The Night Eight Men Waited for Me at the Club

The first time Rodrigo mentioned it to me, we were in the dark, with the sheets tangled around us and his breathing still not back to normal.

—I want us to do it with more men —he murmured against my neck, and for a moment I thought I must have dreamed it.

I hadn’t dreamed it. Rodrigo had been dropping that comment for weeks at the least convenient moments: over breakfast, in the car, in the middle of a conversation about bills. He had that annoying, adorable habit of obsessing over something until he got it, or until I made him see it was impossible. And I, who knew him better than I knew myself after six years together, knew that this time it wasn’t going to be the second option.

—I already know what worries you —he said one night, while I lay reading on his chest and he idly wound a lock of my hair around his fingers—. That it won’t be safe. That we won’t control the situation. That it’ll end up being a hassle.

—Rodrigo.

—Let me finish. What if I could solve all that?

I looked up at him. He had that expression he wore when he had already made up his mind but was still pretending he was consulting me.

—If you could solve all that... I don’t know. We’d have to talk.

A smile slipped out of him. I should have been more afraid.

The serious conversation came three weeks later, on a Tuesday night. I was lying on the sofa with my head in his lap and he was absentmindedly stroking my feet, as if he wasn’t plotting anything, as if he hadn’t spent weeks preparing exactly what he was about to say.

—I’ve made arrangements —he blurted out suddenly, without preamble.

I looked up from my book.

—What kind of arrangements?

—I got in touch with a swingers’ club about eighty kilometers from here. They have a protocol. Everything’s controlled.

I sat up to look him in the face.

—Define “controlled.”

Rodrigo explained everything with the precision of someone who had rehearsed the speech several times. The club worked with a private clinic that required full tests from all participants within the twelve hours before the meet-up. They had private rooms set aside specifically for situations like ours. For me, entry and drinks were free. For him and the other men, there was an admission fee.

—They’ve already selected the others —he added, watching my reactions.

—How many?

—Seven. Plus me, there’d be eight in total.

Eight. The word hung in the air of the living room for several seconds.

I said nothing. I thought about the night we’d spent with Adrián, in that hotel room where it took me forty minutes to relax and another twenty to stop my pulse from trembling. That night Adrián had fucked me from behind while Rodrigo put his cock in my mouth, and when I came I did it so hard that a cry escaped me that I still remember. That had been with only one extra cock. What Rodrigo was proposing now was seven more cocks, seven strangers emptying themselves inside me and over me.

Seven unknown men. Seven test results signed by a private clinic. A reserved room eighty kilometers from home.

—Okay —I said.

Rodrigo looked at me as if he hadn’t heard me properly.

—Okay —I repeated—. But I need everything to be exactly as you describe. No improvising. No surprises.

I could see it took him a moment to get himself back under control.

—Of course —he replied—. And whenever you want to stop, we stop. I don’t want any of this if you aren’t completely sure.

—When would it be?

—Next Saturday.

My blood ran cold.

—This Saturday?

—We’ve got until Friday afternoon to cancel at no cost. Think it over carefully.

I nodded slowly and turned my head toward the window. The street was empty. A car passed very slowly under the rain.

What the hell was I getting myself into?

I was never sure at any point during the drive. Rodrigo drove with both hands on the wheel and his eyes fixed on the highway while the radio filled the silence with a station playing songs neither of us listened to. I watched the lights of the other cars go by and tried to locate the exact point where excitement ended and panic began, because I’d been moving through that nameless territory for hours without managing to pin down either extreme. I could feel my panties damp against the seat and hated myself a little for it, for how obvious it was that my cunt was responding before my mind had finished deciding.

We arrived with plenty of time. We had dinner at a small restaurant near the club, ordered red wine, and Rodrigo talked about trivial things with the deliberate normality he used when he wanted me to relax. A construction job they’d started on the street across from ours. A podcast he’d been recommended. The weather for the following weekend. It worked halfway, which was more than I expected.

The club was in a discreet building on the outskirts, with no sign visible from the street. The reception area was clean, almost clinical, with warm lighting and a clerk who checked the paperwork and test results without raising his voice. Everything worked exactly as Rodrigo had promised.

In the waiting area we met the seven men the club had selected. They were different ages, completely ordinary-looking. None of them struck me as strange or intimidating in that first contact. We had a drink at the bar and talked about what people talk about when they’re nervous: nothing in particular, nothing that matters. But while we chatted I kept glancing at them and estimating the bulge in each man’s trousers, imagining which one was the biggest, which would last the longest, which would fill my mouth until I was crying. That stretch of superficial conversation was what finally convinced me I could do it. That they were people. That the situation was manageable. That I had control over what was going to happen.

At midnight, one of the staff explained the protocol. The room was already prepared. I would go in first, make myself comfortable, and when I was ready, I’d press the switch on the wall to let them know.

The room was large, with walls lined in a dark material that absorbed sound. It smelled clean, of something neutral and impersonal that I was grateful for. There was a low platform in the center covered with a padded surface, several cushions scattered on the floor, and dim lighting coming from strips set at baseboard level.

