I Sunbathed Naked So My Neighbor Would See Me

The last few weeks had been so exhausting that I even asked for overtime at the office just to keep my mind occupied. The idea was not to think, not to be left alone in the yard, not to look toward the neighbors’ house. But life has a way of throwing everything into disorder when you least expect it.

A driver ran a stop sign and hit my son Tomás, who was riding home on his bicycle. Tibia and fibula fractures, plus a cervical strain. The doctors promised a full recovery in seven or eight weeks, so here I was, on leave to look after him, splitting the trips to rehabilitation with my husband. The only thing that mattered was that the boy got better.

That afternoon the heat was thick and sticky. At last, the routine was beginning to settle down. Gonzalo had gone with Tomás to his appointment and my daughter Lucía was studying at the library. After two weeks of tension, I had earned a couple of hours for myself.

I pretended to hesitate, but I had made up my mind before I even climbed the stairs. I was dying to lie in the sun. Besides, the neighbors behind us were vacationing on the coast, so I wouldn’t have to worry about any prying eyes.

I put on the tiniest bikini I owned, three red triangles joined by strings that left almost nothing to the imagination. I looked at myself in the mirror and liked what I saw: at my age I was still firm where it mattered, with the smooth, golden skin of a woman who loved the sun.

Then a crazy idea occurred to me. The house next door was empty, I was alone, and the garden was enclosed. I could lie down completely naked. I grabbed a towel, some sunscreen, and a bottle of cold water, and went outside before I could change my mind.

I was nervous. What I was about to do was transgressive and, if anyone found out, it would be the end of my reputation in the neighborhood. I checked the balcony of the adjoining house: no one there. I took a deep breath, untied my bikini top, and pulled down my bottoms, shameless, before stretching out on the sun lounger.

I opened the novel Gonzalo had given me for my birthday, a stormy story about a high-class woman and a man from the wrong side of town. I read a couple of chapters with my heart racing, until my arousal forced me inside to take a cold shower. I came back out, lay facedown to tan my back, and fell asleep feeling more alive than I had in years.

***

On Sunday I went outside again. It was becoming a habit. This time, though, I decided to remain topless, because a shred of modesty still refused to disappear completely. A light breeze was blowing, far more pleasant than the oppressive heat of the previous day. I settled in with my book and let myself be carried away by the story.

I was so absorbed in reading that time flew. As I turned a page, something moved among the bushes and caught my eye. It wasn’t the flowers. I looked up toward the neighbors’ balcony, and there he was.

Damián.

My heart lurched and I plunged my eyes back into the book, pretending to read. His parents must have gone away without him. It made sense: the boy was around twenty-four, studied in another city, and had come home to spend the summer. Naturally, he would rather stay behind than travel for three weeks with his parents. I reproached myself for not anticipating it.

But then I realized something more troubling. The day before, when I had lain there naked, I’d looked at the balcony and no one had been there. If he had seen me, it had been from behind a window, or from the hedge. He had been watching me the whole time.

Breathe. Calm down. He’s already seen everything. I was an adult woman, I told myself; I had lived too long to hide from a twenty-something. Going back inside would have been as cowardly as it was suspicious. It was my garden, and I intended to enjoy it as I pleased.

In fact, I was fascinated by the thought that he might be watching me at that very moment. I felt that familiar tingling begin down below and spread through my body, and my heart sped up at a wicked idea: I could give him a show. I could be the highlight of his summer. As long as I pretended not to know he was watching, I would be innocent of anything.

Without thinking twice, I bent down to pick up the sunscreen. I straightened and began applying it to my arms slowly, glancing over the top of my sunglasses. He was still there. I rubbed my legs with calculated slowness, from my ankles all the way up my thighs, as sensually as I could. I knew what I was doing, and my body responded: my pulse pounding, my pussy already wet and throbbing between my thighs, my nipples taut as if the air itself were licking them.

Then came the main event. I poured sunscreen into my palm and spread it over my tits, kneading them with both hands, squeezing them together, certain I had him hypnotized. I pinched my nipples with a mischievous smile, tugging them and twisting them between my fingers until a sigh escaped me. Then I lowered my fingers to my belly and the edge of my panties, brushing the cleft through the fabric, and spread my legs slightly so he could make out the dark stain of wetness forming down there. I imagined Damián with his cock out, beating it while he watched me, and the thought alone made me lose control.

