hi ^_^ can i request y/n caught seungcheol in his big glory form nakedly masturbating by his apartment living room big window that faces your living room too and it has become a routine between both of you, he put on a show for somebody to watch him pleasuring himself while y/n just keep on gawking and keep this show by herself in secret like a pervert voyeurism enjoyer y/n is and seungcheol nvr found out, he just enjoy the thrill of being nakedly expose and probability of being seen in his big glory nude and the dirty facial expression he shows.
I get tgis idea after watching Scoups b-day live, he’s so fucking hot. With that short blonde hair and big muscle and tan skin 🥵 thats the image that came to me with the idea of cheol voyeurism.
Uuuh spicy, I like it.
Perverted men are my favourite breed. I hope this will live up to your expectations, and thank you for entrusting this to me!
Enjoy :)
It started on a, fucking. Random. Wednesday. At least make it a sexy and relaxed Friday night, you think, but no, oh hell no, your neighbour, or rather the guy in the building in front of yours, with that stupidly massive floor to ceiling windows had to put on a show with absolutely no warning or whatsoever.
The first time, it happened two weeks ago, after the nth long and tiring day at works in the last two months. You had to do overtime, again. You enter your apartment complex, throw your shoes off and yourself on the couch. You only bothered to light on the lamp beside your seat, dimly illuminating a few meters in the space of your living room. Not that you needed that much light, as the complex in front of yours apparently was taking care of your electricity bill by partially illuminating your living space.
As you start stripping yourself of your clothes, now laying on your back and trying to get your pantyhose off your legs, with the corner of your eye you notice a faint movement.
The moment you turn your head, you find yourself flipping it back to the speed of light. "What the fuck??!!" you stumble off your couch and hide behind it, muttering in disbelief, and after a few seconds to gather some courage you peek again towards the adjacent building.
He was manspreading on his overly expensive couch, naked from the waist down, and his shirt spread open, flashing thick layers of meaty muscles. Your gaze landed on his thighs, slightly jumping from time to time, then your attention returned to the main reason that disrupted another boring evening.
He was pumping himself lazily, cock thick and long enough you would be crying while choking around it, if you squinted you could see the drops of precum leaking down his length and count the veins adorning it.
"Fucking hell..." you whisper to yourself, as if the stranger, the stupidly sexy and big and strong stranger, could even hear you. His head was thrown back, and it was gnawing your brain to know what kind of face is behind all that beef.
But as he was about to raise his head and show himself, you retreated behind the couch. Realisation of what you had just saw, and the consequential involvement of your conscience, made you retreat to your room in shame for spying on your neighbour.
Well, it wasn't actually spying, right? He was in front of his window, light on and masturbating, anyone from your apartment could see him! You try to reason with yourself on your way to work.
Once behind your desk, you get a notification for a meeting regarding a project. You step into the elevator, your supervisor and some more people joining. "Good morning, Mr. Choi." you greet him politely, which he responds only with a nod, still talking with one of his colleagues.
That evening, you manage to get home at a reasonable hour, getting dinner ready. After settling on the couch to watch some TV, you notice that the lights are still off in the building in front of you. You take one last glance while brushing your teeth, and almost choke with the toothpaste foam in your mouth.
Once again, manspreading and beating that cock like a madman, sits the stranger. He looks desperate tonight, almost in a hurry. His face is still not in sight. It kept you awake more time than you liked to admit.
An unusual sight greets you at the café this morning, Mr. Choi, yawning three times in a row while standing in line for his coffee. "Morning, sir." you say with a chuckle. "Oh? Hi Y/N, are you getting coffee too-" the 'o' gets dragged by another yawn, and you muffle a laugh. "Did you work until late last night?" He slightly blushes at your question, clearing his throat, "I had, trouble sleeping, you know, the deadlines-" "We are way ahead with our work sir." His blush deepens, and he looks at your mischievous expression, narrowing his eyes, "You have no right to make fun of me when that concealer is doing a poor job for covering your poor sleep." And he grins after hearing your gasp.
