What Happened in the Pine Grove That Day Shouldn’t Be Told

I’d been looking at Lucía in a way I shouldn’t have confessed for months. Sandra knew it, or at least she sensed it. We never said it out loud, but there are things that don’t need words to settle into the atmosphere of a couple. A glance that lasts a second too long. A pause before answering when someone mentions her name. That complicit silence that ends up being more eloquent than any argument.

What didn’t help was that Lucía was exactly the kind of woman who threw you off balance without any visible effort. Tall, brunette, with black, curly hair falling over her shoulders and that way of moving that seemed designed to make you lose the thread of what you were saying. She was the kind who grabs your arm when she says hello and looks you straight in the eye, without the anxious blinking of someone already thinking about something else. She’d been seeing Marcos for almost a year. Marcos was my lifelong friend, one of those people you can talk to about anything for hours without needing to fill the silences. But since he’d been with Lucía, he had, without meaning to, put up a small distance. I could feel it. Some people change the architecture of everything around them.

Sandra and I had been together for almost four years. Four years that, in recent months, had taken on the calm, slightly predictable texture of routine. I’d brought it up a couple of times, carefully, trying to suggest something without it sounding like a reproach. Sandra listened, nodded, and then carried on as before. She was the kind who lets herself be carried along, who responds to movement but rarely initiates it. I kept hoping that one day she’d take the lead, surprise me at some unexpected moment, do something that would leave me unable to react. I’d come to accept that it wasn’t going to happen.

We invited them for dinner at our place on a Friday in February. It was the first time the four of us had gotten together like that, in a relaxed way, with no fixed plan. Lucía arrived in a green dress that marked her waist and let you guess the curve of her hips when she moved. She greeted me with two kisses, held my arm for a moment the way people do when they have no calibrated sense of distance, and smiled right at me. I had to concentrate on offering them something to drink so I wouldn’t keep staring at her longer than was reasonable.

The wine loosened up the conversation. We started talking about work, about trips we hadn’t taken, about films nobody had seen all the way through. At some point, without my quite knowing how we’d gotten there, we were talking about habits and preferences. Lucía admitted, with the naturalness of someone who doesn’t attach much importance to what she says, that she was on the pill, that she didn’t like having to worry about it, and that since she was eighteen she’d only worn thongs because she hated panty lines on her ass. She said it while sipping her wine, looking off at nothing in particular. Marcos smiled without saying anything. Sandra changed the subject. I filed that detail away somewhere in my head from which it didn’t emerge for the rest of the night, imagining the tiny strip of fabric sunk between those two ass cheeks the dress outlined every time she turned.

I got the idea to suggest we take some photos. One of those ideas that seem innocent and aren’t quite so innocent. We took some group shots, others in pairs. At one point, when Sandra got up to get something from the kitchen, I pulled out my phone and framed Lucía. She saw me and posed with an amused smile. I showed her the picture and she liked it. When I sat back down, I went back through the gallery and the camera opened again by itself. Lucía was already looking elsewhere. I took a second one without her noticing. Then, without thinking too much, I zoomed in until the frame was filled with her cleavage and took the last one like that, two big tits squeezed by the neckline, her brown skin shining under the warm light of the living room. I put the phone away just as Sandra came back in. I noticed her pass behind me and see something on the screen. She said nothing. She sat down and picked the conversation back up.

When Marcos and Lucía left, I thought the conversation would come. But the only thing Sandra said was:

—We should get together with them again. It was a very pleasant night.

And that was that.

***

The second time was on a Saturday in April, with the heat already suddenly settled in, the way it does in spring when it stops hesitating. We met at a park on the outskirts, a huge pine grove that Marcos and I had known since we were kids. We used to go there now and then with our parents when we were little, and the smell of resin and dry earth was something the body remembered before the mind did. We brought a cooler, a small speaker, and enough rum and beer to make the afternoon last as long as we wanted.

I was surprised by how empty the place was. It was Saturday afternoon and there was barely anyone in sight in any direction. Just pines, green shade, and the sound of the wind in the branches making a constant backdrop. The blanket was spread out in a clearing and we spent the first hour with cards, laughter, and conversation. The alcohol started doing its work slowly and without warning.

Marcos got affectionate with Lucía as the afternoon went on. He held her around the waist, stole kisses from her every so often, whispered something in her ear that made her laugh with that slightly uneasy kind of laugh from someone who isn’t entirely sure whether to play along. At one point he slipped his hand under her short skirt, taking advantage of the fact that Sandra was looking at the cards, and Lucía gave a small jolt and pushed his wrist away without really pulling it off. Marcos’s fingertips stayed resting on the inside of her thigh, very high up, and she didn’t move them away again. I saw it out of the corner of my eye. She saw that I saw it. She dropped her eyes to the cards with the faintest smile.

Lucía was different. Looser, with slightly imprecise movements and an easy smile I hadn’t seen in public before. The rum had stripped off that outer layer of composure she always wore.

