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She couldn’t remember when it had all begun. Time had flown by so quickly since the first time she had started watching. Things had happened on their own from there. Two years ago her husband had died. Not long after she moved out to the calm landscapes of the countryside. It was here that she had first started watching. At first it was innocence and pride that made her look. Then it was curiosity and envy. Lastly it was desire and covetousness. She wanted that which she had watched.

In the quietness of the first break of day she sat. She had been sitting and watching for almost two hours. Her muse had not yet stirred from their beauty sleep. It would soon be time to go, lest she get caught. But for now, she would savor the rise and fall of the innocent form curled beneath the sheets. She knew that the eighteen years old body had not yet seen the trials of the opposite sex and promised herself that she would be there watching when it first did. At the first hint of the sun peaking through the window, she was gone, her night gown rustling behind her. The muse woke, thinking she heard a whisper, and realized it was nothing.

Perhaps the sun had just spoken to her. The thought made her giggle. She yawned and stretched and kicked the sheets away from her body. This was the muses’ favorite time of day. Out here, away from the noises of the city, the world was at peace. For a few minutes, she too sat, on the lip of her bed as the sun slowly peaked over the horizon. It was time for breakfast and than morning lessons. Maybe later she could take the car down to the convenience store. She hoped that he would be there. She had met him last summer at a potluck. He was nice to her and seemed to take an interest in her that the others did not. She liked him. Out the door and down the stairs she skipped.

Breakfast was ready as it always was at this time. The smells of the scrambled eggs and bacon lingered in the air above the table as she watched her eat. It still seemed like just yesterday that her cheeks had still been rounded out with the flush of baby fat. Now her jaw was clean and perfectly formed. The watcher admired the exposed nape of her neck as she carried her head at a tilt. Her skin was so smooth. It was without flaw of any kind. There were no scars, no marks, and no damage from the harsh gaze of the sun. It was pale and white and oh, how smooth.

It did not take long for the muse to finish her meal and dart out the front door to the yard. The horses needed to be fed and their stables mucked out. She normally wore a pair of coveralls when she cleaned the stable, but she had left them in the storage shed the week before. Today, the muse had something else on the mind before she got to work. It had been a day or so before that she had seen the video tape playing through the window of her neighbor’s house. At first she did not understand what to make of what she saw. All she knew was that the woman on the tape was really enjoying what she was doing. She had tried it herself in the shower that same day and had found out why the woman had liked it so much. She had quickly stopped for fear of being caught. It would not have been approved of, she was sure. So she had waited until this morning, till she was in the privacy of the barn and there was no one to see. The pile of hay she had prepared to lay upon beckoned her from the moment the large door swung shut behind her.

Once she was properly seated, she hiked the lacy edge of her night gown above her hips. Her white cotton panties glowed in the shadows. She quickly went to work, imitating what the few minutes of peeping had taught her. Her deft little index finger pressed the soft material of her youth into the little opening between her thighs. This first contact only made her want more. She pressed again, deeper. The same illicit sensation brought goose bumps to her legs and stomach. She stifled the giggle that rose in her throat as her nipples poked up against the thin shift. The two dark bumps rose from a chest she was just getting accustomed too. Once her outburst was controlled she pressed again, this time allowing the single digit to slide down the small groove formed by her hidden folds.

Then up came the finger and down again. Her finger rhythmically danced over the ever deepening groove in the white material. Soon her chest rose and fell with the rhythm of the finger. A new scent filled the barn as moisture spread out from her finger’s point of contact. It did not take long for her thighs to jump together and her head to toss from side to side. She was bewildered by the exciting discovery of this activity. Once again she was sent into a fit of joyful giggles as her breathing slowed and her legs gradually released the hand which had been trapped between them. After her breath had regained a slow steady pace, she jumped to her feat and raced to complete her chores. She did not want to see what would happen if she was not done soon.

