The Promised Orgy That Ended in Stares

One night, at a dinner with friends, one of them told me in my ear what it was like to go to those private parties some daring girls organized. He said ten or fifteen men got together, two or three willing chicks, a few drinks, and, before you could notice it, the night turned into something else. The girls ended up being the absolute center, bathed, marked, exhausted. He told it like someone remembering a favorite movie, with that little smile that gives away the fact he’d go back without thinking twice.

I kept that image in my head for weeks. Every time Diego and I fucked at home, I’d whisper it to him in his ear like it was a script we kept repeating until we wore it out. I told him what I’d do, what I’d let them do to me, how many hands I wanted to feel at once. He got hard just listening to me. I got soaked through my thong just hearing myself say it.

One morning, over coffee, he told me what I already knew:

—Let’s find one.

It turned out to be more complicated than it seemed. We were new to the scene and only knew the swinger clubs where people stayed at their little table, drank an expensive cocktail, and went home without touching anybody. Diego decided to open an account on a social network made just for looking for what we wanted. That world opened up to us like a secret door. Private events, hotel parties, digital flyers with cursive fonts. A friend of ours, whom I’ll call Andrés, gave us the tip: a former cheerleader from a pretty well-known club organized get-togethers every two or three months. Entry cost six hundred pesos per couple. Nothing outrageous.

We spent days fantasizing about that party. The banner promised live sex, strippers for both sexes, spicy games, and more than thirty couples. Diego and I sent each other voice notes getting ourselves worked up: he told me what he wanted to see, I told him what I wanted done to me. By the date, our kink was already sharpened.

I put on the gray dress he’d given me for our anniversary. Long, strapless, with a soft drape down to my ankles. No bra. A micro-thong that barely qualified as underwear. I let my hair down and put on the perfume he says drives him crazy.

He picked me up at eleven thirty. He brought his usual kit: mineral water, a folded towel on the back seat in case I stained the car, wet wipes, condoms, lube, and a stop at the corner store for soda and two beers. He was my fucktoy, yes, but he was also his little spoiled girl. He let me be pampered without guilt.

The motel was far away, almost on the other side of the city. We were horny before we even got in the car. At the first red light I put my hand on his pants and felt him getting harder. Diego looked at me with that half-mocking face he makes when he knows he already has me.

—And we still haven’t arrived? —he murmured.

—You focus on driving.

I unbuttoned him. I lowered the zipper. I stroked his cock slowly with my hand while whispering in his ear everything we’d been imagining. That he was going to let me touch myself, that I was going to suck another guy while he watched, that I was going to come soaking on the bed in the main room. I kept that up for a good stretch, until the vein on his cock stood out the way it does when he can’t take it anymore. I ran my finger along the tip and put it in my mouth.

—You’re ready —I told him—. We get there and you fuck me.

—Behave, little slut.

I wasn’t going to behave at all, and we both knew it.

***

The place was a huge room, decorated like a themed motel lounge: a sitting area with sofas, a bar in the back, a pole dancing pole in one corner, a leather swing hanging from the ceiling in the center, and three additional bedrooms with their own bathrooms. We arrived almost at the end, so the hostess, a woman in her forties with platinum hair and spectacular legs, pulled out a couple of chairs and sat us in the farthest corner.

The atmosphere, honestly, was dead. The couples who already knew each other were off chatting, catching up. Some men went out every twenty minutes to smoke weed outside. The girls drank their mixed drinks while looking around with a certain distrust. Nobody touched anybody. Nobody did anything.

—This feels like a funeral —Diego whispered in my ear.

—Give it time.

We spent a while sizing people up. Who we’d fuck. Who we wouldn’t. Who was looking at us. Since we arrived late, we got stuck next to the area for the single men, the ones who paid double entry and rarely got anything. Three of them didn’t take long to try making conversation. Diego, who’s a lot more outgoing than I am, played along. Was it their first time, had they been to other events, how was the weed, where was the good bathroom.

The hostess asked for silence and climbed onto a small makeshift platform.

—Okay, everyone, let’s introduce ourselves. Each couple says their names, what they’re looking for, and we break the ice.

