Watching Me, Watching You

Watching Me, Watching You


Voyeurism/Exhibitionism Erotica


My story, Private Performance, appears in this hot anthology.

Love to watch? All eyes are on the action in this collection of twenty steamy stories about voyeurs, exhibitionists, risky business and wife and husband watchers.

Neighbours peep in through windows and over the garden fence hoping for a candid glimpse and maybe more, a waitress with a fetish for flashing is given a very public punishment, and a male stripper puts on a show that his number-one fan will never forget. Horny honeymooners outrage a resort with their blatant antics, while a private detective enjoys the perks of his job when he’s hired by a vampish client. Elsewhere, an alien visitor learns that Earthling orgies can be out of this world, an ethereal being seeks sexual energy to feed off, and a busy career woman gets the thrill-ride of her life on the Tube – with five gorgeous men!

Sneak a peek between the covers and see for yourself how hot a little sexy spying can be …


Click for excerpt »

It wasn’t at all surprising that Robyn’s hormones were on overdrive. She was watching London’s most popular male dance troupe, after all. As well as being incredibly talented, they were also super sexy. They had rabid fans that followed them everywhere, battling for front row seats, screaming and waving throughout the show, then dashing outside afterwards, hoping to catch the men leaving so they could beg for autographs and photos. They were as obsessive as the fans of boy bands, maybe more so. Robyn got it, totally, but she wasn’t quite in that league. Not outwardly, anyway.

She, too, followed the group everywhere she possibly could, spending her hard-earned cash on the best tickets money could buy. For once, she was glad to be a City banker, meaning she could afford it without having to worry about paying her bills and mortgage.

What made her different, though, was her behaviour post-performance. She didn’t head backstage or outside, hoping to see the boys. Instead, she dashed straight home and masturbated herself into blissful oblivion over thoughts of a single member of the group. Sean Rudd. She’d lost count of the number of orgasms she’d had while fantasising about him.

Her feelings for him could definitely be counted as obsessive. Ever since she’d first seen the group—after being dragged unwillingly by some work friends—she’d been hooked on Sean. She wasn’t even sure why. He wasn’t the best-looking of the group, though of course he was far from being ugly. There was just something about him, and given that she’d never been that close—no closer than the front row, anyway—to him, let alone spoken to him, she couldn’t put her finger on it.

The way he moved was undoubtedly a huge turn-on; she’d always had a thing for men that could dance and in the absence of Justin Timberlake, Sean took the number one fantasy spot. But then, all five of the guys could dance brilliantly. And they were all good-looking with great bodies. So why Sean?

The thought bugged Robyn on and off throughout the show. She studied each man in turn, then allowed her gaze to remain on her personal favourite. Their perfectly choreographed moves brought them close to the front of the stage. He caught her eye and winked. She was grateful that the spotlights weren’t on her, because she felt an intense heat wash over her face, then zip straight down her body and to her groin. It was then that she got it. The reason that—for her, at least—Sean stood out.

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