Voyeur gets caught

I stood before the mirror, naked except for a fresh coat of polish on my fingers and a pair of sheer black thigh-highs that stopped just under the curve of my ass. My apartment was warm, the lights low, the city sky already turning dark through the glass. One lazy glance toward the window and I caught the silhouette outside—some guy in a work vest, frozen on the scaffolding, eyes locked on me. I kept moving like I hadn’t seen him. Let the robe fall. Let the lingerie straps slide down my shoulders. Bent forward to adjust the lace at my ankles, giving him a full, deliberate view of the pale skin between stocking tops and the thin strip of my thong. Heat crawled low in my belly. I lingered on every motion, letting my hands glide over my tits, down my stomach, then lower—fingers tracing between my legs until the fabric grew damp. The need built fast. I straightened, walked to the window, slid it open just enough, and gave a slow nod. He hesitated, then stepped inside. The moment the latch clicked, my mouth was on his. Clothes hit the floor in seconds. I dropped to my knees, lips wrapping tight around his cock, tongue working wet circles until he was rock-hard and throbbing against my throat. I pulled back, turned, palms flat on the bed, stockings still on. He grabbed my hips, lined up, and pressed the blunt head against my ass. The first push burned, but I pushed back, taking him inch by inch until my hole stretched tight around his shaft. He started slow, then drove harder—deep, steady strokes that made my breath hitch. I moaned into the sheets while he fucked my ass, one hand gripping my hair, the other sliding around to rub my clit. When he was close he pulled out, flipped me onto my back, and stroked himself until hot ropes striped my face and lips. I licked the taste from my mouth, smiling up at him as we both caught our breath. My Friday plans were ruined in the best way.