Voyeuristic Tendencies
A GTS Enterprises Story
Chapter One: Gretchen
by D.X. Machina
"But, Charlie, don't forget what happened to the man who suddenly got
everything he always wanted....He lived happily ever after."
--Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory
I tell you, it's a sickness.
Oh, I rationalize it. I tell myself that I can control it, that I don't need
it, that I can just ignore it, but I can't. I just can't.
My shrink tells me I have "voyeuristic tendencies," whatever that means. All
I know is that I've been wanting to spy on women ever since I was a kid.
My shrink goes through reasons why I want to do it, things like feelings of
shame or inadequacy. Fuck him. I just want to watch women going about their
daily business. I wouldn't hurt 'em. I just want to be a fly on the wall.
Oh, I hear what you're saying, and yes, the X10 pop-ups are tempting...but I
don't want to do it like that. First of all, you can go to jail if they find 'em,
and second...well, I don't want to watch it on a computer monitor. I want to see
it live and in person.
Really, I was okay until I moved next door to the Andersons.
The Andersons live in the house next to mine. Julie Anderson is a
forty-year-old knockout, still in great shape thanks to her morning jogs. Even
though she's ten years my senior, I've thought about asking her out some day,
but it's proably too soon. She's a widow. Her husband died last year of cancer.
Julie has two daughters, Gretchen and Patty. Gretchen is nineteen, and drop
dead gorgeous. She wears her blonde hair short, which makes her look sporty when
she runs with her mom. She has a body that's been sculpted by years of soccer
and track and running. She lives at home to help out her mom, but she's going to
the local community college. That will probably change when Patty graduates.
Ah, Patty. I know it's not polite for men to ogle seventeen-year-olds, but
I'm sure nobody could blame me. She has long, straight blonde hair that she
coiffs and teases to dizzying effect. She is in thrall to the Britney Spears
look--bare midriffs, off-the-shoulder tops--and she has the natural curves to
pull it off.
Three beautiful women under one roof. All of them adults or near to it.
Right--next--door.
I haven't felt urges like this since I was a fresman in college, living right
next to the women's dorm.
But alas, there was no way for me to accomplish my dream short of breaking
and entering--and again, I had no desire to see a jail cell.
I would have been screwed had I not noticed an ad in the paper.
* * *
GTS Enterprises is located on a stretch of road in Saint Paul that is
singularly ugly. Decrepit, 1920's era storefronts line a road that is too busy
to shop on. But I got the sense that they didn't want to be noticed--at least
not by your average joe.
The receptionist was an attractive woman in a very unusual way. You don't see
many punks anymore, but she obviously was into the lifestyle. "I'm here about
the ad," I said.
"Which one?" she said, clearly bored.
"The one for--um--" I stumbled over the words, before giving up and handing
her the ad.
It said:
Voyeur?
Do you want to spy on others without
getting caught? Contact GTS Enterprises
for novel method. No cameras, guaranteed
not to get caught. 651-555-3939
"Ah, yes, the voyeur package. We can certainly help you, would you mind
waiting for Mr. Chelgren to assist you?"
"Of course," I said, taking a seat.
There were no magazines, just a series of binders with printed stories. I
flipped through one idly. It was an adult story about a man captured by giant
women. Strange--but then again, I was here trying to get information on how to
be a voyeur.
A blandly handsome man emerged, and said, "Hi there, Scott Chelgren. I'm one
of the associates here. I understand you're interested in voyeurism."
Two minutes later, we were in a private office in the back. It was a small
office, and I was wondering if this was going to lead to me being robbed, or
worse, simply taken to a strip club where they would "perform my fantasy."
And I said as much.
The man laughed, and said, "Sir, I can assure you this is on the up and up.
No strippers, no prostitutes, no scams. In fact, there's no cost up front. If
you like the way our product works, we simply ask for $400 each time you use it
thereafter."
"Yeah, but I bet I'm locked in for ten 'uses.'"
"No contracts. But I tell you what...I think you'll come back again and
again. I think you're going to love it. Now tell me...who are you looking to spy
on?"