I was left alone and took several deep breaths before I took my clothes off.

I undressed slowly, folded my clothes on a chair by the wall, and stood completely naked after hesitating for a second with my panties in my hand. In the end I dropped those too. There was no point in keeping anything on. I gathered my hair up, baring my neck and shoulders. I touched my nipples for a moment to see how they were and they were hard as stones, tight enough to hurt. I ran two fingers through my cunt and I was soaked, so much so that they were shining when I lifted them to the light. I sucked my fingers clean of my own slick and felt my stomach clench with anticipation. I took two cushions from the floor and placed them in front of the platform, where I was going to kneel. I arranged them carefully, as if that small act of order could give me control over what came next.

Then I pressed the button.

On the other side of the door there was a small dressing area with lockers, so all eight came in naked. The door opened and the space in the room suddenly shrank.

It wasn’t that I wasn’t expecting it. I was. But there are things the brain doesn’t quite process until they’re physically in front of you: eight adult men forming a semicircle around you, eight cocks hanging or already half-erect, pointing at me from every angle, blocking out the light, filling the air with a heat that wasn’t coming from any radiator. The smell of hot skin, of musk, of clean balls and hard cock, something dense that settled at the back of my throat and made me salivate against my will.

Rodrigo was among them, his cock already hard and pointing at me. He looked at me for a second, just one second, and in that second I silently asked him a question and he answered with something he did with the corner of his right lip, a small gesture I understood because we had spent six years learning how to speak without words.

I knelt on the cushions.

The first man who came up to me was about forty and had a tattoo on his left forearm I couldn’t make out clearly in that light. His cock was big, the glans purple, a marked vein running underneath. He said nothing. He didn’t need to. I looked up and held his gaze while I closed my fingers around his cock and brought it to my lips. I kissed the tip first, using my tongue to taste the thick drop already beading there, and then I opened my mouth and took him all the way in at once, until I felt the glans thudding against my uvula.

—Fuck —he let out above me, and I heard him draw in a sharp breath.

I started sucking him slowly, moving my head back and forth, letting the string of saliva spill down my chin. I took his balls in my other hand and massaged them while I ate his tip with my tongue circling the glans. He threaded his fingers into my hair and started fucking my mouth at the pace he wanted, with little concern for gentleness, and I let him do it.

Next to me I felt a cock against my cheek. Another man had come closer and was rubbing his glans against my face while he waited his turn. I let go of the tattooed one for a moment and turned my head to lick him from top to bottom, from the balls to the tip, before taking him in my mouth too. I moved from one to the other, sucking two at once, alternating between tongue strokes and deep sucks, and I could taste semen filling my mouth before any of them had even started coming.

Behind me someone knelt and opened my legs. I felt a hot tongue bury itself between my ass cheeks and move down to my cunt, and then two fingers prying me open while the tongue sucked and lapped without stopping. I let out a moan with a cock in my mouth and the sound was smothered against the belly of the man in front of me.

—She’s soaked —said the one behind me, and he said it to the others as if it were a practical piece of information—. It’s leaking out of her.

Someone laughed softly. Another man ran his hand down my back, up to the nape of my neck. The tongue between my legs was replaced by a fat glans rubbing up and down over my cunt, smearing itself in my slick before pushing in. When he entered, he came all at once in one thrust, and I spat out the cock in my mouth and screamed against the thigh of the man in front of me.

—Ah, fuck, fuck —I muttered, and the man fucking me from behind gripped my hips with both hands and started pounding me hard, in rhythm, making my breasts bounce forward with every thrust.

—Open your mouth, gorgeous —said the tattooed one, taking my chin, and shoved himself back into me to the hilt.

They fucked me like that, held up in the air by two cocks at once, one in my mouth and one in my cunt, for what felt like endless minutes. They kept switching without my ever quite knowing who was who. When one finished in my cunt he pulled out and another went in immediately, giving me no respite, not letting me close my legs. I could feel my own slick dripping down my thighs, mixed with the saliva falling from my mouth, and I didn’t care. I wasn’t thinking about anything. I was only thinking about the rhythm, the pounding, the cock buried inside me at any given moment.

Someone laid me on my back on the padded platform. My legs were spread wide and one man positioned himself over me, sliding into me again, while another offered me his cock by my face and I turned my head to suck him from the side. A third man grabbed a breast and started pinching my nipple between two fingers, tugging and twisting until a sharp gasp escaped me. A fourth moved to the other side and put his cock in my other hand, and I jerked him as best I could, not looking, guided by feel.

—That’s it, very good —I heard Rodrigo from somewhere, and his voice reached me like an anchor—. Look how well she’s taking it.

The one fucking me on top sped up. I could feel his balls slapping against my ass with every thrust, and I tangled my legs around his waist to hold myself steady and dug my heels into his back. When he came, he did it inside with a rough groan, and I felt the hot spurt filling me. He pulled out and another immediately took his place, sliding in slick with the previous man’s cum, and that one started fucking me even harder, faster, making my legs tremble on their own.

