The Guest Who Walked Into My Room Without Warning

It was one of those spring afternoons that make you feel like not making any concrete plans. We’d organized the get-together almost by accident: a message in the group chat, a quick “should we all meet this Saturday?”, and before I knew it there were almost twenty people in my garden, music playing from the speaker hanging on the wall and two bottles of wine open on the little white plastic table.

It wasn’t just my usual crowd. Someone had brought someone, that someone brought others, and suddenly there were new faces and conversations that began with the classic “so how do you know her?”. At first I got a little nervous, because I’m more of a small-group person. Then I loosened up. That kind of mix has something a closed circle doesn’t: the chance to surprise yourself.

I saw her arrive with Mariana, my lifelong friend. She was tall, with black hair cut in layers that brushed her shoulders, and an olive-green dress that fit her with that precision that only rarely happens by chance. She walked with the confidence of someone who knows people are looking at her and doesn’t waste time thinking about it. Mariana introduced her as Renata. I kissed her on the cheek, we exchanged a couple of words about the afternoon heat, and I lost her in the crowd.

When it started getting dark, I realized I still hadn’t changed. I’d spent the whole day running back and forth: tidying up, greeting people, filling glasses. I was still in the clothes I’d worn to go to the supermarket that morning, a cotton pair of pants and a worn-out T-shirt that was starting to feel uncomfortable.

“I’m going inside for a minute,” I told Mariana, who was in the middle of a long story.

She nodded without stopping. No one else paid me any attention.

I decided to take advantage and slip into the shower quickly. The hot water after such a hectic day was an immediate relief. I stayed longer than I’d planned: steam filled the bathroom, the tension in my neck loosened on its own, and for a moment I forgot there were people outside waiting for me to come back with more ice.

I don’t know exactly when I started touching myself. My hand just moved on its own, without any conscious decision. I hadn’t done it in days and my cunt was asking for it in a way that allowed no negotiation. I braced myself against the cold tiles, spread my legs, and lowered my right hand between my thighs. My fingers slipped at once: I was soaked, more than the water alone could explain. I rubbed my clit with my middle finger, slow circles at first, pressing the skin against the bone, feeling it harden under my fingertip. With my other hand I grabbed a breast, pinched my nipple and tugged until the sting ran up my back. I slid two fingers inside and curled them, looking for that spot where pleasure becomes almost painful. I pulled them out wet, brought them back to my clit, started moving faster, my mouth open against the tiles, holding back the gasps. I was about to come when I stopped. I forced myself to quit. I knew that if I came there I’d be loose all night, and I wanted to hold that edge a little longer. I took my hand away and sucked my fingers clean: they tasted sharp, thick, unbearably alive.

I got out of the shower flushed, with hard nipples and my cunt still throbbing. My head, though, was clearer than before. I wrapped myself in the towel and crossed the hallway to my room.

I closed the door without locking it — it never even occurred to me to do so — and left the towel on the bed while I looked for the clothes I’d set out before the guests arrived. The black dress was on the chair, the bra hanging over the backrest. I turned to grab it.

I heard a soft knock at the door, barely a second before it opened.

I jumped. The towel fell to the floor.

Renata was standing in the doorway.

For a moment neither of us said anything. I was completely naked, hands at my sides, not sure whether to bend down for the towel or stay still. She looked at me without lowering her eyes, without the automatic gesture of turning around or apologizing. Her gaze moved down slowly: from my face to my neck, from my neck to my breasts, from my breasts to my cunt, and there it lingered a second too long. When she looked back up, something in her expression had changed. A calm that, at that moment, I found disconcerting and that I understood later was nothing but a decision already made.

“Sorry,” I said, though I sounded more surprised than embarrassed. “Did something happen?”

“I was looking for you,” she said. Her voice was calm, a little deep for the image she projected. “I wanted to tell you something.”

“Tell me.”

“I’m not really sure how to start.”

She came closer. Two steps. Enough for me to feel the space between us suddenly shrink. She lifted a hand and brushed my cheek with the tips of her fingers, almost weightless. And then she kissed me.

It wasn’t a tentative kiss. It was the kiss of someone who already knows what she wants and carefully chose the exact moment to do it. She slid her tongue in without asking permission, with a firmness that left no room for anything else. I didn’t move. I didn’t pull away. My body was still hot from the shower and from what I’d done a few minutes earlier, and the contact of her mouth was like a jolt that spread from my throat to my nipples and from there, straight to my cunt. I felt myself clench deep inside, a hollow pull begging to be filled.

