The Open Window

THE OPEN WINDOW

George had never intended to live in his little retirement bungalow with its sheltered housing warden and surrounded by people even older than himself.

He thought he would stay in his three-bedroom house until they carried him out in a box; he resisted his family's attempt to downsize, but the fall had put pay to that.

That tumble down the stairs that had him trapped near the front door changed everything. If it hadn't been for his neighbour popping round, he would have been there for weeks.

At first he hated the place; he may have been seventy years old, but once recovered from the fall, he felt like he always had, a lot younger.

George wasn't one to potter about or go on the trips the warden organised or bingo. He was happy to sit and listen to his soft rock music or, on a nice day, to sit in his garden reading.

Today was one of those wonderful days, and he sat in his garden chair enjoying the warmth and reading his favourite crime writer's latest novel.

He put the book down and let his eyes wander round the garden. He had struck lucky really; most of the bungalows were overlooked, but his was surrounded by high fences, and even the Victorian terraced house at the bottom had let their hedge grow tall.

He could have sat there naked and nobody would have known, well apart from the house that backed onto his neighbour. It was a modern build that towered above the old terraces, and one bedroom window gave them a view into his garden.

It was that room that fascinated George; whatever the weather, the window was left open. Come rain or shine, the window stayed open.

George must have read too many crime novels because his mind was playing overtime. Were they growing drugs or worse than that? Did they have a dead body rotting away in the room?

It took a while for the mystery to be solved; George had been sitting outside when he noticed movement at the window. Looking directly at the window, he noticed a large-built man slowly open the window a little wider, glancing behind as if he was checking that nobody was about to come in the door before opening a box on the windowsill and pulling out a cigarette from the bottom of the box, and leaning out of the window, he stood there smoking. Afterwards, he grabbed some mints out of the same box and chewed on a mouthful.

George was quite disappointed that it was just someone sneaking a smoke without his wife finding out.

It was difficult to tell the age of the man with his beard and tattoos; he wore biker clothes, and George worked out a pattern for his activities.

Most mornings George was woken up in the early hours by an over loud motorcycle that seemed to be left running for ages before being revved up and then ridden off. Later in the afternoon the same motorcycle came back, and within a couple of minutes the biker would be back at the window having his smoke.

George theorised that the window was never shut in case it made a noise and the biker's wife found out.

Talking of his wife, George was soon to actually see her and the biker together. It was on his shopping day when he found himself in the checkout line, and in front of him was the huge biker wearing a Hell's Angel-style jacket with his club colours on the back. His loud mouth was moaning to the woman at his side about everything from the price of the shopping to the speed of the poor checkout assistant.

A look on their fingers showed matching wedding rings, but this lady just wasn't what he expected a biker's wife to be.

Standing there was a slim blonde dressed in a smart skirt and blouse; she was in her later twenties or thirty at the most, George surmised, and he watched as she nodded and gently agreed with a quiet "yes" to all his complaints.

Suddenly a child ran up to her; George at first thought it was their son.

"Hello Mrs Thorsen, is it our class turn for assembly tomorrow?"

The blonde smiled and nodded to the young boy, and he ran off happily to his parents, standing out of Georges' sight.

The biker started his moaning again, "I suppose you are going to be filling the house with all your pupils' end-of-terms gifts again. Don't know why you bring them home."

His wife looked embarrassed and just nodded, and George watched as she packed the shopping, and they headed out of the store together.

George wondered how on earth the biker ended up with her. She seemed the total opposite to her husband. He was loud and cocky; she, on the other hand, was quiet and calm.

For some reason the biker's wife just wouldn't leave his head. He had watched her walking away a few steps behind her other half. She was carrying all the bags whilst he walked ahead with his crate of beer. She was only about 5 feet tall, and he towered above her, her slimness exaggerated by the large build of her husband.

George didn't think of her in a sexual way; that was to come later, and that was the fault of the open window.

The old man had given up looking at the window; he knew the pattern, and sometimes with the wind in the right direction, he could even smell the cigarette.

Today was hot, so George decided to sit outside in just his shorts and top. He had been reading for a few minutes, but for some reason today he just couldn't get into the book.

Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted movement in the direction of the bikers' house. He hadn't heard the motorcycle, so he didn't expect anyone at the window, thinking instead he must have seen a bird flying past.

The old man was surprised to see the blonde wife of the bikers at the window; she was leaning on the windowsill with her elbows, not looking at anything in particular, just appearing to be deep in thought and enjoying the warm day.

