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  • Oh, To Be Watched and Filmed Ch. 01

Oh, To Be Watched and Filmed Ch. 01

They did not speak as the lift doors closed behind them, preoccupied as they both were with their own thoughts.

Her nervousness mounted, and she felt a knot in her stomach. Doubts and shame gnawed at her, for the umpteenth time. She also had a slight nagging fear for her own safety, though he seemed genuine enough; she had met him three times after making contact on the internet, and his manner seemed to allay her concerns.

Besides, the classiness of the hotel and the fact that he had paid for the room with his credit card gave a degree of reassurance.

They exchanged nervous smiles.

In a chivalrous gesture he opened the door of the room and allowed her to step in ahead of him. He also allowed her to close the door behind them. It reassured her to turn the key in the lock rather than have him do it. She removed her navy blue jacket and draped it over a chair. She was wearing a black, lace-trimmed camisole that was tucked into the waistband of her navy blue trousers.

She wandered through the suite, raising her eyebrows in pleasant surprise at the relative luxury of the decor and furnishings. She had only been expecting one room with a small bathroom attached, and the relative spaciousness surprised her.

He didn't follow her, but she was aware of his admiration of her slender frame, and of his gaze upon her trousered legs and backside. She smiled to herself, knowing that however hard he tried to discern it, he would be unable to see any panty-line under the tight-fitting trousers of her business suit. She wondered whether he assumed that she was wearing tiny underwear or whether he guessed that she was naked beneath her trousers. She knew that as she walked, the tight fit of her trousers showed off the shape and sensual rolling movement of her bum cheeks. And she knew that his gaze was drawn to it. An involuntary shudder ran down her spine.

She sensed his gaze on her breasts, and his silent, passive attention aroused her. Her breasts were small but firm, and as she glanced in the mirror she noted the way her satin camisole shimmered. She paused for a moment and exchanged smiles with him, coy, but less nervous than before. She savoured his admiration of her face and of her blond, bobbed hair.

She switched on the two bedside lamps and a wall light, and switched off the ceiling light, eager for the room to be softly but well illuminated. She walked slowly to the window, again very conscious of his intense stare upon her, even though her back was turned to him. For a moment or two she stood, undecided. The likelihood of being watched was daunting, and she had debated this detail of her plan many times in the past few days.

She had told him this, of course, and although she now half-hoped that he would help her to decide, he said nothing. She glanced at the mirror again and saw his transfixed eyes on her backside.

Her mind made up, she drew the curtains open. A shudder of shame and nervousness ran down her spine. She knew that the room interior would now be on view to the apartment block opposite; some of its windows were in darkness, but others were lit behind their drawn curtains. A few rooms were unlit and with curtains unclosed. She avoided looking for any potential watchers, however. Instead she stepped to the upholstered bedside chair.

She swung her bag from her shoulder & bent down to place it on the floor, conscious that the tightness of her trousers emphasised the curves of her bum. He took the video camera from the holdall and placed it by his feet. She spoke, and such was the intensity of the atmosphere that she startled him.

"Can you give me a hand with this?"

He picked up the chair and carried it closer to the window. She sat in it and looked out, checking its position. She adjusted its angle slightly more towards the window, then sat upon it again.

She stared intently at him but said nothing as he got the camera ready and took up position to one side of the window.

She watched his intense expression as he focussed the camera.

Her heart was pounding with shame, embarrassment, and nervousness. She had often pleasured herself, but always in private, and often with a sense of guilt. She had never even done it for her former partner. Having been to a convent school she felt guilty even about masturbating in private, let alone to allow anyone to watch her. Perhaps the shame had fed her unfulfilled fantasy of being watched while doing it. He particular fantasy -- that had grown to an almost irresistible scale recently -- was to be watched knowingly by a stranger, or even perhaps being secretly spied upon in the act. Perhaps even both scenarios would combine.

She fixed her eyes upon him and traced her right hand lightly over her breasts through the black satin of her camisole. With a thrill, she saw him zoom in slightly, then out again. She glanced down at her fingertip as she teased her flat nipple. She gave a sigh at the delicious sensation, and at his rapt expression.

