While Peter’s Away
Story Codes: FF,  Exhibitionist -Voyeur


While Peter’s Away
by Steven Finkelstein


The door slammed and I was alone in the apartment. With Peter gone I could go
back to the daily routine, starting with opening a fresh bottle of merlot from the rack
in the pantry. I slunk into the kitchen with his harsh voice still reverberating in my
ears. “You good for nothing hussy. You can’t understand what I’m going through. All
you think about is yourself. You try fixing yourself up for me and maybe then I’ll put
my hands on you.” I could never seem to vocalize how much his words hurt me. Hadn’
t I tried to make him happy? And when we’d first been married, he’d never needed
me to be “fixed up” for him to be all over me like a horn-dog teenager. The sight of
me greeting him at the door in my panties and oversized gray Notre Dame sweatshirt
had been enough for him to pick me up in those strong arms and sling me over his
shoulder, punching away at his broad back while screaming in mock protest as he
carried me upstairs, or sometimes he didn’t even bother taking me to the bedroom,
he just tossed me onto the sofa there in the living room and had his way with me. He
was such an animal, grinding his hard-on against me as I yielded to him, yanking at
his tie and panting, saying how much he’d missed me, how he’d been thinking about
me all through the board meeting. But that was then, and this was now. Could it
really have been five years since we tied the knot, and could it really have been
three months since we’d made love? I’d begun to forget what it was like to feel his
hot breath against my neck, sending that tingling sensation down my inner thighs,
melting me like candle wax.

I padded across the kitchen tile on bare feet. I was wearing the Notre Dame
sweatshirt and my purple velvet panties with the tiny bow on the front. I hadn’t
shaved my legs in five or six days, but who was there to notice? I stood in front of the
wine rack, considering, sucking absently on a strand of my strawberry blond hair. I
was pouting again, even though I had told myself just the night before that I wouldn’t
let Peter’s outbursts get to me. After all, it wasn’t his fault. He was just under a lot of
pressure. Pressing my lips together, I selected the Beringer Apellation Howel and
slid it from its crevice. I resolved that I wouldn’t let myself go to waste just because I
wasn’t appreciated. I’d go upstairs and shave my legs right now, take a nice relaxing
soak, and try to unwind.

I walked up the stairs, through the hall and into the bedroom, stopping in the center
of the room and throwing my sweatshirt onto the bed, then I froze for a moment,
catching a glimpse of my reflection in the full length standing mirror to the left of the
door. Was this really what had become of me in the eight years since I’d graduated
high school? Gone was the slim, lithe cheerleader I had been. I was fifteen pounds
heavier, with a hint of love handles. I hadn’t had my hair cut in a little over two years,
though Peter had been on my case lately about that too. I turned and shook my
head slightly, allowing the tightly coiled curls to bounce gently down my neck. They
nearly reached the small of my back now. I cupped my breasts together, letting them
nestle against each other as I gave my best Marilyn Monroe kiss to my reflection. I’d
matured earlier than all the other girls in my class, having reached a C-cup by eighth
grade. All the boys had noticed, and I must admit, I’d loved the attention. By high
school, it was hard to get any of them to even look me in the eye when we had a
conversation, and I’d been a virgin until freshman year of college. That was when I’d
met Peter, and I’d known he was the one from the first time he spoke to me. I loved
the way he’d taken charge with me, telling me what to do, where we were going to
eat, what movie we were seeing. There was something in me that got turned on by
being pushed around, and that translated to the bedroom too. I would do anything
he asked me to do, and he had a great imagination. I knew he was going places
when he graduated top of his class, and when he got a job with the firm, I knew he’d
make partner quickly. I loved the lifestyle at first. I loved being pampered, and I’d
count the minutes till my man would come home and have his way with me. What I
hadn’t counted on were the long hours, and how, after the first year, he began to
obsess about the job and stopped take care of me the way he used too, either out
on the town or in the bedroom. And things kept getting worse instead of better. I
stood in front of the mirror, cradling my breasts, stroking the dark areolas as they
became erect and hard. It felt nice, touching myself, but I wanted someone else to
touch me. And it was standing there, touching myself, at my most vulnerable, that I
noticed something else in the mirror too.

