In the Club Amour, she is perched on the chair, keeping her knees clamped together. Her tits, heavy and round are on display in the cupless, vinyl bustier. She is looking out the window, waiting for him.

shawl 2He’d been at the window every Friday for a month.

Tonight, he saunters out of the shadows of the courtyard, leaning against the wrought iron rail. As usual, a hat shadows his face, but she knows it is him. He is the only viewer to show up in a suit, hat, and trenchcoat – looking like he should be an extra in Casablanca rather than watching her.

And so, she starts pinching her nipples, drawing them out and teasing her flesh.

He stands with his hands in his coat pockets and watches. What she can see of his face impassive.

Leaning back, she spreads her legs wide, opening her vulva to him, to anyone willing to pay a few dollars to stand and watch, but he is the only viewer she cares about. She dips her vinyl gloved fingers between her thighs, the shiny black material making her fingers smooth and featureless. If she let herself, she can almost pretend it was someone else touching her. Her eyes find his hands, still hidden, but it’s cold enough he must be wearing gloves.

He stands with his hands in his coat pockets and watches.

Her gloved fingers slid effortlessly into her wet pussy, and her eyes stay trained on him. She wishes just once to see his face, to meet his eyes as her fingers thrust into her pussy over and over. Instead, she watches him, an unmoving figure in his suit and hat.

She pulls her fingers from her pussy, the vinyl glistening and slick with her juices.

He stands with his hands in his coat pockets and watches.

Leaning forward, she uses her sticky fingers to draw a heart upon the glass.

303 words

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