Behind Closed Doors (Bisexual Menage Voyeurism, Exhibitionism, Romance Suspense): All Four Books Bundled Value Priced! Read online

  Behind Closed Doors

  The Box Set

  Books 1- 4

  By

  Mia Moore

  Published by Mia Moore

  ISBN: 978-1-927984-37-6

  Copyright 2014, Mia Moore

  License Notes

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to it and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

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  About This Book:

  If You Could Secretly Watch… Would You?

  Mike has a face that is frightening to people. He’s learned to accept his lot in life and he’s not that bitter anymore. He’s the super of a small apartment building in New York City. He lives in the basement, away from the world.

  Sort of. Because Mike also has a kink. He likes to watch. Using skills he picked up, he’s wired every apartment for video and sound. He’s able to witness, if not share, what regular people do behind closed doors. The Dominatrix, the Swingers, the hot single girl are all subjects of his fascination; their (ahem) activities fuel his fantasies.

  A new tenant has just moved in. Tara’s a lot like Mike. She’s been disfigured in a horrible attack. Like Mike, she’s hiding from the world too.

  And while Mike likes to watch, Tara likes to listen through the thin walls of what happens behind closed doors…

  Neither of them realize that there’s someone else out there who has his own plans, his own frightening plans…

  Join these two lonely people as they make discoveries about others, and finally about themselves in this erotic, hot adventure!

  Author’s Note

  In this book, some of my characters do not practice safe sex and have no consequences. Please understand that this is a novel, and not an endorsement of such behavior. In real life, play often, and always play safe!

  Table of Contents

  About This Book and Author’s Note

  Book 1

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Book 2

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Book 3

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Book 4

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Mia’s Readers Club!

  About The Author and Other Works by Mia Moore

  BOOK 1

  Chapter 1

  Once more it’s the last screen in the bank of monitors that I can’t peel my eyes from. Tonight, she’s wearing a black lace body suit, cut away in areas to show all the naughty bits. The crease below her cute little ass taunts me when she walks from the bedroom. I click my mouse to switch cameras and the living room of her apartment pops up, just as she’s answering the door.

  “You are late. How many times have I warned you about this? Get in here for your punishment.” Her words, snapping on every consonant, fire like the staccato of a machine gun aimed at the guy standing in the doorway.

  It could be part of the gig but it’s probably because she’s a foreigner from Transylvania or Lusitania or some ‘Ania’ place. A chuckle stirs in my throat. That’s a good one. A new Eastern Europe country named Aniaplace.

  She spins and clacks across the room in her stiletto heels, and a guy’s ruddy face, heavy in the jowl department, appears. He’s wearing an expensive business suit and as usual, the corners of his mouth curl, hardly able to suppress his happiness at her tone and behavior. What is with these guys who pay her to treat them like shit? There’s enough garbage you have to take from people every day without looking for it.

  I shake my head and settle back into the chair. But there’s more to it than that, which is why I’m ignoring the other screens and watching this one. She stands erect, shoulders back pulling her bare breasts up so high the nipples almost face the camera concealed above her. Considering the size of her jugs, she must have a really strong back.

  What’s Olga going do to punish this one? More importantly will she let him have sex with her? The whimpers and cries of these jerks make me want to vomit but sometimes she has sex with them—THAT part, I like.

  The guy walks across the room and kneels before her, the palms of his hands touching, in front of him, like he’s praying or something. But he’s not looking up at her face, oh no. His face is close enough to her crotch that he can probably smell the last guy’s cum. Oh yeah, he wants some of that.

  “Worm!” Her hand flashes across the side of his face with a crack. “Kiss my feet.” She sets her hands on her hips and scowls down on him. Her eyes are cat-like, heavily made-up with dark shadow.

  “Yes Mistress. I’m sorry Mistress.” The guy scrambles lower, placing his hands on the shiny, patent leather, leans forward and kisses the toe of her shoe. His ass is high in the air as his mouth lingers on one shoe and then slides to the other.

  “That is better. Get up.” She nudges his chin with the toe of her shoe.

  He’s not in bad shape for a businessman in his forties, the way he almost leaps to a standing position and he’s got at least six inches on Olga.

  Just once, I’d like to see one of these guys, grab that long ponytail of hers and pull her head to the floor to kiss THEIR feet. But that’s more my style I guess. After the years in Special Ops, there’s no way I’d ever take that kind of bullshit— even from a woman as hot as Olga.

  But, that’s not what she’s into anyway. Sure, she beats and fucks men for a living but it’s the little blond chick she’s hot for.

  “Go into the bedroom and remove your clothing. I will be there in three minutes and I expect you to be in position.” She barks the order and stands waiting for him to leave.

  No sooner is he out of the room when she also walks away. There’s the sound of water running and the bang of a kitchen cabinet being shut. She crosses by the hidden camera carrying two glasses of water and enters the bedroom.

