Peep Show

Posted on October 8, 2007


Over at Lust Bites today, Alison Tyler is talking about voyeurism, name checking and giving away my first ever novel Peep Show in a whole bundle of lovely books about watching and being watched.

Hop over there and comment to be entered in the draw.

But first here’s an extract from Peep Show.


Sometimes I just have to meet Christian for lunch out of pure desperation. I send up a smoke signal, in the form of a plaintive text message, and he appears, riding over the hill to whisk me away from Elaine or Frank or whatever else it is that is making me try and slash my wrists with a broken CD ROM.

Mondays, in particular, can be such a painful desert for the soul, especially after a pure oasis-of-bliss weekend – like the one I’ve just had. And today it just so happens that Christian is positively gagging for a pair of blue-black jeans that he saw in Arena Homme Plus, so it’s a-Arndale-Centring we will go.

Now I’m really rather pleased about this, because while there are good ways to spend a lunch hour and there are great ways to spend a lunch hour, the ultimate way to spend a lunch hour really has to be hanging around the changing rooms of Jigsaw for Men.

So hang around I do, while Christian tries on pair after pair of seemingly identical trousers – all identically tight – which I’m certainly not complaining about, in fact, it’s all I can do not to literally jump for joy.

It’s quite quiet in the shop. The Christmas frenzy hasn’t hit weekday afternoons just yet, which is good, no officious assistants worrying about the nonchalant way I’m wandering in and out of the thrilling male changing area, pretending to be bringing Christian cute little tops to try with his jeans, while I check out all the eye candy on the shop floor and hope that some of the cuter prospects will decide to try a few things on in the curtained off chambers of delight.

Christian’s just about to wriggle into the third or fourth of the tight little numbers he grabbed off the rails. I know this for sure because I was the one who pulled his curtain behind him, so it’s gaping just right – just enough for me to lean back against the wall in the changing rooms’ corridor and let my eyes dance over the place where his brown caramel crème skin meets his snowy white underpants (yes, underpants today – a must for trying on new trousers).

Saturday night’s phone conversation is still playing over and over in my mind on an endless loop, like some infectious pop song – but much more enjoyable! So, as Christian bends over, I can’t help imagining Dark_Knight’s black silk voice talking of spankings, and punishment, and muffled cries for mercy going unheeded, and I have to stifle a moan.

Well, I almost stifle it.

In the cubicle Christian looks up, spotting me through the deliberate gap in the curtain. He smiles and rolls his eyes, before looking away again, glancing down to fiddle with his fly.

And that’s when I notice something out of the corner of my eye (because sometimes it really is like a sixth sense). I only see a vague shadow of something, a masked shape, a fleeting movement – just a hint, but just enough. And I’m drawn instantly, like a very perverted moth to a very kinky flame.

There’s someone up to something that isn’t fashion based, in the final cubicle right down the end of the little row. In fact, and this is the key factor, I’m pretty sure that the someone is, in fact, two someones.

I slink down the aisle, super silent where it counts, and slip into one of the last cubicles on the opposite side of the corridor from my quarry. I draw the curtain closed behind me, quick and quiet.

A furtive exploration of different viewing angles easily reveals the one in which I can best see through the chink in my curtain and the little gap in theirs – right into a secret den.

And oh, sixth sense indeed – I am so very right.

Two blond men: entwined in blissful pursuit and blissfully unaware of me. One is half standing/half leaning, propped against the warm, honey-beige painted wall with open mouth and open fly. The other is pressed up hard against him, with a hand snaking into his partner’s trousers, as he crushes their mouths together – fast and hot and slow and cool.

Their long denim covered thighs are pressed together, the more dominant man bearing down on his submitting counterpart, forcing him harder and harder against the wall behind them, and parting his compliant legs with one hard limb. It’s a very, very pretty kiss, and I watch it for a long while, as their mouths melt and slide around on each other like strawberry ice cream on a blistering hot day.

And after a forever of artful teasing and muffled pleading, top guy pulls out of the kiss, laughing into the bruised mouth and flirting with the darting tongue, that tries to chase and recapture his lips, but just isn’t fast enough.

And in a moment Mr In-Charge is sinking to his knees and I’m thinking – excellent, a blow job. But he’s thinking something else, which quickly becomes clear, when reaches up and grabs his partner by the waistband, forcefully turning him around.

The standing guy is facing the wall now, and he braces himself against it – quite visibly shaking with need – as his kneeling partner helps him out of his already unfastened jeans. He’s not wearing any underwear, which I’m getting so used to as a look, I barely raise an eyebrow.

Kneeling man looks around, a quick furtive glance to check they’re alone. I hold my breath, praying I’m well enough hidden in the fold of slate blue cotton around me, and that there are no strange angles in this hall of mirrors that are going to betray me when I least expect it. I get lucky, it appears. Kneeler finishes his surveillance sweep unawares, and turns back to his partner and the beautiful tight globes of his waiting arse.

Then I watch, dazed and bemused, as a pair of smooth, buttocks are lovingly parted and a warm wet mouth – and a warm rough tongue – meltingly caress a dark little anus.

The man, the standing man, the one receiving this delicious mouth work, is so very blatantly turned on. I can clearly see his taut t shirt stretched over his equally taut nipples, which are so hard that, instead of being a normal kind of ruby-cherry colour, they are almost white – pinched and painful.

Slowly, a languorous, lascivious rimming master class unfolds before my wide stretched eyes. Knees buckle, and are quickly helped by supportive arms, before they give way. Lips part, and are quickly stoppered by hasty knuckles, before they cry out. Firm fists close around firm cocks. Moistened fingertips slide into moistened knickers.

I’m leaning against the wall in my own cubicle, and out of the corner of my eye I can see myself reflected in the full length mirror, cheeks flushed, eyes alight. In the mirror in the men’s cubicle I can see their reflection too, another angle on their tableau of expertly measured erotic friction.

I slide my middle finger back and forth over my hot and bothered clit. As the gentle tongue strokes get deeper and the mutual masturbation rises and rises to a muffled crescendo, I find my sweet and perfect rhythm and join them at the peak…and we all go over the top together.

And I’m barely even coming down when I find Christian at my elbow, a branded carrier bag swinging from his elbow and a knowing grin plastered across his face. Silently he takes my hand and leads me, still dazed, out of the shop and onto and escalator and into the strange open calmness of the Food Court.


Buy Peep Show UK::US

Werewolves will be resumed as soon as possible