Her shoulder-length blonde hair shone in the warm sun, and as he followed her, face down, he noticed her blouse was unbuttoned further than expected. The old man wondered if she was unaware, and the action of leaning forward had unfastened one button too many.

He couldn't help but notice her cleavage and how much of her breasts were on show to him. However much he tried to look away, he couldn't; surely to show that much, she couldn't be wearing a bra.

This was wrong, so wrong if she saw him and told her husband he would kill him, but he was hypnotised by her breasts rising and falling with every breath, and the old man could feel his cock hardening in his shorts.

He felt dirty at watching the young woman but aroused at the same time. He was transfixed, and if she looked in his direction, he wasn't sure that he would be capable of looking away.

Eventually she stood upright, making no effort to button up her blouse; it was only then that she appeared to notice the old man staring up at her. George expected her to give him at least a dirty look; instead, she smiled, gave him a wave, and unless it was his imagination, she blew him a kiss before leaving the room.

The old man pinched himself to make sure he was really there and it wasn't a dream. He kept looking at the window, but she never returned, and an hour later he heard her husband arrive home and headed back into his bungalow.

George sat outside in his garden for the next two days and saw nobody except the biker smoking. He began to think he had really imagined it all when, on the third day, just as he was about to go in, he spotted movement at the window.

The old man's heart lifted as he saw the young blonde at the window. She quickly glanced in his direction, and she seemed to smile as she turned her head back.

Her choice of blouse today left George in no doubt that she was naked underneath it. The sheer white blouse was virtually see-through, and the old man could easily make out her small, tight breasts and sharp pointed nipples.

She kept turning her head slyly in his direction, but not quite enough to make eye contact. This time she stood upright framed by the window like a picture in a gallery.

With one more glance in his direction, George watched as her hand moved below the level of the windowsill. The old man could only see her arm, but from the movements it was making, she seemed to be touching whatever she was wearing on her lower half.

At first he thought she may be straightening her skirt or something, but as he watched, her mouth appeared to let out a gasp, and she bit down on her lip.

She couldn't be; no, it must be his imagination, but the old man was sure that she was standing in the window and masturbating. If he thought her nipples were sharp before they seemed to force themself against the flimsy blouse, and her arm was moving faster and faster.

Georges' cock was hard in his shorts, and he so wanted to get it out of its confinement and rub its length.

What if he was wrong about her? He knew he wasn't because her face said it all. It was the face of a young woman getting close to orgasm, and the old man rubbed through the material of his shorts.

She was visibly panting, her breasts shaking as her hand worked its magic between her legs, out of sight of the old man, but in his mind he could see it all.

She was glancing more often towards him, and his cock was pulsing in his shorts as he rubbed harder. Their eyes never met, and he wasn't sure if she knew what he was doing, but even if it made him a dirty old man, he couldn't stop, especially now.

The blonde's eyes closed, her head flicked back, and her arm worked back and forth. Suddenly she grabbed at the fabric-covered breast, and he knew from the way her body shook that her orgasm was hitting her and hitting her hard.

His own cock could take no more, and he spurted his seventy-year-old cum into his pants, hot and sticky, soaking out into his shorts as he watched the young woman who had dropped her hand from her breast and was clinging onto the windowsill, fighting to keep her balance.

She slowly appeared to recover from her orgasm and turned her head in the old man's direction. Smiling, she waved and blew a kiss before licking each finger in turn. As she walked out of the room, George sat there in his sticky mess; he had turned into a voyeur spying on the young blonde, and he didn't want it to stop.

A sudden front pulled rain in for the next couple of days, and all that he could do was sit near his window in case she was at the window again. Over those days the doubt set in: was she actually doing it for the dirty old man sitting in the garden, or did she just have a moment of desire that she had to fix there and then?

Everything ran through his head; he was more than twice her age, and she was married and to a guy that could snap him in half without a thought.

He wasn't sure if it was the sun that woke him up early or the throbbing motorcycle, but the moment her husband had left for work, George was up and slipping into his shorts and top on quickly, headed into the garden.

The old man knew it was silly; the blonde usually wasn't at the window until later in the day, but he didn't want to take the chance on missing her, that was if she even turned up.

Within seconds the young wife rushed into the room; this time she made full eye contact with George, waving and smiling as if she was greeting an old friend that she hadn't seen in years.

