My Mother’s Neighbor Caught Me on the Rooftop

Back then I was living with my uncle and aunt, just a few blocks from my parents’ house, and I went to visit them almost every day. Sometimes it was because of the tournaments we put together among the neighborhood kids—soccer one week, American football the next, one street against another—and sometimes simply because I had nothing better to do. That afternoon was one of the latter.

I was bored in the way only a nineteen-year-old can be bored. My aunt and uncle’s house was full but empty as far as I was concerned: the maid busy with her chores, my aunt having tea with her friends in the living room, the television repeating the same old shows. My friends were working on their homework. So I left without telling anyone and walked to my parents’ building.

It was a small building, only three stories, with no doorman or anything resembling one. I rang the apartment bell, but no one answered. I went back down to the sidewalk, went looking for my mother among the neighbors who usually gathered in the afternoon, and she wasn’t there either. My younger brother wasn’t with his usual group. It was one of those afternoons when the whole world seemed to have agreed to leave me out.

When I came back, a man was leaving the building with his keys in his hand, and I took advantage of the moment to slip inside before the door closed. I thought about waiting on the floor outside the apartment until someone arrived. Just then, a woman came down the stairs with her daughter, people I had known all my life. We stood chatting for a while on the landing.

“Do you want to go to the movies later?” I asked the girl, more out of habit than anything else. “Or get ice cream, whatever.”

“I can’t,” she replied. “I’m going out with my mom in a little while.”

And there I was, standing around with the whole afternoon ahead of me and nothing to do. At that age, when you have nothing to do, you make something up. And if you’re horny on top of that, you make something up even faster. I hadn’t run into Carla, the girl I liked at the time, or anyone else, for days. So I did what I sometimes did when the waiting got too long: I went up to the rooftop.

***

There was no one upstairs. The sun was slanting across the roof, and the concrete still held the midday heat. I wandered around aimlessly, looking at the water tanks, the crooked antennas, the clothes hanging from the lines that crossed the entire terrace from side to side.

That was when I saw them. Between sheets and shirts swaying faintly in the breeze, a piece of lace underwear was hanging. A tiny, dark garment, the kind no one wears for comfort. I stared at it longer than I should have, wondering whose it was. In such a small building, there weren’t many possibilities, and my imagination began working on its own.

My cock got hard at once, with that foolish, absolute urgency you have at that age, when a single image is enough to make everything else disappear. I looked around one last time to make sure I was alone. Then I took the garment from the clothesline, slipped between two water tanks where no one could see me from the door, and closed my eyes.

The fabric was soft and cool, still smelling faintly of soap and a little of a woman’s clean pussy. I pulled my pants down to my knees, took my swollen dick out of my briefs, and wrapped the panties around it. The lace clung to my stretched skin, sliding over the head every time I tightened my fist. I started jerking off slowly, feeling the fabric scrape and caress me at the same time, imagining what ass, what pussy those panties had just come off. I ran the tip beneath my nose, sucked the part that had covered their owner’s crotch, and wrapped myself again, faster now, my hand closed tightly around my cock. For a moment I completely forgot where I was.

“Does it feel good with my panties?”

The voice came from so close that my heart lurched. It was a woman’s voice, low and teasing, without a trace of anger. I opened my eyes wide and turned my head, and there she was, one step away, behind me, looking at me with a smile that couldn’t quite decide whether it was a reprimand or an invitation.

“Uh…I…I ahhh…” I couldn’t get a single complete word out. Shame rose up my neck like a fever.

It was Marisol, the neighbor in the apartment below my parents’. I had imagined myself with her so many times, without ever daring to look her straight in the face. She must have been in her thirties, carried in a way that made you forget the number. I saw her almost every morning going out for a run, in leggings when it was cold and shorts when the heat was intense, and I would stand there transfixed, watching her round ass bounce as she jogged, her tits squeezed inside her top, moving faintly with every footfall. She was the subject of half my wanks, and now she was standing a yard away, her panties still tangled around my dick.

Before I could cover myself, she reached out and placed her hand over me, on top of the fabric wrapped around my cock. I had stopped moving from fright, and immediately felt myself beginning to soften.

“No, no,” she said, lowering her voice to a murmur. “We can’t let you go soft right now, not when you’ve got such a pretty one.”

