The Neighbor Made Me Pay for Spying on Her

I turned on the camera and smiled faintly, as if that could disguise the shame of what I was about to tell you. Whenever I talk to you, Alma, I try to put my memories in order before letting them out, but that day everything came rushing back at once: the elevator, the blonde, the threat, my boss’s hands all over me. So I went straight to the point.

The last thing I’d told you about was the woman from the top floor, the blonde who entered the apartment of two men and came out an hour later wearing that look of satiation only a good fucking leaves behind. I’d seen everything through one of the system’s hidden cameras, and although they’d given her time to clean herself up, her smile gave her away. She adjusted her dress, ran her tongue over her lips, and left as if the whole world belonged to her.

That was when I understood that the surprises of my job didn’t end in the hallways. There were cameras in the elevator too, despite the huge sign claiming otherwise. My arousal dropped a little and my head cleared: this was a brutal invasion of every tenant’s privacy.

I looked for answers, and the system opened a prerecorded video made by the previous superintendent, a man sick with power and prurience. In that tutorial, I was told that only one person—the person who took his place—had access to the hidden cameras. No one else. Not the official management, not security, not the police. A secret key for watching without being watched.

They didn’t explain why. Maybe because the reason was too simple and too filthy: pleasure. The pleasure of spying. The pleasure of knowing. The pleasure of watching other people fuck without their consent while you remain safe behind a screen, heart racing and hand tempted to drift down over your belly.

Over the next few days, I devoted myself to settling into the apartment that came with the job. I cleaned, organized, stocked the kitchen with food, and set up a corner for painting. I wanted to convince myself that this could be an opportunity, a strange but bearable job, a refuge. For a while, I believed it.

Then I ran into the blonde in the elevator.

I was carrying bags from an art store, dressed in an old paint-stained T-shirt and comfortable pants I no longer wore out on the street if I could avoid it. She entered alone, perfumed, styled, immaculate, and looked at me as if I’d dragged garbage into the building. It wasn’t a quick glance. It was a slow, disdainful, cruel scan.

—Is there a problem? —I asked, trying to sound polite.

—Yes —she said without blinking—. I don’t understand how they let you in looking like that. You give the building a terrible image.

My blood boiled. Not because she wore expensive clothes and I didn’t. I didn’t care about that. What pissed me off was the contempt, the way she treated me as if I were beneath her, when I’d seen her on her knees, swallowing cock and spreading her legs for two strangers while they used her until she was trembling.

Anger got the better of me before common sense could intervene.

—I give the building a bad image? —I shot back—. If you’re so worried about the building’s reputation, then you should moan more quietly when they put you on all fours on the thirty-ninth floor. And while you’re at it, clean your face better after they fill it with cum.

She went white. Literally white. Her mouth fell open, her eyes fixed on me as if she couldn’t tell whether I was a lunatic or a demon. The elevator doors opened and she stepped out without saying a word, but before crossing the threshold, she looked at me with such pure hatred that I knew instantly this wasn’t going to end there.

And yet, when the doors closed, I smiled. It had been monumental recklessness. It had also been one of the most satisfying moments of my life.

I went back to my apartment, turned on only the legal cameras, and started painting so I wouldn’t think. I wanted to stay away from the hidden ones, as if ignoring them were enough to keep me from becoming part of that mess. But the next day, the consequences knocked on my door.

I looked through the peephole and saw Mauro Cárdenas, the man who had put me there. He was my liaison with the company and, in practice, my boss. If I’d known he was coming, I would have dressed differently. It was hot, and I was wearing a very low-cut tank top, no bra, and shorts so short that everything showed. My nipples outlined themselves beneath the gray fabric, and the edge of the crotch clung so tightly that it left nothing to the imagination.

I asked him to wait a moment while I changed. He didn’t let me.

He inserted a copy of the key into the lock and came in as if the apartment belonged to him. He closed the door behind him with repulsive calm and left his briefcase beside the sofa. I took a step back, indignant and on alert, but I had no one to call and no safety net. If that man decided to fire me, I could be homeless by that very afternoon.

—Did something happen? —I asked, even though I already suspected the answer.

—Of course something happened —he replied with a damp little smile—. I spoke to the blonde neighbor. The one from the elevator.

I felt a void in my stomach. I’d screwed up even faster than I’d imagined.

—I know I was wrong —I said.

—Yes. Very wrong.

