I Spied on My Sister with the Drunk Neighbor That Night

My name is Mateo and I’m twenty-two years old. I grew up in a quiet neighborhood on the outskirts of Culiacán, in a house inherited from my grandparents that my sister and I decided to keep after our parents moved south. What I’m about to tell happened almost a year ago, one August dawn, and ever since then I haven’t looked at Camila the same way.

Camila is twenty-three. People describe her as pretty and leave it at that, but anyone who has seen her knows that word does her no justice. She’s just over five foot three, wears her black hair halfway down her back, and has big dark eyes that pin you the moment she lifts her gaze. Brown skin, full mouth, wide hips, firm tits that show even under her pharmacy uniform. She works downtown and, though she doesn’t dress to draw attention, it seems impossible for her to go unnoticed.

We lived alone in the house since our parents left. She put in most of the money and I helped with whatever I could while I finished college. Everyone in the neighborhood knew us. And among them all, there was Bruno.

Bruno was the neighbor on the corner. A big man, about forty, with a face hardened by the sun and by beer. He had lived alone since his wife left with the kids for Tijuana. Since then he spent his days with a bottle in his hand and a faraway stare over the block. People in the neighborhood avoided him: he was the kind of drunk who insulted nothing and no one, and when he really got angry, he hit.

Bruno hated me for no clear reason. It started with rude remarks when he passed by and ended with shoves whenever we ran into each other in the street. I put up with him for a couple of months out of pure caution, until one Saturday I got tired of it and answered him back. I remember it well: one slap split my lip, another left me sprawled against a fence. Nobody stepped in. Bruno raised his hand and the neighbors shut their doors.

Camila came running, barefoot, screaming like a madwoman. She threw a rock at him and got between us. Bruno stared at her for a long time, spat on the ground, and left. That night we called the police. Nothing happened. The only thing we achieved was for him to start coming at her too on the street, with catcalls that sounded more like threats.

I had learned to make myself small, to go out late and come back early. Camila hadn’t. Camila confronted him.

***

That Thursday in August I got out of the workshop where I was doing my internship three hours earlier than usual. The boss had closed because of an electrical fault and sent everyone home. I got back a little after eleven at night, tired and hungry, but more tired than hungry. Camila wasn’t in the living room. The TV was off, the lunch plate still sitting unwashed on the counter. I thought she was asleep. I went into my room without turning on the light and threw myself on the bed fully dressed.

I woke up a while later with a dry throat. The house was silent, except for a distant creak I couldn’t quite identify. I lay there for a moment staring at the ceiling, trying to figure out where the noise had come from. Then I heard a voice. A deep voice. And another voice, softer, one I recognized immediately.

It was Camila. And a man. In her room.

I got up carefully, barefoot, not really sure what I was looking for. The first thing I thought was that she had a new boyfriend, some guy she hadn’t mentioned to me yet. Camila was private about those things and I didn’t ask. But something in the sound tightened my chest before I could make sense of it.

The wooden floor of the hallway creaked with every step. I moved along the wall, holding my breath. Her bedroom door was ajar, not fully closed. A strip of yellow light slipped through the crack, and over that strip the moans came in.

They weren’t fake. I say that because I had always imagined movie moans were exaggerated. These were short, restrained, like Camila was trying to keep them in her mouth. I took one step closer.

—Do you like it like that, little slut? Do you like how I’m fucking you? —the voice said.

It was Bruno.

I froze in place. I felt a shiver run from the back of my neck to my heels. For an instant I thought about going in, breaking the door, shouting, doing anything. And for another, much longer instant, I did absolutely nothing.

What I saw through the crack was my sister on all fours on her own bed. Her nightgown was pulled up to her shoulders, her back arched, the two braids she wore to sleep fallen to one side, her tits bouncing with every thrust. I could see her dark nipples, hard, pointing downward, and a thin line of sweat running down her spine to the base of her ass. Bruno was behind her, huge and sweating, his belly hanging over my sister’s ass, his thick cock going in to the root and coming out slick, soaked with her juices. One hand was squeezing her hip, fingers dug into the flesh, and the other was buried in her hair. He was fucking her at a slow pace that gradually sped up, and every thrust ripped out a wet, obscene slap that echoed in the room.