I got up to refill my glass and Sandra came with me to the cooler. We ended up a little apart from the others. I took an ice cube and, without warning, slowly ran it along the back of her neck. She jolted, but didn’t turn around. She stayed with her back to me. I lowered my mouth slowly down her neck and felt her skin pucker beneath my lips, felt her hold her breath for a moment before letting it go. Then I wrapped my arms around her from behind, grabbed her tits with both hands over her T-shirt, without hurrying, and pressed my already hard cock against her ass, moving my hips slowly against her while I checked out of the corner of my eye that Marcos and Lucía were still on the blanket. Sandra closed her eyes and tilted her head back against my shoulder. I slipped my hands under her clothes, yanked her bra upward, and pinched her hard nipples between my fingers, pulling until I drew a moan from her that she had to bite back.

—You’re getting hard knowing they’re watching us —she whispered, without opening her eyes.

—And you’re getting your cunt wet knowing the same thing —I answered in her ear.

I slid one hand down to the shorts she was wearing, slipped my fingers under the elastic, and found her soaked through. I ran my middle finger all the way through her slit, slowly, bottom to top, and left the tip resting on her clit, making small circles. Sandra opened her legs a little more, bracing herself against the cooler with both hands. I fucked her there with two fingers, standing up, while with the other hand I kept squeezing one of her tits.

When Sandra turned to face me, her face was flushed, her eyes bright, and her lips parted as if breathing was difficult. She looked at me for a second, then looked toward the pines, then toward the blanket. I saw something deciding itself in her head. She stood up abruptly, took my hand, and started dragging me toward a nearby tree, passing in front of where Marcos and Lucía were sitting. Before I could say anything, she stopped, turned toward them, and announced in a voice so confident I didn’t recognize it as hers at first:

—I’m taking him away for a minute. I’ve always wanted to suck him off here, and today’s going to be the day.

Marcos stopped halfway through his drink. Lucía said nothing, but her eyes went to us with an expression that wasn’t entirely surprise.

Sandra shoved me against the pine tree. She looked at me with an expression that mixed determination and something like anticipatory satisfaction. She crouched in front of me and yanked my track pants down in one motion. My cock was already straining hard against the fabric of my briefs. She brushed it with her cheek, slowly, eyes closed, rubbing her face against the bulge like a cat. I looked toward the clearing. Lucía and Marcos were less than ten meters away. Lucía was looking at us. Marcos too.

Sandra played at that for a while, with her lips brushing the fabric, nibbling me softly through it, occasionally lifting her eyes to mine with an expression that was anything but innocent. I saw the tip of her tongue peeking out between her teeth when she licked the wet stain that had already formed in the cotton. Then she pulled the elastic down to my knees and my cock sprang hard, a centimeter from her face. She stared at it for a second, mouth open, and turned her head a little toward the blanket to make sure they could see us. Then she grabbed it at the base with one hand, stuck out her tongue, and started licking it from bottom to top, from balls to tip, with long, flat licks, like it was an ice cream she didn’t want to melt too quickly.

—Look at her, fuck —I muttered. —They’re watching us.

—Let them watch —she said, cock resting against her cheek, not stopping stroking it with her hand. —Let her look properly.

And she took me all the way into her mouth. Slowly at first, deep, until I felt myself bumping against the back of her throat. With that calm only someone who knows exactly what they’re doing has, and no intention of finishing in a hurry. The heat of her mouth, the precise movement of her tongue circling the head every time she came up, the pressure of her lips tight around the crown, the wet, obscene sound she made no attempt to hide. I braced myself against the tree bark with both hands and let out a breath I couldn’t hold back. Sandra had me pinned by the hip with her left hand, her fingers digging into my skin, setting the rhythm from below.

I lifted my gaze toward the blanket. Marcos had gone from observer to negotiator: I saw him talking softly to Lucía, with a persuasive expression, his hand resting on the inside of her knee and moving upward. Lucía laughed with that laugh of hers that never fully commits to anything. But her eyes kept coming back to us every few seconds, and each time they lingered a little longer. I saw Marcos open his pants without taking it all the way out. I saw Lucía lower her gaze to his crotch, swallow, and look back at me, as if asking something she didn’t know how to put into words.

Sandra stopped for a moment, just to run her tongue over the tip deliberately, working at the little hole with the tip of her tongue to pull out the drop of fluid beginning to form there. A thick thread of saliva hung between us before she broke it with her finger. She raised her voice enough that it would clearly reach the blanket:

—Am I really the only one here sucking cock?

And she went back to it, this time using her right hand too, gripping the base firmly and twisting it slightly on each downstroke, while with her mouth she concentrated on the upper half. Her other hand dropped to my balls and weighed them with a softness that contrasted with the brutal rhythm she kept up above. She made me bend my knees slightly and cling to the tree with my fingers until I dug them into the bark.

I heard footsteps on the pine needles. I lifted my head and saw Marcos and Lucía coming toward the tree that stood to my right, about seven or eight meters away. Lucía walked in front, her cheeks flushed and her gaze lowered, biting her lip. She knelt in front of him on the dry needles without caring about getting her skirt dirty. She unbuckled his belt with hands that didn’t tremble too much, pulled his briefs down to mid-thigh, and Marcos’s cock bounced near her face. She took it in both hands, looked closely at it for a moment, and then took it into her mouth in one clean stroke, burying it until she gagged a little. Marcos threw his head back, eyes closed, with the expression of someone who’d just gotten what he’d been asking for for months. He put his hand on the back of Lucía’s neck and started setting the rhythm himself, fucking her mouth without restraint.

