The Neighbor My Husband Hated So Much

My name is Valeria and I was twenty-two when all this happened. Newly married, studying Communications at university, living in a house we hadn’t chosen ourselves but rather Carlos’s parents had.

Carlos. My husband. A financial consultant with well-tailored suits, orderly opinions, and a moral code that never bent. I loved him. Or that’s what I told myself when I looked in the mirror every morning.

We had moved to that quiet neighborhood at the beginning of autumn, one of those places where the hedges are always trimmed and the neighbors know exactly what time you get home. A neighborhood that bored me to tears.

And in that neighborhood, in the house at the back, lived Don Aurelio.

***

Carlos hated him from the first day.

—That guy is weird —he’d tell me every time he saw him peeking over the hedge—. The way he looks at you. I don’t like it at all.

I would smile and agree with him. It was the easiest thing to do.

But Carlos was right, of course he was. Don Aurelio looked at me. Always. From the veranda of his house, from his car as he left for work, from the pavement when I watered the garden plants. It was a shameless look, unhidden, direct as a punch. The look of a man who no longer had anything to prove and knew it. The look of a man who was already imagining how he was going to fuck me, and who didn’t care that I knew it.

He must have been about fifty-eight. Gray, short hair, big hands with prominent veins, that slow way of walking someone has when they’re in no hurry because they know things will come. He wasn’t handsome, not in the conventional sense. But there was something about his presence that took up space differently.

I told myself for weeks that I didn’t care. That I wasn’t thinking about him when Carlos touched me at night and I closed my eyes. That I wasn’t putting my hand between my legs in the mornings thinking about that look.

I lied to myself.

***

It was a Tuesday in July, in the middle of the afternoon. Heat that clung to the skin as if the air itself had weight. Carlos had left early for a meeting downtown and I was alone, unable to focus on the notes spread open on the dining room table.

I had put on very little because it was hot and I was alone: a short skirt that brushed my thighs, a thin strappy top that hinted at the lace bralette underneath. Nothing meant for anyone. Or that’s what I told myself.

I’d been walking around the house doing nothing in particular for an hour when the doorbell rang.

I opened the door and there he was.

Don Aurelio. With that look.

—Good afternoon, Valeria —he said. Deep, calm voice—. I’ve come to ask a small favor. I’ve run out of sugar and I have guests tonight.

It was the first time he had come up to me like this, in person, straight to the door. Until then we had only exchanged greetings from afar, just enough to keep up appearances.

Something in my chest tightened for a moment. And something between my legs too.

—Come in —I said. And I stepped aside to let him in.

***

I headed into the kitchen and he followed me. I could feel his steps behind me, slow, unhurried. The kitchen air suddenly felt denser, heavier. I knew perfectly well he was watching my ass as I walked, and I surprised myself by moving it a little more than necessary.

I opened the cupboard and started looking for the sugar on the top shelf. I had to stand on tiptoe. My top rode up, the skirt too. It was on purpose. We both knew it.

—Here it is —I said, lowering the jar.

When I turned to hand it to him, he was too close. A few centimeters away. His eyes weren’t on the jar. They were on my nipples, standing hard beneath the thin fabric of the top.

I said nothing. I didn’t move. The jar stayed between us like an excuse nobody needed anymore.

—You have a very beautiful house —he murmured, but he wasn’t looking at the kitchen.

I braced myself against the counter because I needed something solid behind me. He placed both hands on either side of me, on the marble, without touching me. Just closing the space. The difference between being able to leave and not wanting to.

—Carlos isn’t here —I said. My voice came out lower than I meant it to, stranger. More than a warning, it was information I was handing over to him.

—I know —he replied.

There was a silence. Short, loaded.

—You’ve been watching me for weeks —I said.

—And you’ve been letting yourself be watched for weeks.

I didn’t know what to answer. Because he was right.

He slowly lifted a hand and brushed aside the strand of hair falling over my neck. His fingers were rough, work-rough. They grazed my skin for just a second, but I felt that touch travel all the way down my spine to my panties, which were already soaked and he hadn’t even touched me yet.

I closed my eyes. Just for a second.

And when I opened them, his lips were a centimeter from my ear.

—You’ve spent all summer looking for something —he whispered—. Me too. I’ve spent weeks thinking about what you sound like when you come.

I didn’t wait for him to finish the sentence. I was the one who closed that distance.

***

The kiss was unlike any other I remembered. Not delicate, not careful. It was the kiss of someone who had been waiting a long time and no longer had patience for detours. He shoved his tongue deep into my mouth and bit my lower lip until I moaned. My hands went to his chest without a plan, without thinking, and from there slipped down on their own to the bulge straining hard against his pants. I squeezed it over the fabric and felt how thick he was. A gasp escaped me against his mouth.

He lowered one hand, shoved it under my skirt, yanked my panties aside and ran two fingers through my soaked cunt.

—You’re dripping, Valeria —he murmured against my neck—. You’ve been like this for months, haven’t you?

—Yes —I admitted. And I wasn’t even embarrassed.

