Another one of my very favorite people has a birthday. Today is my online wife’s birthday, and this one I’ve been planning for a while. I’ve had a plot idea brewing in my head for a long time now, and the moment I decided to do write something for Viv, I knew I had to go with it.
So, with the help of Karen, and my ever-fabulous editor, Sally, I give you, “Dirty, Anonymous.” Here’s some kink for you, hope you enjoy it, wife! *smooches*
If you looked out your window and saw a man masturbating, what would you do? Would you look away and close the curtains? Or would you stay and watch?
My decision to stay and watch changed everything. Five weeks later, I couldn’t look out the window without getting hard. I couldn’t hear my phone vibrate without getting hard. I couldn’t think of his rough, husky voice without getting hard.
The first time I saw him I was on my way home from a gig, flushed and amped up from playing. I lived in a loft apartment, a converted warehouse in a neighborhood just this side of sketchy. I usually went out with the guys in the band immediately after a gig, but I’d left my wallet at home in my rush to get out the door.
I didn’t even bother to flip on the lights in my place when I entered, knowing exactly where I’d left it. The yellow glow of the light pollution from the city streamed through the dirty windows, allowing me to navigate through my spartan apartment to the bed against the far wall. I grabbed the jeans I’d dumped on the floor next to the bed and dug through them, finding my wallet just where I’d left it. I shoved it into my pocket, tossed my guitar case on the bed, and made my way back toward the door.
Something caught my attention—movement, or a change in light, I wasn’t really sure which—and I peered out my window at the apartment facing mine. The U-shape of the building allowed me to see into other apartments. The piss-poor job the previous tenants had done hanging blinds to cover the massive windows usually meant that I was too lazy to bother to put them down, not giving a fuck if my neighbors saw me or not. Usually, I didn’t give a fuck about looking at them, either. The apartment across from mine was lit up, and a gap in the curtains showed the naked body of a man.
I stopped in my tracks, mouth going dry at the sight of him. It wasn’t his hand on his cock or even his naked chest I saw first. It was his throat—head thrown back, muscles straining, jaw clenching tightly—that I noticed. Of course, it wasn’t hard to guess what was happening, so my eyes quickly dropped to his cock, watching as his hand flew over it, his fist moving in rough, choppy strokes. Just a few moments later, he came, and I watched as his body jerked and shuddered.
My hand drifted down, gripping my own cock through the rough fabric of my jeans and squeezing. I was always worked up after a show—performing made me horny—and watching the brief display my neighbor put on had me aching. I unzipped my jeans, pulling my dick out, suddenly really fucking grateful that I’d been too lazy to do laundry and was going commando tonight. My dick was in my hand, heavy and leaking already, and a quick lick of my palm slicked it enough. The rough friction made me moan as I jerked my cock, imagining the man across the courtyard. I came fast and hard, come dripping from my fingers as I staggered back toward the couch. By the time I caught my breath—a little shocked by the force of my orgasm—the man was gone and the lights were out.
Disappointed, I went to clean up and then collapsed onto my bed. Earlier, I’d had every intention of going to the bar and picking up the first person—male or female—who was interested in me. That was my usual M.O., but sated by the quick and dirty orgasm, it felt like too damn much effort. Instead, I texted my bandmates that I wasn’t going to be there, stripped out of my clothes, and passed out.
For the next few weeks, I watched for the man in the apartment across from mine, but I didn’t see him again. Late, late one night, after a gig and a really unsatisfying fuck with a groupie, I staggered home drunk. I stripped out of my clothing, turned on the lamp beside the couch, and thought about the man in the apartment across from me.
I had no idea if he—or anyone else for that matter—was watching, but I put on a show anyway. Sure, I ran the risk of someone seeing my display and calling the cops on me, but wasn’t that half the fun? I’d spent a few nights in jail before for barroom brawls and a drunk and disorderly charge, and I liked the thought of someone watching me.
I was a twenty-four year old guitar player in a pretty decent punk band and had never had a single bit of trouble finding someone to fuck. Sex was starting to bore me though. I was bisexual and pretty much open to trying anything. Male, female, I didn’t care, and the kinkier the better. My band had gone on tour the previous summer, opening for a better-known band, and the number of groupies we’d pulled in was unreal. There was little room on the tour bus for modesty, and I’d grown rather used to fucking with an audience. The problem was, I’d done just about everything except for some really hardcore kink, and there wasn’t a hell of a lot that got my heart racing.
I’d done anyone and everything, and although I was careful enough to be sure that I didn’t pick up anything nasty, I knew I was getting riskier and riskier. Sure, I drank, smoked, and dabbled in a few drugs if I got bored enough, but it was sex I really wanted the thrill from.
I craved it.