The sounds of the two of them mixed in the still air of the pine grove, at almost the same volume. Slurps, muffled moans, breathing, the occasional brush of skin. Lucía’s black curls moved with every thrust. I saw her neckline hanging forward, her tits bobbing inside her bra, one nipple peeking over the edge of the fabric.

I tried to keep my head clear. I tried to be aware of the moment, of what was happening exactly and with whom. But Sandra gave me no respite and my legs started to give way beneath my weight. I felt her swallowing me whole each time, closing her throat around the tip, then coming back up with her tongue pressed to the frenulum. I felt myself getting close to the edge. She noticed before I did. My balls went hard as stones against her palm and she squeezed them just enough to delay me two more seconds.

—Are you going to come? —she asked, parting just enough to speak, with my cock resting against her lower lip. —Are you going to come in my mouth knowing she’s watching you?

I looked at her. Her hair was disheveled, her mouth swollen and shining, her chin wet with saliva, her eyes bright and an expression somewhere between focused and satisfied. I undid the first two buttons of her shirt, pulled her bra aside in one tug, and freed one whole breast. I caught her nipple between my index finger and thumb and twisted it slowly until she moaned with her mouth empty. With my other hand I held the back of her neck, setting the rhythm myself now, in and out without letting her pull away.

—Open your mouth, slut —I said softly. —Let her see.

Sandra opened her mouth, stuck out her tongue, and looked up at me from below with half-closed eyes. I kept wanking in front of her lips, the tip brushing her tongue on every downstroke.

I looked back toward Lucía.

Lucía was looking at me.

She’d pulled Marcos’s cock out of her mouth and was holding it in one hand beside her face while continuing to jerk him off. Her dark curls swayed with every movement of her arm, but her eyes were fixed on mine. Her lips were glossy with saliva and a drop hung from her chin. Marcos was grabbing one of her tits from above, had pulled it out over the dress, and was squeezing it hard while she looked at us. I don’t know what she was thinking in that moment, if she was thinking anything specific at all. But there was something about that crossing of gazes —her jerking off my best friend with her mouth open, me with Sandra on her knees at my feet— that finally shattered whatever control I had left.

I felt the first spasm looking into Lucía’s dark eyes and shot the first rope straight onto Sandra’s tongue. She didn’t move, didn’t close her mouth, didn’t swallow. She took my cum as if it were rain. The second was more intense and hit her lips and part of her chin, sliding slowly down toward her cleavage and slipping between her breasts. The third and fourth landed on the nipple I’d freed, white against her brown skin, and ran in a thread down to the cup of her bra. She didn’t clean herself right away. She ran her tongue very slowly over her upper lip, gathering what she could, and held my gaze from below, one eye slightly shut and a calm smile like someone who’s just won a bet nobody else knew had been made. Then she closed her mouth and swallowed everything she still had inside, exaggerating the gesture. I stroked her cheek with my thumb, dragging a thread of semen to her lips, and she licked it off slowly. She kissed my knuckles.

A few meters away, Marcos growled, warned Lucía with a rough tap on the shoulder, and pushed her head back. She finished him off with her hand, turning her face away at the last moment, careful, and he came in spurts over her tits and over the dress, long white strands hanging from her curls and her cleavage. Lucía closed her eyes and took the deluge with her mouth slightly open and her chest arched forward. When she opened her eyes, she looked back at me, with Marcos’s cum hanging from her chin and from one nipple she’d already pulled fully free. She ran two fingers through her cleavage, gathered up the soaked mess, and brought them to her mouth, without ever breaking eye contact with me.

***

When the four of us went back to the blanket, the atmosphere had that strange electric tension that remains after something that shouldn’t have happened, and yet did. Nobody talked about what had happened. Nobody needed to. We opened more beers, put on another song, and the conversation came back on its own with that slightly forced naturalness of people pretending everything is the same when they know damn well it isn’t. It was Lucía who broke the silence first, asking something about the music, and the four of us clung to that subject like a rope thrown at the right moment. She’d put a light jacket over herself to cover the stains on the dress, but every now and then she ran her tongue along the corner of her mouth as if searching for something.

Marcos was quieter than usual. Lucía laughed more than necessary. Sandra had that serene expression she sometimes adopts after making a decision she didn’t know she needed to make. She still had a dried drop of semen in the hollow of her collarbone that none of us pointed out.

What I remember most from that afternoon isn’t the pine grove, or the heat sticking to the skin, or the smell of resin mixed with rum. What I remember most is Lucía’s gaze on me at that exact moment, with Marcos’s cock in her hand and my cum shooting out a meter from her face. And that Sandra, driving home with the sun dropping in the rearview mirror, took my hand over the gearshift, brought it to her mouth, sucked my thumb all the way in, and said nothing. Just that. But it was enough to understand that something had changed between us, and that what happened in that pine grove had been, in its own way, the most unexpected gift she could have given me.