The Mature Neighbor I Recorded from the Seventh Floor

—Hi, sweetheart —I said to the camera, with the cursor still trembling in my hand—. Today I’m going to tell you something that obsessed me for weeks. It wasn’t just any fantasy or an adventure invented to turn you on. It was one of those things you discover by watching other people’s lives for too long, until curiosity stops feeling like a game and turns into hunger.

I already told you before how I started getting aroused by spying on others. At first it was pure voyeuristic thrill: a couple arguing in the kitchen, a woman walking barefoot after showering, a man jerking off in front of his laptop screen. Then something worse started happening to me. Looking at bodies wasn’t enough anymore; I wanted to uncover secrets.

I worked reviewing security cameras for a private company installed in several luxury buildings. Officially, I monitored hallways, elevators, entrances, and common areas. In practice, I also had access to other hidden cameras that shouldn’t have existed and yet were there, silent, perfect, waiting for someone like me to use them.

For a while I set out to find an adult family that crossed a forbidden line. Not because I supported anything like that, but because I wanted to know whether it really happened outside of stories, behind closed doors, in apartments where people have breakfast, argue, fuck, and sleep believing nobody is watching them. That mix of disgust and heat was what drove me.

I reviewed hundreds of elevator rides. Too many. Fathers who seemed too affectionate. Brothers who looked at each other’s asses without shame. Mothers who touched an adult son’s chest a little too long. Nothing ever became conclusive. Everything could be explained as an ambiguous gesture, a strange habit, an accident.

Until she appeared.

She wore a fitted red dress, her straight hair dyed mahogany, and that way some women walk without needing to show anything for everyone to stare at their ass. She must have been well into her forties, an age that on her didn’t read as decay but authority. She didn’t have huge tits or exaggerated curves; hers was something more dangerous: class, a round ass, and a face so perfectly put together it forced you to look twice.

She was accompanied by a young man, already more than old enough to be an adult, tall, broad-shouldered, with a cocky expression. I checked the registry. She was Mara. He was Iván. Mother and son. Both adults. And the moment they stepped into the elevator, I understood I’d found what I was looking for.

He waited until the doors closed. Then he moved in behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist with a naturalness that had nothing innocent about it. His hands rested flat on her stomach, but his pelvis went straight to her ass. He pressed his whole body against hers. No rush. No awkwardness. Like someone repeating a habit.

Mara didn’t flinch. She didn’t push him away. She didn’t tense up. She only held the shopping bags and breathed a little deeper.

—Want me to help you? —he murmured, his mouth a finger’s width from her ear.

—No need.

—Then you bought something you don’t want to show me.

—Don’t start.

His smile was visible even in the metallic reflection of the door. Then he pressed himself a little harder against her. I couldn’t touch it, of course, but I recognized the shape of an erection hardening in his pants right away. Mara lowered her gaze, as if she could feel it between her cheeks too, and still said nothing.

At that moment my mouth went dry. Not from surprise, but from certainty. There was tolerance. There was trust. There was history behind that friction. And I knew I was going to devote every resource I had to that apartment.

I spent almost all my credits on activating continuous recording in every room where I could do it without raising internal suspicion. Living room. Kitchen. Hallway. His bedroom. Master bedroom. I also kept live monitoring going while I did the rest of my work. I didn’t want to miss anything.

That same afternoon, by accident, I confirmed something else. In Iván’s room camera I saw him change without paying attention to the angle. He wasn’t fully naked at first, only in a T-shirt, but when he dropped his pants a thick, veiny cock appeared, already half hard. He held it for a few seconds as if weighing it, then started jerking himself off slowly, staring into nothing.

I stayed frozen in front of the screen. Not because of him, but because of what I imagined was going through his head. The way he clenched his jaw. How he tugged back the foreskin with a closed hand. The short, restrained rhythm, like someone getting off remembering something close and repeated. When he came over his stomach with a brief moan, I thought of the fabric of that red dress and the ass he’d been rubbing against just minutes earlier.

The truly important recording came two mornings later.

It was early. I had coffee in my hand and a split screen in front of me. In the apartment kitchen, Mara’s husband was having breakfast, absorbed in his phone, in a suit, with the face of a man who leaves the house but never quite manages to be there. She was standing by the counter, wearing a loose black T-shirt and a tiny white thong. That was all.

