Being Looked at Like That Was the Most Exciting Thing I’d Ever Experienced

It all started the way almost everything that you later remember for the rest of your life starts: with a few drinks, a hotel room, and three pairs of eyes that had been telling me for hours what their mouths didn’t dare say. The four of us were at that company conference up north, we’d spent two days in endless meetings and presentations, and when the last official event of the night ended, nobody wanted to lock themselves away alone in their room and stare at the ceiling.

It was Marcos who suggested it: he had a suite on the top floor, courtesy of the hotel because of a booking gone wrong, and in the minibar there were two unopened bottles of white wine. Andrés said yes before Marcos had even finished speaking. Gabriel didn’t say anything, but he didn’t say no either: he simply put on his coat and headed for the elevator.

I followed them. And on the four floors up, watching the numbers light up one by one above the door, I had time to recognize what I’d been feeling all day. That all three of them appealed to me in a way that was neither professional nor convenient nor simple. That I’d spent the whole conference squeezing my thighs together under the table every time one of them leaned over to pass me a paper. And that I think they knew it.

***

The suite was large, with a living room separate from the bedroom and a window looking out over the city lights. We sat talking on the sofas, glass in hand, with that strange freedom that conversation has when you’re away from your city and the usual rules have been suspended for a few hours. Marcos was making Andrés laugh with some anecdote from the industry. Gabriel listened with his elbows on his knees, his eyes sometimes on Marcos and sometimes on me.

Every time he looked at me, something in my chest — and lower down, between my legs — reacted before I could stop it.

By the second glass, the space between our bodies was noticeably smaller than when we’d come in. Someone had turned the music down, or maybe it was just that the room had become quieter in a different way. The wine helped, but it wasn’t just the wine.

It was the third glass and a slow song coming from Marcos’s portable speaker that changed everything. I stood up without having planned to completely, and I started to move.

At first it was almost innocent: just my body following the rhythm, my hips keeping time. But all three of them fell silent at once, and that silence was enough for innocence to stop being innocent. I began moving my hips more slowly, more deliberately, running my hands over my thighs, over my stomach, over my neck. I closed my eyes for a second and felt the heat of their gazes on my skin like something physical, something you could pinpoint exactly. I could feel my nipples hardening beneath my blouse and my cunt getting wet just from knowing they were devouring me with their eyes.

When I opened them, Marcos had his glass halfway to his mouth, frozen in the air. Andrés had leaned forward, elbows on his knees, jaw slightly tight. His bulge was already showing in his pants. Gabriel hadn’t changed posture, but something in his eyes was different. Darker. More intense. As if he’d decided something without saying it.

I kept dancing. Each movement was slower than the last, more calculated. I ran my hands over my hips, my waist, my neck, and let them imagine the rest. I didn’t need to say anything to them. Their silence was the clearest answer they could give me.

***

I unbuttoned my blouse very slowly, button by button. When I took it off, I threw it toward Marcos. He caught it with one hand and held it for a moment, burying his nose in the fabric before dropping it onto the sofa. Andrés shifted in his seat and openly put his hand over the bulge in his pants, gripping himself through the fabric. Gabriel didn’t move.

The bra was next. I unclasped it with my back to them first, then turned around and stood still for a few seconds without letting it fall, staring at the three of them. Then I let it drop to the floor. My breasts were free, with nipples so hard they hurt, pointing toward them as if they had a life of their own. The skirt fell without drama, as if it had been waiting for the moment all night. Underneath I wore nothing: my thong had been soaked through at dinner, so I’d taken it off in my room’s bathroom before going upstairs. When I was left only in my black high heels, I saw the three of them breathing differently than they had ten minutes earlier, and all three of them had their eyes fixed between my legs, on the shaved cunt I was showing them without a trace of shame.

—Jesus Christ —Marcos murmured, his voice a shade lower than usual—. You’re soaked, Valeria. You can see it from here.

Andrés let out the breath he’d been holding for a while in a long, slow sigh.

Gabriel said nothing.

I walked backward slowly, beckoning them with a finger. All three of them stood up almost at the same time, as if someone had given a signal. I crossed the doorway separating the living room from the bedroom and lay back on the bed, on the white duvet, spreading my legs all the way open, shameless, letting them see every last fold.

