Voyeur - PART 1 / 6
Author: kitty69lover
Rating: R - sex, masturbation, violence, character death
Category: drama
Characters: Cristiano Ronaldo & 2 original female characters, cameos by Manchester United players [set before his transfer to Madrid]
Length: short story - 6 chapters
Summary: Cristiano Ronaldo becomes a voyeur and also obsessed with one of the dancers at the peepbar. he will attempt to cure himself but will he eventually succeed??
Disclaimer: this used to be only in my head, but overload of sexiness made it spill on the webpage.
Authors Notes: this is one of my best stories, despite the main character [or maybe because of?]. written from Cristiano's POV. posting it here cause i had a dream about it last night :|
One
"Hello, my name is....Cristiano, and I am a voyeur."
The words came out freeing me from the knot in my throat. I was at this support and awareness group center for our kind, the perverts who like to watch. The perverts that cannot get off like normal people, with some normal, regular fucking. We need to watch. Watch others do it, or others mimicking doing it, and we have to masturbate to get pleasure.
When I walked into the room full of normal looking people, I felt a little bit desperate. I am, after all, top footballing star and renowned playboy. Having to admit to a bunch of strangers that I cannot get it up with a normal woman is not something I'm particularly proud of. But the 4 months of rather agonizing visits to the Birdseye, a shady peep show bar on the outskirts of Manchester have taken their toll on me and the faster I got this off my chest and got 'cured', the better.
"Hi Cristiano! Welcome." the group of maybe 25 people, both men and women answered, hiding their surprise to see me, of all people.
Of course, I could see it in their eyes, the shock to find me as the new addition to their sad caste, but they diverted their gazes immediately when meeting my own, ashamed even more than usual. And yes, there were some women as well, not many, 4 in all. It surprised at me at first, but then I realised I shouldn't be sexist and admitted women could very well have this kind of problem as well.
"Cristiano, tell us how and why are you a voyeur." the group instructor asked.
Here goes nothing, I thought. I had to share my deepest secrets with these people. My new best friends, my new family. I didn't trust that none of them wouldn't go to the tabloids, but I had to take my chances. I was prepared to plunge into a new side of life: confession, admittance of what I had been upto lately.
"Well, it all started when Gabriela left me. Yes, she left me..."
And I proceeded to tell them, bared all, I had everything to lose but since I could not have what I wanted, it just didn't matter anymore.
This is what happened. Soon after she left me with a monumental scandal, including yelling 'I hope you never get laid ever, you disgusting son of a bitch!', for cheating on her, I was back out on the prowl, lusting for some action. I had spotted a voluptuous brunette, just my type and after a few drinks I had taken her back to my place. And that's when the unbelievable happened. As much as she had kissed me and tried her best to arouse me with both hands and mouth, I remained soft. Yes, you heard it.
The embarrassment was incredible. Her face at the sight of the multiple zeros cheque I gave her, double than what she'd get from any tabloid for selling the story of my impotence was even more humiliating.
I recalled my Brazilian ex's words and their witch-like power was revealed to me. The Brazilians, with their ancient rites, with mixing Christianity with pagan practices, are usually tempted to use black magic. Not that I had ever believed any of the stories circulating, but Gabriela, that had seemingly hexed me, told me that incantations were still performed, as well as sexual magick*, that she herself took part in a chanting orgy, where the woman in the middle went into a deep trance and started speaking in tongues.
I remembered laughing at her for being conned like that, but now I was reassessing the situation. Who's to tell that she didn't go back to her crappy apartment soon after she left me, invoked Yemanja or some other goddess and begged her to ruin my manhood?
And I went on the road of despair, as this had never happened to me, neither had I ever thought about it. I turned to all alternative ways without any satisfactory results. I was too ashamed to talk to anyone about this, I had no intention to be the laughingstock of the entire locker room.
It had been about a month since I last had any satisfying form of sex and all the unreleased energy was beginning to become problematic at training and during games. I was nervous and easily upset. One night, I was surfing the internet for some quality porn when I found a little site, for The Birdseye. A peep show club. The best, luscious dancers in England, they claimed, and it had a few private booths. I was willing to try anything.
