The Gathering Where We Decided to Play with Fire

When Mateo suggested we organize the gathering, the two of us knew that “quiet” was only the word we’d use if anyone asked us. We had a group of friends who still didn’t really know one another, people who had come into our lives by different paths and had only ever overlapped in big groups, where nobody ever really becomes anybody. The idea was simple: a rented apartment for the weekend, drinks, music, and the possibility of letting things flow.

Things always flow when Mateo and I agree to let them.

We got there two hours before everyone else. The apartment was spacious, well lit, with a large sofa facing a television and an open kitchen that let you see the living room from every angle. Mateo put on music while I set the bottles in the fridge and arranged the glasses. It was during those preparations that the trouble started. Or rather, the prelude.

I can’t be alone with Mateo for long without my cunt making its own decisions.

I was bending over the fridge when I felt him behind me. His hands on my hips, his mouth near my neck, and his already-hard cock pressing me between the ass cheeks over my skirt. I turned and we kissed with tongues from the very first second. He had his pants half unbuttoned before I even finished the thought I’d started, and when I slipped my hand into his boxer briefs I found him hot, thick, throbbing against my palm. I knelt down slowly, unhurried, looking him in the eye as I did it.

His erection slapped against my cheek when I pulled the fabric down. I took a moment, as always. There’s something about that instant—right before—that’s worth stretching out. I ran my tongue flat over his balls, from bottom to top, all the way to the base of his cock, and kept going up to the tip with my mouth parted. I licked his glans in circles, tasting the first salty drop, and opened his urethra with the tip of my tongue to suck it directly. Only then did I take him all the way in. The first thrust down my throat hit the back of my mouth and made my eyes water, but I didn’t let him go. I pulled him out with a thread of saliva and pushed him in again, setting the rhythm with the hand I had squeezing the base.

—Look at me —I told him, my mouth full—. I want you to watch me while I suck you off.

Mateo grabbed my hair. Not to force me, but to see my face better. I worked his cock with both hands and my mouth at once: one hand at the base, twisting up and down, the other massaging his balls, and my tongue wrapping around his glans every time he came out. I heard his breathing break when I slid a wet finger between his ass cheeks, barely pressing at the entrance, never quite going in. His whole belly tightened.

—Do I swallow now or save it for later? —I asked him, my mouth still busy, the tip brushing my lips.

—You decide —he said, though his tone made his preference clear.

I decided now. I buried his cock to the hilt three times in a row, without breathing between thrusts, and when I felt him tremble I pulled back just enough for the load to fill my mouth so nothing would be wasted. It came in thick, long, hot ropes, one after another, and I stayed still until he stopped throbbing. Then I swallowed slowly, looking at him, so he could see it go down. I cleaned the tip with one last lick and kissed the head before tucking him back into his pants.

I wanted that taste in my mouth when I opened the door and greeted his friends. It was a secret Mateo and I would share alone, marked inside my cheek while I gave kisses and pretended to make casual conversation.

I pulled myself together in the bathroom mirror. Lipstick intact, hair loose and in place, the thick-rimmed glasses that change my face in a way that drives Mateo wild. My outfit was the one I’d chosen three days earlier: a black flared skirt that fell just below my ass—and that with any sudden movement would stop falling there—a black lace blouse with long sleeves that let the red bra show underneath, and heels that announced every step.

Underneath: a leopard-print thong with two triangles so small their function was more symbolic than practical.

***

Andrés arrived first, with a bottle of wine and that awkwardness of someone who doesn’t know the space well. Bruno arrived five minutes later. I greeted both with a kiss on the cheek, feeling their eyes rake over my body before we’d even finished saying hello. Mateo hugged them, pointed them toward the sofa, started talking about anything and everything.

I went to the kitchen for the first drinks.

I walked slowly. I’d learned long ago that the speed of your step matters more than almost anything else when you want someone to look at you. The skirt swayed with my hips, lifting just enough with each stride to suggest what was underneath without showing it all.

I bent down to the bottom drawer of the fridge to pull out the beers. I knew they were watching me. I stayed like that a few seconds longer than necessary, noticing how the fabric rode up, how the thong triangles revealed the full curve of my ass and probably a little more. When I came back into the living room, their faces had that specific expression: the one people wear when they’ve just seen something they weren’t expecting and don’t know whether they should hide it.

I didn’t hide anything either.

I sat across from them in a dining chair, legs crossed first, then not quite so much. The conversation was normal for a while. Jokes, anecdotes, those questions people ask when they don’t really know each other yet. But the looks weren’t normal. I felt them like heat on my skin, steady and growing, and I got wetter and wetter under my thong just from knowing they were looking at my cunt every time I spread my knees a little.

