Three strangers were hiding in my guest house

When I married Damián, I knew my life was settled. He was the heir to a hotel chain, and he could have chosen any of the women who came close to him. Instead, he chose me, a neighborhood waitress who paid for her own drinks and went back to the bar when her shift started. I never cared about his money. I fell in love with him before I even knew who his family was.

I’m thirty-three, with brown hair and eyes so light that, according to Damián, they look like glass. I know some men turn their heads when I pass. I also know that nothing ever made me feel as desired as I felt that week no one knows anything about.

After the wedding, his father gave us a huge house on the outskirts: garden, indoor pool, three floors, and, at the back of the property, a guest house with its own entrance from the back alley. I thought it was excessive. I’d come from sharing a flat with three friends and, all of a sudden, I had a mansion for two. I only accepted on the condition that someday we’d look for something smaller and more ordinary.

Now that you know the setting, I can tell you what really matters.

It all started one late-winter night, the kind when the weather goes crazy for no reason. Damián was out of the country closing a deal with his father and I, bored, was reading on the sofa under a lamp. My phone rang and I recognized his photo on the screen.

“Good evening, my love,” I answered.

“Good evening, Renata. Sorry for the hour, the meeting ran long. How are you?”

“Here, reading and waiting for your call. I went out with Sole and Vero this afternoon, so I’m feeling a little tipsy.”

“So you’re a bit drunk…” He laughed. “What a shame I’m not home.”

“A real pity.”

“We can still have our party. We’ve got a video call.”

The idea made me laugh. I’d never been convinced by long-distance sex: I missed the touch of fingers on skin, another person’s breath waking up my pores, the weight of a body. None of that fits on a screen. But the wine made me bold. I took off my robe in the middle of the living room and pressed the camera button.

Damián’s eyes went wide when he saw me naked.

“Fuck,” he muttered.

“Still want to play?”

He nodded several times and got naked. Our ragged breathing was the only music in that encounter across the world. My hands moved over my body according to his instructions, and I whispered to him what to do with his. I asked him to close his eyes and imagine those caresses were mine.

I was just about to let myself go completely when something stopped me. A shadow, the slightest movement in the window facing the guest house. I looked toward the darkness, squinting. There was nothing. No light, no figure, no sound.

“Why did you stop?” he asked.

“I have the curtains open. I’m going to close them.”

I got up and drew every curtain in the living room. I knew the walls were too high for anyone outside to see inside. Even so, I felt watched. My arousal had vanished. I finished the call pretending I’d had a happy ending I never got, and went to bed turning that feeling over and over in my mind.

***

I barely slept. The next morning I went to work anyway, but my boss sent me home because of how bad I looked. I drove back, came in through the basement parking garage, and went up the internal stairs to the living room. I left my keys and bag on the table, and then I heard it: a splash in the garden pool.

I pulled the curtain aside a little and caught my breath.

There was a man in the pool. Naked. Dark, shiny skin under the light, broad back, strong arms, not a single hair on his chest. He was swimming on his back, and when he turned, he gave me the sight of the firmest ass I had ever seen in my life.

I thought he was a thief. I took my phone out of my bag and started dialing emergency services, watching him out of the corner of my eye through the sheer curtain. That was when he got out of the water. Water ran down his chest, over his stomach, and disappeared lower down, where the rest of his body promised more. I froze with my finger suspended over the screen, unable to press.

He dried himself calmly, pulled on some pants, and walked through the garden. What I didn’t expect was to see him enter the guest house and close the door behind him.

I stood there staring at that door for a long time, not knowing what to do. Did we have squatters? When I was younger I’d even snuck into other people’s pools to take a swim, so it didn’t seem that serious to me either. But I needed to know before calling anyone. I took the binoculars Damián used for hunting and focused on the windows. Through the slats of the blinds, a light moved, like a TV switched on.

I went down to the main floor and went out into the garden through the back door, so they wouldn’t see me coming. I walked barefoot on the grass, pressed against the walls, holding my breath. I reached the guest house, knelt in front of the door, and pressed my ear to the wood.

There was movement inside. I was just about to back away and finally call the police when the door suddenly flew open and I fell forward, against someone’s legs.

***

I looked up, frightened. I had fallen onto a dark-skinned man, also naked, with curly hair and an imposing body. He was staring at me as surprised as I was at him. Inside, someone let out a shout in a language I didn’t understand; a third man was standing in front of the TV, wearing shorts, with a football game paused on the screen. From the back came the swimmer I had seen in the pool, now with a towel around his waist.

For several eternal seconds, none of the three moved. I didn’t either. I tried to get up, stammering that they should let me go, that I wouldn’t say anything.

