The Watcher

I turn the bucket upside down and sink down on it with a sigh, stretching my legs. My non-smoker's cigarette break always takes place in the dark corner of the equipment room of the gym, a place so stacked with weights and gear and mats and broken treadmills that they swallow up the sounds from outside. It's not silent by a long stretch, but it's the best it gets in this whole building. And there's something about the greasy, musty smell that I like, and about the windowless closeness of the room, illuminated only by the light that falls in through the glass in the door.

Usually, I'm on my own in here for the entire fifteen minutes of my break. Usually, I lean my head back, stretch my legs out and just relax before I have to get back to my shitty-but-okay cleaning job.

Today, two minutes into my break, the door opens. Looking through the shelves, I see a guy's legs. They're clad in work-out pants and colorful knee-highs, so it's not a gym employee. I assume that he's come to fetch something even though it's not usual for customers to come in here. There's a STAFF ONLY sign on the door that keeps them away. I'm about to inform him that he has no business being in this room.

But then I see another pair of legs – clearly female, tight light-blue yoga pants hugging lean calves, muscular thighs and a very shapely backside – and immediately I know what's going on... and that I'm screwed. The door falls shut again.

I soundlessly shift around until I can see more of the two through a gap in the shelves, their bodies pressed together and against the wall by the door. She's all over him, arching into his embrace. His hands roam over her back, only impeded by her sports bra, and down her sides to her hips, then slip to her buttocks and squeeze with obvious reverence. I can hear his soft groan, stifled by her mouth, and her coy giggle, stifled by his mouth in return. Their lips and tongues make little wet sounds as they meet and fight.

Oh god, oh god, I am so screwed. What if they notice me? Pre-embarrassment makes my cheeks go hot. I don't dare to breathe. But I also can't look away. His fingers have slipped under her yoga pants, the outline of his knuckles clearly visible as he digs them into the soft flesh off her ass, pulling her even closer to him.... Damn, there's a warm glow of heat blooming in my middle at the sight. Such passion.

He removes his hands to lift his arms so that she can pull his shirt over his head, and she spends several moments running her hands across his shoulders and chest and cooing compliments. I press my lips together in annoyance because, as nice as her rear view is – back dimples, sweat-slicked skin, hourglass figure and all - I really also want to see what she has just uncovered and she's smack in my way.

Fortunately, my lips are still sealed when she goes down on her knees, slipping his training shorts off his hips as she goes. He leans back against the wall, his smooth bare chest – now in clear view – rippling and gleaming with sweat... Good Lord, he's fine. He lets his head fall against the wall and groans with pleasure as she starts to... work. Noisily.

My mouth starts to water and I lick my lips. Watching the real thing is very different from watching porn. I can't see anything at all, only the back of her head and her blonde hair curling down to the middle of her back, but it's still more scandalous and intense than any POV closeup I've ever seen. I hardly dare to blink.

His hand tangles into her hair. “Hngh, yes,” he breathes. “Good girl.”

Encouraged, she does something that makes him growl, and then there's a sharp, wet popping sound and a noisy inhale from her.

“Look at that, so sloppy,” he says. “You're dripping all over yourself. Here, let me---” He reaches down. I imagine him wiping her mouth and chin with his knuckles.

She lifts herself up a notch. I can see her sticking her elbows out. The slick noises change in quality. Now her mouth isn't occupied any more, she can participate in the dirty talk.

“You've been thinking about doing this every time you saw them bounce while I was on that treadmill, haven't you,” she says, obviously amused and aroused by his reaction, a rippling groan. “You want to come all over them, hm?”

My own small, scandalized noise is swallowed entirely by his appreciative noises.

“And when you're done, it's my turn,” she continues, a smirk in her voice. Her upper body rocks forwards and back. “You said I'd get to do terrible things to you. I've got several in mind right now...”

“Tell me.” It's right between an order and a plea.

I feel my own mouth open to answer him. There's something about that deep voice that makes we want to do anything he says. Anything. Anything, I breathe. I want to do anything to you. Run my hands all over you. And my lips. Do what she's doing, just better.

“First, I'm going to make you come over my tits,” she answers sweetly. “And have you rub it in...” her voice drops low, “and then make you clean it up.”

He and I both exhale on a moan at the idea of him being bossed around like that. Forced to do that. “God, you filthy-”

“And then I'm going to bend you over that thing there,” she continues, flicking her head to the side to gesture at some of the equipment to her right, “and stick first my tongue and then my fingers up that tight ass of yours.”

Holy fuck. There is not a hint of joking in her voice. It's dark and full of promise. I can see him clenching his jaw and his Adam's apple bobs. I don't think he ever heard a beautiful woman say words so dirty either.

“Because nothing will give me more pleasure than to hear you moan like a bitch when I do that.... Except perhaps making you come like that.” A deep sound escapes from his throat. She chuckles about it and picks up her pace again. “One of my hands will be busy with you... and the other one will be for me.”

“Fuck,” he curses. “Your mouth. Give me your mouth again.” She obeys. “You've got a free hand. Use it on yourself.” She obeys again. I can see her thighs spreading and her arm lowering to her side, forearm and hand disappearing from my view as they reach down to her center.

