The Night Things Got Out of Hand with Four

When a party gets too good, you stop keeping score. You stop counting the drinks, stop checking the time, stop thinking about what you’re going to say afterward. That is exactly what happened to me that Friday night, and I still don’t know if I regret it.

The booking was simple, almost a favor: keep company for four university guys, all just over twenty, all from out of town. They lived surprisingly close to my apartment, four blocks away, in another building in a quiet residential area. You could tell they had scraped together every last peso to pay for a couple of hours with me. The fridge was almost empty, just a few cans and a whole lot of alcohol. A start-of-term party, they explained.

The arrangement included not dressing modestly, so I put on a short black sequined dress, a very plunging V-neck, an open back, platform heels, and nothing else but a plain thong underneath. When I got there it was nine-thirty and they were already buzzing.

“The queen has arrived,” said the tallest one, opening the door for me with a clumsy bow.

The apartment was the classic student den: a plastic table, mismatched chairs, a speaker blasting reggaeton, and hardly any furniture. They offered me beer. It wasn’t my favorite brand, but they looked comfortable, so I accepted.

***

The first hour disappeared in nothing but conversation. Two were from the north, one from the center, one from the coast, and I told them about places I knew from work. They joked about their disasters at university, about vacations, about the girlfriend one of them had left miles away. Despite the age difference, I was genuinely having fun, and that didn’t happen to me often.

“Let’s go to the pool hall on the corner,” suggested the one from the coast, a guy named Iván, as best I could make out over the noise. “It’s halfway between your building and mine.”

I hesitated. Dressed like that, a neighborhood bar wasn’t the smartest plan. But the place was nearby and I didn’t see any real danger in it. We walked slowly, because there was no way to hurry in those heels, and they used the time to keep teasing me.

“They’re not going to let her in; they only admit decent people in there,” Iván laughed.

“Walk faster, miss, you’re wasting our time,” another one said.

I laughed with them. They did it in a funny way, without any malice, and the truth was I was having a good time.

***

The pool hall was dim, with the music at full blast. They ordered the first round, and pretty soon I was completely loosened up. We played several games, I hummed along with the band playing, and clinked glasses with all of them. They drank fast, too fast, and little by little they started crowding in when it was my turn to shoot.

Here they go with their shit, I thought. But instead of getting annoyed, on my next shot I arched my back more than necessary and lifted my ass, fully aware that the dress barely covered the minimum.

When one of them brushed me from behind, the others laughed, and I tugged my dress down pretending to be scandalized, deliberately missed the shot, and kept playing along. They told me I held the cue really well, that it was obvious I liked having something long in my hands, all that kind of nonsense. It didn’t feel heavy. It felt like flirting, and it had been a long time since I’d flirted without it being work.

Our time at the table ran out and they paid for another round. It was already my third hour with them. They still hadn’t paid me, so I stayed. One of them pulled me out to dance for a song, another took the chance to squeeze my waist, another slid his hand a little lower. I let myself go and enjoyed a night the way I hadn’t in a long time.

***

We went back to the apartment in the early hours of the morning and the drinking never stopped. I held a beer in one hand and walked barefoot, my heels dangling from two fingers of the other. I felt beautiful, dangerous, free.

I texted Rubén, my husband, making up some excuse that the booking had gone on for several more hours. I’d settle my money with him later. I didn’t want anything ruining the night.

The drunk antics started: punishment shots in blackjack, shouting every time someone went to the bathroom, them grinding on each other while laughing their asses off. They told jokes that weren’t funny at all and we doubled over anyway. For the first time in a long time I felt part of something, not hired for something.

Iván’s phone rang. It was the building manager, a man they described as the ogre of the fees, asking us to turn the volume down. For a moment everything calmed. We sat on the floor, among empty bottles and puddles of beer, the living room a wreck that smelled of cigarettes and alcohol.

I had completely lost my composure. My hair was a mess, my dress had ridden up and was showing too much, and I didn’t care at all. None of them seemed to care either. And then, in the middle of that complicit silence, I felt heat rising from my belly.

***

Without warning, I crawled over on my knees to the one nearest me and unbuttoned his pants. He dropped the can, startled, and the other three went speechless.

“What?” I said, looking at them over my shoulder. “The party’s just getting started.”

