The Watcher - Scene 1

Jennifer knows they’re watching. She feels it each Thursday when she slips from the dinner table and leaves the curtains open. Tonight the blonde’s robe slides from her shoulders and puddles on the rug. She stands in front of the glass, fingers skimming her heavy breasts before one hand sinks between her thighs. She works two fingers in slow circles over her clit, then pushes them deep. Her breath grows short; the wet sound of her cunt fills the quiet room. Behind the hedge, Alison watches. The younger girl’s eyes are wide, her own hand already inside her shorts. Jennifer catches the flash of pale skin in the dark and smiles without looking. She turns, gives the hidden girl a full view, and fucks herself harder, hips rocking, slick coating her knuckles. The blonde never calls out. She just keeps stroking until she comes, thighs trembling, nipples tight. Then she pauses, fingers still glistening, and finally glances toward the bushes. A soft click. The side door swings open. Jennifer stands there, flushed and bare, and tips her head in invitation. Alison steps out of the dark, breathing fast, ready to trade watching for touch.