So, I went there. I called before and demanded a private booth, and separate entry, didn't matter if it was staff entry, or a backdoor to a shady alley. I could not be seen in such a place. I managed to overcome the sudden embarrassment and went in, took my seat and prepared my money.
And then the wooden panel lifted slowly, to reveal a round room, powerfully lit, with a young looking woman seated in the middle. She was wearing a silvery white catsuit, platform shoes. She had long silvery blond hair, and when she lifted her head, I could see she had incredibly pale skin, almost translucent, and enormous pale blue eyes, the kind of light blue that looks like ice.
There was no music, not for my ears, but she got up and began swaying to a silent rhythm, and soon after she began to unzip the catsuit, the zipper advancing inch by inch downwards, revealing her pale skin and I was so entranced by her slow movements that I almost missed the wooden panel dropping down.
I quickly woke from the stupor of having my sight of the angelic being blocked and inserted a new 10 quid note in the machine and the panel moved painfully slow upwards again. By the time I could see her fully again, she was with the back at me and the top of her bodysuit was dangling from the waist, her shiny hair spread on her back.
She must've been notified that I was watching, because she turned around, offering me the palest and best shaped and sized boobs I had ever seen and that's when I felt a certain tightness in the groin area. I smirked like an idiot, elated to be alive again and pondered if it's wise to actually go through with the sleazy endeavour.
The box of tissues at hand suggested exactly what people were there for, and I felt an involuntary shiver crawl up my spine, only to be immediately chased away by the fact that the woman had began to rub her breasts together and the sudden falling of the damned panel.
I quickly put in another tenner in and decided I shall not waste my money for cheap thrills. I had a problem, might as well as get it solved. So I unbuttoned my jeans and went on with the dirty business, as she removed her catsuit and then her panties.
I felt it coming when she began to rub herself and when she began to insert a finger, while licking her lips and seemingly looking straight at me, I let go, finally.
The panel came crashing down like a guillotine, but I was cumming and didn't really care about anything else anymore.
I left the place fully relieved. The shame was gone, the weight that had burdened me the past month had lifted off my shoulders. I imagined I could now get back to my usual life.
And I thought it had all gone back to normal, I thought I could carry on with my usual activities of before. But I was weary to hit on a chick; I really had no intention to have to suffer the humiliation of a woman?s pitiful stare again. And when I tried it the old fashioned way, with some porn on TV, I found, to my utter stupefaction, that the condition had not changed. Limp, no matter how much I tried, absolutely limp.
So I went back, first only once a week, then a lot more often. I told them, my fellow voyeurs, how I gradually began to get accustomed to the inviting box of tissues that felt so accusing the first time, to the lack of music, so intense that I could hear my ragged breath when I climaxed, to the show in front of me. I told them how I developed a true dexterity in slipping the notes at the slightest sign of the panel coming downwards, how I began to anticipate its move.
I told them how I became a regular, being offered free drinks, how I learned to delay my release, in order to catch the whole show the woman behind the glass performed. I told them how my shame was always renewed every time I left the place, fully satisfied. And how I realized this is a worse problem than the dysfunctional erection and how I managed to brace myself and join the group.
I didn't tell them, however, that there was only one woman I was watching, that only she could arouse me, with her flowing moves. I didn't tell them how I became obsessed with her, how I knew her every dance move, her every outfit, every line and curve of her body and precisely when she would begin to offer me her full attention, ignoring the other windows, the moments when the other panels shut, leaving me and me alone to savour her sweet mimicking.
I didn't tell them that this woman, had entranced me so greatly, that I went out of my way to find out a name, and if I could meet her in private, well, at least more private than we already were. I didn't tell them how enraged I was when all they told me was her name, Luna, obviously a stage name and refused me any contact with her.
Yes, I sure didn't tell them how I roared "Do you know who I am? I am Cristiano Ronaldo! I demand to know this woman!" at the bar staff, suddenly careless of being recognized, of being shamed on the front covers of the horrible tabloids. I didn't tell them how I threatened to smash the bar glasses if they didn't help me, nor did I tell them how quickly I calmed down when the manager threatened to throw me out to never be allowed back in. How I almost begged to be forgiven for my outburst.
