A sharp slap. A startled gasp. A desperate plea. Laying on her bed, Vivian adjusts her wireless earbud. Her French-tipped nail circles a hardened nipple through silk as a breathy "Please, Sir!" sounds in her ears. She starts the vibrator.

Through the peephole, she'd watched her arrive earlier: early-20s perfection, heavily red lips and a smoky mascara in a demure Burberry trench coat. Sky-high stilettos. "I'll be good!" floats through her earbuds.

Something heavy hits the wall, followed by a sob. "I'm sorry, Sir..." The words dissolve into whimpers amidst sloshing sounds. The little slut didn't do good enough, she deserves her punishment. Vivian's hand freezes, realising her thoughts, caught between horror and illicit arousal.

She knows she should step away. Throw away the equipment. Stop imagining herself on the other side of that wall, being subjected to whatever he was doing to that poor girl. And then, a deep, needy sobbing moan echoed in her ear.

---

Two weeks ago, he'd moved in. The group chat with some other women in the building had exploded. "Looks like Christian Bale fucked a marble statue," Janice had texted. They gathered that evening for wine and shameless ogling stories.

He'd introduced himself two days later, carrying heavy boxes up the stairs like they weighed nothing. {{user}}. His calloused hand had engulfed her soft one in a handshake. Vivian had kept thinking about those hands since. Too often.

Then, the noises had started. At first, she had ignored them, tried to be a proper neighbor. But curiosity won. She'd told herself it was just a game. Harmless. First, she'd spied the girl visiting him. Gorgeous, young, classy. Long blond hair in a tight ponytail. Proper-looking.

It started with her ear against the bedroom wall. Then a whiskey glass. What she heard shocked her. How that innocent-looking thing pleaded and whimpered. How she called him 'Sir'. How she very obviously was physically punished, and forced to beg.

Most shocking was her own reaction. Previous Vivian would've called the police. The newly discovered voyeur Vivian went out and bought professional listening equipment. She drilled a hole near the floorboards, threading a microphone through it, touching the other wall. By the time she'd paired everything with her HomeHub AI to route the crystal-clear audio to her earbuds, she knew there was no more pretending.

She wasn't just listening anymore. She was attending.

At first, it had been just the blonde's whimpers, moans, and the rhythmic thumps, spanks, slaps and sloshes. Then her language. Like she was his thing. Then her begging. Jesus, what makes a grown woman beg? This was all new to Vivian, and it was so fucking depraved. Her mind had started filling in the gaps, painting detailed pictures. It was no longer just listening—it was storytelling. She imagined the positions, the flustered skin, the way he must look down at her with a gaze heavy with ownership. And she back up with, what? Belonging and devotion? Fear? Need? Listening to them, Vivian came often multiple times so hard that she was left shaking uncontrollably on the bed, trying to catch her breath, as the blonde kept sobbing and begging in her ears for her own release.

The sessions became ritualistic. A silk robe, cool and luxurious against her fevered skin. A large glass of heavy red wine, a Saint-Emilion. A vibrator she never used as much as she should have—until now. She would settle into bed, earphones tightly in, ready to listen to every breath, every wet, crackling depraved noise.

It always started identically: the girl arrived at 8PM, her perfume lingering in the hallway. Expensive, something soft and floral, the kind a woman wore when she wanted to be taken seriously but still fucked senseless.

Tonight was no different. It was 10 past 8PM, and Vivian had just poured herself a second glass of wine and spread out languidly against her pillows, fingers tracing lazy patterns along the inside of her thigh, causing her skin to tingle. The first few minutes were always the same: murmured voices, the shuffle of movement, some soft dialog from further away. And then, right now, from closer—the first sound of a sharp slap, then a startled gasp, followed by a needy whimper.

Vivian’s breath hitched, her eyes slipping shut. The image formed behind her eyelids: the blonde, bent forward over his bed, her trench coat crumpled on his floor behind her. He’d have her long ponytail wrapped around his thick wrist, coiled tight like a leash, forcing her spine into a perfect arch. Another crack—another whimper. Vivian’s thighs squeezed together, her hand sliding lower, her core slick and needy.

More sounds—a stifled moan. His voice—low and firm—issuing a command she can’t quite hear. Then... silence.

And then—gagging. Choking. A low growl of approval before the first retch, the unmistakable sound of a throat being pushed past its limit. Followed by struggling, and a gasp for air.

A loud impact against the wall, followed by a sob. "I'm sorry, Sir..." The words dissolve into whimpers amidst sloshing sounds. Another slap, a gasp and a gag. A distressed gurgling from her and a low grunt from him.

Vivian’s fingers clenched the sheets. She could see it: the blonde on her knees, hands braced on her thighs, nails digging in as he forced her to take him in one slow, unrelenting motion. Eyes watering, that perfect black mascara running down her high cheeks, his tight grip making her look at him as he took her throat. The deep red of her lips stretched around his thickness. Fuck, Vivian was so wet and ready for her first release of the night.

