I Found Out How the Glassworker Across the Way Was Spying on Me

I’m new to this whole thing of telling my stories, so I ask for a little patience. What I’m going to narrate happened to me a few months ago, when I moved into the apartment where I still live, in a building that was a twin to another identical one, separated from it by barely an eight-meter inner courtyard.

The apartment was a dream. Bright, high-ceilinged, with balconies facing the street and a huge bathroom. What made me hesitate was precisely that: the bathroom had a wall-sized window, directly facing the building next door. I imagined myself lathering up under the gaze of fifty neighbors and almost ran out the door. The owner, a woman around sixty with the eyes of someone who has already seen everything, laughed and explained that the apartment’s glass was a special kind: from inside you could see perfectly, but from outside it was a mirrored, blind surface.

She took me down to the street and had me look up to convince me. You couldn’t see a thing. The bathroom wall looked like a matte panel. I signed the lease that same afternoon.

The first few weeks were peaceful. I bathed with the curtain open, dried myself in front of the mirror, rubbed cream all over my body before getting into bed. It was a new freedom, almost adolescent. Living naked inside my own home, knowing nobody could see me, gave me back a body I’d spent years hiding under overly prudent clothes.

Until the day something fell from one of the upper floors. A sharp thud, a crack, and two of my bathroom panes shattered to pieces. I called the owner, who was traveling, and she suggested over the phone that I look for a local glazier. I didn’t know anyone. I went downstairs to speak to the neighbor across the way, a very kind woman, Doña Inés, who smiled as soon as I told her the problem.

—My nephew Adrián is a glazier —she said—. I’ll call him right now, don’t worry, he’ll be here in a bit.

Adrián showed up two hours later. He was younger than I expected, just turned twenty, tall, slim, with that sweet awkwardness of boys who still don’t quite know how to occupy their bodies. I was home in an old T-shirt and a pair of shorts that left little to the imagination, because I wasn’t expecting anyone and because it was scorching hot. When I opened the door, I saw his eyes flick over my legs and my neckline, very fast, that look of a well-mannered boy trying not to look and looking anyway.

—Sorry, I’m here for the glass —he said, without quite lifting his eyes.

—Come in, come in. The bathroom’s this way.

I led him down the hall. I showed him the window, the broken panes, the replacements the owner had left me in a cupboard. Adrián looked at them carefully, nodded, took out his tools. I offered him a glass of water and stayed a step from the bathroom door, leaning on the frame, watching him work. He was focused, but every so often he looked up at the bathroom mirror, where I was reflected from head to toe. I saw how his pants tightened in front, how the bulge grew against the fabric until the full shape of his cock showed through. I saw how he tried to adjust himself discreetly, pressing down with the edge of his hand. I thought it was tenderness. I thought it was innocence. I was wrong.

When he finished, he didn’t want to charge me.

—It’s a favor for my aunt —he said—. And lucky it had these special panes. Otherwise the whole building would have seen you.

He smiled. I smiled. I thanked him. I closed the door. And I went back into the bathroom to admire the work, suspecting nothing.

***

Almost three weeks passed. I went on living naked in my home, unaware of a thing. Until one afternoon Doña Inés invited me over for coffee in her apartment. She’d been promising for days to show me the orchids on the back balcony. I went up in flip-flops, with the easy confidence of a neighbor who’s almost family already.

It was an apartment identical to mine, mirror image layout. Same floor plan, same dimensions. Doña Inés took me down the hall, showed me the kitchen, the living room, the balcony with the plants. She offered me more coffee. I told her I was going to the bathroom and, as I passed the door to her nephew’s room, I stopped for a second. The door was ajar. It wasn’t dirty curiosity, it was that stupid reflex of wanting to see where a boy you found nice lives.

I nudged the door open with the tip of my foot. And froze.

His room faced the inner courtyard. His window was directly opposite mine. The curtains, drawn to one side and held with a clip, left a strip open the width of a man. A strip perfectly aligned with my bathroom window. From that rectangle you could see my shower, my sink, and my whole mirror. It was not an accidental view: it was a private box seat.

And on the nightstand, there was a black cloth garment balled up. I recognized it before I even touched it. It was my thong. The one I’d assumed was lost for two weeks, the one I thought had fallen from the laundry basket into the courtyard. It hadn’t fallen into the courtyard. It was there, on his nightstand, with a small jar of cream beside it, the lid half-closed, and the glass stained inside with dried drops of semen. The thong’s fabric was stiff in places, hardened where the filthy bastard had come on it again and again, rubbing his cock against the cotton while he watched me.

I sat down on the edge of his bed because my knees started shaking.

