A Spectacular View from the Balcony

As the minutes passed, her gentle ministrations became more heated. She was growing wilder, and losing control. It was a wanton display of her most primal urges, and I could feel a damp patch between my own legs in response to the exhibition.

Her husband asked her a question but she hurriedly shook her head. Whatever he was offering, she didn't want. She now had both hands between her widely spread legs, the fingers on one crammed into her cunt, and the fingers on the other frantically rubbing her clit. Her body was heaving and thrusting upwards, her excitement growing ever stronger.

She let out a loud, primal cry as she came, and her body twisted to the side as her legs clamped tight around her wrists. She writhed and thrashed viciously, fucking her hands, her movements no longer regulated or controlled. What both I and her husband were witnessing was an authentic female climax.

Eventually she fell still, her legs splayed apart and revealing her wet, swollen sex. Her face was flushed and her mouth hung open in wonder. The intensity of the orgasm had taken her by surprise.

After she had recovered, she glanced over at her husband and smiled. He didn't speak, he just stared at her longingly. If he'd been ready to climax earlier, I could only imagine the frantic state into which he'd been driven by the sight of his wife orgasming.

The wife stood and helped him to her feet. She gripped the balcony railing and stood with her arse in the air and her legs spread. Her breasts hung in front of her, heavy and swaying.

Her husband understood. He stepped forward, bent down a fraction to line himself up, and aimed for her waiting pussy. He was hampered by the handcuffs, so his wife helped him in by grabbing his cock and leading it to her channel.

I can't tell you how many men fuck their wives doggy style over the balcony railing. I personally suspect it's because they like to stare triumphantly out at the world as they screw their partners. The woman's husband was no different to the other men; gone was the earlier shyness and fear of being seen and in it's place was a victorious delight.

He ploughed into her with obvious joy, naked and handcuffed, but with his cock buried to the hilt inside his wife's most private of places. Many men would have been disgruntled by the lack of movement afforded by the handcuffs, but this one seemed to revel in it. He teased himself, going slower for a bit, then speeding up, then slowing down again, but in the end, it can't have taken him more than a couple of minutes to reach his own pinnacle of excitement.

I saw the wife smile to herself as her husband rammed himself into her, filling her with his cum. There was something almost beneficent about the expression on her face.

Having satisfied his lust, her husband stepped back, pulling his prick free of her. The woman turned around and surveyed her husband.

There she stood, all of her imposing beauty and splendour marred only by the trickle of semen that must be sliding down her inner thighs. I understood that to be allowed to ruin her perfection with his issue, a man's character must have been thoroughly scrutinised to ensure he met her stringent standards. He had to be someone special to be permitted to sully her overpowering femininity with his essence.

Her husband, it seemed, had passed her test with flying colours. Not only did she allow him to render her unclean, but she adored him for it.

They embraced, her face buried in his neck, and his arms tightly looped around her back. His strong, darkly tanned arms juxtaposed against her white skin, further enhancing both their differences and their harmony. Kisses were exchanged, kisses and hugs and quiet laughs and smiles. They were both content and very much in love.

As I admired them, I became aware of a man standing beside me. It was Ned, the body corporate manager and my much-improved-on-the-first-model second husband.

We met when he sold me my apartment. You'll like the balcony, he told me. It has spectacular views. And he wasn't lying, was he? At least once a month you're guaranteed to see a couple fuck out here. It's better than any commercial porn I've ever seen. No actor can mimic love. No actress can produce a natural orgasm on screen. What we see, what Ned and I sit in the shadows and observe, is love and lust in their purest forms.

I had no idea how long Ned had been out here with me. He'd been having a beer at the bowls club with a few mates when I texted him to let him know he was missing out on a live show, but I'd got so caught up in the performance the husband and wife had put on that I hadn't heard him arrive. Perhaps my bad hearing had something to do with it. Yes, that must be it. Old age.

'Wow,' Ned remarked reverently, staring at the couple as they headed back into their apartment. 'I think it's about time we bought ourselves some handcuffs.'

The End