The Bachelor Party That Made Me Betray Him

Carolina worked as a sales representative for a technology consulting firm. She was thirty-five, unmarried, and had been living with her partner, Tomás, for seven years. Her work routine was as precise as clockwork: she went first to the offices, handled her assigned client portfolio, and, before heading home, returned to the company building to wrap up the day.

She was a friendly woman, with that kind of warmth that wins other people’s trust effortlessly. Her clients loved her. She always had half an hour for a coffee, a conversation about family, vacations, the children that still hadn’t come. She sold well because she listened better than she talked.

That spring morning she walked into the offices of Andrés, a young client who ran his own business before turning thirty. She showed him the new products in the catalog, he placed the quarter’s order, and when she was about to leave, he offered to continue the conversation at the café across the street.

Carolina accepted. She ordered a cortado and a croissant. She told Andrés she had just bought a flat jointly with Tomás, that the move was scheduled for five weeks later, and that the unexpected expenses had her on the verge of a nervous breakdown. The mortgage, the furniture, the curtains, the paint. Everything cost more than she had calculated.

Andrés listened carefully. His business was doing well and he wasn’t short of money, but he had always kept his distance from Carolina. He liked her, yes, but that’s how business is handled. That morning, however, the conversation took another turn.

—On Saturday we’re throwing a friend’s bachelor party —he said, stirring his coffee—. I’m setting it up in the business warehouse. We clear out part of the storage area, bring food, lots of drinks, and hire a girl for the striptease. The usual.

—A striptease? —Carolina smiled—. Do they still do that?

—Of course. A girl dances, takes her clothes off, the groom’s friends applaud, and after a while everyone goes home. I’m in charge of hiring her. I’ll call her this afternoon to sort out the details. The poor thing gets fifteen hundred euros for less than an hour.

—Fifteen hundred? —Carolina set the cortado down on the table—. For an hour of dancing?

—Less than that. Three songs, four drinks, and home.

—That’s more than I earn in a month —she murmured, and a smile slipped out between envy and mischief—. For that money, I’d do it myself.

Andrés looked at her differently then. He looked at her as he had never allowed himself to look at her in the two years they had known each other. Her breasts had always been impossible to ignore. Carolina knew it and tried to hide them with buttoned-up blouses and dark blazers, but geometry is unforgiving. At thirty-five, they were still firm.

—Well, I’m serious —he said, lowering his voice—. I’m the one who brings the girl. If you tell me right now that you’ll do it, it’s a deal. Fifteen hundred euros for you. But you can’t let me down, because I wouldn’t find another one at this point.

Carolina laughed nervously.

—I’m thirty-five, Andrés. I’m not a young girl. What you want for a bachelor party is something else.

—What we want is a woman who dares. And you’re beautiful. Say yes and the money is yours.

She held the coffee in both hands. She thought about Tomás. She thought about what he would say if he knew. She thought about the two chairs they still hadn’t bought, the sofa on sale until Friday, the insurance payment due the following month.

—Can I give you my answer this afternoon? —she asked.

—You have until seven. That’s when I call the other girl.

—Just one more thing. Is it full nudity?

—Usually they stay in a thong. If someone offers you more to take it off and you agree, that money is yours on top. If not, you end up in a thong and that’s it.

Carolina spent the morning in a daze. She visited two more clients without really catching half of what they told her. She thought about calling Tomás, but she knew he would never approve. She thought about calling Lucía, her best friend, but she also knew how Lucía laughed at men who went to those places. In the end, she didn’t call anyone.

At half past six she went back to Andrés’s office. They sealed the deal with a handshake. One single condition: that none of it ever left the party circle. Andrés assured her of that without blinking.

***

Over the next few days, Carolina doubted herself a hundred times. Every time a bill arrived, the doubts faded. An extra electrician, changing the locks, the custom curtains that cost three times as much. By Friday, the only thing weighing on her was the thought of Andrés seeing her naked. He was the only one at the party she would keep crossing paths with. The others were ghosts. He wasn’t.

On Saturday she lied to Tomás. She told him she was having dinner with the girls from work. He didn’t even look up from the tablet when she said goodbye at the door. Carolina loaded a backpack into the car with a miniskirt, a pair of shorts, a bra, and a black thong she had actually bought to debut the flat.

