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I like to tinker. Always have, ever since I was a kid. Anything from taking apart a DVD player and putting it back together to building models from scratch. Later, I graduated to laptops. Soon after, I started designing things. Started with elaborate mouse traps and then graduated to Rube Goldberg styled contraptions. Wasn’t really a point to it other than the sheer enjoyment of figuring out how to take what was in my head, translate it to paper, and then bring it to life.Why am I telling you this? Trust me, it’s important. Or, perhaps I just like talking about myself. Anyway…Her name was Chelsea, though I didn’t know that at first. It took me a while to realize she’d moved into the house next door. Sometimes I simply don’t pay attention. In my defense, I do software development and I’d been on a pretty nasty deadline at the time. About the only time I’d been home was late at night when I’d pull into my garage, drag myself into the house, and collapse in bed.First time I noticed her, she was at the mailbox. She wasn’t exactly dressed to impress. A Michigan U sweat shirt that looked like she’d borrowed it from her boyfriend. Sweats. A knit cap pulled over her hair. Not a hint of make-up, and yet, something about her drew my eye for a second look after which I made a mental note to see more of her. A fleeting thought of actually introducing myself wormed its way into my brain. After all, we were neighbors. I quickly dismissed it. Wasn’t really my style. I was more of an observer. And that is how I began a new Hobby. Stalking.I started out slowly. After all, I was new to this. That said, I had already learned many of the skills I’d need. Remember my obsession with knowing how things work and how to take them apart and put them back together? Picking locks were easy. So were alarm systems. Tapping into internet systems, rerouting emails, even setting up surveillance would be simple. Not that I did any of that. At least, not at first. That would be crossing a line. It didn’t mean I didn’t consider it.I started out by logging her outdoor habits. What time she left for work. What time she came home. When she made her trips out the mailbox. Since I shared a fence with her, I made a point of spending time in the backyard when she did so that I could watch her covertly through a knot hole that I’d helped along specifically for that purpose. Within a few weeks I’d learned enough about Chelsea to whet my appetite for ramping up my observations. Number One: she was single. Unless she was carrying on a long distance relationship or her significant other was deployed, she was not romantically involved with anyone. Upon coming home from work she usually stayed in. From what I could observe, anytime she spent away from the house, was either spent at the gym (24 hour fitness. Her gym bag was a dead giveaway), shopping, or getting take out which she usually brought home.Number Two: She was pretty. It was hard to tell at first, given her fondness for loose fitting casual wear. Baggy sweats. Oversized sweatshirts. Knit caps pulled down over her hair. Even for work (I hadn’t yet figured out where she worked, or what she did, but it hadn’t yet become a priority) it was usually jeans and a tee supplemented by a hooded sweatshirt, sneakers, and dark sunglasses. Her one overtly feminine touch was her fingernail polish. She enjoyed bright colors, changing them every few days or so. She had the girl next door look. Messy blonde waves that fell past her shoulders. Out back she usually shed the sweatshirt so I got a good look at her figure. Slim, though feminine. Perky breasts. Prominent nipples. Perhaps that explained the baggy tops. Age range somewhere around 25. Eye color either blue or green. I hadn’t yet started to take pictures. Definitely my type. Yes, I had a type, I discovered after a week or two.Number Three: She liked to relax with a glass of wine and music after work or read from her kindle. Once or twice I’d ankara travesti even caught her smoking marijuana. Neither to excess. Not sure what her musical or reading tastes were. Yet. She took care of herself. Although she favored take out, I rarely saw her eating junk and never fast food. Health conscious, obviously. As stated above, she belonged to a gym.Three weeks into my observations I began using her as an object for my masturbatory fantasies. At first It was in the privacy of my bedroom, imagining her in the typical scenarios I got myself off on, sticking to the tamer stuff for the time being, but soon, I began touching myself as I spied on her through the knothole or catching sight of her as I drove past while pretending to be staring out the front windshield, my eyes shielded by dark lenses, eager to return home and finish the job as soon as was humanly possible.The weather seemed to be conspiring with me, growing warmer as June approached, leading to a change of style at the end of the day; yoga pants and short sleeved plaid shirts, haphazardly buttoned. Sometimes I’d get a little cleavage. Sometimes I’d catch sight of her belly button. Others I’d get a glimpse or more of her bra while she naively relaxed in the “privacy” of her backyard. Occasionally she’d be wearing shorts, proving my theory that she had killer legs and painted her toenails to