I pulled my panties aside and exposed myself completely to the sun and to his gaze. I licked one finger and lowered my hand to my pussy, running it over my swollen lips and parting them slowly so he could see how they glistened. I began rubbing my clitoris in slow circles, clenching my teeth so I wouldn’t moan too loudly. I pushed two fingers inside me and the effect was immediate, as though that was exactly what I’d been missing: I felt them slide in without resistance, soaked. I pulled them out and brought them to my mouth to suck them, knowing he was following every gesture. I lowered them again and this time pushed them all the way in, fucking myself with one hand while I squeezed a breast with the other. I raised my hips from the lounger, offering him my open pussy, and sped up my fingers until my palm slapped wetly against my pubic bone. I let out a hoarse moan and froze for a moment, the muscles in my belly trembling, before collapsing, silently repeating my thanks to him.

When I opened my eyes halfway, what I saw made me arch my eyebrows. My neighbor’s cock was poking over the balustrade, thick and hard, and a heavy string of semen hung from the tip without falling. He had come too, watching me and jerking himself off at the same pace as my fingers. I blinked, incredulous and euphoric, knowing I was solely responsible for the cum dripping between the bars. Then he disappeared from the balcony without a word.

Will he tell anyone? Will he give me away? I closed my eyes, forced myself to calm down, and, against all expectations, fell asleep. When I woke, no one was there. I gathered my things and went inside, leaning against the kitchen counter with a cold drink, still smiling at what had just happened.

***

Five days later I was at the supermarket, distracted, with the feeling that I was forgetting something I couldn’t quite identify. I filled the cart, paid, and returned home convinced I had everything.

While I was putting the groceries away, I realized: the eggs. I hadn’t bought any, and I needed them for Lucía’s birthday cake; she was turning twenty-two the next day. I cursed under my breath. Driving back to the supermarket for a few simple eggs was absurd. Better to ask a neighbor.

Damián came to mind at once. I dismissed the idea, of course, but I didn’t feel like knocking on anyone else’s door: I had never gotten along with the rest of the neighborhood and, above all, ever since that afternoon I hadn’t stopped thinking about him, or about his cock dripping from the balcony.

On second thought, I could ask him. Nothing had to happen, and it would be fun to see the look on his face when he opened the door. It was what good neighbors did, wasn’t it? I could always pretend that what happened in the garden had been nothing more than a game. The excitement had already made the decision for me.

I went upstairs to my bedroom, opened the bottom drawer of the dresser, and searched in the back. After all that time, I turned the object between my fingers, surprised by how daring I had been when I was young. It was a black anal plug, with a wide base and a tapered body, larger than I remembered. I lubricated it with saliva and a little cream, pulled down my panties, leaned over the bed, and slowly worked it into my ass, breathing deeply each time the widening stopped me. When the base rested against my buttocks, I straightened up, feeling that pressure filling me, a tingle I had thought long extinguished, and looked at myself in the mirror.

I was wearing a white blouse and a long gray skirt, a discreet outfit that wouldn’t draw anyone’s attention in the street. I resisted the urge to change: this was better. But I stopped in the bathroom to touch up my makeup, put on burgundy lipstick, and dabbed on some perfume. Wanting to look good wasn’t a crime. My green eyes were shining, and my brown hair fell gracefully over my shoulders. Beneath it all, the plug reminded me with every step of what I was going to seek.

I put on a nice pair of shoes and went out. The heat had eased, for which I was grateful. I walked around the block, hiding my anxiety, trying to make sure no one guessed where I was going or why. For God’s sake, I’m only going to ask for a few eggs. I climbed the steps, took a deep breath, and rang the bell.

A few seconds passed. No one. I rang again, frustrated, praying he was there. Just as I was descending the first step, I heard the door.

—Yes?

I turned around. Damián was panting, having just run there. Worn jeans, a rock-band T-shirt, socks. He had dressed in a hurry.

—Hello, Damián —I said.

—Hello, ma’am —he replied, more expectant than surprised.

—I came to ask your mother for some eggs. I forgot to buy them, and I need them for a cake.

—Uh… yes. I mean, no, she’s on vacation —he explained breathlessly—. But I have some. Wait. Yes, yes, I do. Come in if you like; I’ll go get them.