When she walked into the warehouse, she counted the guests roughly. Twelve, maybe thirteen. None of them over thirty. Andrés introduced her to the groom, a guy named Bruno, dressed in a pink tutu and a cardboard crown. Then he led her to an empty office where she could change. He had prepared a bottle of water and, on another little table, a glass of whisky.

—For the nerves —he said, and closed the door.

Carolina drank the whisky in one gulp. She changed in front of the mirror of a cheap wardrobe. She looked strange, almost in costume, as if the woman in the mirror weren’t her. She came out.

The improvised stage was a pallet covered with a black rug. The music was already playing. Andrés made a gesture at her from the bar. Carolina took a deep breath and climbed up.

The silence lasted three seconds. Then came the shouting. The guys clapped, yelled, encouraged her with their beers raised high. She began to move to the rhythm of the song. Slowly, almost without thinking, she unbuttoned the shorts and let them fall. The bra was left exposed. The applause grew louder.

The hardest part had already passed. The first minute. After that, everything became mechanical, almost fun. The alcohol helped. So did the crowd. Feeling herself watched by twelve young men who didn’t know her had something unreal about it, as if it were happening to some other woman.

The skirt fell thanks to a side zipper. The black thong came into view. A guy in the front row raised a fist and shouted something she didn’t understand. Another tucked a twenty-euro bill into the thong’s waistband, American-style, and used the moment to brush his knuckles against her mons pubis. Carolina felt the contact directly on her skin and held her breath: she had soaked the fabric without realizing it.

When she reached behind her back and unclasped her bra, the shouting doubled. She took it off slowly, as she had seen done in a movie years ago. She threw the bra to the floor. Her breasts, free, kept time with the music. It was true: at thirty-five they were still firm, the nipples large, dark, hardened by the cold and by the looks. One of the guys grabbed his crotch openly, outlining the bulge of his cock against his jeans. Another showed her his tongue between his fingers, moving it up and down, imitating what he would do between her legs if she let him.

—Take it all off! —one shouted.

—All of it, all of it! Show us your cunt, babe!

Carolina looked at Andrés. He made a pause gesture. She stopped dancing. The guys protested amid laughter. And then they started pulling out bills. Twenty, fifty, even hundreds. They left them along the edge of the pallet. Carolina roughly calculated the amount. There it was again, about the same sum she had already been paid. Another fifteen hundred euros.

She thought about Tomás. She thought about the difference between showing her breasts and showing everything. One thing was this. The other was crossing a different line. But the line, in truth, had been crossed a long time ago.

She took the money, set it beside the backpack, and kept dancing. Thumbs hooked into the sides of the thong began pulling it down, slowly, with her back to them. She arched her waist, stuck out her ass, and let the black fabric slide down over her buttocks centimeter by centimeter. When the thong hit the floor and she turned abruptly, the guys roared. Carolina had a carefully kept cunt, shaved almost clean, with barely two fingers’ width of trimmed hair above it, the lips pink and already visibly swollen. She stood completely naked under the warehouse’s yellow light, and spread her thighs a little so they could see her properly.

She danced two more songs. The whisky warmed the back of her neck. She stroked her breasts, pinched her nipples, slipped one hand between her legs and brought it back up again, her fingers shining, while the boys howled and applauded. When the music changed, she jumped down from the pallet, gathered the money and her clothes, and put on a short robe she had brought prepared. Tied at the waist with a single sash, it covered just enough.

***

Andrés approached with a glass of water and a smile.

—See? It wasn’t that hard. Three thousand euros for dancing a while.

—For dancing and for showing them everything —she said, and drank the water in one gulp—. That’s not the same.

—Sure, but money is money. Does it work for you?

—It works.

Andrés stayed silent for a second. Then, in a low voice, he added:

—Carolina, there’s something else. Four of the guys want to propose something to you.

She lifted her eyes, already alert.

—Just touching you. Caressing you. Nothing more. It’s the groom, me, and two others. If you accept, that’s another three thousand euros. The same as you earned dancing.

—No.

—Carolina, wait. It’s only that. We’ve already seen you naked. It’s nothing we haven’t seen. It would just be a while. And with that money you pay for the whole flat, the trip, whatever you want.