—Want another one? —I asked when I saw the glasses were empty.

I stood up slowly. Before heading to the kitchen, I walked behind the sofa on purpose. The space between the backrest and the coffee table was narrow, and as I passed, my hip brushed Andrés’s shoulder first and then Bruno’s. I didn’t apologize. I kept walking.

In the kitchen, when the beers started foaming as I opened them, I made the decision without thinking. I licked the foam from each bottle from bottom to top, slowly, with a sound that wasn’t accidental. I put the neck of the first one in my mouth, held it there for a second, pulled it out clean, working the glass with my tongue as if it were a glans. Then I did the same with the second, deeper, letting the tip reach my throat and pulling it out wet with saliva.

I went back to the living room. Their faces were worth every second of the performance.

***

We put on music and Mateo pulled me out to dance. I moved with him more roughly than usual, one hand on my waist lifting the skirt with every turn. When the song ended, I lifted it myself without bothering to hide it, with my back to them, and turned slowly.

—I know you’re dying to —I said—. So you might as well look properly. Do you like what you see?

—More than we should —Bruno replied.

—Then convince me.

What followed was a game that lasted almost an hour. I set the limits, I moved them. I took off my stockings slowly, with my back to them, letting them see how the thong was even more exposed without that layer of nylon. I pulled my stockings down to my ankles with my ass in their faces, so close they could smell my wet cunt through the fabric. I took off my skirt. I took off my blouse. I stayed in bra, thong, and heels, and sat between Andrés and Mateo on the sofa, which with four of us squeezed together was a very specific and very pleasant kind of discomfort.

I felt hands. First discreetly, a finger on my thigh, a palm on my knee. Then not so discreetly. Bruno reached over from the other side and slipped his hand up the inside of my thigh until he brushed the fabric of my thong, and there he stayed, feeling the heat. Andrés pulled down the cup of my bra and freed one whole tit, weighed it in his hand, and pinched my nipple between thumb and forefinger until a moan escaped me.

Mateo looked at me with that expression only I know how to read. It wasn’t jealousy. It was a mix of pride and desire that put him on the edge, his cock hardening again and straining against his pants. He pulled me toward him, sat me between his legs facing away from his chest, my legs spread over his, and said to the others with total ease:

—Do you like it? Without the stockings she looks different, right?

They nodded. Mateo gently opened my hips toward them, exposing the wet bulge of fabric between my legs.

—Want to touch her?

He stopped them just before they did.

—Wait a second —he said, turning his head toward me—. Valeria, are you okay with that?

I looked at them over my shoulder. The three of them waited in silence, their pants visibly tented.

—They’re your friends —I said—. And tonight I’m taking good care of them. Just respect my rules. No sticking it in me, no coming on my face. Everything else can be negotiated. If you don’t do that, the game’s over.

***

Six hands are not four. It’s a difference you feel.

They kneaded my ass gently at first, testing the limits. Mateo and I kissed while I let them explore. Bruno pulled the thong fabric aside with two fingers and ran the pad of his finger over the lips of my cunt, from top to bottom, never going in, just checking how wet I was. When he pulled away, he raised his finger to eye level, gleaming, and licked it slowly in front of the others. Andrés copied him: he slid in one whole finger, to the knuckle, and curled it inside, searching for the spot. He found it in two movements and my back arched against Mateo’s chest.

Their mouths came later, when I invited them to pass their tongues over me slowly, as if licking something precious. They did better than I expected. Mateo had my legs spread against his, holding them behind the knees, while Andrés knelt on the floor between my thighs and sucked my clit with closed lips, tugging gently, letting go, sucking again. Bruno took care of my tits: he pulled the other cup of my bra down, pressed my breasts together with his hands, and ran his tongue from one nipple to the other without giving them a break, barely biting.

I felt the heat gather low in my belly and, without realizing it, I squeezed Mateo’s hand. Andrés slid two fingers into me while he kept sucking, moving them in a rhythm that matched his tongue. I was seconds from coming when I opened my eyes.

—Enough —I said after a while.

They returned to their places as if they’d been given an order. Without protesting. I liked that too.

Mateo suggested I lie face down across the three of them. I ended up with my breasts resting on Bruno at one end, my hips on Mateo in the middle, and my legs stretched over Andrés. I asked for a massage. What I got was something between a massage and something else, with six hands traveling over my back, ass, and thighs while I felt, beneath me, three hard cocks that didn’t bother pretending otherwise. Andrés spread and closed my ass cheeks with both hands, looking at everything from behind without the slightest shame. Bruno slid his hand under my breast and pinched my nipples every time I stopped moaning.