But seen she had been. In the small gaps of aging wood the watcher had peered. She had nervously been drawn to the barn, like a moth to the flame, when the young woman had worn the shift out. That strange behavior had been for a reason and now the watcher knew. She remembered her first discovery of the excitement her own body offered. It had been a while since she had allowed herself such a reward.

It angered her somewhat, that the young lady had given herself that first experience. The watcher had harbored a desire to deliver it herself. But watching had been enough to take the edge off her emotions. She had stood in the cool air, her own hand pressed into her nightgown, clutching at some hidden secret. The dirtiness of it all had been charming. There was somehow innocence to the way it had occurred. Once the chores were underway the watcher had returned to the kitchen, cleaning up after breakfast, and watching the door of the barn for the moment it would swing open again.

It did not take long to happen, and the girl came running barefoot up the path to the house. There was a curious smile on her face that she hinted at some secret she held. She did not know that the secret was not her own. She made a little conversation before heading back upstairs to the privacy of her room. The shift flew over her head and she pulled a towel from the top of her closet. Once it was secured over her properly over her bosom, she tiptoed to the bathroom. She closed the door behind her and dropped the towel.

In the mirror she watched her body as she turned a pirouette. She knew that the last year had been kind enough to make up for the years prior when she had been smaller than the others. Now her chest swelled upward with youthful pride and the light pink tips of her nipples pointed back at her in the mirror. She took a few firm grasps of the pert tits and her backside, before hopping behind the shower curtain and setting the water to a steaming blast.

She buried her face in the pouring water and smiled inwardly to herself as her thighs parted for that skilled finger of hers. Once again she began her little dance in the steamy confines of her shower. The pointer finger darted up and down and in and out until she was forced to clutch at the soap rack to steady herself. The second one had been better than the first and it had taken less time. Out in the cold loneliness of the hallway, the watcher stood admiring the beauty of her muse. Her hand was now beneath her nightgown and was urgently seeking to offer some release before the water was turned to off.

Her own folds were more practiced and refused to give in so easily to the deftness of her fingers. By the time the muse stepped from the shower, the watcher had merely succeeded in soaking her panties. She was forced to quickly retreat as the muse hurriedly dried herself. She headed for her bedroom. In the silence of her private sanctuary she tried to finish what she had begun. The memory of the scene she had just witnessed seemed to taunt her from the vagaries of her mind and she was unable to bring any completion from the depths of her channel. Surrendering to her own weakness she dressed and headed back downstairs.

Her beautiful blonde-haired muse was already seated on the couch. The watcher stood for a moment on the last stair, watching the hair glow beneath the canned interior lights. It was still wet and it glistened teasingly. She went and sat beside her, watching the rhythmic motion of her muse as she colored out the sketch she had drawn a day earlier. It amazed her that her little piece of art was so skilled at creating herself. Quietly she sat and watched. Eventually the art would speak, asking if it would be okay to go into town that night. A few seconds passed before she would say yes, it would be okay. She regretted this instantly. What would she do without having her here to watch?

Time passed to quickly that day. Soon she was standing on the porch, watching a cloud of dust fill the driveway as her muse drove away. She retired for the night, depressed and without anything to do. Her finger tried desperately, one more time, to revive the memories of the muse from earlier in the day. Once again, they fell just short of fulfillment, and left her panting in the darkness.

It was around midnight when she pulled back into the driveway. Giggling she pulled him from the seat beside her and tugged him inside after her. She had not planned on taking him with her, and worriedly shushed him as they traipsed up the stairs. Once they were in the confines of her small room did she allow herself another giggle. She pulled him to her, savoring the crush of his body against hers. He bent and kissed her, his teeth lightly grazing her lips. How she loved that. His kisses had been another new sensation she had experienced that day. The night would be full of new sensations for her.