—Don’t rush, there’s no hurry —I said, already in the entryway.

I hadn’t been inside that house in years, but everything was still the same. I followed him to the kitchen, where there were pizza boxes and plates in the sink.

—Bachelor pad —I joked.

—I just like pizza —he replied sheepishly. —How many do you need?

—Eight will be enough.

He handed me the eggs and looked me in the eyes for the first time. There was something about him that fascinated me. I asked for a glass of water just to prolong the moment, and when he gave it to me, his eyes slid down my cleavage for a fraction of a second. Well, well. The fish has taken the bait.

I drank slowly, creating a silence that made him even more nervous. We talked about his parents’ vacation, the city where he studied, and what he did to entertain himself. He told me he liked photography. I placed my hand openly on his shoulder, commenting on how responsible he was. I felt comfortable; I was having fun.

—You’re very kind. You’ve saved my life —I said, leaning in to kiss his cheek.

The kiss left him frozen, his arms half-raised, not knowing what to do. Instead of leaving, I remained in front of him, holding his gaze.

—Will you show me some photographs? —I asked, looking for an excuse not to leave the house.

—Sure. I have some in the living room.

I followed him. He took an envelope from a drawer and tried to choose which ones to show me, but I moved so close that my breast brushed his arm. The first was a mountain landscape with a solitary tree. Beautiful, really, though I had been hoping for something more risqué. The more I saw, the more impressed I became. He had talent to spare.

—You’re very good. Have you entered any competitions?

—Not yet, ma’am… Marisa —he corrected himself, blushing.

I took a photograph of his hands under the pretext of looking at it against the light and let it slip as if by accident. I bent to pick it up before he could, and instead of standing, I raised my eyes. Damián’s gaze was fixed on my cleavage: it was incredible what a difference a simple blouse made with just one button undone. From his angle he must have been able to see my tits completely, braless, hanging inside the blouse.

He was stunned, just as I had expected. Instead of straightening up, I put one hand on his belt and lowered his zipper with the other. His eyes widened.

—I don’t mind showing you more at all —he murmured, growing more confident—. I’m glad you’re interested in photography. My mother is sick of my pictures.

The comparison with his mother annoyed me, and I reacted brusquely. I’m not his mother. To make sure he understood, I slipped my hand inside his boxer shorts and struggled until I pulled out his cock. It was firm, straight, and thick, much larger than anything I had seen at home in years. I realized that it had been a quarter of a century since I had encountered a cock like that, hard and vibrating enough to fill my palm. I stroked it a couple of times from the base to the glans, and a clear drop welled at the tip.

—Do you like it? —he asked with disarming sincerity, as though he could hardly believe it.

Instead of answering, I knelt, stuck out my tongue, and cleaned the drop with one slow lick. I looked up at him from below, his cock resting against my cheek.

—Of course I like it —I said—. But what matters is whether you know how to use it.

I opened my mouth and swallowed half of it, closing my lips around the shaft and sucking hard as I withdrew. He gripped the base himself and calmly brushed my lips, tracing the outline of my mouth with his swollen glans before pushing in again. I became aroused when he gathered my hair into an improvised ponytail and began guiding my head, setting the pace. I had done this before, but with Gonzalo it was a chore. With Damián it was something else: his clothes excited me, his defiant accent, how different he was from my husband, the salty taste filling my tongue each time he reached the back of my throat.

I relaxed my jaw and let him push deeper, until the tip struck my throat and tears clouded my eyes. He pulled out, a thread of saliva hanging between my lips and his glans, and shoved it back in with a hard thrust. Now he was fucking my mouth, and I let him, moaning around his cock, squeezing my thighs with the plug buried in my ass, reminding me how full I was from behind as well. I licked his balls, sucked them one by one, and climbed back up his shaft, licking it all over and marking it with my burgundy lipstick.

Then a memory slipped into my mind. Twenty-five years earlier, another man had done exactly this to me, standing in front of a young woman who had been me, with a backpack tossed beside a sofa much like that one. That man had been Damián’s father. I had known the moment he opened the door, in the cut of his jaw, in the way he looked at me. I recognized the bloodline.

