My First Time with the Neighbor Who Spied on Me

My name is Valeria, and I’m eighteen years old. I live with my dad and my two older brothers, Rodrigo and Mateo, who are twins and are twenty. Mom separated from Dad when I was little, moved to another city, and started a new life. There are four of us, and although it isn’t always easy, we manage well.

I’m slim-waisted and broad-hipped, a combination I inherited from my maternal grandmother. Small tits, large, dark nipples that harden at the slightest touch, and a round ass that looks disproportionate compared to the rest of me. I had never had a boyfriend, nor had I ever looked for one. I had kissed two boys from high school, once with each of them, and in both cases the feeling had been more or less the same: a lukewarm formality that left no mark.

Dad renovated my room a couple of years ago. He expanded the space, moved a wall, and built me a narrow dressing room with a window overlooking the side garden and the property on the other side. On the other side was a house just as large as ours, separated by a narrow yard with a half-collapsed wooden fence. For as long as I could remember, it had always been empty.

It was in that dressing room that I started masturbating, around the age of eighteen. At first, only with my fingers, exploring more out of curiosity than urgency, learning to open the lips of my pussy and find my clitoris with the pad of my middle finger. Then I bought a small vibrator, paid for it in cash, and hid it in my backpack as if it were contraband. There was something about doing it there, in front of the window with darkness on the other side, that I couldn’t quite put into words. It wasn’t exactly kink. It was more like the freedom of being alone with something no one else knew about me.

One night in mid-autumn, while I was using the vibrator with my legs resting on the arms of the armchair and my eyes half-closed, the light in the study of the house next door came on.

I didn’t react immediately. My brain took a second to process what my eyes were seeing. When it did, I saw a man standing in front of the illuminated window. Dark-haired, tall, around twenty-five or twenty-six, with his pants halfway down his thighs and a long, thick cock in his fist. He was stroking it with the same concentration I used when touching myself. And he was watching me.

I should have closed the blinds. I even thought about it, with the part of my brain that was still capable of reasoning. But the other part, the one feeling the vibrator buzzing against my clitoris and the gaze of a stranger fixed between my legs, took control. I spread my legs wider. I pulled the short shirt I was wearing all the way up and lay naked against the back of the armchair, my pussy open and the vibrator pressed against my swollen lips.

He picked up the pace. I saw his fist begin to move faster over the cock that looked enormous against his palm, and how he grabbed his balls with his other hand, possessively, which made me squeeze my thighs around the vibrator. I pushed two fingers inside myself without stopping looking at him, moving them upward and curling them while the vibrator stayed pressed to my clitoris. He brought a drop of saliva to his palm and kept going, without slowing down, without taking his eyes off me.

I came with my mouth open and without making a sound, grinding myself against the vibrator as if I wanted to take it all the way inside. Then I came again, almost immediately, my legs trembling and my pussy dripping onto the fabric of the armchair. And a third time, slower now, deeper, when I saw him close his eyes for a second and cum against the glass of his window, his cock throbbing and white jets striking the pane. When I closed the blinds, he was still there, breathing, watching me. Lying in bed, my body still trembling and my thighs sticky, I thought I had never felt anything like it. Not just because of the vibrator. Because of him.

***

The ritual repeated itself throughout the following week. Same time, same place. The light on the other side would come on, and we would begin, each from our own window, without ever exchanging a single word. It was absurd, and it was exactly what I wanted. I didn’t know his name. I knew nothing about him. He was only that illuminated figure on the other side of the yard, that cock I learned to recognize from memory, and the way he watched me while I watched him.

Until Friday afternoon, when the twins set the table and Dad came out of the kitchen drying his hands, saying we should wait because guests were coming. I knew nothing about any guests. I went to open the door because I was closest to it.

There were two people. A short-haired blonde woman with light-blue eyes and a smile so open it was almost uncomfortable. And behind her, hands in his pockets and wearing that same calm expression as always, the man from the window.

I felt the floor shift beneath me.

“Hi, I’m Carmen,” the woman said. “I work in the same office as your dad. This is my husband, Diego.”

All I could do was say my name and step aside to let them in.