—Don’t call me that —she asked in a low voice, almost a plea, but she pushed her ass back to take him all the way.

—I’ll call you whatever I want. You’re my little slut. Look how my cock sucks your pussy up. Right?

Camila took a while to answer. Bruno yanked her hair, tilted her head back and said something in her ear that I couldn’t make out. He ran his tongue along her neck while he kept fucking her, without stopping, his balls slapping her clit with every shove. She closed her eyes and opened her mouth wider.

—Yes —she murmured—. I’m your little slut.

This is not happening.

***

I should have left. I should have gone back to my room, put on my headphones and waited for it to be over. I should have done anything other than stay there, with my forehead against the doorframe, listening to my sister tell a guy who had hit me that she was his.

But I didn’t leave. I kept watching.

Bruno pulled out suddenly and flipped her over like she weighed nothing. He threw her onto her back at the edge of the bed, her ass hanging in the air, and spread her legs with one rough shove. I saw her pussy for the first time in my life: shaved, swollen, shiny, the lips parted and flushed from use. Bruno bent down, buried his face there, and started licking it with a swallowing sound that could be heard from the hallway. He dragged his whole tongue from top to bottom, from the ass to the clit, and stopped to suck the little button until Camila lifted her hips against his face.

—Ah, Bruno… ah, like that, suck me like that… —she whispered, gripping the bald head of the man, squeezing her thighs around the sides of his face.

He slid in two thick fingers, then three, and moved them inside in the same rhythm as his tongue. Camila writhed, clutched the sheets, bit the back of her hand so she wouldn’t wake me. I saw her come right there: she went rigid, her thighs tightened, her back arched, and she let out a long moan, muffled against her fist, while Bruno licked up everything that came out.

Then he straightened up, grabbed his cock with his hand —a brutal, dark cock, the thickness of a wrist— and slapped it twice against her wet pussy before driving it back in with one hard shove. Camila opened her mouth without making a sound.

—Suck me first —Bruno told her after a while, pulling out and bringing it to her face. She obeyed like she’d been trained for years. She knelt beside the bed, took his cock into her mouth and swallowed it halfway, looking up at him from below with her black eyes wide open. She licked his balls, ran her tongue over the whole shaft, spit on it, and took it back into her throat until she choked and tears ran down her cheeks.

—That’s it, yeah, look at the drool dripping off you, little slut, that’s it —he panted, pushing her head with both hands, fucking her mouth.

He ran his tongue over her neck after that, bit her shoulder, whispered into her ear words I had never heard him say to anyone. Camila, who never raised her voice, moaned right against that man’s ear as if her life depended on it.

I felt disgusted by him, disgusted by the neighborhood, disgusted by myself. And at the same time, an immense and shameful excitement that filled my mouth with saliva. I leaned against the hallway wall, my hand inside my pants, my cock hard as iron, and started jerking off in silence while I listened to their bodies slapping together.

Bruno put her back on the bed, laid her on her back, hooked her legs over his shoulders and shoved it into her again all the way to the balls. The bed began hitting the wall. I was jerking off to the rhythm of the blows, biting my lip, eyes fixed on the scene through the crack: Bruno’s ass rising and falling, my sister’s tits bouncing with every thrust, her pussy swallowing that cock whole every time.

—Faster —she begged—. My brother could come home any second. Faster, come inside.

—Let him come. If he does, I’ll break his face again. And I’ll keep fucking you while he watches.

Camila didn’t answer with words. All she did was pull him by the neck, bring him closer to her mouth, and kiss him with an urgency I didn’t know she had, pushing her tongue down his throat. Bruno turned her over again, this time face down, lifted her ass with both hands and drove into her from behind again, covering her mouth with his palm so she wouldn’t scream so loudly.

—Who do you belong to? —he asked her, fucking her harder and harder, faster and faster, the sound of his balls slapping her ass.

—Yours —she said against his hand.

—Whose pussy is this? Whose ass is this? Say it loud, little slut.

—Yours, I’m yours, it’s all yours, pussy and ass, all yours…

She said it like a promise. Like she’d been waiting for months for the chance to say it out loud. At that moment I understood that this wasn’t the first time. What I was seeing wasn’t an ordinary night: it was a routine.

