Silent Orgasms at the Beach House

I’ve been at my parents’ beach house for four nights, and I already feel like I’m going to explode. The sun, bare skin, the smell of sunscreen, tanned bodies strolling along the promenade. It all has me so aroused that I can’t release it anywhere. I’m surrounded by family, nieces and nephews, my mother peeking around every corner. The walls in these houses are paper-thin: any noise carries straight to the neighbor next door. So I’ve already resigned myself to it: these weeks, I’m going to have to come silently, alone, with my hand clamped over my mouth.

This house has been welcoming me for more than twenty years. Every summer, I leave a memory here with my legs spread. A lifeguard named Nicolás who dragged me against the outdoor shower one August afternoon. A neighbor who watched me from his balcony when I lay out on the sun terrace with no panties beneath my dress. A late-night call with a married friend during which I masturbated for him beneath the stars, my phone pressed to one ear and the other one at eleven o’clock at night. Every period different, every year more shameless. I’ve learned to move through this house as if it were my own territory for pleasure.

Now, on top of that, I have two men waiting on the other end of the phone. Andrés and Iván. They both know I’m alone in the room, my phone pressed to my ear and one hand beneath the sheet. They’re both going to make it very hard for me to hold out.

***

On the first night, I woke at three in the morning soaked in sweat and something else. The window was open, and the murmur of the sea drifted in. I spread my legs beneath the sheet and slid my right hand between my thighs. I was already swollen and throbbing, without needing any warm-up. It was enough to brush my clitoris with the tip of my middle finger to let out a moan that I cut off in time by clapping my other hand over my mouth.

I pushed my finger inside. It slipped in at once, without resistance. I was so wet that I felt my juices running downward, toward my asshole, staining the sheet. I didn’t care. I began masturbating slowly, my finger curled upward as I searched for the spot that leaves me breathless. With my other hand, I pinched my nipple hard enough to hurt myself. I like that pain. When I do it with enough force, it feels as if someone else is doing it to me, and it turns me on like crazy.

I closed my eyes and searched my memory. Not a fantasy, not tonight. I went over the last thing I had experienced with Andrés. The hotel ass-fucking, with him holding me by the nape of my neck and whispering things in my ear that are still burned into my mind whenever I touch myself. The way he pulled his cock out at the end, dripping wet, and put it in my mouth so I could clean it for him. I also revisited the last time with Iván, in the car, the windows fogged up and his hand beneath my skirt while I tried not to moan too loudly.

The heat rose inside me, and I couldn’t draw it out any longer. I sped up my finger, making quick circles over my clitoris, my hips rising and falling as if I were begging to be penetrated. I came silently, my lips pressed tight, feeling the orgasm shake my entire stomach. Lying there with my hand still inside me and my juices trickling down my wrist, I waited for the sea to return me to calm.

***

On the first day at the beach, around eleven in the morning, my phone rang. Andrés. I was sitting beneath the beach umbrella, surrounded by family towels, with my sister-in-law reading barely three feet away. I put on my headphones and lay on my side so no one could see my face.

—And what are you doing? —I asked him quietly.

—Thinking about the fuck we had the other day. About how you came with two fingers in your ass and my cock inside your pussy. I can’t get it out of my head.

I choked on the juices that shot out of me instantly. I looked around. My sister-in-law was reading. My mother was dozing. No one could hear. I squeezed my thighs together and dug my nails into my palm.

—Don’t tell me that now, you bastard —I whispered—. I’m surrounded by people.

—Better that way. It’ll stick in your mind even more. Keep listening to me.

And he continued. He began describing a new fantasy to me. Dogging. That one day, when I came back from the trip, he would pick me up in his car and take me to an area he knew on the outskirts. That we would park in a vacant lot where guys prowled around, waiting to see something. That he would put me on my knees in the back seat, my ass pressed against the rear window for anyone who wanted to watch, while I sucked his cock right in front of them. And that he would let one man after another come in and fuck me from behind while he decided whether the guy approaching deserved to put himself inside me or not.

My breathing quickened. I could feel my bikini sticking to a pussy that was no longer a pussy but a puddle. I closed my eyes behind my sunglasses and saw myself there. A stranger’s hand on my hip, thrusting into me from behind. Andrés’s cock in my mouth, buried deep in my throat. The others waiting their turn, pressed against the glass. Saliva running down my chin and dripping between his thighs. The first thrust of a guy whose face I hadn’t even seen, sliding all the way inside until I felt his balls striking me, while Andrés pulled my hair so I wouldn’t stop sucking him.

I covered my face with my arm and quickened my breathing.

—I’m coming —I told him softly, trembling beneath the umbrella—. Bastard, I’m coming here on the shore, in front of everyone.

