I Caught My Neighbor Spying on Me from His Window

What I’m about to tell you happened just a few months ago, in the dead of winter, when the cold still left the windows fogged up in the mornings. I live alone in an apartment on the fourth floor of an old building that’s been around longer than patience itself. One of those early mornings when the temperature suddenly dropped, a bathroom pipe burst and water started leaking down into the apartments below. The plumber wouldn’t be able to come for two days, so I had no choice but to pack a bag and take shelter at my mother’s place.

I know that house by heart. It’s a single-story place, modest, with a small patio and windows facing the inner street of a gated complex. I grew up there. My old room is still almost the same as I left it, except for the boxes my mother has been piling up over the years. I got there early, dropped off my things, and hopped into the shower thinking it was going to be just another day. I had no idea what was about to happen.

I came out of the bathroom wrapped in a towel and crossed the hallway to my room to get dressed before heading to work. What I had completely forgotten was one little detail: months earlier I had taken the heavy curtains from that room to my apartment myself. The only thing left was a thin, almost transparent fabric, the kind that lets the light through but hides nothing. And I didn’t remember.

I let the towel fall. I stood naked in front of the mirror for a second, looking for my underwear in my bag, and only then did I think to look toward the window.

There he was.

The son of the neighbors across the way, a guy who had to be around twenty-five, standing on the other side of the glass in his own house, his eyes locked on me. I hadn’t realized his window was almost exactly opposite mine, with only the internal street between us. The second our eyes met, he stiffened, turned around, and practically ran to the back of his house.

The logical thing would have been to feel embarrassed. To cover myself, close what little curtain was left, get angry. But what I felt was something else. A heat that rose from my stomach and left my nipples hard as little stones and my cunt starting to dampen against the cold air. The idea that someone had been staring at my tits and ass without my knowing, that my naked body had gotten his cock so hard it made him bolt, lit me up in a way I hadn’t expected.

This should not be turning me on this much.

I got dressed slowly, my heart still racing and my panties already soaked, and went off to work. But I couldn’t get the image out of my head. All day I was distracted, squeezing my thighs together under my desk, replaying that second over and over, his frightened face, the way he froze before running off. I kept imagining what he must have done when he got to his room: pulling out his dick and beating it while thinking of me, coming against the wall. By lunchtime I had made a decision I could hardly believe myself: that afternoon I was going back, and somehow I was going to find him.

***

I got to my mother’s house around six. I made myself some tea, sat by the kitchen window, and started watching the house across the way like a hunter waiting for prey. I chatted with my mother about anything and everything, but my eyes never left the glass. It took almost forty minutes before I saw him come out. He shut the door, adjusted his jacket, and walked toward the street.

“I’m out of milk, I’m going to the store for a minute,” I told my mother, and went out almost on his heels.

The store in the complex is a block away. I went in and sure enough, there he was, staring at a shelf without really seeing it. As soon as he recognized me, he dropped his gaze to the floor and I swear I saw him trembling. I acted clueless. I greeted the owner, grabbed a carton of milk, and instead of heading straight to the register, I walked up to him like I was looking for something on the same shelf.

I leaned in just enough for the opening of my blouse to show him the tops of my tits, and spoke to him softly, almost in his ear.

“Don’t leave so fast,” I said. “Wait for me and we’ll go back together.”

He turned red to the tips of his ears. He opened his mouth to say something and nothing came out, only a nod, like a kid who’s just been caught doing something naughty. I glanced sideways at the bulge pressing against his jeans and couldn’t help smiling: he was already getting hard right there in the middle of the store. I paid for the milk, he paid for a bottle of soda he didn’t even want, and we stepped out together into the cold street.

We walked the first few meters in silence. I decided to get straight to the point. There was no use pretending.

“I know you were watching me this morning,” I said, looking ahead as if I were commenting on the weather. “You saw my tits, my cunt, all of it. There’s nothing wrong with that. At your age, you’ve got to get hard over anything. The only weird part is getting hard over someone who’s about ten years older than you.”

“I’m sorry, really, I didn’t mean to…” he started.

“Don’t apologize,” I cut him off. “I’m not angry. Quite the opposite. Tell me something, did you jerk off afterward, thinking about me?”

He stopped for a second, shocked, and kept walking beside me, his face burning. In the end he only gave the slightest nod, too embarrassed to look at me. I could feel his nerves in every step, in the way he gripped the bottle tighter and tighter. And that nervousness made me even wetter. When we were getting close to the houses, I stopped in front of mine and lowered my voice again.

“If you want to see more,” I said, slipping my thong discreetly into the pocket of his jacket, “look at your window tonight, around eight. And keep that with you for company.”

He was left speechless, one hand feeling the damp fabric I had just stuffed into his pocket. I opened the door, gave him one last look over my shoulder, and went inside without waiting for an answer. My heart was pounding and I could feel my cunt pulsing under my skirt, with nothing underneath. I couldn’t believe what I had just done, and at the same time I hadn’t felt so alive in a long time.

“I’m Damián, by the way!” he managed to call out from the sidewalk, almost shouting.

I smiled without turning around. Mariana, I thought. Let him remember my name when he’s beating his dick tonight with my panties on his face.