From that position, with my head resting on the pillow and my eyes on the three of them standing in the doorway, I felt something I had never felt exactly like that before: the weight of three pairs of eyes on my body as something almost tangible. They ran over me without hurry, without shame, as if they were memorizing every detail for later.

—Valeria —Marcos said, in that deep voice he used in meetings when he wanted to convince someone—. You’re absolutely perfect like that. You have the prettiest cunt I’ve ever seen in my fucking life.

Andrés shook his head slowly, as if he couldn’t find the words.

—Pinch your nipples —he said at last, his voice rough—. Hard. I want to see how turned on you are. And then take your hand down and open your cunt for us. I want to see everything.

I pinched my nipples with both hands, twisting them between my fingers until my skin burned and a sharp gasp slipped out of me. I arched my back on my own, without thinking, and a longer moan escaped me before I could decide whether I wanted them to hear it or not. It was too late for that already. Then I lowered one hand to my stomach and, with two fingers, spread my cunt lips for them, showing them how swollen and shiny my clit already was, how a thread of moisture was running down my perineum to my ass.

—Fuck —Andrés muttered—. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Gabriel sat down in the armchair by the window, spread his legs and rested his elbows on his thighs. And still he said nothing. He only watched, with that intensity that burned me more than the other two’s words.

***

I started running my hands over my body. My neck, my shoulders, my ribs. My stomach. I went slowly, without rushing, letting them watch. I put my middle finger in my mouth, sucked it slowly until it was drenched in saliva, and then lowered it to my clit and began tracing slow circles around it, not touching it fully, playing with myself the way I knew they would have wanted to do. I tried to divide my attention between the three of them, because all three of them were there and all three of them deserved it, but my eyes kept going back to Gabriel every time on their own. There was something in his silence that was louder than all of Marcos and Andrés’s comments put together.

—Like that —Marcos said from his armchair, already with his cock out, thick and red in his fist, moving his hand up and down in a slow rhythm—. Don’t stop. Put your fingers in. I want to see your own finger going into that cunt.

I obeyed. I pushed my middle finger in up to the knuckle and let out a moan that surprised even me with how deep it sounded. I was so wet it met no resistance. I added my index finger, curled them inward looking for that spot I knew so well, and started pumping myself, my palm striking my clit with every thrust. With the other hand I squeezed one breast, tugging my nipple every time I arched my back.

But I was listening to Marcos the way you listen to rain from inside a car: as background, as texture. What I was really feeling was Gabriel’s gaze resting on me like something solid. He wasn’t looking at my eyes or my hands or any specific point: he was looking at all of me, with such total attention that the rest of the room disappeared.

Why did his silence turn me on more than any cock they might show me?

My fingers moved on their own, faster and faster, with a wet slapping sound that filled the room and that they listened to with the same attention they would have given to a secret. The heat was intense, concentrated, and every time I arched my back I felt my body asking for more pressure, more speed, more of everything. My moans filled the room and I wasn’t trying to control them anymore because it would have been useless and because, honestly, I no longer cared. I sucked the fingers of my other hand, pulled the ones from inside me out, and brought them to my mouth too, tasting myself all over in front of them, looking at them while I licked my own juices.

—Holy shit —Andrés gasped, and he was already pounding his own cock too, shirt open and pants around his ankles—. Someone record her. Someone record her, fuck.

That was when Gabriel unzipped his pants. He did it slowly, without taking his eyes off me, with a calm that was almost disconcerting. What I saw made me stop breathing for a full second: he was big, very thick, the veins standing out along its length and the head shiny with precum, and his hand wrapped around it with a naturalness I found incredibly sexy. No showing off. No need for anyone to notice, although we all noticed. He started jerking off in a slow, steady rhythm, circling the head completely with each upward stroke.

I didn’t stop looking at him.

I imagined that cock inside me. I imagined how he would open me up, how every inch of him would make me feel. My fingers moved faster on their own, without me making any conscious decision. I added a third. The tension in my whole body shot up a notch all at once. I arched my back more. I spread my legs wider, so wide it hurt my thighs. With my other hand I went down to my clit and started rubbing it in fast circles, feeling all the body heat concentrate in a single point that throbbed with every movement.