He moved behind me without asking permission. I noticed him before I felt him, from the smell of his cologne and the heat of his body drawing near. Then came the contact: his pelvis pressing against my ass. It wasn’t confusion. It wasn’t an accident. The hard bulge beneath his pants wedged itself between my buttocks, and when I tensed, he took advantage of it to press closer.

I wasn’t wearing underwear. That detail, which until a minute earlier had been nothing more than a comfort in the heat, immediately became a betrayal. The thin fabric of my shorts wedged itself between my lips, and when he thrust his hips, I felt the outline of his erection rubbing against me exactly where I was most humiliated to feel it. A rush of heat shot through my body, which only made me angrier. Pure anger, pure fear, and yet moisture began to gather.

—I’ll apologize to her —I said stiffly.

—Of course you will.

He placed his hands on my belly and slowly moved them upward. Very slowly. He passed over my ribs, traced the edge of my breasts, and stopped beneath them, feeling them through my shirt as if they already belonged to him. I bit my lip to keep from moaning. I hated that I was getting turned on. I hated even more that I needed this job.

—You had no right to speak to a tenant like that —he whispered beside my ear—. Especially someone like her. You don’t know who you’re touching when you open your mouth.

—It was an argument. Nothing more.

—No. It was a threat to us.

His fingers rose and seized both my breasts, weighing and squeezing them with obscene confidence. Then he pinched my nipples through the fabric. The brief pain shot through me like a spark, and I ended up letting out a muffled moan, which he answered with a low laugh.

—That’s it —he said—. Better this way. Less insolence and more attention.

I tried to pull away, but he immobilized me by pressing closer. His hard cock rubbed against my pussy through my shorts, searching for the exact spot. I felt the moisture spreading between my lips and hated myself for it with perfect clarity. It had been far too long since anyone had touched me. Too long of quick wanks and broken fantasies. He immediately noticed how wet I was getting.

—Look how quickly you loosen up —he murmured—. You pretend to be offended, but you like it.

—Don’t confuse one thing with the other.

—Whether I confuse them or not doesn’t matter. What matters is that you fucked up, and now you’re going to fix it.

He slipped a hand into my neckline and pulled one breast out of my shirt. Then the other. My hardened nipples were exposed to the air in the living room and the obscene gleam in his eyes. He squeezed them with his thumbs, kneaded them without gentleness, opened his mouth, and sucked one over the top—wetly and noisily—while continuing to rub his erection against my crotch.

—Mauro…

—Shut up and listen —he said, barely spitting my nipple out before biting it again—. If she files a formal complaint, you’re out on the street. And not because I care about her pride, but because you hinted at something that should never have left your mouth.

I turned slightly to face him. He used the movement to slip a knee between my legs and spread them farther apart. He wasn’t pretending anymore. His eyes were hungry, his cheeks flushed, his breathing thick.

—The hidden cameras are illegal —I said in a thread of a voice.

He smiled.

—So?

—They shouldn’t exist.

—But they do. And you’ve already used them.

He grabbed my chin. His other hand yanked my shorts down to mid-thigh. I froze. Not because I wasn’t afraid, but because every option seemed worse than the one before it. If I screamed, who would help me? If I confronted him, would he leave me without a job? If I gave in, what the hell would that make me?

His hand slipped between my legs and found my soaking pussy at the first touch.

—Look at this —he said with disgusting satisfaction—. You talk about ethics with your cunt dripping.

His fingers spread my lips and slid over my wet entrance. I exhaled sharply, trembling. At first he touched me slowly, drawing circles over my clitoris, barely brushing it. Then he moved lower and thrust a finger inside me. All the way. Without warning.

I let out a gasp and braced myself against the table so I wouldn’t lose my balance.

—That’s what you get for being insolent.

He inserted a second finger. He moved them inside me with a skill I hadn’t expected from a man like him, curling the tips upward, right where they made me see stars. With his other hand he milked one of my breasts, tugging my nipple and squeezing it until it burned.

—Tell me the truth —he insisted—. Did you watch her fuck through the hidden cameras?

I closed my eyes for a second. His fingers kept sliding in and out, wetter and deeper each time. My pussy sucked them in with humiliating desperation.

—Yes —I admitted.

—Did you like it?

I didn’t answer. He slapped the inside of my thigh sharply.

—I asked if you liked it.

—Yes —I said again, almost breathlessly.

—Did you touch yourself while watching her?

That was a lie, but the tone in which he said it went through me. His fingers sped up and the heel of his hand pressed against my clitoris. I moaned louder.

