My Neighbor Asked Me for a Massage and Knew I Was Spying on Her

My name is Damián, and for some time I had been living on a quiet street in a small town, the kind where everyone greets one another, everyone asks questions, and nobody takes very long to hear about everyone else’s business. I left the city to open my therapeutic massage practice on the ground floor of my house and, honestly, business went well from the very beginning.

Directly opposite my house was another just like it, with windows almost facing each other on the second floor. A couple in their forties lived there, apparently normal people with an impeccably routine, a family car, and discreet manners. I barely saw him; her, on the other hand, I ended up watching far too much.

It all started one ordinary afternoon, when I heard her come home from work and, by chance, looked up from my kitchen. I saw her enter her bedroom without lowering the shade. She took off her blouse in front of the window, then her skirt, then her bra, with a calmness that left me frozen.

I didn’t look away. Not that day, or any of the days that followed.

I didn’t know her name yet, but I already knew her body better than I should have. She was a big woman, with a commanding presence, long legs, broad hips, heavy, well-shaped breasts. She dressed with understated elegance for work, but at home she seemed to enjoy the precise moment of undressing, knowing she could be seen.

At first, it was enough for me to watch from the darkness of my room. Then I began waiting for the sound of her car like a trained animal. Later I bought binoculars, and after that I had no honorable excuse left to give myself.

I watched her take off her clothes, choose a loose T-shirt, or remain in her underwear for a while. Tiny thongs, tight panties, delicate bras that sometimes failed to hide the hardness of her nipples. Some afternoons she would slowly turn to look at herself in the mirror, and I would take advantage of the turn to fixate on the round curve of her ass.

The worst was the day she stopped pretending it was all casual.

She entered the room, closed the door, turned off the main light, and lit two candles on the nightstand. Then she lay down on the bed completely naked, with her legs facing the window. I was sitting on the edge of my mattress, binoculars pressed against my face and my cock already hard inside my trousers.

At first she caressed her breasts slowly, circling her nipples with her fingertips and squeezing them until they hardened. Then she ran one hand down her belly, spread her legs, and began touching her pussy without any hurry, as if she wanted to make sure I had time to see everything.

I watched her spread her lips with two fingers. I watched her rub her clitoris. I watched her put in one finger first, then two, while her other hand continued playing above. She moved her hips against the mattress, arching her back, and although the double-glazed window muffled the sounds, I could imagine her moans from the way her mouth opened.

I pulled out my cock and masturbated while watching her come.

When she trembled and closed her legs for a moment, I was so turned on that I had to bite my lip to keep from letting out a moan. She sat up, still naked, stood in front of the window, and caressed one breast while looking in my direction. I couldn’t swear to it, but I had the filthy, electric certainty that she knew perfectly well I was there.

From that day on, I stopped fooling myself. I was her voyeur, and she was, perhaps, my exhibitionist.

Weeks passed like that. Sometimes she only changed clothes. Sometimes she remained in her underwear, walking slowly around the bedroom as if time didn’t matter. And other times—the best ones—she masturbated for the window while I spied on her from the darkness and jerked off in time with her fingers.

The situation changed one afternoon with a call to the practice.

—Hello, do you give relaxing massages as well as therapeutic ones? —asked a deep, confident female voice.

I told her yes, that I could see her by appointment. We agreed on a time for late afternoon. Everything seemed normal until, five minutes beforehand, I heard the car across the street stop and realized who was about to walk through my door.

I went down to the treatment room with a strange feeling in my stomach, half fear, half hunger. When the bell rang and I opened the door, there she was. Brunette, tall, wearing a cream blouse and tight trousers, with the same firm expression I had seen so many times approaching her window.

—Hi —she said, barely smiling—. I’m Verónica. I believe I have an appointment with you.

I stepped aside to let her in, trying not to look like an idiot. She entered as if she already knew the place, studying every detail of the practice with a calmness that made me more nervous than any boldness could have.

—How funny —she added—. We live opposite each other and have never introduced ourselves as neighbors.

—I suppose the opportunity never came up —I replied.

—I suppose not.

I took her to the massage room, showed her where to leave her clothes, and offered her the usual disposable towel. I explained the procedure in a professional voice, too rigid even for my own ears. She listened with a half-smile that seemed to say she knew every thought I was trying to hide.