Diego entered without hurrying. He looked at me the same way he had from the window: without shame, without any apparent discomfort. As if there were nothing strange about the situation. I, on the other hand, took nearly ten minutes before I could hold a conversation without the trembling in my voice showing.

During dinner, Dad told us that he had been the one to find them the house when it became available for rent. Carmen had been working in the same department as him for three years. Diego was a writer who worked from home, which explained why he almost never left the study.

“He’s very disciplined,” Carmen said, with genuine pride. “Sometimes I take his lunch in to him because otherwise he forgets to eat.”

Dad mentioned that they had been together for four years. Diego was twenty-seven, Carmen twenty-five. I ended up sitting beside Diego for the entire dinner.

I kept my attention on my plate or on whatever the others were saying. But at some point, when the conversation between Dad and Carmen grew animated and the twins began arguing about something unrelated, Diego let his hand drop onto his own thigh, very close to mine, and I didn’t move my leg. I felt the tip of his little finger brush my skin beneath my dress, barely, and my pussy suddenly grew wet against the chair.

They left around eleven. Carmen went out first, saying goodbye to everyone with that smile of hers. Diego shook my hand when he said goodbye, as if it were the most normal thing in the world. His palm was dry and warm. When the door closed, the twins were already talking about something else. Dad was clearing the table. I went to the bathroom to breathe.

***

Three days later, Dad announced the trip. It was a project he had been talking about for months, and they had appointed him head of the team. Four days, another city, an early-morning flight. He offered to let me stay at Mom’s house.

“Dad, I have assignments to turn in. I’m staying here.”

“Call me if you need anything. There’s food and money in the account. The boys are going to be with their girlfriends, but they’re an hour away.”

“I’m fine, Dad. Go without worrying.”

The twins left that same afternoon. Dad took the early flight the next day. The house fell silent before noon. That night I showered, put on my robe without anything underneath, and went to the dressing room as I did every other night. The light in the study next door was already on.

I started as usual. But before I could get anywhere, someone knocked on the back door, the one leading into the kitchen. I waited a second. They knocked again. I tied my robe and went to open it.

Diego stood on the threshold. His hands were at his sides, his shoulders relaxed. No urgency.

He kissed me before I could say anything. A long, direct kiss, without asking permission but without pushing either, the kind that made it perfectly clear what would come next. He slipped his tongue in slowly, twisted it around mine, and bit my lower lip when he pulled away. When he finished, he drew back only a few inches.

“You’ve never been with anyone?” he asked quietly.

I shook my head.

“No one’s ever sucked you, no one’s ever fucked you, nothing?”

“Nothing.”

“I’m not going to be gentle,” he said. “I’m going to fuck you as if you already knew what you were doing.”

Something about that sentence should have frightened me. Instead, it seemed like the most honest thing anyone had said to me in a long time. I let him in.

***

He lifted me onto the kitchen counter in one motion, took off my robe before I had finished processing what was happening, and calmly spread my legs. He looked over my entire body without hurrying, pausing at my tits, my already-hard nipples, and the trimmed patch of hair above my pussy. He crouched down and sucked one nipple first and then the other, his tongue flat, biting lightly until a short, high-pitched moan escaped me, a sound I didn’t recognize as my own.

“You’re so delicious,” he said softly, speaking to the skin between my tits. “And I can smell your pussy from here.”

Then he knelt in front of me.

What he did with his mouth wasn’t what I expected. It wasn’t urgent or clumsy. It was methodical. He started at the sides, with his tongue flat and slow, sucking my outer lips one at a time, biting them with his teeth covered, without going straight to where I needed him to go. He opened my pussy with two fingers and blew lightly over my clitoris without touching it, and I lifted my hips, searching for him. I had to brace both hands against the counter to keep from falling.

He pushed his entire tongue inside me, pulled it out, and pushed it back in, fucking me slowly with his mouth. Then he moved upward, always with that calculated slowness, and licked my clitoris with the tip of his tongue, circling around it without quite touching it. I was already dripping; I could feel the wetness running down the cleft of my ass to the cold stone of the counter. When he finally reached my clitoris fully, he did it with such exact pressure that it stole my breath, sucking it as if it were a piece of fruit, working it from underneath with his tongue while two of his fingers entered and withdrew from my pussy, searching for an inner spot I hadn’t known existed.