My own fingers itch and my middle pulses. I don't move, though. I can't, not without attracting his attention, I'm certain of it. I don't want to risk it. My heart is hammering in my throat.

Again there's a loud popping sounds as she pulls her mouth away, and then a slurp that raises goosebumps from the nape of my neck up to the crown of my head. “Tell me about the terrible things on your mind,” she says. “Look me in the eye and tell me.”

He exhales loudly when she continues her job, threads the fingers of one hand into her hair and guides her head. I imagine that he's exerting pressure, pulling her face down and toward his cock at a quick pace, and I press my thighs together hard, hoping that the slight movement will go unnoticed.

“I'd take you home with me,” he begins, interrupting himself with a low moan and a 'fuck yes', “and tie you to my bed, spread-eagled, face down.”

She comes up for air and for a cooed “I like that”, heavy with her smirk.

I can see her there, tied wrists and ankles to the four posts of his king-sized bed, her ass sticking up bare and round, her pussy exposed between her cheeks, the hollow curve of her lower back gleaming with sweat, her naked breasts pressed flat onto the sheet beneath her, her blonde hair spilled onto the pillow.

She's at his mercy. He doesn't know it, but so am I. I'm as unable to move as she is. As expectant and maybe even more desperate. My panties feel uncomfortably tight and chafing. My flesh is puffy and pulses against the fabric, soaking it. I know it's just nerves but I'm certain I can smell myself, even over all the grease and the dust in here.

“You won't like what comes next,” he promises darkly, his own smirk audible. “When you're nice and restrained, I'd go to my closet and fetch my instruments.” He pauses for effect, pulling her down on himself until I can hear her gag, which has me biting my lip against a moan even as my own stomach pulls up in sympathy.

I can see him in my mind's eye, prowling towards her. A strap of leather swishes by his hip and he makes the belt buckle clink. Her pussy clenches visibly as she lifts her ass at little.

“I'd start with the little switch...”

She coughs wetly, her mouth audibly full of his cock.

“..then move on to the whip...”

She sucks in air quickly but he already pulls her toward him again.

“...and then the paddle... until your ass is red as a cherry and you're wailing for me to fuck you already.” Now it's his turn to suck in air, and he grunts, “Fuck, yes, like that”, and I'd give my left hand to know, and to see, what she's doing to him.

“Make yourself come, doll,” he demands roughly. “I give you ten seconds.”

He doesn't mean me, but the thrill of the implied threat washes over me nonetheless. I rock forward on the bucket, the slightest of movements, soundless, invisible in the darkness. I can't help it. I need friction more than I need my next breath of air. I can feel my own juices trickle down my crack already.

There is a small, slick noise, and then she mewls, her mouth still full of cock, and I know she has flicked herself over the edge, spilling into her yoga pants.

He must have the same thought, or whatever he's seeing is inspiring, because he quickly jerks her head away from himself and palms himself a few times more before coming, as she had said he would, all over her chest. His groan is almost suppressed and inarticulate and I imagine how it sounds right against my ear when he's burying himself into my prone ass, I imagine how it feels to have that ass plowed after being spanked, I imagine how an orgasm feels when there's nothing you can do except experiencing it, when you can't fight it, can't close your legs, can't pull away, when you can only scream into your pillow--

I can't help it, I slide one hand down between my legs and press the heel of my thumb hard against my middle and tumble down that cliff myself. My gasp, my cry, all of it stays inside my firmly sealed lips. My breath is locked inside my chest. My eyes roll behind their eyelids. Sweat breaks, prickling, from every pore as a wave of desert heat bursts inside me. My heart expands almost painfully, squeezing against my ribs. My brain feels like it's shuddering in my skull. My belly rolls and my thighs tremble and then release, tremble and release.

I only release that breath when they are both gone. They file out the room one after the other, she twenty seconds before him. No words are exchanged, no kisses or parting embraces. Maybe looks, but I'm too busy dying a little by myself in the dark there to observe closely enough.

The twenty seconds between her leaving and his departure might be the tensest of my life. Not just that I appreciate the full view of his wonderful form as he's getting dressed. Right into the afterglow of what has to be the most intense solo orgasm in history, there steps the distinct fear that he has seen the movement of my hand, or that there has been a sound my hormone-and-endorphine-addled brain didn't pick up that gave me away.

I see him looking up and straight into my eyes. “Voyeurism is a crime, you know?” he says, a smug humor in his tone. “Criminals have to be punished.”

I bite back a 'shit!' as my orgasm gives its final push at that particular thought, and miss the moment he slips out the door.


Two days later, I'm disinfecting the barbell handles. It's monotonous work, but I like it. It gives me the opportunity to shut off my brain for the work that I'm earning money for and switch it on instead to listen to audiobooks. Normally, the world around me disappears, the people – mostly burly men with bulging muscles – barely register.

Today, I'm very aware of one man in particular.

And I could swear that he's aware of me. This time.

Or maybe I'm imagining it.