A Pleasant View
It's okay to look
The following is a preview of a work of short fiction. The full version is available at Amazon, where it can be downloaded for free until April 21, 2026. After April 21st, Amazon Unlimited members will continue to be able to read it for free for a limited time; it will be 99 cents for others.
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This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance (whether by image or written word) to actual persons (living or dead), events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
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Copyright © 2026 by Ema Stonig. All rights reserved. Published by Avenue Oh ™
A Pleasant View
The small hotel was once a private estate, owned by a wealthy family who fled Europe in the late 1930’s, abandoning the home, which (at least as stories are now told) became a safe house for allied spies attempting to undermine the Nazis.
Sequestered at the foot of the mountains, the property was acquired after the war by an industrialist, who used it as a winter retreat. It became a place to ski, lounge by impressive stone fireplaces, and have kinky sex with someone you may have been married to for ages or just met in the wood-paneled bar with its exquisite selection of liquors.
Now, nearly a century later, the hotel remains a place to ski, enjoy cocktails by the warmth of a wood fire, and have sex.
Rumors are told, but no one knows for sure, why the six rooms on the top floor have had small candy-box-sized sections of their doors removed and in their place have been installed what look like massive keyholes in the form of a heart. So shaped and oversized, the bespoke holes allow anyone in the hall to peer into any of those cozy rooms and observe whatever is going on inside—which makes it a symbiotic delight for voyeurs and exhibitionists. Carla is one of the latter. Her husband, Rex, the former.
Now, as the moon rises above the mountains, casting its silver light over snowy slopes that weave through pristine forests of Norway spruce and silver firs, Carla emerges from the steamy bathroom of Room 33.
She has a plush towel around her waist and uses another to dry her dark hair.
In the soft glow of a nightside lamp, she is visible to anyone in the hall who might bend forward and place their eye to that large heart-shaped keyhole in the door to her room.
Her husband, Rex, meanwhile, is in Room 34, directly across the hall. Rex, like Carla, is waiting, which is its own pleasure: anticipating how fantasies will translate into actions, if at all. Maybe no one will look.
Ten minutes later, that concern proves false.
Through the peephole in his own door, Rex sees a younger man—slender, wearing a heavy cable knit sweater and corduroys—stop outside his wife’s room.
When Carla notices the heart-shaped gap in her door lose backlight from the hall, she knows someone is peaking in. She likes not knowing who it is, which allows her imagination to play with the moment.
She still has the towel around her waist and uses the other to dry her hair. At the foot of the bed, she stands profile to the door, which displays to her voyeur the contour of her small breasts, her hard nipples, her slim belly.
As she continues drying her hair, the motion of her arms causes the towel around her waist to loosen slightly…
…then it loosens a bit more, the drape of thick cotton now slung low on her hips...
…and then, after a few moments more … there it goes…
The towel falls, and Carla is naked, a reveal she emboldens by turning face toward the door, her breasts and narrow strip of pubic hair fully displayed.
Whoever is outside her door remains. They want to keep watching. To see what else she might do—naked and alone in her hotel room.
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