The angle of the mirror was such that tilted as it was, I could see my entire five foot
eight inch frame, from my head down to my ankles. I was naked now but for the
purple panties, and I could also see the wall of the room behind me, part of the bed,
and the window facing the brownstone house across the narrow alleyway. And I
noticed something that I never had before, that across the alley, affording a view of
our bedroom, the private place I shared with Peter, was a window in the house next
to ours, and at the window, looking in on me, a woman was standing. I was shocked.
The thought that leapt into my mind was that it wasn’t as bad as if a man had seen
me. It wasn’t like some dirty peeping Tom, but just another woman like myself
standing at the window. I thought of walking over and closing the blinds, but, instead,
for reasons that I couldn’t quite explain, I pretended that I hadn’t noticed her and
stood there continuing to touch myself. I ran my hand over my navel, still smooth for
all that I had gained a couple of pounds. I still went to the gym a couple of blocks
away twice a week, and if anything, the extra baggage had gone to my breasts and
thighs, making them rounder, fuller. For a few months now, at twenty-six, I had been
a D-cup for the first time in my life, and I’d had to get new bras to accommodate my
new figure. I looked at myself, running the fingers of my right hand up and down my
chest, slowly and sensually, and out of the corner of my eye I watched the woman at
the window across the way. I knew who she was, certainly, though we’d never
spoken. She lived alone, definitely a professional, as she was gone during the day,
though I didn’t know what her job was. Looking at her now, I could easily picture her
working in some office building, a high-powered woman about town with many people
slaving away under her watchful eye. She was wearing a starchy white blouse and a
black skirt, but now I saw that she was touching herself too! She had hiked her skirt
up and it was creased in the middle as her left hand was exploring upward, while with
her right she was cupping her left breast. Suddenly I wanted to know what she
looked like under there, to watch her as she was watching me. Was it wrong to think
that? It struck me that any of the times that I had done a striptease at Peter’s
instruction, here in front of the bed while he lay there and stroked his cock, this
woman could have been watching like she was doing now, and I never would have
known. And the thought made me wet. I reached down my panties with an
exploratory index and middle finger and fingered my clit. What if I was to just turn
around and let her know I saw her? And suddenly I turned around and did it. I was
shocked at my own boldness. What had come over me?

When she saw me looking right at her, I saw her flinch, and she wouldn’t meet my
gaze. She reminded me of the boys that I used to catch staring at my breasts in gym
class with a hard-on in their shorts. I used to love their embarrassment. Seeing that I’
d made her uncomfortable, I smiled at her. I didn’t want to scare her away. This was
the most attention I’d gotten in a long while, and I meant to enjoy it. After all, it was
just a little bit of harmless fun. Peter would never know. Now that I was looking at her,
I saw that she must have been quite sexy, under all that formal wear. Her bust hinted
at breasts as full and sumptuous as mine, but I couldn’t tell for sure. Her hair was
raven black and cut short in a way that was vaguely militaristic, but her expression
seemed shy; shy and wistful at the same time. Her eyes were green and her lips
were pouting and full, the red of overly ripe cherries. And as she looked at me now,
the way her eyes ran up and down my nearly naked body, I could see that she
wanted me. I knew that look. And, amazing as it seemed to me, I wanted her too.
What I did next I know I shouldn’t have done, but I was caught up in the moment. It
was like I had become a different person. I raised my index finger and I beckoned for
her to come, come to me.

The next few minutes, when I look back on them, seem like a blur. She disappeared
from the window, and, moments later, I heard the doorbell ring. I rushed down the
stairs in my purple panties, knowing it would be her, and when I threw the door open,
there she was. My eagerness made me think of all the times Peter had come home
to me and made me do things to him and done things to me, but this was different.
This was the unfamiliar, and that made it all the more exciting. I had never been with
a woman before, had never even thought of it, and I was in uncharted waters. I
grabbed this woman by the collar, this sexy creature wrapped up in formal wear, and
I began to unwrap her like a Christmas present. Before I even got her blouse off,
ripping at the buttons, I could smell her, musky and spicy, sweet and savory, and I
knew she could smell me too. I flared my nostrils, pawing at her chest like a wild
animal, and she began to speak as I pushed her toward the couch in the living room.
“Wait!” she gasped. “Oh, god! Wait! Can’t we just…my name is…”

“Quiet!” I hissed at her in a voice that I didn’t recognize as my own. “I don’t want to
know! Lie still!” I’d managed to get her top off, and she was wearing a black Victoria ’
s Secret push up underneath, and her skin was so milky white. She smelled vaguely
of honeysuckle and I tongued her belly button; she gasped, struggling to free her
breasts from their captivity. Here was someone lonely like me, and I would show her
what it meant to unwind, I wanted to see what every part of her tasted like, and all
the while my excitement was mounting, and I knew hers was too. I finally ripped away
the bra and there they were, plump and firm yet pliable, not so large as mine but still
suckable, squeezable, and suddenly I wanted to slow things down and make this
woman do things, this stranger whose name I didn’t know, the way Peter used to
make me do things. I wanted to be in charge, and I knew that here I could be. “Lie
back!” I said. “Now I’m going to suck on your clit, and you’re just going to lie back
and like it. Isn’t that right?”