Nope, I didn't tell them that I only went there when she performed, that I had learned her schedule by heart, nor that my true reason for joining their group was not the shame of being a voyeur and paying for my satisfaction in the most perverted way, but because she was so deeply lodged in my brain and I couldn't stop from going to the Birdseye by myself.
I didn't need help to overcome my voyeurism, but to force myself, with the help of others, to stop wanting her, to end the obsession.
At the end of my only half honest and revealing speech, they all applauded and then I was offered a drink. Small debate groups were formed and people started mingling and discussing their latest conquest or defeat in their war with the vice.
Did I feel better now, that the secret was, at least partly, in the open? Not really. It was a Friday night and she was going to perform in half an hour. I badly needed to go see her, and all this talk had only managed to get me more excited and frightful than usual.
I was about to dodge the group leader and head towards the exit, when one of the women, the short and pudgy one, probably in her mid 30s, by the looks of it, caught my arm. She had been giving me looks the entire time.
"It's always hard on the first night." She said plainly.
"Yeah, I guess." I had to concede.
I wanted to leave, but her hand was still on my arm and I'd never be an impolite jerk and pull it from her grasp, so I waited patiently for her to finish whatever she wanted to say.
"It's easier if you bond with someone..." she leaned over to tell me almost privately.
The come on in her voice was obvious and I was beginning to feel very annoyed. She wasn't ugly or anything, her round face and big brown eyes were quite nice to look at, but I had never been a fan of plump short women and I wasn't going to start now. And by the way she looked at me, she obviously knew who I was and should've known what's my general type.
"I see, but now I kinda have to run, I'm late for something..." I dragged the words, trying to imply the regret I felt for being unable to stay chat to her.
I figured I could use a friend at this kind of meetings, I didn't want to fully reject her.
"I'll see you next time then, Cristiano." She said softly, finally letting go of my arm.
I took my goodbyes and waved to the rest of the people and made my way out with 'Luna' in mind, fully aware that it was more than wrong to keep going there, especially after this group meeting, but unable to resist the urge.
Notes:
magick - Magick, in the broadest sense, is any act designed to cause intentional change. More here: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Magick
Rating: R - sex, masturbation, violence, character death
Category: drama
Characters: Cristiano Ronaldo & 2 original female characters, cameos by Manchester United players [set before his transfer to Madrid]
Length: short story - 6 chapters
Summary: Cristiano Ronaldo becomes a voyeur and also obsessed with one of the dancers at the peepbar. he will attempt to cure himself but will he eventually succeed??
Disclaimer: this used to be only in my head, but overload of sexiness made it spill on the webpage.
Authors Notes: this is one of my best stories, despite the main character [or maybe because of?]. written from Cristiano's POV. posting it here cause i had a dream about it last night :|
One
"Hello, my name is....Cristiano, and I am a voyeur."
The words came out freeing me from the knot in my throat. I was at this support and awareness group center for our kind, the perverts who like to watch. The perverts that cannot get off like normal people, with some normal, regular fucking. We need to watch. Watch others do it, or others mimicking doing it, and we have to masturbate to get pleasure.
When I walked into the room full of normal looking people, I felt a little bit desperate. I am, after all, top footballing star and renowned playboy. Having to admit to a bunch of strangers that I cannot get it up with a normal woman is not something I'm particularly proud of. But the 4 months of rather agonizing visits to the Birdseye, a shady peep show bar on the outskirts of Manchester have taken their toll on me and the faster I got this off my chest and got 'cured', the better.
"Hi Cristiano! Welcome." the group of maybe 25 people, both men and women answered, hiding their surprise to see me, of all people.
Of course, I could see it in their eyes, the shock to find me as the new addition to their sad caste, but they diverted their gazes immediately when meeting my own, ashamed even more than usual. And yes, there were some women as well, not many, 4 in all. It surprised at me at first, but then I realised I shouldn't be sexist and admitted women could very well have this kind of problem as well.
"Cristiano, tell us how and why are you a voyeur." the group instructor asked.
Here goes nothing, I thought. I had to share my deepest secrets with these people. My new best friends, my new family. I didn't trust that none of them wouldn't go to the tabloids, but I had to take my chances. I was prepared to plunge into a new side of life: confession, admittance of what I had been upto lately.
