She had to hold the dress down against her legs when the breeze shifted to gust. The dress was white, mostly white, red trim on the edges; creamy candy cane, but rung with vanilla and cherry; and her fingernails were painted dark blue and the tone of her skin was a tanned olive, and her hand began to release the dress but the gust came again and this time the dress escaped and her act of modesty became far more conscious, because she was more intent in talking to the other lady next to her; and that she’d not tied her hair up and it reached to her shoulders that were exposed and smooth to the wistful eye and longing hand, well she suddenly had her hands full.

But the gust was not received as an intruder. Welcome guest bringing long lost relief. Heat had lain heavy over the city for too many weeks, some would think too many. Maybe a slightly pesky guest-gust, though no less appreciated. Who could know where the gust had been. Had encountered difficult customers. Enjoyed no smiles of welcome. Maybe couldn’t see the dress and the lady in it, but no entity could not scent and sense her.

She only had two hands and the gust used all its tentacles. So she could only hold the dress against her at the front and side or back and side. She was experienced in public display but she’d had no cause to practice. So the dress did fluff up just high enough and briefly enough to reveal to the observer who’d just happened to appear at his window, that her panties were skimpy and black.

It wasn’t that the observer had never seen a pair of leggy lithe limbs and a pair of skimpy panties; but his existence had entered into a perpetual procession of highly attractive lasses. It was the city. The land. The region. Something about the genetics. Many foreign bands had ridden through; some had warred and sometimes prevailed.

So it wasn’t that Jack the observer saw her as a novelty, but more like a slight spark barely touching a dry haystack. He’d seldom resorted to urgent self-gratification. When he did resort to it, he waited for the night. Conjured a few favorite fantasies, the heroines often dreamy composites of what he observed all the time.

The companion wasn’t bad either. Black hair. Both ladies wore black hair. The other had no worry about wind gusts making her dress billow for she wore no dress but did wear shorts, extremely short, denim shorts. They fit her tight. Didn’t matter which angle Jack saw from or what perspective she offered, as long as she remained visible.

So Jack’s passions were aroused, to animalistic magnitude, knowing no morals and untrained in restraint. Realized the front of his pants touched the wall under the window. Tuned in to his inner wavelengths long enough to hear himself breathing more deeply and knew the breathing could make an easy transit from simple manly breathing to a beastly growl dripping with melted male seed.

Stared at them. Saw they occasionally glanced down the street. Waiting. Bus. Waiting for the bus. Wouldn’t be there long. Jack had to act. Jack sometimes gave too much credit and trust to thought. But now he could not afford thought. Jack shucked his boxers so they fell at his feet and he kicked them out of the way, and wrapped his thumb and two fingers around the head of his cock and the density of the creamy juice there encouraged him because he knew he’d be able to complete it quickly.

Imagined the two with him. Wished he could take his time. He would take his time with them; or they could take their time with him. A violent shake of his head. A mist of sweat flew from his head and it is entirely possible that a miniscule part of him did fall on the white dress woman, maybe on her exposed shoulder.

But Jack could not allow any of that to matter. Just stared and certainly squinted and his face contorted as his hand whipped over his cock and he fixed his gaze on the one in the shorts and willed his mind to see himself unbuttoning them, while his tongue explored her mouth, and those shorts falling down those long legs and feeling her nipples through her tight t-shirt as his hand slid straight to the skimpy black panties, feeling the soakage in the middle. Imagined the wispiest most minimal pubic hairs, finery, smoothness predominant, and his fingers would easily slip in; and he knew he was close, gripped the window ledge, felt more than heard, his mounting breathless grunts.

The exact moment the cum hit its highest note, that’s when Jack hit his highest groan that was loud enough to reach the ears of the two below, so the white dress girl glanced up and then her companion glanced up and neither needed a translator of secret messages to add the face and the groan and the fact that that face stared straight at them, that there was the flicker but piercing eye contact, and they certainly understood.

Whether their faces were bonded in sisterly horror or simple bemusement or possibly not at all surprised, Jack was in no condition to bear honest witness to, as the cum still squirted from him and his hand wore a thick coat of it and his sight became momentarily incapacitated and the force of the cum pulled his chin inward and the ladies down below might’ve seen the spittle drip from the corners of his mouth that contorted in ecstasy.

It was that moment that the bus appeared. The ladies outside... well it happened much faster than these words could hope to paint, but the ladies acted sort of surprised when the bus appeared. Or maybe their look was of relief. The hopeful believe it was disappointment.