—When you leave, I’ll undress and lie down —I repeated.

—What if I don’t want to wait for you to leave? —she asked.

I looked at her and took a second too long to answer.

—As you prefer.

She began unbuttoning her blouse in front of me. Without hurrying, without blushing, without asking permission again. I pretended to check the oil, the music, the scented candles—anything rather than stand there staring at her breasts as she opened the fabric.

—You get nervous very easily for someone in this line of work —she said.

—I don’t usually have clients undress in front of me.

—I don’t usually have masseurs watching me from their windows.

I felt a hard blow in my chest. I looked straight at her. She had already removed her blouse and was undoing her bra without taking her eyes off mine.

—So you did know —I murmured.

—For months.

The bra fell to the floor. Her breasts were free, heavy, full, her nipples already hard. She watched me swallow and enjoyed the effect with an almost cruel confidence.

—The previous neighbor watched too —she said—. You, at least, were more consistent.

She took off her shoes, lowered her trousers, and left them to one side. She was wearing a tiny black thong that outlined her ass and barely covered her pussy. She turned slowly in place to show herself off, then slipped her thumbs into the waistband.

—Tell me something, Damián. Did you like watching me more when you thought I didn’t know, or now?

I didn’t answer. My cock was already pushing against my trousers far too obviously.

She chuckled under her breath and finished pulling off the thong. She stood completely naked less than a yard from me. Shaved pussy, strong thighs, erect nipples, fixed gaze. She was exactly the fantasy I had been pounding myself to for so many months, only better, because now she was there and smelled of perfume, hot skin, and something darker that was clouding my head.

—You don’t need to give me that ridiculous little panty —she said, brushing the disposable garment aside with two fingers—. I want to feel your real hands.

She lay face down on the table, and I took a second to react. As I approached with the oil, I saw the trembling in her legs and realized she was excited too. This wasn’t only a game to humiliate me; she wanted it just as much as I did.

I started with her back, using my usual pressure as I worked over her shoulders, the nape of her neck, the line of her spine. My job consisted of controlling another person’s body with my hands, but I had never found it so difficult to keep control of my own. Verónica’s skin was hot and receptive, and every time I slid my palms toward her sides, I felt the air leave her more slowly.

—So you’ve seen me touch myself —she said suddenly, her face resting to one side.

—Yes.

—Many times?

—Quite a few.

—Did you come watching me?

My hands remained on her shoulders, but the silence answered for me.

—That’s what I thought —she murmured—. It turned me on to imagine it.

I moved down to her lower back, and she parted her legs slightly. It wasn’t an accident. It was a calculated invitation. The line of her ass lay open before me, and the scent of her arousal began to mingle with the oil.

—My husband thinks I’m coming here to loosen up —she continued—. He doesn’t know it makes me horny to feel watched. He doesn’t know that some afternoons I undressed more slowly just for you.

I had to clench my jaw. My hands kept massaging, but every word pulled me further out of the role of professional.

—Turn over —I finally told her.

She obeyed slowly, without covering herself. Her naked body lay stretched out before me in all its starkness. Her breasts fell open to either side on the table, her pussy gleamed wet between her thighs, and her eyes never left my crotch.

—It’s really showing —she said—. Are you going to keep pretending?

I placed my hands on her legs, starting at her calves and moving gradually upward. She spread her thighs farther. When I reached the inner side of one, she drew a deep breath and let her knee fall outward, giving me better access to her pussy. I was inches from touching it.

—If I touch myself while you continue, does it bother you? —she asked with mocking innocence.

Without waiting for an answer, she brought two fingers to her clitoris and began rubbing herself in front of me.

I watched her gather her own wetness and spread it over her lips. I watched her put one finger inside while I kept my hand on her thigh, like a paralyzed idiot caught between duty and the urge to throw myself on top of her. She sped up, growing wetter, panting now without even trying to hide it.

—Look at me —she ordered.

I looked at her.

—I’ve spent months thinking about your face while I came in that window. And you’re still there, touching my leg as if you didn’t want to fuck me.

