A Window of Opportunity

by Karen Hewitt

Now tell me, is there anything more luxurious than the feeling of just having been royally fucked? If there is, I couldn’t think of it as I lay sprawled across the bedsheets one balmy autumn afternoon. Top sheets, blankets, pillows all lay in a pile by the side of the bed, where Bobby and I had kicked them off in our passion. My thighs were still sticky from our intense lovemaking, but I was in no hurry to abandon the delicious afterglow of several radiant orgasms.

Bobby worked evenings at a local TV station and couldn’t afford my luxury. In fact, he was going to be late for work if he didn’t get out of the shower pretty soon—I could see the sun setting through the bedroom window.

It was a beautiful Indian-summer evening. I stretched lazily off the bed and slid open the bedroom window to let in the breeze. I felt a sensuous pleasure as the fresh air cooled the perspiration on my skin. Folding my arms under my breasts, I leaned against the windowsill and watched the oranges and purples of the setting sun peek through the mulberry trees. From my neighbor’s backyard, I heard the sound of softly burbling water from a fountain.

A fat mulberry leaf caught the last of the sun as it slipped from its tree and fell gently to the shadows below. And I suddenly realized, with a bit of surprise, that the view from my bedroom window had changed. I felt a bit silly, actually, that I hadn’t noticed before; since I’d moved in six months ago, I’d never gotten into the habit of pulling the bedroom drapes. I didn’t worry about privacy—the two mulberry trees in my neighbor’s backyard had provided a thick-leaved curtain of seclusion all summer. But now, in the middle of fall, there appeared gaps and spaces, arches and tunnels, amid the newly bared branches.

Through the flickering shadows, I could make out the blue glow of rippling water, a flash of pink skin, and I realized that the gurgling waterfall sounds I’d been hearing had been coming from a hot tub. There was somebody in it. A woman . . .

Of course it had to be my neighbor, Ann. Throughout the summer, we had exchanged greetings over grocery bags and between carpools, but the truth was we hardly knew each other. And now, spying through the mulberries, I had an intimate view of her.

She was unknowingly facing me, resting her arms on the edge of the hot tub. Her face had the classic features and ivory complexion of a woman in a Renoir, with wide almond eyes. Her long brunette hair was pinned up, but a few strands curled down her neck and dipped into the water. Her breasts were larger than mine, with nipples like large pink flowers that floated in the bubbly water.

I suddenly became aware that I was teasing my own nipple. Were hers very sensitive, I wondered? Did she like them to be touched lightly? Hard?

I could feel my nipple swell against my fingers, feel the warmth of excitement flood my pussy, smell the scent of my own arousal. Instinctively I dropped my other hand between my sticky-wet thighs. Slowly, savoring the moment, I dipped a finger into the well of my sex, then massaged the slippery fluid gently onto my clitoris. As if she could read my mind, Ann cupped her breasts in her hands and lifted them from the foaming water. By now the sun had almost completely set, and I was sure that I was hidden in shadows. Yet it almost seemed that she was offering herself to me. It was as if we were somehow psychically connected, sharing an intimate moment of our own.

“Having fun?” Bobby asked, standing in the bathroom doorway. I started with surprise—I’d been so involved with the scene at the window that I hadn’t realized he had gotten out of the shower.

His athletic body stood in silhouette against the bathroom door. He was nude, his wet hair slicked back, and I appreciated this opportunity to admire the muscular frame that had so recently given me such pleasure.

Then I realized that the bathroom light was enough to illuminate us both. I pictured me silhouetted against the window as clearly as Bobby was framed in the doorway. “Bob,” I began to say, but it was too late. There was a flicker from the window, and I turned to see that the wavy blue glow had disappeared. Ann had switched off her hot-tub lights.

But I could still hear the soft gurgle of the water pump. She was still out there, hidden in the shadows. All the better to see us now, in the window. Well, I could play that game . . .

Bobby walked up behind me and put his arms around my waist. I leaned back against his solid support. He felt and smelled good—still hot and steamy from the shower. “What’cha looking at?” he asked.

“The sunset, leaves, and stuff,” I answered casually. Taking his hands in mine, I lifted them slowly up my torso until his palms were cupping my breasts. With practiced confidence he lifted them and squeezed them with a gentle, relaxed pressure. He began rolling my swollen nipples between his thumb and forefinger, pulling and twisting ever so lightly until they were as hard as little pebbles. He knew what I liked.

But only I knew we weren’t alone. “Can you see us?” I silently called to her. “Can you imagine how good it feels to have his hands on my body?” A sigh escaped my lips. “What if somebody was watching, Bobby?” I said aloud. “If somebody you couldn’t see was out there? Would you stop?”