* * *
He must have been a good salesperson, because I left with a little device the
size of a lighter. "You'll have to get into the house on your own, and then
activate the device. You can activate it in your own home, but I don't advise
it. You get one free experience. To activate and deactivate, click the button.
It won't work after that first time until you pay us, so be sure you're finished
when you're done."
I had signed about 30 pages of paper--releases, indemnifications, and so
forth. And Scott signed one that guaranteed I would not be caught, or I would
receive $10,000 and free legal representation. Well, it was something.
I took Friday off of work, and walked over to the Anderson's house. They had
a deck door that they generally forgot to lock--I'd never gone in, mind you, but
a couple of times I'd been close--and I thought I'd sneak into the house and see
what this thing did. If it worked--well, I wouldn't leave. But if it didn't, I'd
get out of there, and they'd be none the wiser.
I had my cover story--saw the door open, wanted to lock it, being good
neighbor--as I walked in the door. The house was empty.
Even this gave me a bit of a rush. Here I was, in the living room of these
women, looking at their personal things, and they were unaware....
If this worked, I would be so happy.
I pulled out the device, and pressed the button.
* * *
I came to, my heart pounding. What happened? I couldn't be found here! How
long--
I stood up, and gasped.
I was standing in--how to even describe it? It looked like the biggest
warehouse ever. But there was fabric looming up out of the ground--a couch? Was
that even possible?
Were the fabric trees around me...carpet?
It took a moment or two, but I realized slowly that I had shrunk. And not
like a few inches. I was tiny. The size of a flea. Well, to hell with that. I
didn't want to be shrunk. I started to pick up the device....
Suddenly, the largest sound I ever heard filled the room.
I turned towards to the sound, and waited. Something that loud should....
The floor started to shake. A little at first, then more, and more, and MORE.
And then it appeared.
I saw the sock first. It was at my height. It was a simple white sock, which
led into a pair of form-fitting jeans. I followed the massive field of blue up
nearly a quarter-mile to a bare tummy, and beyond that her enormous breasts.
Patty....
She was thousands of feet tall. She didn't tarry. She simply turned and
disappeared down a hallway, heading towards her room, or something.
My heart was racing. This wasn't what I'd bargained for.
This was even better.
* * *
I was leaning against the leg of the couch, trying to figure out what my plan
of attack should be.
I knew the second I saw the two thousand foot tall teen that this was going
to be fun. First of all, there was no chance I'd be seen. I was maybe half a
centimeter tall--unless I sought out the women's attention, they'd never notice
me.
As for the scale difference--it was as if I'd been dropped off in Olympus. In
the women's locker room.
If my shrink is right, and my feelings of inadequacy are what make me want to
spy...well, how better to feel inadequate than to look at goddesses? I could
ponder this all later, though. I needed to plan. Julie and Gretchen would
undoubtedly be getting home soon. I would have my pick of any of the three. I
just had to pick.
Then again, Patty was already here, hanging out in her room or something.
I looked at my watch. Four-thirty. Hmm.
I thought about going to Patty now, but I realized I wanted a chance to
survey my options completely.
That noise again! I realized it was the door slamming--a three million square
foot door slamming.
No wonder it was loud.
This time, it was Gretchen. She was wearing jeans-and-a-sweatshirt that hid
her assets. I was a little disappointed, but it isn't voyeurism if you tell your
subject what to wear. She disappeared down the same hall as Patty, and for a few
minutes, I thought about following her.
Then, she reappeared.
I know I've mentioned that Gretchen is an avid runner, but I don't think I've
sufficiently mentioned what it is that drew my attention in the first place.
Gretchen returned to the living room in hot pink shorts and a black sportsbra.
She also wore socks.
And then she sat down to stretch.
The floor shook as she lowered her weight onto the floor. Her first stretch
was a butterfly, that she did facing the couch. Her mamoth thighs spread indian-style,
I traced the muscles of her leg as they entered her shorts. Then up her
washboard stomach to her firm, small breasts. Actually, they were quite big at
this scale.
I began to play with myself at this point. I'm not ashamed to say it. This
was un-fucking-believable. There she was, stretching out, and SHE DIDN'T KNOW I
WAS THERE.
And then a thought entered my head, which made me stop playing with myself
for a second.