That was the end of any attempt at distance. I moved the oil aside, stepped closer to the table, and grabbed her wet wrist. I brought her fingers to my mouth and sucked them one by one, tasting her pussy. Verónica let out a hoarse moan and arched her back.

—Fuck —she whispered—. Finally.

I kissed her hungrily. Nothing elegant, nothing shy. A filthy kiss of tongues, teeth, and mingled breath. She grabbed me by the neck and returned it with the same violence, opening her legs around my hips while I squeezed one breast and twisted her nipple between my fingers.

—Harder —she asked me.

I pinched her nipple harder, and she answered with a trembling moan. I lowered my mouth over her neck and the valley between her breasts, burying my face between them before biting one of her nipples. She loved it. Her whole body told me so, shuddering beneath me.

I slid one hand between her legs and opened her lips with my fingers. She was soaked. Not wet—truly soaked, hot, slippery, open for me before I had even touched her. I buried two fingers in her pussy and moved them slowly at first, feeling her squeeze around them.

—Is this how you imagined me? —she panted.

—Worse. Reality is better.

I climbed down from the table and knelt between her legs. I pushed her thighs farther apart and ran my tongue from bottom to top, slowly and firmly, from the entrance of her pussy to her clitoris. Verónica let out a long cry and grabbed my hair. I repeated the movement, opening her wider with my fingers this time so I could slip my tongue between her lips.

I didn’t hold back. I licked her pussy eagerly, sucking her clitoris, pushing my tongue where I had put my fingers, alternating short sucks with long, wet strokes. She writhed, spread her legs wider, and pushed my head toward her.

—Don’t stop... don’t stop, bastard...

I pushed two fingers all the way inside while sucking her clitoris. Then three, stretching her slowly and feeling her soak my entire hand. Verónica’s body was tense, her abs hard, her hips lifting to seek more friction. I barely bit her clitoris and she almost screamed.

—Fuck, yes... like that... like that...

I worked her without hurry but without false gentleness, using my mouth and hand as if I wanted to collect payment for all those afternoons when I had watched her without touching her. Whenever I felt her getting close, I eased off slightly, only to apply pressure again immediately afterward. I wanted to see her lose all control.

She lost it when I curled my fingers inside her and found the spot that made her convulse. I sucked hard above at the same time, and Verónica came with a violent spasm. She closed her legs around my head, soaked my mouth, and trembled so hard I had to hold her thighs to keep them from closing completely.

I drew back just enough to look at her. Her chest was rising and falling, her face flushed, her lips parted. She was brutally beautiful.

—Get on top of me —she said, still panting—. I want to feel that cock at last.

I took off my trousers and underwear without looking away from her. When my cock sprang free, Verónica propped herself up on her elbows and smiled at the sight of it.

—No wonder you hid so badly behind that window.

She brought her hand to her pussy, gathered some of her own wetness, and spread it over my cock in slow strokes. That single gesture almost made me come like a teenager. She gripped me firmly, pumped me a couple of times, and then pulled me up onto the table.

I placed her at the edge, lifted one of her legs onto my shoulder, and pressed the tip against her entrance. We looked at each other for a second, charged with everything that had happened before in that room.

—If you’re going to fuck me, fuck me for real —she said.

I entered her in a single thrust.

Her pussy swallowed me whole, tight and wet, and the moan she released struck my chest like a reward. I stayed inside her for a moment, buried to the hilt, enjoying the way she tightened around my cock, then I began to move.

Slowly at first. Then less slowly. Verónica dug her nails into my arms and opened her mouth wider, half swallowing her own sounds. I held her other leg and left her completely open to me, penetrating her with long thrusts that made her breasts tremble with every collision.

—More —she asked—. Harder.

I gave it to her. I began fucking her with sharp thrusts of my hips, making skin slap against skin in the room. The table creaked beneath us, the candles remained lit, and the scene had something obscene and perfect about it: the naked client, the exhibitionist neighbor, the voyeur finally inside the body he had wanted for months.

I grabbed one of her breasts with one hand and squeezed it as I continued penetrating her. With the other, I rubbed her clitoris in time with every thrust. Verónica arched her neck and let out a louder moan.

—Keep it down or half the street will hear us —I told her.

—Let them hear if they want —she replied, and that sentence turned me on even more.

