Jerry the Peeper

I am not a “peeper”. The mere insuation implies depraved notions, lurking in the bushes, gazing with perverse intentions into unsuspecting peoples’ houses. Honestly, if a guy can’t take a casual glance out his own window without being accused of deviant behavior, then I don’t know what the world has come to. But I suppose I’m starting my story in the middle. Let me go back to the beginning…

The house in back of mine had stood empty for years — an old Victorian style with dilapidated siding and an overgrown yard, suffering from prolonged neglect. That was fine with me. A bit of a recluse, I have no use for pesky neighbors, either the well-meaning but over-friendly sort, or the type that has a complaint about every trivial thing. I work from home, semi-retired as a part-time computer programmer, and frankly prefer the quiet solitude that a dearth of intrusive neighborly busy-bodies provides.

So it was with minor dismay that I observed the flurry of activity that arose around the abandoned neighboring house early in the spring. Workers swarmed the yard, mowing down towering weeds and hacking back overgrown planting beds. Peeling paint was scraped and a fresh coat applied. The mossy-green, brackish swimming pool was cleaned and scrubbed, and when the noise and dust had settled, the place had been restored to its former glory.

A month later, a moving truck arrived. The new neighbors seemed polite enough. Mr. and Mrs. Garrett came over to introduce themselves a few days later. An awkward but mercifully brief chit-chat was exchanged, after which they kept to themselves. They mentioned in passing that “Stephanie” also lived with them, but left me guessing as to whether she was their daughter, roommate, maid, or live-in astrologer for all I knew. For a few weeks things went back to a quiet routine, with the Garretts mostly out of sight and out of mind. Then — with the coming warmth of summer — the trouble started.

“Trouble” in this case presented itself in the form of the young lady, Stephanie. The elder Garrets both seemed to lead busy work lives, leaving the girl on her own recognizance for days at a time. One bright and sunny morning, a musical racket shattered the morning calm — one Mister Jagger, if I have that correct, lamenting his inability to procure any “Satisfaction”. Annoyed at the interruption of my work, I glared out the window of my living room for the source of the irritating din.

In the neighboring yard, perhaps a hundred feet from my house, the girl was lounging by the pool, wearing oversized sunglasses and a shamefully tiny white bikini. She was stunner, with a cute dabble of freckles framed by shimmering blonde hair. She must have stood about five-foot-nothing, and couldn’t have weighed in at more than an elfish ninety pounds.

A scrambling of paws on the hardwood floor behind me announced the energetic arrival of Mikey — my two year old Irish wolfhound. Drawn by the musical ruckus, he hurried across the room and joined me at the window, his front paws braced on the sill. Posed in this nearly upright stance, Mikey stood every bit as tall as me. Just shy of two hundred pounds, he was a force to be reckoned with. My friends had nicknamed him “horse”, which was a minor exaggeration, but passing for a fair-sized pony didn’t require much stretch of the imagination. “Wuff,” he remarked, peering at me with soulful eyes for my opinion on the evolving situation.

“I don’t know, buddy, I just don’t know…” I grumbled, patting his head and then turning my attention back to sight outside my window. From next to the lounge chair, the girl retrieved a bottle of Coppertone. Squirting a liberal dose into her hand, she began to apply the suntan lotion. She worked the liquid in slow methodical circles, applying a glistening sheen to her taut tummy and firm, trim thighs.

Mikey rumbled a warning growl, keenly summing up the situation. I glanced to my left, the high-power astronomical-grade telescope beckoning from its tripod stand. I swiveled the instrument from its normal skyward orientation and brought it to bear on little minx sunbathing in the yard next door. Squinting in the eyepiece, I rolled the focus knob, bringing the image into sharp resolution. A field of white dominated the view, the patch of bikini cloth scarcely covering a fraction of her small, perky left breast. I dialed the magnification back, taking in the admittedly breathtaking view of her glistening cleavage. Hints of firm little nipples tented up the bikini top, enticing a lingering gaze. A light turn on the elevation adjustment dial tracked the view smoothly down over her trim tummy, revealing firm abdominal muscles and not a hint of fat. I licked my lips, panning lower. The triangular patch of her tight bikini bottom filled the view as I ran the magnification back up, the image dominated by the enticing swell of her vaginal mound. The tiniest details were clear to see — the glistening shimmer of the suntan oil on her inner thighs, a sheen of perspiration from the summer sun, and the savory cleft of her puffy pussy lips, printing visibly though the straining scrap of cloth.