match her fingernails. Once or twice, unable to tear myself away, I made myself come with my eye pressed up against the rough wood planks of our shared fence, but only while she had her earbuds in so that, even if I made any sound, she couldn’t possibly overhear me. At that point I realized that there was no turning back, only going forward, and I began to step things up. I made a list, of course. I liked lists. They kept me focused. Number One: Exploration. I wanted to get to know her better, and that would require getting a good look inside her house. I already knew her schedule. I would take a day off and simply wait for her to leave. Breaking and entering would be easy even if I hadn’t discovered the location to her hide-a-key the previous week when she’d locked herself out and the place wasn’t armed with a home security system. It was a nice neighborhood, after all. I just wanted to take a look around and get a feel for her. See what music she liked, what movies she watched, what books she read. Maybe take a look in her closet and some of her drawers. I’d never once seen her wear a dress. I assumed she owned some. Number Two: Borrow a few things that I might find use for. My own copy of her key. Password for her computer if I can find her password book. Taking a pair of her used panties sounded creepy. Also, I didn’t want to alert her to the possibility of my presence. That said, I was curious as to what she smelled like, so I left it open as a possibility. Number Three: Eventually I wanted to put up a camera or two. I decided that it would be best if I took video of the inside of her place so I could decide what the best placement might be and how to disguise them best. Yes, I had become that obsessed and, while realizing it gave me pause, it wasn’t enough to stop the wheels in my head from turning. It was just a matter of time.I decided to take Wednesday off. The likelihood of her calling in during the middle of the week or taking a half day was practically non-existent. And so, I waited, not breaking from my usual pattern, although I did take it to another level while fantasizing about her, imagining me breaking in and catching her playing with herself in the shower, surprising her as I joined her, pushing her up against the wall, kneeling at her feet, my tongue shoved deep into her juicy pussy… I came hard, harder than I had in a very long time. The next night, the scenario had me pushing her face first into the shower tiles and fingering her from behind before falling asleep, pleasantly exhausted. The next morning, I called in sick, travesti ankara and simply waited for her to leave. I’d decided to give her an hour before putting my plan into motion, just in case something happened and she returned unexpectantly.For a brief moment I was tempted to dress all in black, just like in the movies, laughing at myself at the mental image that went with it. Jeans and a tee would be fine for the job, if not as dramatic. Hopping the fence was easy. Collecting her spare key and letting myself in, even easier. After that, I simply took my time, using the camera on my phone to ‘case’ the place, adding audio notes when appropriate, memorizing the layout so I could draw up floor plans later. It wouldn’t be hard, seeing as the layout was similar to mine. Obviously the houses had been built around the same time. I started with the living room. Thankfully, she had a habit of closing the blinds at the front of the house whenever she left, leaving zero chance that I would be spotted from the sidewalk or street. The décor was decidedly feminine, although a bit sparse. I was reminded that she had moved in fairly recently. All the essentials were there, however, as well as little touches and knick knacks that tended towards the warm and cozy. She’d turned the room I used as a work space into a guest bedroom with a day bed beneath the window. A very large stuffed bear was propped up in one corner. Washer and dryer in the laundry room. No hamper, though. Probably in the walk-in closet. That’s where I kept mine, at least. Really, I was a little disappointed by how normal and boring it all was, although it strengthened her girl next door vibe.On to the bedroom. I’d saved the best for last. After all, this was where I would mostly likely learn about who Chelsea was. Bedrooms were always intimate places where people let their guards down. I wasn’t sure what I might discover or even what I wanted to discover, just that I was going to be get a glimpse of things she would never share with a stranger.Like the rest of the house, it had a feminine feel. Flowered quilt covering a queen sized bed framed by brass rails at both ends. A quartet of plump pillows and another stuffed bear, although a more traditionally sized one. A reading bench beneath the corner windows. The furniture was dark stained oak veneer. A dresser covered with trinkets and tchotchkes, a round make-up mirror, and a few photos – landscapes and buildings, probably taken on a trip. A pair of night stands with just what you’d expect to find on them. Tissue box. Jewelry box. Reading light. Some more photos. Some books. Finally, at an answer to her tastes in literature. The master bathroom door was ajar and the curtains were pulled so that the room was bathed with light. The door to her closet was