Jill tossed her house coat on the chair and reached up the window, pressing her palms to the glass. She spread her legs and looked out on to the city skyline, the thrill of it sending a chill down her spine.
But in the background of her mind, the thrill was threatening to be overtaken by other thoughts, some more troubling than others. Many of those thoughts were around why she kept doing it, and why it felt better each time she did. She had never been an exhibitionist, even in her “experimental” college days she had never worn a skirt that was above the knee!
At some level though she understood those thoughts. Something was happening to her and her mind was trying to figure out what. Then there were the other thoughts. Thoughts like, “I’m going to have to clean those hand prints off the glass when I’m done.”
She’d never cleaned a day in her life, why on earth should she be worried about it now?
Another troubling thought was the nagging need to take off her bra. She knew it would send a shiver down her spine if she did, right to her pussy that was already moist just from standing there in her lingerie. She closed her eyes and focused on removing her hands from the glass, trying to force herself to pick up her house coat and put it back on.
But her feet would not move, and when her hands got down to her sides, they reached around behind her and unclasped her bra. She let out a little whimper, her lower lip quivering as she knew she was loosing whatever battle was raging in her mind. Her bra straps hung loosely at her sides, the bra straining to cover up her nipples.
She tried to cover her breasts, but that was the wrong thing to do. Her hands, now right up at her breasts, pushed the bra to the middle of her chest and cupped them, raising them up and putting them on display. Her whimper turned to a moan as her legs gave out from beneath her, sending her sliding down the glass as an orgasm washed over her.
She stared at her own half reflection in the streaked glass from where she slide down it, a stupid grin across her lips. As she came down from her orgasm and a single thought cross her mind, “A good maid would never let the windows get so dirty!”
A small orgasm crested and Jill rod it for all it was worth.
She wondered how much longer it would be before she lost the battle completely. A week, two, maybe three? What would happen then?
The obvious answer came to the front of her mind, she was going to become an maid with an exhibitionist streak a mile wide. She would work and live in her masters home and call him “Mousier” in the terrible french accent she had found herself slipping in to in moments of distraction.
Her fingers slipped between her legs and found her waiting pussy, her voice echoing in the room, “Oui Mousier, fuck ze maid! Fuck Fifi!”