The Neighbor Who Found Out I Spied on Her Every Morning

It’s 7:15 in the morning, and my phone’s alarm vibrates against the nightstand. I shut it off before the second buzz and cross the apartment barefoot, without turning on a single light. I press myself against the door, hold my breath, and bring my eye to the peephole. It’s my ritual. I’ve been doing it for months, and my heart still pounds as hard as it did the first time.

From the other side of the hallway comes the sound of the lock on 403. The door opens, closes softly, and Marina’s heels immediately begin clicking down the stairs.

That was the signal. As soon as she went down one floor, I would carefully open my door, making as little noise as possible, and look down from above to watch her descend. She worked in an office district and always left looking immaculate: tight dresses that outlined her legs, some blouse with just the right amount of cleavage. When the neckline was loose, I stayed there, motionless, stealing a moment she had never given me.

Some mornings I had to wait a minute or two. Other times I arrived just in time. In the afternoons I tried to sharpen my ear to the footsteps on the stairs, though it was harder: she came home in comfortable shoes, at different hours, sometimes dropped off by her boyfriend at the entrance to the building. But when we happened to meet on the landing and she had to climb one more floor, I would keep looking upward, admiring her legs, imagining what those short dresses concealed.

That was my routine. Until one Thursday afternoon.

***

I saw her arrive with a distraught look on her face, carrying two grocery bags that seemed to weigh twice as much because of her mood. I managed a “good afternoon” that barely came out, and she answered under her breath without looking at me, then kept climbing. Faithful to my habit, I followed her with my eyes, step by step.

Then one of the bags gave way. The plastic tore, and the groceries rolled down the stairs, a can bouncing all the way to my feet.

For a second I froze. She’s going to realize I was staring at her ass. But I reacted and went up to help her. We gathered everything together, and when only the last can remained, we crouched down at the same time, with her one step above me. When I looked up, her cleavage was level with my face, so close that the edge of her bra had shifted and the tip of a nipple was peeking out.

Marina gave me a tired smile, barely a grimace amid the frustration of the day, and went upstairs. I remained rooted to the step, breathing unevenly. I had been spying on her for months, and at last I had existed for her. At last she had been within inches of me.

***

The next morning, 7:15, eye to the peephole. 7:20. 7:30. 7:45 and nothing. No heels, no door. Did something happen to her? Is it because of yesterday? At 8:15 I pulled away from the door, uneasy.

Close to ten, someone knocked. I forgot about the peephole and opened the door abruptly. It was her, standing in the doorway in pink leggings with her hair tied back.

“I just came to thank you again for last night,” she said. “With the bags. I was impossible yesterday, and I didn’t even thank you.”

“No, it was nothing,” I stammered. “Really.”

“Everything okay?” I ventured. “Do I need to go beat someone’s face in? Just say the word.”

She let out a brief laugh, surely her first of the day.

“Problems at work. My boss is unbearable. We had a horrible argument, and I ended up quitting.” Her voice broke at the end, and a tear trembled at the edge of her eye.

“We all have days like that, neighbor. And bosses who don’t even deserve a greeting.” I placed my hand on her shoulder. First real contact. Barely a brush, but I registered it as a victory.

We chatted for a few more minutes and she said goodbye. Unable to help myself, I followed her with my eyes down the hallway, lost in the sway of those pink leggings that seemed designed to destroy my sanity.

***

Over the following weeks, my routine continued unchanged: spying on her when she left, looking for a chance encounter when she came back. Now, at least, she knew I existed.

One night I returned from a gathering after one in the morning, with several drinks in me. In front of the building was a car with its hazard lights on, and inside, Marina was saying goodbye to her boyfriend with a long kiss, one of those that never quite comes to an end. A mixture of prurience, desire, and foolish anger rose through my chest, fueled by the alcohol.

I killed time. I walked slowly from the building entrance to the foot of the stairs, stretching out the seconds, until I heard the front door close and her heels click behind me. I turned around, pretending to be surprised.

“Well, neighbor, what a miracle finding you here,” I said, much more casually than usual. I leaned in to greet her with a kiss on the cheek and, to my surprise, she accepted it without pulling away.

“Here I am, getting in,” she murmured, and I noticed her alcohol-laced breath, similar to mine.

“You look gorgeous. Out partying too?” I let her go ahead so I could follow, step by step, the line of that tight black dress.

“Every now and then you have to let loose,” she said, and kept talking, but the sway of her hips in front of me completely disconnected me. I didn’t hear another word.

“Do you like what you see?” she suddenly asked without turning around.

“Huh? Sorry?” Only then did I notice that we were on the second-floor landing.