I pulled back on the magnification and once again got a view of the entire girl. She glanced covertly left and right, apparently convincing herself that her isolated backyard offered adequate privacy from prying eyes. She reached down and lazily stroked her index finger along the length of vaginal cleft, teasing the tight white material deeper into the already obvious camel toe. “Shameless tart!” I muttered, unwilling to admit how arousing I found this brazen display. Annoyed, I snapped the curtains shut. Mikey wagged his tail in anticipation, perhaps thinking “tart” translated to some sort of yummy doggie treat, then whimpered in disappointment when no tasty morsel was forthcoming.

Over the next several days the music and sunbathing continued. Every day a different bikini was on display, each as appallingly miniscule and revealing as the next. I felt an obligation to keep an eye on the matter, but as a precaution against possible discovery, I dragged a large potted fern in front of the telescope, artfully arranging the leaves as camouflage surrounding the large lens while still affording me an unobscured view of the neighbor’s pool.

As Stephanie grew more confident of the privacy of her backyard, she would frequently slip her fingers down inside her bikini bottom, closing her eyes as she sensuously worked a delving digit into what I could only imagine was an incredibly tight, wet pussy. And while I was certainly enjoying the lewd display, I was frankly getting precious little work done due to the ongoing distraction.

About a week after it began, I heard Mikey out in my backyard, barking and raising a fuss. I glanced out the window, thinking he might have treed a squirrel. Instead I saw Stephanie, standing just beyond my yard, with Mikey racing back and forth along the fence, agitated at the intrusion.

I smiled in grumpy anticipation, confident that Mikey’s stern warning would quickly send the girl fearfully scuttling in retreat. Instead, the huge wolfhound suddenly slipped into silence, head tilted sideways with intrigue. He raised his snout, deeply sniffing. Despite his imposing bark and size, Mikey was a bit of a coward and tended to be skittish around strangers. But something about the girl had obviously garnered his undivided attention. She waved him closer. Mikey took a few cautious steps in her direction then bounded back in nervous retreat, launching into another tirade of alarmed barking. But then he sniffed again and gathered his nerves, creeping closer. I assumed the girl was luring him in with the scent of some tantalizing doggy treat. Yet a closer examination through the telescope revealed her hands were empty. I could see her talking, but the closed window muted her words. Finally Mikey summoned his courage and reached the fence, hunkered down low as Stephanie extended her delicately manicured fingers through the chain link mesh and gave him a scratch under the chin. The huge canine burst into a frantic wriggling dance, tail wagging furiously as he lunged at the fence, vying for more attention. “Traitor”, I muttered under my breath. Stephanie then turned and headed back towards the pool, her hips rolling in a hypnotic motion. Her bikini of choice for today was high-cut, navy blue, with a narrow thong that disappeared deep into the crack of her firm little ass. Through the telescope I watched as she sauntered away, hips swiveling.

Mikey’s barks reached a frantic pitch, dismayed to see her leaving. He crouched down, muscles tensed. The huge dog had never attempted an escape of the back yard before, so I cursed in surprise as he launched himself toward the top of the six foot high chain link barrier. He caught the top rail with his front paws, scrambled briefly with his rear legs, and then he was up and over. Tail lashing happily at his achievement, he shot off after Stephanie.

The girl turned to greet him as she neared the pool lounge chair, her pretty face breaking into an obvious giggle as Mikey bowled into her. She roughhoused around with him but suddenly her eyes grew wide as Mikey buried his snout between her shapely legs. Stephanie clutched at the wolfhound’s furry head, desperately trying to push the inquisitive doggy away from her bikini-clad loins. But Mikey was a powerful animal, easily outweighing her more than two-to-one. Her resistance weakened as the canine’s delving tongue slobbered all over the tiny crotch of her tight bikini bottom.