His kisses would trail over her lips and up her cheek to her ear. There they would nibble and smack, his breathing growing more urgent as she ground herself into him. His hands began there wandering journey across the landscape of her body. They started at the small of her back, tauntingly low. Then they would slip down to cradle the firm backside she had gazed at in the mirror only hours ago. She let herself be pulled up to him, noticing the strange hardness twitching at his center.

His hands would slip beneath her skirt, invading the area which had been her own this morning. They found the cleft of her round cheeks and stroked there in the darkness. It tickled her and she climbed higher on his strong youthful frame. Her legs sought purchase on his hips and locked her there. His hands moved more freely now; two fingers squirming beneath the elastic band holding her panties tightly to her thigh. Eventually they would have their way and would find the moistness of her innocence waiting. Expertly they would flick and flutter across the soft opening, teasing her into a frenzy. Once she was nearing her first explosion he lowered her onto her back, lying across the double mattress she had slept in since she had been young. Crouching over her, his hands would squeeze and maul at her chest, until her the two peaks at the tips of her breasts were pointing out from beneath her top.

He dropped nervously to his knees, his body blocking her legs from rejoining the other. His hands once again began their sliding and prying until her panties were freed from the dark shadows beneath her skirt. Then his fingers would start their journey over, this time thrusting deep into unexplored territory and pressing against the symbol of her innocence. She was now writhing in time with their attack and her breathing was once again hurried and shallow. Her eyes were wide open, staring into the heavy grays of the unlit ceiling. She felt his breath trail high upon her thigh, before a sudden birth of a new sensation.

Uncontrollably she squirmed as the lithe tip of his tongue lapped at her folds. Here he was inexperienced and he acted only on instinct. He knew it was going well when her legs draped over his shirted shoulders and her nails dug into his short cropped hair. He buried his face in the sweet moisture now filling the peak of her thighs and covering his face. He lapped and dipped and stroked her with his tongue until she let out a high pitched squeal somewhere on the bed in front of him. He did not stop lapping until she sat upright and pulled his lips to her own. His untested manhood did a flip in the tight enclosure of his jeans as her tongue licked the juices of her own pleasure from his lips.

Then she was sliding off the bed and pushing him into the seat she had just vacated. Her hands fumbled at the button on his jeans and nervously tugged the zipper down over the rod hidden within. Once it was free, his member leapt to attention, tenting his boxers over his crotch. In the darkness, she worked quickly to free the thing she hoped to experience. Once she found the small button holding shut the doors of his underwear she pulled it urgently free. She could see the faint outline of his length, framed against the darker material of his boxers and jeans. Nervously her hand stretched out and grasped tightly the thing. It flinched in her hand and nearly scared her away. But once she had it, she was not about to let it go. She began to stroke up and down on it, listening to him as he collapsed backwards onto the bed, a low burning groan escaping his throat.

There was moisture leaking from the tip and she carried her hands over it and down again, lubricating his length. Her pace increased and she felt him thrust up into her hand. Slowly and cautiously she leaned in towards it, wanting to take it in her mouth as the woman on her neighbor’s television had. Her free hand worked its way back beneath her skirt and began to slide easily in and out of her folds. Small slurping noises escaped her lips as they sought to swallow her finger. Her courage and desire worked up she brought her head down, her mouth creeping open and her tongue snaking out. It made contact with the wet droplets on the tip of his hardness and swept them up into her mouth. She contemplated the salty taste until his hands found the back of her head and pulled her back down onto the length of his shaft. She inhaled deeply and sucked him far into her throat, her fingers working to bury themselves just as deep in her pink center. She heard him let out a heavy sigh just as a strange ripple ran through the member caught between her tongue and the roof of her mouth.

She did not get a chance to wonder what it meant- the lights of her room exploded to life and angry shrieking filled her ears. She jerked backwards frightened from his member and was rewarded with a hot splash of his fluid to her face and mouth. Another quickly followed, landing on her chin and slowly dripping to her cleavage and the edge of her shirt. But she was not paying attention the pent up spray of the young man. The angry form of the woman in the doorway held her entranced. No sooner had the last full splash of his stuff landed on her face and the boy was off the bed, his softening member bouncing out of his open fly as he raced down the stairs and out the door. Still she sat there staring at the terrifying ranting of the woman, her watcher.

