Threesomes & Orgies

Marcos said it without beating around the bush in that café: he wanted to leave everything and be with Valeria. What happened last night was too real to pretend it didn’t.

When Valeria asked, “When do we start?” with that smile, I knew the night would have no turning back. And I no longer wanted it to.

I crossed the threshold of the palace with the gold mask and my heart racing. That night, several masked hands waited for me while he watched from the shadows.

I looked down when I saw my skirt was shorter than was prudent. I crossed my legs on the stool and, before the cocktail even arrived, I could feel two pairs of eyes fixed on my cleavage.

We got to the ninth floor almost out of patience, she drunk on desire and me ready for anything. What I didn’t expect was to find her mother awake, with the screen lit up.

When I stepped into the living room, I realized my father-in-law’s surprise had a name, a red dress, and a smile too practiced to be innocent.

When I crossed the bridge and saw the woman in the black coat waiting for me, I knew nothing I wrote in my piece could tell the truth of that week.

When we arrived at my father-in-law’s house, I thought the send-off would be like any other—until I saw my mother-in-law coming down the stairs with that look I already knew.

When I whispered in his ear what I’d been imagining for months, his silence lasted seconds. Then he smiled. And I knew that night we were crossing every line.

I’d been Camila’s boyfriend for two years. That night, her sister Antonella turned eighteen, and I understood that nothing in that house was forbidden.

I was alone on the sofa when the door opened. It was Marina, my sister’s friend, and what she saw made her smile. What happened next took me by surprise.

Esteban was asleep when I got up to shower. By the time he woke again, I had already decided who else I wanted in that bed before noon.

Marina was already soaked when she demanded the second round: both of them at once, no barriers, with the action movie still blaring in the background.

I booked the same Airbnb where I first made love to my cousin. This time we weren’t alone: each of us brought our partner, and all four of us knew it.

The dress was French-blue voile, almost transparent. My father was in front of me. My husband to the left. And the French guest still didn’t understand what was going to happen that night.

Monday morning. Adrián’s suitcase disappeared through the door and, before the coffee was even done, we already knew that week was going to be different.

When Marcos closed the apartment door and asked whether they were going to sleep with their “new partner,” the four of them fell silent and said everything.

When the screen came on, my sister-in-law was welcoming her two relatives in the living room with a smile I’d never seen at Sunday lunches.

He’d had four days of bad luck until he walked into a seaside bar and saw her sitting alone, with curves that said more than she did.

When Marcos told me he wanted to share me with another man, I didn’t reject him. I felt curiosity, nerves, and something I had never felt before: real desire.