As previously shared, my room in the house I live in has these beautiful large bay windows that face the street. Every single morning, the first thing that I do is get up and open my curtains and open my windows to let the fresh air in.

I do everything with my curtains open; I work, I stretch, I get off, and I change every day in front of my windows.

I don’t know my neighbours well; in fact I only know three other people who live on my street. I have no idea who lives in the flats across from me, we’ve never met and I’ve never seen anyone coming or going enough to notice.

Every day though, I get ready with my windows and my curtains open. If I sleep in anything, at best it’s a pair of spandex shorts and maybe a bralette (I’ve been known to sleep naked). I normally wake up and put on a skimpy little “at home outfit” consisting of shorts and a bralette mainly, although sometimes a cropped tank top.

I fantasize about my neighbour looking out their window every morning when they notice my blinds are open to catch glimpses of me as I dance around my room and get ready in virtually nothing. It makes me so wet thinking about them standing just far back enough to the point where I can’t see them as they stroke and rub themselves to my almost naked body; watching the curves running from my ribs to my waist… my waist to my hips… staring at the outline of my ass… trying to see if my shorts are tight enough to get to see the outline of my pussy.

I never wear a bra once I’m properly dressed and I think about them desperately rubbing themselves, humping anything that’s close to them while they stare at my small tits, my nipple piercings catching the light and glistening for them. I think about how badly they want to taste me, bury their cock deep inside me, grind their clit against my thighs while I parade around in a thong before putting jeans on.

I wonder if they can see my red lipstick from their room, fantasizing about how badly they want to be covered in its stain. I wonder if they’ve ever came to me and my body, or if it only fuels their desperation more. I wonder if the husbands in loveless marriages fuck their wives harder dreaming about the schoolgirl who lives across the street; the goth one with her small pierced tits and wide hips. I wonder if they know my schedule so they know when they can watch the window in hopes of catching even the slightest glimpse, that being enough to get them dripping with need.

I wonder if I’m their goon fuel, their fantasies and desires, the one out of touch but they cum to her. I wonder if I’m the reason they haven’t yet moved.

I don’t even need an answer, the thought alone makes me so wet.