—So beautiful —Andrés said quietly, almost to himself, never stopping jerking off—. You’re so beautiful like that, with your fingers buried deep, all for us.

Marcos was also jerking himself faster now, biting his lower lip, his eyes fixed on the space between my legs. Andrés did the same, leaning forward, eyes wide, spitting into his palm so he could slide more easily. The room was filled with a dense silence, populated by rushed breathing, by the wet sound of three cocks being worked by their owners, by my cunt slapping under my fingers, by the moans I no longer bothered to suppress.

But I only saw Gabriel.

He sped up the pace of his hand at exactly the moment I sped up mine, as if there were an invisible thread between the two of us that the other two couldn’t see. His jaw was clenched. His eyes were fixed on mine. I pumped my fingers in the same rhythm he used to pump his fist around that enormous cock, and with every thrust a “yes, yes, yes” escaped me that was more for him than for me. And in that moment I knew, with a certainty that didn’t need to be analyzed, that we were going to come together without even having touched each other.

I had never felt a connection like that with anyone. And we weren’t even touching.

The tension reached a point where it was no longer sustainable. I felt it building, rising, concentrating, until my whole body was a point of pressure that needed release. My clit pulsed under my fingers as if it had its own pulse, stronger than my heart’s.

***

I screamed something that wasn’t exactly a word. The orgasm came long and hard, in waves that started at the center of my body and spread all the way to my toes. I came with my fingers inside me, feeling the walls of my cunt clench around them, feeling a warm gush wet my hand and run down over my ass onto the duvet. I stayed rigid, back arched and fingers buried, for what felt like a long time before my muscles relaxed on their own. When they finally did, I stayed still with my eyes closed for a moment, just breathing, my cunt throbbing and my fingers still inside me.

When I opened them, Gabriel was finishing too. I saw his body tense one last time and then loosen, saw him let out the air through parted lips, saw the first thick white spurts leap from his cock and fall onto his fist, onto his pants, onto the floor. And I saw that his eyes were still fixed on me even at that instant, without blinking, while he came.

Marcos came seconds later, with a long sound and his shoulders thrown back, pointing his cock toward his stomach so his cum would splatter his open shirt and chest. Andrés almost at the same time, growling through his teeth, with a broken moan, shooting two, three, four spurts that landed on the carpet and on his own thigh. The smell of semen filled the room, thick and hot. I felt heat on my skin, on my thighs, on my stomach, and I stayed still, letting everything settle, letting the room become just a room again.

The air conditioner was still running. Someone let out a long sigh from somewhere in the room. The city was still lit up on the other side of the window, completely unaware of what had just happened inside.

I sat up slowly. I gathered the clothes that had been scattered on the floor and got dressed without hurrying, with the calm of someone who has just done exactly what she wanted to do and doesn’t need to justify it. I could still feel a thread of my own wetness slipping down the inside of my thigh, and I didn’t bother to wipe it away.

—That was... —Marcos began.

—Yeah —I said before he could finish, because there was no need.

Andrés laughed, softly, relieved. Marcos did too. Gabriel was still in the armchair, with his cock still out, shiny and half-softening, his eyes closed, breathing slowly, as if he needed one more moment before coming fully back.

We stayed in the suite a little longer. We talked about things I no longer remember, about anecdotes, about what we still had pending the next day at the conference. Normality returned surprisingly quickly, as it always does after something important happens between people who will have to see each other in a meeting room tomorrow.

When we said goodbye in the hallway, Gabriel was the last to leave. He stopped at the door for a moment and looked at me. That was all: he looked at me. Without saying anything, without gesturing, with that same contained, dark expression he’d had all night.

He didn’t need to say anything. I already knew.

Shall I confess something? That wasn’t the last time he looked at me that way. But what happened afterward between him and me — how he fucked me against the wall of my room that same dawn without saying a word, how he opened me up with that enormous cock until he made me scream against his shoulder — is another story, and in that story there was no one else watching.