Dearest Seraphine,
I have been watching you for several weeks. I'm the guy with the brown woolen coat you always complement. I go through your line at the grocery even if I have the longer wait. Of all the grocery checkers, you have the longest line, always. I know your schedule and try to time my visits to when there are few shoppers. That way, we have time to talk.
Since you never wear a wedding band, I guessed you were single. That's why I have been following you home after your shift. Have you noticed? I wait in the bushes in your backyard until I see your bedroom lights on. I watch you through the window. You leave the curtains parted.
You have a graceful way of taking off your clothes. You sit on the edge of the bed and remove your shoes, and then you take off your stockings. I like that you always wear stockings. You stand and hook your thumbs into the elastic of your skirt and wiggle back and forth as you peal it from your hips. You lay your clothes carefully across the chair in the corner. Then you turn to the mirror and remove your blouse, button by button, so that I can see your reflected face. You have such beautiful blue eyes.
I duck when you turn towards me, dressed only in your lacy bra and matching panties. When I look back, you are reaching behind you, unhooking the bra. Your breasts sway slightly as they are freed from their confining cups. I love the way you swoop your panties down your legs in one movement, lifting one foot and then the other as you remove the tiny silk and toss it lightly in the hamper. I've thought of asking you for those panties, but I don't want to startle you.
When you lie on the bed, I press my face against the glass to better see you. I have never seen anyone touch themselves so gently. Your fingers circle your nipples and your navel, and barely touch the small hairs of your pussy. Your head rolls back into the pillow. I can't help but touch myself. Can you imagine how hard I am? Do you?
When you pinch your nipples with both hands, they stand out like little rubber caps. My tongue seems to swell in my mouth at the thought of licking your tits, the valley between your breasts, your nipples erectus.
As you reached down and parted your pussy lips last night, I swear you looked right at me in the window. You saw me, didn't you? I watched as you took your index finger and dipped it into your pink hole. Then you brought it out glistening with your wetness and touched your clitoris soft as a butterfly landing on a tiny leaf.
You ran your finger around and around your clitoris. You raised your legs so your heels were next to your cute little butt. I unzipped my pants and took out my cock, and stroked just the head imagining it inserted partway--to the glans--as you brought yourself to orgasm. Your writhing was so intense, I was surprised to find my hand full of my pearly cum. I wanted you to lick the juice off my hands.
Tonight when you get off work, I'll again follow you home. This time, leave your door open and I'll sneak in and watch you from the bedroom door. You won't have to alter your routine. Undress as you always do. Only this time as you lay on the bed and part your legs, I'll step into the room and kneel before you. My tongue will fill your hole and my hands will pinch your nipples while you press my head into your pussy. I'll raise to my knees and stick my cock inside of you and I won't cum until after you. You have my promise.
I will still see you at the store, and I will only stand in your line. You can complement me on my woolen coat. You will ring my bananas, and zuchinis, and whipped cream, and nobody has to know. It will be our secret.
Sincerely,
Henri