This time there was no glancing; she just pushed the window open wider and turned towards the old man, giving him a perfect view of her in a wrap-around dress. It was as if the days of not seeing him and being able to satisfy herself had made her more desperate for this moment.

She pulled the tie holding the dress together and let it fall open before dragging it off and throwing it behind her. For a second she stood there naked, her firm breasts so round and perfect to the old man. She must have realised that George couldn't see below the window sill as she stretched upwards as if going on tip toes.

The old man could see her smooth young belly and knew what must be below. As she leaned forward, hanging her breasts out of the window, George slipped his shorts and pants off, his cock already hard and ready to show.

The blonde teased her fingers round her breasts, pushing them together as if she imagined his cock between them. She watched intently as the old man ran his fingers up and down the length of his hardness.

Her hand rushed downwards and must have been straight between her legs as George began to speed up his hand on his cock, only slowing when he felt he was getting too close to his own orgasm.

The young blonde's arm was a blur of movement, and she was moaning loud enough for her voyeur to hear, and he was moving his hand faster now.

All he could hear was groans between gasps of, "Oh yes, want it, I want it, shit yes."

If his neighbour had looked out of her window, she would have seen the young blonde naked, sweating and playing hard with herself.

She screamed as her orgasm took her over the edge, collapsing down onto the windowsill, her breasts clear out of the window and her body jerking. The blonde's eyes widened as George finally let go and, groaning, let his cum shoot out and onto the grass below, not stopping, jerking his hand up and down his cock until her body had stopped moving and his cum slowed to a trickle down his length.

The young wife finally stood up, her body showing a red mark where she had rammed herself against the sill. She smiled and stayed looking at the old man before mouthing something that seemed to say, 'I want you.'

This time she didn't leave the room until Georges' cock had wilted; with a wave and a blown kiss, she bent down to recover her dress and walked out of the room naked.

George woke up the next morning, slightly sad that it was Sunday and that, as her husband wasn't at work, there would be no chance of seeing the young wife at the window today.

He sat in his living room, thinking of the events of the day before when there was a knock at his door. If he had known who was behind the door, he would have heeded the advice given to him by the warden and looked through the front door spy hole, but he didn't; instead, he pulled the door open.

He felt the colour drain from his face; standing there filling the doorway was the biker. She must have told him, or he had found out somehow; either way, the old man waited for the large man's fist to land with enough force to send him flying back down the hall or maybe kill him with a single blow.

A gentle but firm voice from behind him broke the tension.

"Ask him if we can come in then."

The biker looked backwards, and George saw the young blonde woman stepping out of a car and smiling at the old man.

"Yes, Miss, I will," the biker replied meekly.

It was so different from the loud mouthed man he had seen in the supermarket, as if the roles had reversed.

George opened the door and beckoned them into the living room, still unsure what exactly was going on.

The young blonde's eyes scanned round his living room, and turning to her husband, she ordered him into a seat opposite where George had been sitting.

"Now sit there."

George was at a total loss by now; what on earth was going on?

The blonde walked up to him and kissed him hard on the lips, not even bothering to look back at her husband.

"Now this is a real man, and you can learn from him," she sneered at the biker who sat looking at her.

"Yes, Miss, whatever you are saying, Miss, he's a real man, not like me, Miss."

The large man sat there as if ashamed to be in the old man's presence.

His wife reached down and rubbed Georges' cock through his shorts and smiled as it grew with her touch.

Turning back to her husband, she looked him straight in the eyes.

"He can have me; all of me can't, can he?"

It wasn't said as a question; it was her telling the biker that she was going to let George have her with or without her husband's approval. The biker just nodded in reply.

George hadn't even been thinking about what the blonde was wearing, but she was standing in front of him in a loose blue blouse, a tight matching skirt and flat shoes. Looking more like the school teacher he had seen at the supermarket than the woman who had stood at the window naked and fingered herself to orgasm.

She stood sideways with the old man in front of her, glancing at her husband once to ensure he could see both of them.

"Undress me; show my pathetic husband how it should be done."

George looked over at her husband; the huge man sat in the chair and said nothing. There was no anger on his face or pleasure at watching an old man about to undress his wife. The blonde turned the old man's face back to her and smiled.

The old man's hands shook as they undid the first buttons, expecting her naked breasts; instead, he was met by a blue bra barely showing him anything. His hands went to unclip the bra, but the young wife moved his hands down to her skirt.

"Take this off first; you'll like what you see."

