The Night My Boyfriend Offered Me to His Best Friend
In Áurea, everything has a price, and I learned that lesson long before I met Caimán. People who come to this enclave believe money buys discretion, luxury, and pleasure; what they almost never understand is that it also buys memories one would rather not relive. I had left the streets years ago, had locked away the whore I used to be in a drawer and turned the key. But drawers, in this place, have the nasty habit of opening by themselves.
The afternoon Halcón approached me, I knew immediately what it was about. He was forty-nine, carried himself like a man accustomed to being told yes, and wore a smile that was far too calm.
“I’m a friend of Caimán,” he said, as if that explained everything.
And, somehow, it did. Before I was Caimán’s woman, I already knew the rules of this world. It didn’t frighten me that my own boyfriend was offering me to one of his friends. What surprised me was how quickly that instinct I believed asleep woke up again, that professional coldness that turns someone else’s desire into a transaction.
“A thousand credits,” Halcón added, holding my gaze. “Caimán says your pussy is worth it.”
I didn’t argue about the amount. Not because of the money, but because of what it meant: he trusted me enough to lend me out, and I was still capable of delivering. I accepted with a nod, and the whore in the drawer opened her eyes.
***
His private island was half an hour away by speedboat, a sanctuary of white rock and endless sea. There were no witnesses there except the water and the wind coming through the open windows. Halcón led me to the master suite with the calm of a man who had planned every detail, and offered me a drink I didn’t touch.
“I prefer to start with a clear head,” I said.
He laughed softly and sat on the edge of the bed. This is the kind who enjoys control more than the body, I thought. I had seen it a thousand times.
I knelt in front of him without his having to ask. I undid his belt with calm fingers, lowered the zipper, and pulled his trousers down to his thighs. His cock showed beneath the boxer briefs, thick and already hard before I touched it. I freed it with a single tug, and it came out striking my chin, hot, the swollen head and a throbbing vein running along the shaft. I took my time. I ran my tongue from his balls to the tip, slowly, mouth open and drooling over him so his entire length would shine before I took it into my mouth.
I sucked him the way you suck a man who pays well: with both hands, my mouth, and my eyes raised to his. I swallowed him all the way down the first time, feeling him strike my throat, and held him there with my eyes watering until he let out a sudden breath. I pulled off with a string of saliva, spat, and took him back in, this time setting a slow rhythm, tightening my lips around him on every upward stroke, sucking hard on every downward one. I alternated pressure and rhythm, brought him to the edge and withdrew, licked his balls while slowly jerking him off, and whenever I heard him hold his breath, I swallowed him all the way down again.
“Fuck,” he muttered. “What a whore’s mouth you have.”
His fists clenched on the bedspread. His breathing lost the calm it had held before. When I felt him tense, I sped up. I sucked the tip with my tongue circling the crown while my hand tightened around the base, and he came without warning, with a short grunt, shooting thick, hot streams into my mouth that filled my palate. I didn’t let a drop fall. I swallowed while looking at him, then ran my tongue over his glans to clean off the last trace. I took it with the naturalness of a profession that is never entirely forgotten. There was nothing new in it, except the certainty that he was enjoying it more than he would ever admit.
But Halcón was not the sort to settle for little.
“Again,” he ordered, his voice hoarse. “You’re not finished.”
“You’re still soft,” I said, smiling with my lips shining. “Let me take care of that.”
I took him again, this time patiently, waking him once more with the tip of my tongue on his frenulum, sucking his balls one at a time, taking them into my mouth until I felt his cock rise again against my cheek. When he was hard again, truly hard, he stood up, tore my dress over my head, and yanked off my underwear so violently that it made the fasteners snap. He put me facedown on the bed, spread my legs with his knee, and positioned me to his liking, unhurriedly, like someone arranging his property. He ran two fingers between my thighs, checking how ready I was.
“Look at you,” he murmured, pushing them in to the knuckles. “You’re soaked. You’re dripping down the insides of your thighs.”
“Shut up and fuck me,” I told him into the pillow.
He laughed softly and obeyed. He drove into me in a single thrust, all the way, and the impact arched my back and tore a moan from me that I didn’t fake. He didn’t even give me time to adjust. He began fucking me from behind with a force that made the bed frame creak, holding me by the hips and burying himself to the hilt every time. I felt him opening me, felt his cock reach a place no one had touched in years, and clung to the sheets with white knuckles.
“That’s it,” he panted. “Open up. Open that pussy for me.”
He grabbed my hair, pulled my head back, and forced me to arch farther. He changed his rhythm, withdrawing almost completely and then slamming back into me again and again, marking each thrust with a wet smack. Every so often came the sharp smack of his hand on my ass, measured, right on the boundary between pleasure and sting, leaving my skin red and throbbing. Forty-nine years of knowing exactly what he wanted showed in every movement. He didn’t improvise; he took charge. He pulled out, turned me onto my side, lifted one leg over his shoulder, and entered me again, slowly this time, watching as my pussy lips opened to swallow him whole.
“Touch yourself,” he ordered. “I want to feel you come, squeezing my cock.”
I lowered my hand to my clitoris and began rubbing it with two fingers while he thrust deep inside me. I had spent years making the decisions in my own bed, and I found myself surrendering control with an ease that left me thinking. I came first, with a spasm that made me clamp my legs around his waist and moan into the pillow, and he felt my pussy squeeze him all over and sped up. He turned me facedown again, dug his hands into my hips, and let himself go. He finished with a deep groan, burying himself to the root, emptying inside me in three, four spurts that I felt filling me from within while the sea kept pounding the rocks below, indifferent.
