What My Miss’s Friends Did to Me Under the Table

You could tell the three of them had known each other for years. It wasn’t just the way they shared complicit silences, or the fact that each wore the same ring with a tiny emerald set in gold. It was the way they were treating me: careful, attentive, with a false naturalness that gave away the rehearsed script. Three cats with full bellies playing with a mouse in their claws.

In that scene, I was the outsider and, at the same time, the absolute center of their attention.

Drinks came and went from our table in one of those downtown places where I had waited tables more times than I’d sat at them. The waiter greeted my Miss’s friends with a gesture that spoke of many nights, and he had found us a tucked-away booth, almost certainly because he already knew the volume level of Beatriz and Vega. Seated across from us, both of them were on their fourth drink and laughing as if they’d spent their whole lives waiting for that dinner. They were mischievous, shameless, natural. My Miss and I, beside them, looked like two novices. Trapped between the booth wall and my Miss’s body, I tried to follow the conversation with the growing sense that something was brewing beneath the tablecloth.

—What a pretty necklace you’re wearing, Renata —Beatriz said, leaning in to stretch out her hand toward my neck without asking permission.

The fact that she gave me a perfect view of her cleavage at the same time was no accident. Two big tits, squeezed into a black lace bra, with her nipples pressing through the silk blouse like two warning signs. My eyes went there before I could stop them, and she noticed, and smiled like a fox who knows exactly what she’s offering.

—You’re so bad at playing innocent —I replied, amused.

I took my Miss’s hand, which until then had been resting on my lap, and put it on the table so her bracelet would be clearly visible. It was exactly the same work of goldsmithing as my necklace: a discreet gold lariat she had given me, which I wore in public all the time. Anyone who knew how to look understood what it meant: belonging. Commitment. My place inside a relationship that wasn’t announced on social media or at family dinners.

—You’re not fooling me, Beatriz. You can add things up.

Vega laughed beside me and got an elbow from Beatriz that nearly made her spill her martini.

—Go on, tell us. What is your Miss like in that dark little corner you share in private? —Beatriz insisted, without lowering her voice enough for my taste—. Does she fuck you well? Does she make you beg? Tell me yes, tell me she puts you on all fours and takes you with the harness until your cunt is dripping.

Hearing her talk that freely in a crowded place threw me off balance. I tucked a strand of hair behind my ear, buying myself a few seconds, and tried to wriggle out of the trap with style.

—Well, you can imagine —I began in a sweet, dreamy tone before turning dry—. Horrible. Selfish, only thinks about herself, and on top of that drags me to dinners with her rude friends to show me off like I’m a poodle.

The four of us laughed. I winked at my Miss and stuck my tongue out at her in my own way, just barely between my teeth. The joke didn’t come free. Without losing her smile, she extended two fingers and pinched my earlobe just firmly enough to remind me where the limit was.

—What do you say? —my Miss asked.

—Sorry, Miss. Sorry, Beatriz. Sorry, Vega.

—You’ve trained her well —Vega whistled, sincerely admiring.

—I didn’t train her. I swear she came that way from home —my Miss replied.

Both friends’ jaws dropped. They looked at each other, almost stunned. Proud of myself, I slipped my arm around my Miss’s waist and pressed my cheek against hers with a half-childish tenderness.

—Well-behaved, obedient, and mouthy whenever she feels like it? —Vega hurried to say—. Share her, woman. It’s really rude to show up with such a cutie on your arm and shove her in our faces. Let me stick my tongue in her cunt at least once.

I choked back a laugh and slowly shook my head. I held the collar by the Y-shaped junction that made it into a lariat and gave it a little shake in front of Vega, making it glitter.

—Look but don’t touch, Vega.

Then, without warning, my Miss’s fingers slipped through my hair and caught the lobe of my other ear. She didn’t pull, didn’t press. She just held it. I thought she was going to punish me for the cheek, so I turned my face to meet her gaze. But there was no severity in her eyes, only a playful calm behind lashes she knew by heart.

Silence fell over the table like something physical. Beatriz and Vega stopped talking and fixed their eyes on me. My Miss stroked my cheek with the back of her fingers, and at the same time hooked the toe of her foot around my shoe’s heel, sliding it until it fell to the floor with a dull, soft thud.