Carolina opened her mouth to refuse again. But Andrés already had the bills in his hand. Three bundles. He moved them slightly, as if by accident, and she followed the movement with her eyes.

—Where? —she heard her own voice say.

—In the boardroom. It’s the most private place we have.

The boardroom was at the back of the corridor, away from the noise. A long table, eight chairs, pale walls. When Carolina walked in, the four guys were already there. Bruno, the groom, still in the tutu. Andrés. And two other guys she hadn’t looked at before. One tall, with a beard. Another shorter one in an Atlético shirt.

—Lie down on the table —Andrés said, almost in a whisper.

She obeyed. She climbed onto the oak table and lay back. Andrés pulled the sash of the robe and opened it. Carolina was naked again, now under the cold light of the fluorescents, now without the safe distance of the pallet. She felt the cold oak under her ass, against her shoulder blades, and noticed gooseflesh rising on her thighs.

They started slowly. A hand on her face. Another on her shoulder. Another on her breast. Four hands at once, then eight, then more. They stroked her legs, her thighs, her belly. The bearded one ran his fingers over her lips, put them in her mouth, and when she instinctively sucked them, the guy let out a rough groan. Bruno, the groom, circled one nipple with his tongue, tugging at it with his teeth with just enough softness to hurt a little. Andrés, on the other side, licked her other breast, bit the areola, and with his fingers pinched and stretched the nipple until she arched her back.

—Open your legs —the short guy said in a tone that admitted no argument—. For three thousand euros, you open them.

Carolina opened them. The shorter one positioned himself between her thighs, parted the lips of her cunt with two fingers, and bent down to look at her closely, as if he were inspecting her. He blew slowly over her clit. She jolted. Then he ran the tip of his tongue over it, up and down, very slowly, very softly, until Carolina clenched her fists against the edge of the table. He slid two fingers inside her, then three, pulling them out and pushing them back in with a rhythm that rose and fell at his whim. Her body started responding without permission. The arousal came by a side route, almost from behind her back. She was soaked and didn’t like being soaked. Her nipples hardened until they hurt. Her breathing sped up into short gasps she could no longer hide.

The bearded one unzipped his pants and pulled out his cock. It was hard, thick, with a reddened tip and a shiny drop at the glans. He brought it up to Carolina’s face, ran it over her lips, rubbed it along her cheek.

—Open —he asked, and she, without deciding anything, opened.

He shoved it all the way into her mouth with two thrusts. Carolina tasted the salt, felt the vein throbbing against her tongue, smelled young man. She sucked him with her eyes closed, letting her mouth get fucked, while the shorter one kept eating her cunt and Andrés pinched both her nipples at once. Four pairs of hands, two tongues, a cock in her mouth, three thousand euros waiting in an envelope. Her head stopped counting and her body took over.

Andrés realized it before the others. He leaned into her ear.

—Want more money? You only have to say it.

Carolina didn’t answer. She felt trapped. Four men younger than her, wanting her, looking at her as no one had looked at her in years, cocks hard in their hands, waiting their turn. Tomás, at home, probably asleep in front of the television, with his zipper closed for weeks. The difference between the two worlds hit her so hard it hurt.

—No —she said, almost voiceless, with the bearded man’s cock still protruding between her lips.

She pulled it out slowly, a thread of saliva hanging from her chin. The shorter one straightened up, knelt on the table, grabbed his cock and started stroking it a hand’s breadth from Carolina’s face. Andrés, on the other side, opened his pants too, pulled out his own —longer, thinner— and rubbed it against a nipple, leaving a shiny trail around the areola. The bearded one went back in through her mouth, in and out, holding her neck with one hand while he fondled his balls with the other. The three of them masturbated at the same time, over her, panting, breathing rough, while Carolina, naked and legs apart on the oak, let them do whatever they wanted.

The shorter one was first. He let out a growl and unloaded a thick stream over Carolina’s belly, then another over her tits, then a thinner one that landed on her chin. Andrés came almost on top of her, cock pointed at her nipples, splattering her left breast with three, four hot spurts. The bearded one pulled his cock out of her mouth at the last second and emptied his whole load over her face, over her open mouth, over her cheek, over her hair. Carolina closed her eyes and felt the semen sliding, warm, down her neck, between her breasts, along her sides. She wiped herself with one edge of the robe, without looking at any of them, her breathing still ragged, her nipples still hard and throbbing.