It had been too much for her to watch. She had heard them as they snuck up the stairs. She had watched their silhouettes against the window as they did what young people did. She had savored the gasps of her muse as his fingers had snuck beneath her panties and found her hidden spot. In the darkness of the hallway, her own fingers mirrored the motions of his, as they hurried over her lips. She had brought herself to a shuddering peak twice there as he had draped her over the bed and buried his young face between her thighs. She knew who he was. He was a popular eighteen year old senior at the local high school. Some part of her had wanted to be happy for her muse when she had brought him home. But the other part of her wanted her muse much too badly. It had not been until her muse had been brought to her own knees and had begun to service him as an equal that she had become fed up. That was when she had interrupted.

The muse said nothing as she watched the ongoing outburst. Her eyes were focused on one thing only. There at the middle of the woman’s nightgown, just over the apex of her thighs and the hole between, there was a dark wet spot. Her eyes would trail up her body to the hardened tips of her nipples and then to the glistening fingers which had only recently abandoned that area of the nightgown. For the first time in her life, the eighteen year old muse realized that she had been watched. It sent a small chill down her spine. She was ignorant of the cooling juices on her face and chest. Only the thought that she had been watched and enjoyed by the woman in the doorway occupied her mind. It took her a few moments of stunned silence to gather herself and rise to flee the room.

She huddled behind the door in the bathroom, her mind tracing all the pathways presented by this new realization. Was this the first time? If not, what other times? How long had she been watching? When did she first start? What did it mean? To each question only more questions answered. She would fall asleep there, still covered in her first lover’s offering.

The watcher also would retire with the departure of her muse. She had stood outside the door, watching the flickering from beneath the frame as she had shifted her weight. How the watcher longed to explain her desire and offer herself to her muse. She wished for the time when her fingers would curl in her hair as the young man’s had- when her tongue would lash out over her secret desires. An hour later she left for her room. The rest of the night she would lay in the center of her bed, arms and legs outstretched, staring at the ceiling- her mind racing over uncharted territory.

By morning, both the watcher and the muse had come to decisions of their own. The muse had decided that she would not reveal her newfound knowledge and would wait to judge until she had full grasp of the situation. Her innocent mind had failed to come up with an equally innocent reason for the display put on the night before. The watcher had decided that she would act soon, before her muse’s nineteenth birthday, which was only three months away.

At first the muse was cautious. She avoided the young man she had reveled intimately with that night like he was cursed. She never went to the barn in her shift and only lingered in the shower as long as necessary. The nagging feeling of suspicion would gradually fade as her mind blocked out the events of that evening.

The watcher, however, was struggling. She longed for the moments of silence where she could watch the young lady’s development and learning. She was haunted by the memory of her gasps and moans as the boy’s tongue had filled her. Her imagination dwelt on those sounds and scents and silhouettes. It was all she could think of. She found herself standing in the middle of the night over her muse’s bed, her hand wrapped in the edge of the sheets which caressed the body she longed for. Always she would break away and flee the dark thoughts which lurked just beneath her desire to watch. It took only an unexpected sigh or shift and she blew from the wind. But each night she would return, poised on the edge of a chasm from which she could not return.

One morning, the young muse woke beneath the cool embrace of the sheets. She was longing for the touch which she had denied herself for the last weeks. The night before, in a dream, she had surrendered her body to the ravishes of the young man’s wants. That morning she was left as empty as could be, only the hunger remaining. She moved quickly for the stairs and ate quietly the breakfast prepared for her. Then she flitted off down the path, her night gown trailing behind her for the first time since the encounter. Already her heart quickened and her depths jumped. She needed this.