Karina stood before the bank of windows, basking in the sunlight that streamed into her New York City apartment. She loved the windows—they ran down the length of the thirty-foot living room, and extended up to the ceiling, fourteen feet above her. She was thrilled when she’d found the apartment last year, and the renovations had only been completed two months ago. She’d had part of the two-floor apartment converted into a cathedral-ceilinged great room, where she spent most of her time.
The renovations had been costly, on top of the outrageous price of this prime piece of New York real estate, but it was totally worth it. The views of Central Park were amazing, and because the wall of glass actually jutted out from the building, like an enormous bay window, there was a low, deep shelf that ran the length of the of the room. It could have been used for storage, or she could have thrown cushions on it, and let a half dozen drunk people pass out on it at parties. But Karina didn’t use it that way.
Karina was an exhibitionist.
She stepped up onto the long window seat, which she considered to be her “runway”, and pushed a button on the remote control in her hand. Lady Gaga’s “Born This Way” filled the room. She strutted down her runway, depositing the remote into a basket she kept at one end, then strutted back to the center, where a straight-backed wooden chair sat.
Loosening the ties of her short silk robe, she let it slither from her shoulders, and fall to the runway, then spill onto the floor. Gyrating in time with the music, she ran her hands up and down her body. She wore red boyshorts panties and a lacy red matching bra. She turned around, bending over, and shook her ass for all the world to see. She knew there probably weren’t that many people home, and of the few that were, anyone who could see her window from the other side of the park would need a telescope to watch her performance. But she also knew that quite a few people on the other side of the park, who also had large windows, had telescopes. She knew, because she had one herself.
Doing a little bump-and-grind, Karina grabbed her own ass, kneading the flesh as she rotated her hips. Then she slid the panties down, slowly, as she undulated. It gave any potential watchers a nice glimpse of her wet pussy as she discarded the panties and bent further, her legs spread apart. She reached back, fingering her pussy, dipping her finger inside. Then she stood, spinning around, licking the slick fluid from her fingers, a sexy come-hither look on her face.
She whirled and danced to the music for a long time, touching herself. She pressed her chest to the window, sure that anyone with a good telescope should be able to see her nipples through the sheer lace. The cold that seeped through the glass made her nipples pucker, and she pinched them deliciously, thumbing them through the lace. After shimmying a little bit, she decided it was time to free herself from the restraint of the bra. She unhooked it, and seductively slid it down her shoulders and off her arms. She swung it triumphantly above her head, swaying her hips as she did, then tossed it behind her.
Using the chair as a prop, Karina turned it so that it faced into the apartment. Then she straddled it, hovering above it and holding the back of the chair, making simulated fucking motion. She could only imagine how provocative a display she must be making. She loved making a spectacle of herself. She was arrested once in college for stripping nude and dancing in the water fountain in the downtown area of her Nebraska college town. Then a few years ago, she’d narrowly escaped a patrolling police officer when she’d decided to get naked with her date and fuck him in a very busy area of Central Park just after dark. The idea of everyone around her staring at her, taking in the sight of her nude body, and the idea that every man wished he could strip naked himself and fuck her right there in public…it was intoxicating. Like a drug. If she could walk around naked all the time, she would. Fortunately, as a highly successful internet entrepreneur who worked mostly from home, she was often able to do just that.
When Karina had tired of dancing, she turned the chair to face the window. She strode over to the basket and retrieved a long, sleek, stylish vibrator. Sitting in the chair, she spread her legs wide and imagined that every one of her neighbors across the way was watching her. Taking pictures. Taking their dicks in their hands and stroking themselves at the site of her masturbating.
She switched the vibrator onto a low setting, and nuzzled its tip against her clit. The humming against her pussy made her even wetter, and as she worked it in tight circles against her, she writhed in delight at the sensations. Pinching one of her nipples added a heightened pleasure, and she was so turned on that it didn’t take long before she felt her climax building.
Flipping the setting to high, she rolled her nipple and stroked it while the vibrator sent ripples of pleasure through her. Need swelled within her, like a white-hot ball of fire ready to explode. She was almost there, approaching the peak of ecstasy. She moaned, and thought of the many men who lived in adjacent buildings, training their video cameras on her, so they could relive the moment of her orgasm later, over and over… The sound of three sharp knocks tore Karina from her erotic reverie. A jolt of shock hit her. Someone was at her door.
“Son of a bitch!” she muttered. The moment was shattered. Reluctantly, she switched off the vibrator, dumped it in the basket, and turned off the music. If that’s Weinstein from downstairs, I’m really going to be pissed. He told me it wouldn’t bother him if I turned my music up a little bit before 3 p.m. Grabbing her robe, she shrugged it on and tied it as she strode angrily into the foyer. “Who is it?” she snapped, irritated for the interruption.
“It’s…uh…I’m a neighbor of yours.” The voice was too young and too deep for Mr. Weinstein.
“Which apartment?” He didn’t identify himself by name, which she found suspicious.
She’d lived in the city for five years, and knew enough to avoid opening her door to strangers, even in a luxury building with a doorman. If he gave her a fake name, she’d know immediately. She was familiar with the names of all her surrounding neighbors. Since most of the apartments on the upper floors had been combined and renovated into huge—by New York standards—luxury apartments, there weren’t that many neighbors on her floor.
“Well, I’m not a neighbor from this building. I’m from another building.”
“How the hell did you get in here?” Harvey must be slipping. He did say he’s been working the door here for over twenty years…
“I actually have a friend that lives two floors down.”
“What do you want?”
“I…uh…it’s hard to explain…” the voice sounded embarrassed, at a loss for words.
Karina peeked through the peephole, and was surprised to see a tall man with short, dark, wavy hair and stunning blue eyes. Even through the tiny fishbowl-like lens of her security peephole, she could tell the man was gorgeous.
Serial killers can be good-looking, too, she warned herself. But she couldn’t tear herself away. She watched him look down at his feet, shifting uncomfortably.
“To be honest, I don’t know why I’m here. This is crazy.” He looked up at the ceiling in the hallway, rolling his eyes. “I just couldn’t help myself. I…I couldn’t stop thinking about you.”
What? Who the hell is this guy? “I’m sorry, but I don’t think I know you. I think you have the wrong apartment.” I’m pretty sure I’d remember you, Studly McDreamy. Mmmm-mm.
“I saw you.”
Her breath caught.
And she knew.
She knew instantly why he was there, and what he’d meant when he said he was a neighbor from another building. He’d seen her. He’d watched her. And now he was here.
What do I do? Karina stepped back from the door, touching her fingertips to her lips. She knew it had been a risk, behaving so brazenly in the window of her own home. But she never really thought someone would do something crazy like count windows and floors, figure out which apartment was hers, and actually get past her eagle-eyed doorman! But apparently the man had a friend in the building who’d gotten him in something she hadn’t thought of. Besides, flaunting her naked body wasn’t a lark for her…it was a compulsion. A need. She just had to do it. And now a stranger a voyeur was standing at her door.
“Are you there?”
She stepped in front of the door again, and peeked out. He began to pace in front of her door, running his hand through his thick, almost-black hair.
“Maybe this was a bad idea. No, of course this was a bad idea. It’s New York, I probably look like a crazy guy…” the man muttered.
He did look a little bit crazy, talking to himself like that, but he also looked adorable. She could hear a hint of an accent in his voice, something mildly southern. As a former Nebraska girl, she was all the more enticed by the fact that he wasn’t a native New Yorker.
In spite of all reason, her pussy ached—being deprived an orgasm at the last moment was bad enough, but now she had the “king of all hotness” at her door, and her pussy was telling her to ignore her brain and let him in.