Most mornings, we would pass each other in the lobby of our building, and I would smile and offer her a greeting. But she would avert her eyes, merely nod and hurry away.A young professional woman, I guessed, no older than twenty-five. Maybe a solicitor, accountant, medic or academic. Her fiery hair was invariably gathered tightly back into a tucked-in-braid. She never wore a skirt, always a suit, those butt-hugging tailored pants. One morning I noticed the impeccability of her attire diminished: one button too many of her crisp, starched white blouse left unfastened. I wondered what had delayed her, interrupted her clock-work punctuality and caused her to leave her home so dishevelled. I must have been staring; her scowl accused me, and I was guilty as charged. The draw of her cleavage was irresistible, achingly unobtainable.One time when I was running late and she had already left the building, I took in a package from the postman addressed to her. That's how I learned her name was Caitlin, Dr Caitlin Medlock. When she knocked on my door that evening to pick up her delivery, she offered not so much as a thank-you when she took it from my hands. The departing click of her heels on the tiled stairs mocked my illusions, the hope I might finally get to chat with her, say to her, "No it's okay; no problem at all. I'm sure you'd do the same. Are you free Saturday?"It was hopeless. Caitlin Meadows had no interest in me. I stopped rising an hour before I needed to. Instead, I would sit at my breakfast bar in my dressing gown and listen to her apartment door closing, the familiar rat-a-tat of her heels on the tiles as she passed by my door. Only when I had heard her car engine start would I get my coat and leave for work.By the time I stumbled
almanbahis şikayet upon Channel-X, Caitlin no longer plagued my thoughts. Let's get this straight. Channel-X is not some late-night cable porn service. It's the name I gave to my very own peep into Caitlin's world.I discovered the streamed images when I brought my new monster TV* home from Curry's one evening in July. I'd connected all the leads and was setting up the wi-fi when I stumbled on the rogue broadcast.I thought it was one of those pay-per-view house spy camera-things you often get offered on porn sites. The video quality was as good, the interiors streamed to my screen in glorious crisp 4K. There were four rooms to view: kitchen, bedroom, bathroom and lounge. I quickly flicked through them all. The lounge area had a picture window set in the wall directly opposite the camera through which I could make out a vista of distant hills. It took me only a second to realise what lay beyond the glass. I knew that panorama like the back of my hand; the familiar silhouette of a hillside, the transmitting station mast at Winter Hill pointing skyward.It was the same view I had from my flat through an identical window. I could only imagine I'd tuned into the security system of the apartment directly above mine, which was Caitlin's apartment.I flicked through the rooms again and saw no sign of life. And then in the bedroom, she walked into camera-shot. Even though I knew what I was looking at, my brain refused to compute the information. The reality of Caitlin in her natural habitat, walking back and forth, was profoundly disconcerting.Even when wandering around in the privacy of her spacious bedroom, she had the air of someone afraid to let their guard down, and I wondered
almanbahis canlı casino if she was aware the cameras were capturing her every breath. I asked myself, was this her little money-spinner?But the lenses were fixed. They did not follow her. In the bedroom, a king-sized mattress was the sole focus of the prying lens. Whoever had installed the device had a perfect view of her bed, from its unboarded foot-end on up over its rich and scattered cushions, its gilded Jacquard quilt cover, its pillows and tall, golded plush headboard.From time to time, Caitlin would pass between the camera and the bed. A game of now you see her, now you don't. Her clothes suggested she was preparing to leave for a night out clubbing. Or maybe she had come home early.Whenever she came close to the camera, I expected her to turn and face me and confront me, hold me responsible. But the technology was beyond my comprehension. I mentally conjured something nano, undetectable to all but the savviest of sleuths.It was hard to read her. Eventually, I decide her night had been a failure. And when she did finally look directly at the camera, into her dresser mirror, her weary, mascaraed eyes were devoid of purpose.I watched her come and go until my stomach went into free-fall when a man entered the room. He appeared suddenly, as if out of nowhere when he passed in front of the camera. And then he was gone, and I could hear his deep, smooth voice say her name: "Caitlin."And then her quickly replying, "Yes?" Such a distant voice, as if from the en-suite or maybe the dressing room.A horrible rush of conscience, the realisation I had become the voyeur, the despised peeping Tom. A nascent excitement began to spread throughout my body on realising I was breaking
almanbahis casino some delicious taboo. It was so sordid, wrong beyond excuses. But I no longer cared, the adrenalin rush was worth my self-opprobrium. It thrilled me like little else ever had.I did not know the man ? this older man, her oh-so distinguished guest. I had never passed him in the hall, never seen him walk the path to our building's front door. He was well dressed ? no, he was impeccably dressed. Every article of his attire looked expensive, chosen with care to give the illusion of the casual. *"Caitlin! Are you ready?"She returned to the room in only her lingerie, her bra and black briefs all lace and stretch. At last, her fiercely shocking hair was free of clips and murdering chignon, its roar of fabulous brightness utterly compelling. The camera had become a heat-seeking device. But of course, it did not move. How could it! It was my eyes that did the seeking.She stood at the foot of the bed, her back to the lens as she asked, "Must I?""You promised."His voice off-screen was heavy with expectation. I imagined him quite settled, at ease and watching from a bedroom chair. In my mind, I conjured the decadence of a chasse-lounge.She sat herself down at the end of the bed and stared ahead, seeing herself through a mirror I surmised. Her hands were lost to view when she reached behind herself to undo her bra. It fell away, and I was left astonished by the fleeting beauty of her well-formed breasts before they became lost to sight beneath her cascading hair.My cock was rampant, straining against heavy denim as it shouted its absurd need to have her. Even though there was no hope of satisfaction, it demanded I pay attention, expected that maybe by my staring I could magic Caitlin into the room. But all I could do was appease the beast by undoing my belt buckle. My cock sprang free, and my palm became its friend.*"You are a gorgeous creature," the voice from the screen told Dr Caitlin Meadows. "Touch your breasts."