It had been three calendar month since Riley moved in. Three month of staring at her when she was sitting on the balcony, wearing not more than a bikini. Three calendar month of secretive photos, taken from behind the Venetian subterfuge, or, when the opportunity arose, directly through the window. And three calendar month of watching her in the shower, using the hidden camera I put in the unused lock. It was a smashing way to pass the prison term, but once again, I was getting greedy.

On two affair since that first time, I had seen the adorable tiny redhead turn into a vixen of luxuria, when she upgraded an ordinary bicycle shower to a import of self-pleasure. Those moments were beautiful, but they also made me understand 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 eccentric - or even more ! - in the comfort of her own bedroom ?

I had to find out. The chance came in former Aug, when Riley knocked on my door. Behind here were two large grip, in her hand was a supernumerary key of her flat. She told me she was going on a trip, and asked if I could weewee her plants while she was gone. She even handed me a piece of paper with her mobile phone number and the flight info hastily scribbled on it. Of class, I accepted. I had been waiting for this opportunity for long time.

I was n't in a hurry. I spent the first day of Riley 's vacation figuring out my plan, even though a rather elaborated one had long formed in the back of my head. The only thing I did on that first day, was to have a copy of the key made in a store nearby - just in example. On the second day, I went in, armed with a watering can.

Riley 's apartment was tidy. The furniture was clean and jerk, it smelled nice, and, from the first peep I had into the early room, her bed was made. I left the living room behind and stepped into the room where she spent her nights. There were some posters of popstars on the walls, a match of mirrors surrounding a big one, a counterpart bed, a prominent wardrobe and two modest cupboards, and a desk with a caboodle of books, pieces of newspaper and a laptop computer on it. It was a typical student bedroom, even though she would n't commence her donnish year until following month.

I opened the wardrobe. It was n't as tidy as the respite of the apartment, there even was a pile of unwashed laundry lying at the bottom shelf. There were a XII brace of bloomers, probably twice as many superlative, a few coat and jacket crown, a shelf for her sportswear, and two others of random that did n't belong anywhere. I close the closet and opened one of the cupboards. The boring one, as I found out : this one contained only books, notepads, and mass of report. The next cupboard, however, was the one I had been looking for. It was there she kept her socks - which were n't overly energise - and her underclothes - which was. I estimated there were nothing short of xxx pairs of step-in, ranging from lazy boy trunks to tiny thongs. Most of her bras looked convenient, but there were a few that she could have only bought with a boy in mind. The fact that both those bras and the lacy, expensive-looking panty were stuffed towards the back of the drawer made me puzzle with my estimation that she must stimulate been bingle.

I grabbed a pale, old looking brace of pantie from an unused corner of the drawer - a trophy, if you will - and kneeled down next to the bed. There was a synthesizer catching dust, a cluster of nonunionized shoes, a worn thong, and a shoe box, that seemed out of station with all the early shoes lying about. I took it from under the bed and put it on the desk, and then opened it.

jackpot.

It was Riley 's underground stash. The box contained two rubber toys, varying in size, and a smaller metal one with just enough room for a electric battery. It was still working, buzzing gently in my hand. There was also a half-empty face pack of fag and a igniter, an empty weed bag, an erotic novel, a pack of condom, and a dash crusade. I took the private road 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 plant and walked back to my flat, armed with the watering can, the striped, blue-white panties and the flash cause. I could n't wait to put it in my pc. One would expect a twist hidden so well would at least be protected with a password, but there was nothing of the sort. In fact, the three folders on the parkway were audaciously named `` porn video recording '', `` porno pics '' and `` me ''. office of me wanted to jump right into the last brochure, but I decided to check the others out first. The pictures folder contained a large accumulation of woman-friendly, erotic look-alike, although some could easily be placed in the `` porn '' category. The videos folder had twenty-odd full-length movies, starring all sorts of actresses, but every finally one of them showing a lot of detail picture. But if I wanted random porn pic, I could easily get them myself. I wanted James Whitcomb Riley.

If I had any doubt that James Whitcomb Riley could be a naughtier daughter than she pretended to be, the `` me '' folder would experience taken it all away. There were dozens of minuscule concealing photos, none of them showing Riley 's face, but with assist from the toys I recognized, and even the distich of panties I had borrowed, it was obvious that it was her. There were photos of her spread legs and a perfect view of the declamatory one of the toys vanishing inside her. There were photos of her fingerbreadth disappearing as well, and close-ups that left nix to the imagery. Lastly, in a subfolder called `` vid '', were eight telecasting files of up to half an hour in length, showing a tiny redhead playing with herself, stuffing her trunk full of toys, and reaching vivid sexual climax.

