Voyeur

At six O'Clock on a Friday evening, most of Spartan's employees would be heading to the wine bars and pubs of the district, to wash away the cares of the week, and to celebrate the start of the weekend. Some did not join them. The heavy drinking that usually occurred on a Friday night provided suitable cover for otherwise respectable married men and women to carry on their illicit office affairs. In the largely deserted offices of the building they could be found cavorting, avoiding the security guards patrolling the corridors in search of suspicious goings on.

Unbeknown to the Friday night fauna, Clive Edgely would be surveying everything that transpired. Through a complex array of cameras, almost every square inch of the building could be examined, from a console room in a dingy ground floor office, on which one wall was covered in monitor screens.

Clive was the security manager, and enforced Spartan's almost paranoid security culture. It was his secret remit to watch for potential industrial espionage in the research departments. He kept files on all members of staff, and was aware of who was sleeping with whom. The nature of his work had made him a compulsive voyeur.

It was inevitable that he spent the Friday night shift in the console room, frantically masturbating while watching the illicit goings on of managers, secretaries, and even the directors. It was also inevitable, that this became his sex life. He was a handsome man in his mid-thirties, and had a beautiful wife Clarissa. She had suffered the neglect with a certain amount of tolerance, but then the signs started to show that she was having an affair.

He knew that while he worked on a Friday night, she would be out with another lover. How? A few months ago, he phoned home to ask her to tape a television program, only to find there was no answer. When he challenged her later about her absence, she claimed that she had been in all of the time, but had not heard the phone. This seemed unlikely.

At the same time he began to notice the sudden appearance of a mysterious woman in the Spartan building. She seemed to arrive every Friday night, wearing a trench coat, dark-glasses and a silk headscarf. He watched her walk through the lobby in her high-heeled shoes, and heard the resounding click on the marble floor through the speaker on the console, cutting through the cacophony of moans and groans of sexual pleasure from the other cameras in the building.

The mysterious woman would ask the guard on the desk to speak to Mrs Murgatroyd, the Human Resources Director. This interested Clive intensely. Amidst his fascination with the seamier goings on amongst the staff of Spartan Communications, he had never been able to find any dirt on Mrs Murgatroyd, which made her exceptional in his view. She fascinated him. In his opinion she was the most desirable woman in the whole building. Perhaps not the most beautiful, but the woman oozed an incredible sexual charisma that he would have loved to put to the test. Quite often he found the sight of Mrs Murgatroyd sat at her desk, shifting her position in her chair, and crossing her long legs more stimulating than the more blatant acts of sex that were available for viewing on the other screens.

When the mysterious woman appeared, she would enter the lift and ride to the top floor, where she would be joined by Mrs Murgatroyd. They would ride down together, the lift invariably stopped between floors for some time, before returning to the ground floor where both occupants would leave. Whatever transpired in that lift was a mystery to Clive since, due to an oversight, they were the only parts of the building without cameras.

Clive knew the mysterious woman was his wife. He had known almost from the start. The scarf and the dark glasses were a very thin disguise. When he thought her was having an affair with another man, he was angry. When he believed his wife was having an affair with the woman who was the object of his deepest lusts, he became incredibly aroused, and determined to capture one of their encounters on film.

Secretly he had planted cameras in the lifts during the week. Taking no chances, each lift was wired. He was going to record his wife's encounter with Mrs Murgatroyd for his own pleasure, and his penis stiffened tremendously at the thought. He nursed his erection, with gentle caresses of his hand, while waiting patiently until Eight O'Clock. The hour at which the trenchcoated lady would appear.

Slightly later than usual he could hear the resounding click of the stilletto heeled shoes on the lobby floor, he switched to the lift in which she entered on one monitor, and watched Mrs Murgatroyd sat at her desk at another. He prepared to record the scene in the lift. As the doors closed behind his wife, he watched her take her headscarf off, and remove the dark glasses. She had masses of soft blonde hair, which she shook loose after its confinement in the scarf. Then she undid the trenchcoat. Underneath she wore a black satin body shaper, that shone beautifully in the flourescent light of the lift. It hugged her skin as if it had been applied with a fine paintbrush. She ran her hands over her bodyshaper, smoothing out any imaginary creases, admiring herself in the diffuse reflection of the lift doors. She looked stunning, she always did.

