The Dress My Neighbor Chose to Use Me

That Thursday, I had other plans. A friend from Guadalajara was coming on business, and we had arranged to see each other, because he always arrived with gifts: perfumes, lingerie, those silly things that made me feel desired in a way I had stopped feeling at home long ago. But in the middle of the afternoon, my husband called me. I was supposed to pick up the kids at his mother’s house, because he couldn’t, and his mother had an appointment and they were taking her.

I left work and drove toward my mother-in-law’s house with my phone vibrating in my lap. It was a message from Mateo, my neighbor. They were having a get-together with some friends that night and were waiting for me. I didn’t answer him. I picked up the kids, flew through the supermarket for milk and cereal, and went back to the building.

From the staircase, I could already hear music coming from the apartment across the hall. As I climbed, I heard them shouting my name between laughs, telling me to hurry, that the party was better with me there. I felt heat in my face and quickened my pace without answering.

I fed my children dinner, and in the meantime, my husband called me. I told him they were eating. I asked what time he would be back.

—Between twelve and twelve-thirty —he said—. Don’t wait up for me. Go to sleep.

I hung up, thinking the night had suddenly been emptied out. Neither my friend from Guadalajara nor anything else. Just me, the dirty dishes, and that stubborn music from the other side of the hall.

***

I was putting the children to bed when someone knocked. It was Mateo, a university student from the campus a few blocks away, with the look of someone who already had a plan worked out. In one hand he held a beer, and in the other, a tiny pink dress dangling from two fingers like a provocation.

—I’m not going tonight —I told him before he could open his mouth.

—Look what I bought you.

I took it. It was minuscule, almost transparent.

—What is this? It’s way too short.

—That’s the idea —he replied calmly—. It’s the kind girls wear in gentlemen’s clubs. The kind that lets people see your pussy if you bend over.

I should have shut the door in his face. Instead, I laughed, and that laugh was my first mistake. He handed me the beer, one of those new tequila mixes, and after the first sip, something loosened inside me. When I was younger, I used to drink submarinos until I lost count. The taste brought me back to a version of myself I’d thought was buried.

—Come on, try it on —he said, leaning against the frame as if the decision were already his—. And come show me how it looks on you.

—Wait a moment.

I went to check on the children. I told them to go to sleep, that I was going to be with the neighbor next door in case they needed me. I locked myself in the bathroom with the dress in my hands and stared at it for a long while. Just for a little while, I promised myself. A little while, and I’ll come back.

I took the platform shoes out of my bedroom—the ones I hadn’t worn in years. The dress was meant to be worn with nothing underneath; any underwear would have shown beneath the fabric. I put it on, and it showed everything. My nipples stood hard against the gauze, and below, the dark triangle of my pubic hair could be made out. I went out into the living room.

Mateo’s eyes wandered over me. I saw him harden beneath his pants just from looking at me. He adjusted his cock with his hand, without trying to hide it, and pointed at it with his chin.

—You look like such a whore —he said, and instead of offending me, the word turned me on in a way I hadn’t expected. I felt a heavy pulse between my legs, my pussy swelling just from hearing it.

He took my hand.

—Come on.

—Just for a little while. My husband will be home in two hours.

—Yes, baby. In two hours I’ll bring you back, well fucked and well filled.

***

I entered his apartment first. Inside were three more guys, all university students, all young, all looking at me as if they had been waiting for me before I had even decided anything. Almost immediately, they began dancing around me and offered me some of their drink, a murky mixture in a plastic cup.

—What is this? —I asked after a couple of sips, feeling my head grow heavy.

—It’s a special drink for you —one of them said, smiling—. So you’ll loosen up and let us do anything we want to you.

They turned off the lights and switched on colored ones, the kind from nightclubs, sweeping the room in blue and violet and leaving everything halfway between shadow and brightness. The music changed to something slower, dirtier. I kept drinking, kept dancing, and they pressed against me from in front and behind. I felt hands squeezing my ass, sliding up my thighs, cupping my breasts over the fabric. I didn’t push them away. I returned their touches, feeling for them over their pants, dizzy and aroused in equal measure.