It caught my eye immediately. It wasn’t casual clothes for being alone. It was a provocation. Maybe for the husband, maybe for herself. Or maybe for the man who walked into the kitchen barefoot and in pajama pants, and froze staring at her ass as if he’d found the center of the world.

Iván went around the counter and stood behind her. The low camera, hidden in the baseboard, gave me a perfect view: her ass cheeks squeezed by the thong, the edge of the fabric buried between the lips of her pussy, and his bulge growing under the pajama pants until it stood out like a tense wedge.

He wrapped himself around her from behind the same way as in the elevator. This time without the excuse of the shopping bags.

—Want help with breakfast? —he asked, while sliding his hands over his mother’s stomach.

—No, I’m almost done —she replied, and smiled. She smiled for real.

The husband got up, kissed Mara over the counter, and said goodbye. He didn’t even notice that his wife was almost half-naked or that his son was holding her from behind. When he left the apartment and the door closed, the atmosphere changed all at once. I felt it through the screen too.

Iván pushed his pelvis forward. The hardened tip of his cock, trapped in the pants, pressed the thong fabric into her lips. Mara let out a short breath, almost involuntary.

—I saw what you bought —he said.

—You had no business looking through my things.

—No regrets. That set is going to look fucking amazing on you.

She stayed still. Not offended. Completely still.

—Don’t talk like that.

—Like what? Like a man who has eyes? Dad doesn’t even realize what he has at home. I do. I see everything.

One hand slid down from her stomach to her hip. The other went up and, under her T-shirt, stroked the underside of one breast, barely a brush, just enough to make her skin prickle. I saw her tense. I saw her clamp her thighs together hard as if trying to hold something in.

—Iván…

—Tell me the truth —he insisted, rubbing his erection against her ass—. Did you buy that lingerie for him, or to feel wanted again?

Mara swallowed.

—Don’t be stupid.

—It’s not stupid. You’re hot, Mom. Really hot. And he acts like he doesn’t notice.

I shivered hearing him say it like that, direct, raw, his mouth pressed to her neck. She didn’t stop him. On the contrary, her back arched just a little farther, offering him more ass, more friction, more room.

—I’m embarrassed that you’re talking to me about this —she said, but her voice didn’t sound steady.

—You’re embarrassed because you know I’m right.

His hand went down again. This time it didn’t stop at her hip. It slipped in front of the thong and squeezed the mound of Venus over the fabric. Mara gave a short jump against his body. Then she bit her lip and looked toward the door, even though there was nobody else in the apartment anymore.

—You’re wet —he murmured.

—Don’t say that.

—I can feel it.

I could see it too. The thong was sunk between her lips and a dark sheen was beginning to mark the fabric. Iván’s pajama pants were no longer hiding anything; that cock looked like it was about to tear through the cloth from how hard it was. He rubbed her with more intent, sliding the bulge between his mother’s ass cheeks while he slipped two fingers under the edge of the thong.

Mara opened her mouth. She didn’t speak. She just let out air, an almost silent moan. When he found her pussy, she was already soaked.

—Shit —Iván said, licking her earlobe—. You’re dripping.

—No… don’t… don’t keep going.

But she didn’t move away. Not a centimeter.

—Tell me to stop and I stop.

She took too long to answer. So long that the answer was already obvious. While she hesitated, he slid one whole finger inside her, then two, opening her slowly. Mara planted both hands on the counter and let her forehead drop forward. Her ass started moving back on its own, fucking those fingers with need.

I was soaked between the legs in front of the monitor. I was pressing myself over my skirt without realizing it, breathing in time with that kitchen.

—God… —she murmured.

—Don’t say God. Say my name.

—Iván…

The tone she used when she said it confirmed what I already suspected: this didn’t start that day. The name came out too easily, too loaded. He kept finger-fucking her while his other hand lifted her T-shirt and exposed her tits. They were firm, mature, with large dark nipples that hardened in seconds. He kneaded them from behind, pinching them hungrily, and Mara let him do it with an open-legged tremble.

—I want to see you in what you bought —he said.

—It’s going to look ridiculous on me.

—It’s going to drive me crazy. Go put it on. I want to look at you properly.

She turned her head just enough to catch his profile with her eyes. What I saw in her gaze was no longer only shame. It was surrendered arousal. Need for approval. Hunger to be desired. She nodded and left the kitchen with unsteady legs.