“Yes,” she whimpered. “Oh god, yes!” I unhooked her skirt, and flung it aside, and
now she was wearing nothing but panties, like mine, and I could smell her, she was
gushing like a faucet now. Her panties were white, not matching her bra, and I
thought, here is another person who doesn’t bother to match her underclothes
because no one notices, and I could see the wet patch spreading down the front, but
before I tasted her I wanted to grind against her the way Peter used to do with me,
so I leaped on top of her and pushed my pelvis against hers while licking and kissing
the side of her neck. I sucked on her earlobe while she wriggled and squirmed and
gasped, then I cupped both breasts, one in each hand, licking all around each
nipple. Hers were hard, jutting out further than mine do, and I sucked on one while
fingering the other, then I squeezed, gently at first, then increasing the pressure as I
bit down slightly on the other. She almost screamed and I clamped a hand over her
mouth.

“Quiet!” I said, and then I kissed her fully on the mouth, and she moaned gratefully. I
could feel how wet I was down there, and she was too. “Enough foreplay,” I said.
“You want me to suck that pussy, isn’t that right, bitch?”

“Yes!” she said, hardly able to talk. “Oh please, you have to.”

“Beg me,” I said. I was being cruel, and it felt good, being the mean one for a
change. “Beg me to eat your pussy.”

“Oh, please eat it.” She was almost in tears, looking up at me imploringly with those
vivid green eyes. “You have to.”

“I’ll do it,” I said. “I’ll suck on that clit until you scream.” I reached down and yanked
her panties off. I could feel how warm her thighs were, practically burning to the
touch. I stroked them up and down, and then I lowered my lips to her slit, already
quivering with anticipation. I could tell she was a screamer, and I was going to give
her exactly what she needed. I licked around the labia, enjoying the little spasms as I
worked my way toward the center. I kissed her clit, gently at first, then beginning to
apply pressure, pressing down with my lips as I reached up and took a firm hold on
either one of her breasts. Her nipples were rock hard now, and as I tightened my
hold on each one and began to lap at her pussy like a hungry cat she began to
twitch and fidget. I took my hands off her breasts and grasped each of her ankles,
pushing her legs back so her asshole was exposed. It was so small and tight looking
that I just had to run my finger over it. The juices from her pussy were running down,
and I slipped my middle finger inside her. She was burning hot and I buried my hand
up to the knuckles. She had both hands clasped over her mouth to keep from crying
out, and I could see just how bad she wanted to scream, and it made me feel so
good. My panties were soaking now too and I took a moment to reach down and tear
them off, airing my pussy out. She saw what I was doing and reached down toward
my private place instinctively. I swung my legs around onto the couch so that my
crotch was lined up with her mouth, and then I pulled one of her legs over my face
so I could suck on her clit some more. I could feel her latch onto my pussy and begin
to stroke me, and we lay like that, locked together, and now her mouth was free and
she cried out, unchecked. I grabbed hold of both of her ass cheeks and pulled them
apart, fingering her puckered hole as I worked her soaking slit back and forth with
my tongue, thrusting it in and out. I felt her shaking and I knew she was about to
come, so I thrust myself forward, filling her mouth, and ground against her. I was
determined to make her come at the same time as me, and I began to go all out,
rubbing at her asshole with two fingers while swallowing her pussy juice, better than
any wine. Now for the first time I let myself cry out, and that was all it took for her.
She screamed aloud, bucking against me, and I let myself go in a torrent. We came
together, her legs pressing down on my head so tightly I thought I would be
smothered, while her tongue and three fingers were buried in my snatch. We lay
there as whatever madness had taken us subsided, and I thought that if I had a
friend like this, who cared what mood Peter was in when he got home? I mounted her
again and snarled at her “Don’t think it’s over yet. We’re just getting warmed up.”      


© 2007 Steven Finkelstein


Steven Finkelstein is a graduate of the creative writing program at The
University of Pittsburgh. His works of fiction include two novels and
numerous short stories, as well as many nonfiction essays. He had a short
story featured last summer in the literary magazine eXpressions Journal,
and another featured last month in the online Chicago based 'zine Freight
Train. To see it, you can access the archive at
www.justadonkey.com, or for
a collection of recent short stories you can check out Steven's website,
www.stevenfinkelstein.com.