I Opened My Front Door to Five Strangers

Hi again. I’m Renata, and I’m back with one of those memories that still gets me hot when I go over it in a whisper, my hand between my legs. I hadn’t seen Mariela in years, a friend I used to coordinate a neighborhood soup kitchen with when we were younger. I ran into her by chance at the supermarket, among the fruit displays, and we stood chatting as if no time had passed.

She told me she was still doing her thing, that she was now helping a group of men who did odd jobs on the farms outside town. Men on their own, far from their families, who cooked in a shed at lunchtime. I offered to lend a hand and promised I’d come by on Friday with clothes and some food.

I went that same week, during the afternoon siesta, when they were finishing lunch. That’s where I met them. Five big men, with callused hands and eyes that lingered on me a second too long. And that extra second suddenly brought all my old appetites rushing back.

I was never one to hide what I wanted. I like clothes that hint at what’s underneath, situations that grow tense, the exact moment a man realizes I’m looking at him and has no idea what to do. At forty-three, I’m no longer ashamed of anything I desire. Quite the opposite: I’ve learned that desire, properly managed, is the only thing that doesn’t wear out with age. And having five hard cocks at my disposal was a fantasy I had no intention of letting pass me by.

I couldn’t think of a better idea than offering them something Mariela didn’t need to know about. I told them I’d come pick them up on Saturday. That at my house they’d have a hot shower, decent food, clean clothes—and the rest, they’d discover for themselves.

***

On Saturday I picked them all up in my truck. There were five, just as I’d promised. I dressed the way I like to when I want to be watched: a thin white tank top that clung to my body in the heat and showed my stiff nipples pointing through the fabric. Pale leggings, almost transparent, and nothing underneath. I felt every bump in the road directly against my pussy, the seam rubbing my clit each time I pressed the clutch.

They didn’t say much. But I watched them in the rearview mirror, exchanging glances, shifting in their seats, trying to hide the bulges showing through their pants. I loved that quiet tension. I can still provoke this, I thought, and pressed the accelerator a little harder, opening my legs just enough for the man in the passenger seat to see the shadow of my pussy through the leggings.

We got home around noon. I served them a late breakfast on the veranda, strong coffee and pastries, and while they ate I studied them one by one. The quietest had an unkempt beard that was crying out for a shave. Another, the oldest in the group, held my gaze with a calmness that told me he already knew how the day would end.

“I’m going to make you presentable,” I said, and led them to the barbecue hut at the back.

I had a chair, a towel, and everything I needed. I cut their hair and shaved them one at a time, slowly, brushing their napes, their necks, their jaws, pressing my tits against their shoulders as I worked. While I took care of one, the others showered and went out to the pool in shorts I lent them. The sun beat down hard. The water, the laughter, the sound of summer. And I could feel my pussy getting wet just from passing the razor over their skin, my soaked leggings clinging to my lips.

***

I left the quietest one for last. When the other four were already splashing around in the pool, I took him to the shower at the back. Before he could move, I took off my tank top and leggings and let them fall onto a bench. I stood there naked, nipples erect and hair loose over my shoulders, and watched his mouth go dry.

“Let me wash you,” I told him.

He didn’t answer. He only nodded, eyes wide open.

I soaped his entire body without hurrying, running my hands over his chest, back, and legs. When I reached down, I grabbed his cock and almost lost my breath: it was thick, hard as stone, with a prominent vein throbbing against my palm. I worked it with both hands, sliding the foreskin up and down, playing with the tip with my thumb until he began to leak. I knelt beneath the warm stream and slowly brought it to my mouth, tasting the head first, sucking it with my lips tight around the glans before taking the whole thing down my throat.

He let out a growl and braced one hand against the wall, the other in my hair, without pushing, letting himself be carried away. I sucked him as if I hadn’t eaten in weeks: my tongue working his frenulum, my cheeks hollow with suction, my throat opening to take him down to the balls. I grabbed his balls with one hand and massaged them while with the other I dug my nails into his ass to pull him closer. I took his cock from my mouth only to lick his testicles, suck at the base, and then swallow him again.

