Across the Balcony – Balcony Masturbation Story

Across the Balcony – Balcony Masturbation Story

One balcony. One stranger. One unforgettable night. Balcony Masturbation Story

They’ve never spoken.
Only exchanged glances from across the buildings — long, heated stares that said more than words ever could.

But tonight, she steps out in silk.
And he’s already watching.

What happens next… is for his eyes only.
And hers.

She thought she just needed the night air.
Turns out, she needed to be seen.

---

The first time I saw him, he was watering a plant.
Bare-chested, tan skin, the kind that glows in the late-day sun. His movements were unhurried. Calm. The kind that made you want to watch.

And I did.

From my own balcony, just one building across and a few floors above, I lingered behind my coffee mug, pretending not to be fascinated. But I watched him every time I could. Not obsessively. Just… curiously.

Over the next week, I realized something.

He was watching me too.

Not in a creepy way. More like… observant. Like he noticed the exact moment I stepped outside. Like he felt me before he even looked up. Our eyes would meet for a second too long. A flicker of something warm. But we never waved. Never spoke.

Until one night, I decided not to pretend anymore.

---

I had the whole day to think about it.
To overthink, really.

And by the time the sky turned that dusky lavender color, I was ready.

I wrapped myself in a silk robe. Nothing underneath. The fabric hugged my waist, the hem just barely brushing the tops of my thighs. The neckline loose enough to show the curve of my chest — but only if I moved just so.

I poured a glass of wine. Stepped barefoot onto my balcony. Sat down slowly on the cushioned lounge chair, angling myself slightly toward his building.

And waited.

For a moment, the breeze was the only thing that touched me. It slipped between folds of silk and skin, making me shiver. I crossed one leg over the other and let my fingers trail along the stem of the wine glass. I didn’t sip it yet. I was too focused.

And then — there he was.

He stepped out casually, like always. A plain black T-shirt. Loosely-fitted jeans. He leaned against his balcony rail, looked down at the street. Pretending.
But then his head turned.

Eyes met.

My breath caught.

And this time — he didn’t look away.

His hand gripped the railing, knuckles tightening just a little. His jaw flexed. Still no wave. No smile. Just… heat. Focus.

I felt it. All the way through me.

I parted my robe slightly. Just enough for him to see the top of one bare thigh. My heart beat faster.

And still — he didn’t look away.

So I leaned back. One leg slid off the edge of the chair, my robe falling further open. I took a slow sip of wine, letting it roll over my tongue. Then I set it down beside me.

My fingers moved to the hem of the robe.

I ran them lightly over my skin — up, over my thigh, across my hip, to my breast. My nipple was already hard, pressing against the fabric. I let my robe fall open, letting him see me. My bare chest. My soft stomach. The way I breathed faster now.

His eyes darkened.

He was still watching. Still unmoving.

I bit my lip.

And then — I touched myself.

Lightly. Teasing. Just letting my fingers explore. I brushed over my breasts, circling each nipple until I gasped. My body was warm, pulsing. Wet. I could feel the heat growing between my thighs.

He still didn’t move. Not an inch.

But I could see the way his chest rose and fell. Faster now. His grip on the railing tighter.
I wondered what he was thinking.

And in that moment — I imagined he was here.

Not across the way. Not distant. But in my space. Right here beside me.

I closed my eyes and pictured it.

Him kneeling in front of me. His hand replacing mine. His mouth replacing my fingers. The way his lips would feel against my nipple — soft, then firm, then biting just enough to make me gasp.

I imagined him spreading my legs slowly, looking into my eyes the whole time. Asking silently. Getting his answer in the way I opened for him.

My fingers found my clit. Slippery, swollen, throbbing with need.

I moaned. Quietly. But loud enough to hear myself.

Still imagining him. His breath on my skin. His fingers sliding inside me, slow and steady, curling just right. His mouth claiming me. The taste of me on his tongue.

I rubbed harder.

My back arched. My body hummed.

I opened my eyes — and he was still there.

Watching. Jaw clenched. One hand now at his side, the other clearly pressed into the front of his jeans. He wanted to touch himself. Maybe he already was. Maybe he was just waiting for permission.

The thought sent a new rush through me.

I spread my legs wider. Let my fingers move faster. My breaths came quick, needy. My hips lifted from the chair. The silk robe was completely open now — forgotten.

The breeze cooled my sweat-slick skin. But the heat inside me burned hotter.

And then — it came.

The release hit fast, sharp, deep. My body curled, clenched, pulsed. I cried out — not caring who heard. My free hand gripped the arm of the chair as I rode every wave, back arching, thighs trembling.

I collapsed against the cushions, heart pounding. Fingers still twitching between my legs. My skin glowed, breath shaky, lips parted.

When I looked back across — he was still there.

Watching. His hand now clearly moving under the fabric of his pants. He didn’t stop. He didn’t look away.

And I smiled.

But I wasn’t finished.

I wanted more.

I reached between my legs again, slower this time. Drawing circles. Feeling how sensitive I’d become. Every touch made me jolt, made my breath catch. But I didn’t stop.

I pictured him again — this time not kneeling. This time standing, behind me, one hand braced on my hip, the other moving down my stomach, over my folds. Whispering things into my ear I couldn’t quite make out, but felt all the same.

I rubbed faster. Harder. Again.

My body begged for it. My thighs tensed. My eyes fluttered shut. Another wave built inside me, thick and heavy and real.

And when it came — I arched up and let it roll through me.

Longer this time. More intense. My whole body jerked, clenched, a cry slipping from my lips that wasn’t small at all.

I collapsed again, gasping, glowing, gone.

And when I opened my eyes this time — he was sitting.

Legs spread. One hand in his lap. The other braced on the arm of his chair. His head was tilted back, jaw clenched, body tight.

He was close too.

I sat up slowly. Picked up my wine. Raised it in his direction. He didn’t smile — but he nodded, slowly. Eyes locked on mine.

I stood. Let the robe slip from my shoulders, completely bare now. Letting him see all of me. My breasts. My thighs. My flushed skin. My wetness.

And I turned — walked slowly back inside.

But I left the door open.

And I knew — this wasn’t the end.

Not even close.

---

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