A thousand thoughts in thirty seconds. Tell Doña Inés, make a scene, call the police. But the boy was just a kid. But he was a voyeur. But he’d spent weeks watching me bathe, spread my legs in front of the mirror, rub cream all over my breasts slowly under the warm bathroom light. He’d spent weeks jerking off to me, cumming on my stolen thong, pressing it to his mouth while he emptied himself. And then something happened inside me that I hadn’t expected: a hot current that soaked my underwear at once, a stab between my legs so strong I had to press my thighs together. My nipples hardened under my shirt, my cunt swelled with a rush that made me ashamed. I, who had signed that lease terrified of being seen, was getting wet at the idea of having been seen this whole time. Without knowing it. Without performing for anyone. Just as I was. With my fingers between my legs, with the dildo inside, with my hand on my tits. Everything. Everything had gone into that boy’s memory and onto the cream jar on his nightstand.

I looked out through his window again. I calculated the angle. I calculated the meters. I calculated the show he’d been spared from not knowing what was in front of him. And while I did, I had already decided what was going to happen that night.

—Are you all right, dear? —Doña Inés asked when I went back to the living room—. You look flushed.

—It’s the heat —I lied—. By the way, can you give me your nephew’s phone number? I’ve got another little job for him.

***

At five-thirty in the afternoon, I called him.

—Hi, Adrián. It’s Mariela, from twenty-two.

—Hi, how are you? Any problem with the glass?

—No, no. I’ve got another job I want to tell you about. Can you come by?

—I’m finishing a job. I’ll be free in an hour. Shall I call you when I’m done?

—Perfect. When you get home, let me know. I’m going to be showering at that moment, so take your time. No rush.

There was half a second of silence on the other end.

Just long enough to imagine him swallowing.

—Okay —he said, his voice a little lower.

I hung up. My hands were shaking. I prepared the bathroom like someone preparing a stage. I turned on only two lights, the ones by the sink, so the scene would be well lit toward his window and leave me in the shower area under a warm dimness. I locked the bathroom door, even though I lived alone, because the gesture was part of the game I was acting out. I took the purple dildo from the drawer, the one that had been sleeping under some towels for months. I washed it. I set it on the sink, in plain sight. I went back out, undressed slowly in the bedroom, and put on a loose robe over my shoulders.

At a quarter to seven, the phone rang.

—I’m home now —Adrián said.

—Make yourself comfortable. I’m going into the bathroom now.

I hung up. I walked barefoot down the hall, my heart stuck in my throat and my cunt already throbbing against the insides of my thighs. I went into the bathroom, dropped the robe on the floor, and before I opened the shower I looked straight toward his window. The curtains were drawn back exactly as they had been that afternoon. The light from his desk lamp was on. I couldn’t see him, but I felt his presence as clearly as you feel a hand resting on your back.

I turned on the tap. Let the water run hot. And I started touching myself.

First, my breasts. Slowly, weighing them in both hands, lifting them toward the glass so they’d show well, pinching my nipples between my index finger and thumb until they became so hard they hurt. I ran my tongue over one, then the other, sucking them myself, always looking toward the window. Let him see me sucking my own tits. Let him get an idea of what it was to have my nipple in his mouth. Then one hand went lower. I stroked my belly, the insides of my thighs, everything except where I really wanted to touch. I spread my legs standing up, one foot on the edge of the tub, so my cunt would be framed in the glass. I was already soaked before I touched myself, so much that I could feel the wetness sliding down the inside of my thigh. When I finally took my fingers to my cunt, a loud moan escaped me that I hadn’t expected. It was swollen, hot, slippery, the lips parted on their own.

I slipped two fingers inside at once and let out a long moan. I pulled them out dripping, held them up to the glass, shining in the light, and brought them to my mouth. I sucked them clean while looking toward his window, sticking out my tongue, savoring the taste of my own cunt so he could see it. I lowered my hand again. I rubbed my clit with the pad of my middle finger, in slow circles at first, then faster, while with the other hand I spread my lips into a V with two fingers so he could see everything inside, pink, glossy, open for him.

I lifted my gaze to his window. And then I saw him. A silhouette seated there, his head just barely visible over the lower edge of the glass. Still. Hypnotized. And a repeated, rhythmic movement of the arm. The filthy bastard was jerking off while watching me.

Watch closely. Jerk it raw until it bleeds. Don’t miss a thing.

I grabbed the dildo. I took it to my mouth, sucked it slowly, swallowing it down to the throat as if it were a real cock, one hand at the base, stroking up and down, coating it all in saliva so he’d see how I’d do that to him. I stuck out my tongue and ran the purple head along the tip, slow, theatrical, for him. I traced my whole body with it: rubbed it over my breasts, leaving a shiny trail between my tits, up to my neck, down my stomach, before bringing it between my thighs. I spent a while running it over my cunt, up and down, soaking it in my own juices, tapping my clit with the head. I had to bite my lip not to scream.

