the life and musings of a kinky slut

The View

~ erotica ~


I always see her, even when she doesn’t see me. It’s easy for her to overlook my pressed suit and subdued tie. Hospitals are busy places. Few of the staff take notice of the head of security.

She’s the best in her class. Everyone knows it, including her. The scrubs she changes into before each shift only hint at the curves she flaunts when leaving or arriving at our building. I’m sure her little dresses are thrown off and slipped on with little care what others think of her choices. I admire her confidence.

Occasionally, on the way from one meeting to the next, I’ll glance at the operations board. When I see her name, I make a point to slip into the theatre. I stand in back. Watch her work. There is a fierce determination in her eyes, a single-mindedness one can’t help but be attracted to.

People are drawn to her. There is never a moment when I pass her in the halls that I don’t see others surrounding her, whether in admiration or spite. Their safety is my responsibility. Their jealousy is rooted in her.

I glance upon her every day, multiple moments a day, yet she only sees me at home. I often wonder about her fantasy of who I am. Does she imagine me military? She’d only be partially wrong. What does she think I do? What is the story she writes each time she sees me?

Does she know about the motorcycle in the garage? Or the cars that stop by at all hours of the night? Does she ever hear their moans through their gags? Their gasps? Their whispered answers to my directives?

To me, she is the image that welcomes me home from my run each morning. Out of the corner of my eye, I see the undulation in her body as I pass by. A grin spreads across my face as I make my way towards my shower.

She is the subtle music of my evenings. The slam of her door and the clacking of her heels draw me to my peep hole. I’ve gotten the timing down to a science. I know the number of footfalls, the sound of her approach, when to be at my door for the best view. My glimpse of her ass as she leaves for her fun never disappoints. I smile each time I see that ass walk away, and my pants always get a little tighter.

Her moans are the music I fall asleep to. As she cries out, I lie on my bed, stroking myself, imagining her tight body tensing and relaxing. I fantasize her deft fingers running up and down my shaft, working with the same single-mindedness I’ve seen before.

I know she wants me. I know, should I ever just say the word, or simply gesture, I could have her. But that’s not what I want. Yes, I crave her flesh, to know the smell of her skin and feel of her, of being inside her. But there is something I crave more than her body.

I want her will. I need her to ask, to say the words, to beg for what she wants. Her taunts are tempting, I will not deny, but they do not compare with my craving for her on her knees, breath quick, voice unsure but strong.

Until the day comes when she doesn’t walk away, but instead turns around and knocks on my door. Until she finds the courage to say the words, to do more than flirt, I will simply continue to enjoy the view.


Categorised as: Erotica

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One Comment

  1. What a great and thoroughly erotic perspective.