Standing stark naked, my body on display for anyone to see, sent a sharp jolt of arousal through me that had been missing for a while now. I closed my eyes, ran my hands across my body, and grabbed my cock, roughly gripping it for a moment as I rolled my balls in my palm.
Although I was hoping someone was watching, I didn’t spend a lot of time on teasing myself. This time I did have actual lube, and after slicking my palm and then my cock, I began. Jerking off itself was boring as shit, but the thought of someone watching me like I’d watched the guy across the courtyard made it so much better. I came with a hoarse grunt, my eyes glued on the dark apartment across from mine. Still naked, with come covering my stomach and hand, I stepped closer to my window, peering out, hoping to see him again.
I repeated the show several times over the next weeks and finally, one night, I saw the light in his apartment click on as I finished. Still panting, I staggered to the window and stared at him. He was standing by his own window, wearing a snug pair of leather pants and nothing else. He looked taller than me, and although narrow-hipped he had broad shoulders, and something about the way he stood made him seem imposing. He was older than I was, maybe in his early thirties, and in fantastic shape. I licked my lips at the sight of the tattoos that covered his right arm, and the one over his left pec. His hair was short, shorn on both sides and left longish on top in a casual, messy Mohawk. Angular, sculpted features contrasted with the stubble on his jaw, and his gaze was so intense that it pinned me in place, made me freeze as his eyes locked on mine.
He waited a moment and then lifted his hand, pressing a sheet of white paper with clear, black lettering against the window. It read, I want your number.
I didn’t hesitate, didn’t think twice about it; my heart racing, I dug through my desk, finally finding a Sharpie in the scattered mess of papers and swiping my phone from the table, too. My nerves faded a little as I focused on writing my number legibly. I could hear the squeak of the marker against the glass and the pungent smell of it as I struggled to write it backwards and large enough for him to see clearly.
Even though I was expecting it, I still jumped when my phone buzzed in my hand. I cleared my throat three times before I accepted the call and brought the phone to my ear.
He spoke first, his voice calm and relaxed, firm and sure. “Hello.”
“Hey.” My own voice was raspy, a little choked sounding.
He chuckled, but rather than setting me on edge, it relaxed me, sent a warm jolt of arousal through me. “I enjoyed your show.” I closed my eyes for a moment, almost forgetting that he could see me. “Did you enjoy mine a few weeks ago?”
“Yes. Fuck, that was hot,” I confessed. I opened my eyes and stepped closer to the window again. I could see his wolfish smile, despite the distance between our apartments.
“I want you to jerk off for me again. Will you do that for me?”
My mouth went dry. Jesus, there was something about his voice, so sure, so commanding. I didn’t hesitate. “Yes.”
His voice grew lower, deeper. “Will you do everything I tell you to?”
I groaned, my hand automatically going to my cock to palm it. “Yes.”
And so it began. He called me almost nightly, and I found myself going out less and less after gigs, wanting to be ready for his call. When the light by the window came on, it was a signal that I was available and he only kept me waiting a few times. When he did, I was always so worked up I came even harder, and I’d catch a smirk on his lips as if he enjoyed teasing me immensely.
He had me buying sex toys and using them while he watched. He dragged every fantasy out of me that I’d ever had, and then found a few more: bondage, being spanked, and a particularly dirty, secret desire I had about a man grabbing me, blindfolding me, and having his way with me, without me ever seeing him. All of my secrets spilled out, and I kept hoping he’d tell me he wanted to meet, fulfill those fantasies for me in person, but he never did. He just teased me on the phone. I wasn’t even fucking groupies anymore—or anyone else for that matter—I was way too damn wrapped up in him. I didn’t even know his name, he didn’t know mine, but he owned me.
Almost five weeks to the day this had started, I warned him I was going to be late getting home the next night. We had a gig a couple of hours away, and it would probably be closer to early morning before I made it back. He nodded and shrugged. “I’m not going to be around anyway. I have plans.”
He didn’t elaborate, and I didn’t ask. By now, I knew better than to ask, any time I asked any sort of personal question, he brushed it off and ignored me. The hot, tattooed man who lived across from me was a mystery, but a part of me had to admit that I liked that. That was what made this so dirty, so hot. It was why I wasn’t feeling jaded and bored anymore. It was the reason I belonged to him.
After the show the next night, I helped the band pack up their gear. Most of the guys were going to stay and pick up whatever tail they could get their hands on, but I’d volunteered to help our bassist drive the van with our gear back home. He was married and wasn’t interested in screwing around. I was just too busy thinking about the man who owned me.
Although he’d told me he wasn’t going to be around that night, I couldn’t help but hope I’d see him. Even a glimpse of him.
“You’re restless tonight,” the bassist commented to me about halfway through the ride home.
