My Flatmate Followed Me to the Rave

It was late March 2019, and Madrid was beginning to smell like spring every night. I had gone three weeks without seeing him again, since that time at Mondo, and although I tried to keep up my routine—classes, exams, café con leche at the bar on the corner—my mind always drifted to the same place. To that ridiculous cock. To the way he had split me open against the sink. To the way I had come out of the bathroom with my legs shaking and the feeling that I was not the same girl who had gone in.

My flatmate was called Lucía. From Tenerife, just turned twenty-four, caramel-skinned, with straight black hair almost down to her waist, big dark eyes that always seemed to be thinking two things at once. She was skinny, almost fragile: tiny waist, long thin legs, small breasts that barely lifted her T-shirt. She dressed darkly, loosely, as if she wanted people not to look at her. She barely spoke. She watched a lot. When she laughed, she did it softly, almost as if apologizing. But the few times I’d seen her let go—at a wedding, at a flat party—she transformed. She had broken up with her high school boyfriend four months earlier, and since then she checked her phone too often, opened Tinder, closed it, and went back to her book.

That night, out on the balcony of our flat in Lavapiés, I told her everything. No filter. Three little bottles of Mahou on the table and the truth on the table too. I told her about the bathroom. How he had fucked my mouth. How he had broken me against the sink. How I had felt the hot spurts inside me and walked with my thigh sticky all the way to the night bus stop. Lucía listened with flushed cheeks, her lower lip between her teeth, her shoulders a little hunched.

When I finished, she took a while to speak.

—Fuck —she said, looking at the inner courtyard—. I’ve never felt that. Not even close.

I looked her straight in the eye.

—Then come with me tonight. There’s a rave in a warehouse in Vallecas. Dark techno until sunrise. If the Brazilian shows up, I’ll introduce you. If not, we’ll make our own fun.

She stayed silent for a good while. I rolled a cigarette slowly, not rushing her. Madrid’s sky was orange with pollution. At last she nodded, without looking at me.

—Okay. But don’t leave me alone for too long.

***

We got ready together, listening to music at low volume so as not to wake the neighbors. I went straight for it: a black sheer lace bodysuit, nipples outlined, my belly piercing visible, a frayed denim miniskirt that barely covered my ass, knee-high boots, deliberately smudged eyeliner. Lucía hesitated a lot in front of the wardrobe. She took things out, held them against her body in the mirror, and hung them back up. In the end she chose a black dress, fitted but falling to mid-thigh, long sleeves, high neck, with an almost bare back. She left her hair loose, painted her lips with a discreet gloss, put on low heels she almost never wore. When she turned to look at herself in the mirror, I saw the way the fabric traced the bones of her hips and I knew we were going to break something that night.

We took a Cabify to Vallecas. The warehouse line was short but intense: leather jackets, masks, vinyl, chains, people with their faces covered and the smell of weed mixed with sweat. When we went in, the bass hit us in the stomach. Industrial dark techno, kicks vibrating against the sternum. The dance floor was a sea of dark heads and white strobe lights.

I danced from the first second. Arms in the air, hips loose, sweat already starting to shine in my cleavage. Lucía stayed two steps behind at first, barely moving her hips, taking everything in with those huge eyes. But music has a way of getting inside the body, and little by little she moved closer. After half an hour we were dancing pressed together, her thigh between mine, her hand on my waist, laughing softly whenever our eyes met someone else’s.

Aitor showed up twenty minutes later. Madrid guy, long hair tied in a low bun, black tattoos climbing his neck, about twenty-eight. He danced near me without crowding me, brushing my arm, testing the waters. I played along. Lucía stepped back but didn’t leave: she stayed watching, biting her lip, beer in hand.

Aitor grabbed me by the waist.

—You dance like you want to be watched.

—I want you to watch me —I said, pressing closer—. And something more.

He smiled, looked at my mouth.

—How much more?

—All of it.

I told Lucía in her ear that I’d be back in a while, that she should stay near the bar, and if she needed me she should whistle or text me. She nodded, tense but shining, as if the night were teaching her a language she didn’t know she understood.

***

Aitor took me behind some black plastic curtains, into an area of old sofas covered with sheets. He sat me down. Lifted my skirt. Pulled my panties down slowly, looking me in the eye as if he were opening a package he’d been waiting months for.

—You’re soaking wet —he murmured, slipping two fingers in.

—I know.

He lowered his head. Flat, broad tongue, pressing the clit in circles, unhurried. I gripped the edge of the sofa. I came in less than five minutes, squeezing his head between my thighs, biting the back of my hand so I wouldn’t scream. When he lifted his face, his chin was shiny and his eyes were happy.

He stood up. Took his pants off. Thick cock, not too long, veiny, fat glans. He put it in my mouth and started moving slowly at first, holding my neck, then deeper, until I felt my throat closing up. He pulled away before anything could happen that either of us wouldn’t want.

He put me on all fours on the sofa. One thrust. It hurt good, that kind of pain that is really relief. He fucked me gripping my hips, slamming his pelvis against my ass in a dry rhythm.

—Do you like it?

—Yes… harder.

