was dangerous without even trying.
The businesswoman nodded quickly, her throat too tight for words.
The woman poured her a glass of wine, handed it over with a wink, and the man shut the door softly behind her.
The lock clicking home sounded louder than it should have.
They moved around each other like magnets — casual, electric, brushing, touching, stealing little kisses. No awkwardness. No hesitation.
The man lifted his glass, smiling wider.
"You don’t mind if we get a little handsy, do you?"
The woman laughed, pressing herself against his back, hands sliding under his shirt.
"We already know you enjoy watching," she teased, glancing at the businesswoman with heat in her eyes.
Her face flushed. Her palms were sweating. The wineglass trembled in her grip.
She should have left.
Instead, she sank into the low armchair across from the couch — separate, but not safe.
The woman climbed onto the man's lap, dress riding high over her thighs. He cupped her ass, grinding her against the thick line of his cock.
"Last night was thrilling," he murmured against the woman's neck. "Don’t think I’ve fucked you that hard in months."
The woman laughed breathlessly, letting her head fall back.
"Definitely months," she agreed, shooting the businesswoman a wicked smile. "And it’s your fault."
Her panties were soaked already. Her thighs squeezed tight together.
The man pushed the woman's dress up, exposing her breasts, pulling one into his mouth with a low, hungry groan.
The kisses grew deeper, dirtier.
The businesswoman’s hand drifted to the hem of her skirt — almost against her will — trembling.
The man caught it, smirking lazily.
"You were a lot more adventurous last night," he said.
The woman twisted on his lap, grinning.
"Go on," she purred. "Open your legs for us."
Her heart slammed in her chest. Everything in her screamed no.
And yet — Her fingers pushed her skirt higher, exposing bare thighs, damp panties.
"I’ve never done anything like this before," she whispered, ashamed and shaking.
The woman’s smile softened.
"Neither have we," she said quietly.
The man nodded, stroking slow circles along the woman's back.
"You’re not alone."
The woman slid closer, her fingertips brushing the businesswoman's trembling knee.
"But fuck," she added, her voice dropping, "it’s hot, isn’t it?"
She whimpered, overwhelmed.
Her fingers slid her panties aside — baring her swollen, slick pussy to the air, to their eyes.
"Touch yourself," the woman urged, voice thick now. "Let us see."
Her hand shook as she found her clit, circling it slowly.
Across the room, the man pulled his cock free, rubbing the thick head through the woman’s folds but not pushing in.
The woman moaned into his mouth, rocking against him.
The businesswoman’s hips lifted helplessly.
This is insane, she thought, dizzy. This is real life porn unfolding right in front of me. And I can’t look away.
The room spun.
And then — the woman slipped off the man's lap and crawled toward her — slow, hungry, intent.
Her body froze. Her mind screamed.
This isn't a fantasy. This is happening.
The woman knelt between her thighs, palms sliding up along trembling legs.
She didn’t shove inside her. Instead — She traced her fingers along the businesswoman’s moving fingers, slick and desperate, guiding, teasing — not replacing, just sharing.
The businesswoman sobbed softly, hips jerking against her own hand.
The woman kissed her knee — her thigh — then pressed her mouth to her breast through the thin fabric of her blouse, tugging her nipple into a tight, aching peak.
The businesswoman moaned, grinding up shamelessly.
The man stood slowly now, tearing open a condom packet.
The sound of latex snapping into place filled the room.
He stroked himself once, slow and deliberate.
But he didn’t move closer yet.
The woman lifted her head, her mouth brushing the businesswoman’s throat.
"Do you want to feel him inside you?" "I want to watch him fuck you."
"Please," she gasped, barely able to form the word.
The man stepped forward, lifting her thighs onto the arms of the chair, spreading her wide.
He gripped the base of his cock and dragged the thick head through her soaked folds, smearing himself with her wetness.
He paused, cock nudging at her entrance, voice low, rough:
"When’s the last time you felt a man inside you who wasn’t your husband?"
She whimpered, hips rocking helplessly.
"Never," she gasped, broken.
The man groaned — and she felt him thicken, pulse against her — the hunger of it almost making her sob.
He pushed forward, slow, devastating.
The stretch burned, her pussy clinging greedily to him.
The woman kissed along her collarbone, her hand slipping between their bodies, stroking her clit in slow, perfect circles.
The man pulled back — then thrust deeper — burying himself completely inside her.
The woman’s lips brushed her ear:
"How does it feel to have my boyfriend’s cock deep inside you?"
She sobbed, hips lifting into him, her hands clawing at the chair arms.
"So good," she gasped. "So fucking good."
The woman nipped at her nipple again — sharper this time — then turned to the man, voice dark with heat:
"Fuck her like you fucked me last night."
She looked down at the businesswoman, smiling wickedly:
"Is that what you want?"
The businesswoman nodded, desperate, unable to form words.
The man growled low in his chest — and then he started driving into her, each deep, powerful thrust hitting something deep inside, making her cry out.
The wet slap of skin on skin filled the room — louder, messier, filthier.
Her orgasm rushed up too fast, too hard.
And as she broke open — as her pussy clamped down around his cock, squeezing desperately — she felt him throb inside her, felt the hot pulse of him emptying into the condom deep inside her.
Holy shit, her mind shattered. There’s a whole different man inside me right now. Appreciating my body. Using me. And my body— my fucking body— is soaking for it.
She hadn’t been this wet in years.
Her back arched violently. She came harder than she had in a lifetime, every nerve exploding, her body wrung out and wrecked on him.
The man cursed against her skin, grinding into her as he finished, shuddering, filling the condom between them.
For a long, heavy moment, none of them moved.
Just breathing. Broken. Alive.
The woman kissed her softly. The man smoothed sweaty hair from her forehead.
"Thank you," the woman whispered against her skin.
Trembling, she pulled her clothes back into place, her thighs sticky, her panties useless.
They didn’t rush her. They didn’t shame her.
They just smiled — ruined and wrecked too — as she stumbled toward the door.
The hallway was cold.
She leaned back against the wall, breathless, her whole body trembling.
Tears burned behind her eyes — but not from shame.
From the terrifying, beautiful truth:
She had never been more alive.
