I’ve always known how to wield my body like a weapon—sharp, precise, and utterly devastating. With my fiery red hair cascading down my back, freckles dusting my pale skin like stars on a milky way, and these emerald eyes that can pierce right through a man’s defenses, I’m a force of nature. Voluptuous? Hell yes, curves that could make a saint sin, hips that sway with every step, and breasts that strain against whatever flimsy top I choose to wear. But it’s not just the looks; it’s the mind behind them. I’m witty, intelligent, and I own my sexuality like a queen owns her throne. No apologies, no shame. And right now, my favorite plaything is my pathetic neighbor, Tom.
He thinks he’s sneaky, that poor fool. From his bedroom window across the narrow alley, he watches me. I’ve caught the flicker of his curtains parting late at night, the shadow of his hand moving rhythmically as he strokes himself to the sight of me. It started innocently enough—a wave hello when I moved in, his eyes lingering a beat too long on my cleavage. But I saw the hunger there, the desperate, animal need. And oh, how I love to fan those flames without ever letting him feel the heat.
Today’s torture begins in the morning. I know his schedule like clockwork; he works from home, glued to his desk until noon. So I saunter into my kitchen, wearing nothing but a sheer white tank top that clings to my full breasts, nipples hardening in the cool air, and tiny lace panties that barely cover my plump ass. I stretch languidly by the window, arching my back, letting my hair tumble free. I pretend to make coffee, bending over to reach the lower cabinet, feeling the fabric ride up, exposing the curve of my cheeks. I glance sideways—yep, there’s the twitch in his blinds. He’s watching, probably already hard, his hand inching toward his zipper.
I smile to myself, wicked and knowing. “Come on, Tommy boy,” I murmur under my breath. “Get that cock out for me.” I turn to face the window fully, sipping my coffee slowly, one hand trailing down my neck, over the swell of my tits, pinching a nipple through the thin fabric until it pebbles visibly. My other hand dips lower, fingers dancing along the edge of my panties, teasing the soft mound beneath. I don’t touch myself—not yet. That’s for later, when I know he’s aching. Instead, I lock eyes with the shadow in his window, blowing a kiss before drawing the curtain just enough to leave him wanting more.
By afternoon, I up the ante. The sun’s high, warming my backyard, which faces his. I slip into a skimpy bikini—emerald green to match my eyes, the top barely containing my heavy breasts, strings tied loosely so they threaten to slip. The bottoms? A thong that disappears between my round ass cheeks, leaving little to the imagination. I lounge on my chaise, oil in hand, slicking it over my skin slowly, methodically. Legs first, spreading them wide as I rub the glistening liquid up my thighs, inches from my pussy. I know he’s at his window upstairs, binoculars probably in hand by now. I flip onto my stomach, untying the top, letting my back bare to the sun. My ass jiggles as I shift, and I reach back, massaging the oil into those freckled cheeks, fingers dipping teasingly into the crease.
I hear it then—a faint gasp from across the way. He’s jerking off, I can tell. The thought sends a thrill through me, my own arousal building, wetness pooling between my legs. But I won’t give him the satisfaction of seeing me come. No, this is about control. I roll over, topless now, oil-slicked tits bouncing free, nipples erect and begging to be sucked. I cup them, squeezing, thumbing the peaks while I moan softly, just loud enough for the open air to carry. “Fuck, that feels good,” I whisper, imagining his cock throbbing in his fist, pre-cum leaking as he pumps faster. I spread my legs wider, hooking a finger under the thong, pulling it aside to flash my shaved, glistening pussy for a split second—pink and swollen, clit peeking out like a pearl.
He must be close now, his breaths ragged. I stand up, turning my back to him, bending at the waist to pick up my towel, ass in full view, cheeks spreading slightly to hint at the tight hole between. I wiggle playfully, then straighten, tying my top back on with exaggerated slowness. Glancing over my shoulder, I wink at his window before heading inside, leaving him to spill his load alone, frustrated and obsessed.
Evening brings the grand finale. I draw a bath in my bathroom, window wide open, lights dimmed to a sultry glow. Naked now, I sink into the bubbles, my curves submerged but teasingly visible. I lather soap over my body, hands roaming freely—squeezing my tits, sliding down my belly to my thighs. I part my legs, fingers circling my clit, building that delicious tension. But I know he’s there, cock in hand again, stroking to the show. I moan louder this time, filthy words spilling from my lips. “Oh god, yes, right there… fuck, I’m so wet… imagine this pussy wrapped around you, Tommy, but you’ll never have it.”
I edge myself, bringing my body to the brink, hips bucking, water sloshing. My free hand pinches a nipple hard, pain mixing with pleasure. I finger myself deeper, two digits plunging into my slick heat, thumb on my clit, gasping as the orgasm builds. But just as I’m about to come, I stop, pulling my hand away, sucking my fingers clean with a satisfied hum. I stand, water cascading down my naked form, every curve on display—freckles, red hair plastered wet, pussy lips puffy and aching. I blow out the candle, plunging the room into darkness, leaving him hanging once more.
Lying in bed later, I touch myself for real, coming hard to the thought of his desperation. He’ll never touch me, never taste me, never bury his cock in my tight, dripping cunt. But he’ll keep watching, keep jerking, and I’ll keep teasing—because power like this? It’s the ultimate aphrodisiac. And I’m addicted.