One of them, the tallest, slipped his hand beneath my dress and stroked my pussy directly. I was soaked. He licked his fingers in front of me, staring straight into my eyes.

—Look how the lady’s dripping —he said, and the others laughed.

Another pressed against me from behind and squeezed my tits through the gauze, twisting my nipples between his fingers until a moan escaped me. I felt his hard cock against my ass, rubbing slowly, setting the pace. The third stood in front of me, grabbed my hand, and placed it over the bulge in his pants so I would squeeze him. I squeezed him. I began massaging him through the fabric, feeling his entire length, and he tore my dress open in one pull, leaving my tits bare.

—Suck him through the pants —he asked.

I knelt right there in the middle of the living room and bit his cock through his pants. I pulled down his zipper with my teeth. He took it out himself, thick and red at the tip, and pressed it against my lips. I opened my mouth and swallowed half of it in one go. The other two pulled out theirs and positioned themselves on either side of me. I began moving from one mouth to the other, sucking, spitting, gripping them with both hands, shaking them against my face. Their cocks slapped my cheeks, my lips, my tongue, and I opened my mouth wider each time, asking for more without saying so.

One part of me, the part that still kept track of the time, repeated that it was only for a little while, that at any moment I would say goodbye and cross the hall back to my life. The other part, the one that had been asleep for months, didn’t want to hear anything. That night, the second part won, and I knew it the moment I stopped looking at the oven clock and let myself be led wherever they wanted.

Mateo stopped the game. He took me by the arm and practically shoved me into his bedroom. He threw me onto the bed and pulled down his pants. His cock was standing, thick, with a vein running from top to bottom, a thread of fluid gleaming at the tip.

—Do your job —he said, in a voice I didn’t know—. Suck it like the whore you are. Your husband won’t be long.

I got on all fours without thinking. He stood to one side, and I put him in my mouth while he held the back of my head with one hand. He wasn’t gentle. He shoved himself all the way in, again and again, without letting me breathe at my own pace. The tip struck the back of my throat, and I gagged, coating his cock in thick saliva that spilled down my chin and dripped between my tits. He pulled my hair, made me swallow him whole, and when I thought I was going to choke, he did it again.

—Harder —he ordered—. Like that. Tongue out, with that little mouth wide open. Open it wider.

I obeyed. I stuck out my tongue, and he rested his cock on it, rubbed it across my face, slapped my cheeks with it before putting it back in my mouth all the way. My eyes watered, my makeup ran, and still I opened my mouth wider every time he asked. I don’t know when I stopped wanting anything except to obey. I grabbed his balls with one hand and kneaded them while I sucked him, and he let out a rough moan that made me squeeze my thighs with pure pleasure.

***

I felt my legs being opened from behind and someone entering me in one hard thrust. I hadn’t heard him climb onto the bed. I gasped, half pleasure, half surprise, and Mateo took advantage of it to grab my head again and sink himself to the back of my throat. The one behind me gripped my hips with both hands and began fucking me hard, pulling almost all the way out before driving back in, his thighs smacking against my ass.

—The lady’s so tight —the one behind me said, panting—. She’s swallowing all of it.

—Break her pussy —Mateo answered, continuing to fuck my mouth in the same rhythm.

Their rhythms synchronized. Every time one sank into me from behind, the other shoved his cock down my throat. I was a tube, an open hole at both ends, and I let myself be used. I felt my orgasm rising, unable to stop it, my tits swinging, my nipples rubbing against the sheet, other hands squeezing my thighs, my waist, my ass.

Mateo pulled away. When I lifted my eyes, another one of the guys was already standing in front of me, waiting his turn in my mouth. I swallowed him in one thrust, without hesitation, while the one behind me kept pounding into me. And then, without warning, I felt the first one pull out of my pussy only to press against the other side, against a place my husband had never touched. He made his way in by pressing the tip against my ass and pushing slowly but steadily until he sank in completely. I screamed with my mouth full. Pain and pleasure blended into the same cry, impossible to tell apart.

—Hold on, baby —I heard someone say—. It’ll pass in a second, and you’ll be asking for more.

