Everyone Was Watching Me as I Climbed Those Stairs

Hello again. I’m Yamila, and I took a while to write back because I wanted to do it right, to tell things exactly as they happened and not halfway. Sorry if I ramble, but there are details I don’t want to leave out.

First of all, a confession: I discovered I love being the center of attention. It started with reading stories at night, when the whole house was asleep. Then I worked up the nerve to write one, and messages came pouring in, photos, men and women talking to me until dawn. That feeling of knowing I was desired by people who didn’t even know me became an addiction, just like slipping my fingers into my cunt in the dark when nobody could hear me anymore, biting the pillow so my moans wouldn’t be heard while I came thinking of strangers imagining me spread-legged on the other side of the screen.

But those emails were from a distance, behind a screen. What I want to tell you about happened in person, in broad daylight, and left me trembling in a way I hadn’t expected.

I had just turned nineteen. My brother Bruno is twenty-two, he started working not long ago, and he spoils me as if I were still a little girl. We really get along: we go to the movies, shopping, for walks. Our parents are very religious and very strict, the kind who spend whole weekends at church conventions. When they go away, Bruno and I stay alone at home and take advantage of it to go out.

That Saturday he invited me to the biggest flea market in the area, a place everyone calls the Barranco because it’s on a sunken stretch of ground, lower than the street, and to get in you have to go down a long flight of stairs. Remember the stairs, because later they matter.

Since it was one of those skin-sticking hot days, I decided to go light and, while I was at it, make myself look pretty. I’ll tell you what I look like: short, brown-skinned, with very long black hair. I have small tits but they sit up nicely, with dark, sensitive nipples, and my hips and ass get rounder every year; I see it in the mirror and in photos. And I have good legs, full legs, the kind that look great in a miniskirt.

I put on a pink blouse with a deep neckline, off the shoulders, short enough to leave my navel bare. In front it has a tie that knots and pulls the fabric tight over my breasts, making them look bigger than they are and showing off my nipples when they harden. I added a beige miniskirt, black heels that lengthened my legs, and a white purse with a red heart. My hair down, even though it made me hotter, because when I wear it loose I feel like another person.

—Call me if you need anything, Yami —Bruno told me, kissing my forehead as always.

—Relax, I’ll let you know when I’m going to look for you. You take care too.

The usual plan: walk around together for a while and then each one goes off on their own. He heads straight to the stalls with figurines and movies; I get lost among earrings, clothes, and bags, the little things I like.

***

I was looking under the tarps when I found a stall where a woman had a pile of branded thongs, with the tags still on them. Lace, silk, sheer, all of them adorable. I know that kind of underwear is expensive and there aren’t even stores in my city that sell it, so I went over out of curiosity to ask the prices.

—They’re original, honey, and I’ll give them to you at a good price —the woman assured me.

When she told me how much, I almost screamed. It fit my budget. I got a little crazy choosing: I lifted them with both hands, turned them over to look at them properly, checked the sizes. I’m small-bodied, a size small, and most of them were too big on me, but some fit perfectly. I’d always dreamed of having a thong and had never dared to buy one.

I was so absorbed in my own thing that it took me a while to notice something: several older men had come up to the stall and were watching me. They weren’t interested in the men’s clothing the woman was also selling; they were looking at me, with an attention they didn’t even try all that hard to hide, as if they were imagining me wearing those pieces, or better yet, imagining me wearing nothing at all, legs open and those thongs hanging from one ankle.

The sensible thing would have been to feel uncomfortable. Instead, I felt exactly the same thing I feel when strangers message me: a tingle between my thighs, a heat rising up my stomach, the urge for them to keep looking. Out of the corner of my eye I watched them without making it obvious, and I noticed one of them subtly adjusting the bulge in his pants, and another with a hard cock clearly outlined against his jeans. Their dicks were getting hard for me right there, in the middle of the market, and just knowing that made my underwear start to get wet.

Then I did something shameless, pretending I had no idea any of this was happening. I took a thong and held it up over my skirt, at hip level, pressing it against my pussy so they could see where it would sit. I also grabbed a pair of bras and held them over my tits, tilting my head as if I were unsure about the size, pressing the fabric against my nipples, which were already stiff. The woman saw everything, but as long as she sold, she didn’t say a word. Meanwhile, I could feel my cunt dripping, the wetness running hot down my crotch, and I squeezed my thighs together discreetly to heighten the feeling.

—Do you think this one will fit me, ma’am? —I asked out loud, more for the gawkers than for her, holding a tiny thong up at ass level.

I almost asked one of the men, the one who had moved closest, but I got hit with a wave of embarrassment and held back. In the end I chose four, even knowing I didn’t have enough money with me. I wanted all of them: beautiful and my size.

When the woman gave me the total, I fell apart. I tried to decide which one to put back, but none of them were expendable. I moved a little away from the stall, took out my phone, and sent Bruno my location. The idea was to buy them without my parents knowing, and I trusted my brother to lend me the difference without telling anyone.

