We Know You Are Watching

My Brazilian flat sits right across from two girls who get the same view I do—straight into my open kitchen. Summer heat pushes the mercury, so I skip clothes entirely, windows propped just right so they can look if they feel like it. My wife strolls around bare-assed too; we both get off on the chance that someone might see. One afternoon I’m messing around naked, getting harder by the second, and I catch the cute brunette neighbor staring. I keep up the act, stretching for fruit, opening cabinets, pretending I’m washing dishes while my cock points straight at her. She vanishes. That night she’s out on her balcony, tits out, watering plants—she’s learned from us. I watch those perfect handfuls for a good five minutes before she goes inside. Next day my wife and I start in the hall where the big window catches every angle. Mid-fuck I spot that same little head in the dark. I grin, tell my wife, “She’s watching—let’s put on a show.” Wife loses it, grinds harder, and I glance again: neighbor’s topless now, fingers busy between her legs. We fuck like maniacs for her—new positions, deep sucking, bodies slapping loud enough to echo. When my wife’s done coming she drops to her knees, jerks me off so I spray all over her tongue and tits right in front of the glass. We don’t stare at the window; we keep it a secret. By the time we glance back the girl’s gone. We pass each other on the street daily, doors almost touching, never say a word about it. One night soon I’m lighting candles, leaving our door cracked wide open, and we’ll see what happens next.