Mateo put his hand in. He moved the fabric aside with his fingers, shoved two deep inside me and pulled them out dripping. He brought them to his mouth, sucked them, put them back in. I watched myself from the inside.

I’d been that wet for a good while.

—Look how she is —Mateo told the other two, his voice hoarse, while he opened my cunt with his fingers in a V so they could see the inside properly—. Soaked for you.

Andrés bent down and ran his tongue from my clit to my ass, slowly, flat, without breaking the line. Bruno slid a finger in from the other side and moved it in circles. Mateo kept working me inside with two fingers, then three, while pressing my clit with his thumb in a steady motion.

I moaned with my face against the pillow and let myself go. The first one hit like a shock that made me clench my ass against their hands, my cunt contracting around Mateo’s fingers. One, and then another, faster than the first, while those hands kept moving without stopping and I bit the pillow so I wouldn’t scream louder than the neighbors would tolerate.

***

When I stood up, they all had the look of people who have seen too much and want to see more. Andrés and Bruno looked at Mateo with an unspoken question. Mateo looked at me.

—Want to show them? —he asked simply.

I took off my bra completely, slid it off my arms, and threw it to the floor. I held my tits in my hands, pressed them together, offered them, and looked straight ahead.

—Now you —I said.

They dropped their boxer briefs without anyone having to repeat it. Three hard cocks at my height, all three different. Andrés’s longer and curved; Bruno’s thicker, the tip already wet; Mateo’s, the one that knew me by heart.

I knelt in front of the three of them. I wasn’t going to take any of them inside me—that was clear from the beginning—but I wanted them to keep that image for the rest of their lives. I spat into my hands and took Andrés and Bruno, one in each hand, setting the rhythm. I started slowly, squeezing at the base and moving up to the head, twisting my wrist when I reached the top. Andrés let out a sound that wasn’t a word. Bruno closed his eyes and threw his head back.

Then Mateo’s cock was there, inches from my face, and I didn’t resist. I took it in one go, all the way to the back while still working the other two with my hands. I sucked him deeply, gagging, spitting on him so my hands would slide better over the other two cocks. I pulled it out, ran it over his face, his cheekbones, his lips, and took it in again. One of them gathered my hair without being asked. The other rested a hand on my head with more pressure than I’d expected.

I switched. I let go of Mateo with a smack and turned to Bruno. I sucked him while continuing to work Andrés’s cock with my left hand, and ran my other hand over Mateo’s balls. Then Andrés. Each of them got their turn in my mouth, and every time I let one go the other two kept getting hand jobs. Saliva ran down my chin, my neck, between my breasts. I didn’t care in the slightest.

I felt Andrés pushing his hips for more. The hand on my nape increased its pressure, and for a second I understood what they were asking for.

I pulled away. I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand and looked up at the three of them, tits bare and the three glans shining in front of my face.

—That’s not happening —I said, referring to what they were clearly asking for—. Those are my rules. Take your mental picture.

I laughed. So did they, though less convincingly, with their cocks still hard and pointing at me.

***

We got dressed in ten minutes. Mateo folded the clothes with absurd calm. Andrés couldn’t find his T-shirt. Bruno stared at the ceiling with the expression of someone trying to remember exactly what he’d just lived through.

—This hair is getting in my way —I said suddenly, with my back to the three of them.

I pulled off my thong in one movement, opened my hips toward them so they could get a good look at my swollen, still-shining cunt, and used it to tie my hair into a ponytail. Then I asked Bruno to go into my bag for a clean thong. He came back in exactly ten seconds.

I put it on slowly, hiking up my skirt to show them how it fit my body: the leopard-print triangles settling in front, the string disappearing between my ass cheeks at the back.

—Did Bruno choose well? —I asked Andrés.

—Perfectly —he replied without hesitation.

The doorbell rang right then.

—Wait —I said—. I’ll get it.

I put my stockings on in thirty seconds and went to the door. It was Camila, alone, without the friend she’d promised to bring. She apologized with that energy people have when they’re late but know the party hasn’t really started yet. She came in looking at the three men with a smile that made it clear Mateo had told her something.

—He told me a lot about you —Camila said, to me.

—I hope he didn’t tell you everything —I replied.

Mateo burst out laughing from the sofa.

The night had only just begun.