I turned her firmly and placed her face down on the table. She understood immediately; she got onto her knees, offered me her ass, spread her legs, and turned her face just enough to look at me over her shoulder. I gave one cheek a hard slap. Her skin reddened, and she let out an excited gasp.

—Again —she demanded.

I gave her another, sharper one. Then I ran my hand over the red mark, opened her with my fingers, and entered her pussy from behind again. I went all the way in and began fucking her like that, gripping her hips and setting a hard rhythm that made her slide a few inches forward on the table with every thrust.

Now she moaned without shame. Short moans at first, then more broken, dirtier ones. I wasn’t quiet anymore either. Every time I withdrew almost completely and buried myself in her again, I whispered some obscenity in her ear, and she answered by squeezing tighter and pushing her ass back to take me better.

—This is how you wanted me, huh? —I growled—. To watch you and then fuck you.

—Yes... yes... fuck, yes... I wanted this...

I slipped my hand around her front and found her clitoris again. It was swollen and slippery. I began rubbing it in quick circles while continuing to pound her pussy with my cock. Verónica rested her forehead against the table and bit the cover to stifle a scream.

—Don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t stop...

I gave her the opposite of a caress. I pressed harder, fucking her at a brutal pace and feeling her pussy begin to clamp down, growing more sensitive and closer to orgasm. Her back went completely rigid. Her legs trembled.

—I’m going to come —she warned, her voice broken.

—Then come.

She came all at once, with a muffled moan and a violent jerk of her hips. Her pussy squeezed me in quick, hot spasms, and I felt more wetness escaping down her thighs. Seeing her like that finished me. I held out for a few more deep, disorderly thrusts, until the orgasm rose from my balls and made me grip her hips hard.

I came inside her, buried to the hilt, exhaling through clenched teeth while I kept moving a little, prolonging the spasms. Verónica received every pulse by squeezing even tighter, moaning softly, satisfied.

We stayed still for a few seconds, sweaty and breathing hard, my cock still inside her and our skin stuck together with heat. Then I slowly pulled out and watched some of my cum mix with hers along the inside of her thighs.

I ran my hand over her back, and she gave a short, tired laugh.

—What a massage —she said.

I helped her sit up. She kissed me again, this time without urgent hunger, more slowly, savoring what we had done. Then she cleaned herself as best she could with the towels in the practice, dressed slowly, and once again became the immaculate woman who came home from work, except for the satisfied gleam left in her eyes.

Before leaving, she turned toward me at the door.

—Look at my window tonight.

She didn’t need to repeat herself.

***

When night fell, I went upstairs to my room with the light off. I didn’t even need the binoculars. She appeared on the other side with a light robe over her house clothes, closed the bedroom door, and approached the window.

She stood looking at me. There was no possible doubt anymore: she knew where I was, and she wanted me to watch her.

She slowly removed the robe, revealing her naked body. This time there were no candles or preliminary theatrics. Only the direct certainty that she was performing for me. She spread her legs slightly, ran one hand between her thighs, and began touching herself while holding my gaze across the street and through the glass.

I pulled out my cock almost immediately. She smiled when she realized it and continued rubbing her clitoris, showing me her wet fingers, bringing them to her mouth, then putting two inside her pussy with the same insolence as that afternoon, only now the game carried a different weight because we knew each other’s bodies by heart.

I masturbated for her while watching her come standing up, one hand braced against the window frame and the other working between her legs. When she reached orgasm, she threw her head back and kept her legs spread, offering herself to my view until the final tremor.

I came almost at the same time, clenching my jaw so I wouldn’t moan too loudly.

Afterward she cleaned herself without taking her eyes off me, put the robe back on, and gave me a tiny gesture with her fingers, like a promise. I was still catching my breath when my phone rang.

—Same time tomorrow —her voice said on the other end—. You don’t need to answer. If you don’t say no, I’ll take it that it works for you.

I looked toward her house again. From the kitchen, I could make out the silhouette of a man moving inside, oblivious to everything. With her back to him, Verónica still held the phone in her hand, a smile barely visible from my window.

I didn’t answer. There was no need.

The appointment was already set, and this time I was planning to arrive with a plan of my own.