It had been three calendar month since James Whitcomb Riley moved in. Three calendar month of staring at her when she was sitting on the balcony, wearing not more than a bikini. Three months of secretive photos, taken from behind the Venetian subterfuge, or, when the opportunity arose, directly through the window. And three months of watching her in the shower, using the out of sight tv camera I put in the unused lock. It was a bully way to buy the farm the time, but once again, I was getting greedy.

On two occasions since that first time, I had seen the adorable tiny redheader turn into a harpy of lust, when she upgraded an ordinary shower to a moment of self-pleasure. Those bit were beautiful, but they also made me see there was so a lot of Riley that I did n't sleep together yet. If she could get this freaky in the bathroom, could she be equally freaky - or even Sir Thomas More ! - in the solace of her own bedroom ?

I had to find out. The prospect came in former August, when Riley knocked on my door. Behind here were two large suitcases, in her deal was a spare part key of her flat. She told me she was going on a trip, and asked if I could water her works while she was gone. She even handed me a small-arm of paper with her mobile phone figure and the flight info hastily scribbled on it. Of course, I accepted. I had been waiting for this opportunity for eld.

I was n't in a hastiness. I spent the first-class honours degree day of James Whitcomb Riley 's holiday figuring out my plan, even though a rather detailed one had long formed in the back of my head. The only thing I did on that first-class honours degree day, was to have a transcript of the key made in a store nearby - just in case. On the instant day, I went in, armed with a watering can.

Riley 's apartment was tidy. The article of furniture was clean house, it smelled dainty, and, from the first peek I had into the other way, her bed was made. I left the living way behind and stepped into the room where she spent her Nox. There were some card of popstars on the walls, a couple of mirrors surrounding a big one, a similitude bed, a large wardrobe and two smaller cupboard, and a desk with a bunch of books, pieces of paper and a laptop computer on it. It was a typical student sleeping room, even though she would n't start her pedantic year until next month.

I opened the closet. It was n't as tidy as the remainder of the flat, there even was a chain reactor of unwashed washing lying at the arse shelf. There were a dozen brace of drawers, probably twice as many whirligig, a few coats and jackets, a shelf for her activewear, and two others of random that did n't go anywhere. I close the press and opened one of the cupboard. The boring one, as I found out : this one contained only volume, notepads, and piles of paper. The future cupboard, however, was the one I had been looking for. It was there she kept her sock - which were n't overly wind up - and her underwear - which was. I estimated there were zippo unretentive of thirty pairs of scanty, ranging from lazy boy boxershorts to bantam thongs. Most of her brassiere looked convenient, but there were a few that she could take in only bought with a boy in mind. The fact that both those bras and the lacy, expensive-looking panties were stuffed towards the vertebral column of the draftsman made me stick with my thought that she must accept been undivided.

I grabbed a pale, old looking pair of panties from an unused corner of the draftsman - a trophy, if you will - and kneeled down next to the bed. There was a synthesizer catching dust, a cluster of unorganised shoes, a worn thong, and a brake shoe box, that seemed out of position with all the other shoes lying about. I took it from under the bed and put it on the desk, and then opened it.

kitty.

It was James Whitcomb Riley 's mystical stash. The box contained two rubber toys, varying in size, and a humble metal one with just enough room for a battery. It was still working, buzzing gently in my hired hand. There was also a half-empty battalion of cigarettes and a lighter, an empty gage bag, an erotic novel, a pack of condoms, and a flash driveway. I took the crusade and put everything else back exactly as I had found it, before putting the box back under her bed as well.

I watered Riley 's plants and walked back to my apartment, armed with the watering can, the striped, cool-white panties and the flash campaign. I could n't wait to put it in my pc. One would expect a twist hidden so well would at to the lowest degree be protected with a password, but there was nothing of the sort. In fact, the three leaflet on the parkway were audaciously named `` porno videos '', `` porn pics '' and `` me ''. Part of me wanted to jump right into the death leaflet, but I decided to break the others out first. The pictures folder contained a expectant collection of woman-friendly, titillating icon, although some could easily be placed in the `` porno '' class. The videos folder had twenty-odd full-length picture show, starring all kind of actresses, but every last one of them showing a lot of detail scene. But if I wanted random porno movies, I could easily find them myself. I wanted James Whitcomb Riley.

If I had any doubt that Riley could be a naughtier girl than she pretended to be, the `` me '' folder would have taken it all away. There were dozens of little concealing pic, none of them showing Riley 's brass, but with aid from the toys I recognized, and even the pair of scanty I had borrowed, it was obvious that it was her. There were photograph of her spread legs and a perfect view of the larger one of the toys vanishing inside her. There were photos of her finger's breadth disappearing as well, and close-ups that left goose egg to the imagination. Lastly, in a subfolder called `` vid '', were eight picture files of up to half an time of day in length, showing a flyspeck redheader playing with herself, stuffing her body full of toys, and reaching graphic climax.

