I Lost Control in the Sex Shop and Everyone Saw

I’d been using the same worn-out vibrator an ex had left me for months, and the time had come to retire it. It wasn’t that I lacked company—I had a steady partner and things worked well—but I’d always liked keeping my own space for exploring. That noon, I went out alone, with free time and a clear idea in mind: replace the toy.

I live in the capital, but I’m from a small town inland. The city had gotten me used to many things that would have been unthinkable back home, including walking without batting an eye into an erotic shop in the middle of a weekday afternoon. There was a shopping arcade downtown with several places of that kind, discreet on the outside and surprising within. I went into the second one I found.

It was small but well stocked. Display cases with all kinds of products, warm orange lighting, soft music that muffled any awkward conversation. Behind the counter was a girl of about twenty-five, dark-haired, with her hair tied up in a bun and a cleavage that was clearly part of the shop’s sales strategy.

“Welcome,” she said without looking up from her phone. “Let me know if you need anything.”

I moved calmly along the shelves, looking at lubricants, stimulants, silicone accessories. She came over without my calling her, as if she’d detected that I was seriously evaluating my options and not just browsing.

“Are you looking for anything in particular?”

“A vibrator,” I said. “Mine’s completely worn out.”

She smiled. She introduced herself as Camila and began showing me different models with the naturalness of someone explaining the functions of a household appliance. While she pointed toward one of the displays, she turned to reach something on a high shelf, and that was when I saw it: beneath her semitransparent lycra pants, the shiny circular base of an anal plug was sticking out.

I couldn’t hide my reaction.

“Are you wearing…?” I began.

She didn’t flinch.

“Yes,” she said, turning back toward me. “I don’t mind that you noticed. I’ve had it up my ass since I opened at ten this morning. At first it feels huge, then your body gets used to it and all that’s left is the reminder, you know? That feeling of being full that doesn’t go away.”

“Doesn’t it bother you to work like that?”

“Quite the opposite,” she replied, and there was no provocation in her tone, but something worse: a completely calm honesty. “It helps me stay present in what I’m selling. Every time I bend or stretch, the plug moves inside me and I remember why I’m here. I finish my shift with my pussy soaked and my panties ready for the trash.”

That was enough for something in my body to start moving without asking my permission. I felt the hot throbbing between my legs, wetness spreading against the fabric of my underwear, my nipples hardening beneath my bra.

We continued looking at vibrators. Camila asked what kind of stimulation I preferred—internal, external, or combined—and I answered in more detail than I would have under any other circumstances. I told her about my G-spot, about needing a curve, about liking them thick because thin dicks had never made me come. The atmosphere in the shop, the plug shifting at her hips whenever she moved, the natural way she talked about all of it: it was too much accumulated kink in a very small space.

I chose a cream-colored silicone model, realistic, with a built-in vibrating function. It was exactly what I’d had in mind when I left home: thick at the base, with pronounced veins, a swollen glans promising to fill me without mercy. While I held it, a question occurred to me that seemed ridiculous the moment I asked it.

“Is there somewhere I could try it? Before I leave, I mean.”

Camila looked at me for a second.

“We don’t have a tester. But if you want privacy, I can move some boxes around. I’ve done it before.”

I don’t know what I expected her to say. Not that.

***

She rearranged the back of the shop in five minutes: two cardboard boxes stacked to one side, a wheeled display rolled toward the opposite wall, and a dark fabric curtain that was already hanging from a rod in the ceiling. It wasn’t perfect, but it worked. Nothing could be seen from the entrance.

“Here,” she said, handing me the vibrator without its packaging. “You have time. And take this too,” she added, placing a little packet of lubricant in my palm. “Though I suppose you won’t need it with how wet you are.”

I blushed because she was right. I slipped behind the improvised wall with my heart racing. I crouched down so no one would see me if someone looked around from outside, took off my jeans and underwear—which were already hopelessly soaked, a sticky thread stretching from the elastic to my pussy when I lowered the fabric—and sat on the floor. The cold floor against my bare buttocks had the opposite effect from what I expected: instead of calming me, it made me more aware of every inch of my body, of the damp pubic hair, of my swollen lips opening on their own, of my clitoris throbbing like a second heart.

I looked toward where Camila was standing. She was looking back at me, leaning against the counter with her arms crossed, her eyes fixed between my spread thighs.

“You can watch if you want,” I said, almost without thinking.

She nodded and approached slowly. She sat a yard away from me, silently, with the expression of someone who was genuinely paying attention.

I spread my legs all the way and began.