He turned to look at Mrs Murgatroyd, and saw her suddenly pick up the phone. He jumped violently when his own extension started to ring.

"Hello Clive," said her deep, sexy voice. "I need to speak to you, right away. It's about your wife. She's having an affair."

"I'll be there," he said, intrigued. He feigned surprise, although he wondered if she knew about his spying. He was supposed to be answerable only to the security committee of the Board of Directors, and Mrs Murgatroyd was not part of that committee. His activities were of questionable legality, but then his remit was to root out fraud, espionage, pilferring at all costs and that directive came from the international head office in Phoenix, Arizona. A little unnerved he straightened his tie, put his jacket on, and fastened his zip. Feeling ready, he left his little room to face Mrs Murgatroyd.

He headed straight for the lift, and found that the one in which his wife had entered was now stopped between the seventh and eighth floors. He was still recording however, he would catch her yet. He wondered if Mrs Murgatroyd was with her. Maybe she intended to keep him waiting in her office after summoning him right away, to intimidate him. She was full of tricks like that, he had seen it all on his monitors.

Indeed he arrived at her office to find it open, but little trace of Mrs Murgatroyd within. He could hear faint moans of feminine sexual pleasure coming from some part of the room. The sound quality was tinny, as if coming from a small speaker. He wondered if Mrs Murgatroyd was not above spying herself. The noise came from her computer, and so he ventured towards it. The screen had the Spartan Logo emblazoned across it. Evidently the screen saver was on. He moved the mouse to see if it would reveal what lay behind the logo, but all that appeared was the request for a password.

His suspicions were dashed, when Mrs Murgatroyd suddenly appeared in the room. He had not heard her enter.

"It was very good of you to put cameras in the lifts Clive, that was the one weak point in the security of this building, it shows considerable initiative." She smiled at him. "Come and see how well they work."

"How did you know?" He asked, horrified.

She ignored the question, and moving to her desk gracefully, she typed in her password on the computer, and the screen became filled with the sight of Clarissa his wife. She had two handsome young security guards by the hair, holding one to her breast, while he passionately and tenderly kissed and nibbled her nipple, another on his knees was burying his face in her crotch, frantically tonguing her sex. Meanwhile she moaned happily and unselfconsciously enjoying the attention of these two men.

Clive stood uneasily beside Mrs Murgatroyd who seemed to be enjoying the spectacle. He was partly intoxicated by the heady smell of her perfume, and her proximity, and partly horrified at his wife's brazen enjoyment of the company of two junior employees. They watched together for some time, watched while Clarissa alternated the position of the men, pulling on their hair and making them cry out in pain as they moved. Clive had never seen her so aroused, and so in control. In turn it made him feel incredibly excited.

"I know all about your spying Clive," she said at length. Closing the window on the computer that displayed the scene. "I have cameras of my own. I know what you do in your console room every Friday night, and I've decided that it must come to an end."

This sounded ominous. He knew Mrs Murgatroyd had a position of considerable power, but his position was special surely. He could not be sacked that easily.

"I could sack you," she said, as if reading his thoughts. "I've just been voted onto the Security Committee on the Board, but I'm not going to. I have a much more refined punishment for you."

Next Friday night. Clive sat in his console room, all of the monitors were trained on one scene. Mrs Murgatroyd sat in an armchair in her large office, while across her lap sat Clarissa Edgely. They kissed passionately, their hands exploring each others bodies. They passion enhanced by the knowledge they were being watched, their lovemaking had an intense frantic quality, as without inhibition they moaned and screamed their pleasure, filling the tiny console room with noise.

Clive watched his penis rocketing through his open flies like a flagstaff. His hands cuffed firmly behind his back.