When we separated, I looked at her. I wanted to say something but couldn’t find the words.

“I’ve never been with a woman,” I finally said.

“I know,” she replied. And she said it without sounding like it was a problem or a warning. She just said it. “You’ll see it’s not that different. And at the same time it is.”

She took me by the waist and sat me on the edge of the bed. She knelt in front of me without hurry, with that same calm she’d had since she walked in. She took my breasts in her hands and started licking them: first one, then the other, with the flat of her tongue, then the tip, then nibbling my nipple until a short moan escaped me. She sucked hard, hungrily, leaving them shining with saliva and with nipples so hard they hurt against the air. Outside, you could hear the music from the garden, someone laughing loudly, the familiar sound of the gathering carrying on without me.

She opened my legs with a softness I hadn’t expected and slid her hand between them. When she touched my cunt, she made a low sound, almost to herself.

“You’re soaked,” she said, and licked the fingers she’d run through my lips. “You’re dripping.”

“Yeah,” I admitted. “I was touching myself in the shower. I stopped before I came.”

She looked up at me. She didn’t laugh. She smiled in a way that wasn’t mockery but something closer to satisfaction.

“Then finish here.”

She bent all the way down and buried her face between my legs. The first sweep of her tongue was long, from bottom to top, all of it, licking me from the entrance of my cunt to my clit without hurrying, getting soaked herself too. She drove it into me again, this time smaller, in tight circles over the clit, the tip hard, alternating with broad licks that passed over me all at once. I clenched my thighs without meaning to and she pried them open with her hands, firm, so I couldn’t close them. She sucked my clit whole, wrapping it in her lips, and at the same time slid two fingers inside me. I felt her fingertips curl against the front wall and there I lost count.

“Fuck,” I whispered, covering my mouth with my hand.

She didn’t stop. On the contrary: she picked up the pace. Her tongue worked my clit with a watchmaker’s precision, her fingers came in and out at their own rhythm, and every so often she pulled them out, ran them over my open cunt, and pushed them back in with more saliva and more of my own wetness. It was different from when I touched myself. Not in intensity but in nature: someone from the outside has the space to observe what you can’t see of yourself, and can adjust on the fly. She took me quickly to the edge and then eased off, loosening her tongue just as I started to shake, as if she wanted it to last.

“No, keep going, keep going, don’t stop,” I begged her, my voice breaking.

“You want to come?” she asked, without removing her fingers, barely brushing my clit with her parted lips.

“Yes. Please.”

She went back to sucking. Hard this time, merciless, her tongue buried where it needed to be and her fingers pounding inside. I came against her mouth, crushing her face without meaning to, both hands in her hair and my thighs closed over her ears. The orgasm ripped through me from bottom to top, a long spasm that shook my whole pelvis and left me sprawled on the bed, breathless, my breasts rising and falling.

She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and smiled at me, still kneeling between my legs.

“Want more?” she asked.

I couldn’t speak. I nodded.

She straightened and stood up. With one hand she lifted her dress.

There it was. I hadn’t expected it and, at the same time, once I saw it, nothing in me closed off. It hung hard, thick, already throbbing, with the tip shiny from a drop that had formed on its own. I just looked. What I felt was curiosity and desire, in that order, with no room for anything else. I reached out almost by reflex and wrapped my fingers around it. It was heavy. I moved it slowly, sliding the skin up and down, watching the drop grow and run down the side.

“Is that okay?” she asked. The question was genuine.

“Yes,” I said. “It’s okay. Come here.”

I got myself into bed on my stomach, knees bent and ass lifted, and she got behind me. She dragged the tip of her cock all the way along my slit, from top to bottom, soaking it in what was dripping out of me. She pressed it to the entrance of my cunt and pushed. She entered slowly, with a patience I didn’t have at that moment but was grateful for, taking ground little by little, millimeter by millimeter, until I felt her all the way inside. The sensation was immediate and complete: full, warm, thick, squeezing me in a way that left me breathless. I pressed my face into the pillow to muffle the sound that escaped my throat.

“You’re so tight,” she said softly, and dug her nails into my hip.

She started moving. Slow at first, finding the rhythm, and then with more confidence when I pushed back to meet her. Her hands held my waist, firm but not hard, and then went down to grip my ass, spreading me open with her thumbs so she could see herself coming in and out. Each thrust hit all the way in and everything inside me answered. She slammed against the bottom of my cunt with a wet, obscene sound that the garden music barely covered.

“Harder,” I asked, surprised by my own voice.

