Dirty December… Day 2 : Three Stories Up

hnt_06172010It was late and I was still at work, trying to get a pesky bit of code to cooperate in time for a demo the next day.  I was beyond tired and my eyes were gummy and my back ached.  I stood up and walked around the now empty office, looking out the third story windows at the evening entertainment seekers walking in and out of pools of street light below. The main downtown drag stretched out from one window and I watched as people went in and out of my favorite bar.  That’s where I wanted to be, not stuck at work at 9 pm.

I wandered into the next office, then the next one, and to the back of the building, where the windows looked down into an alley.  Maybe it was the exhaustion or the gummy eyes, but I didn’t see them at first.

Two dark shapes against the alley wall.  They embraced each other, kissing.  One wore a long coat that the other opened, revealing a short skirt and a top that reflected the thin light coming from the street.  Shiny, gold maybe.  Hint of curves.  The other person was dressed in a leather jacket and pants.  Pants pressed Skirt up against the wall.  Pants reached up under that short skirt.  Skirt leaned back, glossy dark hair spilling back, revealing an almond shaped face and dark brows, eyes closed.

I couldn’t hear them, but I imagined panting breaths and low moans.  Maybe the wet sounds of penetration.  I shrank back against the window frame, keeping them in view but suddenly a bit paranoid that I’d be caught watching.  A hand reached out, splayed against the wall for support.  Pants was thrusting hard, I could see Skirt’s body moving up and down.  Pants shifted to a wider stance, reaching around Skirt’s waist, upper body pressed against the shiny gold blouse.  Pants was thrusting from the hips now, and Skirt was clinging to those leather clad shoulders, red heels being lifted off the ground, legs wrapping around denim hips.  Pants slowed down, slower thrusts, the two of them clinging to each other.  I imagined fingers, wet with pleasure, the sense of power in pressing the other against the wall, that gorgeous weight pressing back against my hand.  I could feel my own wetness and a pleasurable pain I wanted to release.  I gripped myself, through my jeans, falling into their rhythm.  I wondered how many fingers Skirt was taking and thought about being filled, being bounced against the wall like that, reveling in the strength of my partner, trusting that strength as I lost my sense of time and place.

I closed my eyes, pressing my face against the window jam.  Loosening my belt and undoing the top two buttons of my jeans, I slid my hand inside my briefs.  I was so slick I could barely get any friction while trying to stroke my clit.  Reaching a little further, I easily entered myself with two fingers.  Opening my eyes, I watched them fuck as I stroked my G-spot and came, fingers of my other hand threatening to gouge the wooden frame I held onto.  I took a moment to catch my breath, eyes closed again, knees shaking dangerously.

When I opened them, Skirt was back on both feet.  The two stood a few moments longer, kissing.  The sound of a passing car, its bass throbbing for yards around, startled them.  They glanced around, suddenly more aware of how public they had been and, once more, I shrank back.  But I was three stories up and though I was not a part of their story at all, they were certainly a part of mine.  I watched as they walked back out of the alley, laughing together, arm in arm and then followed their course as they made their way back out to the main drag and into my favorite bar.  I smiled to myself.  Now I really wanted to wrap up my work.

I wondered if I could buy them a round without being discovered.  I owed them something for the entertainment.

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