When he pulled out, his cum ran down my thighs onto the sheet. I stayed there for a moment, on my knees with my face pressed against the mattress, breathing hard, until he gave my ass an almost affectionate slap.
“Get up. Worth every credit.”
We said goodbye like two professionals closing a deal. No promises, no ulterior motives. I fixed my hair in front of the mirror, collected my credits, and took the boat back, my panties tucked into my purse and his cum still warm between my legs. The job was done.
***
El Vértigo was the club everyone in Áurea went to when the night could no longer turn back. The air was thick, heavy with smoke and expensive perfume mingling with the sweat of bodies. The music pounded against the floor with an insistence that worked its way into my chest. I ordered something strong at the bar and let the place swallow me.
That was where I ran into Tobías.
He had the look of someone who had been watching me from a distance for a while and had finally worked up the courage to approach. Younger than Halcón, less calculating, with that awkward intensity of someone who still believes desire can be conquered with words. He spoke into my ear to make himself heard over the techno, and I played along with a half-smile, amused by his persistence. He knew nothing about what had happened on the island. To him, I was simply the most interesting woman at the bar.
And then I saw him.
Halcón, at the other end of the room, leaning against a pillar with a glass in his hand. He wasn’t dancing or talking to anyone. He was looking for me. When our eyes met, he raised two fingers toward the hallway leading to the bathrooms. A minimal, imperative gesture that allowed no room for interpretation.
The deal had ended on the island.
I slowly shook my head and turned back to Tobías. But Halcón was not a man accustomed to hearing no. He crossed the club unhurriedly, dodging bodies, and stopped beside me just long enough for only me to hear him.
“I’m talking,” I told him without looking at him. “What happened between us was settled there.”
“Five hundred more,” he replied, slipping the numbers between the beats. “A quick blowjob in the bathroom. Then I disappear.”
I looked at Tobías, who was waiting, unaware of the negotiation, and then back at Halcón. The offer, the adrenaline of the place, the risk of that public setting where anyone could appear at any moment. Something in me—the whore in the drawer, once again—said yes before my head finished calculating.
“Five minutes,” I told Tobías, brushing his arm. “Don’t go anywhere.”
***
The bathrooms at El Vértigo were territory I knew inside out. Not those particular ones, but what they represented: cramped, poorly lit spaces where haste and risk sharpen every sensation. Halcón closed the stall door behind us and slid the bolt. The smell of perfume and damp filled everything. The music kept pounding against the door like someone else’s heartbeat.
This time I didn’t wait for instructions. I knelt in front of him on the sticky floor, opened his fly, and pulled out his half-hard cock. I took it into my mouth without ceremony, all the way down on the first thrust, and heard him knock the back of his head against the stall door. I sucked him faster than I had on the island, with the urgency the place demanded, moving up and down with my whole mouth, spitting saliva onto his shaft so my hand could slide easily. My lips set an electric rhythm, synchronized with the techno pulsing through the cracks. Someone laughed on the other side of the door. Footsteps approached and moved away. Someone was pissing in the urinal next to us, and I kept swallowing him down to my throat, eyes closed and nose pressed against his pubic hair. Far from stopping me, the risk drove me on.
He held the back of my head with one hand, not to force me, but to remind me who was in charge. He began moving my head to the rhythm he wanted, fucking my mouth as he pleased, and I let him, not out of blind submission, but because there was something intoxicating about surrendering that control in a place where everything else was chaos. He pushed his cock all the way in and left it there a second longer than necessary, feeling me gag and tears run through my makeup. When he pulled out, a strand of saliva hung from my chin. The adrenaline did the rest. I slipped one hand beneath my dress, braless, and touched my clitoris while sucking him, getting myself wet simply from the taste of his cock in my mouth.
“Swallow it all,” he panted. “Don’t leave a drop, whore.”
When he emptied himself, he did so with a groan the music devoured before it was born. I felt the hot, thick spurts explode against my palate, and swallowed with my mouth closed around him, tightening my lips at the base to squeeze out every last drop. But he didn’t let me go. With a calm that contrasted with the urgency of a moment before, he kept me on my knees and ran his still-hard cock over my lips, smearing them, forcing me to taste the end of the deal. He ran his fingers along the corner of my mouth, collected a drop escaping me, and put it in my mouth. I looked up at him without breaking eye contact and sucked his fingers clean.
“Now we’re done,” he said, helping me to my feet with absurd courtesy given the circumstances. “Thank you.”
I straightened my dress in front of the bathroom’s spotted mirror, touched up my swollen lips, and took a deep breath. I could still taste him on my tongue. The whore in the drawer smiled in the reflection, satisfied, before putting herself away again.
***
When I came out, Tobías was still at the bar, faithful to his spot, searching for me through the crowd with the face of a boy who had waited too long. He knew nothing. He had no reason to know.
“I thought you’d left,” he said, relieved.
“I never leave without saying goodbye,” I replied, accepting the drink he had been keeping for me.
As I drank, I thought of Caimán, who had put a price on my past without fully knowing what he was setting free. I thought of Halcón, of his forty-nine years of knowing exactly what he wanted. And I thought of myself, and how easily I had become that experienced woman again—the one I believed I had buried.
In Áurea, pleasure and business are two sides of the same coin. I had always known that. What that night reminded me was that no matter how carefully you keep that coin, it is still yours. And all it takes is for someone to place it on the table for it to shine again.
I held Tobías’s gaze over the rim of my glass, already calculating how much it would be worth to show him, free this time, everything a man his age still didn’t know about how to fuck a woman like me.
