Alone in the Hotel, I Left the Window Open on Purpose

After an exhausting but successful day, I got back to the hotel before six, and the street was already black. In these northern cities, night falls early, almost without warning. There were less than two hours to go before they came to pick me up: the dinner where we would seal the deal. A few loose ends were still pending, but I was confident I’d convince the Norwegians on the final details.

The room was spacious and utterly impersonal, one of those Scandinavian design spaces where you could be in Oslo or in any hotel chain on the planet. The only thing I loved was the window: huge, taking up the entire back wall and looking out like a privileged vantage point over a commercial square that was already almost deserted. Across from it, an office building was following the same path, though a few lit windows betrayed those who stayed late.

I drew back the curtains and stood looking outside. I went back to the morning, to how Anders, the long-haired blond, hadn’t taken his eyes off me throughout the whole meeting. Neither of the other two had, really, but Anders didn’t even bother to hide it: I caught him a couple of times adjusting the bulge in his trousers with his hand. One more card in my favor for dinner. If he meant to make me nervous with that little game, he had failed.

And yet, thinking it over, it was starting to turn me on. I felt flattered imagining that a man like that—athletic body, that carefully trimmed beard, dressed like an ad—had decided to use sex as a tool with me. Did he think I was that old, or that easy? The trick must work wonders, awakening desire in clients and rivals alike.

The truth was, all three of them were hot. When they took off their jackets, it was obvious they wanted to impress me. You don’t often see three men showing off their chests like that under tight shirts, with those slim-cut trousers that outlined runner’s thighs. What they had underneath was left to my imagination, although Anders seemed well equipped. What a charged, pheromone-soaked atmosphere we had all morning.

I smiled and left the curtains open. I remembered that time my neighbor Andrés caught me naked and decided he deserved a reward. And if there were voyeurs involved, even better. Deep down I’ve known it for years: I like being watched, being desired, someone touching themselves thinking about me. It turns me on to stir up other people’s dirty thoughts just as much as I like having my own stirred. Shower and fingers, I told myself. You’ve earned it.

I looked at myself in the mirror. The new suit fit me beautifully, black as the night already surrounding the building, in a stretchy fabric that never creased. Underneath, a white silky top. I took off my jacket and was grateful that it covered my arms well. I don’t like my arms: not even the gym can tame them, and peeking out from under that top they seemed even flabbier. If only I had the free time actresses have to take care of myself the way they do.

My husband deserves credit for his good taste when he buys me clothes. Pieces far bolder than I would ever choose myself, fitted, making me look sexier than I dare to seem. And he knows how to pick the exact lingerie for each outfit. With the bras I actually like, that top would look awful. But with a well-structured white one holding the breasts up, I could distract anyone I worked with—or against—without breaking a sweat. He likes imagining me heating other men up.

I stepped out of my heels and sighed as I felt the wood under my bare feet. Damn habit, climbing up there. Though how much better legs look in eight-centimeter heels. With a sigh, I unfastened my trousers and took them off carefully so they wouldn’t wrinkle. The top followed. Barefoot in the room, in panties and bra, I folded the clothes and hung them in the wardrobe.

Done, I went back to the window. With the light on, if anyone looked up at the ninth floor they’d see a dark-haired woman with shoulder-length hair, an interesting mature woman, showing herself off in lingerie and teasing anyone who wanted to look. I felt filthy and excited at the same time. Would any of the guys crossing the square on scooters look up? Would one of them see me and jerk off in the dark? Or would he call his friends so they could all watch me together, commenting in their incomprehensible language on what they’d do to me?

Or were the voyeurs across from me? Men in tight shirts and expensive ties, like the ones that morning, touching themselves while recording it on their phones. And maybe their female colleagues pressed against the glass, competing with me to ignite that same desire. I imagined one of them pressing her nipples against the cold window so her boss could take her from behind while the two of them watched me. The fantasy ran through my whole body, even if reality was much duller.

The only hard nipples were mine, reacting with their usual intensity. And the only receptive cunt, once again, was mine too. I slipped a hand between my legs and was pleased to find dampness. I slid one bra strap down, then the other, and started touching myself over my panties. Slowly, at my own pace, enjoying every brush of my hand.

