What I Saw Through My Neighbors’ Window

The flickering light of candles trembled behind the hedges of the house opposite, and Bruno knew it was happening again. He set his cup down on the table, slipped on his sneakers, and, without raising his voice too much, told his wife he was going out to stretch his legs for a moment.

—I’ll be back in ten minutes —he murmured—. I need some air.

Elena did not even take her eyes off the television. Bruno went out through the back door before she could offer to come with him. He did not want witnesses.

His heart was beating faster than he would admit as he skirted the tall bushes separating the two properties. It was the third time that month he had done the same thing. He had been watching that house for weeks, ever since he began noticing something strange in his neighbors’ habits.

First there had been a gray car that parked at dusk. Then a blue sedan. In recent days, a dark van. None arrived before sunset, and none left until the following morning, when dawn had not yet fully broken.

Carla and Damián lived there. A normal, friendly couple, the kind who greeted you at the supermarket. What baffled Bruno was that the entire house went dark shortly after the visitors arrived, every light switched off except one: the one in the back bedroom.

He told himself he was only doing his duty as a neighbor. He was part of the neighborhood watch group, wasn’t he? If something strange was happening, someone had to check it out. It was a poor excuse and he knew it, but it helped him keep moving through the shadows.

The bedroom blind was raised. It seemed like a strange oversight. He was only a few steps away from looking in and seeing with his own eyes what his neighbors did with so many people, and so often.

There was no moon that night. Darkness covered him completely, and he was wearing a black T-shirt that made him almost invisible. If someone discovered him, he could run and get back into his house before they could make out his face.

He pressed his forehead against the glass, and what he saw left him breathless.

It was Carla, standing beside the window in a dark, sheer nightgown that barely covered her. Her blond hair fell to her waist. She moved slowly, smiling, swaying her hips as if dancing for someone inside the room, beyond the reach of his sight. The transparent fabric clung to her erect nipples, dark beneath the silk, and beneath it he could make out the blond triangle of her pussy, bare of panties.

She’s alone, she seems happy, he thought, unable to understand. Why is she dancing in a nightgown at this hour, with nothing underneath?

Then Carla moved away from the glass, and Bruno could only see shadows on the wall, drawn by the flame of a candle. Two silhouettes, perhaps three. There was someone else in the room with her.

He remembered the tall, broad-shouldered man who had climbed out of the van that very night. He had not seen the man’s face, but his size was unmistakable.

***

When he looked in again, Carla was no longer standing. She was on the bed, lying on her side and kissing that stranger open-mouthed, their tongues visible as they sought each other amid the saliva. She was still wearing the nightgown, and the man’s hand had slipped beneath the fabric, hiking it up to her waist and leaving her round ass bare. The man’s fingers sank between Carla’s buttocks, searching from behind for the slit of her pussy, and she spread her legs to let him touch her while she moaned into the other man’s mouth.

Bruno watched as the man found her clitoris and began rubbing it in slow circles. Carla arched her back and broke off the kiss to release a long, hoarse gasp that clouded the warm air of the room. The lover’s hand grew wet. Bruno caught the gleam of his fingers when the man pulled them out and brought them to her mouth. She sucked them slowly, watching him, tasting her own juices.

Why is she doing this to Damián? She’s cheating on her husband in their own bed.

His heart pounded against his chest so hard he feared they would hear it inside. He could not move. He was watching his blond neighbor give herself to another man and, against all reason, felt his own body responding. Excitement coursed through him like a current he had never asked for. His cock had grown hard inside his pants, so tight it hurt, and without realizing it he pressed his palm against his crotch to calm it.

Carla sat up, knelt on the mattress, and gently pushed the man back against the pillow. She tore open the bathrobe he was still wearing and pulled his underwear down. The man’s cock sprang upward, long and thick, its swollen purple glans throbbing against his belly. Carla gave a low, satisfied laugh and wrapped her fingers around it.

She began by licking it from the base, her broad, flat tongue traveling up the thick vein along the underside until it reached the tip. She closed her lips around the head and gave it a wet, loud kiss before taking the whole thing into her mouth. Bruno watched it sink down her throat, watched her cheeks hollow with suction, watched the man grip the back of her neck and force her even lower. Carla did not resist: she let him fuck her mouth, swallowing him until tears shone in her eyes and a strand of saliva hung from her chin when he pulled out.

