A Gust of Wind Left Me Naked in Front of Hundreds of Voyeurs

Before I tell this, I need you to understand the context, because without it, it makes no sense how I ended up where I ended up. I’ve had a group of friends since high school, almost eleven years now, and although life separated us a little, we’re still inseparable whenever we get together. There are five of us. Without meaning to brag, we all have a certain kind of appeal: two tall, skinny blondes, a dyed redhead with a body that stops traffic, a short brunette as sturdy as a dancer, and me, who gets the role of the pretty girl in the middle. My name is Camila. I’m five-foot-three, with white skin, chestnut hair with highlights, green eyes, and freckles on my cheekbones that my friends insist on calling adorable. The thing they compliment me on most are my legs and my ass, although I can’t complain about my tits either: firm, white, with pink, perky nipples that show through with any change in temperature.

Renata and Valeria are the blondes and, for the past two years, they’ve also been influencers. Each has more than two hundred thousand followers, which means that whenever we get together there’s always a phone recording something. Up until that weekend they had been respectful: they’d send us the videos before posting them, delete what we asked them to, nothing went up without our consent. That’s how it had been for years. Until it wasn’t.

The excuse for getting together was that Sofía, the brunette in the group, was finally getting married. The four of us paid for her entire bachelorette party. We booked her a private suite in a hotel in Tulum and shared another huge room ourselves: ocean view, two king beds, a private terrace, and an open glass shower in the middle of the room, separated from the rest by a transparent panel that left very little to the imagination. When we walked in, we laughed.

—This is going to be a problem —Romina, the redhead, said as she flopped onto the bed.

—After eleven years of trips, there isn’t a corner of any of us the others haven’t seen —Sofía answered.

We thought it was funny. No one warned us that that sentence was going to become prophetic for all the wrong reasons.

The first day was calm. We arrived tired from the flight, ate something, and went to bed early. The next morning was when what I thought were innocent pranks started.

I had just gotten into the shower and, through the other side of the glass, I caught sight of Renata walking around with her phone in her hand. She was talking out loud, apparently recording something in the room. I kept soaping myself without giving it much thought until she passed near the bathroom and I realized she was describing every detail of the suite to her camera. Just to tease her, I pressed myself against the glass, flattened my tits against it until they spread into two white crescent moons with my nipples pinned to the pane, and started wiggling them while making faces. Then I turned around, showed her my ass, spread my cheeks a little with both hands, and stuck my tongue out over my shoulder. Renata burst out laughing and, almost like it was a selfie, she posed with me through the panel, phone held high, while I finished rinsing the soap that was running down between my thighs. I didn’t think anything more of it, got out, put on a string bikini that tied in knots on both sides, and we went down to the pool.

The day passed between drinks in the sun, a light meal by the sea, and naps on the loungers. We came back to the room bronzed and carrying that special energy of a vacation just beginning. We went out onto the terrace with a bottle of tequila and some limes. After the fourth or fifth shot, Renata pulled out her phone again and started narrating as if she were hosting a TV show.

—This is how you do a bachelorette party, got it? —she said, showing the five of us packed together against the railing.

Valeria smiled crookedly, whispered something in Romina’s ear, and before I understood anything, the two of them lunged at me. One tug at each string and they took my top; another at the hips and the thong was gone. Before I could react, my bikini was on the floor and I was completely naked on the terrace, trying to cover myself with two hands what really required four. My tits bounced with every attempt to bend down, my shaved cunt was on display, my ass bare. There were screams, laughter, jostling. I tried to get my clothes back while they passed them hand to hand over my head, and every time I reached my arms up everything opened back up again.

The terrace was high, but the neighboring terraces were closer than I’d thought. In seconds, heads started appearing. Whistles. Applause.

—That’s the bride, baby, don’t cover up! —someone shouted from below—. Open your legs, gorgeous!

—Show us your cunt, blonde! —another one shouted, farther away.

I wasn’t the bride, but what did it matter. I couldn’t figure out what to cover myself with; the clothes were four impossible little strings to manage in a hurry, and between hysterical laughter I ended up fleeing back inside the room, closing the curtain with one foot and letting loose a string of affectionate insults. The others came in dying of laughter. Renata, still not putting down the phone, said it had been the best show of the afternoon. I thought, they’re exaggerating, at most two neighbors saw me, and took another sip of tequila.