He shoved two fingers into me at once. Without warning. I arched against the counter and let out a moan that didn’t sound like mine. He moved them slowly, curving them inside me, searching for that exact spot Carlos had never found. And he found it at once.

—Here —he said, and pressed.

My knees nearly gave out. He had to hold me up with his other arm around my waist so I wouldn’t fall. He kept fucking me with his fingers right there, in the kitchen, while he bit at my neck and I grabbed his wrist, not knowing whether I wanted him to stop or go faster. I came in less than a minute, shaking all over, clenching his fingers with my cunt and panting against his shoulder like a madwoman.

He lifted me off the counter as if I weighed nothing and lowered me to the floor, never breaking the kiss.

—Upstairs —he said.

We went up the stairs in clumsy haste. He took my top off on the landing, letting it fall. The skirt came off on the last step. He ripped off my bralette with a sharp tug and stopped for a moment to suck one nipple until I moaned against the wall. By the time we reached the bedroom, I was only in my panties, already useless, clinging to me from how wet they were.

The photo from our wedding was on the bedside table, facing the bed.

I didn’t turn it around.

***

Don Aurelio paused for a moment when he came in. He looked me up and down with that focused stare of his, as if he wanted to memorize every detail before continuing.

—You have bridal lingerie, I suppose —he said—. The set you wore that night.

It was a question and an order at the same time.

I opened the wardrobe without saying anything. I took out the white lace set I had worn on our wedding night, still tucked in its cloth bag. I took off my soaked panties in front of him, without turning around, without seeking privacy, and put on the white garter belt, the stockings, the sheer corset that barely covered my nipples, and the lace panties with the opening at the front. He watched me as I put it on and he watched me while taking off his belt, unhurried.

His expression changed. Something in his eyes grew darker, more focused.

He came closer slowly and began to run his hands over what he had been watching for months. Every curve, with an almost methodical attention, as if he had all the time in the world. He squeezed my tits over the lace, pinched my nipples until I gasped, slid a hand down my belly to my cunt and felt again how wet I was. As if I didn’t have a husband outside who could come back at any moment.

As if that were, precisely, half the pleasure.

Not even with Carlos had I felt seen like this. Carlos looked at me with affection, with tenderness, with that respect that in the end looks far too much like indifference. Don Aurelio looked at me with hunger. Without filter. Without apologies. He looked at me the way a man looks at a woman he’s going to fuck until she breaks.

And I was burning.

***

What happened next I remember in clear, scattered fragments, without a clean chronology.

I remember his hands on my hips, firm, without hesitation. I remember kneeling in front of him because I wanted to, because I needed to. I yanked down his pants and underwear and his cock sprang free, thick, hard, bigger than I had expected. I stared at it for a second with my mouth open.

I had never done that with Carlos. He had never asked me, and I had never offered. With Don Aurelio, the possibility of not doing it never crossed my mind. I took him with both hands —it wouldn’t fit in one— and slowly ran my tongue from his balls to the tip, tasting the salty flavor, the hot skin against my tongue. I licked the tip in circles, wrapped it all up with my lips, and took it into my mouth as far as I could. My mouth filled, it reached the back of my throat, and there was still cock left outside.

I started sucking him slowly, up and down, my tongue pressed against the underside. He let out a low grunt that made my thighs press together. I sucked him faster, more eagerly, letting the string of saliva drip down my chin, looking up at him from below while I ate his cock whole. I sucked his balls, one and then the other, licking them slowly while I kept stroking him with my hand. Then I took him back into my mouth, this time swallowing him until I gagged, until tears filled my eyes and he had to hold me by the nape.

He rested a hand in my hair. He didn’t push. He just left it there, with weight, with presence. Then he did push. He fucked my mouth slowly, setting the rhythm, each thrust a little deeper, until I relaxed my throat and let him in all the way. I could feel him throbbing against my palate.

—Good girl —he murmured—. That’s it.

When he pulled his cock out of my mouth, my chin was shining with saliva and my face was flushed. He lifted me by the shoulders and laid me back on the bed.

***

Then he was the one who took control. He ripped off my lace panties in one yank —leaving the garter belt and stockings on— and spread my legs apart calmly. He knelt between them, looked at my open, wet cunt for a second, and lowered his mouth without saying a word.

The first lick made my whole back arch. He licked me slowly, bottom to top, with his tongue flat, tasting me as if it were the first time he had ever tasted a woman. Then he focused on my clit. He sucked it with his lips, wrapped it in his tongue, drew slow, precise circles until I started trembling. He slid two fingers inside me again, curved them looking for that same spot, and kept sucking my clit without stopping.

Not with urgency but with method, with a precision that left no room to think about anything else. It took me less time than I expected. I clutched the sheets, squeezed his head with my thighs without meaning to, and let out a sound I didn’t recognize as my own. I came in his mouth, flooding, and he didn’t stop licking until I arched and begged him to stop.

—That’s it —he said, lifting his head for a moment to look at me, his beard shining with me—. There.

