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Part 1/2: Wittingly Deceived
The first thing she did upon arriving at his guesthouse was change out of her panties, wet from the flight home. Airplane rides always brought out the worst sexual delinquent in her. Whether it was the vibrations, or the taboo literature she brought for entertainment, or just the subconscious fear of crashing that activated that naughty place in her mind, she wasn't sure.
Her favorite thing to do was to place a sweatshirt, or some loose heavy article of clothing on her lap, and reach into her leggings, or up under her skirt, and toy her puffy clit through her panties with her fingers or a pen, or whatever makeshift MacGyver screw toy she could find, until her cotton muff warmers were warm and damp. She would cream herself sitting inches from the passengers next to her, sharing the same armrest. The proximity of strangers made her hot.
The thought of being caught rolling herself on a plane only added to the mess between her legs. The dewy fabric against her pussy also added to her arousal because it was so obviously dirty and unclean, and it was not uncommon for her to solo her way into the Mile High Club a couple of times during the three hour flight, until she could even smell her hot flower.
So when she got to his guesthouse, often exhausted from the exhilarating trip, she preferred a quick shower, a change of clothes and a good night's sleep. She always booked the latest flights to save on airfare.
She knew his guesthouse was filled with hidden cameras. That, she figured, was the primary reason he let her stay there whenever she was in town. She had grown suspicious when she first took him up on his offer to put her up in the little backyard cottage of his. That entire weekend she couldn't shake off a nagging feeling that someone was watching her.
She eventually located a few of the cameras throughout the house during her next visit the following winter break, and she almost called the police. But then she was sure he'd go to jail, and he was like a father to her. He was more than that.
Her and her best friend were inseparable growing up, and they both used to live about a mile away from this guesthouse. That was before her best friend went off to Europe after high school to study abroad. After that, her best friend's father had abruptly sold his house and bought this lot. She liked the location, preferring to put distance between her and the house she grew up in (and her mother who still lived in it) whenever she came back between school semesters and holidays.
College could still be lonely at times. This guesthouse felt more like home to her than any other place in the world. She was glad to be back, even for a couple days.
And the truth was, she had always been infatuated with her best friend's dad as a child, more so than even that typical schoolgirl-teacher crush. Growing up without a father, her best friend's dad basically took her in as his own. Their relationship had always been complicated, at least in her mind. He never showed signs of thinking of her in any other terms beyond the girl next door, his little girl's best friend, and perhaps even a daughter.
But he never flexed authority over her or told her what to do the way typical parents do. Whenever he disapproved of her actions, he grew silent and that tortured her, not having his approval at all times.
She used to think often about the first time she caught him naked. The backyard window looked down into the master bathroom of the master bedroom in the basement. The first time she saw him was by pure accident. Her and her best friend were playing out back when they noticed steam wafting from the small opened window above his shower. Crouching down, through the hot mist they could see him very clearly showering below, soaping his svelte body, covered in suds, and after about ten seconds frozen in awe, they ran away giggling like the little girls they were.
She had never seen a penis before then, not even on the internet, and was not sure what to do but laugh maniacally about it with her friend.
"Don't you dare ever tell anyone we saw my dad in the shower, ok? Promise me."
That's all her friend had ever said about the episode and they hadn't mentioned it since. But throughout their childhood when she could steal a few minutes alone and he happened to be showering, she would crouch above the window and gawk at his masculine curves and cock, which was almost always semi-erect. To her, he was the paragon of a man.
In some ways she figured the hidden cameras were payback after all those times she spied on him in the shower. So she learned to accept the cameras in the guesthouse now. She sometimes convinced Bomonti Escort herself that whatever he was into, maybe the cameras had always been there, since before he bought the place. Maybe they didn't even work. Or maybe he didn't even know about them. Maybe the previous owners were the real pervs. Besides, even if he was using them, being a poor college student she didn't exactly have the money for a ritzy hotel room. And staying with her mom was, at best, a nuclear option.
Still, she couldn't help but wonder whenever she peeled off her panties to shower or piss or play with herself if he was ever watching or recording it. And so she never quite exposed herself the way she would when she was say one-hundred percent confident in her absolute privacy. Whenever she stayed at his guesthouse she was always quick to grab the towel when she got out of the shower. She undressed and dressed with frenzied speed. If she ever felt the urge to masturbate, which happened quite often, she did it under the covers in bed with the lights off. If he ever saw her in a vulnerable exposed way, she made sure it was going to be brief.
The irony was that despite her unsettling sense of lost privacy, the entire time that she had used his guesthouse, he had never actually been home. They were like two proverbial ships passing in the night. He traveled a lot for work these days and her trips home always seemed to fall on weeks when he was traveling to Boston or New York or Chicago. The guesthouse was essentially her vacation home, so much so that she started leaving a few things like an extra toothbrush and tampons, so she wouldn't have to pack them for her next stay.