She ran her fingertip along the lace trim of the neckline, and between her breasts, still over the warm soft fabric of her camisole, and down over her flat stomach. Like him, she watched the course of her fingertip over the shimmering satin. She looked up at him, sensing that her expression was distant and intense; her reflection in the mirror confirmed it.

A series of images came briefly to her mind. Her parents' and headmistress's pressure upon her years ago to go into the teaching profession, much against her wishes, and which she had left after just two years; the high demands of her present job as a senior manager of a marketing company. Last but not least was the recent betrayal of her former partner. He had somehow kept secret his affair of just over a year with a colleague of his. During this time she herself had still loved him, rallied round him when his mother had died, and slept with him. She had felt betrayed, disillusioned, and sullied. He had come home late from work one evening and declined her advances; a week later she realised it was because he had satisfied himself with his floozy.

Her self esteem had hit rock-bottom for a while. But she had begun to take stock. At thirty-seven years old, she took pride in her appearance. She was fairly slim, and whilst she was neither particularly leggy nor busty, her slender frame was fairly curvy, her legs relatively shapely and her 34B breasts were firm and in proportion to her build.

She had begun to dress for work a little more boldly, too. Not provocatively, but in a way that flattered her figure, and her self esteem had begun to grow again as she drew some admiring glances.

This self-pleasuring in front of a near stranger who was filming her, and the possibility of being seen by others, was a kind of assertion, a release, a gratification of a long-held secret fantasy, and, in her mind at least, a secret revenge, a defiance, a sticking up of two fingers at the hurts she had endured and the people who had inflicted them upon her.

The whirring of his video camera enhanced her excitement, an added detail of the sordid nature of her act. So too, did the possibility that a stranger -- or even more than one -- was watching her from the apartments opposite. She toyed with the idea of glancing across, but decided against it; it somehow seemed more arousing not to know.

She stared at him as she cupped her left breast and nudged it up and down. She loved playing with her sensitive breasts. She alternated between various caresses, scooping them gently, rocking them up and down more firmly, kneading them, and playing with her tender nipples. She enjoyed the sight as well as the sensation of her orbs responding to her own touch under the shimmering satin.

She looked at him again as he zoomed in on her fingers, filming her gently pinching her nipples and teasing their swollen points with her painted nails. With a tremor of delight she detected the increased rate of his breathing.

She patted her breast up and down so that it quivered sensually under the satin. As she did so she let her other hand stray down to her trouser-clad crotch.

She saw his rising erection as she unbuttoned her trousers. She wasn't sure whether he had guessed that she was wearing nothing under them. She peeled her trousers open, and for a delicious moment before she slid her hand inside she heard his intake of breath as he glimpsed her trimmed crotch. She swung her left leg over the chair arm.

She began to rub herself slowly in little circular movements. He zoomed in on her face, then switched to the gentle circular movement of her hand inside her trousers. She gave a long sigh of satisfaction and closed her eyes for a few moments before looking back into his rapt face again, then, like him, she rested her eyes on the ballooning of her trousers as she caressed herself inside them.

She slid her other hand up inside her camisole, tracing her fingertips lightly over her skin, sweeping in small circles up towards her breast. She looked down at the movement of her hand under the soft satin, and savoured his enjoyment and filming of the same view. A thrill of arousal ran through her at his excitement, and at the fact of him being privy to such an intimate sight. She felt empowered at the effect she was having upon this near-stranger, and that her masturbation was being recorded on film.

She lifted her camisole, and saw him zoom out to capture its being pulled over her head. She noted with delight the bulge in his trousers as he filmed her medium, pert breasts which came into his view and gently swayed with her movements.

She saw him angle the camera down to the open slit of her trousers and zoom in on her partly exposed crotch.

She dropped her camisole onto the floor, staring at him intently as he ran the camera over its crumpled form. She kicked off her shoes and dragged down her trousers, wiggling her hips sensually to free them. She felt a shudder of delight as he zoomed in on her naked crotch, adorned with soft hair, untrimmed in length but covering just her pouting outer lips and above her hood.