  Christ! That was more like one minute. I lean forward and hit the button to bring the bedroom scene on the monitor. The guy is still in his boxer shorts when Olga sets the water on the night table. With her bare hand, she slaps his face once more.

  Rather than scramble out of his boxers, he hesitates, closes his eyes and joy is in his face. When he looks at Olga, his lips are parted as his hands shove the white cotton shorts over his hips. Oh my. His cock flies from the fabric, hard and bouncing against his stomach.

  “Get on the bed.” Her words are a little softer and she graces him momentarily with a glance at his cock.

  My own Johnson starts to stir at this promising turn of events.

  She turns away, fumbling in the clo
set, looking for something as the guy lies down on the bed. He stretches his arms and legs to the side, looking like a hairy starfish. When she approaches the bed there are four red ties in one hand and a dark stick, a riding crop, in the other.

  Thump, thump, thump. The tasseled tip of the riding crop hits the bed next to his leg before the loud crack when it laces across his thigh, causing him to flinch upwards. His gaze never leaves her face as she walks around the bed to the other side and stares down at him. She extends the hand holding the red ties to his wrist and pauses.

  “Get out. This is the end of the session today. Next time, BE on time.” The smile on her hooker red lips is pure evil.

  What the fuck? This is the first time she’s ever ended it so quick—not even a beating or hand-job?

  The guy’s mouth drops open and his pale, gray eyes almost pop from their sockets. “But…but I’ve already paid you. You can’t stop now. I need this. I’ve been bad.” He raises his head and torso, props his weight on one elbow, staring at her.

  “You heard me, leave.”Olga drops the ties and reaches for a cigarette from the package on the night table next to her. The riding crop is tossed onto the foot of the bed and she lights her cigarette, squinting as the smoke drifts by her eyes.

  “Please Mistress.” The begging tone of voice, sitting up now, with his hand reaching to touch her thigh, falls on deaf ears.

  C’mon Olga, finish him off. When she bats his hand away and screams ‘NOW!’ I know the show is over for today. Fuckin’ bitch. Not that I have any sympathy for the worm on her bed, but the times I’ve seen her actually fuck her clients have been hot. She’s got powerful legs and can actually manage the splits. She was probably a gymnast in Russia.

  The guy on the bed gets up and starts putting his clothes back on while she watches, her eyes mere slits, smiling once again. She’s a first class bitch who knows how to play her cards right. He’ll probably pay her double the next time.

  The crotch of my pants is all bunched up, the cloth sticking to the end of my cock and I pull it outward, allowing my cock to nestle to the left. A sigh whistles from my lips as I watch the monitor and flip to a shot of the living room.

  Olga follows the businessman to the door and when he turns, asking to schedule another time, she tries to shut it. But it stays half open. From the way he’s standing he’s blocked it with his foot. Okay, not such a wimp after all.

  “Give me my money back.” His voice is loud and his hand is open, snaking towards her.

  “Fuck you.” She thrusts her hip against the door with as fine a hip check as any hockey player. The door closes a few more inches before the businessman responds with his own counter check.

  Uh oh. This isn’t going too good. I race across the room and in a couple of seconds I’m taking the stairs up two at a time, scrambling to get to the third floor where Olga lives.

  When I get there, the businessman is pushing the door with his shoulder, feet anchored on the worn, floral carpeting. His face is tomato red and strings of sandy colored hair escape the comb-over, hanging down past his jaw line.

  “What’s going on? Who’re you?” Years of commanding soldiers comes through loud and clear, getting his attention, fast.

  Like a gunshot, the door bangs shut .He stands straight, and fingers his hair, pushing the stray locks back into position.

  He clears his throat and when he looks at me, sees my face full on, there’s the familiar flinch. Quickly, he looks away and ends up staring at the floor when he answers. “This isn’t what it looks like. We had a business deal and she owes me money. I was trying to get it from her when she almost cut my fingers off in the door.” He glances at the pock marked, wooden surface and grimaces.

  I ignore his words and knock his shoulder with mine, brushing by him to tap on her door. “Olga? It’s Mansfield. Are you okay?” I should have been an actor, I sound so officious and concerned.

  The door opens a crack and Olga’s eye appears. “I am fine. That man tried to break in. Make him go away.”

  “That’s BS. She let me in and then she threw me out.” His gaze turns to the eye peeking out. “You lying bitch.”

  “That’ll be enough of that language. You’d better leave Mister before I throw you out. Any problem you got with Ms. Fernetich, take it to court. I don’t care. I just want peace and quiet in my building.” I turn to face him, and watch him step away scurrying to the elevator.

  He stands facing the polished metal portal, hands thrust deep in his pockets. I wait until the door opens and he’s swallowed in his escape hatch before turning to look at Olga.

