The attic was a furnace, thick with the scent of old wood and dust, but Tom Peepy didn’t give a damn. He wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand, his fingers trembling as he adjusted the lens of his camera. This is wrong, he told himself, but the thought dissolved the second he caught movement through the narrow window. There she was—Lisa Smith, standing in her bedroom, the afternoon sun spilling over her bare shoulders as she turned in front of the mirror.
She bit her lower lip, her fingers tracing the delicate straps of the bikini she’d just put on. It was criminal, really—scandalously tiny, the deep blue fabric clinging to her like a second skin. The top cupped her small, perky tits just right, the bottoms riding high on her hips, barely covering the swell of her ass. Lisa had never worn anything so daring before, and the way her breath hitched as she admired herself told Tom everything he needed to know. She was nervous. Turned on, even. The thought made his cock twitch in his jeans, pressing uncomfortably against the zipper.
Lisa exhaled sharply, her nipples hardening beneath the thin fabric as she smoothed her hands down her flat stomach. Fuck it, she thought. Charles would lose his mind when he saw her in this. The backyard was private, enclosed by a tall wooden fence, the only real risk being the nosy old lady next door—and she was deaf as a post. With a final glance in the mirror, she grabbed her sunscreen and a towel, her bare feet padding softly down the hall.
Tom’s breath caught as she stepped outside. The sun hit her like a spotlight, turning her pale skin golden, her long legs stretching out as she laid her towel on the lounge chair. He adjusted the camera again, his pulse roaring in his ears as he zoomed in. The lens captured every detail—the way her thighs pressed together as she sat, the faint outline of her pussy lips through the dampening fabric, the way her fingers trembled as she unscrewed the cap of the lotion.
Lisa poured a generous dollop into her palm, the cool liquid making her shiver. She started with her shoulders, her touch feather-light, but the second her fingers glided over her collarbone, a quiet moan escaped her. The lotion was slick, her skin hypersensitive, every stroke sending a jolt straight between her legs. She bit her lip harder, her free hand drifting down, teasing the waistband of her bikini bottoms before dipping beneath.
Tom’s cock was iron now, straining against his jeans as he watched her fingers disappear. "Holy fuck" He shouldn’t be seeing this. Shouldn’t be watching this. But he couldn’t look away, his thumb pressing the shutter button over and over, the soft click of the camera lost beneath the sound of his ragged breathing. Lisa’s back arched slightly, her lips parting as her fingers worked in slow, deliberate circles. The lotion made everything slippery, her clit already swollen, her pussy aching. She imagined it was Charles’ tongue, his fingers, his cock—anything to justify the way her hips lifted off the chair, her thighs falling open just enough to give Tom a perfect view.
His precome soaked through his boxers, the wet spot darkening his jeans. He palmed himself through the fabric, hissing as he squeezed the base of his cock. Just a little longer. Just until she came. Because she was going to come. He could see it in the way her breath stuttered, the way her free hand clenched the armrest, her knuckles white.
Lisa’s whimper was loud, needy, her fingers moving faster, her thumb pressing down on her clit as two fingers slid inside her tight, dripping cunt. The lotion mixed with her arousal, the obscene, wet sounds making Tom groan. He unzipped his jeans, freeing his throbbing dick, his grip tight as he stroked himself in time with her movements. Fuck, fuck, fuck—she was close. He could tell by the way her toes curled, the way her entire body tensed.
“Oh god—” Lisa gasped, her voice raw, her pussy clenching around her fingers as her orgasm crashed over her. Her back bowed off the chair, her tits heaving, her bikini top barely containing her as she rode out the waves, her juices dripping down her wrist.
Tom came with a choked groan, his come shooting in thick ropes over his fist, splattering onto the attic floor. His vision blurred, his body shuddering as he milked himself dry, his eyes glued to Lisa’s trembling form.
She collapsed back onto the chair, her chest rising and falling rapidly, her skin glistening with sweat and lotion. A slow, satisfied smile curled her lips as she pulled her fingers free, bringing them to her mouth to taste herself. Tom’s cock twitched at the sight, his balls already aching for another round.
Then, as if sensing eyes on her, Lisa turned her head slightly, She looked all around and was relieved nobody was around to see.
Tom continued pressing the shutter on his sticky camera. No way was he going to show all these to Lisa's husband. He spent an hour choosing two or three from when she first came outside.
Tom hopes Lisa will continue every day.