Bruno spat on her asshole and pressed his thumb there, squeezing it while he kept fucking her pussy. Camila shook all over, moaned higher, and he took advantage of it to push a finger in up to the knuckle. He was breaking her down and she was asking for it. A while later he pulled out his dripping cock, spread her ass cheeks with both hands and lined up for her ass. He slid it in slowly, pushing little by little, and Camila bit the pillow and smothered a long cry.

—Easy, easy, like that, breathe, there, there, it’s in —he murmured, stroking her back while he drove his whole cock into her ass. Then he started moving, first slowly and then with intent, and my sister clung to the sheets, mouth open, drool hanging down to the mattress, pussy leaking between her legs.

When he came, he grunted like an animal and dug his fingers into her hips until he left marks. He pulled out and emptied his semen over her back, over her ass cheeks, over the open asshole left throbbing there. Then he shoved it back in, soft but still thick, to smear it good and deep inside her. She came instantly afterward, legs trembling, biting the pillow so she wouldn’t wake me. Or so Camila thought, that I was asleep. I came at the same time, right there in the hallway, against the wall, my hand full, biting my forearm so I wouldn’t make a sound.

I stayed another minute behind the door, holding my breath, watching Bruno slump down next to her and run two fingers through her pussy, playing, gathering the mix of cum and fluid, bringing them to my sister’s mouth for her to suck them clean. Camila licked them, obedient, without opening her eyes. Then I crawled back to my room. I wiped my hand on a sock, hid it under the bed and lay on my back with my eyes open.

***

I heard them talking in low voices for a long while.

—That was nice —Bruno said—. Next time I’ll fill your mouth. But I’m leaving now.

—If you leave my brother alone, this keeps going —Camila replied—. If you touch him one more time, it’s over. You won’t see my pussy or my ass or my mouth again.

Bruno chuckled softly.

—Don’t worry about the skinny guy. As long as you open the door for me and open your legs, I’ll keep quiet on the street.

—I’m your little slut —she said, with a voice that was no longer my older sister’s, the one who made me food and scolded me for leaving my socks lying around. She was another woman.

—You’re my little slut. My delicious whore. Tomorrow I’m coming back for more.

They kissed again. I listened to the wet sound from my bed, eyes closed, and it seemed impossible. Bruno got dressed, lingered a few more minutes, put his hand between her legs one last time —Camila gave a soft gasp—, slapped her ass hard enough to make her laugh, and went down the stairs. The front door closed without a sound.

I waited. Counted to one hundred. Counted again. I jumped out of bed, put on clean pants and went downstairs running. I went out onto the street through the back door, walked around the block, and came back in front as if I had just arrived from the workshop.

Bruno was still on the corner, smoking under the streetlamp. He saw me coming and gave me the stupidest smile a man can give another man. I lowered my head and kept walking.

—Good night, young man —he said as I passed.

I didn’t answer. I turned my back on him and went into my house with my hands trembling.

***

Camila was in the shower. The smell of sweat, cheap liquor and sex reached all the way to the hallway. I greeted her from the bathroom door in the most natural voice I could manage.

—You got home early —she said from inside.

—Yeah. The power went out at the workshop. Did you eat?

—A while ago.

I went into her room before going up to mine. I had to see it with the lights on, without the yellow strip from the crack. The bed was wrecked, the sheets damp with dark stains in the middle, two empty cans on the floor and a stubbed-out cigarette in a little glass. On the pillow there was a white stain still shining. The air was heavy with semen and sweat. I stood there for a couple of minutes in the middle of the room, looking at everything, breathing that air, and then I went to sleep with my cock hard again against my pants.

Since that August dawn, Bruno hasn’t touched a hair on me. When I run into him on the street he greets me and I answer with a curt nod. Camila and I have never spoken about what happened. She keeps working at the pharmacy, I keep studying, and every now and then, when she thinks I’m asleep, I hear them again on the other side of the hallway: the bed hitting the wall, the deep voice calling her little slut, the soft voice answering yes.

Sometimes I get up. Sometimes I don’t. Sometimes I lean toward the crack and watch again, my hand inside my pants, until I come against the hallway wall.

One day I’ll tell you what happened the second time.