I came with my eyes open, staring at the ceiling light, listening to my own sound without recognizing it. I screamed—briefly, but I screamed—and my legs closed around his head without me telling them to. He didn’t stop. He kept sucking me while I came, dragging me into a second, smaller wave attached to the first, leaving my hands trembling against the stone.

Diego straightened up, wiped his mouth without hurrying, and looked at me with my wetness shining on his chin.

“Now you,” he said.

I climbed down from the counter, my legs still unsteady, and knelt in front of him. I undid his belt with clumsy hands. When I pulled down his pants and briefs, his cock sprang forward, hard and thick, the vein visible underneath and the swollen, purplish head jutting out. It was bigger than I had estimated from the window. I took a moment to orient myself, but arousal did the work that experience couldn’t.

I started with my tongue, slowly licking him from his balls to the tip, savoring the salty, slightly bitter taste of the pre-cum leaking from the head. I wrapped my lips around the glans and lowered myself only a little, testing how far he could go without making me gag. He took hold of my hair, not to push me, only to gather it behind my neck.

“That’s it, with your mouth wide open,” he murmured. “Stick out your tongue, put it underneath. That’s it.”

I adjusted my rhythm as his breathing told me what worked. I closed one hand around the base because he wouldn’t fit all the way inside me, and with the other I held his balls, heavy, squeezing them lightly. I sucked the head while moving my hand up and down, then took him as deep as I could until my throat closed and I had to pull him out, my eyes full of tears.

“Don’t stop,” he said at one point, his voice lower than before. “Like that, looking at me.”

I raised my eyes without taking his cock out of my mouth, and he hissed softly. Saliva dripped from his chin and reached my nipples. I continued, faster, feeling him grow even harder inside my mouth, until he took me by the shoulders and brought me to my feet.

“If I keep going like this, I’ll come on your face, and I don’t want to come yet.”

He took me into the living room. There was a large mirror on the far wall, and he positioned me with my back against his chest, my legs resting over his, completely spread toward the glass. It was a position I had never imagined. I could see all of myself: my tits rising and falling, my pussy open, pink, and glistening, and beneath them his cock pointing upward, resting against the cleft of my ass. He ran the glans over my lips, up and down, wetting himself with my moisture, without putting it inside yet.

“Look at you. Look at how I’m going to put it in you.”

When he penetrated me, he did it slowly, with steady pressure that cut off my breath. I felt every inch opening me from within, my flesh yielding with difficulty around something too thick, too long, pushing inside where nothing had ever entered before.

It hurt. Not a little. I closed my eyes, and Diego covered my mouth with his palm, without force but without removing it. He waited. He didn’t move until my body began to yield on its own, until the pain sharpened and became a strange, full pressure. He moved his hand from my mouth to one of my tits, squeezing it from behind and playing with the nipple between his thumb and forefinger.

When I opened my eyes, he was already looking at the mirror. I looked too. I saw something I had never seen before: me, completely surrendered, with a face I couldn’t control, my mouth open, a thread of saliva hanging from my lip, and his body behind mine holding everything together, his cock buried to the base between my legs.

When he began to move, what had been pain transformed into something more difficult to describe. It wasn’t exactly pleasure. It was more like being completely present in something for the first time. He drove into me from below, with the rhythm he wanted, while holding my legs apart against his so I couldn’t close them.

“Look at yourself,” he whispered in my ear. “Look at how your pussy eats my cock.”

I obeyed. I didn’t recognize my own face. I saw his cock emerge from me, shining with threads of my wetness, then sink back in until it disappeared. I brought one hand to my clitoris almost without thinking. He watched me do it in the mirror and smiled faintly.

“That’s it, touch yourself. Come with my cock inside you.”

I came like that, with two fingers on my clitoris and his cock pounding into me without pause, feeling my pussy clench around him in spasms. Diego growled softly against my neck and sank his teeth into my shoulder without breaking the skin.