For a moment or two she wondered whether anyone else was looking in through the unveiled window. She had chosen the hotel partly with the potential in mind. And, as it was an hour's drive away from her home town, the chance of being recognised was almost nil. She concentrated instead upon her companion, though.

She got up from the chair and stepped to the bed. To her delight his breathing was becoming more laboured with his mounting desire.

She sat on the bed at an angle, partly facing the window. She saw him move a few steps closer and to one side.

She pinched her outer lips & tugged on them, allowing them to snap back into place, staring at his eager expression and at the zooming of the camera lens. She closed her eyes and put her head back slightly, savouring her own touch, the soft whirr of the camera, and his laboured breathing.

She opened her eyes and realised that he was now filming her facial expression, committing her bliss to film. She looked into his face once more, thrilling in her sharing of this most private act with him and capturing it for posterity. She stroked her puffy outer lips with her right hand, and with her left she gently kneaded her left breast.

She looked down as her orb surged and swayed to her own tender touch. She watched her finger and thumb as they took her nipple and tugged on it, stretching it and the tip of her breast outwards. She repeated this seven or eight times, sometimes watching herself, sometimes watching him and the zooming in and out of the lens, and sometimes closing her eyes.

She opened her hair-covered flaps to show the shiny pinkness inside. He stepped a little closer and zoomed in on the sight she proffered, and she held her position for a few moments for the camera's benefit -- and his -- as he zoomed in and out upon her pussy but also to her intense expression. She rubbed her clit and gently slapped her fingers against her slit as she watched him filming her.

She eased two fingers into her opening, thrilling in the corresponding zooming of his gaze and lens as she slowly thrust them in and out for a few minutes.

She felt the first twinges in her crotch as her arousal heightened, and to her delight she knew that the camera had captured the moment.

She withdrew her fingers and raised them to her face to see their moist coating, and to allow him to record her doing so. She realised that her hand was shaking slightly with shame and mounting arousal and she watched him again as he filmed the slow progress of her hand down over her flattish belly and to her awaiting crotch again.

She resumed rubbing her clit again. She felt unaccountably ashamed at the prospect of her actual, approaching climax to be captured on film, but it seemed pathetic to ask him to stop filming now.

Another few preliminary twitches and spasms presaged it. She cast aside her embarrassment. This was her moment, her defiance of those who had hurt her, her act of shameful self-liberation.

Her own laboured breathing and his quickened breathing, the whirring of the video camera, and a glance at the open curtains hastened her orgasm. She gazed into his eager face as he filmed hers, and as he zoomed out to take in the view of her whole body. She closed her eyes and continued to rub her clit, resuming kneading her left breast with her other hand as her climax swept upon her. Her thighs instinctively closed against her hand and she gasped and convulsed more intensely than she had known for a long time, until, with a few final thrusts of her pelvis and thighs, she was spent.

She laughed nervously.

"Is... can you see anyone watching from the apartments?" she stuttered.

He turned slowly round and tried to look discreetly, sidelong rather than directly, and hiding the camera.

He nodded.

"Film them -- even if it's only briefly. I... I want to see that someone's..."

He nodded again, and swung smoothly round with the camera to his eye.

The middle aged man in the apartment window was only visible from the waist up, but the movement of his arm left little doubt that he had been a spectator and was playing with himself.

Suddenly, realising he had been spotted, he turned away and fumbled the curtains of his apartment closed.

"Did... did you manage to film...?"

He gave a big grin and nodded.

"Yes. He was..."

Despite the intimacy of the past minutes, she realised that he was now embarrassed, conscious that the two of them were almost strangers. In fact he averted his eyes. She felt similarly awkward.

"Tell me, Tom. Was he... was he... WANKING?"

"Yes, Sarah. He was wanking. I'm certain of it, but we'll find out when we check the footage later. A guy in his mid- to late-fifties, I'm guessing. He... he must have really enjoyed what he saw!"

They both laughed coyly.

_______________

TO BE CONTINUED?

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