She then went around with a tray of shots, handing them out to everyone. When she got to the girls, she tried to convince us to stay topless to heat up the mood. None of us moved. We all kept staring at the floor as if the question were offensive.

Diego leaned close to my ear.

—Take the whole dress off.

—All of it?

—All of it. It’s easier than just taking your tits out. Do it.

I didn’t know if it was the shot, the look he gave me, or the desire I’d already been carrying from the ride over. I stood up, pulled my dress down, and let it fall to my feet. I was left in my micro-thong in front of thirty people who suddenly shut down every conversation at once. Diego leaned back in his chair and gave me a slow smack on the ass, like someone presenting an item at auction.

I felt the single men’s eyes on me. One of them, tall, with a reddish beard, made a comment that made me laugh.

—What beautiful tits, bro.

—Thanks —Diego answered, grabbing them shamelessly—. They’re mine, but thanks.

Another one got bold enough to ask him directly if he could come over and touch me. Diego said no, but he said it with that half-smile that invites people to insist. I, sitting in my chair with my thong already soaked through, had no idea when exactly the night had started moving.

***

Time still wasn’t moving. The hostess, seeing the mood wasn’t lifting, pulled out a leather crop and proposed a game: each single man would only lower his pants, bend over the pole, and choose a girl to give him one lash. Whoever got hit could then choose.

The first one went through it laughing. A brunette with very long black hair, small tits, and a little ass Diego adored offered to do it. She spent a while playing with him, running the crop over his butt cheek, pretending to strike, chatting like it was nothing. The crowd egged her on. When she finally let it land, the crack was so clean that everyone in the room inhaled at once. The poor guy was left with a perfect red line.

—I want her to hit me —I told Diego in his ear.

—Ask her.

—I don’t have the nerve.

—Yes, you do.

Several turns went by. I kept watching the brunette. I could feel the desire in my stomach, that itch of wanting to do something forbidden and giving in to it. When I couldn’t take it anymore, I stood up. I walked over to the pole in my micro-thong, with my dress bunched at my waist, and said:

—Will you give me one?

The brunette laughed, surprised. Diego, from his seat, shouted:

—Bare her ass, I give permission!

I knelt in front of the pole, my dress pulled all the way down. My whole ass was on display for all the single men behind me. I could feel the air in the room getting charged. The brunette did the same thing she’d done with the first one: she ran the crop along my cheek, tapped lightly on her own palm, played with the wait. I closed my eyes. I could feel my thong literally dripping.

The blow landed when I was no longer expecting it. A crack, an instant burn, a chorus of “oof” behind me. The mark stayed on my right cheek for a whole week.

Diego stood up, smacked my other cheek to even it out, helped me pull my dress back up, and took me back to my chair. We’d attracted more attention than we wanted.

***

From there on, every time I looked up I found him staring at me in a different way. He stroked my thigh under my dress. He squeezed my tits as if he were marking them. He whispered in my ear that he wanted to fuck me, that he couldn’t take it anymore, that we should go into one of the rooms.

—Let’s go to the bathroom.

—What for?

—Just come.

I followed him. I went in first, him behind me. He locked the door. The strangest thing about the night, looking back, was that he stayed standing in the doorway to watch me pee. I don’t know what turned him on about it, but there he was, eyes glued to the way I pulled down my thong, the way I sat, the way I wiped myself. When I straightened up and walked to the sink, he stood behind me and started rubbing his cock against my ass.

—Are you going to let me fuck you yet? —he murmured against my neck.

—Yes. I’m already horny.

—Oh yeah, little slut? What got you like this?

—Everything.

—Mmm. Let me check you.

He lifted my dress and slid his hand under my thong, slow, like someone examining something very fragile. He took his time against the fabric, feeling how soaked it was. Then he pulled the thong aside and started rubbing my clit in small circles while kissing my neck.

—This is already nice and wet. Take the thong off, it’s not doing you any good. Your little cunt is soup, little slut.

He put two fingers in me. I grabbed his cock over his pants.

—Don’t distract me. Either you suck me off or you take the dress off.

