The Home Renovation Ended with Everyone in My Room

My name is Renata, and that story happened when I was still in college. I had just turned twenty-three and was in my prime: a firm body from running every morning, a defined waist, long legs I liked to show off in miniskirts and jeans that fit me like a second skin. I’ve always been vain, flirtatious, aware of the looks I provoked. I learned early on to enjoy them instead of hiding from them.

I lived with my mother, Adriana, in a quiet neighborhood on the outskirts of town. My parents had separated years before, and she worked endless shifts as a nurse: she left at seven in the morning and didn’t get back until after eight at night. It was summer, classes were over, and I spent my days shut up at home, bored and with far too much time to think.

One afternoon I overheard her on the phone with a construction foreman someone had recommended to her. She wanted to raise the backyard wall by another meter and top it with wire, because a couple of neighbors in the area had been robbed. They agreed the man would come by on Saturday morning to take measurements and give her an estimate.

As always, as soon as I knew people were coming to the house, I got myself ready. I showered, did my hair with that cream that leaves it smelling like coconut, and chose a tank top that left my navel bare and a tiny white pair of shorts. I didn’t put on a bra; I wanted everything to show.

The doorbell rang and my mother asked me to answer it.

“Good morning, I’m Don Rubén,” the man said, looking me up and down before settling on my face.

“Hi, I’m Renata, the daughter of the lady who called you,” I replied in my sweetest voice.

He was a stocky, dark-skinned man with a beard and arms hardened by labor. He had six helpers with him, all around their thirties, some tattooed, all of them with that hard look of men who make their living carrying weight. I could feel their eyes on my chest without any attempt to hide it. The morning chill had made my nipples hard, and they showed through the fabric.

“Is your mother here?” he asked, not taking his eyes off my cleavage.

“Yes, come in,” I said, and led them into the living room, swaying on purpose, fully aware of what I was doing.

My mother came down, greeted them, and we all went out to the patio while she explained what she wanted. Don Rubén took measurements, made a couple of calls, and gave her the estimate: four days of work, starting Monday. She agreed. We walked them to the door and, once again, I moved ahead of everyone, strolling slowly and enjoying the weight of seven sets of eyes fixed on my back.

***

I spent the weekend with my head full of ideas. My mother asked me to keep an eye on the house those days in case the workers needed anything; she’d leave me food prepared and some money. I laughed to myself: the only one planning to offer herself was me.

On Monday I got up early to dress myself up. Ripped white jeans, with a tear right under my right cheek, a low-cut black blouse, and heels. When I opened the door and saw them all there with their tools on their shoulders, I felt my stomach tighten with pure anticipation. This time the looks went straight to my ass: the fabric molded my figure like a glove.

I took them to the patio, they unloaded sacks of cement, bricks, and sand, and started working. I settled on the sofa in the living room, pulled the straps of my blouse down a little so my bra showed, and made a point of letting myself be seen every time they walked past on their way to the bathroom or the sink.

At lunchtime I went upstairs to touch up my makeup. In front of the mirror I cupped my breasts, rubbed myself over my pants, and felt the dampness soak through the fabric. I lowered one strap even more, left the black bra visible, and came out to invite them into the dining room. While serving them I leaned in too close, brushed my hip against their arm, dropped a utensil on purpose just so I could bend down to pick it up. They never looked away. I could feel myself getting wetter with every look.

I repeated the game for the first three days, changing clothes, offering myself in pieces. On the afternoon of the third day I went up to my room, which faced the patio through a window, and I overheard them talking among themselves while they rested.

“That girl is really hot.”

“When she serves me food, it makes me want to get my hands on her.”

“I’d take all of her, front and back.”

Pressed against the glass, listening to them quietly say everything they wanted to do to me, I let one strap fall and started touching myself. I was alone in that house with seven men who wanted me, and no one was ever going to find out. At that moment I decided that on the last day I was going to keep them. All of them.

***

That night, before my mother got home, I went down to the supermarket to buy beer and hid it in my room. I had been exploring my body shamelessly for some time; with my ex-boyfriend, Tomás, I had learned to enjoy anal sex, so I took my lubricant out of the drawer and a plug I had put away, prepared myself calmly, and fell asleep with it in to wake up stretched out. I wanted to be ready for what I was planning to ask them for.

I woke up turned on, with my skin sensitive to the touch of the sheets. I showered, shaved everything, put the plug back in, and chose the outfit: a black thong from my favorite brand, no bra, and a white strappy dress, very short and made of such thin fabric that everything showed through. Silver heels, straight hair, red lipstick, my special-occasion perfume. I looked like a doll, exactly what I was going for.

I went down to the kitchen and prepared something fresh for lunch, a very cold limeade for the hot day. I was so nervous I couldn’t eat breakfast; my hands were shaking. To loosen myself up I took a quick swig from a bottle that was in the house and, a few minutes later, I felt my face get hot and my body go soft, brave.

