I Spied on My Neighbor and Ended Up in a Threesome with Her Girlfriend

I live on the sixth floor of an old building in central Valencia, one of those renovated apartments that used to be two-hundred-square-meter mansions and that developers have now chopped up into forty-square-meter mini-homes. The advantage—and also the vice—is the large windows overlooking the inner courtyard. Less than ten meters separate me from the windows opposite. In August, all the neighbors live with their blinds raised, sweating, and we learn one another’s routines without meaning to.

I met the woman on the fifth floor in the elevator a few days after she moved in. Around thirty-two, brunette, wearing black leggings and a tight T-shirt that showed the outline of her nipples. Her name was Marina, though I learned that later. When she got out of the elevator, I kept staring at her ass until the doors closed. I went back to my apartment thinking that summer was going to be a long one.

The first time I saw her through the window was by chance. I was pissing with the blind raised, unafraid that anyone below might see me, when suddenly I spotted her crossing her living room in shorts, barefoot and wearing a camisole. I stood still, my cock still in my hand, watching her pass and pass again. When she disappeared down the hallway, I felt like a complete degenerate. That feeling didn’t last long: twenty minutes later I was in the kitchen looking for her from another window.

The August heat turned me into a systematic peeping tom. My kitchen, bathroom, and bedroom offered three different angles of her living room. By the second day I already knew her routine: she sat on the sofa watching television with her legs tucked beneath her ass, got up to drink water, then sank back into the cushions. There wasn’t much more to it, but I watched as though it were a show premiering just for me.

On the third night, what was bound to happen happened. It must have been around ten when I saw her lie down on the sofa, staring at the television. Suddenly she put one hand over her chest, on top of her shirt, and the other between her thighs. I switched off the kitchen light so she wouldn’t see me and approached the window like a thief. She put her fingers in her mouth, coated them with saliva, and slid them down inside her shorts. A minute later she had yanked off her shirt and was bare-breasted, with medium-sized, firm tits and dark, very hard nipples.

She pulled her panties down to her ankles, kicked them off, and spread her legs on top of the sofa. I watched her slide two fingers into her pussy and pull them out glistening. She sucked them again. She pinched one nipple while rubbing her clitoris with the other hand, faster and faster. Without realizing it, I had pushed down my pajama bottoms and was jerking off at the same rhythm, my face pressed to the glass. When she arched her back and began to tremble, I clenched my teeth and came against the sink, ejaculating for so long that I managed to spatter the tiled wall. I went to bed thinking that woman couldn’t be real.

For a week I kept peeking out every few minutes, hoping for a repeat. I had no luck, but one afternoon I saw her clothes hanging from the pulley line that crossed the courtyard toward the neighbor opposite. Among the T-shirts and socks hung a pair of pink panties. I made a hook from a piece of wire tied to a cord, threw it from my window, caught the elastic, and hauled them up. When I had them in my hand, I smelled them. They only smelled of fabric softener, but it didn’t matter: I took them to my room and jerked off again like a teenager.

The next day, a Friday afternoon, we ran into each other in the entrance hall. We went up together in the elevator. She looked me up and down with a smile that was half cocky, half amused, and just before we reached her floor she said:

—When you get home, look out the bathroom window. I’m going to give you a present.

—A present?

—Surprise.

The doors opened and she walked out, swaying her ass without looking back. I went upstairs, nervous as hell, tossed my jacket onto the sofa, and headed straight for the kitchen, which was my best lookout. There she was, standing a meter from the wall so I could see her whole body. She took off her skirt, rolled her shirt up above her navel, and pulled down her panties. She began rubbing her pussy with them until they were soaked with her juices, then pushed them inside herself a couple of times, pulling them out each time even messier. When they were unrecognizable, she went over to the sill, hung them from the line with a clothespin, and gave me a sign with her chin: they’re yours.

I got the hook out again. I lowered them to my window with trembling hands. When I looked out again, she was touching herself and gesturing for me to put them in my mouth. I obeyed. I pressed the panties against my face, smelled them, and began masturbating with my other hand while watching her spread her legs in the frame of her window. We came almost at the same time, her biting her lip, me shooting against the radiator. She closed the window, and I remained dazed, my cock dripping and my tongue tasting of her.

I don’t know what went through my head. I cleaned myself with paper towels, grabbed the wet panties and my keys, and went down one floor. I rang the fifth-floor bell. She opened the door wearing a shirt and no panties, with the same teasing smile.

