The Night I Gave Myself to Three Strangers

The receptionist slid the key card over the marble counter without so much as lifting her gaze.

—The room is already paid for, miss —she said, and went back to her screen.

I stared at her a second too long, as if expecting her to add something, a warning, a question. She didn’t. I closed my fingers around the key and walked toward the elevators with my heart pounding against my ribs. The hotel was one of the expensive ones: crystal chandeliers, carpet that swallowed the sound of my heels, a thick silence that smelled of flowers and money. With every step I grew more nervous.

Inside the elevator I forced myself to look at myself in the mirror. I was wearing a black dress so tight it looked painted on, cut low to the edge of decency. High, slender heels. Heavy eyeliner, lips painted a shameless red that left no doubt about what I had come to do. I recognized myself and didn’t recognize myself at the same time. This isn’t me, I thought. And that was precisely why I was there.

I had spent months turning this fantasy over in my mind. Lying beside Mateo, my boyfriend, listening to him breathe, I imagined exactly this: a hotel room, nameless men, no affection, no explanations. I had never met up with strangers. That night I was going to stop being a thought.

The suite greeted me with a bottle of wine already open on the low table and two clean glasses beside it. I poured myself one and drank it almost in a gulp. I poured another. I sat on the edge of the bed with my knees pressed together, like a good girl, and waited. My hands were shaking.

They knocked at the door.

I opened it without fully standing up, and through the gap the first one came in: a man of about thirty, lean, with a calm smile that never quite became friendly. Behind him came another, older, in his forties, broad-shouldered, with the look of a man used to being obeyed. They looked at each other and smiled without saying a word. I watched them from the bed with narrowed eyes, waiting to see what they would do.

—The third one’s on his way —the younger one said at last, hanging his jacket over a chair—. He got caught in traffic.

They each poured themselves a glass and stayed standing a few feet away, looking at me the way people look at something that already belongs to them.

—Are you going to stay sitting there? —the older one asked.

He offered me his hand. I stood. They settled on the edge of the bed and I remained standing in the middle of the room, under the dim light. The younger one came up behind me and began unbuttoning my dress with a calm that made my skin prickle. The fabric fell to the floor. I was left in only my thong, and that didn’t last long: the older one tore it off me with a sharp yank that split it at the seam.

—You’re not taking that home tonight —he said, and tossed it to the other one.

The younger one caught it in midair and brought it to his face without even trying to hide it, smelling it, while with his other hand he began to touch himself over his pants.

—Touch yourself —the older one ordered—. I want to see you.

I obeyed. My pulse shot up. I braced myself against the dresser behind me, spread my legs, and slid my hand between them, standing there in front of two men whose names I didn’t know. There was a huge mirror at the head of the bed, and from where I stood I could see everything: me, them, the whole scene reflected as if it were someone else touching herself. The younger man stripped completely and masturbated without hurry, watching me. The older one stayed still, commanding, with a crooked half-smile, until he leaned back and lay down.

—Which do you prefer? —the younger one asked him.

—The ass —the other answered, his voice rough.

—Come here —and the older one’s index finger beckoned me toward the bed.

My legs were still trembling, but something very deep, something I’d been keeping silent for months, had woken up and was driving me forward.

I climbed onto the bed and looked for myself again in the mirror. I was about to lie down on top of him when his voice stopped me.

—No. On all fours.

I did what he said. He thrust into my cunt, which was already soaked, without a single preamble. Four hard thrusts in a row, deep ones, that tore a moan from me. And when I was still trying to adjust, I felt the younger one position himself behind me. I saw him in the mirror. He was smiling at me, with no intention whatsoever of asking permission.

He poured lube into his hand and then spread it over my ass with two cold fingers. He started at the tip. It hurt, and I complained, and the sound seemed to please them both.

Right then the door opened and the third one came in. He said something, an apology, a joke, I don’t know anymore: by then I had stopped understanding words.