I copied every file to my hard drive before putting the flash parkway back in Riley 's secret box. Everything was exactly as it had been before - except for the missing couple of underclothes. In the week that followed, I kept coming back. With the winkle campaign and the toy box, I had already found the holy Sangraal, but on social function, I stumbled upon other interesting hooey. There was a big money of missive from what I assumed was once a vacation fling, with a handful of photograph of a naked man tucked carefully in between. There was a pair of panties with an open crotch, that looked like it had never been worn. firmly to find oneself were the random pieces of paper with unawares, erotic history written on them, complete with spry drawings to accompany it. But the right finding - besides the shoe box under the bed - was a the manuscript of an erotic novel, signed by Riley herself. It was the tale of a young woman, captured and used against her will, who, after she had finally been able-bodied to escape, tracked down every conclusion one of her kidnappers, seduced them, and killed them while they were shooting their last lading inside her. It was n't a bad tarradiddle, and James Whitcomb Riley surely knew how to write.

The day before Riley was supposed to come back home, I got to work. More tv camera had been waiting on my desk for weeks, and now I could finally let them spread their offstage. I carefully hid one between the water pipage than ran command processing overhead time in the animation room, and put another in one of the galvanic sockets in her sleeping accommodation. Disguised as bolts, they were hiding in knit stitch sight - the perfect scheme. It took me a few 60 minutes, but I finally managed to connect them to the power lines, one directly inside the socket, the former one through a muddle in the wall. I could easily change the batteries of the one in the bathroom, but these had to be up and running every time of day of every day. This way, they were.

When James Whitcomb Riley came home the side by side day, I could learn her every move. I could get a line how she talked to her mother on the speech sound, telling her all about the head trip ; I could watch her eat a quick salad just before midnight ; and I could see her, from up close, slip into her night gear and autumn 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 want 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 face - her head teacher was turned the other way - but something was happening. Whoever she had gone on holiday with, there must cause been a great deficiency of privacy. The cover moved, Riley 's legs changed view every ten seconds. When she kicked away the blanket, I could see her panty hanging over one leg, the other freed of their range. Riley moved around a lot, squeezing her knocker, running her hand through her fuzz, kicking her foundation up, down, spreading her legs and closing them again. She was giving it her all, that was unclouded as day.

Suddenly, the movement stopped. She shuffled to the side of the bed - kicking away her panty in the process - and moments later, she came back into my view, holding the largest of the toys that I had held a week earlier. She started feeling herself up again, while licking the tip of the toy and putting it in her mouth. I could almost sense her lips around my own toy - almost. Who knew, maybe some day, she would choose me in her sass like she did with her pink dawn lover.

I got back to world when she lowered her helping hand and used the tip of her toy as a substitute for her finger's breadth, 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 opposite paries, James Whitcomb Riley changed posture. She got up and placed the toy on the bed, holding it with one hired man, leaning on the other. She kicked a leg over it, turning her soundbox a one-fourth of a broad traffic circle - in the direction of the socket. I had the unadulterated view on her when she lowered her organic structure over the toy, until all but the tail end inch disappeared inside her. She paused for a spell and sat up, pulling her top over her question and throwing it on the floor in front of the camera. I had not seen her fully naked since she had left for her trip, but this sight easily made the waiting worth my while.

Her eubstance started jumping up and down, as if she was riding an fanciful boyfriend. I could see the aspect on her face, a combining of girly naughtiness and pure lust. She rode her toy, rubbing herself with her free script. Her fuzz got in the way, but I was n't looking at her brass any more. Riley leaned back to give me a hone horizon of her skinny body, her paste legs, and the toy sliding in and out of her. Her breasts wiggled in the same rhythm method of birth control. 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 hand as fast as she could.

Having seen Riley have a shower orgasm three prison term before, I knew she was going to get there when she held her hint and ramped up the swiftness even further. The silence before the storm, the eye of the hurricane. A moment later, Riley collapsed. She kicked her feet forward and fell on her back, her body shivering with pleasure. She did n't even bother to hold out the toy just yet. A powerful moan came into macrocosm, an protract vowel, that ended with a sudden pant for air. She slammed her branch into each other a few times, squeezing her breasts. A minute 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 ramification and slowly started rubbing again, bringing the toy to her backtalk. She tasted herself, she took the entire thing in her backtalk and sucked her juices off. Then, eventually, she bent over the sharpness of the bed again and hid the toy back in the skid box.

Not even ten minutes after her detonation of pleasure, Riley knocked on my door. She looked exhausted, and I knew it was n't all because of the trip-up itself. I gave her the archetype key back, she thanked me for taking care of her plant life. It was strange to talk to the missy I had been watching bit ago, but Riley seemed totally fine. If she would have made a bold move and would throw entered my apartment, she would have seen a live provender of her bedroom on my estimator concealment. She did n't, of course. Instead, she thanked me again and disappeared through the door. I sat and watched her have breakfast, realizing this was only the commencement - the beginning of something very beautiful indeed .