Peeping

The apartment walls were paper-thin, and my girlfriend’s best friend slept just on the other side. That first morning, we pretended not to remember she was there.

I took off my bikini in the jacuzzi knowing he was watching me from the roof. What I came to forget became the only thing I remember from the trip.

I never imagined that the elegant, serene woman who raised me was hiding, at two in the morning, another completely different woman on the living-room sofa.

There were twenty photos and a video hidden in a folder with a single letter. I opened it expecting anything but what I was about to see.

Every time I slacked off, I paid for it with nettles, lashes, and her muddy boots. Worst of all was that part of me was already waiting for the next punishment.

At first I only watched from the crack: naked men, tied up, begging for more punishment from the woman laughing over them. Until she held out her hand to me.

She felt the gaze before she saw it: someone was watching her naked among the lockers. When she yanked the door open, the hunter became the prey.

We asked for the massage together so we wouldn’t be separated. What we didn’t know was that those four extra hands planned to stay until dawn.

We went in looking for a gangbang and there were only two men sitting there in towels. They had no idea how lucky they’d just gotten.

Connor didn’t speak a word of Spanish, so when I started stripping my wife in front of him, he didn’t understand a thing until it was already too late to leave.

The phone rang after midnight. It was her, but she didn’t say a word: she just turned the camera so I could see, in the dim light of that car, what she was doing.

They went in looking for a new dildo and ended up kneeling in a dark booth, not knowing how many hands were touching her or how many mouths were waiting their turn.

I went down to the living room in a thong, knowing he was watching me from the other sofa. Through the wall, my friend was streaming live with her boyfriend. And all I could think about was which door to open that night.

When Daniela asked whether I’d brought the toy, I knew that night in my empty house was going to end far from where I thought I was in control.

At forty-five, after eight years without touching a man, Inés thought she’d seen it all. Until her two most prudish friends arrived in tears with the truth.

When Renata pulled the thong from her pocket and laid it on the table, I knew that afternoon wouldn’t end with coffee.

That swimsuit barely covered them, and each day the pool showed a little more skin. No one suspected how far the neighbors would go when the last garment fell.

I dropped her two streets from the meeting point, and when she got into the car, she introduced herself as if I were just another passenger. None of us knew what was coming.

I was the one who encouraged her to accept her lover’s proposal. I never imagined she’d come back that dawn surrounded by the memory of strangers.

When the moans from the closed room reached the garden, Andrés knew he had to see with his own eyes what was happening behind that door.

Damián slid into the wrong bed that night and knew neither couple would ever look at each other the same way again.

My husband didn’t even look at me when I left in that tight skirt that night. He didn’t know I was going to a hotel to watch, from an armchair, what I’d wanted for years.

When Renata went barefoot into the kitchen at dawn, she never imagined her husband would watch from the doorway, or that morning would change everything between all four of them.

I went back to the chalet thinking it was all over, and found the pool full of bodies, cups on the ground, and the panther waiting for me in the water with a smile that said it all.

At the café, they dared each other over laughs: each would pick a man that very afternoon. Neither imagined the bet would end in the same bed.

The taxi dropped me in front of a huge gate and a guard was waiting for me. I still had no idea that night would turn me from a guest into the game.

Lucía put the tequila bottle in the center of the rug and smiled: whoever failed the dare drank. None of us imagined how far we were willing to go that night.

I’d known her since we were children: sweet, quiet, the perfect wife. Until I walked into that club in the city and saw her stretched out on the table, surrounded by men.

I’d gone a week without hearing from him when he waited for me after class, took me to a secluded corner, and let three strangers watch everything.

I had never had a massage just on my breasts, much less with my four friends watching from the pool’s edge, waiting their turn.

We went out to sunbathe with no tan lines and no one around. What we didn’t imagine was how many would be on top of us before we got back in the water.

I was in my forties, married, with two children, and I had never once looked at another woman. That night, leaning on the bar in a pub, everything I thought I knew about myself came undone.

I opened my eyes in the middle of the action and saw her leaning in the doorway, one hand inside her shorts. She wasn’t angry. She was looking at me.

She caught me with my hand inside my pants, staring at her through the crack in the door. Instead of shouting, she smiled and told me she had a lot to teach me.

Every night she came to that door to listen. What she never imagined was that soon she would be on the other side, utterly surrendered.

She thought I was still asleep while she touched herself on the floor beside my bed. I didn’t move. I didn’t want her to stop, not yet.