Look at me, I’m here to get you hard. Wouldn’t you like to come upstairs and find out what a real woman is like? With the gentle sway of my hand, the cups of the bra slipped downward and let my areolas spill free. I imagined walking into the meeting without the top, not showing anything, but them knowing that under the jacket I was naked and hot. I imagined opening the jacket over that dark wooden table and telling them, without blinking, that I was theirs if they earned it.

My head flew to the meeting room. I was kneeling on the table, jacket already off, putting on a show for them, heating them up with every suggestion. Anders, Mikkel, and Bjorn touched themselves very slowly, with the promise that the last one to come would be the one to fuck me, as long as they signed the deal. My nipples pointed at them, defiant; my dark areolas, so different from the pale blondes they were used to seeing.

I pulled my panties down and left them halfway down my leg. I slid one finger between my lips and rested my palm on my clit. I started moving and panting. In my fantasy, Mikkel couldn’t take it and came all over his tailored suit, out of his mind. The others shoved him aside to get closer, males fighting over the female in heat. They said things in their language, called me a slut in clumsy Spanish so I’d understand, announced how they meant to wreck me over the table.

I pushed a little further and the second finger did the trick. I came. I braced myself against the window and the cold glass on my nipples cracked through me like a whip, running down my back.

***

Now I could shower. I tossed the panties and bra onto the bed, not bothering to close the curtains or switch off the light. Let them look if they felt like it. I stepped into the shower, huge, perfect for a party like the one I remembered with Diego and Carla. I didn’t even close the screen. Hot water fell over my body and woke me up. I washed my face while feeling my nipples react again, this time to the heat.

If only I had asked reception for a glass of white wine. Have the bellboy bring it up, the shaved-headed one with the thick beard who looked like he’d stepped off a Viking ship, with a weightlifter’s chest. I imagined him opening the bathroom door and finding me naked under the water, my body exposed in the floor-to-ceiling mirror on the other side. Without blinking, he would have known what I wanted.

He would have set the glass on the sink and come to me. His mouth seeking mine, his hands heading straight for my nipples. Under the water soaking us both, he would have kissed me fiercely while I opened his shirt. One leg wrapped around him, feeling him harden. My hands going down to his trousers to free that beast.

I would have knelt in the shower, licking my lips at what was in front of me. A messy blond shock of hair, the groin of a man used to taking what he wants and not bothering with ceremony. I would have tried a delicate touch with my mouth, but he would have taken hold of my head and set the pace, his hands on either side, driving me back and forth while I struggled to give him pleasure.

And then I found myself suddenly in the shower, on all fours under the hot water, playing between my legs with the slim bottle of my very expensive shampoo as if it were the magnificent cock of that imaginary master. I rested my cheek on the shower floor, offering my body to the water, and exploded in a new orgasm, exhausting, unstoppable. Defeated, I let myself slide until I was lying on my back, the water washing over me.

I gathered the little strength I had left and got out. I wrapped myself in the soft, warm bathrobe, gathered my hair in a towel, and left the steam-filled bathroom. The room temperature was perfect. I stretched out on the huge bed, facing the television, reached for the phone, and ordered a very cold glass of white wine to be brought up to the room. Now, yes.

They didn’t take long to knock. I loosened the bathrobe belt, got rid of the towel in my hair, slipped back into my heels, and went to open the door. The one bringing the glass was a petite girl, with big eyes and pronounced curves under her uniform. She looked at me without saying a word, even though my breasts were perfectly visible, the dark areolas contrasting with the white bathrobe. I took the glass, murmured a “thank you,” and closed the door.

Are you crazy? What did you expect, that he’d come in and actually fuck you? Thank God it was that cutie who came up and not a man. I went back to bed, still hot, my imagination overflowing. It was time to rest and let other people provide the sex.

***

I searched in my handbag until I found what I wanted: my travel USB drive. I plugged it into the television, arranged the pillows to make myself a comfortable backrest, and lay down without taking off my shoes. I took the first sip of wine. It was perfect, a fruity white, my favorite. I opened the bathrobe and brought the cold glass to a nipple. The shiver made me moan.