I wonder how close I can get.
It was against the voyeur code to touch. After all, a touch gives you away.
But what if the touch is so light it can't be felt?
I walked warily through the carpet, ready to run for cover at the slightest
provocation. But she was sitting close, even on my scale. It wasn't long before
I'd reached the edge of her shorts. I stepped up onto them, and started to reach
for her skin....
I realized my mistake almost immediately. Gretchen finished her stretching,
and without a second thought, rose.
I saw the ground race away, and grasped frantically for the hem of her
shorts. I looked down at a quarter-mile drop, and shuddered. And then we were
walking.
With each step she took, The fabric around me rippled and swayed like a giant
flag. I was battered into the back of her thigh more than once as she strode
towards God-knows-where.
We made some quick, odd motions, and then things got really bad.
She was running.
Now I was being smacked hard into her thigh with every step. Amazingly, it
didn't hurt--but it wasn't fun, either. I couldn't stay here.
Her shorts were mesh, with tiny holes everywhere. They made perfect
handholds. I started to get to a rythm--Climb--THWACK!--Climb--THWACK!--that
worked okay. I was scared as hell about what would happen if I should mistime
it, but more scared about what would happen if my arms gave out and I fell.
About ten minutes of climbing got me to my destination--the border of her
white cotton panties. I had decided that if I could get inside them, I'd be
relatively safe. So timing well--THWACK!--I grabbed the elastic and hung there.
With all my might, I forced myself through the gap between elastic and Gretchen.
Then, with one final push, I went sliding down the inside of what seemed to be
an enormous, inverted tent.
I came to rest at the border between Gretchen's asshole and pussy. It was
raining here--Gretchen was not one to work out lightly. But it was a stunning
view. She kept her bush neatly trimmed, apparenty--the blonde trees above me
were in a narrow band, with tiny trunks around them. Relatively safe now, I damn
well did jerk off. Here was a woman's twat, one hundred feet long--I was
starting at it at a distance of a few inches and she didn't have any idea.
I wasn't sure I was ever going back.
* * *
Forty minutes later, the rippling slowed, and then stopped. The run was over.
I was bathed in Gretchen's sweat, and I couldn't have felt fresher. About the
only thing that would've made me happier was to see Gretchen start
masturbating--and I didn't need it.
Suddenly, I felt the floor drop out from in under me. I knew instantly and
instinctively what was happening. Gretchen was getting undressed.
Well, if I'd just run for an hour, I would've too.
She kicked her shorts and panties off. We skidded together a few hundred
meters, and I stared up at the immense athlete.
She was completely naked.
As close as I had been to her womanhood, this was almost better. To see her,
nude, unaware...my throat was dry. I was the happiest man alive.
Presently, she turned, and entered the shower. I climbed out of the panties,
and moved to a hiding place by the sink. The bathroom seemed like a good
option--the other women would come. I'd have my opportunity to see them very,
very soon.
Voyeuristic Tendencies
A GTS Enterprises Story
Chapter Two: Patty
by D.X. Machina
It was a little dull, after Gretchen left. She shut off the lights, and I was
left to wait against the baseboard for another of the women to appear.
I was still fucking bedazzled. I pulled out the device, and looked it over. I
knew the guy who gave it to me was right--I'd be using this over and over again.
How many times a month would I use it? I'd have to limit myself. Dennis
Miller once said of virtual reality that when a guy could fuck Claudia Schiffer
anytime he wanted, it would make crack look like a popsicle. Well, this was my
equivalent.
I needed to get a better job.
Suddenly, blinding light filled the room, and an enormous woman strode into
the room. I looked up, trying to figure out who it was. The bare midriff gave it
away--Patty.
She shut the door with a deafeaning whumpf!, tossed something onto the
counter, then proceeded to the toilet to pee.
I'm not into scat, myself. I don't criticize guys who want to watch women in
the bathroom--freaks gotta stay together--but it just never did anything for me.
So I looked away as the sound of a deafening waterfall echoed in the toiled
beyond me. I tried to look up to see what Patty had placed on the counter, when
suddenly, I saw part of the pile shift and fall toward me.