"Well, it all started when Gabriela left me. Yes, she left me..."
And I proceeded to tell them, bared all, I had everything to lose but since I could not have what I wanted, it just didn't matter anymore.
This is what happened. Soon after she left me with a monumental scandal, including yelling 'I hope you never get laid ever, you disgusting son of a bitch!', for cheating on her, I was back out on the prowl, lusting for some action. I had spotted a voluptuous brunette, just my type and after a few drinks I had taken her back to my place. And that's when the unbelievable happened. As much as she had kissed me and tried her best to arouse me with both hands and mouth, I remained soft. Yes, you heard it.
The embarrassment was incredible. Her face at the sight of the multiple zeros cheque I gave her, double than what she'd get from any tabloid for selling the story of my impotence was even more humiliating.
I recalled my Brazilian ex's words and their witch-like power was revealed to me. The Brazilians, with their ancient rites, with mixing Christianity with pagan practices, are usually tempted to use black magic. Not that I had ever believed any of the stories circulating, but Gabriela, that had seemingly hexed me, told me that incantations were still performed, as well as sexual magick*, that she herself took part in a chanting orgy, where the woman in the middle went into a deep trance and started speaking in tongues.
I remembered laughing at her for being conned like that, but now I was reassessing the situation. Who's to tell that she didn't go back to her crappy apartment soon after she left me, invoked Yemanja or some other goddess and begged her to ruin my manhood?
And I went on the road of despair, as this had never happened to me, neither had I ever thought about it. I turned to all alternative ways without any satisfactory results. I was too ashamed to talk to anyone about this, I had no intention to be the laughingstock of the entire locker room.
It had been about a month since I last had any satisfying form of sex and all the unreleased energy was beginning to become problematic at training and during games. I was nervous and easily upset. One night, I was surfing the internet for some quality porn when I found a little site, for The Birdseye. A peep show club. The best, luscious dancers in England, they claimed, and it had a few private booths. I was willing to try anything.
So, I went there. I called before and demanded a private booth, and separate entry, didn't matter if it was staff entry, or a backdoor to a shady alley. I could not be seen in such a place. I managed to overcome the sudden embarrassment and went in, took my seat and prepared my money.
And then the wooden panel lifted slowly, to reveal a round room, powerfully lit, with a young looking woman seated in the middle. She was wearing a silvery white catsuit, platform shoes. She had long silvery blond hair, and when she lifted her head, I could see she had incredibly pale skin, almost translucent, and enormous pale blue eyes, the kind of light blue that looks like ice.
There was no music, not for my ears, but she got up and began swaying to a silent rhythm, and soon after she began to unzip the catsuit, the zipper advancing inch by inch downwards, revealing her pale skin and I was so entranced by her slow movements that I almost missed the wooden panel dropping down.
I quickly woke from the stupor of having my sight of the angelic being blocked and inserted a new 10 quid note in the machine and the panel moved painfully slow upwards again. By the time I could see her fully again, she was with the back at me and the top of her bodysuit was dangling from the waist, her shiny hair spread on her back.
She must've been notified that I was watching, because she turned around, offering me the palest and best shaped and sized boobs I had ever seen and that's when I felt a certain tightness in the groin area. I smirked like an idiot, elated to be alive again and pondered if it's wise to actually go through with the sleazy endeavour.
The box of tissues at hand suggested exactly what people were there for, and I felt an involuntary shiver crawl up my spine, only to be immediately chased away by the fact that the woman had began to rub her breasts together and the sudden falling of the damned panel.
I quickly put in another tenner in and decided I shall not waste my money for cheap thrills. I had a problem, might as well as get it solved. So I unbuttoned my jeans and went on with the dirty business, as she removed her catsuit and then her panties.
I felt it coming when she began to rub herself and when she began to insert a finger, while licking her lips and seemingly looking straight at me, I let go, finally.
The panel came crashing down like a guillotine, but I was cumming and didn't really care about anything else anymore.
I left the place fully relieved. The shame was gone, the weight that had burdened me the past month had lifted off my shoulders. I imagined I could now get back to my usual life.