The one with an old scar across his chest came toward me slowly, hands open, like someone calming a frightened animal.

“You be quiet?” he said, stressing the words heavily, his finger on his lips.

I nodded. I wasn’t going to say anything.

He pointed to his companions, then toward the big house, and mimed someone running with his fingers.

“Police,” he added.

I understood. They had fled from something, or someone, and were hiding there. I nodded again, this time more calmly. Maybe they’d just let me go.

But then my gaze dropped on its own, without permission, to the two naked bodies in front of me. And I couldn’t look away. I closed my eyes for a second, shook my head to come to myself, and a soft laugh raised goose bumps on my skin.

The one with the scar had caught me looking. He was smiling.

“You like?” he asked.

I felt my cheeks burn. I didn’t answer, but I didn’t get up either. And that silence was my answer. Something in me, something that had been asleep for weeks in front of a phone screen, suddenly woke up in that room heavy with heat and bodies.

It was there, in that precise instant, that I surrendered to desire.

The swimmer sat down beside me and lifted my chin with two fingers so I’d look him in the eyes. They were a deep brown, and his smile was as perfect as the rest of him. Nothing more was needed. I leaned in on my own and took him in my mouth. I heard him groan, low and long, while my tongue traced every inch of him.

I felt hands freeing me from my T-shirt, then from my bra. Behind me, the one with the scar pulled my clothes down until I was naked and caressed me between the legs, lingering with his fingers exactly where I needed him most. I panted without letting go of what I had in my mouth. The curly-haired one came up on the other side and I reached for him with my free hand.

In just a few minutes I had gone from fear to absolute lust. The shock of discovering three strangers had turned into gasps.

I knelt on the floor and alternated between the three of them, tasting the different flavor and weight of each, while two waited their turn at the level of my eyes. The sound of their breathing began to fill the room, and I thought it was one of the hottest I had ever heard.

***

The one with the scar kissed me while he fondled my breasts. I wondered if he could taste the others on my tongue, and the idea, instead of embarrassing me, only turned me on more. The swimmer knelt, lifted one of my legs, and rested it on his shoulder, running his mouth over my knee. Behind me, the curly-haired one entered me very slowly.

He did it carefully, and I was grateful the other man had prepared me, because I had plenty to take. I didn’t cry out thanks to the kiss sealing my lips. When I pulled away, I sought out the mouth of the man inside me, and our tongues met to the rhythm of his hips.

The one with the scar was touching himself beside me, never losing his smile, kissing my breasts every so often. The swimmer held my leg, kissed my ankle, the top of my foot, never taking his eyes off me. I was somewhere else, far from the house, far from Damián, far from everything.

I had my first orgasm like that, between two mouths and a body moving inside me. And it wasn’t the last.

They changed positions without me having to say a thing, as if they understood one another with a glance. I straddled the one with the scar in the armchair and lowered myself onto him with all my weight. I screamed, but not from pain. I bounced on him while he held my hips, and the other two came closer, one on each side, so not a single second of my mouth or my hands was left unused.

How long did it last? I couldn’t say. My sense of time vanished. I didn’t feel the minutes pass. There was only the now, the heat, the sweat of three men on my skin.

When they were done, they left me sprawled in the armchair, powerless and without a single complaint. They lifted me between the three of them, opened the door, and carried me in their arms to the pool, where they dropped me into the cool water. They got in with me, and there, laughing like accomplices, night fell on us.

I didn’t know whether any neighbor heard anything. I didn’t worry about it until the next morning, more satisfied than I had ever been.

***

That week was one endless party. I tried positions I didn’t know existed, in the water, in bed, on the grass. I learned to tell them apart not only by name — at last they told me: Kael, Adisa, and Tomé — but by the way each one filled me. The only break was when we slept, the four of us naked, or when I talked to Damián on the phone. I refused video calls on the excuse that I had caught a cold; in reality I was afraid one of them might appear in the background.

But days go by without asking permission, and my husband’s return was getting closer. We had to say goodbye. The last night was the best of all: pure skin, pure desire, no clock to measure it.

When I woke up the next morning, I looked for them in the guest house. They were gone. I went out into the garden naked, as I had lived all that week, and pushed open the door.

It was empty and clean, as if they had never been there.

Sad, I went back to the house, showered, and resumed my life as a married woman. You may think I’m a hypocrite for carrying on with my marriage. I don’t care. I know I lived through an unforgettable week with three lovers who knew exactly where and when to touch, and that from the start we all knew it had an expiration date.

Several years have passed, and even today I get goose bumps when I remember it. It’s a secret that’s mine alone. I never told Damián, and I don’t think it’s necessary. After all, I love my husband.

But no one will ever be able to take away what I felt that week with three strangers in my guest house.