“What, here in the window?” The feel of Bobby’s growing hard-on against my ass was answer enough. “Who’d be watching?” he whispered in my ear. “Tell me about it.”

Bobby’s hand slipped down between my legs as he encouraged me to further explore this new scenario. He wasn’t surprised at how wet and slippery I had become; he and I are very open with each other and share a sex life rich in fantasy. He knew of my desire to explore another female body, to see my excitement mirrored in the intimate reactions of another woman. My fantasies hadn’t bothered him; in fact, they turned him on and had become an occasional spice to our erotic games. However, my Bobby had no idea how real this particular game had become, and I wasn’t about to tell him—not yet.

Bobby’s cock was growing ever harder, poking against my thighs as I revealed my erotic confession. Instinctively I opened my legs wider for him and leaned forward, balancing my forearms on the windowsill.

Ann was somewhere out there, and I just knew she could see us. I wanted Bobby to take me then and there. Reaching down between my legs, I guided his erection into me. I was so wet that he slid all the way in with one stroke. “Right here in the window, baby,” I told him. “Fuck me!”

Bobby was eager to oblige, and he began driving into me with hard, fast strokes. I knew Ann was watching, knew she could hear the loud smacking of flesh against flesh as Bobby’s thighs slapped hard against my ass. His cock filled me till I thought I would split. On shaky legs, I was panting with each deep stroke. “Bobby?” I gasped, and reached behind me, searching for support. I rested my head on one arm while I ran a hand between my legs and rolled my swollen clitoris between two fingers.

I screamed like a banshee when I came. And Bobby was late for work.

For days after that, it seemed as if I couldn’t avoid Ann. We were constantly bumping into each other leaving for work in the morning, grocery shopping on the weekends, even passing on the sidewalk. And each time I felt like a tongue-tied fool, so sure that I was blushing like a neon sign.

But was I embarrassed because I spied on her? Or because I had found the experience so exciting? It took only a moment’s reflection to answer that one, but the implications made me blush. Fantasies were one thing, but I couldn’t seem to get the image of Ann in that hot tub out of my mind.

Ann broke the impasse one afternoon when a rogue melon spilled out of my grocery bag and started rolling down the driveway. I ran after it, but by the time I got to the bottom of the driveway, there she was—standing on the sidewalk, holding the melon and looking at it quizzically. I was stammering out a thank-you when she said, “Do you think it’s bruised?”

It may have been the tone of her voice, the time of day, or the tension between us. Whatever it was, it was one of those you-had-to-be-there moments, and we started to laugh till our eyes welled with tears.

“Look,” Ann said, “would you like to come over for some wine and cheese? Or, if you’d prefer, I make a great sangria.”

I gulped and finally spit out, “Yeah, sure.”

“Great!” she said. “We could sit in my hot tub and watch the sun go down. It’s a terrific view.”

Thirty minutes later I was naked and neck deep in Ann’s hot tub—if my face was flushed, I could blame it on the steamy water.

As we chatted I closed my eyes and let the water jets massage the tension from my neck and shoulders. But when I felt a sudden tickling sensation at my breast, my eyes jerked open. A mulberry leaf had fallen into the hot tub and landed half in the water, half against my breast. “These things are turning into a problem,” Ann said matter-of-factly as she reached across to pluck it away. Her fingers brushed lightly against my nipple as she retrieved the leaf. Did they linger a moment? The touch felt electric. My body’s desires betrayed my cool facade, and my nipple sprang to attention like a brave little soldier. I was sure she noticed.

“Maybe more of a problem than you think,” I said haltingly. “For one thing, your privacy is falling away, leaf by leaf.”

Ann looked across the yard. I followed her gaze right to my bedroom window. “I don’t mind the leaves thinning out,” she said, “as long as they provide an interesting view.” There was no mistaking her meaning or the smile playing at the corners of her mouth. We stared at each other for a moment, then suddenly we were both giggling over our mutual voyeurism.

“But wasn’t it hot?” Ann said with a sly grin. Next we were sharing our perspectives and replaying all the torrid details. We’d all had fun that night: me with Bobby, Ann with her water jets. But when Ann realized that I was a “hot-tub virgin,” she was adamant. “Honey, there’s no way I can explain to you how it feels . . . you gotta try this for yourself.”

I had to admit I was curious, and without another word Ann took my arm and drew me over to her side of the tub.

She maneuvered me until I was roughly in the same position I had seen her in that night: leaning forward against the rim of the tub. I discovered that I could rest my knees on one of the underwater benches and feel the rush of bubbles against my thighs from an underwater jet right in front of me. Ann slid around behind me. “Now just relax,” she said, “and let me guide you into position.” Her warm breath tickled my neck as she whispered over the sound of the gurgling water, and I could feel her breasts pressing against my back.