He came inside a few minutes later, grunting low, no theatrics. When he pulled out, I sat on the sofa for a while waiting for my legs to stop shaking. I wiped myself with a napkin from the bar. I went back to the dance floor looking for Lucía.

I found her by a column, her beer still nearly full, staring around with a face that didn’t know where to put itself.

—Good? —she asked quietly when I came up to her.

—Fast and full —I said, laughing—. You?

—I’ve been watching you —she admitted, looking at the floor—. Well… not you exactly, but knowing you were there. I got so worked up.

I hugged her and kissed her temple. She smelled of her perfume and cigarette smoke.

***

At half past five in the morning I saw him. Maycon. In the middle of the dance floor, moving with that animal ease I already knew. Sleeveless black T-shirt, tattooed arms shining with sweat, dark skin reflecting the white lights. He looked up as if he’d been searching for a while, and our eyes met. He smiled sideways, that crooked smile that always undid me.

He came over unhurriedly.

—Olá, garota. Voltou.

—I couldn’t not come back —I said, moving up against his chest—. And I brought company.

He turned to Lucía. Looked her up and down slowly, with the calm of someone who knows no one’s going to make him look away.

—And you are…?

—Lucía —she said, almost voicelessly—. The friend.

Maycon smiled wider.

—Nice to meet you, Lucía. Do you dance?

She swallowed. Looked at the floor.

—A little… yes.

He took her hand gently, almost respectfully. Mine with the other. He led us to a corner at the back of the warehouse, beside some concrete pillars, where the bass still pounded but the lights didn’t reach. Cold wall. Thick smoke. It smelled of sweat, tobacco, and cable rubber.

He kissed me first. Deep, full tongue, one hand on my neck and the other on my waist. Then he turned to Lucía and lifted her chin with two fingers.

—Posso? —he asked softly.

She nodded, trembling a little. He kissed her slowly, exploratory, giving her time. Lucía moaned against his mouth almost without meaning to.

Maycon looked at me over her shoulder.

—Take off the dress.

It took me a second to realize he was saying it to Lucía. She lowered her hands, grabbed the hem, and pulled it over her head slowly. Underneath she was wearing a black thong and matching bra. Perfect brown skin, ribs showing, a faint tremor in her thighs.

Maycon unzipped his pants. Out came that cock I’d remembered for three weeks: long, thick, slightly curved, veins standing out, dark shiny head.

Lucía’s eyes went wide.

—Jesus —she whispered—. Does that fit?

—Vai entrar —Maycon said, laughing softly—. Vem cá.

I knelt first. I licked it slowly, tasting the salty flavor on my tongue. Lucía knelt beside me, hesitating. I encouraged her with my eyes. We licked together: tongues brushing around the glans, kissing over hot skin. Maycon let out a low groan.

—Foda-se… as duas… assim mesmo.

He pulled me up from the floor, pressed me against the wall, lifted one leg to his hip. He entered me slowly, this time with the care of someone who already knows what he’s doing to you. I let out a long moan.

—Again… you’re tearing me apart…

—Take it —he murmured—. Aguenta tudo.

He started moving deep, unhurried. Lucía came up behind me, kissed my neck, pinched my nipples through the lace. Then she knelt between us and started licking where we were joined: my clit, his testicles, the exact spot.

—You taste like both of them —she murmured, her voice rough for the first time that night.

Maycon sped up. I came against the wall, my thighs closing around his hips, biting his shoulder so I wouldn’t scream.

When he set me back down, it took me a moment to steady myself.

***

Then it was Lucía’s turn. He put her on all fours against the column, pulled her thong down to her thighs. He came up behind her and rubbed himself first, covering himself with me. He pushed in slowly, one hand on her lower back.

Lucía panted.

—It’s… too… slow…

—Breathe —said Maycon, entering her millimeter by millimeter—. Vai gostar.

When he was all the way in, she let out a long moan, uncensored, unlike anything I’d ever heard from her before.

—Fuck, you fill me up completely.

Maycon started moving. I positioned myself in front, pushed my tongue into his mouth while he fucked her. Then I sat on the floor with my back to the column and spread my legs in front of her. Lucía lowered her head and ate my pussy while Maycon rammed into her from behind. Every thrust made her moan against me, vibrations climbing up my spine.

—Say you’re mine. Both of you.

—I’m yours —Lucía panted against my pubis—. Fuck me harder.

She came clenching around him, with a muffled cry against my skin. Maycon sped up, looked into my eyes over her body, and emptied himself inside her with a low roar.

***

In the end we went home with me. He lifted me off the floor, sat me on his hip with my legs around him, pushed me against the wall and fucked me again while Lucía, still trembling, licked from below. I came screaming, uncensored, not caring about anyone. Maycon came inside me again, hot spurts overflowing.

All three of us came out at dawn, pressed together, clothes half on and hair matted. We walked down the empty avenue until we found a bar that opened early for construction workers. We ordered café con leche and tomato toast. Lucía took my hand under the table, not looking at me.

—Thank you —she said quietly—, for bringing me.

Maycon looked at the two of us over his cup.

—Next time at my place. Big bed. Sem pressa.

I nodded, body sore and full and with the feeling that this spring in Madrid was going to be a long one.

—Done.