I pulled out his wet, hot cock, already rock hard in my hand, and wrapped my fingers around it while he swallowed hard. I lowered my head and took him into my mouth slowly, tasting the salty flavor, the heavy pulse thudding against my tongue. I sucked him from base to tip, running my tongue along the rim until he let out a groan with that broken sound men make when they can’t hold back anymore. I was on all fours on the floor, my dress pulled up to my waist, the thong strings the only thing covering anything, and suddenly I felt two pairs of hands running over my back, my thighs, pushing the fabric aside.

“Don’t just stand there watching,” I murmured against Iván’s flesh. “There’s enough for everyone.”

I turned toward the other two, who were already fumbling their pants off with drunk clumsiness. I moved from one to the other, feeling the weight of each one grow in my hand, in my lips. One grabbed my hair to guide me deeper and I let him, opening my mouth until he filled my throat with that hot, throbbing dick; then I took the next one’s balls first, slowly, licking the taut skin before moving up his shaft and making him lose his breath. Their groans filled the room, unrhythmic, wild, just like everything else that night.

The first one I’d tasted positioned himself behind me. He moved the thong string aside with one finger, wet his finger with saliva, and pushed in slowly until he sank all the way. I let out my breath sharply.

“Like that, daddy,” I panted. “And pass me another beer. I want to drink while they fuck me.”

As if it were a sacred order, a cold can appeared in front of my face. I took two long swallows without stopping moving against him, feeling his cock splitting me open from the inside with every thrust, hard, slick, deep. Another one was filling my mouth, and the fourth was waiting his turn, stroking himself. There were four of them and I was the center of everything, the one in charge even while I was on my knees.

***

I lost track of the order. They changed places, laughed, bumped into one another from the drunkenness. One drove into me from behind while another held my face and guided me gently, and the third ran his tongue down my back. I drank, panted, taunted them.

“Harder,” I begged them. “You’re not going to break me, believe me, you’re not.”

They dragged me to an old mattress thrown in a corner and we kept going there. One knelt between my legs and spread my thighs wide to bury his tongue in me until I was trembling, licking my soaked cunt while I writhed and held his head with my hands. When he put me on all fours and drove his cock into me again from behind, the blow tore a cry out of me that left my throat raw. At times I closed my eyes and only listened: the four of them breathing in fits and starts, skin rubbing against skin, my own moans that I barely even recognized anymore. I felt one of them tense up and come between my lips; I managed to turn my face and the second one came on my cheek, hot, marking me. The third sank all the way in with a long growl, pushing until I lost track of where he ended and I began. The fourth held my hips like he was afraid I’d vanish.

They stripped the thong off me completely, left it hanging from one leg, and one of them fucked me slowly at first, measuring me, making me feel every inch opening me while another jerked off in front of my face and splashed my lips with spit. Then they changed the rhythm, rougher, dirtier, deeper, until all I could do was cling to the mattress and beg them not to stop. They shoved fingers into my mouth, squeezed my nipples, spread my ass cheeks apart to watch the flesh of one after another going in and out, and I let them do it with a deranged smile, hair stuck to my face and sweat running down my chest.

When they finally collapsed, one by one, around the mattress, I stayed on my back staring at the ceiling, breathless, with an idiotic smile that wouldn’t fit on my face. The room was a battlefield. I was both the trophy and the winner.

***

I woke up with the harsh morning light hitting my eyes. Iván was asleep in a chair, the others sprawled on the floor. I sat up slowly, my body battered and my head about to split open. I found my dress in tatters, my heels in different corners, the thong God knows where.

I got dressed as best I could, took my money from the pocket where they’d left it — all of it, with a couple of extra bills on top — and left without waking anyone. I went down the stairs barefoot, heels in my hand and dignity hanging from the same finger.

I walked the four blocks home with the sun beating on the back of my neck. Rubén opened the door before I could even put the key in. He didn’t say anything at first; he just looked at my tangled hair, the stain on my dress, the scraped knees. Then he let out everything he’d been holding in.

“Five hours?” he spat. “I’ve been calling you all night.”

I went into the bathroom without answering. In the mirror I found a woman I didn’t fully recognize: mascara smeared, lips swollen, a bite mark on my shoulder. I expected to feel ashamed. I expected the usual weight.

But as the hot water ran down my back and washed the night away, the only thing I felt was the urge for it to happen again. Maybe I really did lose something with Rubén this time, I thought. But I hadn’t felt this alive in years.

I closed my eyes under the shower and, instead of crying, I smiled.