Then he entered me slowly, letting me set the pace at first. He sank in centimeter by centimeter, letting me feel every millimeter of that thick cock making its way inside me. When he reached the hilt he stayed there for a moment, still, looking into my eyes, and I felt myself being filled in a way I had never known. Then he began to move. Slowly at first. Deep, almost all the way out, deep again. I dug my nails into his back, wrapped my legs around his hips, pushed too, searching for him.

Then not so much. He grabbed my hips and sped up. He fucked me hard, with dry thrusts that made me moan against his shoulder, that made the headboard bang against the wall, that made the bedframe creak. I bit his neck, scratched him, begged for more. I came again with him inside me, squeezing his cock with my cunt, and I heard him groan while he held himself back.

—Not yet —he told me in my ear—. There’s still more.

***

Later, without anyone saying it out loud, I got on all fours on the bed. We both knew it.

He began patiently, preparing me slowly, without rushing. He spit on his fingers, ran them over my ass, put one in first, then two, curving them, opening me from the inside. I bit my lip and buried my face in the pillow. Then I felt the tip of his cock there, thick, pressing where Carlos had never reached. When I felt the pressure in the place Carlos had never reached, I clenched my teeth and took a deep breath.

—Tell me if I should stop —he said.

—Don’t stop.

He pushed in slowly. I felt myself opening for him, the flesh yielding millimeter by millimeter, that exact mix of pain and something else that wasn’t pain. It was slow at first. Very slow. He went in a little, pulled out, let me breathe, went in a little farther. My knuckles went white gripping the headboard and I could feel how each thrust gave his cock more ground.

Then not so much. When he was all the way inside he gave me a moment and began to move. Slowly at first, pulling almost all the way out and sinking back in. Then with rhythm. Then with hunger. And at some point between discomfort and pleasure I stopped knowing where one ended and the other began. I clung to the headboard with white knuckles, biting my lip so I wouldn’t scream, and I surprised myself by wanting more, pushing back against his hips, wanting the depth, wanting all of him. He slid one hand around to the front, between my legs, and started rubbing my clit while he kept fucking me from behind. With the other hand he grabbed my hair and tugged, throwing my head back.

—Tell me you like it —he growled.

—I like it —I panted—. I love it. Don’t stop. Don’t stop, please.

He sped up. He fucked my ass with firm, dry thrusts, each one to the hilt. The sound of skin against skin filled the room. I moaned without being able to control it, soaked through, clenching the sheets with my teeth when I could and screaming when I couldn’t. I came for the second —third, fourth, I had already lost count— time with a moan I couldn’t hold back, shaking all over, coming on his fingers while he kept driving into me from behind.

***

I didn’t hear the front door.

I didn’t hear the footsteps on the stairs.

The first sign was the shadow in the bedroom doorway. I looked up and there was Carlos, briefcase still in his hand, not moving. I was on all fours, wearing the bridal garter belt, with Don Aurelio’s cock buried deep in my ass, mascara smudged and mouth open.

I stayed still for a second.

Then, deliberately, I moved again. I pushed back against Don Aurelio’s hips, never taking my eyes off my husband, and let out a long, filthy moan while staring him in the face.

I don’t know what I expected him to do. Shout, maybe. Leave. Slam the door shut and go downstairs to the car. But Carlos didn’t do any of those things. He stayed in the doorway, watching, with an expression it took me days to decipher. I saw his hand drift toward his crotch without him realizing it.

Don Aurelio didn’t stop. On the contrary. He gripped my hips harder and thrust deeper, slower, letting Carlos see every centimeter going in and out. He leaned over my back, without stopping fucking me, and spoke in my ear loud enough for Carlos to hear.

—Your husband is watching —he said—. Do you want me to finish inside you so he can see?

—Yes —I panted—. Yes. Finish inside me.

Don Aurelio came inside me while Carlos watched us from the door. I felt every throb of his cock emptying into my ass, the hot spurts one after another, and I came again just from that, moaning softly, my eyes fixed on my husband’s.

When it was all over, Don Aurelio slid out slowly, letting Carlos see the white trail spilling down the insides of my thighs. He stood up calmly, gathered his clothes without rushing, and left the room walking past Carlos without saying a single word, as if he had just gotten off a bus.

Carlos and I didn’t speak that night. Nor the next. But that same night, when he got into bed, he reached for me under the sheets, touched my still-sensitive cunt, and came against my thigh in less than two minutes without saying a word.

***

On the third day, while we were having breakfast, Carlos set his coffee on the table and said:

—He can come back whenever he wants.

He didn’t add anything else. He went back to the newspaper.

It took me a moment to understand what he had just said. And when I did, I felt a mix of things I couldn’t quite name: surprise, something that might have been shame but wasn’t, and over all of it a new excitement unlike anything before. My panties were wet right there at the breakfast table.

Then I discovered that Carlos didn’t mind what had happened. Quite the opposite. Seeing me with that man, with that specific man he had hated from day one, with that thick cock going in and out of me while he watched from the doorway, had awakened something neither of us had dared to name until then.

Don Aurelio came back the following Friday. And the Tuesday after that. And the Saturday after that.

Sometimes Carlos was home when he arrived.

That, I came to discover, was exactly what both of them liked.