Then I put it inside me. Very slowly, first a few centimeters, then a little more, feeling myself open for it all the way, while I braced my back against the tiles and lifted one leg, held with my free hand, so he’d have the perfect view of the dildo going all the way in. I started moving it. Out, in. Every full thrust. Faster and faster. I pulled it out dripping, brought it back to my mouth, licked my own juices without taking my eyes off his window, and shoved it back in. Every movement was directed at the window across the way. Every gesture was for him. The moans started coming out of me uncontrolled, sharp, dirty, echoing off the tiles. I fucked myself with the dildo using both hands, holding it with one and rubbing my clit with the other, my mouth open, tongue out, eyes fixed on that silhouette that was no longer pretending on the other side of the courtyard.

When I came, I did it looking straight at him, without hiding it, eyes open and mouth open too. A dry, short, animal cry, and a wave of heat that shot from my cunt up to my scalp. I felt myself clamp down around the dildo, felt everything inside me contract three, four, five times in a row, felt a hot trickle spill down my thighs as I pulled the toy out still pulsing. I slid down the wall until I was sitting on the shower floor, legs shaking, with the water falling over me. I stayed there a while, the dildo in my hands, hearing only my breathing and the tap, feeling my cunt still throbbing like a second heart between my legs.

Then I got out of the bathroom, dried my hair, put on a long shirt with nothing underneath, and called him again.

—Come —I told him, and hung up before he could answer.

***

When he knocked, I yelled from the bedroom for him to come in and lock the door. I heard the lock. I heard his steps in the hall. I came out barefoot, with my shirt half open and my nipples showing through the fabric, and planted myself in front of him in the middle of the living room.

Adrián lost his breath. His hair was still damp, a white T-shirt clinging to his chest, and a bulge in his pants he couldn’t hide even if he wanted to. The fabric was stretched diagonally, the tip of his cock outlined under the jeans.

—Did you enjoy the show? —I asked him.

He lowered his head. He started stammering excuses: forgive me, I didn’t mean to, I liked you from the moment I saw you arrive at the building, when you called me about the glass I thought it was my chance and I changed them, the ones you gave me were stored in the back cupboard, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, don’t tell my aunt, I didn’t upload anything, I swear, I was just looking, it was just for me, I jerked off thinking about you, I came with your thong in my mouth, sorry, sorry.

I let him talk until he ran out of breath. Then I lifted his face with a finger under his chin.

—Did you record me? —I asked.

—No, I swear. I was just looking. Check my phone, check my computer, whatever you want.

I believed him. Don’t ask me why, I believed him. He had the face of a boy who’d just been caught and whose heart was about to come out through his throat. I believed him, but that didn’t mean I let him off easy.

—All right —I told him—. I’m not going to tell anybody. Not your aunt, not the owner, not the police. But from today on, there are conditions.

Adrián nodded before I’d even finished the sentence.

—Whatever I tell you —I went on—. When I call you, you come. Any time. And if I decide to shower with the curtain open and you’re in your room, you stay looking until I close it. Not before. And in the meantime, tonight, you’re going to do exactly what I order you to do.

—Whatever you want —he whispered.

—Take your clothes off.

He took off his T-shirt with trembling hands. He unbuttoned his pants, let his underwear fall. His cock sprang out at once, stiff, pointing at the ceiling, the head purple and a drop of pre-cum hanging from the tip. He was rock hard. Bigger than I’d expected for such a slim body. I looked at him slowly, from top to bottom, just as he had looked at me week after week through the window. I licked my lips without meaning to when I saw his cock twitch against his belly with every beat.

Then I sat on the sofa, opened my shirt so my breasts were bare, spread my legs wide, and pointed to the floor between my feet. My cunt had gotten wet again and he saw it, shining, still swollen from my shower orgasm.

—Kneel —I said—. Now it’s my turn to watch you work.

Adrián obeyed like a little dog. He dropped to his knees, sinking them into the rug, and crawled forward until his face was a hand’s width from my cunt. I grabbed his hair and yanked his head forward until it was pressed against me. He smelled me first, breathing deeply, his nose buried between my lips, as if his life depended on it.

—Lick —I ordered—. And don’t stop until I tell you to.

He stuck out his tongue. Ran it from bottom to top, all of it, long and flat, from my perineum to my clit, and a moan ripped out of me that bent me back on the sofa. He did it again. And again. And again. Then he opened my lips with his fingers and buried his tongue inside, moving it, fucking me with it, while he pressed his nose against my clit. The bastard knew what he was doing, or he learned fast. I pressed his face against me with both hands, closed my legs around his head, and rubbed myself against his mouth with no shame at all. Let him choke. Let him learn what it was to have me for real, after so many weeks of looking from far away.

