When my new neighbors moved in across the street, I didn’t think much about who they were or what they might be like.

I have plenty of friends in my social circle; I wasn’t looking for more, and I’m not a snooper by nature. But as I watched the movers carry in their various items of furniture, I felt myself grow a little hot. Not only under the collar, but everywhere. They were bringing in sex gear! There was no doubt about it. Yes, there was a bed, a rocking chair, a sofa, and the rest of the normal flotsam and jetsam of a household. But could there be any other use for that unwieldy piece of equipment than a rack? And wasn’t that last item a spanking horse?

I had been reading on my front porch. Now, I was merely pretending to read as I clocked every single item that was carried out of the large van. I’ve been in several kinky relationships with men who were masters, but I’ve never owned any of the hardware myself. Most of my playing has taken place at clubs or with makeshift devices. Rope to a headboard. Cuffs to a table leg. This stuff was high-end. These people were clearly serious about their kink. I found myself both impressed and intrigued.

At first, I was so mesmerized by the gear that I didn’t notice the actual neighbors. After a few additional interesting items were carried inside, I paid more attention to the couple. The lady of the house would come out to talk to the movers, most likely indicating where she wanted the different items to go. Then the mister would come out. The woman had long reddish-brown hair worn straight to the middle of her back. She was slim and about my age, I thought, mid-20s. Her partner was slightly older, very distinguished-looking even on moving day, which I know from experience can be chaotic. In his dark slacks and black sweater, he appeared completely in control.

Later that night, I found out why.

The couple spent nearly all day with the movers. By nightfall, the van was emptied, the workers had left, and the duo was on their own in the new house. I was pleased to see that the one thing they hadn’t taken care of yet was the curtains. My bedroom window faced theirs, and I perched on my window seat and watched. They’d set the large bed against one wall, and the piece of furniture I’d guessed was a spanking horse had taken up residence in the corner.

“He bound her the way he wanted her, and then he began to torment her.”

I watched the lights go on and off in different windows. Were they christening the rooms one by one? I was betting — and hoping — that they’d end up in the bedroom, and they didn’t disappoint me. When they walked in the door, I saw that the man was still dressed in his dark clothes, but the woman was naked, save for a slim collar around her neck. Her skin was pale, almost luminous. The man seemed to be giving her commands. I wished like hell I could hear what he was saying. The woman crawled on the floor toward him, then undid his slacks and drew out his cock. Even from my vantage point, I could tell that he was the proud owner of something fairly mammoth.

She began to blow him, while I began to touch myself. All day, I’d been in a state of fiery anticipation. Now that I could see what they were doing, I felt as if all my nerve endings were applauding at once. He let her get him nice and drippy, and then he issued another command. She was quick to behave, crawling to the horse and draping herself in place. He bound her the way he wanted her, and then he began to torment her with various items: a crop, a cat-o’-nine-tails, a flogger.

I found myself impressed with his prowess, as well as their ability to put their hands on the kinky S&M gear the very night of their move. The last time I’d moved, it had taken me a week to find my hairbrush. But these people had all their devices at the ready.

Then I found myself simply impressed with him. He wielded each implement like a pro. At that moment, I would have paid money for a ringside seat in the room with them. Even merely to stand in a corner and watch would have been delightful. I didn’t need to participate.

When she was well punished, pink and striped, he let her free. Her cheeks were flushed. I wondered if there were tears in her eyes. I’d have to invest in binoculars, I decided.

He took her to the bed and spread her out. It was more difficult for me to see now, but I could imagine the dialogue they might be engaging in. “You were so good for me,” he would say. “You get your reward now.”

He stripped and joined her on the bed. I realized I had my hand in my panties and I was tugging on my pussy lips, toggling my clit. I couldn’t take much more. He was pinching her nipples. She had her hair whipping this way and that. Suddenly, I had a brainwave. Neighbors often greet the newcomers, right? I hurried to my closet and searched until I found my favorite black catsuit. I zipped myself in quickly, then went to the kitchen to find a bottle of champagne I’d been saving for a special occasion. What could be more special than new S&M neighbors on the block?

I hurried across the small street and knocked on the door. I knew it would take them a moment. They were naked, after all, and probably a bit damp from their exertions. But I heard his voice call out, “Hold on. Be right there.” And I put on my best submissive smile.

When he opened the door, I would lower my head, look up at him through my dark lashes, and whisper, “Welcome, new neighbor. How can I be of service?”

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