I Woke Up Without Remembering the Company Dinner Orgy

My mouth is pasty and my tongue is stuck to the roof of my mouth. My head feels weighed down by something enormous, as if an animal had curled up to sleep on my temples. I open my eyes slowly, and the first thing I think is that this is not my bed. The ceiling is too far away, the sheets smell of a perfume I don’t know, and the light coming in through the blinds falls from the wrong side.

Across from me, on a wall painted a deep, intense red, there are several nearly life-size photographs. Women in provocative poses, looking straight at you, taking up almost the entire surface. This isn’t my room. It isn’t anyone’s house I know.

I turn my head carefully and discover bodies. Naked bodies, men and women, scattered between this bed and another one to my left. I don’t have the strength to count them one by one, but at a glance I figure there are seven or eight of us. Some are breathing deeply, still asleep. A girl has her arm draped across my thigh and I hadn’t even noticed.

I try not to panic. I breathe steadily, close my eyes, and order myself to reconstruct the night piece by piece.

Last night was the company dinner. That much is clear. Almost the whole staff got together to celebrate the start of the holidays at a downtown restaurant. We were practically all there. It was a long, noisy dinner, with too much wine and too many drinks afterward. But what happened next? How did I end up here?

Little by little, the images start to surface, scattered, like frames out of order.

I remember a blonde with small tits and a perfect ass, sliding her tongue along my cock, slowly, looking up at me from below until she left me on the verge of exploding. I remember my fingers going into one cunt, coming out, going into another, all hot, all wet, one after another as if it were a game with no rules.

A sharp jab pierces my forehead and, all at once, a clear memory hits me: my cock coming out of one pussy to sink into another. Women whose faces elude me, but who were there with me that same night, legs spread open on the sheets.

I keep forcing my memory. What comes next freezes me.

I see Damián’s face, the young guy who’s always so nice and handles the company systems. His mouth is open, very close to Marina’s, the HR secretary. She had been giving me a slow blowjob that ended in an enormous cumshot, and the two of them, Marina and Damián, took the load as if they’d been waiting for it together. In the background, other moans. Couples and groups fucking with no shame whatsoever, in every corner of the room.

I close my eyes again. My head feels ready to split open, but the picture keeps getting clearer. After the dinner and the drinks, a group of several of us, men and women alike, managed to get ourselves, hot and unrestrained, to a discreet building where they rent apartments by the hour. For “events,” as someone joked in the taxi.

The moment we walked in, everything started. Kisses against the wall, hands searching for zippers, clothes falling to the floor in the hallway. They knelt and sucked us all off; we didn’t leave a cunt unloved. Damián, the most uninhibited of the group, tried everything: women and men, covering his face with one and then the other without distinction. I fucked Marina and Lorena. The blonde and the brunette. Both slim, though Lorena has a pair of firm tits that stand on their own, and Marina that round ass in which anyone would want to lose themselves.

We were doing it while the others were doing the same thing a meter away. There were nine of us: four women and five men. The sound that repeated most was the rough panting of pleasure and the splashing of cocks entering soaked cunts. Few words. Almost no full sentences. Everything was reduced to fucking, to cumming, and to rubbing body against body until we lost count.

I remember Lorena on her knees on the couch, her hands gripping the backrest, while I hammered into her watching another man offer his cock to her mouth. She alternated: one thrust from me, one lick from him, and her eyes rolled back whenever the two things lined up. I remember Marina lying on the rug, her legs over my shoulders, screaming something I never managed to understand because another girl covered her mouth with a kiss.

There’s more. As my head clears, the fragments start linking together. I remember the moment we switched partners almost without speaking, as if an invisible current were moving us all at once. The blonde who first sucked me off ended up in another man’s hands, and I ended up with Marina against the window, watching our blurred reflection in the glass while the city blinked below, indifferent. She pressed her forehead to the cold pane and pushed back, searching for me, setting her own rhythm.

I also remember a brief pause, the kind that in a night like that lasts barely a minute. Someone handed around drinks, there were laughs, someone lit a cigarette by the window. For an instant we were coworkers again, the same people who share the elevator every morning without looking at one another. And then one hand reached for another, one body moved toward another body, and the pause unraveled as if it had never existed.

What came after mixes in my memory like a single endless scene: skin shining with sweat, hands I no longer knew belonged to whom, mouths searching for each other in the dim light. Damián moved from one side of the room to the other, always at the center of everything, giving himself and taking just as easily. At some point in the early hours we ran out of energy, one after another, and silence began to fall over the bodies like a blanket.

***

Suddenly, something brushes my leg and pulls me out of the memory. I open my eyes.

It’s Damián. No doubt about it. His hand is sliding up my thigh, slowly, from bottom to top. He’s just like me, naked, lying on his side, with a half-smile on his face and eyes still heavy with the previous night. His cock, thick, thicker than mine, rests against his stomach.

I don’t like guys. Never, ever, had I imagined letting a man suck me off.

But I don’t say anything. I don’t move my leg away. Damián leans over me, without asking permission, and takes my cock into his mouth with a naturalness that undoes me.

It takes me nothing to get hard. I have to admit it, even if my face burns to say it: he uses his tongue in a way none of the women from last night matched. He drags it over the glans, tracing slow circles, and accompanies it with his fingers, soft and precise, massaging my balls in the same rhythm. He knows exactly where to press and when to ease off.

My cock comes fully back to life. Suddenly I forget the headache, I forget the hangover, I even forget where I am. All that exists is that warm mouth going up and down, and my own body responding without asking my opinion.

My balls tense and fill up again. I don’t know how many times they emptied during the previous night, I can’t remember it, but now they’re working again, filling again, heavy and hard between Damián’s attentive hands.

He notices the tension taking hold of me. He feels me getting harder, feels my balls swelling beneath his fingers, and then he quickens the pace. He takes me all the way in, down to the root, until the tip hits the back of his throat and he doesn’t even flinch. He rises, falls, sucks with an eagerness that has nothing timid about it.

I don’t want to wake anybody. I grit my teeth, hold my breath, but I can’t suppress a deep groan when everything explodes. The semen comes out in a generous spurt and ends up in his greedy mouth, which takes it without losing a drop. And meanwhile, in my mind, Marina, Lorena, and the rest of the group flash up again. I see how my cock soaked Lorena’s tits. I see how I ripped the wildest orgasm of the night out of Marina. I see how, after going in and out of those two juicy sex holes, I ended up blasting over their arched backs.

I open my eyes without stopping the sigh that escapes me, my mouth still open. Damián squeezes every last drop out of me. A thread of my cum slips from the corner of his lips and he gathers it up with his tongue without the least hurry. His eyes are burning. My body is on fire. My cock is still as hard and hot as it has ever been with any of the women I’ve ever slept with in my life.

And that’s what disturbs me most. Not the what, but how little the what matters to me right now.

I close my eyes again and let myself be carried by the sensation of his tongue cleaning me slowly, tracing every inch, as if he wanted to erase the border I thought I had so clearly drawn. Outside, the city keeps sleeping under December’s cold. In here, between these red walls and these bodies I barely know by their first names, there is no morning and no office and no life waiting for me on Monday.

I think I should get up, get dressed, find my phone, and get out of here before the others wake up and we have to face one another. I think I should feel ashamed. But the sweet exhaustion running through my legs is stronger than guilt, and Damián’s hand settles again on my hip with a promise I don’t feel like refusing.

So I don’t move. I let the room’s silence swallow me again, with the taste of the night still on my skin and the uneasy certainty that, if someone offered to do it all again, I don’t know whether I’d have the strength to say no.

And I fall asleep again.