—Having fun looking for the best angle? —she asked.

—I haven’t been able to help myself since I first saw you —I replied, holding her gaze.

—Well, I loved knowing I had such a motivated spectator —she said, leaning against the doorframe—. What I didn’t like was thinking you were recording me.

—I didn’t record you. That seemed like going too far.

She stepped aside and let me in. She served me a cold beer, and we sat on the same sofa I had seen a hundred times from above. As soon as I settled in, she put her hand on my fly and squeezed me through the fabric.

—Wow, it’s not as hard as I expected —she said with a laugh—. I can imagine where the first load went.

—Into your panties, basically —I replied, holding them out to her—. Here. Consider them returned.

—Keep them. Along with the ones you stole the other day. A trophy.

She unbuttoned her shirt and exposed her tits without ceremony. Her nipples were already hard, asking for trouble. I grabbed one between three fingers and squeezed hard. She drew a deep breath.

—If that’s the hardest you know how to squeeze, we’re not going to understand each other —she shot back.

I dug my fingernail in and twisted her nipple until she moaned. I lowered my head onto her other breast and bit her without mercy, tugging with my teeth. She grabbed my hair and pulled my head back. She liked to play rough, and I was going to find out how far.

I stood up and yanked off my pants and briefs. My cock was half-hard, and she took it into her mouth without looking away from me. She started at the tip and swallowed it whole, until her throat touched my balls. Saliva ran from the corner of her mouth, and she spread it over my balls herself to keep them glistening.

I jumped onto the dining chair with one foot on the table so my cock was right at face level.

—Suck it comfortably —I told her.

She swallowed me to the base, slobbered over my balls one by one, and returned to my cock. I gripped her head with both hands and began fucking her mouth, seeking her throat with every thrust. She looked up at me through tear-filled eyes, enjoying it. When I felt I was going to come too soon, I pulled her away, turned around, and showed her my ass. She spread it with her hands and drove her tongue into my asshole, pressing at the opening as if she wanted to penetrate me with it. I lasted a minute, then climbed down.

I stripped her and laid her across the dining table. I spread her thighs as far as they would go—which was very far—and licked her pussy until it was dripping. I put in two fingers, then three, then four. She was so horny they slid in with barely any resistance. I pushed her ass to the edge of the table and searched for her anus with my other hand. With two fingers in her pussy and two in her ass, I fucked her completely, squeezing her perineum from inside. She began to scream. When she was about to come, I put my hand around her throat and squeezed just enough to cut off some of her air. She came, arching her entire body. I released her neck, pulled out my fingers, and buried my tongue in her clitoris until she came again; the second orgasm hit her like a jolt and made her thighs tremble.

I lowered her from the table, turned her around, and laid her torso across the wood with her ass in the air.

—I’m going to put it in your ass —I told her.

—Put it in already.

It went all the way in with one thrust. She took it as though it were nothing, pushing backward and tightening her sphincters to squeeze me harder. I fucked her hard, striking her buttocks with open hands until they were red. When I felt I couldn’t hold back any longer, I pulled out of her ass, made her kneel on the floor, and poured my entire load into her mouth. She swallowed it in gulps without taking my cock from her lips, looking up at me with the triumphant expression she had worn since opening the door.

***

We spent a while drinking beer on the sofa with our clothes half on, talking as though we had known each other forever. That was when she told me about her girlfriend. Her name was Yasmín, she was Moroccan, almost six feet tall, and a committed lesbian. They had been together for years, and Marina, who was bisexual, fantasized about having a threesome. The other woman had never wanted to: men made her distrustful, and semen disgusted her. They had tried recording themselves on a cell phone to make a homemade video, but the result was a disaster: out of focus, badly lit, impossible to edit. Marina proposed a deal. I would record it with my camera. She would convince Yasmín. If we were lucky, I would join them at the end.

—And if we’re not lucky, what then? —I asked.

—If we’re not lucky, you get to watch two women fuck right in front of you, and then I’ll take care of you the way I just did.

I accepted without thinking.

The following Saturday I packed the Canon, two small GoPros, two tripods, and a couple of new memory cards. Before going downstairs, I took a blue pill, just in case. At four in the afternoon I was on the fifth floor having coffee with Marina and Yasmín. The Moroccan woman was imposing: high heels, a tight leather skirt, and a white T-shirt that showed through over her dark nipples. She shook my hand suspiciously. I explained the filming plan: two small fixed cameras on either side, while I used the Canon to look for close-ups. They agreed with conspiratorial smiles.