The doorbell rang. I looked out the window, saw them, and fear stopped me for a moment; they had to ring again for me to gather the courage to open the door. When they saw me, they fell silent. I felt them devouring me with their eyes, my nipples hardened under the fabric, and the thong was already soaked through. I led them to the patio, asked if they’d finish that day, and they told me yes, that they’d stay until my mother arrived to sign off on the job.

When the heat started to get heavy, I prepared the limeade and brought it to them one glass at a time, telling them I’d made it with love while I let them look down my neckline. I pulled my dress up a little more, lowered one strap, and retreated to my room for a while, leaving their heads somewhere else.

***

When I felt the time was right, I went down to the patio barefoot with fear and desire, my dress hiked up to the top of my butt and my nipples peeking out over the fabric.

“Hey, don’t you want to take a break and have a beer with me?” I asked, my voice trembling.

“Of course we do,” they answered, unable to tear their eyes away from my chest.

“I’ve got them upstairs, in my room. I’d be more comfortable there,” I added, and a shiver ran through me saying it out loud.

I went up the stairs ahead of them, lifting my dress step by step until my ass was completely exposed. I could almost feel their breath on my back. In the room I handed each of them a beer and, while they drank, I slowly took my dress off. I kept my heels on, lay back on the bed, and opened my legs. The only thing I still had on was the soaked black thong.

Don Rubén was the first. He threw himself onto my breasts, licked my nipples, sucked on them as if he wanted to rip them off me, while the other six surrounded me and stroked me everywhere; not a single centimeter of skin went untouched. With one jerk he tore off my thong and I felt that sting of being naked, exposed, at everyone’s mercy.

He told the others to spread my legs open. While some licked my thighs and others fought over my breasts, he lowered his mouth to my sex and started eating me without mercy, his tongue inside, his fingers on my clit, tearing moans from me I couldn’t hold back.

“I want all of you to do me,” I gasped. “Do whatever you want with me, I’m not going to tell anyone. This is what I’ve been looking for all these days.”

They pulled me down to the floor and made me kneel. They took off their T-shirts, revealing their solid, tattooed torsos, and started unfastening their belts. The sound of metal told me what was coming. They took turns fucking my mouth, yanking my hair, driving me against them until I hit the back of my throat. It was rough, almost too much; tears sprang to my eyes and my mascara ran, but that mixture of being used and dominated had me completely out of my mind.

One of them lifted me by the hair, slapped my cheek hard enough to burn it, and shoved me back onto the bed.

“Get on all fours,” he ordered. “This one’s going in from behind.”

I obeyed. I pressed my breasts into the mattress, arched my back, and offered him my ass. He had the thickest cock of them all, much thicker than the plug I was used to, and I was truly afraid. He spread my cheeks apart with those rough hands, dirty with cement, and pressed the tip against me.

“You want me to put it in all at once?”

“Yes,” I begged. “Even if it hurts.”

He pulled my hips against him and thrust in all at once. I felt myself split open with a searing burn, a stabbing pain that shot up my back, and I cried out loud enough to be heard in the street. I burst into tears, but the pain came with a strange, deep pleasure, that feeling of being overpowered that drove me insane.

“Does it hurt, pretty girl?” he asked, sinking in all the way.

“Yes,” I answered through sobs, signaling for him not to stop. “Don’t stop.”

He pulled his cock all the way out and drove it back in again and again, each thrust a lash of fire. Little by little the pain eased and gave way to a delicious heat that made me push my ass back searching for him.

“Faster,” I was already begging between gasps. “Like that, harder.”

He grabbed my hair, rammed into me frantically until I heard him groan and felt hot spurts filling me from the inside. When he pulled out, the others laughed in amazement at the state I was in, and then they took turns one after another, while the ones waiting stroked me and filled my mouth. We went on like that for nearly an hour.

***

I took another swig from the bottle and surrendered completely.

“Now I want both at once,” I asked, drunk and with not a shred of shame left.

One of them lay back on the bed and I climbed on top of him, lowering myself until he filled me completely; he held me by the hips and lifted me up and down as he pleased, playing with my breasts. Then another positioned himself behind me, bent me forward, and fucked my ass. Both at once, each at his own rhythm, filling me completely, while the one behind me wrapped his arms around me and licked my neck.

“Harder,” I moaned. “Don’t stop, don’t stop.”

I felt the heat rise from my belly, my legs go numb, and I blew apart in an orgasm that left me weak just as the two of them emptied into me at the same time. When they pulled out, I felt empty, wanting more. And they kept going, changing my position, taking me standing against the large mirror in the room, doing whatever they wanted with me for hours.

When they were finally exhausted, I stayed lying on the bed, trembling, satisfied to a degree I had never known before. We hadn’t looked at the clock: it was almost seven, and my mother would be back soon. They went down to finish the wall, packed up, and just as she arrived, they handed over the finished job and left. I showered, put on my pajamas, and changed the sheets, which smelled of everything that had happened.

When the effects wore off, I went down to the kitchen to get something for dinner; I hadn’t eaten a thing all day. My legs felt weak and my eyes were shining. I greeted my mother, sat next to her to watch TV as if nothing had happened, and kept the secret of the best afternoon of that summer to myself.

Renata Escarlata.