My Neighbor Was Masturbating and My Wife Caught Me Watching

The August heat in Valencia showed no mercy. At that hour in the afternoon, the air came in through the windows thick and hot, as if someone had left an oven open in the middle of the flat. Rubén was alone at home, sunk into the living-room sofa, his T-shirt stuck to his back and his gaze lost in a documentary he didn’t even understand.

He was forty-eight and had a job he had never imagined for himself. He had studied computer science, but a mix of bad luck and lack of motivation had left him selling computers and televisions in a big electronics chain. It wasn’t what he had dreamed of at twenty, though by that point he didn’t complain too much anymore.

His wife, Marina, worked as an administrator for an important company in the city centre. She earned well, but never knew what time she’d finish. That was why they almost always lived on different schedules: one at home while the other worked, one working while the other rested. He thought many couples their age were like that. Two parallel lives that only crossed at night, when there was no strength left for anything.

Marina was forty-two. She had never been a striking woman, but the years had suited her well. She had that serene maturity Rubén had always liked, though he hadn’t told her so in a long time. He wasn’t any leading man himself, with a few extra kilos and black hair full of grey, but those grey hairs gave him a look that, once upon a time, she had adored.

The sex between them had never been a feast of fantasy. And, as often happens, the years and the impossible schedules had gradually extinguished it. Fewer and fewer times, with less and less desire. Many of those lonely afternoons Rubén ended up masturbating in front of the computer, or after trying to chat with someone in a strangers’ room looking for the same thing he was: a bit of dirtiness, a bit of arousal, something to break the routine.

But that afternoon, not even that. The heat had defeated him. He had tried to watch a video and wasn’t in the mood. He had tried to talk to someone and no one bit. Not my day, he told himself, resigned. He even doubted his body would respond if he tried.

Between a late lunch, a half-dozen attempts at a nap, and the failed tries, the whole afternoon had slipped away. It was already eight. He decided to take a shower to shake off the lethargy and hold out better through the night, and to pass the time until Marina arrived, since she still hadn’t shown up.

He went into the kitchen to switch on the boiler. In summer they turned it off at night, since they barely spent any time at home, and only switched it on when they needed hot water. Before doing so, he felt thirsty. He opened the fridge, took out a bottle of isotonic drink and took a long gulp, standing there with the fridge door still cooling his back.

When he turned toward the boiler, something on the other side of the inner courtyard caught his attention. His kitchen looked out onto a narrow patio, and opposite, a few metres away, stood another building. He lived on the fourth floor. On the third floor of the building across from him, right at the level of his gaze, there was a woman.

She was walking around her kitchen wearing nothing but a black thong. Her generous breasts swayed with every step, bare, unbothered by any modesty. Rubén stood frozen, bottle still in hand, unable to look away. The woman went back and forth between pots and pans as if she were completely alone in the world, unaware that someone was watching her from the other side of the patio.

He knew her by sight, the way you know almost all your neighbours in a big city: a greeting in the lobby, a gesture in the lift, nothing more. He didn’t know her name or her age. He only knew she lived with a man, that they were both around middle age, and now he also knew he liked her body, because something in him had begun to wake up despite the day’s fatigue.

A couple of minutes passed and disappointment hit him: the woman left the kitchen and disappeared from view. Rubén didn’t move. He stayed there by the window, with the first hardness of the day he’d been unable to feel all afternoon.

Just as he was giving up, she reappeared. But this time not in the kitchen, rather in the bedroom, whose window was a few metres to the right. She was still the same, almost naked, with that tiny thong leaving everything else on display.

She rummaged through one of the drawers, pulled the sheet off the bed and lay down. In her hand she was holding a dildo. Rubén couldn’t believe it. Without looking for it, he was having a lucky day.

He had never considered himself a voyeur. He had never felt curiosity about spying, about being a spectator to someone else’s pleasure. He knew there were people who were into that, but it had never appealed to him. Until that afternoon. That afternoon his neighbour stirred in him a strange mix of curiosity, desire and dirty excitement, and he wasn’t about to miss what he sensed was about to happen.

Lying there, with her legs slightly open and the dildo waiting to one side, the woman began to stroke her breasts with deliberate slowness. She lingered on the nipples, dark and thick, which with every touch grew harder and larger. She pinched them, tugged at them, first one and then the other, then both at once. From across the way you could see how her body arched just slightly, how she opened her mouth.

Rubén was the same. The mere sight of that scene — real, not the script of a bad film or the invention of a photographer — had made his cock hard, outlined beneath the thin tracksuit trousers. Almost without thinking, he slid his hand inside his clothes and began to stroke himself over his boxers, already damp with sweat and with the first moisture.

The woman went on with her game. She squeezed her breasts, kneaded them, and little by little her free hand moved down to her crotch. She stroked over the thong, sliding her fingers slowly from bottom to top until she pressed her clit. Every time she did, a shiver ran through her body.

Soon the fabric was no longer enough. She slipped her hand underneath and touched herself directly, and then her movements grew rougher, her mouth opening wider. The distance kept her from being heard, but Rubén would have sworn he could hear moans escaping her throat.