Your evenings for the following days peak with the lewd entertainment provided by the horny exhibitionist on the other side of your windows, and you find yourself waiting for him and what will he do that night. You catch him always when he has already started, and you are unable to wait until he finishes, always backing off in your room out of embarrassment.
The turnover happened on Saturday, first week of the show closing in. You had a quiet evening in mind, sipping some red and binge-watching a series, finally enjoying some peace. You were determined to stay from start to finish tonight, and nothing could make you flee.
By the first flick of the light across the building, you turned your whole attention on him. He fumbled a bit in what you figured could be his kitchen, then slipped in another room. He emerged after some time, towel draped around his waist, disappearing in the kitchen again and strolling with a bottle, beer?, in hand, finally entering the living room.
Thankfully you have drank your wine already and set the glass on the floor away from you, because that would be definitely spilled by now.
Choi Seungcheol.
Mr. Choi.
Your supervisor is the man living in the building in front of yours. The man putting on a show every evening. The man masturbating in front of you desperately. You are frozen in place, gawking at him, only in that stupid towel that is doing absolutely nothing to hide the half hard on he is already sporting.
You can't divert your gaze even when he starts palming himself through the cloth. Not when he pulls it off. Not when he is fully fisting his cock and making the most obscene expressions you have ever seen a man make.
Brows knitted together, eyes watching how his hand is gliding up and down his shaft, mouth parted. God, you wished to hear him. Was he grunting? Growling deep and low, coming straight from his chest? Or was he moaning, without shame nor restraint. Was he whining, pleading to be helped?
Your hand was already in your panties, brushing over your cunt, tentative caresses to rile you up, at the same pace at which he was teasing himself. When he started pumping himself with more vigour, his eyes rolled back and his head followed, his thighs spreading disgustingly open, balls in sight and tightening sporadically. You whined at the sight, too engrossed in him to even think about shame, while speeding up your fingers abusing your clit.
He kept fucking his fist slumped against the couch, until he starts speeding up, and his head rises from the backrest.
He looks like a fever dream.
Beads of sweat forming a crown on his forehead, dripping from his temples, broad chest heaving with each pump. His eyes are glazed, foggy and almost teary, his free hand gripping on the cushion besides him. Muscles tense, flexed with raw strength and restraint. His mouth is hanging open, and it makes you wonder if he will drool on himself at some point. He jolts for a first time, expression almost pained, then he jolts for a second time, his knees bucking.
He slides on his knees down to the floor, hand still fucking his cock. His hips bucking into his hand. He is hiding his face, gaze turned down. You feel yourself getting close, your own thighs twitching.
Then he rises his head, and presents the most fucked out expression he managed to make tonight. He cums on the floor, his hips thrusting violently against his hand, he almost gets cross-eyed, mouth open and tongue peeking out, eyebrows shooting up. You manage to keep your eyes open when you cum, hard, not wanting to miss even a breath of his.
Monday was a pure nightmare. He was completely oblivious of everything, and you were torn between gobbling his cock down your throat in the break room, or throw a fit at him for public indecency when in your building lived families and the lovely elderly couple right on the floor below you. But then you remember he performs after eleven, and you are just thinking about how you want to fuck him, wanting to hear each of his sounds, making you wonder how good he feels.
After the second week of the healthiest amount of masturbation you have ever done in your life and wetting your panties at the mere smell of his cologne, you've had enough.
At the end of your shift on Friday night, you had to hand in a report, addressed to no other than your supervisor. So after gathering all your things, sliding a sticky note and your drenched lace panties in the folder, you took the elevator up to his floor, knocked on his door and handed in your report with a smile. You bid him goodbye and goodnight, then watch the look of pure horror coat his features.
You look good when you cum, care to finish in me tonight?
The address is XX- Xxxx, or just across your own.
I love perverted men. Link to part 2