And she yanked the panties away. She grabbed my cock with her bare hand, wrapping her warm fingers around it, and began masturbating me slowly, up and down, squeezing hard when she reached the base and loosening her grip as she passed over the head. Every time her fist rose, my foreskin pulled back and the tip turned purple and shiny. I didn’t understand anything. Part of me was still waiting for the shouting, the scandal, the threat to tell my parents. But none of that came. The only thing that came was her other hand, slipping underneath to take hold of my balls, weighing them, rolling them between her fingers while the first hand kept jerking me off.

***

When I got some of my wits back, I looked at her face. Her lips were parted and her eyes were fixed on my cock, on her fist, on the thread of pre-cum beginning to run down her fingers. I felt her pressed against my arm, her tits tight against my skin, her fingers closing around my dick with a confidence I completely lacked.

“The number of times I saw you watching me when I went running,” she said, almost to herself. “I thought you were one of the shy ones. And look what you’ve surprised me with—a big cock standing up, hiding up here and sniffing my panties like a pig.”

I didn’t answer her. I turned toward her until we were face-to-face, and she took the opportunity to undo my pants completely and pull them down a little farther, along with my briefs, leaving my cock entirely exposed, pointing at her face. She crouched slightly, moved closer, and stuck out her tongue. She ran it underneath, from my balls to the tip, in one long, slow lick that made my knees tremble. Then she took the head into her mouth, closed her lips around it, and sucked hard once, pulling it out with a wet sound that echoed across the empty rooftop.

“What a pleasant surprise,” she murmured, a strand of saliva still hanging from her lower lip. “I never would have imagined it was so big. Thick, nice-looking. Do you want to come in my panties, on my tits, or would you rather fuck me?”

I dared to touch her. She was wearing a camisole with thin straps and a fairly low neckline. I pulled down one strap, then the other, and tugged her bra down until her tits spilled over the fabric. They were large, slightly sagging under their own weight, with dark nipples already hard and prominent. I took one in my mouth and sucked it whole, nibbling on it, while my other hand pinched the opposite nipple. She arched her back and let out a guttural moan, gripping the back of my neck so I wouldn’t let go.

“Suck them hard,” she whispered in my ear. “Bite them. Don’t be gentle—I’m not going to break.”

I ran my tongue from one breast to the other, sucking and tugging at her nipples with my teeth, leaving them shiny with saliva. Then I lowered my hand along her body until I reached the waistband of her pants. They were tight, the kind that were difficult to take off. I squeezed through the fabric between her legs and felt the damp heat soaking through it. “There isn’t time for all that,” she suddenly said, breathing more quickly. “My husband is about to come home. But we’re going to do something. I’m not going to leave you like this.”

Instead of stopping me, that sentence set me on fire. The urgency, the risk that someone might appear through the rooftop door at any moment—all of it made every second more intense. Marisol seemed to feel the same way. She unzipped the side of her pants herself, pushed them down to her knees, and kicked them aside, leaving herself in panties—a thin white thong, already darkened with a wet spot in the middle.

“Look what you’ve done to me,” she said, pulling the fabric aside with two fingers.

Her pussy was swollen and glistening, her lips open and her clitoris peeking out between pink folds. A thick strand hung from the entrance. I had to bite my lip to keep from coming right there in the open air just from looking at it.

***

She sat on the edge of one of the washbasins, spread her legs, and took me by the nape. Without saying anything, she pushed me downward. I knelt on the hot concrete between her thighs and buried my face in Marisol’s pussy as if my life depended on it. I ran my tongue from bottom to top, tasting all of her, then spent a long while working her clitoris, sucking it with my lips, going in and out with the tip of my tongue. She pressed my head against her sex, moving me and setting the pace.

“There, there, keep going there,” she panted, her voice growing raspier by the second. “Don’t stop, for fuck’s sake, don’t stop.”

I pushed two fingers inside her while I kept eating her clitoris. I felt her tighten around me, her inner muscles closing over my knuckles. I curled my fingers upward, searching for that spongy spot I had read about in some magazine, and when I found it she jerked and drove her heels into my back.

“Right there, don’t move, right there,” she moaned, and her thighs began to tremble around my face. She came, squeezing my mouth against her pussy, soaking my chin and biting one hand to keep from screaming.

