My New Apartment Had a Forbidden View

I arrived in the capital on a Tuesday with two suitcases, a signed employment contract, and the optimistic conviction that finding an apartment would be easier than it turned out to be. The hostel where I spent my first night charged me eighty euros, which, for someone newly hired and still waiting for their first paycheck, was practically a declaration of war.

I spent the following morning walking around the offices, photographing “For Rent” signs and calling numbers that quoted impossible prices. Nine hundred euros, eleven hundred, eight hundred and fifty plus expenses. The city had its own way of letting you know you were from out of town.

In the middle of the afternoon, when I was already thinking of giving up for the day, I saw a laminated piece of paper stuck to the glass of an entranceway on a side street. “APARTMENT FOR RENT. INTERESTED PARTIES CALL...” Beneath it was a phone number written in blue pen. I called without much hope.

They told me they could show it to me in half an hour. Price: three hundred euros a month, electricity and water included.

“There has to be some catch,” I told myself.

But I waited on the sidewalk, looking over the neighborhood. Supermarket, pharmacy, a café with a terrace, and a kiosk with a striped awning. A functional neighborhood, the kind that still existed. Twenty-five minutes later, a man in his fifties arrived, with the face of someone who had seen too much and a key ring that could probably open half the city. He introduced himself as Don Tomás. He had managed the buildings in the block for more than twenty years.

“The apartment belonged to the doorman,” he explained as we went up in the elevator. “He retired two years ago, and the residents’ association decided to rent it out to cover part of the expenses.”

He pressed six. Then he told me we had to go up one more floor on foot, using a narrow staircase that ran around the machinery shaft.

The apartment was small but complete: a living room with a dormer window, a bedroom, a kitchen built into a double cupboard, and a bathroom just big enough for what was necessary. The windows looked outside, and from up there—the building was one of the tallest in the block—the view took in rooftops, distant bell towers, and the outline of the skyscrapers downtown.

“What do you think?” Don Tomás asked.

“There’s some defect you haven’t told me about,” I said.

“The elevator noise,” he admitted, unfazed. “You notice it a little during the day. At night, nothing.”

At that moment the elevator started up. The sound was annoying but bearable. For someone who would spend the day out, it wasn’t a real problem.

“I’ll take it,” I said.

***

That same afternoon I signed the contract, paid the first three months, and collected the keys. I went back to the hostel, settled the bill, and carried my suitcases the three blocks separating the two buildings. I closed the apartment door for the first time and let out a long sigh. I was twenty-three, with the feeling that something was finally beginning to fall into place.

I put my clothes away in the closet. Connected the router. Went over to the living-room window to see what I could see.

Mostly rooftops. Antennas. The tops of some trees in the street below. My building was the tallest in the immediate vicinity, which gave the view something of a lookout tower.

And then, about ten meters away on the other side of the space between the buildings, the terrace.

Wide, rectangular, covered in green artificial grass. Two wooden loungers, a folded umbrella leaning against the wall. In the right-hand corner, a glass-enclosed room containing what looked like a jacuzzi filled with clean, transparent water. The kind of terrace you see in home-decor magazines and never expect to find in real life, much less directly in front of your window.

On one of the loungers, stretched out beneath the late-afternoon sun, was a completely naked young woman.

On her back, arms spread, her skin brown and even, like someone who had spent the entire summer in the sun. The only thing she wore was a black leather collar with a metal ring centered at her throat. Her tits fell open to either side under their own weight, round, with dark, erect nipples pointing toward the sky. Her legs were slightly spread, and from my window I could see her shaved pussy, her lips parted, shining with sweat or tanning oil or something I still didn’t know how to name.

I stood paralyzed for several seconds. I stepped away from the window. Then I went back.

***

I was twenty-three and had watched porn, like anyone else. But this was different in a way that took me a while to identify: nobody had decided that I was supposed to see it. There was no camera, no production. There was a real woman on a real terrace ten meters from my window, and I was the only accidental witness to something that clearly had been meant to have no witnesses.

