I Left the Curtains Open on Purpose That Afternoon

I’m twenty-four years old, with an entire Saturday ahead of me and not a single plan. I’m just over five feet tall, petite, with small but firm tits, nipples that go hard at the slightest touch, and a round ass I only recently learned to be proud of. That afternoon I was home alone, sprawled on the big living-room sofa, my phone in my hand and my head completely empty.

I’d checked the same apps four times. Nothing new, nothing interesting. The afternoon dragged by, slow and sticky, with that five-o’clock golden light that comes in from the side and warms the air without asking permission.

I closed my eyes and let my mind wander.

It’s something I do when the silence grows too big. I imagine things. Sometimes silly things, sometimes not so much. That afternoon, with the lazy heat of the afternoon nap hanging over me and the whole house to myself, what appeared in my mind wasn’t silly at all.

I imagined a man. Big, with broad hands, the kind who fills a doorway when he walks through it. I imagined him entering the living room, looking me up and down without even trying to hide it, an enormous cock outlined against his pants, deciding that I was exactly the cunt he’d come to fuck that afternoon.

What if I left the curtains open?

The thought came on its own, without warning. The living-room window faced the street, the sidewalk where the whole neighborhood passed by. If I left the curtains open, anyone who looked up might see me with my hand between my legs. The idea sent a shiver through me that wasn’t entirely fear.

I turned my head and looked at the window. The curtain was half drawn, as always. I stared at it for a long while, playing with the idea, feeling the fantasy begin to gain weight, to become something more than a stray image. I could already feel the wetness warming my panties.

I didn’t close it. That was the exact moment something changed.

I settled more comfortably on the sofa, set my phone aside, and took a deep breath. The fabric of my tight white shorts clung to my skin in the heat, outlining my cameltoe between my legs. Underneath I was wearing pink panties, the ones with embroidered hearts, the ones I put on when no one was going to see me. Except that afternoon, the whole point was that someone might.

I closed my eyes again. The man in my head sat on the edge of the sofa beside me, not touching me yet. I could smell his cologne, feel the heat radiating from his body, that closeness that raises gooseflesh before anything happens. I could imagine his hard cock straining inside his pants, waiting for the moment to pull it out and push it all the way inside me.

I ran one hand slowly up my own stomach, as though it were his. I stopped just below my navel and left my fingers there, still, waiting. Anticipation is what I like best. That second of delay when the whole cunt is begging and the mind decides to hold out a little longer.

A car passed outside. The sound of its engine came through the open window and reminded me where I was, how deliberately exposed I’d made myself. Instead of cooling me down, it turned me on even more.

I slipped my hand beneath the waistband of my shorts. The pink fabric of my panties was warm, soaked through, and I was already more aroused than I’d expected. I pressed two fingers over the fabric, against my swollen clitoris, and began moving them in slow circles, without rushing, letting the pleasure build little by little. The wetness had already seeped through the cloth and stained my fingertips.

With my other hand I undid the first button of my shirt. Then the second. The afternoon air touched the skin of my chest and raised goosebumps all over me. I pulled the shirt off completely, unclasped my bra, and left my tits bare, my nipples stiff and pointing at the ceiling. I brought my fingers to my left nipple and tugged, pinching it hard, just enough to send an electric jolt straight down to my cunt.

In my head, the man leaned over me. His mouth found my tit and took the whole thing in, his tongue tracing slow circles around my nipple before his lips closed around it and sucked hungrily. Then he bit it, just enough with his teeth, and I imagined him moving from one tit to the other, leaving them red and slick with spit. I imagined him taking his time, enjoying himself, drawing the first moan of the afternoon out of me.

A real one escaped me. A low, restrained sound that bounced off the walls of the empty living room.

“Whore,” I whispered to no one, smiling. “Look at what a whore you are.”

***

I pulled my shorts down to my ankles and kicked them off. My pink panties were left with a dark stain right in the middle, completely soaked. I moved the fabric aside with two fingers, and my cunt lay open, shiny, swollen. The first direct contact of my fingertips with the slippery flesh made me arch my back against the sofa and let out a long gasp.

I started slowly, drawing the same circle around my clitoris again and again, finding the rhythm I knew by heart. The afternoon light fell over me, the window was still open, and I still didn’t want to close it. With my legs spread wide, if anyone looked in they would see everything: my tits bare, my cunt open, my soaked fingers moving between my lips. Every time I thought about someone watching from the sidewalk, pleasure squeezed me a little harder.

The man in my fantasy spread my legs with his big hands. He opened them wide without asking permission and buried his face between my thighs. I felt his hot tongue moving up and down my entire slit, stopping at my clitoris to suck it with his lips, then slipping into my opening to fuck my cunt with his tongue. He whispered things in my ear between licks, things I wouldn’t dare repeat out loud: “You’re so fucking delicious, whore. Your cunt tastes so good. Open wider, wider,” and every word pushed me closer to the edge.

My fingers moved faster now. I felt my whole body tensing, my legs opening on their own until one was hooked over the back of the sofa and the other fell open toward the floor, leaving my cunt completely exposed. My hips lifted, seeking contact, begging for more. The afternoon had ceased to exist. There was no boredom, no phone, no empty list of plans. There was only my soaked cunt and my two hands.