Damián asked me to stop, saying he wouldn’t last much longer like that, but I was too aroused. I slipped one hand beneath my skirt, pushed my panties aside, and found my pussy drenched, streaming down my thighs; I wasn’t going to last either. I rubbed my clitoris with two fingers while continuing to suck him, massaging his balls with my other hand and feeling them tighten in my palm.

—You’re not going to stop —he growled, almost pleading, his voice strained.

I did more than not stop: I sped up the hand between my legs so I would come first, sinking three fingers inside and pressing my thumb against my clitoris. A powerful spasm ran through me, my pussy clenching around my fingers, and before I had completely faded, I returned to him just as he began to contract. I felt the first jet of hot, thick semen strike my palate, followed by three or four more, one after another, filling my mouth with cum until it threatened to overflow. I squeezed my thighs, savoring every jerk of his cock against my lips, and came again while swallowing everything he had emptied inside me. I cleaned the tip with my tongue, sucking until the last drop, and showed him my empty mouth.

Damián stood there open-mouthed and speechless, stunned, his cock still hard and glistening with saliva.

—Lie down on the sofa —I suggested with a gentle slap.

He got rid of his sneakers, jeans, and underwear, and stretched out on the dark leather. I remained standing for a moment, admiring his erection, still firm and pointing toward his navel, considering climbing on top. But first I wanted to see whether he knew how to take care of me. I smiled when I saw his face as I hiked my skirt up to my waist and showed him my naked pussy, wetness shining between my open lips, with the black base of the plug peeking out between my buttocks behind it.

—Are you hungry? —I asked, sliding a finger through my slit, gathering the thick fluid, and giving it to him to suck.

He nodded enthusiastically and licked it clean. I lifted one leg, climbed onto the sofa, and positioned myself over his face, slowly lowering myself until I sat on his mouth. Oh, God, I heard him mumble against my lips before his tongue reached me. He lacked experience, but made up for it with a restless tongue that licked, nibbled, and sucked, varying its movements constantly. He began at my lips, running over them up and down, then drove the tip of his tongue into my entrance, penetrating me with short licks. He moved up to my clitoris and caught it between his lips, sucking it and shaking it from side to side with his tongue.

—That’s it —I panted, rocking my hips against his mouth, rubbing my pussy over his face without shame.

He gripped my buttocks with both hands and spread them wide, exposing the plug. I felt one of his fingers play with the base, barely pushing it, and the pleasure doubled all at once. I tugged at his hair, rode his face, and demanded more with moans I could no longer control. He didn’t stop. I grabbed his head with both hands and rubbed my pussy against his mouth until my moans became screams and the orgasm split me in two. My thighs trembled around his face and I collapsed against the armrest, drenched and unable to move, feeling my juices run down his chin. I had to make an effort to open my eyes and see his proud smile, shining with me, and his cock, which now seemed enormous to me, pulsing against his belly.

—Do you want to keep going? —he asked, stroking himself slowly, making no attempt to hide his desire.

When I didn’t answer, he sat up, laid me on my back, and spread my legs wide. He placed the tip at my entrance, but the angle was wrong and he had to adjust himself, searching for the opening with his glans until he found it and slid inside with a single thrust.

—Fuck —I moaned as I received him whole, shuddering at his fullness and feeling him make his way deep inside me.

With the plug still inside me from behind, the sensation was brutal: both holes filled, the wall between them compressed, every inch of my pussy stretched around his cock. He praised how easily he had entered, how hot and tight my welcome was. He was appreciative, another point in his favor. He found a steady rhythm, pulling almost all the way out and sinking back in to the balls, enjoying the rocking motion, and brought me to an unexpected climax two minutes later, the plug amplifying it until it became unbearable. I screamed against his shoulder, digging my nails into his back, and he kept thrusting while I came apart beneath him.

Then I noticed his movements becoming more urgent, his breathing ragged, and decided to take control again.

—Wait.

I held him back just enough for him to pull out of me and for me to remove the plug. I tugged slowly on the base and felt that hollow emptiness as the wide part passed through my ring. I didn’t know whether he had ever been with a girl from behind, and I didn’t care, but he went pale when he saw my rosy, half-open entrance, dilated and throbbing before his eyes.

—Use this —I said, putting the tube of cream in his hand—. Start with your finger, slowly.