—No… I didn’t get around to touching myself.

—But you wanted to.

His fingers came out of me and he brought them to my mouth. He forced it open, pushing his two wet fingers between my lips. I tasted myself while he stared straight at me.

—Suck.

I did it. Disgusted by my obedience and aroused by the order at the same time. He smiled with cold satisfaction, lowered his zipper, and pulled out his cock. It wasn’t pretty or especially large, but it was hard, shiny at the tip, tense with desire. He gripped it and pressed it against my mound, staining me with precum.

—Kneel.

I hesitated for one second. Just one. He grabbed me by the hair and repeated it more quietly.

—Kneel if you want to keep living here.

I knelt.

The position made me feel small in a way that churned my stomach. He held the back of my neck and stroked my lower lip with the head of his cock.

—Open.

I opened my mouth and he pushed it in without ceremony. Not all the way at first, but with enough roughness to establish the rhythm. One thrust, two, three, leaving me to fill his mouth with saliva. I sucked him on instinct, out of momentary submission, fear, and an arousal I could no longer deny. He was fucking my dignity and, at the same time, making me wetter.

—That’s how I wanted to see you —he said, panting—. Much better than playing the good girl.

He pulled his cock out and gently slapped it against my tongue. Then he pushed back in, deeper. His hand on my head began to set a rough back-and-forth rhythm. He used my mouth anxiously, breathing harder and harder, taking me to the limit without letting me adjust. I felt the tip strike the back of my throat and gagged.

—Swallow. Relax. If you can spy on people fucking, you can do this too.

I kept sucking him while he groped my breasts from above, tugging my nipples between thrusts. The mixture of humiliation, need, and direct friction made my pussy throb. When I reached down with one hand to touch myself, he stopped me.

—No. You haven’t earned your orgasm yet.

He hauled me to my feet, turned me around, and bent me over the table. He pulled my shorts down to my knees and spread my legs with his foot. Air rushed against my wet crotch. I heard him spit into his hand, then lubricate his cock with my own moisture, rubbing it between my lips without entering yet.

—Does it hurt to think that you still want her? —he asked.

I was breathing with my forehead pressed against the wood, unable to lie.

—Yes.

—Good.

And he shoved it inside me.

The first thrust was dry, deep, brutal because I hadn’t really been prepared. I cried out and clung to the edge of the table. My pussy received him all at once, tightening around the cock that entered to the hilt in a single thrust. Mauro stayed inside me for a moment, squeezed by my body, and let out a hoarse moan.

—Fuck… you’re so tight.

He withdrew almost completely and thrust back in, this time finding a better angle. The initial pain quickly mixed with pleasure. Each thrust opened me a little more, shook my breasts, and tore moans from me that I couldn’t control. The table slammed against the wall with every impact.

—Tell me you saw her fuck —he ordered while he fucked me.

—I saw her.

—Tell me how.

He gripped my waist and sped up, driving into me deeply and forcefully, without mercy. My shorts bunched around my knees, keeping me from moving properly, which made everything even more degrading.

—With two men —I panted—. She sucked them both… and then they fucked her…

—Did she like it?

—Yes… yes, she liked it.

—And you?

He drove into me so hard my legs trembled.

—Yes —I confessed—. I did too.

He gave a little laugh and slapped my ass hard. Then again. My skin burned. The third slap landed just as he filled me with another thrust, and I let out a long, filthy moan that exposed me completely.

—There’s the truth. You’re a hot little peeper. You get scandalized about privacy while your cunt gets wet watching other people fuck.

I wanted to deny it, but he was fucking me far too well for me to maintain any moral stance. He slipped a hand beneath my belly and found my clitoris. He began rubbing it in fast circles while continuing to thrust in and out. My body reacted immediately, tensing, seeking more, pushing backward.

—Don’t stop… —escaped me.

—Well, well. Now you’re giving me orders.

He pulled my hair and arched my back, leaving me almost suspended against his body. His cock went deeper that way, brushing a spot that weakened my legs. I came close—so close I almost cried with frustration—when he pulled his hand away from my clitoris at the last instant.

—Not until you understand —he said through his teeth.

He released me only to turn me around. He lifted one of my legs onto the table and thrust into me from the front again. That position opened me completely. I could see him entering. I could see my pussy swallowing him, glistening with moisture, my lips swollen, his cock disappearing inside me again and again. The sight embarrassed me and aroused me even more.

—Look what you do when someone touches you a little —he said—. Look how you open up.