Mikey must have found just the right spot. She threw her head back with a gasp, blonde hair billowing in the summer sun. Her grasp on Mikey’s head transformed into a desperate embrace, pulling Mikey in closer, encouraging his snout deeper between her creamy thighs. Stephanie’s eyes rolled back in her head as her slender thighs began to tremble, her lips clearly uttering an urgent “oh god!” Her hips jerked and she lewdly churned her bikini-clad loins against the wolfhound’s intimately probing snout and feverishly lapping tongue.

Panting, Stephanie regained her composure, but Mikey, obviously hot on the scent of wet cunt, continued licking and probing between Stephanie’s amazing thighs. She shot a guilty glance around her yard, checking for any hint prying eyes. Then, urgently, she began to tug at the waistline of the bikini bottom, awkwardly yanking it down with one hand as she clutched Mikey’s furry head with the other. She continued to seductively roll her hips, grinding herself onto the wolfhound’s talented tongue. Stephanie managed to work the bikini down far enough that it spanned tight, caught halfway down her thighs. Granted unrestricted access to her snug little twat, Mikey’s tail spun like a helicopter with excitement as his wet nose slipped into the silky pink folds of Stephanie’s glistening wet snatch. His tongue delved deeper and the girl arched her back in enthusiastic response. Mikey pressed forward and she stumbled back, her drawn-down bikini bottom tangling her legs. She plunked her naked, shapely rear down onto the pool lounge chair. Sunglasses and the bottle of suntan lotion went flying, unheeded.

Given a brief of respite from Mikey’s inappropriate oral attention, Stephanie’s fingers once again hooked into the waistband of her bikini, finishing the job she started. Wriggling in a most delightful way, she quickly dragged the bikini bottom further down her legs. Mikey stood back, tail snapping to and fro in anticipation. Freeing her right leg from the bikini, she abandoned the skimpy blue garment, leaving it tangled and forgotten around her left ankle. Stephanie slowly teasingly licked her lips and drew her extended middle finger along the inside of her right thigh, ever higher, and dragged the tip of the digit upward through the splayed and ruffled lips of her juicy pussy. Either expertly shaved or naturally hairless, not a single pubic strand or slightest hint of razor burn marred the stunning visual image of that perfect little cunt.

Mikey surged forward as she spread her legs, eagerly pressing his snout back into her oozing vaginal wetness. The fur around his muzzle glistened, matted down with a syrupy coating of pussy juice. Stephanie’s fingers worked deep into the fur at the back of Mikey’s neck, drawing the beast in closer. Several inches of the wolfhound’s snout were firmly embedded in the clutching embrace of the girl’s ruffled twat lips and I could see the muscular contractions in his jowls as he burrowed his thick tongue deep into her silky pink slit. Stephanie’s back arched, her entire body quivering in a prolonged orgasmic strain. The firm muscles of her thighs and tummy rippled and her hips churned in an erotic dance. Surprised by her energetic response, Mikey backed a few steps away, streamers of vaginal fluids dripping from his jowls like a glistening spill of syrup.

Stephanie collapsed on the lounge chair, eyes closed and chest heaving as she desperately fought to catch her breath. She shuddered, goose bumps tracking up her thighs as the remnants of her orgasmic spasm finally ebbed away. Mikey’s head tilted sideways, watching with curiosity. The girl’s carnal urges seemed momentarily satisfied, but the wolfhound’s needs had been left unattended. He tentatively stepped forward, then lunged up, planting his front paws on the lounge chair on either side of the girl’s chest. A sharp inrush of air slipped past my lips as Mikey’s furry haunches moved into the view of the telescope. The wolfhound was sporting an alarmingly enormous erection. Never having seen the canine in a state of sexual arousal, I was in shock. His throbbing prick was every bit as long as my forearm, and the base of his monstrous cock surely was as large in girth as the business end of a baseball bat. Mikey’s nickname of “horse” suddenly took on a new and ominous implication.

I stepped back from the telescope, my heart pounding in alarm. Surely I should take some sort of action! But what could I do? There was no gate in my fence to allow me access the neighbor’s yard. Their house was likely locked and their entire backyard was also fenced.