—Your fingers —I gasped—. Put them in. Two. Upward.

Adrián obeyed in an instant. He slid in his middle and ring finger, curling them inward, touching that soft, spongy spot while he kept sucking my clit like it was candy. I gripped the back of the sofa with one hand and his hair with the other. I came in his mouth two minutes later, screaming like I hadn’t screamed in years, pressing my thighs against his ears, collapsing all the way down onto his tongue.

When I opened my eyes, he was still kneeling, his mouth and chin shining with my release, looking at me as if he were looking at a miracle. His cock dripped onto the floor. I smiled at him. I leaned forward, grabbed his face, and licked my own juice off his chin myself before giving him a deep kiss with my whole tongue.

—Get up —I told him—. And sit on the sofa.

He obeyed. I knelt on the floor between his legs and took his cock in my hand. It was throbbing. I squeezed the base, slid slowly up to the head, circled the tip with my thumb. He shuddered all over. I lowered my head and took it in my mouth without warning, halfway down. Adrián let out a rough moan, closed his eyes, clutched the sofa.

I sucked him slowly, taking my time, to make him pay for every minute he’d watched me without permission. I licked his whole cock from top to bottom like it was an ice cream, sucked his balls one by one, kept them in my mouth until he was writhing, and went back up. I took him to the back of my throat, all the way, and stayed there for a few seconds looking up at him through wet eyes. When I pulled him out, a long thread of saliva hung from my mouth to the head. I smiled at him. Took him back in. Grabbed his hand and put it on the back of my neck.

—Fuck my mouth —I said, voice hoarse—. Like you fucked it from the window.

Adrián grabbed my hair with both hands and started moving my head to his rhythm, shy at first, until he shoved himself all the way in, mercilessly, while I let him do it with my mouth open and my eyes watering. I felt him swell in my throat, felt his breath break apart, felt his thighs tense.

—I’m going to… —he gasped.

I yanked his cock out of my mouth and squeezed the base hard with my hand.

—Not yet —I said—. Here I come first. Again.

I pushed him back onto the sofa, on his back. I climbed on top, straddling him, took his cock in my hand and lined it up at my cunt. I rubbed it up and down, wetting it with me, tapping my clit with the head, until a groan of desperation escaped him. Then I sank down. Very slowly. Feeling him enter me all the way, millimeter by millimeter, feeling myself fill completely, feeling him have to clench his teeth not to cum on the spot.

When I had him inside to the root, I stayed still for a moment, seated on top of him, my hands braced on his chest, feeling him pulse inside me. Then I started moving. Up and down, first slowly, in circles, letting him see my tits bouncing in front of his face. I took one of his hands and brought it to my breast. I made him pinch my nipple between his fingers.

—Hard —I told him—. Like when you were jerking off.

I started riding him for real. Hands on his chest, thighs open, going up and down all the way on his cock, feeling it slide in and out of me dripping. He watched my breasts move, his mouth open, his eyes half-lidded. I took one hand to my clit and rubbed it to the rhythm of my thrusts. I took his other hand and brought it to his mouth. He sucked my fingers the way he’d sucked my whole tongue before.

—Look at me —I ordered—. Don’t close your eyes. I want you to see inside what you were looking at from the outside.

I came on top of him in one whole spasm, clamping down on him with my cunt, until he gave a guttural moan and grabbed my hips to slam me hard against him.

—Me too, me too —he gasped.

I got off him abruptly, yanking his cock out, and dropped between his legs again. I took him in my hand and put him in my mouth just in time. Adrián blew in the second. I felt the first hot spurts hit my palate, then my tongue, then my throat. He gave two, three, four more thrusts against my mouth, and I swallowed everything while looking him in the eyes, not blinking, with his whole cock between my lips. I didn’t let a drop fall.

When I let him go, I ran my tongue over the head, cleaning off the last drops, and smiled. I opened my mouth to show him it was empty. He collapsed against the back of the sofa with his eyes closed, panting, unable to speak.

—This is only the first lesson —I told him, climbing up beside him and running my tongue over his ear—. Tomorrow I want you to come again. And bring that black thong you stole from me. You’re going to give it back to me in my mouth.

Adrián nodded, limp, still trembling.

And as he came closer to me, knees sunk into the rug and his mouth inches from mine again, I knew two things. That boy was going to be my best secret for a long time. And that the woman who signed that lease terrified of big windows no longer existed. In her place was someone else, with the glazier across the way kneeling at her feet and an entire building to break in.