I came without warning. It hit me all at once, a jolt that shot from my cunt to the nape of my neck and made me scream with my mouth open and arch my back. The man inside me didn’t stop; he kept driving into me while I clenched around him, stretching my orgasm out until I had to shove him back with my open palm against his chest so he’d ease up for a second. He didn’t stop entirely. He eased off slightly and kept going, slower but still not pulling out, until he came too and unloaded inside with two deep thrusts.

What followed over the next hour and a half was a buildup of sensations I still don’t know how to sort into words.

They put me on all fours and took turns fucking me from behind while I sucked off two others, alternating between them. They sat me astride one man while another came up behind me with his glans against my ass crack. They spit on me and rubbed with their thumbs until one of them dared to push, and I clenched my teeth and held on until he got in. When he did, when I felt two cocks inside me at once, one in my cunt and one in my ass, a long, sharp moan escaped me that I didn’t recognize as my own.

—Easy, easy —said the one under me, holding me by the hips—. Breathe.

The two of them moved at the same time, finding a rhythm, and I closed my eyes and let myself be carried by the sensation of being completely filled, double-impaled, unable to do anything except endure and moan. Another man came up in front of me and put his cock in my mouth, and then I had three cocks at once, and all the thoughts that had accompanied me up to that night vanished.

I came again, and again, lost count. Each man came wherever he wanted. One shot inside my ass, another painted my face with thick spurts that ran onto my eyelids and cheeks, another came over my breasts and then bent down to smear it around with his own cock. I opened my mouth when they came near and swallowed whatever fell in, and I could taste it stuck to my palate for hours.

There were moments of overload, instants when I lost track of who was who and needed to anchor myself to some concrete detail so I wouldn’t feel completely adrift: the weight of a hand on my shoulder, the pressure of fingers on my nape, Rodrigo’s voice speaking to me low from somewhere behind me. Small reference points that reminded me where I was and that I was choosing it.

Rodrigo was the last one. When the others were already finishing, he came up behind me and gently turned me until I was on my back. He positioned himself between my legs, already soaked and dripping with other men’s cum, and slid into me slowly, looking me in the eyes the whole time. No one else was touching us at that moment. The others had stepped back. And he fucked me slowly, all the way in, cupping my face with both hands.

—I love you —he told me softly, almost in a whisper only I could hear.

—I love you too —I answered, and I felt my eyes fill, though not with sadness.

He came inside me with a long tremor, and when he finished he didn’t pull out right away. He stayed there, resting his forehead against mine, breathing with me.

And then there were unexpected moments of calm, instants when everything slowed down and I became fully aware of each point of contact between my body and the bodies around me. The accumulated heat in the room. The sound of eight people breathing. The pressure of my knees against the cushions. The texture of the dense, charged air that left no room for any thought not belonging to the present moment.

There was something in it I hadn’t expected: that there could be so much stillness at the center of something so intense.

It wasn’t submission in the sense of passive surrender. It was more like deliberately letting go of control, with my eyes wide open, knowing exactly what I was doing and choosing it at every moment. Rodrigo had planned everything, had dealt with every objection I’d raised, had waited weeks without pressuring me. And I had said yes from a place of certainty, not fear or obligation.

That made all the difference.

The last few minutes were the ones that stayed with me most.

When the others were done, Rodrigo came over and knelt in front of me until we were at the same height. He looked at me in a way I can’t fully describe: there was something between gratitude and awe, a tenderness completely out of place for the context, but there nonetheless, unapologetic about being there.

—Are you okay? —he asked in a low voice.

—Yes —I answered.

—Really?

—Really.

He ran his thumb over my cheekbone, wiping away a dried streak of semen that had stuck to my skin, and held my face in his hands for a moment before kissing my forehead. Behind him, the other men were quietly gathering their clothes and leaving without a sound.

When we were alone in the room, I sat on the edge of the platform —I could feel the thick seepage running down the insides of my thighs— and he sat beside me. Neither of us said anything for a while. The silence wasn’t uncomfortable.

—I never thought you’d say yes —he confessed at last.

—Me neither —I admitted.

He laughed, a low, unpretentious laugh that relieved me more than I expected. I rested my head on his shoulder and we stayed like that for a while, in the room that smelled clean and of people who were no longer there, until a soft knock on the door told us we could use the changing rooms whenever we wanted.

On the drive back, with the highway almost empty at that hour, Rodrigo put his hand over mine and left it there for the whole trip without saying anything.

We didn’t talk about what had happened. It was too recent, too big to fit into words at two in the morning on an empty road.

I watched the headlights of oncoming cars and thought about the moment I had pressed the button on the wall, knowing perfectly well what was going to happen on the other side of the door, and at no point that night had I wanted it not to be happening.

That was what surprised me. Not that I had said yes. But that, at no point in all of it, had I wanted to say no.