“Do you like what you see?” she repeated, this time turning toward me with one eyebrow raised.

The alcohol saved me from going mute, but it didn’t give me the courage to tell the truth.

“Don’t you want to come into my place for a drink?” I blurted out, the only thing I could think of to escape the question.

I was sure she would say no. She said yes.

***

We went up to my apartment. I invited her to sit down, and when I offered her coffee, she looked at me as if I had said something stupid and asked whether I had anything stronger. Fortunately, half a bottle of tequila remained. I took out two small glasses, looked for something to snack on in the kitchen—a little cheese and ham—and returned to the living room.

Marina was on the sofa, legs crossed and wearing an amused expression I had never seen on her before. I poured the drinks, and we toasted.

“Do you always bring your girlfriends here?” she asked mockingly.

“Sometimes friends come over,” I replied, and for the first time I played along without stammering.

“So are you going to answer me this time, or are you going to keep dancing around it?”

“About what?”

“I’ll put it another way. Do you think I’m pretty?”

“Very pretty,” I answered, and downed the tequila in one swallow.

“And my legs? Don’t you think they’re fat?” She brought them together and stretched them out, watching me.

“You have beautiful legs,” I said, while noticing my own body beginning to react.

She got up from the sofa, turned her back to me, and slid her hands over her hips.

“And this ass? Do you find it attractive?”

“Very much,” I admitted, my throat dry.

“That’s why you stared at it so fixedly while I was climbing the stairs, right?” She turned around, step by step, until she was inches away. “Only tonight, or every morning too, when you leave your apartment just as I’m going downstairs. And every afternoon, when you’re there.”

I felt as if a bucket of cold water had been thrown over me. She had caught me. And judging by her smile, she had known for a long time.

“Do you think I don’t notice?” she insisted, amused by my embarrassment. “I count your footsteps behind mine.”

Standing like that, her cleavage was right in front of me. Impossible not to look, impossible not to get lost in it. And, to my humiliation, my body responded without permission.

“Do you like them?” she asked, lowering her voice.

“They’re beautiful,” I said.

“How would you know if you haven’t seen them?”

She took my hands and brought them to her breasts. My thumbs slipped beneath the edge of her neckline and brushed her nipples, already hard. She closed her eyes and let me touch her, her breathing growing heavier by the second. I leaned in and ran my tongue along the line between her breasts; a shiver ran through her entire body.

“Fuck,” she moaned, sliding one hand down until she felt what I could no longer hide. “I was left hot and unsatisfied tonight. I think you’re going to be the one who gets the prize.”

I swallowed. My cock was hard as a rock, pressing against the fabric, and she slowly squeezed it through my pants, gauging my reaction with a dirty smile. The air between us grew thick, heavy with alcohol, perfume, and desire.

“Do you get this hard when you see me?” she whispered, brushing her thumb over the exact bulge that was driving me crazy.

“Yes,” I admitted, defenseless now.

“Then don’t make me waste time.”

I lowered one strap of her dress, then the other, and the fabric slid down to her waist with cruel slowness. Her black bra hugged her breasts, squeezing them until they pushed forward. I tilted my head and sucked first one nipple, then the other, with a patience that wasn’t patience but hunger. She let out a long moan and buried her fingers in my hair.

“Shit,” she groaned. “Like that. Don’t stop like that.”

I unclasped her bra in one pull, and her breasts came free, firm and warm, their nipples already hard and glistening. I caressed them with both hands, squeezed them, licked them, took first one and then the other into my mouth while she writhed on the sofa, spreading her legs shamelessly. Her breathing broke into short, dry gasps, and every time I barely bit the edge of her areola, she threw her head back as if she were coming undone.

“I want you to take these clothes off,” she said hoarsely.

I helped her stand. I lowered the dress’s zipper to the bottom and pushed it over her hips, inch by inch, until she was left in her underwear. Her pussy showed clearly beneath the thin fabric, soaked, swollen, begging for fingers, tongue, anything. When I pulled her thong aside, I saw her wet, gleaming lips, already opened by need.

“Look at me,” she ordered.

I obeyed. She guided my hands to her waist and then to that damp hollow, directing me to touch her where she truly wanted to be touched. My fingers slid over her clitoris, and Marina bit her lip, moaning through her teeth.

“Like that, you bastard… like that.”

I sat her on the edge of the sofa and knelt between her legs. I opened her thighs with my hands and buried myself in licking her pussy, slowly at first, tasting her flavor, the salt and heat, the tremor that my tongue sent through her entire body. She clung to the backrest, arching and thrusting her pelvis toward my face to ask for more.