But there was still Bruno.

—Come on, babe —he said, his voice thick—. You’re not going to leave the groom without his bachelor-party treat.

Carolina shook her head, but she didn’t move her legs. She felt Bruno position himself between them, pull his pants down to his knees, and take out a short, thick cock, very hard, with the tip already wet. He rubbed it over her soaked cunt, up and down, sliding between her lips, tapping her clit with the glans. Carolina clenched her teeth. Then she felt him position himself at the entrance and push. The cock sank into her in one thrust, all the way in, and Carolina let out a sharp moan that echoed through the empty room.

Bruno moved clumsily, too fast, hammering into her with all his hips, giving dry thrusts that made the table bang against the wall. He grabbed her ankles, spread her legs even wider, almost to a right angle, and kept fucking her like that, watching his cock go in and out, shining, slick with her juice. His fingers found Carolina’s clit by accident and stayed there, pressing in clumsy but steady circles. She moaned, first softly, then louder, then without control. The other three watched in silence, cocks already flaccid in their hands, satisfied now, almost respectful. Andrés had leaned against the wall, arms crossed, following every thrust with his eyes.

—Turn over —Bruno panted—. Get on all fours, babe, get on all fours.

Carolina, without thinking, turned over on the table. She braced her hands on the oak, stuck her ass out, and remained offered up, her breasts hanging, nipples brushing the cold wood. Bruno positioned himself behind her and shoved into her again in one thrust. He fucked her hard, grabbing her buttocks with both hands, pulling them apart to watch himself going in and out more clearly. He slapped her ass, loud, and Carolina let out a moan she no longer tried to hide. Another slap. Another moan. Bruno grabbed her hair, yanked her head back, and kept fucking her harder, his breathing broken.

One of the others —the bearded one, half recovered by then— came up in front of her, grabbed his cock, waking it up again, and brought it back to her mouth. Carolina opened, without hesitation, and sucked him while Bruno pounded her from behind. The other two started masturbating around them again. Carolina closed her eyes. For a moment she stopped being herself, stopped being Tomás’s girlfriend, stopped being the sales rep from the consulting firm, stopped being anything she had ever promised herself to be. She was only a body opened at both ends, pushed forward and backward, moaning around one cock, impaled on another.

The orgasm caught her by surprise, before Bruno’s did. She felt it like a current rising from the soles of her feet, shaking her belly, firing through her back. She clenched her lips around the cock in her mouth so she wouldn’t scream too loudly, and even so she let out a long, muffled moan that made the bearded one come a second time onto her tongue. She swallowed half of it. The other half ran from the corner of her mouth. Bruno came seconds later. He pulled out suddenly, grabbed his cock, and emptied his load over her buttocks and the small of her back, in two, three hot spurts that slid down to the crack of her ass. He collapsed on top of her, laughing between gasps, his cock still dripping against her skin.

Carolina stayed still for a moment, on all fours on the table, with her mouth and cunt throbbing, with semen on her back, on her chest, on her face. Then she slowly straightened up, ran her fingers over her lips, sat on the edge of the table, and reached for the robe with both hands. She wiped herself as best she could. None of them spoke to her. Andrés handed her the envelope.

***

When Carolina left the warehouse, it was almost dawn. In her backpack she carried six thousand euros in banknotes. On her body, a layer of quick soap and the shadow of four men. She drove slowly. The radio played at a ridiculous volume. She didn’t allow herself to cry.

Tomás was asleep. Carolina slipped into bed carefully, kissed the back of his neck, and stared at the ceiling. She thought about the custom curtains. She thought about the two chairs. She thought about the trip to Lisbon that Tomás had been wanting to take for months and that now she could pay for herself, without him asking questions.

She thought she would never see herself the same way again. But she also thought, and that part was harder to admit, that for a while, on that table, she had felt more alive than she had in the last seven years.

At the end, before falling asleep, she allowed herself the only sentence that had been circling her head all day, one of those sentences people say to forgive themselves:

When the cheating comes with money, it’s less of a cheating.