Gently Ann spread my knees wider apart, lowering my position in the water so that the pulsing, bubbling water began climbing between my legs. I let myself float back into her arms, enveloped in sensations that were relaxing yet intensely sensual. “That’s it, just let go,” she said. “You can balance yourself on your arms or lean against me to make it easier to move your hips and adjust the pressure.” Ann cupped my buttocks in her hands and lightly pushed my hips closer to the jet. “How’s that?”

The feeling was incredible—bubbles rising and swirling up and around my pussy lips and dancing against my clitoris with a constant soft agitation.

I moaned appreciatively at the sensation, but Ann had one more trick to show me. She stretched out her arm along my own, guiding my hand to a dial at the side of the tub. “You can turn it up . . .” With a twist of the dial, the water spread my outer labia aside like the petals of a flower, and the rush of bubbles beat an exciting tattoo directly against my clitoris. “. . . or down,” she continued, out of nowhere. Once again, the bubbles lowered to a teasing tickle.

“God, is this what you were doing the other night?” I muttered through clenched teeth. It was a delicious sensation, and with Ann’s assistance I began exploring the possibilities, varying the thrust of the water jet with the dial and rocking my hips to adjust the angle of attack. I soon settled into an erotic rhythm, thrusting my open pussy against the full force of the jet, then allowing the pressure to push me upward so that the stream was just tickling my pussy lips and mischievous bubbles were shooting between my thighs.

Behind me I heard Ann gasp in surprise, and I realized that as I was moving up, the water that was passing between my legs was catching her full force. Reflexively she threw her hips forward, thrusting us both into the jet. “Are you okay?” I asked. My own voice was anything but calm.

“Sorry,” she said, “I got a little tingle myself there for a second.”

I twisted around to face her. We were so close, our faces just inches apart. Her lips were dewy, her warm breath perfumed with the tang of sangria. “No,” I said, “don’t be sorry.” And I kissed her. She opened her mouth to me, and we tasted each other’s lips and tongue with a sudden hunger that surprised us both.

Eventually breaking the kiss, we stared at each other. I turned back around to face the edge of the tub. Once again Ann slid in close behind me, but now she slid her hands up and cupped my breasts. My nipples puckered up hard against her fingertips, and I pressed myself against her. “Ready?” I asked in a ragged voice, and reached for the dial.

We began fucking the water jet in tandem, rocking back and forth in a synchronized motion that allowed us both full access to the inexorable pulse of the water against our pussies. Together we shifted and splashed, played with the dial, and pursued the rush of bubbles, openly delighting in this intimate play and the friction of skin rubbing against skin as we slid against each other.

I came first, but Ann cheated. As I began to shiver and gasp, she slid her hand down my belly and pulled my pussy lips wide apart so that the foaming water drove directly against the inflamed nerves of my clitoris and vulva. I cried out with release, shivering from an earthquake that spread from my cunt throughout my body, shaking me to my fingertips.

Deliciously sated, I fell back onto one of the benches and pulled Ann down with me. She wound up in my lap, breathless with excitement. I hugged her close and murmured words of encouragement as she wrapped her legs around my thigh and began humping me.

She was so much more than any fantasy I could have dreamed! I kissed her, teasing her lips and tongue with my own. I licked the drops of water from her breasts, tickling the pink flesh of her nipples, then sucked them hard into my mouth, first one and then the other. It drove her crazy; she had to balance herself by clamping her hands on my shoulders as she rode my leg harder and faster.

She was so hot, so close, and I wanted so badly to take her over the edge. I slid a hand down her smooth belly and through her tight pubic thatch till I found her clitoris standing up like a little button. I began rubbing it in a circular motion with my thumb and slid a finger, then two, deep into her slick pussy. She looked at me with her eyes wide open in surprise. “Oh, God, Karen!” Ann cried, and fell forward into my arms. She buried her face in my neck as I stroked the inner walls of her vagina. Her muscles tightened, squeezing my fingers together, holding them inside. Gasping for breath, Ann began snapping her hips downward, fucking my fingers until she cried out again, shaking in orgasm.

We held each other for a few moments of delicious silence, and I hated to break the spell when I whispered, “I love your hot tub, but we’re going to turn into raisins if we stay in here any longer.”

That evening, as the mulberry leaves continued to fall, I learned a valuable lesson. My experience with Ann has taught me not to fear crossing the line between fantasy and reality.

A few nights later, Bobby noticed the thinning leaves just outside my bedroom window. “Hey, you know,” he said, “you can see right into your neighbor’s backyard from here!”

“Why don’t you come to bed, Bobby,” I said, “and let me tell you a story . . .”