At first I went slowly, testing the surface of the vibrator against myself without inserting it yet. I ran the tip over my outer lips, then the inner ones, then circled my clitoris, applying only the slightest pressure. The head of the toy slipped between my folds with the ease of something made to go inside. The texture was exactly what I’d been looking for: firm but with some flexibility, realistic enough not to feel artificial. Camila said nothing. She just watched with that calm of hers, which by itself was more arousing than anything she could have done. I saw her run her tongue over her lower lip without realizing it.

I pressed it slowly against my entrance, applying just enough pressure until the glans yielded and slipped inside. Then I lowered my hips and let gravity do the rest. The vibrator slid all the way in at once, sinking to the base, and I let out a hoarse moan I couldn’t contain.

The sensation was immediate and intense. It had been longer than I wanted to admit since something like that had been inside me in that way, and the contrast was so abrupt that I had to bite my lip to keep from making more noise. I felt the walls of my pussy stretch around the silicone, throb, cling to it. I braced myself against the box behind me and let my body adjust. I began moving it, pulling it almost all the way out and then pushing it back in to the hilt, listening to the obscene, wet noise my pussy made with every thrust.

Then I felt Camila’s fingers at the end of the toy, searching for the power button.

She switched it on.

The vibration shot through my entire body. I’m not exaggerating: literally, from the bones of my hips to the tips of my fingers. The motor roared inside me, pounding my G-spot with every pulse. I let my head fall back and exhaled sharply, a long moan escaping through my clenched teeth.

“That’s it,” Camila whispered. “Keep going, don’t stop. Take it all the way in—I want to watch you come.”

I pushed harder, faster, fucking myself with the new vibrator while she watched from thirty centimeters away. My first orgasm came sooner than I expected. I’m someone who squirts a lot—I always have been, and I’ve never considered it something to apologize for—and that time it was more than usual: I felt a warm jet shoot out around the toy, soaking my thighs and splashing onto the floor with a distinctly audible sound. I felt the cold of the wet floor beneath my ass and didn’t care at all.

“Fuck,” Camila murmured. “You really do squirt.”

I yanked up my shirt and bra and began touching my breasts. My nipples are very sensitive even under normal circumstances; in that state, with the vibrator still buzzing inside me, it was almost impossible not to touch them. I pinched them, stretched them, rolled them between my fingers until they were hard as stones. Camila watched without intervening, and that passivity of hers, that unhurried gaze, aroused me more than any active participation could have.

That was when I noticed the camera.

It was in the corner of the ceiling, pointed directly at the spot where I was. I hadn’t noticed it before because I was completely outside the usual context in which one registers that sort of detail.

“The camera,” I said, pointing upward without stopping the movement of the vibrator.

“It records,” Camila replied without blinking, “but I’m the only one with access. No one else has it. I watch it alone at home afterward, with my hand between my legs.”

I don’t know if it was true. At that moment, I didn’t care.

She came closer, knelt beside me, and began sucking one of my nipples. Slowly, with her tongue, without hurrying, as if she had the whole afternoon. She sucked, tugged, bit it lightly, then blew hot air over my damp skin. Her free hand moved down to my pussy, and her fingers settled on my clitoris, making precise circles around the swollen hood while the vibrator continued sliding in and out. I had my second orgasm before she changed sides, soaking her fingers and wrist. She brought them to her mouth without taking her eyes off me and sucked them clean one by one.

“Tasty,” she said. “I knew you’d taste good.”

***

I changed positions: I got on all fours, with my elbows on the floor, my ass high in the air and the vibrator still working inside me. The angle changed everything. The silicone head was now striking a different, deeper spot, and every thrust sent a jolt up my spine. I closed my eyes and focused only on that sensation, on the hot wave building again deep in my belly.

Camila was no longer beside me.

I heard her talking to someone on the other side of the boxes. A male voice, then another, then a female one. Laughter, murmured comments, the sound of someone leafing through a catalog. Customers.

I stayed still with the vibrator buried to its base, vibrating, throbbing inside me like a second pulse.

No one can see me. The box is there. They can’t see me.

But the mere fact that they might see me, that the possibility existed even if it was remote, was enough to ignite something in me in a completely different way. I began moving the toy again, slowly and silently, gritting my teeth to keep from moaning, listening to the conversation on the other side and feeling my pussy contract around the silicone every time one of them said something.

There were two boys and a girl, looking for products for a get-together. They joked among themselves with the ease of people who had known each other for years. Camila showed them products, explained the differences between models, and the conversation was completely ordinary for the setting.

And there I was, three meters away, on all fours, my bare ass in the air and a switched-on vibrator buried to the hilt in my soaked pussy.

I lowered one hand to my clitoris and began rubbing myself while continuing to move the toy with the other. The combination was brutal. I felt a low moan escape me and bit my arm to smother it.