***

I could feel both of them at once, one inside each hole, filling me to a point I hadn’t thought possible. The one behind me shoved all the way in and I opened my eyes in a jolt, and once again I found myself in the mirror, my mouth slack, my eyeliner beginning to run.

The third one stripped quickly and stood in front of me, blocking my reflection, and shoved his cock into my mouth. He grabbed my hair with both hands and forced me to take him until I gagged, while the one behind me thrust again and the one below sped up without mercy. I came without even realizing I was about to, choking between the three of them, not a single inch of me left unused.

I couldn’t stop moaning around the cock filling my throat. The one fucking my mouth started breathing harder; he was close. The three exchanged a look and, without a single word, decided to switch. As the one in my ass pulled out I complained, and in response a hard slap landed on my cheek.

—Don’t whine so much —said a voice behind me.

I stayed on all fours, wrecked, trying to catch my breath for what was coming. I’d lost count of how many times I’d come. I smelled like them everywhere.

The one who had been underneath before snapped me out of my own daze by stepping in front of me. He smiled, spat on my cheek, and slapped me so hard it lit me up more than it hurt. He shoved his cock into my mouth without waiting for the others, while the one who had been in my ass went to lie down underneath and the one from my mouth took his place behind me.

They opened me up again without the slightest consideration. Part of me wanted to protest, said it hurt. The other was completely surrendered, motionless, speared by all three at once and not wanting to be anywhere else.

They switched again, I don’t know how many thrusts later. I, more lost than ever, managed to squeeze out two words between gasps.

—Harder…

The three of them laughed and started insulting me, their voices blending together, until I could no longer tell which was which. In that last round, the one filling my mouth shifted to the side so I could see myself in the mirror. I looked at myself: lips without a trace of lipstick, mascara smeared into two black streaks, the face of someone who has been used to the very end. They pushed as deep and hard as they could, until they left me breathless.

And just before they came, all three stopped at the same time. I was left hanging over the edge, gasping, staring at them with tears in my eyes.

—On your back —one ordered.

I obeyed. I saw three cocks pointing at my face. They began jerking off over me and I closed my eyes and took every load on my skin. I opened my mouth to swallow what I could, but I could feel most of it landing on my eyelids, my lashes, my hair.

The three of them slowly caught their breath. I, almost too weak to move, breathed in slowly again. I was wrecked. I felt like something they had used and set aside, and that, instead of shaming me, turned me on even more. I looked at them from the bed, still teary-eyed, while shame finally began to make its way in. I reached for the dress with my hand. One of them handed it to me without taking his eyes off my body.

I sat up to go to the shower and the first of them stepped into the middle, blocking the bathroom door.

—Where are you going, pretty girl?

—I need to shower.

—Honey —he licked his lips—, you look like an abstract painting.

The three of them laughed. I looked at them almost pleading.

—Please, I have to see my boyfriend now and my house is far away…

The one blocking my way licked his lips again, eyes shining.

—Even more fun, then. Next time tell him we’ll let him watch.

—He doesn’t know anything about this —I managed to say.

There was a silence. Then I put on my dress as best I could, wiped my face with my hand without managing to clean much of anything off, and stepped out into the hotel’s carpeted hallway. My heart was racing. I passed someone on the way to the elevator and lowered my eyes to the floor; I could feel them staring at me longer than was polite. I pressed the button several times, as if that might make it arrive sooner.

Inside, I took a deep breath and faced the elevator mirror. My face streaked with mascara, my eyes swollen from crying, my lips erased, my skin still marked by three men I had not known from Adam half an hour earlier.

I thought of Mateo. I had to get home, shower, wipe it all away before seeing him. And yet, remembering what had just happened set me on fire again as I looked at my reflection.

I wasn’t going to wash my mouth out. I wasn’t going to wash anything. I’d get home, kiss him long and slow, and tonight I’d make him lick me clean. I only hoped he wouldn’t notice.

My legs were trembling again. I didn’t know if it was because of what had happened or because, against all reason, I already wanted it to happen again.