  Her manicured fingers curl around the edge of the door, the entrance now wide enough for her head to poke through. She stares straight at me, daring me to say something. No flinching or averting gaze for a hard ass like her.

  I’d like to kick the door in and send her flying across the floor in her apartment. See her land on the floor, legs spread, revealing a bare pussy I’ve seen countless times. I bet burying my dick in her would feel real nice and she’d probably appreciate a REAL man for a change.

  But I have to play dumb, be just the super. Most of them don’t even notice when they walk by. Actually, they don’t want to notice. Can I blame them? It had taken months for me to look at myself in the mirror without gagging. And to think that I had been the star quarterback in high school. Back then, I could almost hear girls’ panties hitting the floor when I walked by them, going to class.

  “You’d better be careful who you let in the building, Ms. Fernetich. You were lucky I was nearby.” I turn my head so that my good side faces her.

  “He is nothing. Go mop floors.” She turns away and closes the door before I can say another word.

  No matter. It’s only mid afternoon and Friday. There’ll be plenty more action coming up this evening.

  Chapter 2

  ‘The Star Spangled Banner’ plays on my phone as I’m getting my second beer from the fridge. Just in time as there’s only one brewski left and I’m starving for pizza. I grab the knit hat from the coat rack and pull it over the scars and what’s left of my hair. Stepping outside the door of my apartment I turn to lock it. There’s no way anyone but me will ever get inside.

  The ceramic floor in this, the bowels of the building, shines and the hallway smells of pine scented disinfectant. When I took the job as Super, there’d been rats and bugs down here, mostly coming from the utility room and neglect. Not anymore though.

  A rhythmic clatter from the laundry room catches my attention and I glance in. Amanda, the tenant from 2A, leans against a washing machine thumbing through a magazine. Whenever I see her I always think of the TV commercial with the country fresh Irish girl; red haired, freckled and a bit sassy. But Amanda’s pure Brooklyn. She’s a city girl who parties too much and misses Mondays waaay too often. She’s probably washing an outfit to wear tonight to pick up some lucky stud.

  One side of my mouth twitches, as I open the door to the stairwell. Watching Amanda with the flavor of the night, before she passes out is always entertaining. From habit, I glance at my watch before racing up the stairs. My face may not be as pretty as it once was but there’s no excuse for a flabby body. Good. Four seconds, and not even breathing heavy.

  When I enter the lobby, a guy I’ve never seen before, holding a pizza and a six pack of beer, is waiting outside the locked door. Where the hell is Lenny? Now I’ll have to go through the ritual, see the shock in his eyes before he looks at anything but the side of my face that looks like melted ice cream.

  I slide a twenty from the pocket of my pants and open the door, turning my good side towards him. But he doesn’t give me a second thought, focused on something behind me. He takes the money and shoves the pizza and beer into my hand.

  His fingers slide to the pocket of his pants but I stop him. “That’s okay, keep the change.”

  A cloud of sweet perfume hits my nose and I don’t need to turn to know that Claire Hollingsworth is behind me. The pizza delivery guy is st
ill ogling her, even as he steps back to leave.

  “Pizza and beer? Mmm…smells yummy, Mike.” Her voice is low, husky and insinuating.

  “Yeah, my Friday night treat.” I turn and look into aqua blue eyes, colored contacts I’m sure, but still gorgeous. Pale blond hair, falling straight to her shoulders, frames high cheekbones and a firm jaw. She’s all dolled up in a short, clinging, red dress that accentuates every curve, from the swell of her generous breasts to the full roundness of her hips.

  Claire is probably in her late thirties, like me, but you’d never know it. Everyday she’s on that stair master for at least an hour. I have to admire her dedication, watching her work up a sweat in the yoga pants and sports bra, but it’s her follow-up in the shower that gets us both hot. She mewls like a kitten when she comes in there, quiet and soft—totally unlike the times with her husband and their friends.

  “I’ve been meaning to call you. My bathroom faucet has started to drip. Is this something you can fix or do you need to get a plumber?” Her hand on my shoulder stops me and it’s like it was before the explosion. Yes, there’s pity in her eyes but there’s also desire. Her hand lingers for a moment and glides gently down my arm.

  “It’s probably just a washer. I can fix it. What time is good for you?” My heartbeat is loud in my ears.

  Her answer will tell me if it’s more than a new washer she wants fixed. I know her husband’s schedule and I know how often she masturbates. Could she really consider having sex with a guy like me? Sure my body’s still buff and half of my face looks good… But, is this really happening?

  “How about Monday morning? It’s the weekend and I don’t want to make you work.” The tip of her tongue grazes her lower lip before she smiles, staring into my eyes.

  The bottom of the pizza box in my hand is hot but it’s nothing to the warmth that floods to my groin. It’s been a long time since I’ve been with a woman I didn’t have to pay. And for a woman as sexy as Claire to come on to me, well, let’s just say that Monday can’t come soon enough.