He took me through several positions during the next hour. He put me face down on the carpet, my ass raised, and fucked me from behind, gripping my hips and driving into me so hard that my tits bounced and struck against each other. He made me ride him on the armchair, my hands braced on his chest, moving on top of him by myself while he watched my tits rise and fall. He lay me on my side with one leg in the air and pushed into me slowly, biting my calf. Each position was different; each taught me something new about what my body could feel. I came twice more before he decided to stop, once screaming into the arm of the chair, the other time silently with my eyes closed and my pussy dripping down my thighs.

***

Diego was the one who took the bottle from his trouser pocket. Lubricant. He placed it on the coffee table without explaining anything. I looked at it. Then I looked at him. Then I looked at the marks his fingers had left on my hips. I understood what was coming.

I was afraid. I was curious too. Both feelings were real, and neither canceled out the other.

“If you want me to stop, say so,” he said. It was the only guarantee he offered.

I got on all fours in front of the mirror, my knees spread on the carpet, my ass raised and arched, my face almost touching the floor. Diego knelt behind me. He opened my buttocks with both hands, unhurriedly, and looked at me for a few seconds before lowering his head. He took his time. He started with his tongue right there, at my hole, circling around it with the tip, and I buried my forehead in the carpet because I didn’t know what to do with the sensation. He alternated with a slowness that made me forget where all this was going, moving up to eat my pussy, then back down, until I no longer knew which hole he was licking at any given moment.

Then came one lubricated finger, cold at first, barely inserting the tip and waiting. He moved it in circles, pushed a little farther, and waited. Then two, slippery, opening me slowly. Then three, without hurrying, waiting for my body to adapt before adding more. He touched my clitoris with his other hand while stretching me, and the combination made me squeeze against his fingers almost without realizing it.

When he finally tried in earnest, when I felt the tip of his cock resting there instead of his fingers, I no longer had the same fear as at the beginning. But I also knew it would be different.

It hurt anyway. A sharp, different pain from before, deeper and stranger, which made me bury my face in the back of the sofa and grit my teeth. Diego didn’t move forward until my body allowed it on its own. He stayed there, the tip barely inside, one hand on my hip and the other returning to my clitoris, tracing slow circles until I stopped clenching and he could push a little farther. He waited motionless, with a patience I hadn’t expected from someone who had shown up at my door without warning.

When he began to move, it was very slowly. Only halfway, entering and withdrawing, letting my ass learn. What had been nothing but pain gradually gave way, transforming into something more complex, layered, mixing discomfort with a fullness I had never experienced. I felt completely full, opened in a new way, and each thrust pulled a different moan from me. I raised my eyes toward the mirror and saw myself again: on all fours, mouth open, tits hanging and swaying with every thrust, and behind me Diego, his cock shiny with lubricant as it entered and withdrew from my ass. Different, unrecognizable, and yet more myself than ever.

“Touch your pussy,” he said hoarsely. “Put your fingers inside.”

I obeyed. I lowered one hand and pushed two fingers into my pussy while he kept fucking my ass, and the feeling of being full everywhere at once tore a long, hoarse moan from me, a sound I hadn’t known I could make. He began moving deeper, more steadily, and I started pushing my hips backward, seeking him, stopping myself from enduring and beginning to want.

“That’s it, slut, that’s it,” he murmured behind me. “Come again.”

I came with my fingers inside my pussy and his cock buried in my ass, in a spasm so long I thought it would never stop. I felt him tense too, felt him increase the rhythm for a few more thrusts, and then felt the heat of his semen pouring thickly inside me while he continued moving slowly until he had emptied himself completely.

I don’t know how much time passed. I know that when he finished, my forehead was resting on the cushion, my arms barely responding, and a mixture of lubricant and semen was running down the insides of my thighs.

***

Diego dressed without ceremony. He came over, ran his hand through my hair once, and said something brief that I didn’t quite retain. He left through the back door without waiting for an answer.

I stayed on the living-room floor for a long while, staring at the ceiling, my legs still spread and my pussy and ass throbbing at the same time. I was sore. I felt my body as something I had just discovered, a house with rooms I hadn’t known existed. And I thought, with a strange clarity for that hour and that situation, that nothing I had imagined since that first illuminated window had resembled this.

It was more difficult. More real. And it was exactly what I wanted.