***

The next few hours were delicious torture. I had dinner with my mother, making a huge effort to seem normal, paying attention only to the clock, my clit throbbing every time I thought about him. At seven-thirty she got dressed to go to evening mass, as she did every day, and the moment the door closed behind her the house fell silent and became mine.

I went into the room and turned off the overhead light. I left only the bedside lamp on, that warm, low light that leaves everything in shadow and yet shows just enough. I stood in front of the window with the sheer curtain. Across the way, the house opposite was still dark. For a moment I thought he wasn’t going to come, that I had scared him off too much.

Then, right at eight o’clock, a soft light came on in the opposite window. And there he was, sitting there, looking at me, already shirtless.

My throat went dry and my cunt flooded all at once. I started slowly, unzipping my heavy jacket and letting it slide off my shoulders. Then I took the hem of my T-shirt and lifted it little by little, centimeter by centimeter, keeping my eyes on him through the glass the whole time. When the fabric passed over my tits and they were left bare, without a bra, my nipples stiff and dark from the cold, I saw his lips part and him draw in a deep breath. The glass fogged up for a second with that exhale.

I dropped the T-shirt to the floor. I ran my hands over my neck, my shoulders, my chest, until I cupped my tits and pressed them against the glass of my window. I pinched my nipples between thumb and forefinger, tugging until I arched, and gave him an unabashed look of pleasure. Every time I confirmed that his eyes were on me, an electric current ran from my neck straight to my cunt. I had never felt so desired and so filthy at the same time. I wasn’t touching myself for me; I was touching myself for him to watch, and that changed everything.

At one point I saw him move. He unzipped his jeans, opened them, and pulled his cock out. Even with the distance and the glass between us, I could see perfectly how big and hard he was, red at the tip, already shiny with pre-cum. With his other hand he brought something up to his face, and it made me smile: it was my thong, the one I had stuffed into his pocket. He pressed it to his nose and mouth, smelling me, while he started jerking off watching me. The shameless bastard was smelling my cunt and beating his dick at the same time, never taking his eyes off me.

That finished me off. I unbuttoned my skirt and let it fall, ending up completely naked against the glass. I turned around slowly, showed him my ass, and spread it with both hands, letting him see everything. I leaned forward, pressed my tits against the icy glass, and gave him a view of my swollen cunt between my spread legs. Then I turned back and sat on the edge of a chair I dragged right in front of the window.

I opened my legs wide. I brought two fingers to my mouth, soaked them well with spit, and brought them straight down to my clit. I started rubbing it in slow circles, showing him every movement, parting my lips with the other hand so he could see exactly how I was touching myself. Across from me, Damián’s hand was moving faster and faster over his cock. He had a full grip on it, fist closed, and was pumping hard, teeth clenched, my thong still pressed to his nose.

I slid two fingers into my cunt. I felt them go in with one hard push, soaked as I was, and started fingering myself in front of him, my thumb planted on my clit. I bit my lip so I wouldn’t scream. With my other hand I squeezed one breast, shook it, tugged at the nipple. All for him. All while he kept jerking himself off on the other side of the street, staring at me like he’d never seen anything like it.

I kept the pace slow, controlled, only raising the intensity when I saw him reacting. When I noticed he was about to cum, I eased off, pulled out my dripping fingers, and held them up to the light, shining with my own juices. Then I brought them to my mouth and sucked them clean, never breaking eye contact. He did the same on the other side: stopped his hand, squeezed the base of his cock, took a breath, and started again. The two of us synchronized across a street and a pair of windows, without touching, without hearing each other, communicating only through our eyes and our bodies. It was the most intense thing I had ever experienced. All the tension that had built up since morning, since that very first second I caught him spying on me, concentrated into that silent game.

When I couldn’t take it anymore, I leaned my head back against the chair, lifted my legs, and spread them even wider so he could see my cunt opened all the way. I shoved in three fingers and started moving them fast, for real, not pretending. The climax hit me like a wave I never saw coming. I had to plant my free hand on the window frame to keep from losing my balance, biting my lip so I wouldn’t make a sound in the empty house. I felt my cunt clenching around my fingers in spasms, my belly tightening, my legs trembling on their own. On the other side, almost at the same moment, I saw him tense, throw his head back, and cum hard: white spurts splashing his hand, his window glass, and the thong he was still holding. We both stayed still for a moment, catching our breath, looking at each other like two accomplices who had just crossed a line.

I lifted my hand and waved goodbye softly, almost tenderly, still shaking, my fingers still gleaming with my own come. He returned the greeting with an awkward smile, his cock still out, going soft, and disappeared from the window. I turned off the lamp, let myself fall onto the bed, and lay there staring at the ceiling in the dark, breathing hard and wearing a smile I couldn’t wipe away.

That night nothing else happened. We didn’t touch, we didn’t exchange a single word during the whole game, and yet it was one of the most charged encounters I’ve had in years. Sometimes the strongest desire is the one kept at a distance, the one fed only by looks, by a wet cunt behind glass and a hard cock on the other side.

The pipe in my apartment got fixed a few days later and I went back to my routine. But it’s not the same anymore. Every now and then I stop by my mother’s place in the early evening, without warning, and glance at the window across the way. And something tells me this story, the one about the neighbor and the guy who watched her jerk off while thinking about her, still has chapters ahead — chapters where the glass won’t be enough anymore.

But that, maybe, I’ll tell another day.