—Are you short on cash? —a voice said behind me.

I turned around. It was one of the men who had been watching me, the one who had come closest. A man in his forties, brown-skinned, a little chubby, with gray in his hair and mustache. A face like a good man, a family man. The bulge in his pants was clearly visible, and he didn’t make much effort to hide it.

—Well… yes —I answered nervously, dying of embarrassment, but unable to tear my eyes away from that bulge.

—I’ll pay for them, if you want.

—No, how could I? Thanks, but no.

All at once, the shameless girl who had been fondling thongs without a trace of modesty a minute earlier disappeared and timid Yamila, the one I still am deep down, came back.

—It’s no trouble, I don’t want to offend you. Tell me how much you’re short and I’ll give it to you —he insisted.

—And in exchange for what? —I asked, already guessing the answer.

—Could I see you wearing one? —he blurted out, staring right at me—. Just see you. Even if it’s only for a moment, somewhere out of the way. That would be enough for me.

I kept thinking, and just imagining myself going into some little cubicle with that man, showing him my ass with a thong on while he took his dick out and jerked off watching me, made my nipples tighten so much it almost showed through my blouse. I glanced at the stall and saw that the woman was spying on us while serving other customers. She couldn’t hear our conversation, but she wasn’t stupid: she knew perfectly well what was going on. And then, lucky or unlucky for me, I saw Bruno approaching in the distance.

—Really, thank you, but my brother’s coming and he’ll lend it to me. Seriously, thank you so much for offering —I told him with a smile.

—All right, don’t be offended. I’ll just tell you one thing: you’re definitely going to look beautiful in your… —he didn’t finish, as if the word embarrassed him.

—In my panties! —I finished for him, and laughed, more relaxed now—. My name’s Yamila, by the way.

I told him just before my brother arrived, almost at the same moment the man walked away. I never learned his name.

—Everything okay? —Bruno asked.

—Yeah, he was asking me for directions —I lied.

***

—Honestly, I need a huge favor —I told him with my head down.

—What happened?

—Can you help me pay for something? I’m short. But I’m embarrassed.

—Why? Is it girl stuff?

—Yeah, that. Underwear.

The sensible thing was to ask him for the money and pay on my own. But the little devil inside me whispered something else, and just imagining it made that heat come back between my legs, that dampness that had already soaked the fabric and was starting to cling to my pussy lips.

—Better come with me to pay. But… will you keep it a secret? —I said, biting my lip and putting on a pout.

My God, I was flirting with my own brother. A brazen bitch, that’s what I am.

—You’ve got me curious now. What do you want to buy? —Bruno said.

—Some thongs, it’s the first time I’ve bought something like that. You know Mom would never let me wear them. Please keep it secret for me.

—All right, fine. But you owe me one, okay?

—Yes, anything! Come on, help me pick them —I told him, wickedly.

He almost bugged his eyes out when he saw the four I had chosen. Sheer, satin, patterned, and all of them cut down to a thread in back that disappeared between the cheeks. There I did feel truly embarrassed that my brother was seeing them, especially the sheer ones, which left nothing to the imagination: he would be able to see my whole cunt, hair and all, through the fabric. And precisely because of that, instead of backing out, I returned the more modest one and grabbed another one that was even skimpier, just a tiny strap, with a little triangle in front that didn’t even cover half the pubic mound.

Bruno swallowed hard. I looked down without meaning to and saw the outline of his cock under his pants, thick, long, pointing off to the side. I blushed and looked away, but the image stuck in me. He’s my brother, I thought, he’s my brother, and yet my cunt tightened all at once, with a hot spasm that took me by surprise.

Bruno paid for the four. I hugged him and kissed his cheek, pressing myself against him more than necessary, feeling his hard bulge brush my stomach. I thought it was better for the seller to take us for boyfriend and girlfriend instead of siblings, so I looped my arm through his. We headed for the exit in a slightly awkward silence until I broke the ice by asking what he had bought.

—Some movies from a series and a figurine I’d been looking for —he answered, his voice a little rough.

—And what do you want it for if it’s on TV?

—I like having it in physical form.

—Ah, good —I said, and squeezed him harder. It made me happy to see him happy.

—And you? —he laughed—. I already know what you bought, or rather what I bought you.

—Don’t laugh, it makes me embarrassed! Thanks, little brother. I swear I felt bad that you saw them, but I didn’t want to miss the chance.

—Don’t worry. Though they’re so tiny it’s going to show everything, like you aren’t wearing anything at all —he said, and we both laughed, though I felt the look he gave my ass when he said it.

—Stop, don’t say that to me!