For the first time in a long time though, he happened to be in town while she was staying over, and she was delighted. She hadn't seen him in person since she graduated high school and left for University. But coming in at nearly midnight and taking the short taxi ride into town, she knew he wasn't awake and she was pretty tired herself. What she hadn't expected, however, was that he had left her a little welcome note on her bedside table. He said he wanted to take her out for dinner tomorrow and catch up, if she was going to be around.
Her panties are still creamy from the flight and have begun to dry in places, making the soft cotton crunchy. She always did this weird thing, where after she slips out of them she smells them and even runs the tip of her tongue against the wet spot. Something about her own erotic fluids turns her on. But she is too tired to masturbate, or even shower, and so she turns off the lights, taking off all of her clothes and collapsed in bed, naked.
The next morning she sleeps in. By the time she is ready for breakfast, he is out running errands and so she helps herself to espresso and a croissant at the corner cafe where she usually takes breakfast when she is in town. After an afternoon of shopping with an old childhood acquaintance, she makes her way back to the house in time to get ready for her dinner date with the closest thing to family she has.
Dinner is delightful. He takes her to a nice restaurant and they both dress up. He wears a nice pair of thin wool pants and a fashionable blazer, with a button up collared shirt underneath that is undone at the top, revealing the tops of those smooth pectorals from the shower peekaboo days; she wears a small black dress that she had bought earlier that day, sans panties, of course, to avoid lines. None of the guys she goes on dates with dress like men, preferring jeans and hoodies and half grown facial hair, making stupid jokes and quoting stupid movies.
She had put on a few pounds since he last saw her and she wasn't sure if he notices, or even cares. Like most young students, she did not escape the Freshman Fifteen, or in her case, maybe the Freshman Twenty, but the extra weight seems to go almost entirely to her breasts, and unlike her best friend, who had always been a twig, she had an ass that OG rappers could write about.
She isn't old enough to order an adult beverage, but he winks and slide his glass of red wine her way during conversation, letting her sneak a sip or two when the waiter is away. He is funny like that. It's enough to make her a bit tipsy on the drive home.
Despite a perfect date, she knows they will never sleep together. Her childhood crush never fully dissolved, but it did evolve into a more practical nice thought in maybe an alternate universe. She no longer fantasizes about him the way she used to when she strips off her undies and applies spit-covered fingers to her swelling pink nubby, those midnights of her youth. She has Bostancı Escort come to a realization that he probably was never interested, and had no intentions of crossing that parental boundary that they had established over time.
But then there were those cameras! Was that really the reason he was so adamant about putting her up when she came home in between college semesters? She could always stay with her mom, although they had never been on the best terms. Her mom was a borderline alcoholic and addicted to pain medication. She could handle a quick visit but never a prolonged stay. Again, it probably wasn't even a nuclear option.
After he pulls the car into the driveway to the main house, he walks her to the entrance of the guesthouse and gives her a fatherly peck on the forehead, after reminding her what the Netflix password was and where to find extra towels. (How did he know that she'd need them?!) She almost asks if he wanted to "watch some Netflix and chill," but immediately feels silly and is not willing to risk severe humiliation should he take it as any sort of innuendo for something more.
Inside the guesthouse she feels relaxed from the wine and a bit sexy from wearing her little black dress that betrays deep cleavage, which she knows no straight man can willfully ignore. She always felt extra sexy in public when she went commando, as if the slightest wrong move would make her dress bunch and ride and flash everyone in eyeshot. She knew she had a pretty pussy. The thought actually makes her a little wet now, and so instead of changing into pajamas, she goes straight for the linen closet and grabbed two towels. By the way she is already beginning to drip down her thighs, she knows she will need two towels.
Normally at this point, she'd turn off all the lights and crawl into bed under the sheets to pleasure herself and avoid any thoughts of voyerism and hidden cameras. But feeling this worked up and actually sort of wishing she had an audience to provoke and arouse now that she is finally comfortable in her own skin after all these years, she unfolds the towels and places them at the edge of the sofa.
Sitting on the doubled up towels, she reclines into the plush pillows and spreads her thick, smooth, freshly shaven legs, resting her feet on the table and still in her black strappy heels. Maybe it was the wine, or maybe it is the fact that tonight was the closest thing to a date she had experienced in almost two months (or maybe she was really a little excited knowing that, on or off, there was a camera above the fireplace directly aimed at her and her muff.) Whatever it was, she is horny as hell not unlike she used to get during her adorable pillow humping days.

While she is fantasizing that he is watching her through the cameras, he is curious if the feed still works as he pours himself a whiskey