And I thought it had all gone back to normal, I thought I could carry on with my usual activities of before. But I was weary to hit on a chick; I really had no intention to have to suffer the humiliation of a woman?s pitiful stare again. And when I tried it the old fashioned way, with some porn on TV, I found, to my utter stupefaction, that the condition had not changed. Limp, no matter how much I tried, absolutely limp.
So I went back, first only once a week, then a lot more often. I told them, my fellow voyeurs, how I gradually began to get accustomed to the inviting box of tissues that felt so accusing the first time, to the lack of music, so intense that I could hear my ragged breath when I climaxed, to the show in front of me. I told them how I developed a true dexterity in slipping the notes at the slightest sign of the panel coming downwards, how I began to anticipate its move.
I told them how I became a regular, being offered free drinks, how I learned to delay my release, in order to catch the whole show the woman behind the glass performed. I told them how my shame was always renewed every time I left the place, fully satisfied. And how I realized this is a worse problem than the dysfunctional erection and how I managed to brace myself and join the group.
I didn't tell them, however, that there was only one woman I was watching, that only she could arouse me, with her flowing moves. I didn't tell them how I became obsessed with her, how I knew her every dance move, her every outfit, every line and curve of her body and precisely when she would begin to offer me her full attention, ignoring the other windows, the moments when the other panels shut, leaving me and me alone to savour her sweet mimicking.
I didn't tell them that this woman, had entranced me so greatly, that I went out of my way to find out a name, and if I could meet her in private, well, at least more private than we already were. I didn't tell them how enraged I was when all they told me was her name, Luna, obviously a stage name and refused me any contact with her.
Yes, I sure didn't tell them how I roared "Do you know who I am? I am Cristiano Ronaldo! I demand to know this woman!" at the bar staff, suddenly careless of being recognized, of being shamed on the front covers of the horrible tabloids. I didn't tell them how I threatened to smash the bar glasses if they didn't help me, nor did I tell them how quickly I calmed down when the manager threatened to throw me out to never be allowed back in. How I almost begged to be forgiven for my outburst.
Nope, I didn't tell them that I only went there when she performed, that I had learned her schedule by heart, nor that my true reason for joining their group was not the shame of being a voyeur and paying for my satisfaction in the most perverted way, but because she was so deeply lodged in my brain and I couldn't stop from going to the Birdseye by myself.
I didn't need help to overcome my voyeurism, but to force myself, with the help of others, to stop wanting her, to end the obsession.
At the end of my only half honest and revealing speech, they all applauded and then I was offered a drink. Small debate groups were formed and people started mingling and discussing their latest conquest or defeat in their war with the vice.
Did I feel better now, that the secret was, at least partly, in the open? Not really. It was a Friday night and she was going to perform in half an hour. I badly needed to go see her, and all this talk had only managed to get me more excited and frightful than usual.
I was about to dodge the group leader and head towards the exit, when one of the women, the short and pudgy one, probably in her mid 30s, by the looks of it, caught my arm. She had been giving me looks the entire time.
"It's always hard on the first night." She said plainly.
"Yeah, I guess." I had to concede.
I wanted to leave, but her hand was still on my arm and I'd never be an impolite jerk and pull it from her grasp, so I waited patiently for her to finish whatever she wanted to say.
"It's easier if you bond with someone..." she leaned over to tell me almost privately.
The come on in her voice was obvious and I was beginning to feel very annoyed. She wasn't ugly or anything, her round face and big brown eyes were quite nice to look at, but I had never been a fan of plump short women and I wasn't going to start now. And by the way she looked at me, she obviously knew who I was and should've known what's my general type.
"I see, but now I kinda have to run, I'm late for something..." I dragged the words, trying to imply the regret I felt for being unable to stay chat to her.
I figured I could use a friend at this kind of meetings, I didn't want to fully reject her.
"I'll see you next time then, Cristiano." She said softly, finally letting go of my arm.
I took my goodbyes and waved to the rest of the people and made my way out with 'Luna' in mind, fully aware that it was more than wrong to keep going there, especially after this group meeting, but unable to resist the urge.
Notes:
magick - Magick, in the broadest sense, is any act designed to cause intentional change. More here: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Magick