Pulled out of my thoughts, I stared at him blankly for a moment. “Huh?”
“You seem restless. Actually, you’ve been weird in general, dude, and I can’t think of the last time you picked up someone.”
I nodded, unsurprised that he’d noticed. “Yeah.”
“You dating someone or something?”
I snorted. “Dating? No, not even close.”
“But there is someone?”
“Something like that,” I muttered, playing with the rings on my fingers. The black nail polish I’d put on for the show was nearly picked off by the time I got dropped off at home, and I was distracted and edgy as I grabbed my guitar and headed into my building.
Maybe it was that distraction that had me not paying attention to my surroundings as I dug in my pants for the keys to my apartment, maybe it was disappointment knowing that my neighbor wouldn’t be standing in his window waiting for me. Whatever it was, I never saw the man coming. One minute I’d fished the keys out, and the next I was slammed flat up against my door with a muffled gasp. The keys were out of my hand and both arms were bent behind me and held in a firm grip before I even knew what was going on.
My heart hammered in my chest, terror making me struggle against the tight hold. A voice spoke low in my ear. “I told you I had plans tonight. Now, are you going to be a good boy and behave for me?”
I went still immediately, the husky, commanding voice that I’d been hearing on the phone more familiar to me than any other in the world. I couldn’t have told you what my mother’s voice sounded like, but his I knew. I closed my eyes, panting harshly as I rested my forehead against the door. I opened my mouth to speak, but I couldn’t force the words out, all I could do was nod.
“Good. Stay still.” With quick, deft movements, he had a soft piece of fabric wrapped around my eyes and had unlocked my apartment door before I even knew what was happening. He nudged me forward, and I walked blindly, his hand on my crossed forearms the only thing guiding me. The blindfold was so effective that although I heard the light turn on, I couldn’t see a thing. The door closed behind me with a muted thud.
The good thing about a loft was that even from the doorway you could see every part of the apartment, and when he steered me to the left, my heart rate picked up, knowing he was taking me toward the bed. My toes hit the bottom of the mattress sooner than I expected, and I would have pitched forward if not for his tight grip on me.
“Now,” he spoke softly, “I’m giving you a chance. If you want out of this, tell me. One word and I’ll leave. Or, I can stay, and make one of those kinky fantasies you’ve described to me come true. What will it be?”
“Stay,” I croaked. I was hard in my jeans, feverish and eager for this. For him.
He chuckled lowly. “Good boy. I was hoping you’d say that.”
I flushed, not really understanding how a single word of praise from him could make me feel so damn good.
He didn’t speak again, just let go of my arms. I let them fall to my sides, waiting. His hands were sure and steady as they worked my shirt off my torso, and before I could blink, he had it twisted around my forearms, holding my arms immobile. I was helpless, and if the way my cock was throbbing was any indication, I really fucking liked it. Somehow, he got me out of my boots and jeans, and then I was naked and blindfolded, restrained and helpless in front of him.
He stepped closer to me, and I felt the heat of his body against mine. His clothes brushed my bare skin, and that only made me harder, knowing he was fully dressed while I was naked. I jumped when he finally spoke. “I’ve been watching you for a lot longer than you ever realized.”
I licked my lips, trying to force my dry mouth to make words, but he continued on like he wasn’t expecting me to continue. His hands began to run across my bare torso as he spoke. “I watched you move into this place, watched you fuck the ridiculous little groupies, and watched how they bored you.”
Suddenly, his fingers buried themselves in my hair, gripping hard. I could feel his breath, hot against my bare neck, and I whimpered. “This whole time you’ve been wanting more, haven’t you?”
I nodded, my head going fuzzy with need for him. “I think you’ve been waiting for me. Waiting for me to show you just how good it can be.”
Jerkily, I nodded again, even though the movement pulled sharply at my hair, still in his grip. Abruptly, he bent me forward, and I shuffled awkwardly onto the mattress on my knees, struggling to balance. He lowered my torso to the bed, and with my arms still pinned behind me, I had to rest on my shoulders and chest, my head turned to the side.
With my ass in the air, I felt vulnerable, exposed, but rather than the awkward, discomfort that it should bring, it made me shiver in anticipation. He stepped away from me, and I heard his quiet footfalls as he walked around the bed. “I’ve watched you for so long, I know where everything I need is.” A drawer slid open. “For example, your condoms and lube are right here. Do you want me to use them on you?”
“Yes,” I choked out.
The footsteps returned to the spot behind me, and I heard him chuckle. “You don’t really talk a whole lot, do you? I know you can, I’ve heard you telling me your every dirty little fantasy. So that must mean you’re too excited about what’s going to happen tonight.”
