Peeping

Marcos thought he was in charge of the game. His wife looked at me over her shoulder, let the towel fall, and I understood that she set the only rule.

I grew up understanding naturism as something natural, but nothing prepared me for the day my mother’s boyfriend stopped covering himself in front of me.

She came home every dawn smelling of American tobacco and new perfume. I said nothing and kept my suspicions, until the night I decided to follow her and find out who she spent those hours with.

He asked me to hold some tools while squatting down. I knew perfectly well what he was doing, and still I didn’t get up.

We thought we were sneaking around in the sand, until a stranger came over and confessed he’d been watching us for hours. And he had a proposition.

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.