The Night I Shared My Lover with My Roommate

Late October 2017, and the air in Porto was already carrying that damp Atlantic chill that creeps into your bones at dawn. A month had passed since that night with Mateus at Subterrâneo, and although I tried to act like my old self at the university and at the apartment, my mind always drifted back to the same image: that huge cock splitting me open, the mix of shame and desire, the feeling of having crossed a line I wasn’t going to be able to walk back. I wasn’t the same girl who had landed in Portugal with a suitcase full of exchange-program hopes. Now I wanted more. I wanted to feel overwhelmed.

My roommate was called Celia. Canarian, from Tenerife to be exact. Twenty-two years old, tanned brown skin, straight black hair falling to the middle of her back, big thoughtful eyes that always seemed to be calculating something she never said out loud. She was thin, almost fragile-looking: narrow waist, long but slim legs, small firm breasts that barely filled a B cup. She almost always wore loose dark clothes, as if she preferred to go unnoticed. She spoke little. She watched a lot. When she laughed, it was softly, shyly, but when she really let go, she let go completely. She had broken up with her lifelong boyfriend three months earlier and since then she had been living in some kind of spectator mode: she looked at Tinder, looked at the guys in the street, but never dared to take the step. Until I told her about Mateus.

That night, on the apartment balcony in Ribeira, with the black Douro down below and two bottles of Super Bock in our hands, I told her everything without holding back. How he had fucked my mouth in the club bathroom, how he had split me open against the sink, how I had felt every hot spurt inside me like a punishment I had asked for myself. Celia listened in silence, biting her lower lip, her cheeks burning. When I finished, it took her a while to speak. In the end she said, in a very low voice:

—Fuck… I’ve never felt anything like that. I’m jealous as hell, and it’s not healthy.

I looked her straight in the eye.

—Then come with me tonight. There’s a rave in a warehouse in Matosinhos. Dark techno, freaky people, until dawn. If Mateus shows up, I’ll introduce you. And if he doesn’t, we’ll make do ourselves.

She stayed quiet for a long while, staring at the reflection of the bridge on the water. Then she nodded slowly.

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

We got ready in the apartment. I went straight for it: a black sheer lace bodysuit that left my nipples and navel piercing visible, a frayed denim miniskirt that barely covered my ass, over-the-knee boots, and eyeliner intentionally smudged since home. Celia hesitated for a good while in front of the closet. In the end she chose a fitted black dress, but long enough to mid-thigh, high neckline, long sleeves, with her back almost bare to show off her brown skin. Low heels, hair down, a little gloss on her lips. She looked like a shy, elegant version of a girl ready to devour the night without anyone expecting it.

We arrived at the warehouse after three. The line was short but intense: latex masks, vinyl jackets, piercings, the smell of hash and sweat. We went in and the bass crushed us. Industrial dark techno, kick drums massaging your stomach from the inside. We made our way onto the dance floor. I danced without shame, arms up, hips loose. Celia at first stayed half a step behind, moving only her hips, taking everything in with those huge eyes. But little by little she loosened up. We ended up dancing pressed together, her slim body against mine, laughing softly like two teenagers with a secret.

Tiago didn’t take long to appear. Portuguese, about twenty-six by the look of him, long hair tied into a high bun, tattoos on his neck and knuckles. He started dancing near me, brushing against me without pushing, letting me decide. I played along. Celia moved a little away, but she didn’t leave. She stayed watching, biting her lip again.

Tiago took me by the waist.

—Olá, morena. Danças muito bem.

—You’re not bad either —I answered, pressing closer—. Want something other than dancing?

He smiled and looked at my mouth.

—Quero tudo.

I whispered in Celia’s ear:

—I’m going over with him for a bit. Stay around here, okay? If you need me, yell.

She nodded, nervous but with bright eyes. Tiago led me behind some plastic curtains, to a zone of old sofas with broken springs. He sat me down, lifted my skirt, and slowly pulled my panties off, as if he were opening a gift he’d been turning over in his hands for years.

—You’re wet… —he murmured, sliding a finger in—. Fuck, so fucking wet.

He ate me with hunger. Flat tongue over my clit, two fingers inside curling to find the exact spot. I came fast, pressing his head against me, muffling the moan into my own arm. Then he stood up and unfastened his pants. Thick veiny cock, swollen shiny head. He put it in my mouth without rushing at first, deeper after that, his hand firm on the back of my neck.

—Swallow… like that… good girl.

He got me on all fours on the sofa. He came in one hard thrust. It hurt exquisitely. He fucked me hard, his hands dug into my hips.

—Do you like it? Tell me.

—Yes… fuck me more… —I panted in the broken Portuguese I’d been learning on those nights.