—As far as you want to go, and where you want to stop, Sweet Little Girl.

Her hand slid along the inner side of my bare thigh like a tame snake, while her foot climbed up my calf to my knee. Her fingers dug into my flesh, climbed a couple more centimeters, and I felt her thumb brushing the edge of my already wet cunt. My eyes wanted to close to take all of it in, and only the knowledge that we were on the covered terrace of a bar forced me to keep them open. My Miss put one finger upright over my lips and brought her mouth to my ear.

—From now on I’m not allowing you to speak. Only our color codes.

We had agreed on them months ago: green to keep going, yellow to slow down before the edge, red to stop immediately. I had them burned into me.

Beatriz and Vega had leaned over the table, expectant, devouring with their eyes the little that could be seen of my reaction. The expectation they created was so obscene that I couldn’t help biting my lip to prolong my response. I looked at one, then the other, and finally nodded solemnly.

It was like the starting gun. What happened beneath the tablecloth from that moment on looked like a three-way tango, executed with discretion and precision. The back of my Miss’s fingers slapped the inner thigh farthest from me, asking me to open up. With her other hand she ran down my entire leg, from crotch to knee, stretching it toward her. Vega caught my bare foot between her hands as if it were a delicate object, while Beatriz slid down in her seat until I felt the brush of her painted toenails against my sex.

They acted so in sync that I felt overwhelmed in less than a second. I felt Beatriz spreading my cunt lips apart with her toe, rubbing it up and down, lingering on the clit until it swelled and throbbed under that lacquered garnet nail. I was soaking. You could hear it. Every touch sounded sticky, wet, and I prayed the music in the place would cover the obscene sloshing coming from between my legs.

It was happening. Without having planned it, without having asked for it out loud, my fantasy was happening. I had talked it over with my Miss weeks earlier: the desire to be the center of a selected audience, to feel myself overrun by hands deciding for me. In my head I was naked and tied to a long table, surrounded by strangers who groped my tits, opened my cunt with their fingers, took turns shoving cock in my mouth. Reality didn’t look that much like that image, and at the same time it looked more like it than I dared admit.

Not knowing where to look, I pressed my mouth to the rim of my glass without drinking. I just wanted to hide my face. I’m too transparent, I always have been, and any nearby table looking toward us would realize something was happening to me.

—Relax, Sweet Little Girl —my Miss murmured, turning her whole torso to shield me from any outside gaze. Her left hand moved up the thigh closest to her; with her right she took Beatriz’s foot and guided her big toe to the entrance of my sex.

—Shaved and no panties —Beatriz commented, smiling in admiration, while rubbing me up and down with her lacquered nail—. And dripping. She’s so wet my foot keeps slipping. Fuck, if she lets me I’ll drop it to the floor and stick my whole tongue all the way down her throat.

—Beatriz and Vega have a huge foot fetish —my Miss explained to me, absently combing my hair—. And shaved cunts. And making spoiled girls like you cry.

Vega kept my foot propped on her knees and stared at it with an absorbed look, as if she were memorizing every fold of my sole. She caressed the flex lines with her fingertips as if tracing a secret map. I’ve always been very ticklish, but her touch wasn’t malicious: it was reverent. She rubbed my foot with the same devotion with which I, in bed, suck my Miss’s tits. A tactile idolatry. She ran along each toe as if drawing its outline, barely scratched the top of my foot, and then suddenly took my big toe into her mouth and sucked it whole, her tongue circling it, hot saliva sliding down to my ankle. I shivered. I drank from my cocktail as if alcohol could put out what that contact was doing to me inside.

—I’d bet anything Vega’s already soaking wet inside —my Miss said—. Would you be so kind as to prove it, please?

—Of course —Vega replied, without blinking, eyes nailed to me.

I watched her slip her hand under her skirt, and a second later she started painting the sole of my foot with the wetness of her own juices. Vega’s fluids smelled like an excited woman, thick, and she smeared them over my toes one by one as if varnishing me. Then she brought them to her mouth and sucked them slowly, showing me her wide, obscene tongue while looking into my eyes. I closed mine and a sigh escaped from my soul without permission. My Miss, who knows me better than anyone, gave voice to what I wasn’t saying.