not. A full length mirror was affixed to the wall between them. I perused the book covers. They looked like trashy romances. No, not trashy. Smutty. Thinking of the spate of 50 Shades styled books now flooding the market, I could only roll my eyes.I needed to go deeper. The nightstands each had a pair of drawers. A sense of anticipation played through my thoughts and I felt a slight jump in my pulse as I slid the top right drawer open, giddy as a kid on Christmas morning. I felt a smile stretching the corners of my mouth. I’d hit gold on the first try. A Journal, nestled amongst an assortment of sex toys. A perfect accompaniment to the smutty paperbacks. Tempted as I was to mine her secrets, I didn’t touch a thing, content to simply observe for now. I didn’t want to alert her, after all. The Journal was black and fashioned of leather. Simple and unadorned. It had a clasp on it with a keyhole. I had to assume she kept it locked. For now, that wasn’t an issue. I’d just have to make sure to bring the correct tools with me on my next foray. The toys looked well cared for and expensive. None of the cheap plastic vibes given ankara travestiler as joke gifts. I took a picture to keep as a memento and made a mental list. One latex dildo, black. One latex dildo with suction cup base, flesh. One rabbit style vibrator, blue. One remote egg, red, with remote. One medium sized butt plug, black. One large sized butt plug, Black. One glass dildo, smooth. One glass dildo, curved, with bumps (it resembled a tentacle). Without thinking I slipped my hand into the front of my jeans and began stroking slowly, running my tongue between my lips, wetting them. I felt suddenly warm and considered, very briefly, stripping down to nothing. Gathering my will, I talked myself out of it and carefully closed the drawer and moved on.Underwear. A collection of panties and bras. Folded, but not neatly. A mixture of functional and cute. Nothing overtly sexy. Colorful, though. Blue, red, green, lavender, pink, black. Cotton, it looked like. Again, I kept my hands to myself, once more, taking a picture to enjoy later before closing it and moving on. Nightstand number two. Top drawer. A pair of book sized metal boxes. Like her journal, they appeared to be locked. Alongside them were about a dozen DVD cases with plain white covers. Some had dates carefully written on the spines. Others, what looked like abbreviated titles that gave me the impression it was her porn stash. The dates, however, intrigued me. Again, I snapped a picture. Below that, socks. Again, cute and colorful, some with designs. Cat faces. Hearts. Ribbons. That kind of thing. A few white cotton. Couple of sport bras.I moved on to the dresser and its trio of drawer. Top drawer was a mixture of nail polishes, makeup, and jewelry. What caught my eye were a stack of envelopes with her name on them, nothing more. Chelsea. I said it out loud, enjoying the way it rolled off my tongue. It fit. Chelsea with the perky nipples that poked through her tops and the smutty novels, not to mention the impressive toy collection. My heart beating against my ribs, I traced her name with the tip of my finger, tempted to read what was inside. It looked like it might be a love letter. Again, I resisted temptation. This was simply an exploratory expedition. Slow and steady wins the day. Swallowing, I slid the drawer closed and moved on to the next one down.More underwear. Actually, lingerie. Obviously not daily wear. The sexy stuff. Silk. Lace and ribbons. Some even looked like they might be crotchless. Two sets of latex. Stockings and garters. Bustiers. The kind of things you wear out, intending them to be seen which was puzzling, since I was 99% certain she hadn’t been on a date since she’d moved in. Perhaps she was simply going through a slump. More pictures and then one more drawer of yet unrevealed mystery. I felt my jaw drop a little. Chelsea, Chelsea, Chelsea. What a bad girl you are, I thought with a smirk. This one was full of bondage gear. Leather restraints for the wrists and ankles. Handcuffs. A variety of nipple clamps and metal clothes pins laying carelessly in a lidless box. Short lengths of chain and rope. A leather blindfold. A ball gag. Another box of padlocks with a ring of keys. Eventually, I’d want copies, but not today. I allowed myself a moment to close my eyes and imagine her spread naked on her bed, cuffed and chained to the rails, helpless as I stood over her and simply watched. Once again, I found my hand drifting between my legs purposefully. This time I indulged my primal instincts, slipping it into the waist band of my panties, unsurprised at how wet I was and how swollen my labia had become. Slowly, I pushed a single digit into my eager pussy and then out again, carefully removing it from my damp underwear so that it was still coated with my juices, sucking it clean, tasting myself, imagining it was Chelsea I was tasting. For a brief moment I thought of leaving her a clue. Perhaps the tangy scent of my cunt on one of her toys or a pair or her panties. It was a terrible idea, obviously, but one I contemplated for a full minute as I sucked my finger clean before closing the drawer wistfully, brightening up as I remembered I’d yet to explore her closet.
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