It took him a while to fiddle with the skirt clip, finally getting it undone and pulling the zip down, which allowed him to drop her skirt to her ankles. Stepping out of it, she stood there, and he saw why she wanted him to remove the skirt first. Her panties matched her bra; they were high-cut, and the patch covering her pussy was already damp.

The old man felt braver now and reached forward, running his finger down the damp patch and pushing the material into her slightly.

"Mmm, I knew you would be good; he has such a good touch, husband. Watch and learn how good he is."

"Yes, Miss, I will watch him, Miss," her husband replied quietly.

George carried on rubbing; he realised that the young wife had planned to be in control, either humiliating her husband or just having him watch her with another man.

Whatever her plans, the moment the old man's finger worked up her slit to find her swollen clitoris through the material, she lost control, at least for a short time.

The old man rubbed hard on her bud, and she gasped out loud, grabbing at his hard cock through his shorts and violently rubbing up and down. Her other hand on his shoulder whilst her biker husband watched on, his face not moving from their hands on each other.

The blonde's nipples were forcing their way through the bra, and her gasps were coming quicker now. She tried to say something to the biker, but the words never came out, just a loud cry as her voyeur forced her first orgasm out of her.

Her hand released from his hardness and grabbed his other shoulder as her body shook; she thrust herself at the old man's body as if already fucking his cock. The old man's fingers were getting soaked as the blonds' juices flooded through the flimsy material.

Her body carried on jerking a while longer, her fingernails digging into the old man's shoulders.

Finally she stopped; before he could react, she turned into a wild animal, one hand dragging the old man's top over his head whilst her other was yanking her bra off and tearing her panties as she tried to drag them off. Finally the material gave way, and with a ripping sound, she got herself free of them.

Her hands were now free to pull at the pensioner's shorts and pants, letting them drop to his ankles as his aching cock broke free.

The younger woman pushed him backwards onto his seat and mounted him in one go. He looked down as his hardness quickly vanished into her swollen pussy lips.

Her mouth forced itself onto his lips, pushing his mouth open, her tongue delving deep and her body ramming itself up and down on top of his cock.

Her pinprick nipples ran up and down his chest, her moans escaping through their joined mouths.

If she had any control, she had totally lost it as she humped herself up and down. The old man was trying to thrust his hips to meet her, but she was so quick and rough he didn't stand a chance.

Her head jerked back as she screamed, "Fuck yes, oh fucking hell, this is so good, so fucking hard and good."

Her orgasms seemed to shoot through her over and over again, but she made no attempt to slow down. She rode him like some sort of machine, harder and harder, each orgasm making her more determined to carry on.

The old man's thighs soaked in her juices, and any pain he felt from her onslaught had long become pleasure, his cock throbbing, bashed and bruised but needing one thing, and that was to shoot its heavy load into the young blonde.

As another orgasm hit her, it happened. Years of no sex and days of wanting this to happen from the first time he had watched her at the window made his cock swell larger inside her, and as she moaned her way into another orgasm, his cum shot hot and fast into her, filling her, draining his balls, and long spurts not slowing until he was finally spent.

The younger woman stayed on his lap until his cock finally worked her way out of her; she didn't stop kissing him and rubbing her small breasts against him. It was as if she had forgotten her husband was there watching as she fucked a man more than twice her age.

As she stood up, she finally turned to her husband. "You had better not touch yourself."

"No, Miss, I was good," her husband responded.

The old man looked at the blonde; her nipples were still hard, her pussy red and still open wide, her thighs sticky, and their combined juices starting to trickle out of her.

As she walked over to her husband, the old man watched her young arse jiggling up and down.

"Clean me now; use your tongue, and if you do it well, I might let you touch your maggot later."

George watched as the biker leaned forward and started to flick his tongue in and out of his wife's pussy. Once he let his tongue flick her bud, and she snapped at him.

"I didn't tell you to pleasure me; I have my older man for that. Just clean me, or you won't be touching yourself at all today."

"Sorry, Miss, it was an accident, sorry." He was more like one of her schoolchildren being told off than the tough biker that the old man had seen at the window and in the shop.

George watched as he lapped down the mix of his wife's juices combined with the old man's cum.

It was wrong, but there was something exciting about it all at the same time, and he could feel his cock slowly stirring.

The blonde was still standing in front of her husband, not showing any pleasure as his tongue worked inside of her.

"That's enough now."