—You get turned on by turning people on, don’t you, my Own Girl? Very much. Your cunt is dripping onto the leather seat. If you don’t calm down you’re going to come right here, in front of the whole bar.

—Green —I whispered.

I stayed staring at my Miss with my eyes wide open, still not quite believing that word had come out of my mouth. My body had completely betrayed me. I didn’t even have time to feel my cheeks heat up: the three of them leaned into me with the coordination of a pack of she-wolves that had hunted together all their lives.

Vega trapped my foot between her thighs and tugged the heel toward her so I couldn’t escape. I felt her rubbing her own cunt against my instep, dragging it back and forth, the wet heat of her flesh clinging to my skin. My Miss guided Beatriz’s big toe inside me with the same calm with which she would have put a key in a lock. I felt it forcing its way in, pushing, angling until it sank into me to the knuckle. My cunt closed around that foreign finger, tight, swallowing it as if it had been waiting for it all night.

—She’s hot inside —Beatriz said, with a little gasp—. And she squeezes like a virgin. Miss, your girl’s got a whore’s cunt.

—I know —my Miss replied, sliding two of her fingers over the top of Beatriz’s foot to stroke my clit at the same time—. She comes in two minutes if you know how to touch her. Fucking her with a toe and rubbing the little bud with your hand at the same time is cheating, Beatriz.

—I love cheating.

My breathing fogged the glass of the cup. My lashes fell shut on their own. It had been a long time since I played like this. Too long since the last quick handjob in the back row of a movie theater, since the last blowjob in a bar bathroom. I was going back to those wild teenage years, the years of unbridled exploration and no fear of consequences.

I clutched my Miss’s thigh with my free hand, just so she’d know the state I was in. I squeezed harder and harder as Beatriz’s toe sank in and withdrew from me, playful, sloshing. Each thrust pulled a silent spasm from me. I could feel my cunt walls contracting, the tremor climbing up my belly, my nipples hardening under my blouse until they pressed into the fabric. My Miss’s fingers drew tight circles over my clit with the precision of someone who had spent years learning my map. Beatriz pushed in and pulled out, pushed in and pulled out, and the wet noise of my cunt got louder with every pump.

My whole body was rigid, suppressing any sign from the waist up. My closed eyes and the nails dug into her leg gave me away. I was tempted to bite the glass and didn’t do it only for fear of shattering it between my teeth. I could feel the orgasm climbing inside me, squeezing my guts, rising up my spine. I was two thrusts away. One. I was so close to coming that desire began to beat shame, and then…

—That’s enough, friends —my Miss said, with a smile that filled her face.

Beatriz’s toe jerked out, and I felt my cunt close on emptiness, throbbing, searching, orphaned. Protest groans. Complaints. Beatriz brought her toe to her mouth and sucked it, eyes locked on me, tasting me as if I were honey. I didn’t know the tension my body was carrying until the three of them let me go and I melted back onto the seat like molten wax. If I didn’t add my own complaints to Beatriz’s and Vega’s, it wasn’t from lack of desire: I’m far too used to edging to believe they were going to let me finish there.

—Look how little she whines —my Miss boasted—. Much less than you two.

—For all the good it does me… —I murmured, loud enough for all three to hear.

I said it wickedly, to curry favor with the other two. It worked: Beatriz and Vega laughed, delighted by my snark. But that didn’t intimidate my Miss. On the contrary. It gave her wings. She grabbed my chin, turned my face toward her, and I saw her pupils glint like embers. A predator’s smile settled on her lips. I got turned on and nervous at the same time.

—In private you’re not so cocky, Sweet Little Girl —she pressed her lips together, defining the red lipstick, and looked at Vega before speaking to her—. Call a taxi, please.

—Where are we going? —Beatriz asked, expectant.

—Somewhere we won’t have to gag Renata so no one hears her. Somewhere we can spread her legs all the way and fuck her between the three of us until she doesn’t have a single urge left to whine.