Iván stayed alone in the living room. He lowered his pajama pants without any hurry and his cock sprang upward, thick, the tip red, heavy. He started jerking it hard, spitting into his hand for lube. I didn’t look away for a single second. His flesh throbbed as he muttered through clenched teeth:

—That ass… fuck… what a fucking madness…

When Mara came back, I almost dropped my cup.

She was wearing a black lace set, thigh-high stockings, and a simple, elegant garter belt, made for a woman who knew she could still set a room on fire. She wasn’t a girl playing at being sexy. She was a real woman, adult, beautiful, packed with pent-up hunger. The moment she crossed the threshold and saw her son’s naked cock, she froze in place.

—Iván…

He didn’t even let go of himself.

—Come here.

—This is wrong.

—And yet you didn’t leave.

She took two steps closer. He looked her over slowly, from the tits lifted by the bra to the hollow between her thighs. Then he reached down and slid his hand between her legs. His fingers sank into the soaked lace.

—You’re a puddle.

—Don’t humiliate me.

—I’m not humiliating you. I’m telling the truth. You put this on and anybody would want to fuck you. I’ve wanted to for a long time.

She closed her eyes. Her lips trembled before parting.

—Don’t say those things.

—Why? Because I’m your son? We’re both adults already. And I’ve been staring at your ass for years, imagining how you moan, wondering if Dad knows what he has or if he’s an idiot.

Mara went completely still. One full second. Then, instead of pulling away, she lifted her hand and stroked his cheek. It was a slow, devastating gesture.

—We shouldn’t…

—But you want to.

She opened her eyes and gave the slightest nod. A tiny surrender. Enough.

Iván kissed her with restrained violence, grabbing the back of her neck and pulling her against his mouth. It wasn’t an awkward peck or a hesitation. It was a hot man’s kiss, tongue inside, teeth grazing her lip, one hand clamped on her ass over the lingerie. Mara answered almost immediately, opening her mouth for him, moaning into him, gripping his arm hard.

He made her back up to the sofa. He sat her down and knelt between her legs. He pulled down the lower part of the set and stared at the opened, swollen, shiny pussy. I saw Mara try to close herself in shame and him catch her thighs to stop her.

—Don’t cover yourself.

Then he buried his face between her legs. The first lick was long, from the entrance of her pussy up to the clit. Mara let out a sharp scream and clutched the back of the sofa. Iván ate her with obscene devotion, parting her lips with his fingers to get his tongue deep inside, licking the mix of fluid and wetness with animal hunger.

—Fuck… like that… like that… —she panted.

He didn’t let up. He sucked her clit, pulled on it, slipped two fingers in and then three, fucking them in with the rhythm of his tongue. Every time he pulled them out, they came back wet to the knuckles. Mara wasn’t pretending to resist anymore. Her legs were spread as wide as they could go, her pelvis lifting on its own, her thighs trembling around her son’s head.

—I’m going to come…

—Come in my mouth.

And she did. Her whole body went rigid and she came with a long, rough moan, pressing his face between her thighs while her pussy throbbed against his tongue. He kept licking through the entire orgasm, swallowing everything, until she went limp and breathless.

He didn’t let her recover. He stood up, pulled her off the sofa by one hand, and turned her so she was bent over the armrest. He pulled the lower part of the set all the way down and spread her ass cheeks with his hands. Mara’s pussy gleamed open, wet, sensitive. Iván spat into his palm, ran it over his cock, and lined himself up with her opening.

—Tell me no —he murmured.

She threw her head back, looking at him over her shoulder, her face red with shame and desire.

—Fuck me.

He entered her in one thrust. Mara screamed. Not from pain, but from the impact of fullness. That thick cock opened her pussy slowly at first; then it sank all the way in and stayed there for a moment, buried, while both of them breathed as if air had become scarce.

—Holy fuck… —he panted, and the phrase sounded brutal, sick, and exciting all at once—. Shit… you’re so tight.

Then he started fucking her for real.

The first thrusts were deep and measured, as if he wanted to memorize every inch. Then he lost control. He grabbed her hips and drove into her again and again, making the skin of his pubic bone slap against her ass with a wet sound that filled the room. Mara moaned without shame, one hand gripping the sofa and the other between her legs, rubbing her clit while letting her pussy get wrecked.

—Like that… keep going… don’t stop…

—Tell me who fucks you better.

She took half a second. Just half.