I switched on the TV and opened the folder on the USB. There was one labeled “New material.” My husband had prepared a surprise for the trip. I’d been too tired these days to touch myself properly, so I loved the idea. Inside, five numbered files, each with a different scenario. The sly bastard knew exactly how to leave me hot from three thousand kilometers away. One film for each night.

I opened the last one, convinced that if he’d saved it for the end it was because there was something big in it. The heroine got out of a very expensive car in a blue dress that fit her like a glove, huge hat, diva sunglasses. The woman I wanted to be. She told her therapist about her wet dreams, in which she danced in lingerie for a man who was not her husband.

I savored another sip, the liquid cold and me getting hotter by the second. I wanted to be the star of that dance. The bathrobe slid open as she undressed for the stranger. When she started touching herself, I kept time with her. And when he came closer and kissed her like a dom, I swallowed and bit my lips. I wanted that with all my might.

The therapist fingered her and I touched myself in time. They kissed in the filthiest way and I wanted that mouth on me, a tongue of fire slipping between my lips. When he laid her on the sofa and started devouring her pussy, my fingers sped up. I wanted a tongue like that, wicked, playing with my clit. The couple on screen looked like forbidden lovers, and that made everything even hotter.

I short-circuited. I went to the minibar and grabbed a very cold juice. I lay back on the bathrobe and pressed the icy container against my skin while I played with my lips and clit. I was going to try what that goddess was enjoying. And I came again. I stopped to catch my breath until she knelt down and started eating her out. The scene got me hot immediately.

When I saw the way he slid between her breasts, I knew I needed more than a juice carton. I got up and took my travel dildo from the bottom of the suitcase: slim, discreet, but a dildo all the same. I started sucking it in the same rhythm as she devoured her lover on screen, my saliva hanging just as obscenely as hers. What talent that woman had. Hers, not mine.

He lifted her in his arms and drove into her like an athlete. He didn’t last long and threw her onto the sofa. I started fucking myself with the dildo, following the pounding of the film. I hadn’t turned the volume down, and her moans rivaled mine. Come on, wreck me like you wrecked her. I gripped my nipples with the same roughness he was using on hers.

He forced her to pull her legs up against her body. I remembered my Pilates classes and tried to imitate her, my holes exposed like those of a woman utterly surrendered. But it was she who was truly enjoying it; my rubber toy couldn’t reach that much pleasure, although it had me completely soaked.

I decided to be the heroine. I got down from the bed, planted the dildo firmly against the floor, and sat on it. I started riding it. Come on, fuck me, do you sleep with many patients? I marveled at her stamina, thinking how long they must have taken to shoot the scene. And I came again, my legs trembling, not wanting to stop.

I was so unhinged that pleasure had run down the dildo and stained the floor of the room. Shit, I should have put a towel down. And suddenly I realized I didn’t care in the slightest. Let them know I’d masturbated, what did it matter. Like a switch flipping on, I remembered the window was still open. Had they seen me? From the square, impossible. But from the buildings across the way? I pulled away from the toy and went to the glass. Nobody.

The phone rang at that moment. It was Anders.

—Yes?

—We’ll pick you up in thirty minutes, Marisa, don’t forget.

On the screen, just then, he put the actress on all fours and took her mercilessly. Her scream was impossible to hide.

—What was that, Marisa?

—The fire alarm, I’m sure. I was startled too. See you in a bit.

—There are still several points left unresolved. I hope the three of us can offer you a solution to your liking.

—I’m sure you can. See you soon, Anders.

I hung up. They were still fucking on the screen as background noise, but I no longer had time for them. I turned the volume down and left them there while I started getting ready.

In the suitcase was the gift package my husband had left me. “For a special night,” the card said. I opened it. A silk and embroidered tulle lingerie set, a deep red one, with matching high-waisted panties. Impossible to wrap myself better. My husband dressed me like a goddess underneath and I would dress myself properly on the outside to live up to it. The afternoon orgasms had left my head clear and calm.

It was time to go out and fight those three Vikings. How would the night end?