There was no chance I could avoid it. I just ducked, and hoped it wouldn't
kill me. As it was, enormous things were falling all around me. As suddenly as I
heard it start, it stopped.
I was in the dark, surrounded on all sides by something soft. I heard a
muffled oath, then the pile was rising again, with me swooped up in it.
After a few moments, I hear the shower start. I tried to struggle free of the
pile. What the hell was this? I wanted to watch Patty.
After a while, I heard the shower stop. I was sorely disappointed--the
opportunity to see a half-mile tall stunner exiting the shower...well, okay, I'd
experienced it a few hours before, but not with Patty.
The pile shifted, then shifted again, violently. I fell through a couple of
layers of softness, and came to rest. Once more, the pile shifted, and then was
at rest again. Without warning, the skies above me parted, and she appeared,
wearing a push-up red bra.
She was humming to herself idly, the sound was deafening. She was looking
right at me.
I froze. I knew I was small, but I wasn't microscopic. If she looked
carefully, Patty would undoubtedly see me, and that was not good.
She stared for what seemed an eternity.
Then the hand reached down.
My stomach sank. She had seen me.
I prepared my story--I shrunk by accident, tried for help, thank God
you found me--but I wouldn't need it.
Her hand grasped above and below me, and I was being lifted with whatever I
sat on. She grasped all around me and suddenly the world warped inside out. I
saw a wall of flesh, and slid along it to a junction of flesh, and then felt
things pull snug. The walls collapsed atop me, and then moved apart, and back,
and apart. I found myself stuck fast to the flesh around me by a sweet, perfumed
paste.
I was stuck to Patty's armpit.
It wasn't much longer before we were bounding off toward somewhere. I heard a
muffled sound from outside her, and then a distorted "I'LL BE BACK BY MIDNIGHT,"
out of Patty. Well, wherever she was going, I was going with her.
* * * I couldn't see anything through the blackness of the fabric of Patty's
skin-tight shirt, but it's not hard to know where you are when bass is pumping
through you and the deodorant around you is starting to melt from the
perspiration of the young girl whose armpit you're stuck to.
We were at a dance club, and Patty was having a good time.
I had more fun previously--after all, there wasn't much to see, and any
conversation I could listen in on was drown out by the dance tunes--but this
still was entertaining. The idea that Patty was out dancing, having a good time,
unaware that a tiny man was touching her all the while--it was still a pretty
good turn-on.
Patty raised her arms up, and the bonds that had held me fast loosened. I
found myself dropping to the seam in the shirt. Finally. I would have to feel my
way to the place I wanted to go.
It wasn't easy, with Patty doing the freak nasty, but I managed to pull
myself along until I felt the satin of her bra. The tightness of the shirt
helped. If she'd been wearing a peasant top I feel sure I would have found
myself hurtling onto the dance floor. As it was, it was relatively easy to work
my way forward towards the undulating flesh of her mams.
Patty's breasts were well-restrained--she must've been wearing a pretty tight
bra, else her breasts are phenomenally well-cared-for. They felt great.
I slipped between the cup of her bra and her breast. It was hot here, but not
so hot as the armpit. I enjoyed the rolling of the fat beneath me. This was
pretty fun.
After maybe an hour, the sound of the music lessened, and I felt the
temperature dropping as Patty left the club. I heard a voice from outside
rumbling, and distorted rumblings from Patty. I heard a car start, and more
music. And then the car shut off, and we were walking somewhere. And then, a
door, and then--
The weight was on me without warning. Patty had suddenly laid back, and
something fell on top of her. I struggled to breathe as the weight lessened,
then increased. The light grew brighter as I heard a rushing of fabric from
outside, then a different sort of pressure as something brushed my position.
I heard a low rumble from beneath me, and then felt the pressure of the bra
release around me. It slid off.
He was your typical, vaguely good looking high school kid, and he was staring
intently at Patty's ample assets. He rubbed a finger across her starboard
breast, giving me time to try to find a way off of her port breast. I did not
want to find myself eaten by a giant boy sucking his girlfriend's nipple.
I slid into the valley between breasts just as he moved back up to kiss Patty
hard on the lips. I had to get out of here, and fast.