He didn’t need to repeat himself. I knelt and pulled it out. It was already so wet I barely needed saliva. I took him all the way in, slowly, feeling his thigh tremble when my throat touched the base. He was so hot I could hear my own breathing bouncing off the bathroom walls.

But I wanted an audience. I stood up, gave him a wet kiss, and said:

—Take me to the bed.

***

We went into the adjoining room. It was empty. A king bed, dark sheets, two bedside lamps on. Diego finished taking my dress off, put me on all fours at the edge, and started licking my ass and pussy at the same time, with that hunger he only gets when he knows someone could come in at any moment.

And they did.

First a couple, in silence, who settled into a corner and started fucking against the wall. Then two men peered in through the door. Then there were five. I changed positions: I let myself fall back and sucked his cock with my head hanging over the edge of the bed, so anyone who came in would see my arched neck and my mouth full.

—What happened to all that talk, little slut? —Diego laughed—. Look, now you’ve got an audience.

I looked over. There were at least five men in the doorway. Some were rubbing themselves over their pants, others pulled it out directly and jerked off while watching us. The couple in the corner kept doing their thing. Another pair went into the bathroom attached to the room and started fucking there, with the door wide open.

—Are you going to get her wet? —someone asked from the doorway.

—Yeah —Diego answered, never taking his eyes off me.

He put me on my back. He spread my legs. He drove his cock into me in one thrust while looking me in the eyes. He fucked me like that for a good while, unhurried, letting me feel every inch. Then he turned me over, put me on all fours, and slid back inside me while rubbing my clit with his other hand. I just looked toward the door and watched the spectators get hotter, redder, closer to the edge.

—Cum, little slut. I want you to make me wet.

I came. The single men looked ready to break the rule and crawl into bed with us. But Diego was having too much fun keeping them a few steps away without letting them touch me. I was having fun with the orgasms he ripped out of me while they watched. In fifteen minutes there were so many people in the room that nobody could fuck comfortably anymore. We gathered our clothes and things and moved into the other bathroom off the main lounge.

***

Diego locked the door and washed my pussy with warm water, slowly, like someone repairing a valuable part. He splashed water on his face and rinsed his hands.

—You didn’t cum the way you usually do —he said—. Are you okay?

It was true. The space, the kink, the discomfort of bodies piled up together, it all helped turn me on but not let go. I told him I felt exactly the same. That I was still horny, but I hadn’t fully let myself go.

—Me too —he admitted—. I’m only halfway there.

I smiled. I climbed onto the sink and spread my legs for him.

—I always leave you without taking your load. Do you want it here or at home?

He challenged me with his eyes.

—Can you?

It was a mission. I pulled down his fly, took him right there, hooked my legs around his waist. The bathroom walls were glass and looked straight into the next room. When I turned my head, two of the ones who had followed us into the first room were on the other side, tapping the glass softly, asking permission to come in.

Diego ignored them. He lifted me off the sink, turned me around, raised my ass, and kept fucking me against the mirror. I saw myself in the reflection: flushed face, messy hair, his left hand on my shoulder and his right hand spreading my cheek. He threatened to put a finger in my ass and slapped me when I tensed up. I couldn’t hear the guys at the glass anymore. I could only hear him.

I knelt again and sucked him. I wanted his cum, I begged for it.

—I don’t think you deserve it, little slut. You didn’t let me fuck you the way I wanted. Earn it.

—Please, daddy. Give me your milk. I miss it already.

He laughed. He held it back. He gave me a long kiss on the mouth.

—Let’s go home. I want to fuck you the way it should be done.

When we came out of the bathroom, two single guys followed us all the way to the main door of the lounge. They offered to move the party to another motel, keep it going as a group, whatever we wanted. Diego put his hand on the small of my back and ignored them with elegance. We gathered our things and went down to the car.

The ride back was silent. I sat looking out the window, still in the dress stuck to my body and my thong forgotten in the pocket of his jacket. I felt disappointed, yes. The promised orgy had been no orgy at all. But I also felt something else, something strange, something good: sometimes, on a night with thirty people watching us, the only thing I needed to get all the way there was him.