When I straightened up, my face was shining with her juices and my cock was throbbing, pointing at her navel. She grabbed my hair and pulled me upward, licked her own taste from my mouth, sucked my lips and tongue in a dirty, deep kiss.

“Now I want that big cock inside me,” she said in my ear. “Quick, fuck me before it passes.”

She grabbed my cock, positioned it against the entrance to her pussy, and pulled me toward her with her legs crossed behind my waist. I thrust once, all the way in, and we both moaned at the same time. She was so wet that I slid in completely without resistance, but her pussy closed tightly around me, hot and gripping, sucking me inward. I began to move, slowly at first, then harder, fucking her against the washbasin with all the strength I had. The edge of the concrete struck her ass with every thrust, and she kept telling me more, harder, faster.

“That’s it, break me, come on, just like you do when you jerk off thinking about me,” she panted, clutching my shoulders, her tits bouncing with every blow.

I held her by the hips and shoved her against me as I penetrated her, driving my cock in all the way to the root. The wet slapping of her soaked pussy filled the air, along with the dull thud of our bodies and her muffled moans that she tried to swallow. The rooftop door could open at any moment, and instead of frightening me, the thought made me fuck her harder.

I pulled out abruptly. She understood without my saying anything. She turned around, braced her hands on the washbasin, and stuck her ass out, high and open. I pushed my cock back into her pussy and started doing her doggy-style, pulling her hair backward as if it were reins. With my other hand I ran my thumb over her other hole, barely wet with our juices, and she let out a growl.

“Not there, not there, another day,” she warned me, though she still moved her ass against my hand. “Now come in my pussy, come on, fill me.”

I felt everything gathering down below, felt that I couldn’t hold back any longer. I warned her as best I could, brokenly, and she sped up the movement of her hips, pushing herself against me.

“Outside,” she panted suddenly, changing her mind. “Pull it out and come all over me. I want to watch you come.”

I pulled out in time. She turned around hurriedly, dropped to her knees in front of me on the concrete, and took my cock into her mouth just as the first jet came out. She sucked me, and I came in her mouth, on her tongue, while the next spurts splashed her neck and her large tits hanging outside her bra. She never stopped jerking my cock as I came, milking me for every last drop, then ran her tongue over her lips and sucked the clean tip, drawing a spasm from me that nearly made me collapse. I remained trembling, barely supported by my legs, my cock still inside her mouth as it slowly softened.

***

Afterward, everything returned to normal so quickly that I was stunned. Marisol stood up, took a clean rag from the clothesline, and washed her neck, tits, and hands at the washbasin with complete calm, as if she had just watered the plants. She adjusted her bra, pulled up the straps of her camisole, put on her pants, and picked up from the floor the panties with which I had started everything. They were stained with my saliva and the sticky fluid that had leaked from me earlier. She put them in the laundry basket without ceremony and began taking down the rest of the clothesline.

I helped her without being asked. Whenever I handed her a garment to fold, I took the opportunity to brush against her back or waist, and she let me, wearing that same crooked smile as before. Together we folded a couple of large sheets, one person at each end, moving toward the middle to bring the corners together. During one of those approaches, she took my hand, brought it to her crotch over her pants, and squeezed it there for a second, as if to make sure I wouldn’t forget what had just happened. Then she let go and went on folding as though nothing had happened.

“Thank you,” I said, and felt like an idiot as soon as the words left my mouth, but I couldn’t think of anything else.

“You behave yourself,” she replied, laughing. “And when you jerk off thinking about this, remember me.”

She balanced the basket against her hip and walked toward the door. At the last second, before she left, I leaned in and gave her a short kiss on the lips. She didn’t pull away. She looked at me once more, amused, and as she went down the stairs she raised those lace panties in the air—the ones that had turned a boring afternoon into the most impossible afternoon of my adolescence—and waved them like a farewell.

We never spoke about it again. I kept seeing her running in the mornings, in leggings or shorts depending on the weather, and she waved to me like any other neighbor. But every time I passed in front of her window, we both knew what had happened that afternoon on the rooftop, among the hanging clothes and the heat of the concrete, and that was enough to make my cock stand up by itself, just like the first time.