—That’s it, you slut —Bruno heard him growl through the glass—. Suck my cock the way you like it.

Carla did not answer. She put it back in her mouth, and this time she sucked enthusiastically, squeezing her lips around the shaft, bobbing her head up and down in a filthy rhythm, letting saliva spill from the corners of her mouth. With her other hand she fondled his balls, squeezing and weighing them, and from time to time brushed her fingertips over his asshole until the man jerked and tugged at her hair.

Bruno swallowed. What he was witnessing was more intense than any film he had ever watched in secret. The fact that it was real, that he knew her, that he greeted her every morning over the hedge, made it unbearably hot. He put his hand over the bulge in his pants and squeezed himself again, not daring to do more.

The man moaned with his head thrown back. Carla looked up at him from below, his cock in her mouth, satisfied and in control. She’s a stranger, Bruno thought. The woman I know stays at the door of her house, and this slut eating another man’s cock has nothing to do with her.

The questions crowded into his mind. Where was Damián? How long had this been going on? How many men had crossed that door in recent weeks? And above all, how could that couple, who seemed so happy, live like this?

He did not dare answer himself. He only wanted to keep watching.

***

The man sat up, grabbed her arms, and lifted her enough to help her take off the nightgown. Bruno watched the fabric slide over her head, leaving her completely naked in the candlelight. Her breasts, larger than he had imagined, hung heavy and white, their hard, dark nipples pointing upward. A flat belly, wide hips, and a shaved pussy displaying pink lips glistening with moisture. The sight rooted him to the spot, his cock throbbing against his zipper.

The man pushed her onto her back on the sheets and settled between her spread thighs. He grabbed her legs and tossed them over his shoulders, folding her in half. Bruno saw with perfect clarity as the man spat into his hand, ran it over his cock to lubricate it, and positioned the glans against Carla’s pussy. He rubbed slowly against her lips, up and down, until she let out an impatient whimper and dug her heels into his back.

—Put it in already, fuck —Carla moaned loudly, and Bruno heard every word through the glass—. Don’t make me wait.

The man obeyed. With one slow, lengthy thrust, he buried himself all the way inside her. Bruno watched the cock disappear into his neighbor’s pussy, watched her lips stretch around the thick shaft, watched Carla’s belly sink as she took it. Her mouth opened in a muffled scream, and her hands clutched the headboard.

Then her lover began to fuck her. At first with deep, widely spaced thrusts, letting her feel every inch of his cock, pulling almost all the way out before driving it back in. The mattress springs creaked. Carla’s tits bounced with every thrust, up and down, and she grabbed them with her hands, pinched her nipples, twisted them while moaning without the slightest shame.

—Harder —she begged him—. Fuck me harder, give it to me with everything you’ve got.

The man obeyed. He sped up until his hips slammed against her ass with a loud, steady slap-slap-slap. Sweat gleamed on his back in the candlelight. Carla was no longer moaning: she was howling, twisting, digging her nails into his arms, biting his neck. They changed positions without separating. He turned her onto her side, lifted one leg into the air, and kept thrusting into her from the side, one hand squeezing a breast, the other covering her mouth when her screams threatened to grow too loud.

Bruno watched them move onto all fours. Carla got on her hands and knees on the mattress and offered him her pert ass, arching her back like a cat in heat. The man grabbed her hips, spat on her slit, and shoved himself back into her pussy in one stroke. He began hammering her from behind, every thrust lifting her off the mattress, while she let her head fall against the pillow, growling and drooling and saying filthy things Bruno could not quite make out.

At some point, without fully realizing it, Bruno discovered that he had unzipped himself, pulled out his hard, leaking cock, and was slowly pounding it against the glass. He was ashamed, hated himself for doing it, thought of Damián and the trust being betrayed, and yet he could not tear himself away from the window or release his cock. It was so tense it hurt. He rubbed himself with his dry palm, gritting his teeth and trying not to moan aloud.

And then something happened that completely disoriented him.