It had been a long time since he’d been with anyone, and I felt him tense up quickly. The muscles in his thighs hardened, the hand in my hair clenched into a fist, and he came with a hoarse moan that bounced off the tiles. I felt the hot semen strike the back of my throat, jet after thick, salty jet, and I didn’t let a drop escape. I swallowed everything and kept sucking the tip so nothing would be lost, until he shuddered and had to gently pull me away because of how sensitive he’d become.

The delay hadn’t gone unnoticed. The other four appeared in the bathroom doorway, still wet from the pool, their shorts outlining already-hard cocks, and found themselves looking at the scene: me on my knees, my mouth still glistening, and their companion spent against the tiles. There was a heavy silence, the kind you could cut with a knife. And then, almost in unison, they demanded the same thing.

“Relax,” I laughed, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. “There’s enough for everyone.”

***

They left me shaved and clean beneath the shower, and then they descended on me. Four pairs of callused hands ran over my entire body, squeezing my tits, grabbing my ass, spreading my legs without asking permission. One mouth caught a nipple and tugged with its teeth, right at that point between pain and pleasure that drives me crazy; another took care of the other breast, sucking it whole and leaving red marks around the areola. Another bit my nape and neck while pressing his hard cock against my ass. I felt a skilled tongue work its way between my legs and start on my clitoris with a patience I hadn’t expected from such a big man, sucking it, circling it, pushing two thick fingers deep into my pussy.

I came right there, standing, my back against the cold wall with the water still falling. I screamed loudly, not caring about anything, pressing his head against my pussy so he wouldn’t stop eating me. My knees trembled and two of them held me up so I wouldn’t collapse, my vagina still throbbing around the fingers of the one below.

They put me on all fours on the warm tile. The first one shoved it into me all at once, all the way to the balls, and I nearly swallowed my tongue from the jolt of pleasure. He buried it inside me without care, gripping my hips with both hands, and I pushed my ass back so he would drive it deeper. They took turns, going in and out, sometimes letting me choose, other times deciding for me. The oldest fucked me from the side, pulling my hair and forcing me to arch my back; another positioned himself in front of me and put his cock in my mouth at the same rhythm as the one behind fucked me. My mouth was occupied almost the whole time, moving from one cock to another, sucking, spitting, feeling my face fill with saliva and pre-cum.

One of them came over my tits, long white jets left hanging from my nipples. Another came inside me without warning, with a roar, and I felt the warm semen spill down my thighs when he pulled out. And I kept asking for more, my pussy soaked, contracting on its own, too exhausted to speak and capable only of moaning.

It was exactly what I’d gone to the supermarket looking for without knowing it: feeling desired by several men at once, being everyone’s central hole, the whore who offers herself and takes everything they give her.

What I liked most was how they coordinated without speaking. One hand held my hip while another moved my hair out of my face so the cock in front of me could go deeper. One set the pace by fucking me while the others waited their turn with a patience I hadn’t expected, cocks in hand, masturbating slowly so they wouldn’t come too soon. There was no hurry and no clumsiness, only desire built up over a long time and the determination to make good use of me. I let myself be carried away, feeling the warm water run down my back, mixing with the semen, while pleasure rose through me in waves that never seemed to end.

When they were tired, we dried off and went inside the house. It was time for a proper lunch.

***

We ate naked in the kitchen, all of us, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. There was wine, barbecue, conversation. For a while we were simply five men and one woman sharing a table on a hot Saturday. But the looks were still there, flaring up again with every glass, and I could feel my thighs sticking to the chair, their cum still running out of my pussy.

I liked that part as much as the sex: the quiet stretch, relaxed bodies, the jokes going back and forth. One told me where he came from; another made me laugh with a silly story from the farm. I listened with my glass in my hand, feeling like the center of a table full of men who couldn’t take their eyes off my tits. That feeling—that of being desired openly by several men at once—is one of the few things that makes me feel truly alive.