The young woman turned onto her stomach. She did it with the same calmness with which someone changes position while reading. She propped herself on her elbows, stretched out her arms, and crossed her ankles. Her round, firm ass was exposed to the sun, and she didn’t seem to care about anything in the world. Then she rubbed her lower back with one hand, slowly, her palm sliding down to her buttocks, squeezing them and barely spreading them apart. Her pussy appeared between her legs again, this time from behind, her inner lips slightly swollen. She put two fingers in her mouth, sucked them, and lowered her hand to rub herself there without hurry, making slow circles over her clitoris. There was something deliberate about the movement, as if she knew she was allowing herself to be watched even if she didn’t know by whom.

I pulled down my pants without thinking. My cock had already been hard against the fabric from the moment I saw her turn over. I spat into my palm, grabbed it at the base, squeezing hard, and began masturbating while standing in front of the window, slowly, letting my eye do the work. My hand moved up and down from my balls to the glans as I watched her slip in one finger, then two, watched her hand move in a short, deep back-and-forth between her buttocks, watched her arch her back slightly whenever she found the spot she was looking for. She came silently, with barely visible spasms in her hips and a deep breath I thought I could hear even though I couldn’t. She pulled out her soaked fingers, brought them to her mouth again, and sucked them as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

I still hadn’t come. When the young woman got up and went inside, it took me a moment to react. My cock was still throbbing in my hand, hard, with a thick drop hanging from the glans. I got into the shower, turned on the hot water, and kept jerking off beneath the spray until I came against the tiles with a muffled groan, still seeing the image of her open ass and her fingers moving in and out. I lay naked on the bed and fell asleep before it had grown completely dark.

***

The elevator noise woke me around six in the evening.

I went to the window as if there were anywhere else to go.

The terrace was empty. The loungers unoccupied. The jacuzzi water caught the last rays of sunlight.

Then the door connecting the terrace to the interior opened.

First to come out was a woman of about fifty wearing a cream-colored satin robe that moved with her. Tall, with slow, confident movements and dark hair gathered up without much effort. In her right hand she held a leather leash. At the other end of it, advancing on all fours across the artificial grass, was the young woman from the previous afternoon. She was naked again, her tits swinging with the rhythm of her crawl, her ass raised, and between her legs I could make out her pussy already glistening, as if they had prepared her inside before bringing her out.

The older woman stretched out on the lounger with the naturalness of someone repeating a routine. The robe fell open at the sides without her bothering to adjust it. She was naked underneath: large, sagging breasts falling to either side, a soft belly, and a thick, dark pussy with neatly trimmed hair that opened as she spread her legs. She tugged the leash gently, merely indicating direction, guiding the younger woman until she placed her head between her open legs.

There were no words I could hear. Only the precise gesture of someone who didn’t need to explain anything.

***

I moved away from the window just long enough to lower the blind until only a narrow slit remained. Then I went back.

The young woman’s mouth was buried in the older woman’s pussy, and she worked slowly, with the concentration of someone who knew exactly what she was doing. I could see the back of her neck moving in a short, steady rhythm, her tongue appearing from time to time when she lifted her face to drag it flat across the entire vulva before plunging back into the clitoris. She sucked hungrily but without desperation, alternating long strokes with short sucks on the bud, and sometimes lowered herself to push her whole tongue inside the older woman’s pussy, her nose rubbing above it, until the older woman arched her hips and pushed her face with both hands.

The woman had large breasts, large and sagging to either side when she reclined fully. She pinched one nipple with her left hand, squeezing it between her fingers until it grew hard and purple, while her right hand returned to the younger woman’s hair, not pressing, simply resting there as if marking her presence. Suddenly she pulled the younger woman’s hair upward, separating her from the pussy so she could breathe, then pushed her back in with a sharp thrust. The younger woman let herself be handled, mouth open and eyes closed, her chin shining with saliva and juices.

I had pulled down my pants during the first minute. I masturbated standing in front of the slit, my hand moving slowly over my erect cock, resisting the urge to speed up. I held my balls with my other hand, squeezing them to the precise point of pain to delay my orgasm. My heart pounded with an intensity that wasn’t just physical arousal: it was also the clear awareness that I was witnessing something private, something belonging to others, something that belonged to an order I was not part of and had entered without being invited.