***

The big night came quickly. Between toasts and makeup, no one put down their glass. I had brought a blue dress with thin straps, in a light fabric, with a bit of flare in the skirt, down to mid-calf. I was putting the finishing touches on when Valeria looked at me in the mirror with an expression of fake horror.

—You look awful with a bra underneath —she said, coming up behind me—. That dress is meant to be worn with nothing on under it.

—No way am I going out without underwear —I replied.

—You’re not going out without underwear. You’re going out with a dress. It’s different.

Before I could argue any more, she herself slid her hands under the fabric, hooked her thumbs into my thong, and pulled it down my thighs slowly, brushing my skin with her nails, until it was at my ankles. I lifted one foot and then the other. Then she asked me to take off my bra, hand it over, and promised I’d look perfect. I blame the alcohol and the complicity. I didn’t even ask if the others were going commando too. I trusted them. I felt the cool air rising up under the dress, stroking my naked cunt, and when I walked to the door I noticed how the fabric rubbed against my ass and nipples with every step, hardening them.

The club we went to was called Mantra, a kind of cathedral of strobe lights in the tourist district. The bouncers recognized us from Renata’s social media and seated us at a privileged table, almost against the main bar. The venue’s show included acrobats hanging from the ceiling, indoor fireworks, and a lit cage on the second level where couples went up to dance for improvised contests. We drank nonstop. At some point, the five of us ended up on top of the bar, barefoot, dancing as if no one were watching us, even though half the club was watching. I had completely forgotten I wasn’t wearing anything under the dress, and every spin lifted the hem a few centimeters too high, letting the men at the tables below catch sight of the start of my thighs, the pale edge where the tan ended.

Renata pulled out her phone again and started talking into it out loud, as if interviewing an invisible audience. Then she came over to me, put her arm around my waist, and told me in my ear that she needed a favor.

—They’re raffling off a luxury spa weekend between the couple that dances sexiest in the cage —Valeria explained—. You’re going up with Sofía. But the dynamic is different: you stay still, arms up, like you’re a pole, and she dances around you.

It sounded harmless. I’d do it for the bride. We went up.

What happened after that still makes me tremble.

I laughed to myself at the part I’d been assigned: statue, legs together, arms stretched to the sky, while Sofía circled around me, moving her hips and winking at the crowd. Not thirty seconds had passed when I felt a current of air from below, a dense, mechanical gust, as if someone had opened a hatch in the floor. The dress, light and flared, lifted completely. With my arms up there was nothing weighing on my shoulders to anchor it. In a blink, the garment came loose, flew over the cage, glided across the dance floor, and disappeared into the crowd, who watched it pass as if it were confetti.

I froze. Naked, completely exposed, on a lit cage in the middle of hundreds of people who, at that second, stopped dancing and turned toward me. My tits out under the spotlights, my nipples standing up from the air conditioning, my shaved cunt shining under the strobe lights, and above it all my arms still raised for one second too long because my brain couldn’t process what was happening. The seconds turned eternal. I heard a unanimous shout rise from the dance floor, half whistle, half roar, like someone had just scored a goal. Phones went up by the dozens. I reacted too late, covered my tits with one arm and my cunt with the other, and with my thighs clamped together I tried to awkwardly climb down the little staircase, knowing that from behind they were seeing my ass spread open on every step.

The worst part was what came after. Instead of staying up there and asking for help, I decided to go after the dress. I went down onto the dance floor. I forced my way through bodies that smelled of sweat and cheap cologne, and that’s where my world finally came undone. Hands that touched me as if they had the right, hands that squeezed my tits as they passed, hands that pinched my nipples, fingers that searched between my ass cheeks and brushed my asshole, others that slid a whole palm between my thighs and touched my cunt from top to bottom, taking advantage of the crowd’s pushing. I felt a wet tongue sliding up my neck, an alcohol breath by my ear, lips sucking at my shoulder. One guy grabbed my ass with both hands and pressed me against his fly; I felt his hard cock outlined against my hip before I could shove him away. Another took my wrist, pulled away the arm I was using to cover my tits, and looked at them up close as if he were choosing fruit. Phones raised at the height of my face, my waist, my cunt, my ass, my everything. I never found the dress. It was like trying to retrieve a leaf from a river.

I don’t know how I managed to get back to my friends. Sofía took off her thong and passed it to me under the bar; I pulled it on trembling, feeling the other woman’s fabric, still warm, stick between the lips of my cunt, soaked with the sweat of the dance. Romina unclasped her bra and lent it to me without caring that she was left almost topless, covered only by her sheer blouse, her red nipples showing through the fabric. We left the club in a caravan, the others laughing from nerves and me on the verge of tears. I thought it was the most humiliating moment of my life. Or so I believed.

