It had been three months since 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 closemouthed photos, taken from behind the Venetian blinds, or, when the chance arose, directly through the windowpane. And three calendar month of watching her in the shower, using the hidden camera I put in the unused lock. It was a great way to conk the time, but once again, I was getting greedy.

On two occasions since that number 1 time, I had seen the endearing petite redhead turn into a vixen of luxuria, when she upgraded an ordinary shower to a moment of self-pleasure. Those mo were beautiful, but they also made me see there was so much of Riley that I did n't know 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 notice out. The chance came in early August, when Riley knocked on my door. Behind here were two vauntingly suitcases, in her hired man was a unornamented key of her apartment. She told me she was going on a trip, and asked if I could water system her plants while she was gone. She even handed me a part of newspaper with her wandering phone number and the flight of stairs information hastily scribbled on it. Of course, I accepted. I had been waiting for this chance for old age.

I was n't in a hurry. I spent the first day of Riley 's vacation figuring out my design, even though a rather detailed one had long formed in the cover of my head. The only if affair I did on that first day, was to induce a copy of the key made in a workshop nearby - just in suit. On the minute day, I went in, armed with a watering can.

Riley 's flat was tidy. The furniture was clean, it smelled nice, and, from the first peek I had into the other room, her bed was made. I left the aliveness room behind and stepped into the elbow room where she spent her nights. There were some posters of popstars on the walls, a couple of mirrors surrounding a big one, a twin bed, a large wardrobe and two smaller cupboards, and a desk with a bunch of books, musical composition of paper and a laptop computer on it. It was a typical pupil sleeping room, even though she would n't start her academic year until next month.

I opened the press. It was n't as tidy as the repose of the apartment, there even was a spate of unwashed laundry lying at the bottom shelf. There were a dozen duo of gasp, probably twice as many tops, a few coats and crown, a ledge for her athletic wear, and two others of random that did n't belong anywhere. I close the closet and opened one of the closet. The boring one, as I found out : this one contained only leger, notepads, and wad of newspaper. The side by side cupboard, however, was the one I had been looking for. It was there she kept her air sock - which were n't overly exciting - and her underwear - which was. I estimated there were nothing suddenly of thirty pairs of panties, ranging from faineant boy shorts to tiny thongs. Most of her brassiere looked convenient, but there were a few that she could bear only bought with a boy in idea. The fact that both those bras and the lacy, expensive-looking scanty were stuffed towards the back of the draftsman made me bewilder with my idea that she must take in been bingle.

I grabbed a picket, old looking pair of step-in from an idle niche of the drawer - a trophy, if you will - and kneeled down next to the bed. There was a synthesizer catching dust, a bunch of unorganised shoe, a worn lash, and a shoe box, that seemed out of office with all the other skid lying about. I took it from under the bed and put it on the desk, and then opened it.

Jackpot.

It was Riley 's secret stash. The box contained two synthetic rubber toys, varying in sizing, and a smaller metal one with just enough room for a battery. It was still working, buzzing gently in my hired man. There was also a half-empty clique of cigarettes and a lighter, an empty-bellied weed bag, an titillating novel, a pack of condoms, and a news bulletin drive. 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 works and walked back to my apartment, armed with the tearing can, the striped, blue-white panties and the flash drive. I could n't wait to put it in my pc. One would wait a device hidden so well would at least be protected with a countersign, but there was nothing of the sort. In fact, the three leaflet on the effort were audaciously named `` pornography videos '', `` porn pics '' and `` me ''. voice of me wanted to jump out right into the hold out folder, but I decided to control the others out first. The icon folder contained a large collection of woman-friendly, titillating range, although some could easily be placed in the `` porn '' category. The videos brochure had twenty-odd full-length movies, starring all sorts of actresses, but every survive one of them showing a lot of detail picture. But if I wanted random porn picture show, I could easily discover them myself. I wanted Riley.

If I had any doubt that Riley could be a risque lady friend than she pretended to be, the `` me '' brochure would own taken it all away. There were slews of fiddling concealing photograph, none of them showing Riley 's face, but with assistance from the plaything I recognized, and even the duad of pantie I had borrowed, it was obvious that it was her. There were photos of her spread leg and a perfect view of the declamatory one of the toy dog vanishing inside her. There were photos of her fingerbreadth disappearing as well, and close-ups that left goose egg to the mental imagery. Lastly, in a subfolder called `` vid '', were eight video Indian file of up to half an hour in distance, showing a lilliputian redheader playing with herself, stuffing her body full of toy dog, and reaching vivid orgasms.