His fingers found my clitoris again, and this time he didn’t let up. The stimulation was immediate and savage. I dug my nails into his shoulders, opened my mouth, and moaned without shame. He fucked me with short, deep thrusts, maintaining exactly the friction that was driving me to the edge.

—Ask me for it.

—Let me come.

—Louder.

—Let me come, please.

—That’s better.

I didn’t last any longer. The orgasm rose from my belly like an electric shock, clenched my pussy around his cock, and made my whole body tremble. I came moaning against his mouth because he grabbed me by the nape and kissed me right then, swallowing some of my sounds. It was a filthy, invasive kiss, mixed with saliva and ragged breathing.

He didn’t stop. He kept fucking me while I was still trembling from my orgasm. I was so sensitive that every thrust pulled small cries from me. Mauro watched me for a few seconds, enjoying the sight of me undone, and then pushed me back over the table.

—You still owe her an apology.

—I’ll apologize to her.

—No. Now.

He took a printed form from his briefcase and placed it in front of me while continuing to drive his cock into me from behind. The paper vibrated with every blow of the table against the wall. The scene was so absurd that for a second I wanted to laugh. Instead, I moaned when he penetrated me more deeply.

—You’re going downstairs, giving her this, and apologizing properly. Understood?

—Yes…

—Say it better.

He grabbed one of my breasts and twisted my nipple between his fingers.

—Yes, I will.

—Good girl.

That last phrase, spoken with such contempt, was what finally pushed him to orgasm. I felt it in the way he tensed, in the change of rhythm, in his deeper panting. He pulled his cock out abruptly, gripped it in his hand, and came over my belly and pussy, splattering my skin, my crotch, and the wrinkled shirt beneath my breasts. Thick, hot, rapid spurts. He milked himself until the last drop while looking at me as if he’d just closed a deal.

I was breathing hard, my legs weak and my body covered in his cum. He released my hair, straightened his clothes, and offered me a tissue with false courtesy that made me want to spit in his face.

—Don’t do anything stupid —he said—. Apologize, and never hint at anything about the cameras again. Ever.

He left me with the form and a strange trembling between my legs. I cleaned myself in silence. I hated myself for giving in. I hated myself for enjoying parts of it. And worst of all, I hated myself for knowing I was going to obey.

***

I showered, put on discreet clothes, and went downstairs to the blonde’s apartment. When she opened the door, she was wearing a white blouse and an almost calm expression of superiority. She seemed to have regained complete control of the situation.

I lowered my head slightly and held out the paper.

—I came to apologize. My behavior in the elevator was unacceptable. If you want to file a formal complaint, you can.

She took the form without inviting me in. She read a couple of lines and then looked up at me.

—Before I decide, I want to know something. How did you know what happened in that apartment?

I felt my heart in my throat. If she suspected the hidden cameras, my job was hanging by a thread.

—I heard noises during a security round, and then I saw you go in there. I guessed the rest.

—You didn’t sound like you were guessing. You sounded pretty sure.

I improvised as I went. I talked about moans, loud voices, a door near which you could hear everything. She frowned, uncomfortable. She asked me two more questions, testing whether I was lying, and I kept up the story as best I could.

In the end, she looked at the form, folded it in half, and then into quarters. Then she tore it slowly without taking her eyes off me.

—I’m not going to report you.

My relief lasted only a second.

—But you owe me a favor —she continued—. A big one. And I’ll collect it whenever I want.

I wanted to ask what that meant. She didn’t let me. She closed the door in my face with icy gentleness.

I stood still in the hallway for a moment, holding nothing in my empty hands. I had wanted to humiliate her with information I should never have had. Mauro had humiliated me to cover up his secret. And now she had something on me too, even though she still didn’t know how much.

I returned to the elevator with my legs still sensitive, the memory of my boss’s cock entering my body, and the neighbor’s threat pounding in my head. That was when I truly understood what I’d gotten myself into. It wasn’t just a surveillance job. It was a web of gazes, secrets, blackmail, and desire.

And the worst part wasn’t that.

The worst part was that when I reached my apartment and turned the screens on again, I felt the urge to look for the hidden cameras once more.

I looked for them.

I’m not going to lie to you, Alma. I searched for them with my legs still trembling and my pussy sensitive, remembering how they had touched me and how I had come despite everything. I sat in front of the monitors alone, blue light painting my face, and understood that the poison had already gotten inside me. Part of me was still horrified. The other part wanted to watch.

And I watched.