We rolled over, so Patty was on top. I hit his hairy stomach and slid toward
hell. I watched as Patty began kissing his chest, and then she advanced on me.
I had one chance. Her long blonde hair cascaded everywhere, enormous vines
sliding across his torso. Taking a chance, I ran for them, and grabbed as many
as I could. I secured myself as best I could, while Patty unzipped his fly.
* * *
Once I was safely secured, it was pretty fun.
I wasn't that interested in the guy, but Patty was definitely a believer that
it's better to give than receive, but it's best to do both.
It was fascinating to be hiding in her hair, watching her intense, youthful
reaction to the orgasm he gave her as he licked her twat. She was gorgeous, and
beautiful, and delicate and naive, and I was almost disappointed when she began
to get dressed to go home.
* * *
Patty arrived right on time, and headed straight up to her room.
I had stayed in her hair, and planned to stay with her. I was tired, and
needed a place to crash, and her bed seemed like a good choice.
She went to bed naked, to my approval. I slid out of her hair, and watched
her as she fell asleep.
As her breathing shallowed, I began to move down her body. I doubted I could
find my way to her pussy, but I wanted to try. Her heat was intense and
delicious, and I could smell her post-cunnilingual juices from her breasts on
down.
I reached her ass as she shifted a bit. There was a chance after all.
Throwing caution to the wind, I snuck under her leg to the gates to her
womanhood.
I touched the outer lips of her vagina, wondering if I dared to ascend it.
Patty would decide for me.
Whether she felt my touch subconsciously, or whether she was a horny girl, I
don't know. All I know is that the legs spread slightly, and suddenly, an
enormous index finger appeared, stroking the vagina above me.
The juices rolled with a slight roar, as her floodgates opened again. Her
finger caught some of the sticky fluid, and fell toward me.
I was stuck fast as she probed her pussy, pushed deep inside the teenaged
trollop. She worked herself over thoroughly, straight through to orgasm. I
gasped for breath as the fluid overtook me.
The finger withdrew, and gradually, so did I. I wiped myself off as best I
could, and traversed her stomach and chest before leaping into a nest of her
hair. The evening was done, and it was time for sleep. Tomorrow, it would be
time to visit Julie.
Voyeuristic Tendencies
A GTS Enterprises Story
Chapter Three: Julie
by D.X. Machina
Truthfully, I didn't sleep all that well.
Each move of Patty sent an 8.4 earthquake through the bed. I was awakened
every time she shifted her lovely, immense body.
When she finally woke up around ten, I was wide awake and starving. I hitched
a ride in her hair as she threw on a robe and headed to breakfast, via the
shower.
Julie was making pancakes and bacon--I could tell because I could smell them
clearly. My stomach growled. I'd have to get some of the food. Next time I did
this, I'd pack supplies.
Patty sat down at the table. I'd taken the opportunity to drop to her red
satin robe, and I was making my way slowly down her arm to the table below.
I hopped down onto the table and strode confindently away from Patty's
position. I surveyed the landscape in awe. Gretchen was sitting to my left,
wearing a tank top that left little to the imagination. Behind me, Patty's robe
hung loosely enough to give me a great shot of her cleavage. And just when I
thought the beauty couldn't get more stunning, Julie set a couple of plates down
and joined us, her long hair tied back in a pony tail, and her robe mirroring
her youngest daughter's.
I didn't have to wait long for food. There was the occasional crumb that
strayed, more than enough for me to eat. Not that bacon is good for you, but it
was enough. I sat back in the shadow of the pepper shaker and enjoyed the view
of three lovely women sitting, talking, laughing. Voyeur heaven.
After a while, I decided to head for Julie. She was the last woman in the
house for me to see, and I was intrigued to see what an older woman looked like
at close range.
I didn't have to wait long for my chance. Julie made the girls do the dishes
while she lingered over coffee and read the paper. She rested her arm on the
table, and I quickly found my way inside the sleeve.
I pulled myself along her arm to her shoulder, then crossed to daylight by
her necklace. I grasped the chain, and slowly began to lower myself to her
breasts.
I didn't get any farther, as Julie rose, and headed off to get dressed and
ready for her Saturday.