—You… you… fuck, you…

He let out a rough laugh and picked up the pace. His cock went in all the way, came back almost to the tip, and sank in again with violence. Mara’s pussy was so wet that each plunge sounded obscene, open, shameless. I had one hand between my legs and the other braced on the table, biting my lip so I wouldn’t moan too.

Iván leaned over her, grabbed one breast from the front, and bit her shoulder. Then he said in her ear:

—I bet nobody’s fucked you like this in years.

—Yes… yes… years…

—Because Dad can’t.

—Don’t talk about him… please… keep going…

He obeyed in the most indecent way possible. He straightened her up and sat her on top of him on the sofa, spearing her without pulling out completely. Mara ended up riding him face to face, with her lingerie out of place and her tits bouncing freely. Iván held her ass and started lowering and raising her on his cock, watching her face as her pussy opened and swallowed every inch.

She ended up riding him on her own, mounting him hungrily, hair stuck to her cheeks, moaning louder and louder. I saw her look down, see his cock disappearing inside her, and bite her lip with a mix of guilt and fascination. Then she leaned in and kissed him again, dirtier, more surrendered.

—I want to come again —she said.

—Do it. Go on.

Iván rubbed her clit with his thumb while driving up into her from below. Mara went rigid, let out a long whine, and came on him trembling, her spasms squeezing his cock visibly. He held her by the waist, buried to the hilt, enjoying the way she milked him.

—I’m going to come —he growled.

—Not inside…

The sentence came out too late and without conviction. He lifted her suddenly, turned her again, and put her on her knees in front of the sofa. He thrust into her twice more, deep, brutal, and pulled out just before orgasm. He stroked himself frantically over Mara’s ass until he came in thick ropes over her cheeks, the small of her back, and part of the black lace. The semen fell thick, abundant, and she let out a moan at feeling it hot and slippery on her skin.

Iván breathed deeply, still trembling, and with two fingers gathered some of the cum and spread it farther between her ass cheeks. Mara didn’t protest. On the contrary. She took her hand to her pussy and stroked herself while looking down at the floor, as if that filth finished making real what she had just allowed.

I came almost at the same time, silently, fully dressed, staring at the screen like a sick woman.

They stayed like that for several seconds. Him behind her, catching his breath. Her bent over, open, covered in semen, breathing as if she’d spent years waiting for a shaking like that.

Then Mara slowly straightened up and turned to look at him. There was no hysteria. No immediate remorse. What there was instead was a strange, dangerous calm. She touched his chest, let her hand slide down to his still semi-hard cock, and held it for a moment between her fingers.

—This can’t happen again —she said.

Iván smiled in that insolent way I was already familiar with.

—You don’t even believe that yourself.

She dropped her gaze to the mess on her thighs, then to his cock, then back to his face. And instead of going to the bathroom, she knelt in front of him.

That was when I understood that story had only just begun.

She grabbed the base of his cock with one hand and, before he could say anything, licked the tip smeared with her own juices. Iván let out a hiss and moved her hair out of her face. Mara looked up at him with a new expression, less maternal and hungrier, as if the line they had just crossed had opened up a different kind of appetite.

She took him into her mouth slowly, tasting him, taking him as deep as she could. Her suction was wet, firm, expert. It wasn’t the clumsiness of an improvised scene; it was a mature woman sucking cock like someone who had been imagining it for a long time. I leaned closer to the monitor without realizing it, my pulse still racing.

—Mom… fuck…

She didn’t answer. She just kept sucking him, letting saliva slide down the shaft, jerking him off with her hand while she swallowed him again and again. Iván held her head without violence, just guiding her a little, enjoying the way she gagged slightly and then caught her breath to keep going. When he pulled out for a moment, his cock came out shining, coated in spit.

—Now go clean yourself up —he said, still panting.

Mara wiped the corner of her mouth with the back of her hand and smiled, exhausted, flushed, obscene.

The recording went on a while longer, but nothing happened that surpassed that. Still, I stayed staring at the black screen after they left the frame, with cold coffee, tight legs, and a dirty certainty beating inside me: if I’d seen that once, I was going to want to see everything. The beginning, the repetition, the complete fall.

—So no, sweetheart —I said at the end of the video, leaning toward the camera again—, don’t hate me too much for keeping on watching. Because I know what I saw. I know what one part of me felt. And I also know that if you’d been sitting in my place, with those screens in front of you and that door open onto an intimacy as rotten as it was exciting, maybe you wouldn’t have looked away either.