I copied every data file to my hard drive before putting the flash drive back in Riley 's secret box. Everything was exactly as it had been before - except for the missing pair of underclothes. In the week that followed, I kept coming back. With the flash drive and the toy box, I had already found the sanctum grail, but on occasion, I stumbled upon other interesting clobber. There was a pile of letters from what I assumed was once a holiday fling, with a handful of photos of a raw man tucked carefully in between. There was a pair of panties with an open privates, that looked like it had never been worn. Hardest to find were the random pieces of theme with short, erotic stories written on them, double-dyed with quick drawings to follow it. But the upright finding - besides the shoe box under the bed - was a the manuscript of an titillating novel, signed by James Whitcomb Riley herself. It was the tale of a Brigham Young woman, captured and used against her will, who, after she had finally been able to escape, tracked down every last one of her kidnapper, seduced them, and killed them while they were shooting their last lots inside her. It was n't a bad chronicle, and James Whitcomb Riley surely knew how to write.

The day before James Whitcomb Riley was supposed to fall back home, I got to run. to a greater extent photographic camera had been waiting on my desk for hebdomad, and now I could finally let them spread their flank. I carefully hid one between the water supply pipes than ran command processing overhead time in the living room, and put another in one of the electric car sockets in her bedroom. Disguised as bolt of lightning, they were hiding in field sight - the double-dyed strategy. It took me a few hr, but I finally managed to connect them to the power tune, one directly inside the socket, the other one through a jam in the rampart. I could easily change the shelling of the one in the bathroom, but these had to be up and running every hour of every day. This way, they were.

When James Whitcomb Riley came home the next day, I could look on her every motion. I could hear how she talked to her mother on the phone, telling her all about the trip ; I could watch her eat a warm salad just before midnight ; and I could see her, from up close, slip into her nighttime gear wheel and fall asleep the second 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 need to miss out on anything. Luckily, I did n't have to.

The moment Riley woke up, there was movement underneath the blanket. I could n't see her human face - her head was turned the other way - but something was happening. Whoever she had gone on holiday with, there must deliver been a great lack of privateness. The blanket moved, Riley 's legs changed position every ten seconds. When she kicked away the blanket, I could see her panty hanging over one leg, the other freed of their clutch. Riley moved around a lot, squeezing her breasts, running her hand through her fuzz, kicking her foot up, down, spreading her legs and closing them again. She was giving it her all, that was clear as day.

Suddenly, the movement stopped. She shuffled to the side of the bed - kicking away her step-in in the appendage - and moments later, she came back into my view, holding the largest of the plaything 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 feel her mouth around my own toy - almost. Who knew, maybe some day, she would take me in her mouth like she did with her garden pink sunrise devotee.

I got back to realism when she lowered her handwriting and used the tip of her toy as a substitute for her fingerbreadth, rubbing herself with it. Just when I was starting to get annoyed with myself for not having put the camera in the socket on the diametrical bulwark, 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 body a fourth of a replete Mexican valium - in the direction of the socket. I had the perfect view on her when she lowered her body over the toy, until all but the bottom column inch disappeared inside her. She paused for a while and sat up, pulling her top over her capitulum and throwing it on the floor in social movement of the camera. I had not seen her fully naked since she had left for her stumble, but this sight easily made the waiting worth my piece.

Her body started jumping up and down, as if she was riding an imaginary young man. I could see the look on her boldness, a combining of girly badness and pure luxuria. She rode her toy, rubbing herself with her exempt handwriting. Her pilus got in the way, but I was n't looking at her expression any Thomas More. Riley leaned back to give me a perfect tense view of her skinny trunk, her spread head ramification, and the toy sliding in and out of her. Her titty 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 hand behind her, as she rubbed herself with her other hired man as fast as she could.

Having seen Riley have a shower orgasm three sentence before, I knew she was going to get there when she held her breathing place and ramped up the speed even further. The silence before the storm, the eye of the hurricane. A here and now later, Riley collapsed. She kicked her feet forward and fell on her back, her body shivering with pleasance. She did n't even nark to take out the toy just yet. A powerful groan came into existence, an pass vowel, that ended with a sudden gasp for air. She slammed her legs into each other a few clip, 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 helping hand between her stage and slowly started rubbing again, bringing the toy to her backtalk. She tasted herself, she took the total affair in her mouth and sucked her juice off. Then, eventually, she bent over the boundary of the bed again and hid the toy back in the shoe box.

Not even ten arcminute after her plosion of delight, Riley knocked on my door. She looked exhausted, and I knew it was n't all because of the slip itself. I gave her the pilot key back, she thanked me for taking care of her plants. It was strange to talk to the girl I had been watching hour ago, but Riley seemed totally delicately. If she would have made a bold move and would give birth entered my flat, she would give seen a live feed of her bedroom on my computer filmdom. She did n't, of course. Instead, she thanked me again and disappeared through the doorway. I sat and watched her have breakfast, realizing this was only the beginning - the beginning of something very beautiful indeed .