And I came. I came in a way I hadn’t remembered being capable of, with my whole body, my blood boiling, every hand and every thrust amplified by whatever they had given me to drink. I convulsed all over with one cock buried in my ass and another choking me, and they laughed and fucked me harder, taking advantage of the spasms.

—Now it’s your turn —I heard Mateo say—. Give it to her hard. Fill that neglected pussy.

They changed my position. They laid me on top of one of them, on my back against his chest, his cock buried in my ass, while another climbed over me from the front and drove his into my pussy in a single thrust. They both began moving at once, one upward, the other forward, and I felt the thin wall between the two holes as if they were going to tear it apart. The third stood beside my head and put his cock in my mouth, gripping my hair, while the fourth licked and bit my tits, squeezing them as if he wanted to draw milk from them.

Two inside me, one in my mouth, one clinging to my nipples, everyone’s hands everywhere. They were using all of me. They thrust in and pulled out, turned my head to pass me from one cock to another, squeezed my ass, slapped me hard enough for the sound to carry over the music. I felt someone’s first load flood my pussy, hot and thick, spilling inside me. They didn’t stop. They changed places; another entered where the first had finished, sliding easily through the wetness, and they continued.

I came again, gushing, wetting the thighs of the one beneath me, and felt the room tilt. The one in my mouth came across my face, thick strands of semen falling onto my lips, my nose, my eyelashes. Someone rubbed it in with the tip of his cock so I would swallow it all.

The voices grew distant, as if they were speaking from the other side of a wall. They laid me facedown, my ass raised by a pillow, and I felt one enter, pull out, leave his place to the next. The last thing I clearly felt was their hands opening me for someone to enter again, the cock sliding through someone else’s cum, and then nothing.

***

I woke facedown on that same bed, my face pressed against the sheet and my entire body aching. I was covered in semen: in my hair, on my hands, running down the insides of my thighs, drying on my tits and back. Everything between my legs throbbed, swollen and raw. I didn’t know what time it was. I felt around for my shoes and couldn’t find them. I tried to straighten my dress and discovered that it was torn down one side, soaked and ruined.

I went out into the living room. All four of them were asleep naked, sprawled across the couches and floor, their cocks still half-hard against their thighs. I looked at myself in the entryway mirror and barely recognized myself. I had finger marks on my tits and hips, and a thread of semen running down the inside of my thigh to my knee. I cleaned myself as best I could with a towel, found my phone, and saw the time: two-thirty in the morning. My husband had been writing to me since twelve-fifteen. Missed calls, unanswered messages.

My stomach clenched. I wrapped myself in the towel, grabbed the bag with the torn dress, and went out barefoot, staggering, praying I wouldn’t run into anyone in the hallway.

***

I entered my apartment silently. My husband was snoring in the bedroom. I didn’t turn on any lights. I went straight to the bathroom and vomited until all that remained was the taste of beer and tequila mixed with everything else. I stepped into the shower with the water nearly boiling, scrubbing my skin as if I could remove the entire night. Semen kept coming out of my pussy and ass whenever I bent over; I washed myself inside with the showerhead until the water ran clear. I put the pink dress in a bag, tied it with a double knot, and hid it at the bottom of the hamper.

I lay down naked, slowly, taking care not to brush against him. I fell into a deep, dreamless sleep, the kind that resembles a blackout.

By morning, he was gone. He had gotten up early and left without waking me. Later, he told me he had arrived at twelve-fifteen, that he had texted and called me, and that when I didn’t answer, he had asked our son. The boy told him I was with the neighbor. That was why he hadn’t insisted.

—I’m only asking you not to drink so much during the week —he told me afterward, suspecting nothing—. That woman is a bad influence on you.

—You’re right —I answered, lowering my eyes—. I’ll stop spending time with her.

Days later, I went upstairs to see the neighbor and told her that she was now officially my bad influence. She laughed until she was out of breath.

—Well, look at that —she said, wiping away a tear—. The quiet lady from number four.

I laughed with her. But inside, every time the music started playing on the other side of the hall again, I felt something tighten and open at once, like a question I preferred not to answer aloud.