Fuck, what a day. First day at La Défense, and I got slapped hard. From 8 a.m. sharp they threw me in the deep end: screens everywhere, curves shooting up and down faster than my blood pressure, a boss throwing around abbreviations like I was supposed to know everything, and colleagues giving me that superior little smile like “welcome to the big leagues, country boy.” I spent the day nodding and taking notes, pretending to understand deltas, gammas and all that crap, while praying I wouldn’t get caught out on day one.
At 7 p.m. I stumble out of the metro at Pont de Levallois, legs like jelly and brain overheating. All I want is a cold beer, something to munch on, and to forget tomorrow starts all over again. I climb to the sixth floor, slam the door, toss my jacket and tie on the sofa, and head straight to the kitchen to crack open a Kronenbourg. Night’s already falling, lights flicking on one by one in the buildings. My little ritual from the night before comes rushing back, and my cock twitches just thinking about it.
I barely draw the curtains, just enough to watch without being too obvious, and settle in with my beer facing the big window. First the usual show: the old lady shuffling around in her dressing gown, the teenager already on her phone in a crop top (we’ll come back to her later). But tonight the young couple steals the spotlight.
The guy and the girl with the baby are in their bedroom this time, door wide open onto the living room. She’s in a short black nightie, sheer on the sides, the kind that hugs her post-pregnancy curves perfectly: wider hips, heavy breasts spilling out of the neckline, and a round arse that jiggles with every step. He’s in tight grey boxers, already rock-hard just watching her move around the room.
They start slow: he grabs her waist while she puts something on the shelf, presses his chest against her back, kisses her neck. She laughs, turns around, and in two seconds their mouths lock like magnets. Tongues searching, hands roaming. He slips a palm under the nightie, grabs a whole breast, kneads it while she moans into his mouth. The other hand goes straight to her arse, squeezes the cheeks, parts them a little as if checking if she’s already wet.
She doesn’t wait long. She practically rips his boxers off, his cock springs out, hard, veiny, the head already glistening. She drops straight to her knees on the carpet, no bullshit foreplay, and swallows him to the back of her throat. The guy throws his head back, grabs her hair, and starts fucking her mouth in rhythm. You can see the drool running down her chin, her cheeks hollowing with every suck. Fuck, she knows what she’s doing, this perfect little mummy by day.
I feel my cock harden instantly in my suit trousers. I put the beer down, unzip, and pull out my already stiff dick. I start stroking slowly while watching them, pressed against the cold glass.
He lifts her suddenly, slams her against the wall near the window (thank you for the perfect view), hikes up the nightie and spreads her thighs. He yanks her knickers down in one sharp move, tosses them aside, and shoves two fingers straight into her pussy. She arches her back, mouth wide open, lips trembling as he finger-fucks her like a jackhammer. She’s soaked, it’s glistening even from here. He pulls his fingers out, licks them with a bastard grin, then lifts her fully against the wall. She wraps her legs around his waist, and he slams into her with one hard thrust. She lets out a muffled cry, nails in his back.
He fucks her like that, standing, holding her by the arse. Her tits bounce with every thrust, almost popping out of the nightie. He slows sometimes to grind his hips, making her moan louder, then speeds up like an animal. She bites his shoulder to keep from screaming too loud, probably because of the baby sleeping next door.
Then he sets her down, spins her around facing the bed, bends her over. She grips the sheets, arches her back, offers her arse like a bitch in heat. He spreads her cheeks, admires the view for two seconds, and takes her doggy-style without waiting. The slap of skin on skin must echo through the whole flat. He grips her hips, yanks her back violently with every thrust, his balls smacking against her pussy. She turns her head toward the window for a split second, as if she senses she’s being watched, but no, she’s too far gone.
I’m stroking faster now, cock swollen, head sensitive. I imagine myself in the guy’s place, pounding this little bourgeois who plays the perfect mummy all day.
He speeds up again, she bites her arm to muffle her cries, and I see her body stiffen: she comes, thighs shaking, back arched to the extreme. The guy growls, gives three or four brutal thrusts, and empties inside her with a groan. He stays buried deep for a few seconds, then pulls out slowly. You can see the cum dripping down her thigh.
And me, I let go. Fuck, I come hard. The semen shoots out in thick hot jets and splashes against the window, slowly running down the glass. I stay there, panting, cock still in hand, watching my white streaks drip.
And then, as I come back to my senses, I notice something. Two floors up, in the building across, a guy is at his window. Suit undone, tie loosened, staring straight at me. He has his hand in his trousers, and he gives me a little nod with a smirk. The bastard watched me the whole time. He knew I was jerking off, and he loved the show.
I give him an awkward smile back, tuck my cock away, and finally draw the curtains. Paris, two days here and I’m already part of an inter-building voyeur club. If this keeps up, I’ll never want to go back to Poitiers.