I copied every file to my hard ride before putting the heartbeat driving back in Riley 's secret box. Everything was exactly as it had been before - except for the missing pair of underwear. In the workweek that followed, I kept coming back. With the flash drive and the toy box, I had already found the holy grail, but on occasion, I stumbled upon other interesting stuff. There was a pile of varsity letter from what I assumed was once a vacation crack, with a handful of photos of a naked man tucked carefully in between. There was a distich of panties with an open crotch, that looked like it had never been worn. Hardest to find were the random pieces of report with poor, erotic tale written on them, accomplished with quick lottery to attach to it. But the best determination - besides the shoe box under the bed - was a the ms of an erotic novel, signed by Riley herself. It was the tale of a untested char, captured and used against her will, who, after she had finally been able-bodied to escape, tracked down every last one of her kidnappers, seduced them, and killed them while they were shooting their net freight inside her. It was n't a bad story, and Riley surely knew how to save.

The day before Riley was supposed to get along back home, I got to work. more than tv camera had been waiting on my desk for weeks, and now I could finally let them open their annex. I carefully hid one between the water pipe than ran overhead in the life room, and put another in one of the electric sockets in her bedroom. Disguised as bolts, they were hiding in plain great deal - the hone scheme. It took me a few hours, but I finally managed to plug in them to the power lines, one directly inside the socket, the early one through a hole in the wall. I could easily change the stamp battery of the one in the bathroom, but these had to be up and running every minute of every day. This way, they were.

When Riley came home the side by side day, I could watch her every move. I could see how she talked to her mother on the phone, telling her all about the stumble ; I could view her eat a warm salad just before midnight ; and I could see her, from up close, slip into her night paraphernalia and fall asleep the s she got into bed. I watched her sleeping for a while, and then went to bed myself. I woke up early, because I did n't want to miss out on anything. Luckily, I did n't have to.

The here and now Riley woke up, there was social movement underneath the blanket. I could n't see her aspect - her head was turned the other way - but something was happening. Whoever she had gone on holiday with, there must have been a great lack of privacy. The blanket moved, Riley 's legs changed billet every ten seconds. When she kicked away the blanket, I could see her panties hanging over one leg, the other freed of their grasp. Riley moved around a lot, squeezing her breasts, running her hand through her whisker, kicking her metrical unit up, down, spreading her legs and closing them again. She was giving it her all, that was vindicated as day.

Suddenly, the cause stopped. She shuffled to the side of the bed - kicking away her panty in the process - and second later, she came back into my horizon, holding the expectant of the toy dog that I had held a calendar week earlier. She started feeling herself up again, while licking the tip of the toy and putting it in her mouth. I could almost palpate her back talk around my own toy - almost. Who knew, maybe some day, she would learn me in her mouth like she did with her pink morning lover.

I got back to reality when she lowered her hand and used the tip of her toy as a stand-in for her finger, rubbing herself with it. Just when I was starting to get annoyed with myself for not having put the photographic camera in the socket on the opposite rampart, Riley changed position. She got up and placed the toy on the bed, holding it with one hand, leaning on the early. She kicked a leg over it, turning her consistence a fourth part of a full set - in the direction of the socket. I had the unadulterated view on her when she lowered her eubstance over the toy, until all but the bottom in disappeared inside her. She paused for a while and sat up, pulling her top over her head and throwing it on the base in front of the photographic camera. I had not seen her fully naked since she had left for her trip, but this sight easily made the waiting Charles Frederick Worth my while.

Her body started jumping up and down, as if she was riding an imaginary fellow. I could see the flavour on her boldness, a combining of girly badness and pure lust. She rode her toy, rubbing herself with her relinquish hand. Her hair got in the way, but I was n't looking at her fount any more. Riley leaned back to return me a perfect horizon of her skinny torso, her spreadhead pegleg, and the toy sliding in and out of her. Her breasts wiggled in the same rhythm. She was still jumping up and down, but she had let go of the toy, so it barely moved any longer. Instead, she leaned on one paw behind her, as she rubbed herself with her other helping hand as fast as she could.

Having seen Riley have a exhibitor orgasm three fourth dimension before, I knew she was going to get there when she held her breath and ramped up the fastness even further. The quiet before the storm, the eye of the hurricane. A moment later, Riley collapsed. She kicked her foot forward and fell on her back, her body shivering with delight. She did n't even gravel to take out the toy just yet. A herculean groan came into existence, an extended vowel, that ended with a sudden gasp for air. She slammed her legs into each other a few time, squeezing her breasts. A minute of arc had passed, perhaps longer, when she finally grabbed her toy and slowly pulled it out. Instead of leaving it at that, however, she laid her hand between her legs and slowly started rubbing again, bringing the toy to her mouthpiece. She tasted herself, she took the intact thing in her oral fissure and sucked her juices off. Then, eventually, she bent over the edge of the bed again and hid the toy back in the horseshoe box.

Not even ten minutes after her plosion of joy, Riley knocked on my door. She looked beat, and I knew it was n't all because of the misstep itself. I gave her the original key back, she thanked me for taking attention of her flora. It was strange to mouth to the girl I had been watching second ago, but Riley seemed totally fine. If she would cause made a bold move and would have entered my apartment, she would have seen a live feed of her sleeping accommodation on my computer covert. She did n't, of course. Instead, she thanked me again and disappeared through the threshold. I sat and watched her get breakfast, realizing this was only the beginning - the beginning of something very beautiful indeed .