He slapped my ass, and a quick, stinging pain spread across my right ass cheek. I grunted and heard him chuckle again. “Oh, you are going to be fun, boy. And tonight, I think I like the idea of you not talking. You stay quiet while I have my way with you.”
I nodded and took a deep breath, bracing myself for whatever was to come. There were few things I wasn’t willing to do—he’d had me tell him what they were over the phone—and strangely enough, I trusted him. Turning my fantasies over to him felt like the most natural thing in the world.
His hands were more purposeful now as they roamed over my body. Behind the blindfold, I closed my eyes and let it all wash over me. Letting go was easy; he touched and I responded. His slick fingers pressed inside me, opened me up, and readied me for him. I was shaking by the time his cock pushed into me, the only thing anchoring me was the tight grip of his hands on my hips. His hard, steady strokes had me gritting my teeth until my jaw clenched. My cock was hard and leaking as it bounced against my stomach with every thrust inside me.
“Your ass is every bit as good as I imagined,” he said. I would have thought he was totally unaffected by what we were doing, but there was a small tremor in his voice at the end. My breath hitched when his thumbs spread my cheeks. I could almost feel his gaze on me. “My dick looks so good inside you. I almost wish you could see it.”
With every word he spoke, I could feel myself growing harder, my balls drawing up, pleasure coiling my belly, and the urge to come getting stronger and stronger. I hated not being able to jerk off while he fucked me, and for a moment, I struggled against the shirt that bound my arms together. One hand on the middle of my back calmed me, his warm palm just resting there. He leaned forward, his chest covering my back. “What do you need?” he asked huskily.
“Hand on my cock,” I gritted out. “I need to come.”
“You can’t have a hand on your cock. I want you to come without it. You’re going to come with just my dick in your ass.” I felt his breath on the back of my neck, hot and damp. His teeth grazed the skin there, biting down until it stung. “And you’re not going to come until I tell you to. Just like you did over the phone.”
I turned my head to the other side, offering up my neck so he could access it better. His tongue lapped at the spot he’d just bit down on, and I shuddered. “You’re mine, boy, and I’m in control of when you come.”
I nodded, my cheek rubbing against the sheets. I was his, that’s all I needed to remember. He sat up then, running his blunt nails down my back. I bucked against him and let out a strangled gasp when the movement made his cock press against my prostate. He sped up, fucking me harder, pushing my arms against the small of my back with both hands. I was panting, sweat slicking my skin, my head swimming.
“Please,” I begged. “Please, please.”
“You’d do whatever I wanted, wouldn’t you? Anything to come.”
“Yes,” I gasped. “Anything.”
“Would you let me film you being fucked?” I nodded. “What about letting someone else fuck you? Someone I wanted to take you?”
“Okay,” I granted, so desperate to come I’d agree to anything.
“What if we both fucked you at the same time?” he teased, one hand reaching forward to grip my hair hard. “Him in your mouth, me in your ass?”
I moaned, and that was all the answer he needed. “You like that thought, don’t you?” He chuckled and twisted his hand in my hair harder. “What about both of us in your ass? Filling you so full you’ll feel us in you a week later?”
With a strangled shout, I shuddered, barely stopping myself from coming. “Oh, you like that,” he grunted. “You like that a lot.”
He gave me three, hard thrusts and then he leaned forward, speaking lowly in my ear. “Come on, boy. Show me how good of a pet you are. Come for me. Right. Now.”
Once the words registered, I let go, come spattering against my chest, dripping onto the sheets below me. “Good boy,” he growled as I shivered under him. His hips stilled, and I felt his cock jerk inside me, filling the condom. My head swam, and when he pulled out, I collapsed onto my side. I was barely coherent enough to realize he was unwinding my shirt from my wrists. He rolled me onto my stomach and disappeared for a moment. I heard the sound of the condom being discarded and then the mattress dipped under his weight. His warm hands rubbed my aching shoulders, easing the tension I was only beginning to become aware of. My frantic heart rate had slowed, the sweat had cooled, and I was limp and relaxed by the time he was done.
He leaned down, his lips brushing against my ear. “You’re such a good boy. I want you to do one more thing for me, okay?”
I nodded, feeling the heavy pull of sleep already. “I’m going to take the blindfold off, but I want you to keep your eyes closed until you hear me leave.”
“Okay,” I agreed.
He ran a hand along my back, and I sighed with contentment. The blindfold disappeared from around my eyes, but I clenched them tightly closed. He got up to leave, but I blindly groped for him, managing to catch his wrist. “This isn’t the end, is it?”
He chuckled and loosened my grip on his arm. Running a hand through my hair, he leaned forward again, brushing his lips against my cheekbone. “No,” he murmured. “This is just the beginning.”