She obeyed. Her hips started slapping my ass with a dry, regular smack, faster each time, deeper each time. She bent over my back, slipped one hand under me, and found my clit with her fingers while she kept fucking me from behind. That was when I came apart. Our moans started blending together. The garden music covered us in part, but we still lowered our voices instinctively, covering our mouths when the sound got too much. We kissed like that, twisted, clumsy and urgent, tongues hanging out, until at some point I turned over and ended up on my back without exactly remembering how it had happened.

I sat up and gently pushed her onto the bed. I knelt between her spread legs and took her in my mouth. It was instinctive: I wanted to do it, with no more analysis than that. I ran my tongue slowly along the entire length, from base to tip, following the vein pulsing underneath. I kissed the head, sucking the salty drop that had formed again, and then opened my mouth and took her all the way in. I choked a little at first, had to adjust the angle, but found the rhythm quickly. I sucked her from top to bottom, helping myself with my hand at the base, squeezing and releasing, pulling her out so I could lick her balls and then taking her back to the back of my throat. I heard her hold her breath and then let it out little by little, in a long gasp.

“Just like that, yes, just like that,” she murmured. “You suck cock so well.”

I started touching my cunt while I kept her in my mouth. I was so wet my fingers slid on their own. When Renata realized, she stretched out an arm and put her hand in my hair, not pressing, just holding me, barely marking the rhythm. I looked up at her without taking her out of my mouth. Her eyes were half-lidded and her mouth slightly open, and every time I changed the angle, her whole body responded. I sped up. I gripped her with both hands, one over the other, twisting them as I moved up and down with my mouth, and within a few minutes I felt her harden even more between my lips.

“Come here,” she said, hoarse. “Not yet.”

She lifted me by the hair, carefully but decisively. We kissed. She tasted like me and I must have tasted like her, and that idea lit a new fire in my belly. She climbed over me, opened my legs with her knees, and drove it in with one thrust.

This time it was different: more urgent, without the caution of the beginning. I bit her shoulder while she moved, and I was no longer thinking about the noise or the guests or anything that wasn’t that instant. There was only that: her body on top of mine, her cock inside me going all the way to the bone, the heat gathered through the whole afternoon finally finding somewhere to go. I dug my nails into her back, wrapped my legs around her waist so she wouldn’t come out, shoved with my heels so she’d go deeper. She grabbed both my breasts, took them to her mouth one after the other, sucked my nipples while she kept fucking me, and when she lifted her face it was red, shining, beautiful in a way I didn’t know how to look at.

“I’m going to come,” I warned her. “Again.”

“Me too.”

She slipped a hand between our two bodies and found my clit. Two fingers, fast circles, without stopping moving on top of me. I came screaming against her shoulder, biting her so I wouldn’t wake up the whole street, my cunt tightening around her cock in endless waves. And inside that contraction I felt her trembling, tensing up completely, and when she finished it was inside. I felt the hot flow, long, pulse after pulse filling me, and something closed in me, a deep contraction that made me cling to her shoulders until it was over completely. She stayed like that for a few seconds, not pulling out, breathing into my neck, and I felt her slowly softening inside me.

When she came out, a warm thread dripped down my thigh. Neither of us said anything.

We showered together. It was brief and silent: cold water against heated skin, hands brushing under the soap but without any intention of starting again. We kissed under the spray. Nothing more.

“Are you okay?” she asked while she dried her hair.

“Yeah,” I said. And it was true. I was okay in a way I didn’t fully know how to name: as if something I didn’t know had been tight had finally loosened.

We got dressed in silence. She stood in front of the mirror, fixing her dress and hair with that same economy of movement she’d had from the beginning. I put on the black dress I’d chosen before everything happened, still feeling the warm semen between my legs every time I moved.

“Should we go out?” she said.

“Yeah.”

When we went back to the garden, the gathering was exactly the same: the music, the voices, someone gesturing with a glass in hand. No one had noticed our absence, or if they had, they said nothing. I took a glass from the little table and stood next to Mariana, who was finishing the story she’d started when I left.

Renata crossed the garden and joined another group at the opposite end. Only once all night did she look at me from afar. She lifted the corner of her mouth slightly. Nothing more.

That night, when everyone left and I stayed behind gathering glasses, I sat for a moment on the still-warm grass and kept thinking. Not with guilt or confusion but with that quiet curiosity that appears when something really happens to you, without your having planned it or expected it. I realized I didn’t have exact words for what had happened, and that was okay too.

It had been real. That was enough.