On the second night, I had my own camera set up at my bedroom window. I wanted to record him on video tape as he reached orgasm, this time from watching me dance naked for him while titillating my clit and frigging my cunt hole. Well, I suppose I did get him on tape, but I kind of forgot that while he had filmed me in my brightly-lit living room, I had tried to film him while he sat at the window of a poorly-lit room.
I was as mad as I could be when I realized that I still hadn’t confirmed if he spewed his sperm all over the place or if he once again was aiming his video camera at me instead of jacking off. Don’t know why, but it mattered to me. As for my stupid mistake trying to film someone in the dark, well, it’s easy getting confused in a confusing situation: First, he’s the voyeur taking pictures of “innocent” me. Then I become the exhibitionist, acting as though I don’t know I’m being peeped at. Then I played a dual role: voyeur as I tried to video tape him, while once again exposing myself. Well, whatever else I am, I’m also determined to see for myself that the man cums when he peeps at me….
When I woke up and saw my new video camera sitting on the floor next to the bed, I was instantly reminded of my failure the night before. I decided that I’d go somewhere for the day and plan my next strategy. Showered and dressed, I’d take an express bus to the art museum. A few blocks away, I entered the uncommonly empty bus, along with a man and a woman with two noisy brats in tow. She took seats up front, so I headed to the back, as did the man who just boarded. Lucky him, I thought, that those kids weren’t his after all. The bus pulled into traffic, and the brats quieted down immediately when the driver barked at them to shut up. Seated across from me, in one of the seats that face the aisle rather than forward or backward, the male passenger was chuckling at how effective the driver was in muting the kids up front. In response, I made some joking remark about how the driver ought to sell tapes of his growling voice to mothers who were unable to quiet down their kids. He agreed with a laugh, saying that the guy could “make a mint” doing that.
I hadn’t anything to read so I just people-watched as we continued on our twenty-minute “non-stop” ride to the museum. It was amazing that there weren’t more people on the bus, but that’s noting to complain about, I thought. A few minutes passed, and we entered the lower level of streets that crossed downtown. There wouldn’t be a view of any kind until we came up and out on the other side, so my eyes wandered to the ads plastered all along the ceiling of the bus.
As I read an ad promoting the public library, I sensed something. It was a feeling of being watched. I glanced down briefly at the man opposite me and saw that I was right, and he was sneaking looks up my sundress ! Then I glanced again, very quickly, and confirmed that he was looking down toward my feet but flicking his eyes upward every few seconds. I’m sure he didn’t know that I was onto him because I’d look away for a moment and then, as I’d turn to look in another direction, I’d catch a glimpse of him trying to see up between my legs.
My sundress was ivory in color, sleeveless. It came down to just above my knees and I’d been sitting in a very lady-like manner. When seated, my knees were only a few inches apart and the hem of my dress revealed only about six inches of leg above the knees. So he wasn’t getting a real treat for his effort—but that didn’t stop him from trying: at the next stoplight, he seemed to deliberately drop a pen on the floor so that he could “sneak a peek” as he bent down to pick it up.
Soon we were halted at a stoplight, in the middle of the lower level, where signs are posted instructing drivers to use headlights, even
though it may be broad daylight in the world above. I sat there…. and a naughty thought came to mind. I’d torture the man, I decided. I’d open my legs and subtly raise my dress a few inches at a time as we continued through the semi-darkness.
He’d get what he wanted but it wouldn’t be nearly as easy to see as he’d like.
I shifted in my seat and very deftly pulled at the back of the dress to raise it farther up. Although I intended to raise it just a few inches, the first tugging I gave it resulted in at least six inches of leg being exposed. Not outrageous, but a lot more leg than before. I had to go further: I turned to the purse I’d set on the seat beside me and “absent-mindedly” let my legs open enough to tantalize, but not enough to be too obvious.
My teasing worked in seconds. He noticed and got a little fidgety. Then he went back to his earlier ploy, dropping not his pen, but a few coins. He bent over and groped around under the seats while getting a look between my legs. I didn’t think he could see my panty, so I let my legs open a bit more when I adjusted my position. I also reached behind me and tugged upwards at my dress to show more. Now I knew, even in dim lighting, he’d be able to see the inside of my upper thighs and almost the crotch of my white bikini panty.
But time would run out soon, so I needed to embolden him. I faked a yawn and laid my head back, closing my eyes as if to rest. As I did so, I punished him by closing my legs. Just as I’m sure he was feeling frustrated, I acted as if I’d fallen asleep–not snoring, but breathing appropriately and letting my head “fall” towards my shoulder.
We were well past the center of the lower level of streets and more daylight was getting in thru the windows, and that’s when I made my move. Still “asleep, ” I let my legs fall wide apart, very wide apart. Sluttishly wide apart for a woman wide awake, but not at all so sluttish for a poor gal who’s succumbed to sleep. I had my dress up so that all but an inch or two of my legs were revealed. And my panty, which I’d been tugging upwards along with my dress, could clearly be seen, with the crotch pulled up so tightly that my labia were hanging over each side. To see his reaction, I peeked through my eyelashes and, without being detected, I saw that his eyes were totally glued to my “embarrassingly exposed” pussy lips and the long light-brown pubic hair that wildly stuck out along with them.
We were close to emerging into pure daylight, and I began to act as though it was causing me to come out of my sleep. A minute later I was awake, and I very properly closed my legs and adjusted my dress. I looked out the window as if to see how far we’d gone and then I stole another glimpse of the man across from me. He was looking away, up at the front of the bus, and I could see that he had a very large bulge in his pants. Not a full erection, I thought, but—and then I saw something else: there was a dark spot right where his penis was. Round and getting larger, it looked just like how it does when a water is spilled onto clothing. But he didn’t have anything like a bottle of water or a soda, and if he had a bladder problem I’m sure there’d be more than just a spot on his pants. Case closed, I decided: He came in his pants !
A few moments later, when I tried again to peek at his stain, I noticed that he’d become aware of how it showed. and he blocked my view by crossing his legs. He’d glance down at the spot every so often as we approached our final destination.
Later, when I boarded a bus for the return trip, there were far more passengers. I didn’t see the man sitting on this particular bus but, after all, there was an express every hour, so it’d be unlikely that we’d be on the same bus going back. The door began to close when two more passengers ran up and rapped on the glass to get the driver to let them enter. One of the two was the man with the cum-stain.
There were no seats around me, but there were a few vacant at the back of the bus. The man made his way through the now-moving bus, keeping himself steady by holding onto seatbacks as he approached where I was seated. As he came nearer, I could see that he’d tried to blot up the cum-stain, but the water he used had left a larger, admittedly less dark, spot on the material. As he reached my row, we made eye-contact. He smiled, and I smiled back—before very obviously looking down at the stain on his pants. He took a seat at the very back row, facing forward. A few minutes later, when I took a quick look over towards where he was sitting, I could see that he was blushing, his face a bright pink, and it stayed that way for the rest of the ride back to our neighborhood bus stop.
“Chalk one up for me, ” I thought, as the self-satisfied smile on my face grew larger and larger, like a stain.
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