It really wasn't supposed to go this far. I had plenty of libido and it had all started out as some stress relief and some cheap thrills.
Now, here I was on my back, dripping wet while my neighbor's cock sawed in and out of my pussy. I had a boyfriend, who wasn't my neighbor, and we were supposed to meet half an hour earlier to continue our conversation about moving in together. Instead I was giving it up to some other guy I hadn't even known three days earlier. Just as the thought of how much of a cheap, easy slut I was being went through my mind, I began to come.
I lived on the courtyard side of my building. When I'd first moved in, I wondered what sort of people lived in this building. It was mostly studios and 1-bedrooms with rents almost twice as high as mortgages on 3-bedroom houses with only a slightly longer drive out of town. They were definitely luxury apartments and I realized quickly that the single folks living there made a lot of money.
For the price, I expected privacy and neighbors who followed the rules. The privacy made me feel comfortable walking around in my apartment in various states of undress. I didn't have to think about what I was wearing, who would be watching or whether the blinds were closed.
And that's how it went one Friday evening after work. The day had been difficult, I'd closed a big account and my client was easy on the eyes. Two drinks with my co-workers after work had gotten me three unsolicited napkin phone numbers. Everything that day seemed to line up towards getting me aroused so I didn't even get a chance to pour myself a drink. I just plopped down on the couch and kicked off my shoes. I wasn't even lying there for a minute before my hand slipped under my waistband and into my panties. I'd worn the tiniest little g-string thong that day and it gave way to my hand without putting up a fight.
With a day like that, I didn't even need to lick my fingers. One quick dip of my finger between my lower lips and my clit was slippery enough to go to town. It didn't take long either and the whole front and bottom of my thong was soaked by the time I was done. Everything ended with a fair bit of noise and some thrashing.
Then I opened my eyes and saw him. He was across the courtyard, on his balcony, one floor higher. It was far enough that I'm sure he couldn't tell who I was but I'm sure he got a great show. He didn't try to cover up the fact that he could see, either. My eyes met his and he smiled. No lewd gestures or facial expressions, just a sweet, sly smile to thank me without words, for sharing that with him.
I hadn't intended to share it with anyone. I hadn't intended much by it, really. I just wanted a little release, which sometimes calmed me down. This definitely didn't and when I saw that I had a voyeur, my arousal went pretty much through the roof. I'd called my boyfriend later, going over to his place and fucking his brains out all night long, and all of the next day. As I recall, I didn't even pay attention to his begging for mercy until some time Sunday morning when we finally left his place to go to brunch.
I don't know what had made me think that would be an isolated incident. I never paid attention to what I was wearing or doing in my apartment, at least not with an eye towards keeping it concealed. I'd put an extra upholstered chair and lots of pillows in my bedroom because I knew I was loud during good sex. Heck, sometimes I was loud during mediocre sex too. And if it was really bad, sometimes I'd make a lot of noise with the hopes the guy would leave right away after. But that was noise. I didn't think about what anyone could see.
I'd also been with my boyfriend for almost a year now. He was a great guy and the sex was good or better, but monogamy was a choke point for getting laid. Before him, I'd averaged about an hour at the bar down the street, as the amount of time it took me to find someone I was comfortable enough with to take home and fuck. It was easy enough to get home from work go for a little run, shower, eat something, and on the days I was horny, go out and find someone. Almost guaranteed, I could be on my back, in my bed or on my couch, let him have his way, get off a couple times, and have him out the door before bedtime. The best looking, sweetest and most skilled ones got to stay with a good-morning blowjob in the morning.
When that option became breaking a promise, my hands had to do a lot of the work. I had some toys but I hadn't even gotten my first vibrator until I was older and getting myself off by hand was easy and reliable for years. I never felt like it was a big deal and I rarely thought twice about masturbating anytime the mood struck me, assuming there was nothing preventing it. Since work always prevented it, nights that I wasn't with my boyfriend often started with an orgasm shortly after I got home alone.
So I guess I shouldn't have been surprised when, on a weekday night less than a week later, he watched me again. It was later that day and it was dark. My boyfriend had been over the day before and I had on nothing but his button-down. I texted him to that effect, which led to some sexting. I'd turned on more lights so I could take some dirty selfies to send him. A little while later, legs spread wide, the bottom of my ass crack slick from all my juices, I came in a thunderous, thrashing fit. I had to cover my mouth so as not to wake the neighbors.
But one of my neighbors was wide awake. It was the same guy, same place, this time getting a much better view. The way I was lying on the couch, he got the full-on view of the whole proceedings that left nothing to the imagination. He smiled the same smile at me.
In some combination of not caring and maybe some exhibitionism, I left my legs spread wide and unbuttoned the shirt. My nipples were rock hard and he got the full, unobstructed view of everything. Granted, he wasn't all that nearby, but nothing was hidden.
And there I stayed, not moving other than to pick up my phone. There was a map of the apartment complex online and some system by which you could call anyone given their apartment number.
Still not covering up at all, I texted his apartment: "Like what you see?"
I had no idea if he had a land line or if the mobile phone attached to the intra-apartment dialer was his. There went a moment of panic through my mind, of what if he had a wife and her phone was connected to the system.
"I do. Thanks for opening your shirt for me." The momentary alarm went instantly when I got that back. He was bold and not going to shy away from the situation.
"You're a pervert," I wrote back.
"Maybe. But you're naughty for showing off to a pervert."
I didn't write back, not that night. I did save his number and started to text him casually a few days later. At first, it was a little subtle, some highly charged flirting. Over the course of a few weeks though, it turned into some hard-core sexting. We never discussed anything very personal, nothing beyond wanton personal desires.
He was very correct in sizing up that it turned me on to show off. I wasn't going to let him change me but I did make at least a mental note of anything he said he preferred, liked, desired, and wanted. A week into sexting, he caught me changing my mind about something, from what I preferred to what he'd said he wanted. He caught on quickly and after that, a lot of our conversations were him telling me what to do and me complying. He knew how to push me, just enough to get out of my comfort zone but not enough to ever make me tell him no or to stop.
Mind you, I don't think my boyfriend knew anything about this. Some nights, I'd sext them both at the same time. Often, I'd come home from work, set up the lighting and position myself to give my voyeur the best look, then follow his directions until he told me he was done with me for the night. At first, I'd send him the same pictures I'd taken for my boyfriend. After a while, I was taking pictures for my neighbor and sending them to my boyfriend. My neighbor had also gotten a pair of binoculars by now and I made sure he could see anything and everything my body had to offer, in explicit detail.
It didn't really feel like cheating to me. I loved my boyfriend and he still got lots my time. Playing with my boyfriend was almost all on weekdays, as my boyfriend and I would leave town together many weekends. My boyfriend wasn't very dominant and not nearly as adventurous, so in feeding him the same fantasy and narrative that my neighbor drew me down, my boyfriend got a much lustier, hot-blooded nymphomaniac than he ever would have otherwise.
The line was getting blurrier though. I was getting bolder in what I'd suggest to my neighbor. He never backed down and always kept his word. What had started as general, undirected fantasy at first was turning into a much more personal dialog, directed at him. In the beginning it was, "I like this." Over a couple months, it turned into, "I want to do this to you."
More often now, we'd have phone sex in the morning. At first, it was a quick flash and some messing around while the shower warmed up. Then it became falling asleep naked on the couch. He called to wake me up and it wasn't long before I was spread-eagle, rubbing my clit furiously.