I lowered one hand and let a finger find my opening. It was open, dripping, wanting. I slid it inside slowly and let out a sharp breath when I felt it sink in to the knuckle. Then I added a second. I moved them together, in and out, curling them inside to touch that spot that makes me see black spots, while my other hand never left my clitoris. The wet sound of my fingers going in and out of my cunt mingled with my moans and filled the entire house.

In my head they weren’t my fingers anymore. They were his cock, fat and thick, sinking into me with every thrust, spreading me wide, holding my legs against my chest so I stayed folded while he fucked me deeper. I imagined him on top of me, heavy and sweaty, his dick driving into me to the root, slamming against the back of my cunt, setting a brutal rhythm I didn’t control, taking me wherever he decided. I begged him for it out loud, with no one to hear me:

“Harder, give it to me harder, split my cunt open,” I gasped into the air, eyes closed, fucking myself with three fingers by then.

Then I imagined him changing my position. He turned me over, put me on all fours on the sofa, grabbed my hips, and shoved it back inside me from behind, my ass raised and my back arched. I felt his hand moving down between my cheeks, a thumb feeling out my asshole, pressing just slightly, while his cock kept pumping into my cunt. I really shook against the cushions at the thought and pushed a finger into my ass, wet with my own juices, sliding it slowly in to the first knuckle. I closed my eyes and felt the double impact: my fingers fucking my cunt in front while the other one pushed from behind, filling me from both sides.

I wasn’t holding back my moans anymore. They came out on their own, one after another, loud and filthy, filling the living room. “Oh, yes, like that, yes, more,” I kept repeating without realizing it. If someone walked along the sidewalk at that moment, they wouldn’t have needed their eyes to know what was happening inside that house: some chick was fucking herself with the curtains open, moaning like a bitch in heat. And that, far from stopping me, pushed me right over the edge.

***

My orgasm came like a wave breaking without warning. My eyes squeezed shut, my back lifted off the sofa, and my whole cunt clenched around my own fingers, throbbing, pulsing, dripping. I squeezed my legs together, trapped my hand between my thighs, and let the current run through me from the tips of my toes to the nape of my neck. I felt the hot liquid soaking my palm, sliding down my wrist, wetting the sofa fabric beneath my ass.

“I’m coming, I’m coming, I’m coming,” I repeated out loud, unable to stop, shaking on the cushions.

In my fantasy, he came with me. At the same time, the impossible instant that can’t be coordinated in real life but is perfect in your head. I felt him pull his cock out at the last second and spurt all over my stomach, my tits, my face, my open mouth. Thick, hot streams raining down over me while I stuck out my tongue and licked my lips full of semen. Then he collapsed on top of me, panting against my neck, while I was still trembling and running my fingers over the skin smeared with cum.

I stayed like that for a long while, breathing unevenly, eyes closed, legs still spread, wearing a silly smile I couldn’t wipe away. I brought my fingers to my mouth and sucked them one by one, tasting myself, feeling the salty flavor of my cunt on my tongue. My heart pounded in my chest as if I’d run a marathon. Little by little the house reclaimed its place: the ticking of the kitchen clock, the hum of the refrigerator, the distant murmur of the neighborhood beyond the window.

The window. I glanced at it, still breathless, still naked, still with my legs spread and my soaked cunt on display. It was still open, the curtains still parted. There was no one outside, no face pressed to the glass, no shadow on the sidewalk. There never had been. But the mere possibility that someone might have seen me come had given everything a different flavor, more intense, more mine.

I slowly pulled my hand out, adjusted my pink panties just slightly over my throbbing cunt, and lay on my back with my tits bare and my nipples still hard, staring at the ceiling. The golden afternoon light was already beginning to fade, shifting toward the soft orange of day’s end. I felt light, empty in the best way, my cunt satisfied and my thighs sticky.

And to think the original plan was to do nothing.

I laughed softly to myself. It was hard to believe that half an hour earlier I’d been complaining about being bored. Sometimes the best moments aren’t planned. They appear when you’re alone, with a clear head and enough nerve to leave the curtains where they are and stick your hand in your cunt without guilt.

I gathered the strength to get up. The sofa had been left with a dark, damp stain right where my ass had been, still warm, and I needed a long shower and a glass of cold water. I picked up my shirt from the floor but didn’t put it on. Before going to the bathroom, I stopped for a second in front of the window, my tits bare and my panties soaked.

This time I did reach for the curtain. I took it between my fingers, ready to close it. But I stood there looking at the street for a moment, the empty sidewalk, the light falling over the parked cars, the ordinary life of the neighborhood continuing on, oblivious to everything.

I let it go. I left it open.

Who knows, I thought as I walked naked toward the bathroom with a smile and the imaginary semen still tingling on my skin. Maybe boredom will get me again tomorrow. And next time, maybe, I won’t settle for just fingering myself: maybe I’ll open the front door, not just the curtain, and let the first man who comes by fuck me all the way to the hilt.