He came inside me, growling against my neck. I left that corner with my legs weak and his cum running down the insides of my thighs. Celia was waiting near the bar, a warm beer in hand and a face that didn’t know where to look.

—Good? —she asked softly.

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

—I’ve been watching… —she admitted, blushing to her ears—. Seeing you come out like that made me feel all funny.

Around five-thirty, when the party already smelled like dawn but the bass was still pulsing, I saw him. Mateus. In the middle of the floor, dancing with that animal looseness of his. Sleeveless black shirt, tattooed arms slick with sweat, milk-chocolate skin shining under the strobe lights. Our eyes collided and he smiled crookedly. That smile that made me come undone.

He came over unhurriedly.

—Olá, miúda. Voltaste —he said, deep, his voice rough from smoke and night.

—I couldn’t forget you —I answered, closing the last step myself—. And I brought company.

He turned to Celia. He looked her up and down slowly, appreciating every inch.

—And you are…?

—Celia —she said very softly, not looking away—. Her friend.

Mateus smiled wider.

—Prazer, Celia. Gostas de dançar?

She swallowed.

—A little… yes.

He took her hand with a gentleness that didn’t seem like his, then took mine with the other.

—Come with me. Both of you.

***

He took us to a dark corner beside some unpainted concrete columns. The wall was cold. Smoke clung to the ceiling. The bass kept thudding on the other side like the party was the heartbeat of some huge animal.

First he kissed me, deep, his tongue invading me completely as if he were claiming territory that belonged to him. Then he turned to Celia and lifted her chin with two fingers.

—Posso? —he asked softly.

She nodded, trembling only a little. He kissed her slowly, exploratory, giving her time to decide whether she wanted to stay. Celia moaned against his mouth and I felt the exact moment she gave in.

Mateus looked at me.

—Take off her dress, blondie. I want to see.

I pulled down the back zipper of Celia’s dress with fingers made clumsy by haste. The fabric fell to the floor and she was left in black thong and matching bra, her perfect brown skin, her slim body vibrating under the strobing light.

Mateus unzipped his pants. He took out the cock I had been remembering in my dreams for a month: long, thick, curved upward, veiny, the head dark and swollen.

Celia’s eyes went wide.

—God… —she whispered—. Does that… does that fit?

—It’s going to fit —Mateus said, laughing softly—. Come here.

I knelt first. I licked him slowly, tasting the salty precum I already knew. Celia knelt beside me, shy for the first few seconds. We licked together: our tongues brushing, kissing around his cock like two girls sharing an ice cream cone that was too big. Mateus growled over our heads.

—Fuck… both of you… like that…

Then he put me against the wall, lifted one of my legs onto his hip, and penetrated me slowly. I moaned loudly.

—Fuck… again… you split me…

—Easy… you can take everything —he whispered, starting to move deep—. You already know it.

Celia came up behind him, kissed my neck, pinched my nipples through the lace. Then she knelt on the floor and started licking where we were joined: my clit, his balls, the skin where everything mixed.

—Tastes… like both of you —she murmured, her voice rough.

Mateus fucked me harder. I came trembling, nails dug into his shoulders, my whole body vibrating between the wall and his chest.

Then it was her turn. He put her on all fours against the column. He rubbed himself first, coating himself with what I’d left. He pushed in slowly.

Celia gasped.

—It’s… it’s too much… slow…

—Breathe, miúda. You’re going to like it —Mateus said, going in centimeter by centimeter, giving her the time no one had ever given her before.

When he was all the way inside, she let out a long moan, almost a cry of relief.

—Fuck… he fills me… fills me all the way…

Mateus started moving. I stood in front, shoved my tongue into his mouth while he fucked her from behind. Then I sat on the floor in front of Celia, legs open so she could reach me without stopping being on all fours. She understood on her own. She ate my pussy while Mateus pounded her, and every thrust of his was a blow against my clit through her tongue.

—Say you’re mine… both of you —Mateus growled.

—I’m yours… —Celia panted in borrowed Portuguese, learning it in real time—. Fuck me… more…

She came, squeezing him, trembling all over, her moans muffled against my pussy. Mateus sped up and emptied himself inside her with a deep roar.

At the end he came back to me. He lifted me off the floor, hooked my legs around his waist and fucked me against the wall while Celia licked up from below what had started to drip. I came screaming, he came inside me again, hot spurts overflowing at the edges.

***

We left at dawn, the three of us pressed together, smelling of sex and sour sweat. We walked along the Douro dock with the gray light spilling over the rooftops. Celia took my hand without looking at me, her voice very small.

—Thank you… for bringing me.

Mateus looked at the two of us, one on each side.

—Next time… at my place. Big bed. No rush.

I smiled, my body sore and full, not yet knowing that sentence was going to set the rhythm for all our weekends until the end of term.

—Deal —I said.

And Celia, beside me, squeezed a little harder.