He had already pulled down his trousers and boxers to free the erection and be able to wrap his hand around it better. He was masturbating slowly, no hurry, trying to make it last, while with his other hand he stroked himself, wetting his fingers with saliva, attentive to every movement of the woman opposite.

She took off the thong. She brought it to her face and inhaled it, spread her legs wider and, while one hand parted her lips, the other took the dildo. She licked the tip and ran it over her slit, from bottom to top, again and again, faster each time, harder each time, writhing on the bed.

Rubén quickened his pace. He only wanted one thing: to hold out without coming until she did. He wanted to match himself to her pleasure, to answer it, even if she didn’t even know he existed.

The woman thrust the dildo into herself in one go, without hesitation, and began moving it with determination while with her other hand she squeezed one breast. She moaned again, this time with such intensity that Rubén was sure he had really heard her, not just as a product of his overheated imagination.

***

But Rubén had forgotten something. Marina had come home.

Marina peered into the living room and didn’t find him. She thought he must be in the shower, but he wasn’t there either. The TV was still on, so he had to be somewhere. She passed through the bedroom and, not seeing him, took the opportunity to kick off her shoes. She’d been in heels for far too many hours. Before taking off her summer dress, she went to the kitchen. And there she saw him.

What she saw left her stunned. Her husband, naked from the waist down, with a monstrous erection, an erection he hadn’t given her in years. He was masturbating, standing up, very close to the open window, completely absorbed, utterly unaware of the noise she had made when she got in.

Marina didn’t understand anything. It wasn’t like him. She knew Rubén masturbated alone, just as she did. Routine had made them distant, but the body still asked for pleasure, and many mornings, while he was at work, she would take a while in bed or under the warm stream of the shower, pointing it straight where she liked it most.

But this was different. She decided to approach in silence. She wanted to understand what was happening to her husband. And then she understood everything. She saw the scene of the neighbour across the way, her naked body stretched out on the bed, legs open, one hand between her legs and the other squeezing her breasts. It reminded her so much of herself…

And she made a decision. She wasn’t going to scold him. She had no right. He hadn’t gone looking for this; he had stumbled upon it by chance, just as she had just stumbled upon him.

She looked, barely a metre away, at her husband’s hardness. She had almost forgotten how much she liked taking it into her mouth while she herself, squatting down, stroked herself until she came. The memory lit her up instantly. She forgot work, tension, exhaustion. She knew what Rubén liked most, and she was going to give it to him.

She came closer, unbuttoning the buttons at the front of her dress, letting her breasts show. They weren’t as big as the neighbour’s, but they had always been sensitive to kisses. Incredibly, Rubén still hadn’t noticed her, focused on not coming before the woman across the way. So Marina was able to crouch beside him, place a hand over his and tilt her head to lick the tip slowly.

Rubén jolted. It was Marina. And instead of getting angry at what he was doing, she was starting to suck him off. He relaxed, let his wife take him all the way into her mouth and suck with gusto.

He barely fit. Marina licked from base to tip and swallowed it again, over and over. He put one hand on her head while with the other he braced himself against the wall, because his legs were trembling with pure dirty excitement.

She kept sucking, recovering something she had always loved and that, for reasons she couldn’t quite explain, she had gone far too long without doing. She would never have imagined that sucking her husband off while he watched another woman masturbate could feel so arousing. But it did. She loved the taste, loved hearing his ragged breathing. Without thinking, she brought a hand to her own crotch. She was still wearing the panties she’d had on that morning, already soaked through.

She moved the fabric aside and touched herself directly, sinking two fingers in while the palm of her hand pressed on her clit. Pleasure drew a moan from her and, without realising it, she quickened the rhythm with which her mouth was working over Rubén’s cock.

He wasn’t going to last much longer. The scene couldn’t have been more perfect: on one side his wife, giving him the blowjob he hadn’t received in so long; on the other, the neighbour, now masturbating at a frantic pace. Neither of them would take long.

Suddenly, Marina’s moans became the soundtrack of the patio. And across from them, the neighbour came: she moaned hard, for a long while, convulsing on the bed, twisting herself, trying to feel that orgasm in every pore of her skin. Then she fell still, resting, savouring it.

That was what Rubén couldn’t take. With the hand that held Marina’s head he asked for more rhythm, and she obeyed while also pleasuring herself. And she came. At that very instant, gripping the wall, he unloaded in his wife’s mouth while tugging her head so she wouldn’t lose a single drop.

Feeling that was the trigger Marina needed. While swallowing, she sank her fingers in even deeper, pressed hard, and burst too into an intense orgasm, full of a dirty thrill she had never imagined and that left her trembling.

Afterwards, Marina managed to stand up. Rubén grabbed her by the waist and pulled her against him. He kissed her mouth, licked her lips, something he had never done after coming inside her, and discovered that he liked it, that it made him want more.

No words were needed. Only kisses, caresses, looks. Rubén nearly yanked her dress off, threw it to the floor and tore off his T-shirt. And like that, joined by the mouth, with their hands roaming over each other’s hot, sweaty bodies, the two of them walked toward the bedroom to do what they should never have stopped doing.