***

We got back to the hotel by taxi. The lobby was almost empty, so the trip to the room was less humiliating than the escape from the club. I got to the room and collapsed onto the bed. I don’t remember falling asleep; I remember the ceiling spinning, the taste of tequila rising in my throat, and in the dimness of the room I remember yanking off the borrowed thong and spreading my legs over the sheetless mattress, because the heat and the alcohol wouldn’t let me breathe. I ran my hand over my cunt, more to check that it was still there than for anything else, and felt that it was wet, soaked, swollen. All the groping from the dance floor had stayed inside me. I stroked myself a couple of times, my fingers slipping between my lips, I pushed my middle finger in to the knuckle and felt my cunt grip it on its own. I didn’t manage to finish. I fell asleep with my hand between my thighs and my legs open.

I woke up late, the sun falling full on my body. I was on my back, without a sheet, without anything on top, my legs still open the way I’d fallen asleep. I started hearing Renata’s voice again, talking the way she does when she narrates for her followers. Then I heard the clatter of cart wheels, cutlery, firm footsteps coming in and out of the room. It took me a while to open my eyes, and when I did, I discovered that there were three room-service waiters coming in with trays, arranging plates, pouring coffee. I stayed motionless. Renata smiled at them, joked with them, asked their names. The waiters glanced at me out of the corners of their eyes and looked away, but I could tell they kept looking back: a young dark-skinned one, holding the coffeepot with a trembling hand, got stuck on my open cunt for a second too long before dropping his gaze to the floor. An older one walked past the edge of the bed twice with a different excuse each time, and I realized his cock was outlined against the black pants of the uniform. The third directly pulled out his own phone at waist level and pretended to check the time.

I sat up suddenly, my tits bouncing. In the large mirror on the opposite wall I saw my reflection: naked, hair disheveled, mattress marks on my hip, nipples standing, my shaved cunt shining from the dry dampness of the night before, and a slightly sticky trail on the inside of my thigh. The three waiters had seen me all the way. One of them, the young one, was still looking through the mirror even as he pretended to serve the coffee.

—Renata, what’s going on? —I said in a thin voice—. I’m naked.

—Well, yes —she answered without looking up from her phone—. Yesterday when we got back to the hotel you insisted on giving Sofía and Romina back what they’d lent you. You fell asleep like that, with your legs open and your hand where your hand shouldn’t have been. It was very sweet.

—And you couldn’t cover me before the waiters came in?

—My love, after everything that’s happened this weekend, there are already a lot of people who know you exactly as you are. Three more waiters don’t change anything.

Something in her tone made the hair on the back of my neck stand up. I asked her to explain. I told her yes, at the club a few people had seen me, but that didn’t mean I didn’t care about anything. And then she put the phone down, looked me in the eyes, and told me, as gently as you give a child bad news.

—Camila, either you’re being dense or what I’m about to tell you is going to knock you flat. My live streams are what’s made my channel grow the most in months. And all weekend I’ve been streaming live.

I felt the room tilt.

—The first was yesterday morning —she went on—, when you made a joke against the shower glass. Everything showed: the flattened tits, the open ass, even your tongue sticking out. I took it as your way of saying go ahead. You even posed for the camera. The second was on the terrace, when you ended up naked and, instead of asking me to turn it off, you kept laughing and making faces for me. Forty thousand people saw your shaved cunt in close-up, Cami. Forty thousand. The third was the one from the club, the cage, the dress, the escape through the crowd. That one already broke the channel record: it shows everything, it shows how they touch you, how they grab your tits, how they put their hands between your legs. And this one, this morning with room service, is still live. The three waiters don’t know it, but they’ve just been seen by eighty thousand people at the same time as you.

I went cold. Pale. I sweated ice, as they say. I turned around without answering, without even remembering to cover myself, walked to the suitcase with my ass bare and the young waiter watching my ass through the mirror, took out the phone I hadn’t touched in two days, and plugged it in. When it turned on, the number of notifications wouldn’t fit on one screen.

Three days with my best friends. A wedding to celebrate. And, without my knowing it, hundreds of thousands of voyeurs on the other side of the glass, watching me from an angle I didn’t even know existed, with their cocks in their hands, coming with every second of my humiliation.