I started the GoPros and sat down with the Canon in my hands. Marina took Yasmín by the waist and thrust her tongue into her mouth without warning. The other woman responded by pulling her shirt off her shoulders. They undressed between kisses in front of me, never stopping looking at each other. Marina sat her on the edge of the table and opened her legs. The other woman’s pussy was shaved, already glistening. Marina crouched down and began eating her slowly, moving up and down her lips, alternating with two fingers that slipped in and out with a wet slapping sound. Yasmín pinched her nipples and moaned, biting her lip.

I filmed from the floor, looking for the angle of Marina’s ass as she crouched and Yasmín’s face as she came. They changed positions without anyone asking them to. Marina lay on her back on the rug, legs spread, and Yasmín climbed on top of her in a sixty-nine, her ass over the other woman’s face. They went at each other for quite a while, eating one another until both twisted and writhed. The Moroccan woman came first, grinding her ass against Marina’s mouth, and Marina answered immediately afterward, arching beneath her body.

That was when Marina sat up and beckoned me with her finger.

—Come here. Yasmín wants to watch you fuck me.

I stripped completely, left the Canon fixed on a tripod aimed at the table, and went over to them. The pill had already taken effect: I was hard as a bar. Yasmín’s eyes widened when she saw it. Marina braced herself against her girlfriend’s hip and offered me her ass.

—Fuck me in front of her —she said—. Let her get a good look.

I drove it into her in one thrust. I began pumping hard, gripping her hips, while Yasmín sat on the edge of the table with her legs spread, sliding a pink dildo into her pussy without taking her eyes off us. Marina screamed with every thrust. When I felt the friction disappearing because she was so wet, I found her asshole with my thumb and pressed until it gave way. I pulled out of her pussy and shoved it into her ass in one motion. I tore a hoarse cry from her that made Yasmín’s eyes go wide. I fucked her ass until I came inside her, flooding her from within and watching semen run down her thighs when I pulled out.

Yasmín came over and cleaned her girlfriend’s ass with a handkerchief, almost tenderly. Marina turned and kissed her with her mouth still full of saliva. The three of us lay on the rug for a while, catching our breath.

After that, Yasmín’s reservations vanished completely. Marina began by kissing me in front of her and rubbing herself against my body until she got me hard again. She handed my cock to Yasmín as though passing a glass of wine. At first the Moroccan woman touched it with two fingers, wearing an expression of feigned disgust, but when Marina placed her hand over hers and showed her how to hold it, she began doing it on her own. The two of them crouched in front of me. Marina took me deep into her mouth, pulled off, and offered me to Yasmín as though I were a piece of candy. Yasmín moved closer, hesitated, and finally licked the tip with her tongue out. Marina encouraged her and continued with her, first a kiss on the glans, then the whole head in her mouth, then half the cock. Her disgust didn’t last long. A quarter of an hour later she was sucking me with both hands as though she had been doing it for years.

Marina helped her stand, whispered something in her ear, and positioned her against the table with her back to me and her legs apart. I approached wearing a condom and slowly ran my cock over the lips of her pussy without putting it all the way in. Marina caressed her breasts and whispered that I was going to take it slow. I began penetrating her little by little, moving in and out, going deeper each time. The Moroccan woman moaned, astonished to feel a man inside her for the first time. Marina grasped her clitoris between two fingers and rubbed it. Yasmín came for the first time with a cock inside her, moving her ass against me, and I came behind her, emptying myself into the latex while she screamed with her face pressed against the table.

When I pulled out, Marina removed the condom with her mouth, bit the tip, and swallowed the semen in front of her girlfriend. Then she gave Yasmín a deep kiss with her mouth still full. The Moroccan woman, who supposedly couldn’t stand the taste, didn’t object at all. I kept pressing the Canon’s shutter until the card called for mercy.

The three of us ended up exhausted on the sofa, laughing. I transferred the cards to the laptop, we edited a decent short film, and I left them a copy on a hard drive. I didn’t format the cards, even though they thought I had. With that footage, I have enough material of my own for several months.

My relationship with Marina went back to being that of polite neighbors. She hardly ever looks out anymore. Sometimes we run into each other in the elevator; she gives me that smile and waves goodbye. She used me, I know. She used me to convince her girlfriend and to get her video. But I got something out of it too: two women, a camera, and a summer in Valencia I won’t forget as long as I have a drop of semen left inside me.