—Whore —he replied hoarsely—. I’m hard as a rock. Finish.

I finished. And then a second one followed. I came twice in a row, in less than five minutes, without even putting my hand inside my swimsuit, just from what he whispered in my ear. When I opened my eyes, my sister-in-law was still reading peacefully. The sound of the waves had swallowed my muffled moans, and the trembling of my legs looked like sunlight reflected on the towel.

—You bastard —I told him, laughing helplessly—. I’m at the beach with my entire family.

—That’s why you turn me on even more. Because you’re doing it in secret.

We hung up because he had to deal with a customer. I stayed sprawled on the towel, my bikini panties soaked, feeling my juices escaping over the edge and staining the inside of my thigh. I had to go into the sea for ten minutes to disguise it.

That afternoon, in the outdoor shower in the garden, I jerked off again thinking about him. Quickly, my left hand braced against the tiles, my right between my legs, the cold water masking the noise. I came in two minutes, my mouth open beneath the stream so no one would hear anything.

***

Iván appeared that afternoon. He wrote to me while I was in the pool, playing with my niece. When I checked my phone, I saw three messages in a row: “I’m all yours. Call when you can.” “Hello?” “Everything okay?”

My heart leapt into my throat. Iván is married, and the windows of opportunity when he can talk to me are extremely narrow. He was slipping away from me. I answered immediately.

“Can I?”

“Yes. I’m putting the groceries on the conveyor belt. Call me.”

I went into the bedroom, locked the door, leaned my back against the wood, and dialed. When I heard him say, “Hello, beautiful,” I felt something pinch inside my belly. Just that. Just his voice.

—It’s been so long —I whispered—. I haven’t heard you.

—I know. And now I have to speak softly because I’m at the supermarket. But I’m warning you: I’ve been holding it in for two days. If you say that to me again in that voice, I’ll come right here, with the checkout in front of me.

I threw myself onto the bed. I lifted my dress, pushed my panties aside, and slid two fingers inside me. I’d been wet since that morning. I was still craving the arousal Andrés had given me at the beach.

—Describe how you’d fuck me when I got back —I asked him.

He described it. In detail. He would wait for me at the door of my house without opening it while I rang the bell. He would let me in and, before allowing me to enter, hike my skirt up against the wall of the landing. He would rip my panties off in one tug and run his tongue from my clitoris to the asshole, slowly, with the door ajar and the risk that any neighbor might come up the stairs. Then, once we were inside, he would lay me facedown on the sofa, put a cushion beneath my hips, and fuck me with one hand on the nape of my neck and the other on my shoulder, thrusting until the skin of my ass was red from the blows.

I moved my fingers slowly, feeling my pussy tighten around them. I told him what I knew he loved hearing.

—I want you to hurt me —I said, breathless—. I want you to call me a whore right into my ear, loud. I don’t want you to let me close my legs.

—Whore —he replied, almost voiceless—. Whore. Mine. I don’t want you fucking anyone but me.

I lied. I told him yes. But I lied, because I had fucked Andrés with my mind that morning, and I would fuck him again tomorrow. I came quietly, biting the pillow, while Iván breathed heavily on the other end and said, “I’m touching myself here, with my hand in my pocket, in front of everyone. I can’t take it anymore.”

—I have to go —he said, agitated—. I’ve already made two laps around the supermarket with this cart. I’m going to be incredibly late.

—I love that you do this just to keep me on the phone a little longer. Goodbye, handsome.

I hung up and lay there staring at the ceiling, my panties out of place and my phone resting on my stomach. I could still feel the pulse beating between my legs.

***

I went back to the pool, still trembling inside. Leaning against the edge, the water rocking my hips, I thought about how lucky I was. Two men a thousand kilometers away took turns making me come at noon, on the shore, and in the afternoon, in a locked room. Neither of them was touching me, and yet they had left my pussy a complete mess for four days.

Andrés would be waiting for me as soon as I came back, to fuck me on the first day at his apartment, without dinner, without talking, straight onto the mattress. Iván would take longer; he would have to invent an excuse to get away from home one Tuesday afternoon, but I knew he would find one, and that when he arrived he would tear my clothes off against the wall of the landing, just as he had promised. Until then, he and I would keep coming over the phone, the sound of the waves covering my moans and the August heat doing the rest.

And that night, when the whole house was asleep, it would be time for a third one. This time, without them. Just me, my hand between my legs, the window open to the sea, my eyes closed as I imagined the procession of strangers Andrés had promised me for when I returned. I was going to come again, thinking about the first guy in line burying himself inside me while Andrés watched and decided who would be next.