I saw one of them stretch out on the living-room sofa, relaxed, his cock half-hard and completely available. I settled between his legs, took his cock in my hand, and began sucking him slowly, enjoying the moment, without hurrying. I sucked him calmly, licking from his balls to the tip, feeling him harden in my mouth until he was stone-hard again. I made wet noises as I sucked him, letting saliva dribble, while he stroked my hair and whispered curses.

After a little while I felt a warm tongue travel over me from behind and had to bite down to keep from screaming. The oldest of them had knelt behind me and was working me with a skill that didn’t match his rough hands: he spread my ass with his thumbs and licked me from my clitoris to my asshole without the slightest hesitation, eating both my holes as if it were the best thing he’d tasted in years.

His fingers played, grew wet, and explored with a mixture of firmness and care that arched my back. He put two fingers in my pussy and his thumb in my ass, moving them at the same time while his tongue kept working my clitoris. I moaned against the cock in my mouth, lost, pushing backward to feel more, accidentally biting his cock whenever he found just the right angle. The oldest gently lifted my face, looked me in the eyes for a second— that extra second, again—and went back to what he was doing, his mouth buried between my legs.

Afterward they arranged themselves for double penetration. One lay down on the sofa and I climbed on top, slowly impaling myself on his cock until I felt it at the back of my womb. I began riding him, but I had barely started when another got behind me, spat on my ass, and slowly pushed his cock into my asshole, forcing his way in until I felt the two cocks separated by only a thin wall of flesh inside me. I screamed, not from pain, but because I had never felt so full in my life.

A third stood in front of me and put his cock in my mouth. I was trapped between the three of them, unable to move under my own power, letting them fuck me in all three holes at once, feeling each thrust from one shake me against the other two. The remaining two, standing around us, stroked my tits and masturbated while they waited their turn.

I felt all three come almost one after the other, within a matter of minutes: the one beneath me filled my pussy with hot semen, the one behind me came in my ass with an animal growl, and the one in my mouth made me swallow every last drop while he pulled my hair. I came with them, shaken from head to toe, contracting around the two cocks that were still inside me.

The last one, the quietest of the morning, waited his turn and drove into me with restrained strength until he made me come one more time. He laid me on my back, spread my legs almost wide enough to split me, and buried himself deep, his big body covering me completely. He stared at me while he fucked me without saying a word, and I dug my nails into his back with every thrust until I felt another orgasm shake me from top to bottom. He came inside me and collapsed onto my chest, panting.

***

Since none of them had been with a woman in so long, and they were big men with so much pent-up energy, things continued. But we learned to take breaks, to draw out the pleasure, to let the desire build again before the next round. We ate something, cooled off in the pool—where, incidentally, one of them would corner me against the edge and make me come with his fingers underwater—and started all over again.

I invited them to stay the whole weekend, and they accepted without thinking twice. For those two days I was theirs and they were mine. They took me whenever they wanted, however they wanted, and I never tired of asking for more. They fucked me in bed, on the sofa, against the kitchen counter, with my face pressed against the window glass while one of them fucked me from behind. I lost count of how many times I came. They lost count of theirs too. I woke up several times with one cock in my mouth and another already seeking my pussy from behind, and there was no better way to wake up.

On Sunday afternoon I drove them back. In the truck nobody said much, but the silence was no longer tense: it was the silence of something shared. Before getting out, the oldest placed a hand on my knee.

“Will you come back?” he asked.

“I’ll show up anytime,” I told him, and I meant it.

***

I drove home with a stupid smile on my face and my body thoroughly spent, my pussy swollen, my nipples tender, and their taste still in my mouth. That good kind of exhaustion I only know after a weekend like that. I took a long bath, poured myself a glass of wine, and sat on the veranda watching evening fall, my hand between my legs as I replayed every scene.

At forty-three, you learn not to ask permission to desire what you desire. And that night, I felt more alive than ever. Until next time, friends. Because there will be a next time.