She pulled away from her husband and turned back to George. Her pussy was wide open, and even the old man had to admit the biker had done a good job of cleaning her out. It was the first time that he had seen her breasts close up; he had sure felt them squashed against his own chest when she rode him, but now he could clearly see them in all their glory. They were small and firm, her pink, sharp nipples standing proud, her tummy smooth and leading down to a perfect open pussy with its puffy lips and swollen bud clearly visible.

The old man's cock twitched again but was yet to be totally hard, and the young blonde knelt down in front of him. She cupped her breasts around his semi-soft cock and rubbed herself up and down his length. As she pushed her breasts down, she would flick her tongue over the tip of his cock and smile as it gradually lengthened and was solid once more.

"I want you in me again; I really need it again."

She pulled him to his feet and laid down on the carpet in front of the old man. Her face was close to her biker husband. Raising her legs upwards and opening them wide, she looked at George.

He was watching her, still not able to believe that this young, silky-bodied blonde wanted his old body instead of her own husband.

"Take me like a woman should be fucked by a real man. Show him how it should be done."

George lay over her and pushed his newly hard cock into position between her legs. There was no resistance as he slid the full length up her. He pushed up on his arms and enjoyed it as both wife and husband watched his cock pull backwards before slamming forward once again.

The young blonde groaned as the old man got into his rhythm and started to thrust back against him. With every thrust she let out a moan of pleasure, and her hands reached round and grabbed at the old man's backside.

She was actually pushing him in and out of her faster, her eyes never leaving her pussy as his cock shone with her juices. It didn't take her long before she cried out as another orgasm hit her, pulling the old man tight into her and holding him there as she shuddered underneath him before she let him begin his thrusts again.

His cock was throbbing inside of her, and he was struggling to stop it spurting again but was determined to see if he could get another orgasm out of her before shooting once more into her.

The blonde swung her legs up and around his waist, slowing his thrusts as she turned towards her husband.

"Get your maggot out; don't you dare make a mess on the carpet."

"Yes, Miss, thank you. I promise I won't make a mess."

The biker opened the fly on his trousers and pulled his hard cock free. George could see the relief on his face as he wrapped his hand round the length and vigorously began to work it up and down.

Although it wasn't as big as his own cock, the old man did feel some sympathy for the biker; it was hardly a maggot.

His attention turned back to the blonde who was rocking her body up and down using her crossed legs, faster and harder, her hands squeezing her small breasts, and George realised that she was close now. As she rocked, she let little groans out, and her fingernails began to dig into her nipples.

Her legs dropped down, and she pushed her whole body up and down as the orgasm hit, stronger than any the old man had given her before. Just as George was about to let go of his load, his husband groaned and pushed himself forward on the chair, letting his cock spurt his cum onto his wife's face, covering her from her eyes down to her mouth.

George didn't need to thrust; she was doing it for him as his balls shot their second orgasm into her, somehow matching the strength of her own orgasm. The old man couldn't stay on his arms any longer and collapsed onto her, letting his spurting cock fill her body.

She pulled her hands free and wrapped them round his back as she lay there shaking and groaning.

Slowly she recovered and used her fingers to clear her face of her husband's cum, licking her fingers each time until her face was clear of the mess.

She pulled the old man's face up and smiled before kissing him once more.

"Oh wow, you truly are even better than I expected when I saw you from my window. I've wanted someone older for so long, and you are just perfect."

George grinned; suddenly he felt twenty again, and he kissed her and held her close.

Eventually the time came for them to leave, and the naked blonde walked to where she had thrown her clothes. Picking up the shredded panties, she turned to the old man.

"Well, I don't think it's worth putting these on, so you may as well keep the bra here for the next time, which I think will be very soon."

She turned to her husband, "Put that maggot away and go wait in the car."

For the first time he smiled at the old man. "Yes Miss, of course I will."

By the time the biker had left the bungalow his wife was back in her skirt and blouse, her torn panties and bra lay discarded on the floor.

She pulled George closer to her and hoisted her skirt up at the back. Placing his old hands onto her fresh young backside she kissed him again.

"Hope you like what I'm wearing, this is what I wear to work, but I'm never going to wear anything under it again so I can think of your hands on me. I'm a teacher that's why I make him call me Miss."

George already knew her job from the supermarket, even though his balls were empty the feel of her arse in his wrinkled hands made his cock twitch.

"Mmm I like that, soon I can have you again my old man, but for now I have to go."

With that she turned and headed down the hallway, skirt still hoisted up. Her young arse wiggled and she turned and waved as she shut the old mans door.