That added a layer porn had never given me.

The older woman came without a sound, only a long tremor in her thighs and one hand clenched in the younger woman’s hair, holding her against the pussy until the last spasm had passed. Then she released her, caressed her cheek with two fingers, and the young woman raised her drenched face, strings of saliva and juices hanging from her chin, and smiled as if she had just been rewarded.

I moved away from the window before reaching the limit. I folded the pillow over the edge of the bed, lay facedown, and rubbed my cock against it with my eyes closed, mentally replaying what I had just seen: the collar, the leash, the older woman’s hand pulling her hair, the tongue buried almost to the nose, the complete surrender of that girl who let her mouth be used like a toy. I thrust my hips against the pillow two, three, four times and came in streams, soaking the entire pillowcase, biting the fabric so I wouldn’t cry out. When I finished, I went back to the window, my body still shaking and my cock dripping semen between my legs.

***

The man appeared about twenty minutes later.

He came through the same door wearing a dark bathrobe, which he removed as soon as he stepped onto the terrace and left folded over the back of the empty lounger. He was around fifty, with the build of someone who had once been athletic and now carried his years with a certain solidity, without apologizing for it. He was naked, and from the window I saw his cock: thick, long, hanging heavily between his legs, already half-swollen from whatever he had been watching before coming outside. He approached the two women.

He gave the young woman a sharp slap on the ass. I heard it even from ten meters away, a short, clean crack against the skin. The red imprint of his hand remained on her buttock.

She immediately moved aside and knelt, her back straight, tits out, eyes facing forward. She didn’t protest or hesitate. It was the posture of someone who knew exactly what was expected at every moment.

The man kissed the older woman on the mouth. Long and unhurried, his palms on either side of her face. She answered with one hand on the back of his neck and the other moving directly to grab his cock, squeezing and jerking it while they kissed, with a firm wrist movement that made him completely hard within seconds. The young woman waited on her knees a meter away, still, looking straight ahead, as if the waiting were part of the ritual rather than an interruption.

After a moment, the man turned toward her and stood in front of her face, his hard cock pointing at her mouth.

***

The young woman parted her lips and took the man’s cock into her mouth without anyone having to tell her how. She swallowed it halfway in one motion, slipped out her tongue to lick his balls underneath while she still had him inside, then came back up, sucking with an audible suction. She did it calmly, maintaining a steady rhythm that gradually built toward something: first only the glans between her lips, her tongue circling the crown, then half the cock, then all of it down to her throat, with soft gags and tearful eyes that didn’t stop her. Thick strings of saliva fell from her chin to her tits, and she took him back in, drenched. The man let it happen with his hands on her shoulders, not guiding her, merely holding her lightly. From time to time he closed his fingers around the back of her head and pushed her face all the way down, holding her there for three or four seconds until she gave a dry gag, then released her so she could breathe.

The older woman had sat up on the lounger and was watching. Not as a passive spectator. She stroked her pussy with two fingers spread in a V around her clitoris, unhurriedly, like someone feeding what she already knew would last. Like someone directing from a distance and deciding when to change the scene.

I had been masturbating for a while, leaning against the window frame. I had promised myself I would last longer than they did, or at least until the scene changed shape. I stroked myself slowly, stopping whenever my body demanded more, running my other hand over my testicles to distribute the tension. I passed the tip of my thumb over my hypersensitive glans and forced myself to release my cock whenever I felt I was getting close, squeezing the base with two fingers like an improvised cock ring.

The woman made a gesture with her hand. The young woman released the man with a wet sound as his cock came free, strings of saliva connecting her lips to the glans, and went onto all fours on the grass, ass raised, back arched, pussy open and dripping between her thighs.

