My New Binoculars

Camila stands at her balcony railing, eyes fixed on the house next door. She only needs that view. Long afternoons sprawl out in front of her, and the neighbor girl stretches naked on a lounge chair beside the pool, skin turning gold under the sun. Camila watches without shame. She needs the shape of those hips, the rise of small breasts, the way the girl moves when no one sees. Heat gathers between her own legs. She slips a hand under the waistband of her cotton panties and presses flat against the damp skin. Her folds are already wet, folds of slick flesh that cling to her fingers. She rubs in tight circles, feeling the material slide between her lips. When it gets too tight she pushes the underwear down and kicks them away. Now the air touches her bare cunt. She lies on the bed so the room catches every sound, knees falling open. Two fingers of her right hand sink deep inside, gliding along silky muscle. Her left fingers work her clit at the same time, quick taps that make her hips jerk. The first moan slips out, then a longer one that echoes off the white walls. She pulls her fingers free and sucks them, tasting salt and need. The hand dives back between her thighs, moving faster now, trading wetness from cunt to mouth and back again. Each slick pass drags her closer, tightening the knot low in her belly. The slow strokes sharpen. Her cries grow ragged. Her body bows, and she comes hard, thighs shaking, mouth open on a broken sound that fills the room.