The lover slowed his thrusts, turned his head toward the foot of the bed, and spoke quietly, addressing someone Bruno had not seen.

—I think it’s a good time for you to come take care of your wife.

Who is he talking to? Is there someone else?

A third figure emerged from the gloom at the back of the room, naked, his cock already in his hand. Bruno recognized the profile at once. It was Damián. And he was neither angry, nor surprised, nor hurt. He approached the bed with a naturalness that said everything, climbed onto the mattress in front of his wife, and presented his stiff cock a foot from her mouth. Carla, still impaled from behind, opened her lips without hesitation and swallowed her husband’s cock down to the throat with the same hunger with which she had sucked the other man.

Bruno felt the ground shift beneath his feet. She isn’t cheating on him. They do it together. This is who they are. Another man is fucking her in front of him, and it makes his cock hard.

The two men began moving at once, one fucking her pussy, the other her mouth, and Carla let herself be used between them as if she had never done anything else in her life. The stranger gripped her hips and hammered her from behind; Damián held her head with both hands and fucked her mouth with short, deep thrusts. Carla’s moans emerged muffled around her husband’s cock, mixed with soft gags and drool.

Damián withdrew for a moment to catch his breath and placed his hands on the back of his wife’s neck. For one second, Carla looked toward the window. Bruno froze, his cock still in his hand. Their eyes met through the glass. She did not look away. She smiled with her mouth full of saliva and another man’s semen, and stuck out her tongue in invitation.

She had discovered him.

Bruno tucked his cock away as best he could, zipped himself up, catching his skin in the process, pulled away from the window as if it were burning him, turned around, and crossed the garden almost blindly, tripping over roots until he slipped through the door of his own kitchen. His heart felt ready to burst. His cock, still hard, rubbed against the fabric of his pants with every step.

***

Elena was still on the sofa, wearing her pink pajamas, her feet tucked beneath her body. She raised her head when she heard him come in.

—How was your walk? —she asked, without much curiosity.

—Quiet —he lied, dropping down beside her—. It’s chilly.

She cuddled against his shoulder and returned to her movie. Bruno closed his eyes. Behind his eyelids he could only see Carla looking at him, smiling with her mouth full, knowing. She recognized me. She knows it was me. She saw me jerking off.

The possibilities piled up in his mind. They could call the police. They could tell Elena. They could ruin his life with a single sentence. How was he supposed to explain to his wife that he spent his nights spying on the neighbors through their bedroom window, with his cock out?

He barely slept that night. Elena went to bed naked beside him, as always, and kissed him goodnight. He wrapped an arm around her waist and stared at the ceiling, thinking about what he never would have imagined of the couple across the way, his cock still only half-soft against his wife’s thigh.

***

The next morning, a sunny Sunday, Bruno was mowing the lawn in the backyard. Elena had gone grocery shopping, as she did every Sunday. The hum of the machine almost kept him from hearing the voice on the other side of the hedge.

—Hello, neighbor.

He turned around. Carla was crossing toward his property with two glasses of iced tea in her hands. She wore a light summer dress and a smile impossible to decipher.

—I saw you sweating with the mower and thought you could use something cool —she said, holding one of the glasses out to him.

—Thanks —he replied, his throat dry.

Carla took a sip without stopping her gaze from him, and her smile sharpened slightly.

—Bruno, I came to talk about last night.

His blood froze. He tried to get ahead of her, stammering out a clumsy excuse.

—I’m so sorry, really. I was just checking that everything was all right. I saw the house was dark and a light at the back, and I thought there might be a problem, a leak, a fire...

He knew he sounded ridiculous. Carla tilted her head, amused.

—How considerate, having a neighbor so attentive to us —she said, lowering her voice—. But I saw you perfectly, Bruno. Last night, beside the window, with your cock out. And I assure you, I loved having you as an audience.

He nearly choked on his tea. For a moment he was unable to form a word. In the end, only one came out.

—Yes.

Carla gave a brief laugh, without malice, almost tender.

—I thought so. Damián and I have been doing this for months. He likes watching as much as participating. He doesn’t mind seeing me fuck other men; on the contrary, his cock gets hard as a rock watching them put it in me. —She looked him straight in the eye—. I suppose you saw that part too.