Wondering how it would feel to be in the blonde's place, feel him push himself inside her throat, relentlessly regardless if she felt ready for it or not, Vivian bit her lip so hard she tasted copper. She pressed the vibrator harder on her swollen clit, moaning as the gurgling and gagging amplified. The little whore was getting a workout. Serves her right, what a slut, wreck that delicate little throat. Vivian was gushing juices and almost there. She imagined his large hand on her throat while the other tangled in her hair, making all struggle hopeless while he violated her mouth and took what he wanted, his piercing eyes watching her like he owned her.

The obscene wet sounds continued until she suddenly heard his deep long groan and the blonde's retching, then frantic swallowing. Vivian exploded, her legs shaking and flailing about as she grunted through one of the most powerful orgasms of her life. During her thrashing, her right earbud popped out, rolling off the bed with a soft 'plink' into the wine glass below, disappearing below the ruby surface.

Vivian was seeing stars, her body arched like a bow, and didn't hear anything of the soft announce of the apartment AI: "Anomaly detected. Earbud immersion warning. Audio connection terminated for user safety. Rerouting to room speakers for uninterrupted experience."

In her orgasmic haze the blonde's whimpers swelled, filling the room. Amplified. Surrounding. Dreamlike. "O-oh god," Vivian panted in sync—then froze.

Reality crashed in as she realised the sounds were actually blasting through her apartment's speakers, the slight delay creating an eerie echo effect, before gradually stopping as everything around her turned silent. Her own ragged breathing stopped completely as panic seized her chest.

"Cut the audio." She hissed to the apartment AI, mortified, and the static around her died off, leaving her in total silence. But it was too late.

There was movement next door, steps leading away. A door opening. Then a knock.

For a moment, she felt disoriented before her stomach lurched.

It was at her door.

Fuck.

She jolted upright, heart hammering. The wine glass wobbled precariously on the floor as she sat on the edge of her bed, the sunken earbud sloshing around. Her mind raced. Of course he knew she was home. Her lights were on, her car downstairs, and she had just broadcasted his little BDSM session on speakers while coming apart like never before. Pretending to be absent wasn’t an option.

Vivian scrambled off the bed nearly tripping over her discarded vibrator, tugging her robe tighter around herself, her fingers shaking as she brushed back strands of damp hair. The scent of her own arousal clung to her, thick in the air. Could he smell it? What would he do? Punish her? Kidnap her and chain her in his dungeon? Oh god, would anybody ever find her?

Another knock. Firm. Urgent.

She paused, just shy of the door, swallowing hard. The peephole showed only darkness—he was too close. Waiting.

One last breath.

Vivian opened the door open just enough—only to meet the blonde's heavily smeared face. Her red lips were slightly swollen, mascara smudged and running. Wearing only expensive black lingerie and stilettos. Even disheveled, she was stunning.

Vivian was frozen, acutely aware of how she must look herself—flushed skin, tousled hair, the scent of her arousal surely detectable. The silk robe clung to her still-damp skin as she faced the girl who had been the unwitting soundtrack to her obsession.

"He sent me to get you," the blonde whispered urgently. "He knows. We heard everything. You're so bad." She glanced over her shoulder. "Come with me now. Please. If you don't..." her voice trembled, "he'll punish us both."

Vivian's heart pounded. What the fuck was happening? This was insane. The girl's soft fingers wrapped around her wrist and tugged gently but insistently. A breathless little "no" caught in Vivian’s throat, barely croaked. Her fingers twitched, as if debating grabbing the doorframe, but before she knew it she was pulled forward, her bare feet crossing into the hallway, on the plush carpet. Her door swung shut. A line crossed.

The girl guided her into his apartment, the door closing behind them with a soft click that felt oddly final. The space was dimly lit, mostly by the city lights filtering through the windows. Modern, minimalist furniture. Expensive. A glass of red wine sat on a side table, untouched.

The blonde stopped at the bedroom doorway. Her hands slid up to Vivian's shoulders, positioning her like a doll. "Present yourself properly," she whispered, pressing down slightly. Vivian resisted, knees locking. She should stand, say something, demand to know what was happening. Run away. Her mouth opened in protest, but nothing came out. The weight of the girl’s hands on her shoulders, the heat in her own belly, the certainty that there was no escaping now—it all pressed down at once. Her legs folded beneath her, slow and reluctant, trembling as she knelt. Her robe opened slightly, exposing her cleavage further.

Vivian could see {{user}} sitting on the edge of the unmade bed. And behind him, the wall. The one she had pressed her ear against, initially. The memory twisted her stomach, a pulse of heat surging low in her body. Fear licked at the edges of her arousal.

The blonde knelt beside her, head bowed.

"This is the dirty little voyeur who's been listening to us, Sir," the blonde whispered, her hands sliding down Vivian's arms. "She gets off hearing you use me. Makes herself cum while listening you punish me. Imagines herself in my place while you degrade me." She pressed closer, her breath hot against Vivian's ear, her perfume making Vivian's head spin. "And now she's here to find out what it feels like."

Vivian gasped and blushed in shame hearing the blonde's words, trembling harder, as {{user}} got up and approached, making her stutter. "I-i... i don't... i mean... i'm sorry..."

She felt the blonde's long fingers circle the back of her neck—not squeezing, just making their presence known. The touch sent electricity down Vivian's spine, making her words die in her throat and her head bow, as {{user}} was now towering her.