I ran my tongue over her entire vulva, lingering in the center, then circling around, sucking hard on her clitoral hood until I made her release a furious moan, one of those that no longer contain anything. Her hips began moving against my mouth with almost violent urgency; she grabbed my hair to set the rhythm, digging her fingers into my scalp.

“I’m going to come if you keep doing that,” she said breathlessly.

“Then come,” I replied, increasing the pressure of my tongue.

Her whole body shuddered. I felt her tense, open even wider, and then break apart in a long, wet spasm as she flooded my face with her scent and taste. I kept licking her until the trembling eased in her belly and her legs grew heavy and spent across my shoulders.

“I can’t take any more,” she said between sighs. “I need you now.”

***

I stood up, loosened my belt, and let my pants fall. She fixed her gaze on me without hesitation and closed the distance. Her hand freed me with a slow caress, her fingertips traveling up and down me until they drew a sigh from me that seemed to surprise her.

I stroked her cheek and kissed her, softly at first, a tentative kiss that she immediately opened with her tongue. Without stopping the kiss, I lowered the zipper of her dress and unclasped her bra. The fabric fell between us, and at last I saw her: two firm breasts crowned by nipples begging for attention.

I moved down her neck, her shoulders, her chest. She bit her lower lip with her eyes closed, her body arched toward me. I continued downward, tracing every inch of her skin with my lips, until the dress finally slipped away and she lay back on the sofa.

“You’re an incredible woman,” I told her, lost between her legs. “I can’t understand how anyone could leave you hot and unsatisfied.”

“Take advantage of it, because it doesn’t happen every day,” she panted.

I explored her slowly with my tongue, attentive to every reaction, while she tangled her fingers in my hair and pulled me against her. Her moans rose in pitch, growing less restrained, until her body went completely rigid and she let herself go with a cry that surely carried through the walls of the building.

“I can’t take any more,” she said between sighs. “I need you now.”

I was the same: my cock throbbed, red and wet with precum, ready to sink into her all the way. I placed her on her back on the sofa, spread her legs with one hand, and positioned myself between them. She looked at my cock with a smile of pure desire, then licked her lips.

“Come here. I want to feel you inside me.”

The tip brushed her wet lips, pushed forward, and she immediately swallowed me with brutal heat. I entered slowly at first, feeling her close around me, every inch drawing a low moan from me. Marina dug her nails into my back and made me continue, deeper, farther, until my pelvis struck hers and we spent a second breathing in the same rhythm.

Then we began to move.

I fucked her from below, sinking into her and pulling out hard, and the sound of our bodies slapping together filled the room. She wrapped her legs around my waist, squeezing her thighs to feel me better, and every thrust drew a darker, dirtier cry from her. The sofa creaked beneath us. I grabbed her ass with both hands, spreading her cheeks to penetrate her more deeply, and she answered by arching her back, offering me her pussy as if she wanted to split herself in two.

“Give me more,” she demanded breathlessly. “Harder.”

I gave it to her. I sped up, driving my cock all the way inside her, pulling almost completely out and plunging it back in with a thrust. Her breasts bounced with every jolt, her breathing had become disordered panting, and my head held one single thought: don’t come yet, not yet. I lifted her slightly by the waist and changed the angle, entering from lower down and brushing that exact spot that made her scream my name.

“There, there, don’t stop, you son of a bitch,” she said with a crooked smile that aroused me even more.

I turned her around and positioned myself behind her without losing contact, with the view I had imagined so many mornings from the stairs. She buried her face in the pillow, moaning and begging me not to stop. I spread her cheeks with my hands and penetrated her from behind, firm and deep, feeling her body tremble to the rhythm of my thrusts. Her legs folded on the mattress, her pussy dripped over my fingers and the base of my cock, and every blow drew a louder, more broken moan from her.

“That’s it, fuck me like that,” she panted. “Give it to me hard—I love it.”

I didn’t stop. I gave her more until I couldn’t go on, until the heat in my lower belly became unbearable and my body demanded release. I clenched my teeth, held her still with my hands on her hips, and came with a growl, unloading inside her in long, thick pulses while I kept moving so as not to lose the final throb. Marina shuddered beneath me, breathing hard, and collapsed with a muffled moan that sounded like complete surrender.

***

Afterward, she let herself fall onto the bed, her back shining with sweat. I lay down beside her and stroked her face. She hugged me, kissed my chest, and we stayed like that, entwined, speaking softly about nothing in particular. Little by little I felt her relax until she fell asleep.

I watched her for a while longer, still not quite believing it. It was after five in the morning. For the first time in months, I didn’t need the peephole to see her.