I don’t know whether it was an involuntary movement or whether, on some level, I decided to do it without admitting it to myself. The box shifted. Not much, just a few centimeters, but enough.

The silence on the other side was instantaneous.

I looked up. All three of them were staring at me. The girl gripped the arm of the boy beside her, her mouth hanging open. The two boys said nothing, but one of them reached down and squeezed the bulge through his pants. Camila, standing behind them, wore a smile that wasn’t one of surprise.

I stayed exactly as I was.

I didn’t cover myself. I didn’t close my legs. I didn’t remove the vibrator. On the contrary: I pushed it in slowly, all the way, and drew it out just as slowly, letting them see it slide in and out, glistening with my juices, letting them see how my pussy clung to the silicone with every movement. My body continued responding as if nothing had changed outside, because nothing had changed where it mattered.

“It’s a demonstration,” Camila said with disconcerting calm. “If you want, you can come closer, just to watch. No touching. Unless she says otherwise.”

The girl was the only one who moved.

She knelt in front of me slowly, as if assessing the situation before committing to it. Then she extended a hand and squeezed one of my nipples with exactly the right pressure. She said nothing. She moved closer, lowered her face, and sucked it, tugging with her lips and biting it lightly. Her other hand slid underneath me to my clitoris, and she began rubbing it in small, quick circles that synchronized with the vibrator. I didn’t say anything either, but a hoarse growl escaped from deep in my throat.

Behind her, the two boys had opened their pants and pulled out their dicks. Both were hard, pointing toward the ceiling, and they gripped them with their right hands, stroking slowly. One was thicker, flushed, with pronounced veins; the other was longer and thinner, its glans already shining with pre-cum. They didn’t take their eyes off me.

Camila came over from the side, slipped an arm around the girl’s shoulders, and kissed her neck. Her other hand had been behind her back, and when she brought it out, she was holding another vibrator: larger, much thicker, made of almost-black dark silicone, with ridges running along the entire shaft.

She looked at me.

“Yeah? Can you take a bigger one?”

I nodded.

She pulled mine out of my pussy with a wet sound, brought it to her mouth, and sucked it clean while looking at me. Then she set it on the floor. She coated the new one with a thick layer of glistening lubricant, even though I was already dripping down my thighs, and pressed it against my entrance.

She pushed.

The stretch was a fine line between pain and pleasure that made me open my mouth without making a sound. I felt each ridge of the toy forcing its way in, felt my pussy yield millimeter by millimeter, felt the air escape me in a long gasp I no longer tried to hold back. When it was fully inside, Camila left it there for a second, motionless, so my body could adjust. Then she began fucking me with it, using long, firm thrusts, while the girl continued sucking my nipple and rubbing my clitoris with two fingers.

What followed was different from everything before—not more or less, but different: the size changed the angle, the pressure, the way my body processed every movement. Each thrust tore a new moan from me; every ridge of the vibrator scraped against my G-spot as if it had been designed for that purpose. I lost track of everything else. The ceiling, the boxes, the background music, the boys standing there masturbating in front of me. Everything became distant noise.

“Come,” Camila murmured against my ear. “Come on, come—soak us all.”

The orgasm I had wasn’t like the earlier ones. It began in the center of my body and spread in waves that wouldn’t end. My legs trembled uncontrollably. I felt a hot gush escape around the toy and splash onto the floor, Camila’s hand, and the girl’s thighs as she remained latched onto my nipple. I screamed, no longer caring who heard me.

The boys stepped forward almost at the same time, their dicks in their hands, and came all over me without my actively doing anything. The thicker one came first, a thick jet landing on my tits and neck. The other followed a few seconds later, aiming lower, splattering my belly and thighs and mixing with my own fluids, which were still dripping. I felt the warm semen run down my skin, trickle to my pubic mound, and that strange heat of being covered by two men I didn’t know was the last thing I registered clearly. That passivity was part of it all too.

After that, nothing.

***

When I came to, I was covered with a soft cloth, the floor around me clean and the shop silent. Only Camila was there, sitting on a nearby crate and arranging products with a composure that was bewildering after everything that had happened.

“Ten minutes,” she said when she saw me open my eyes. “No more.”

I dressed without speaking, still somewhat disoriented, feeling my pussy swollen and throbbing beneath my jeans, my skin sticky wherever the cloth hadn’t reached. The vibrator was on a nearby shelf, bagged and sealed as if it were new.

As I was about to leave, Camila came over and placed a folded piece of paper in my hand. An address and a time written in neat handwriting.

“That was more than expected,” she said. “There’s a gathering on Saturday. I think you’ll want to be there.”

I went out into the street with the midday sun beating against my face and the paper clenched in my fist.

I still don’t know whether I’ll go.