Bruno nodded silently, unable to believe they were having that conversation in broad daylight, amid the smell of freshly cut grass and the distant hum of a sprinkler.

—I’d like to propose something —she continued, stepping closer—. What happens in our house stays between us. No one in the neighborhood needs to know. Do we have a deal?

—Of course —he hurried to say—. Absolutely. I won’t say a thing.

—Good. —Carla leaned in and gave him a soft kiss on the cheek. The brush of her body against Bruno’s arm raised gooseflesh on his skin, and, discreetly, she ran her palm over the bulge in his pants, squeezing it for a second—. Well, you’re getting hard again already. Good boy. —She smiled sweetly—. By the way, what time is Elena coming back from the store? There’s something I’d like to discuss with her.

Bruno’s heart gave a different kind of lurch. Something in Carla’s tone told him that last night’s conversation had not ended, but had only just begun.

—In a couple of hours, I suppose —he replied—. Do you want me to tell her something?

—No need. —Carla smiled again, that smile Bruno was beginning to fear—. I’ll tell her myself.

***

Elena’s car appeared in the driveway before Bruno could put his thoughts in order. The two women hugged as if they had been friends all their lives, and Carla, with astonishing naturalness, told her that she wanted to invite her out the following Friday. A girls’ night out, she said. Music, a few drinks, nothing out of the ordinary.

Elena lit up. She confessed with a laugh that she had not gone out without him in years, and thought it was a wonderful idea. Carla hooked her arm and, before leaving, turned toward Bruno.

—Why don’t you be a good husband and bring the groceries inside while I chat with your wife for a while?

Bruno carried the bags in silence, knowing Carla was playing with him, moving him around the board at her whim. When he finished and went back out into the garden, the two women were already disappearing among the hedges toward the house opposite.

It was an interminably long week. Elena spoke with Carla every day, on the phone or in person, and each day she seemed more excited about the blasted Friday outing. Bruno tried to find out exactly where they were going, but his wife brushed it off: a club, a few drinks, a little dancing.

It was not that he did not trust Elena. Carla was the one who unsettled him. He had the feeling she was not being entirely honest about the plans for that night.

***

On Friday, while Elena showered, Carla appeared at the door carrying a black plastic garment bag over her arm and a bag with shoes. She gave Bruno a smile he already knew far too well and went into the bedroom to wait for his wife.

They took almost two hours. When Elena finally came out, Bruno barely recognized her. She was wearing a tight red dress, far more daring than anything she had ever worn, with a deep neckline that left half a breast exposed and a skirt so short it barely covered her ass. Matching heels, stockings with a garter belt visible as she walked. Her hair was pinned up with loose curls, her lips painted red, glossy, obscene. She was dazzling and, at the same time, seemed like another person: a slut Bruno had never seen inside his own wife.

—Where are you taking her dressed like that? —Bruno asked, trying not to let the knot in his throat show.

—Don’t worry about Elena tonight —Carla replied sweetly—. If you love her, trust her. Isn’t that right, Elena?

Elena came over to kiss him on the lips, a slow kiss with tongue, unlike any kiss she had given him in years.

—Honey, I won’t be late. We’re just going dancing for a while. It’s been ages since I went out without you, and I really felt like it.

She picked up a small purse, kissed him again, and walked toward the door arm in arm with Carla. Before going out, Carla turned around one last time, wearing that smile that had gotten under Bruno’s skin.

—Damián will come by to keep you company for a while tonight. See you later.

The door closed, and Bruno was left alone in the living room, his heart racing, wondering exactly what he had gotten himself into the night he decided to approach that window.

Damián arrived an hour later with a bottle of wine and a couple of DVD cases under his arm. He greeted Bruno like someone visiting an old friend, poured them each a glass, and settled onto the sofa as if the house belonged to him.

—Our women went out looking very beautiful tonight —he remarked as he poured the wine—. We’ll be ready for them when they come back, don’t worry.

Bruno noticed that his hands were trembling as he held the glass. Damián smiled, switched on the player, and handed him one of the cases.

—Sit back and relax, Bruno. We have the whole night ahead of us.

And Bruno, not quite sure whether he wanted to run or stay, sat down.