***

The man positioned himself behind the young woman, gripped his cock at the base, ran it up and down her pussy to wet the glans, and drove into her in a single thrust, all the way to the hilt. The young woman opened her mouth in a silent O. He began fucking her with long strokes, pulling almost all the way out before sinking back in, and with every thrust her ass bounced with a meaty splash that reached my window. The older woman came around from the other side, sat on the lounger with her legs spread wide, and pulled the young woman’s face into her pussy, grabbing her by the hair. Without words, without visible instructions. The young woman was caught between them: him moving inside her from behind with increasingly sharp thrusts, her tongue buried in the older woman’s sex, nose crushed against the hair, breath broken by every thrust from the man as he pushed her head against the woman’s pussy.

It was a threesome built on a hierarchy all three knew by heart. There was no ambiguity in any gesture. Every position, every movement answered to a prior agreement, to rules that had existed before I arrived at the apartment and would continue to exist after I left. The young woman didn’t seem like a victim of anything. She seemed exactly where she had chosen to be.

The man withdrew for a moment, grabbed the young woman by the hips, spread her buttocks with his thumbs, and spat on her ass. He ran his wet glans over her asshole, pressing without entering, playing with the tight ring, then sank back into her pussy, this time with more force, each thrust making a liquid sound and striking his scrotum against her clitoris. The young woman moaned against the older woman’s pussy, and the moans vibrated inside her, making the older woman throw her head back and squeeze her nipples with both hands.

That disturbed me in a way it took me time to accept. Not the explicitness of what I was seeing, but the clarity of the roles. The collar. The leash. The kneeling posture while she waited. And yet there was no gesture of resistance, no sign that it wasn’t completely chosen by all three of them.

I emptied myself for the third time that afternoon when the man pulled out of the young woman, jerked his cock two or three times with his hand full of juices, and moved toward the older woman’s face. He came over her in thick, lengthy streams, dripping from her chin and wetting her tits, and she received it with her eyes open and mouth parted, sticking out her tongue to catch the last threads. I came at that instant against the glass, steadying myself with one hand on the frame, letting the semen slide slowly down the window. Then the older woman tugged the leash. The young woman approached on all fours and cleaned the woman’s face and tits with her tongue, finishing what remained with the same methodical calm with which she had done everything else. She even licked the semen that had run down between the woman’s breasts, swallowing in silence.

***

All three went into the glass-enclosed room.

I remained at the slit in the blind, watching them settle into the jacuzzi: the couple sitting side by side, the water bubbling around their bodies. The young woman sat opposite them, still wearing the collar. They kissed each other and caressed one another, including her whenever they decided to. The man’s hand disappeared underwater between the older woman’s legs, and she closed her eyes and rested her head on his shoulder. The young woman, submerged up to her chest, let them stroke her wet hair, and every so often she ducked underwater between one person’s legs or the other’s, coming back up for air with a meek smile. It was a strangely domestic scene. Like a family finishing the day with the ritual they shared.

I moved away from the window.

I sat on the edge of the bed. I was exhausted in a way that wasn’t physical. It was the exhaustion of having processed too much in a few hours, of having seen something my brain was still trying to catalog while my body had already decided it liked it, without asking anyone’s permission.

***

I started work on Monday. I arrived on time, greeted my coworkers, learned the systems, and answered the obligatory questions about where I came from and what had brought me to the capital. I smiled when appropriate. I was productive.

But part of me was still at the window.

The terrace opposite became part of my routine without my planning it. Some days they were there. Other days they weren’t. When they were, things varied: different roles within the same invisible hierarchy, different positions, a different distribution of what each one gave and what each one received. I saw the young woman tied facedown on one of the loungers with the older woman sitting on her face, slowly rocking against her mouth while the man fucked her open, exposed pussy. Another afternoon I saw the man on his knees eating out the older woman while the young woman, behind him, licked his asshole and masturbated his cock between his legs with both hands. The young woman with the collar never looked toward the surrounding buildings. The older woman did sometimes, but always in another direction. Or at least that’s what I told myself.

With time I began leaving the blind half-open before coming home, as if my body prepared itself before my mind did. I ate little. I showered. And if there was movement on the terrace opposite, I remained standing in front of the slit, my cock in my hand, for as long as necessary.

It wasn’t what I had imagined when I moved to the capital looking for a new life.

But it wasn’t something I would have rejected, either.

Don Tomás had been right about one thing: I wasn’t going to find anything like it.