I got on all fours on the sofa, my ass held high and my face resting against the armrest. I felt his lubricated, cool finger run along my crack, circle my hole, and sink in to the knuckle. I moaned into the leather, pressing myself against his hand. My moans aroused my student. Soon there were two fingers opening me up, generous with cream, sliding in and out with an obscene squelch. He curled them inward, searching for a spot, and when he found it a cry escaped me.

—There, like that, more —I panted, shaking my ass in his face.

When I was about to lose my mind, I ordered him to stop and put it in me. It had been ages since anyone had entered me there; I knew I had to relax.

—Slowly —I warned him.

Following my instructions, he spread more cream over his cock, coating it from base to tip, and rested the glans against my hole. He pushed in a few inches, withdrew, applied more cream, and advanced a little farther. Braced against the back of the sofa so that the only weight on me was that of his erection, he didn’t let himself get carried away: he measured the tension he was putting me under, moving back and forth without stopping, patiently widening the path until my body yielded and allowed him to slide easily inside, until I felt his balls bouncing against my soaked pussy.

It was his turn to moan, amazed, gritting his teeth as he felt me closed tight around him. His face was concentrated, so he didn’t see me look over my shoulder at him with pride. Other men had had the time, place, and opportunity to fuck my ass; none had managed it.

He began to move slowly, pulling almost all the way out and sinking back in without haste, letting me adjust to each thrust. The sensation was unlike anything else, a dense fullness, a pressure radiating through my entire lower belly. He grew bolder and sped up; the squelching of cream and flesh filled the living room.

—There! —I screamed, reaching underneath myself and rubbing my clitoris desperately while he opened my ass with his cock.

Then he decided to play with me. Cruelly, he pulled all the way out, let it throb against my open hole for a second, and then slammed it back in to the hilt, forcing me to admit aloud how much I liked it.

—Say it —he growled, one hand buried in my hair, pulling my head back.

—I love it, I love you fucking my ass, don’t stop —I moaned, squeezing my own nipples, with no dignity left.

He turned me onto my side, caught one nipple in his mouth, and bit it while thrusting hard again, sliding his cock into my ass from that new angle. He lifted my upper leg and rested it on his shoulder, holding me open like a book and drilling me without pause. The pleasure was so sharp that my eyes grew half-lidded; I entered a kind of trance, drugged by the brutality with which he took me, two fingers buried in my pussy while he destroyed my other hole.

The end came with one final assault. He wrapped his arms around my waist and, in a sudden burst, lifted me against him, sitting me on his lap while he knelt on the sofa. In that position his cock went even deeper. He began bouncing me on him, gripping my tits to hold me up, and suddenly he went rigid beneath me. I felt the first burst of hot semen inside my ass, then another and another, his erection convulsing deep inside me. I screamed, still rubbing my clitoris, until another orgasm exploded over his, squeezing him with my ass without meaning to, milking every drop from him. I begged incoherently between screams until he collapsed with me onto the leather, his cock still buried, still dripping inside me.

When he pulled out, slowly, I felt a warm river run down my thigh, his semen escaping from my hole, along with a savage satisfaction I couldn’t remember ever feeling. I had never experienced anything like it. I turned, planted a kiss on him, and our mouths devoured each other, reluctant to part, mingling our tastes. Then I rested my head on his sweaty chest.

—Did you like it? —I asked, because sooner or later I would want to do it again.

—Are you kidding? —he panted. —It’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me.

—Thank you —I replied sincerely—. I hope we can understand each other. But I have to go now; I need to bake a cake.

I put my clothes back on, tucked the soaked plug into my pocket, and tidied myself up in front of the entryway mirror until I once again looked like an exemplary housewife, with my ass still dripping beneath my skirt.

—Thank you —he repeated with a short, tender kiss. —I mean, thank you, ma’am. You.

—One thing —I said at the last moment—. Your father… has he never told you about me?

—No. Why?

—Nothing. Just something I was wondering.

On the way home I understood that I hadn’t been foolish to let myself be seduced by his father twenty-five years earlier. The foolishness had come afterward, when I had permanently rejected certain pleasures because I associated them with the man who had made me happy and then cast me aside, leaving me with a void I had thought impossible to fill. Impossible, no, I smiled, feeling the pleasant itch still lingering between my buttocks and the warm semen sliding down my thigh. All it had taken was waiting for the next generation.