***

Before we got to the stairs, I came up with a little mischief. I told Bruno I needed to use the bathroom and went into the public restrooms without thinking twice. I locked myself in a stall, lifted my miniskirt, and took off my regular panties. I was soaked. The cotton fabric hung from my fingers, heavy, with a big transparent stain in the center stretching into a shiny thread down to my thighs. I ran two fingers through my slit to clean myself a little and couldn’t stop myself: my fingers slid between my cunt lips and reached my clit, which was already swollen and throbbing. I stifled a moan by biting my lip and realized that if I kept going one second longer I was going to come right there, leaning against the door of a flea-market bathroom.

I pulled my hand away. I sucked my fingers, curious, and tasted my own salty, thick flavor on my tongue. I looked through my purchases for the smallest thong, the sheerest of them all, and put it on.

I couldn’t believe how it felt. From behind it was exactly as I’d imagined: the string disappeared between my cheeks and vanished, pressing against my asshole every time I moved. In front it barely covered me, and the sheer little triangle of fabric instantly clung to my soaked vulva, outlining my cunt lips and even the little bump of my clit. My pubic hair showed on the sides without shame. I tucked the used panties into my purse, took a deep breath, and stepped out, feeling with every step how the back string stroked my ass and the wet front rubbed my clit.

—Ready, now let’s go! —I told my brother, giving him another kiss on the cheek, this time pressing myself against him a little more than I should have.

Almost at the exit I ran into the man from the stall. He was with his family: his wife, a son a little older than me, and a daughter about my age. I noticed him get nervous. I just looked at him and smiled, as if greeting him, and it amused me to see him look away, though not before dropping his eyes for a second to the height of my crotch, where the damp patch was surely showing against the light beige skirt.

And then we reached the stairs. To get out of the Barranco, you had to climb that long, steep flight. I moved ahead quickly, got in front of everyone—my brother, the man, his family, and the line of people behind—and started climbing slowly, marking every step, pushing my hip out, letting the miniskirt ride up on its own.

With the skirt so short, the heels so high, and the slope of the stairs, I knew exactly what I was doing. Anyone looking up could see my ass completely, both round cheeks split by that thin thread disappearing inside. And because the thong vanished between my cheeks, it was like I was climbing with my ass bare, with nothing on. Even worse: when the breeze sneaking through the stairs lifted my skirt a little, you could see the sheer little triangle in front, pressed against my soaked cunt, with my lips outlined beneath the wet fabric and even my black hair showing at the sides.

I heard a man gasp behind me, someone else mutter “fuck,” the sound of a cell phone being pulled from a pocket. Someone was taking pictures of my ass, or filming me, and instead of scaring me, my nipples tightened against my blouse. I climbed even slower, stopped as if I were adjusting my heel, bent one knee, and for one endless second my ass was almost in the face of the person behind me. I heard heavy, ragged breathing. I could almost feel hot breath brushing my thighs.

I got so turned on my legs were truly trembling. The string bit into my cheeks with every step, rubbing my asshole, and in front the wet fabric pressed my clit with each stride. The sensation, added to knowing that a bunch of cocks were getting hard for me at that very moment, that men were imagining fucking me from behind while I climbed, almost made me finish right there, in the middle of the stairs, in front of strangers. I felt one spasm in my stomach, then another, and a wave of heat climbed from my cunt to my chest. I had to grab the handrail because my knees went weak. I was coming. I was coming while climbing those stairs, with my skirt up at hip level and my ass in the faces of twenty strangers. I clenched my teeth and breathed through my nose so the moan wouldn’t escape, but I could feel the orgasm shaking me in short waves, feel the fluid gushing from my cunt and running hot down my thighs, and for a second I panicked that it might drip all the way to my ankles.

Almost at the top, I turned around for a moment. Bruno’s eyes were wide open, his hand in his pants pocket adjusting the cock that was visibly hard from here to the corner, not knowing where to put himself. The man was failing terribly at pretending, his mouth slightly open as he ran his tongue over his mustache. His wife shot me a look of pure disgust, the kind that kills, and elbowed her husband. And the daughter, the girl my age, when she passed beside me, smiled at me with a complicity I hadn’t expected, as if she understood me, and as she went by she brushed my hip with the tips of her fingers, I don’t know whether on purpose or not, but it raised goose bumps all over me.

I took my brother by the arm again and we walked away toward the bus stop, my heart still pounding and my thighs sticky, sliding against each other with every step. Bruno wasn’t talking to me, he was walking stiffly, and when I glanced sideways at his crotch I saw it was still marked, hard, pointing off to the side inside his pants. He noticed I was looking, and I blushed but didn’t look away. We stayed like that for a second, in silence, with that strange silence we didn’t know how to break. Then I pressed myself harder against his arm and felt his bicep tense, hot, against my breast.

I think they’re right: I’m getting out of control. But that afternoon, on those steps, coming in front of everyone with my cunt soaking wet under a little piece of sheer fabric, I felt more alive than ever. And I also think my little brother and I have a conversation pending that isn’t going to take long to happen. But that, if you’re brave enough to read it, I’ll tell you in the next story.