Oral

I sent her the voice message at three in the morning: tomorrow we’re going back, and this time there’ll be no holding back. She replied with a list of what she wanted him to do to us.

Everyone believed her trances came from heaven. Only Father Rodrigo knew the price she was willing to pay to reach the altars.

He had been greeting me politely for months, but that hot morning I discovered in the refrigerator’s reflection that he wasn’t looking at my eyes.

It was three in the morning, and I couldn’t stop watching you sleep. I wanted to touch you, but I knew you were hurting. So I thought of something else.

I arrived at the party determined to misbehave. I never imagined my lover’s older brother would be waiting—or that he knew exactly what I was hiding.

Three men at home, one bed, and me at the center of it all. I learned what it meant to rule a pack—until I wanted something more.

I watched her move through yoga class with a grace that undid me. I never imagined that a chance encounter on the platform would end in her bedroom.

He expected a voluptuous, experienced lady; instead, he got a petite, quiet wife. That night, she decided to show him how badly he had misjudged her.

I hadn’t seen him in five years. All it took was him shouting my name among the shop windows for the thrill of that afternoon to come rushing back intact.

I knew what we were getting into before we even got in the car, but I let myself be carried along anyway. The secluded chalet, the empty pool, and two men who couldn’t take their eyes off me.

I invented a university assignment to get a soccer player alone, in shorts, and find out whether his legs were as incredible up close as they were on TV.

My boss had kept me aroused throughout the flight. When I got up to use the bathroom, I never expected someone else to follow me in.

Every afternoon she moved the box that served as a door and sat beside me, as if that cramped corner were the only place we could be someone else.

When I found out what the forfeit was, I was struck dumb. Not because I couldn’t, but because it exposed me with a man who knew half the city. And yet I arrived on time that first day.

She wrote one line: «Story or fantasy?». I never imagined that question would end with her naked on my massage table, waiting for me to prove it.

Every Thursday night, he knocked on the parish priest’s door with his head bowed. No one in town imagined what happened once the gate was bolted.

I thought the house next door was empty. When I looked up from my book and saw him on the balcony, I knew exactly what I was going to do with him.

He’s twenty-two and asked me, staring down at the street, whether I really liked going down between a woman’s legs. That night, I told him everything I knew.

The three of them went away alone, with suitcases full of tiny bikinis and a single intention. My wife said she’d tell me when she got back. And she certainly did.

They got into my car thinking they were only going to take a bath and eat a hot meal. I had already decided that afternoon wouldn’t end with them dressed.