Peeping Jane


I get off on viewing myself naked.

I masturbate quite a bit and sometimes even fantasize that someone is watching me. Like the girl peeping in the window.

I see her out of the corner of my eye.

I slowly undo my robe and slide it off. I stand naked before the full-length mirror.

I slide my hands underneath my breasts. They are full, firm and upthrust. My nipples are rubbery and erect; they need no stimulation–although it does feel good when I stroke them.

I begin stroking my breasts and nipples, scraping my thumbs over the nubs and squeezing them.

“Ooh ah,” I breathe out. “Ah, that feels good.”

I briskly rub my breasts, massaging them, squeezing them. The pleasure/pain is piercing. Jagged bolts stab down my body to between my legs. My cunny tingles and aches.

Out of the corner of my eye I see Jane is still there. I notice her moving her arm up and down. I know what she’s doing.

I move my hand down my tummy, past my navel to the top of the thatch of wispy honey-colored hair. I slide my hand on down to between my legs and press. Ooh, that feels so good.

I begin moving my hand up and down, stroking my cunny. Ah, that’s so good–ooh yes.

I begin vigorously stroking, using four fingers to rub up and down, and my thumb to stroke my clit.

Oh yes, so good. Oh ah…

My friend at the window is matching my movement.

I stroke and rub my clit till a mini-climax jams through my pussy, up through my tummy to my breasts. They are heaving, throbbing, hot. Barbs of wet fire flame up through my cunny.

I notice the girl at the window jerk and then freeze. I know what she’s feeling.

She stands there naked, looking at me. I suddenly realize she is my reflection in the window.