I bounced around slightly on her sweet-smelling skin. She smelled vaguely
soapy, which was good--she'd already showered. I was a little surprised when we
reached the bathroom, but only a little--women always need some primping time
when they go out.
Julie leaned over the counter, assembling make-up and lipstick and whatnot.
She began applying make-up, and just finished the base when the chain swung
precipitously and violently. I wasn't prepared for the sudden jerk, and found
myself falling like a rock until I fell into a well of some sort.
I hit the water and--wait, that wasn't right, it didn't seem to be water. It
was liquid, but not water. The world around me was black. Suddenly, I saw
an immense brush dropping towards me.
It pushed me under with a violent force before it started to retreat.
Instinctively, I grabbed the thing as it rose into the sky towards
God-knows-where. Suddenly, I saw Julie's beautiful brown eyes. She saw me!
I held my breath as we drew near her eyes. No, she didn't see me. Instead,
she brushed me and the thing I was on over her top eyelashes, before withdrawing
the brush and dipping it back into the mascara below.
The makeup had the consistency of shellac. I was quickly and irrevocably
welded to her upper eyelash. She blinked, and I felt my stomach drop and rise
again. I could see her in the mirror, titanic and gorgeous, but I couldn't see
myself.
She blinked again.
* * *
Once I got used to it, it wasn't so bad. I got to see the world through
Julie's eyes as she went shopping and out to lunch with a drop-dead gorgeous
friend from work. If not for the constant blinking, it would have been a perfect
vantage point.
When she finally got home and went to bed, I must admit I felt a little
gypped. Compared to my experience with Julie's daughters, this was so...proper.
Then, Julie began to cry.
The water behind me started as a wave and ended a tsunami, washing away the
bonds that held me. Julie rubbed at her eyes, catching me under her right
fingernail as she poured out a little bit of the grief in her heart.
Then, something altogether unexpected happened.
Julie dropped her hand towards her jeans, unbuttoned them and slid her
finger--and me--inside.
I fell smack dab onto Julie's clitoris as she began to stroke herself lower.
I was remined of Lazarus Long's admonition that there's only one way to comfort
a widow--but remember the risks.
I began to stroke her.
I knew damn well that it might attract her attention, but I didn't care. She
needed this, and I could help her. Not exactly the voyeur's code, but what the
Hell. As she began working herself, I pushed her buttons as hard as I could at
my infintesimal size. Our collective efforts paid off presently as Julie came
with an overwhelming force, knocking me into the panties below.
I stayed there all night, resting in her panties as she read. I was already
planning what I'd do with this device. I was going to have fun, that was for
sure. And I'd come back to visit my neighbors again--this time with a base
camp's worth of provisions. But this was a good teaser--enough to whet my
appetite for what lay ahead.
Late that night, as Julie slept, I carefully extricated myself, climbed down
fro m the bed, and made my way to the door. I unshrunk myself and quickly left,
knowing that I was going to be spending about ten thousand dollars a year on
this thing--and loving the idea. * * *
"So I take it the device met your standards, sir?"
The woman who said this--Sarah Kensington-Chelgren, her nameplate said--was
phenomenally attractive in a very subtle way. She was married, which wouldn't
have stopped me, but she was married to the other sales guy, which did.
"More than met my standards. It was perfect. I'd like to get onto some sort
of contract, see if there's a way I can lock in for a certain amount of uses."
Of course there was. I signed a twenty use contract--at $300 a shot--with a
ten additional use option. I limited myself--a couple times a month. The
Andersons remained a favorite target. After all, the location was perfect. But I
branched out. The weekend I spent in the Gap Women changing room had been fun,
as had the four days in the women's locker room at the club. And there were
other times--but I'll tell those stories, some day.
They say that we're not meant to achieve our dearest wish, that when we do,
we're bound to face some dire consequence. We can't have true happiness, ever.
Well, I still have to work, and I still see my friends, and I still live my
life as I did before. Except now, when I see a group of bachelorettes across a
bar and wonder what they're up to, I can find out--as long as I'm careful.
It's a gift. The greatest gift I could ever have been given.
And I am living happily ever after.
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