She Knew They’d Be Watching Me That Night

Lucía and I had spent weeks planning that night. It wasn’t the first time she had frequented that kind of place, but it was the first time we’d gone together, and that changed everything. There’s something different about walking into a swinger club with a friend: an accomplice, someone who knows the rules without you having to explain them, someone who understands the silence before you even build it.

We’d met eight months earlier in salsa classes. She asked me where I bought my shoes and I asked her if she was as uninhibited outside the studio as she was inside it. Turns out she was. More, even.

We chose our dresses carefully. Mine was black, tight to the thighs, with a neckline that hinted without revealing too much. Lucía’s was dark green, with thin straps, the kind of dress that makes people forget the name they were introduced to you by. We finished the look with mid-calf boots: class and sensuality in calculated proportions.

The club was called Éclipse. It was out on the outskirts, discreet, with a façade that gave nothing away. Inside, though, it was another world: dim red light, ambient music with a deep bass, and couples spread out along the bar and tables with that practiced calm of people who know what they’re looking for but aren’t in a hurry.

We ordered drinks when we arrived. Something blue, bright, that matched our dresses better than it had any right to. Lucía toasted me without saying anything and I took the first sip while watching the dance floor.

We danced for a while, without overdoing it, without drawing too much attention. In places like that, seduction works backward: the less one goes looking for it, the more one gets. Several couples came over, exchanged a few words with us, and withdrew politely when they understood we weren’t the easy conquest type they were after.

It was around midnight when Lucía touched my arm.

—I’m going upstairs for a bit —she said, discreetly pointing toward the dark wooden staircase leading to the second level—. There are some girls who’ve been staring at me for a while and I think it’s worth investigating.

—Are you taking me? —I asked, though I already knew the answer.

She smiled in that particular way of hers, sidelong, with a gleam in her eyes that wasn’t cruel but wasn’t kind either.

—This place isn’t for you, Camila. Not the upstairs. The downstairs is. Upstairs they’re eating pussy all night and what you want is a cock in your mouth. It shows.

Before I could answer, she was already crossing the floor toward the three women waiting for her by the stairs. The four of them disappeared upstairs without looking back.

I was left holding my drink and with a strange feeling between my legs. It wasn’t abandonment. It was something else. My cunt starting to get wet, maybe. Or raw, hard anticipation.

***

The husbands, or partners, or whatever the escorts of those women were, stayed at the bar. There were four of us now: three men and me. The atmosphere between us was relaxed, without tension, with that ease people have when they’ve spent a long time frequenting the same kind of spaces.

One of them, dark-haired, broad-shouldered, with a smile that came on slowly, introduced himself as Marcos. Textbook name, I thought, but I said nothing. Names in places like that are masks, and everyone knows it.

—First time I’ve seen you around here —he said, resting his elbow on the bar.

—First time I’ve come without brakes —I replied.

That made him laugh for real.

We talked for a while. The other two gradually joined in the conversation, with no pressure, no hunger to prove anything. They were men used to waiting. That, in itself, was already attractive. And while they talked, I looked at the bulges in their pants and thought about which one I was going to suck first, or whether it would be all of them, and in what order.

After the second round of drinks, Marcos asked if I wanted to see the booths in the back.

—They’ve got holes in the walls —he explained—. For the ones who prefer to watch without being seen. Or to be seen without exactly seeing who. To stick a dick through the hole too, if the girl inside is game.

—What if the girl is game for more than one? —I asked.

—Then the girl ends the night with a mouth full of come and a smile that lasts her a week.

I followed him.

***

The booths were at the back of the club, separated from the main area by a short corridor with minimal lighting. Wooden doors without locks, barely ajar. Marcos opened one and the interior light was orange, warm, completely different from the cold red of the rest of the club.

The first thing I noticed were the holes in the walls. Three circles, set at different heights, about eight centimeters in diameter each. The kind of detail that isn’t accidental. The kind of hole a hard cock can fit through without any trouble.

—Who’s on the other side? —I asked.

—Other booths —he said—. Sometimes empty. Sometimes not. Tonight, with how full the club is, I guarantee they won’t be empty for long.

I sat down on the long sofa that took up the whole back wall. It was dark leather, comfortable, with just the right curve for lying back or kneeling, depending on what was needed. Marcos sat beside me, without touching me, with that distance that’s more provocative than contact.

—What’s your name? —he asked.

—Camila —I said—. Like I told you before.

—No, in here. What’s your name in here?

I thought for a second.

—In here names don’t matter. In here I’m the mouth and the cunt you’re going to use. That’s enough.

That was enough for both of us.

***

The first kisses were slow, exploratory, with no fixed outcome. His hands found my waist and stayed there for a few seconds, until they moved up to my tits over the dress and squeezed them with the firmness of someone who wasn’t asking permission. I answered by slipping my hand into his crotch. He was hard, long, throbbing beneath his pants. I squeezed him over the fabric and he let out a short groan against my mouth.

That was when I heard the first sound from the other side of the wall. A soft rustle, a held breath. Someone was looking through one of the holes.

The sensation ran along my back from top to bottom and went straight to my cunt. It wasn’t fear. It was exactly the opposite of fear. It was knowing there was a cock on the other side waiting for the moment to appear.

Marcos noticed it in my body before I processed it in my head.

—People like to watch —he said quietly, almost against my ear—. That’s fine. We can give them something worth seeing. We’re going to make that motherfucker come against the wall without you touching a hair on him.

He helped me out of my dress with the patience of someone in no hurry. He folded it over the arm of the sofa as if it were a gesture of respect. I was left in black panties and my boots; he didn’t question either one. He ripped the panties off me with a sharp tug and let them fall to the floor, and he spread my legs with one hand while with the other he found my already wet cunt. He shoved two fingers in at once, with no preamble, and curled them forward until he found the spot that made my back arch.

—You’re soaked —he said, showing me his shiny fingers before putting them in his mouth—. And I haven’t even touched you yet.

—Then stop talking and fuck me —I shot back.

But he didn’t. Not yet. He got down on his knees in front of the sofa, pulled my hips to the edge, and buried his tongue in my cunt with a hunger that wouldn’t admit protocol. He licked my lips, ran his tongue all the way from bottom to top, paused on my clit and sucked it like it was a nipple, with rhythmic pulls that made me clutch his hair with my fingers. He slid his fingers in again while he kept sucking me, and I felt my first orgasm building fast, incredibly fast, as if my cunt had been waiting since the moment I walked through the club door.

—I’m going to come —I panted.

—Come on my face.

And I came. Hard, with my legs closing around his head, with a cry that they probably heard from the other side of the wall because immediately the first cock appeared through the middle hole: thick, dark, the head shining and the skin taut. Throbbing, waiting.

Someone passed a drink through the upper hole. The same bright blue I’d been drinking all night. I took it, had a slow sip, and poured the rest over Marcos’s chest, where he was standing now in front of me, shirt open and pants around his ankles. His cock was out too, long, curved, with a thick vein running down the side.

I knelt down.

Not out of obligation or calculated seduction, but because at that moment it was exactly what I wanted to do. What was in front of me was real, present, urgent. And I had every skill and every willingness in the world to suck everything put in front of me.

I started with Marcos. I grabbed his cock with both hands and took it into my mouth halfway, pulled off, spat on it, coated it with saliva and took it back in until I felt the tip hitting the back of my throat. He let out a long curse and put a hand on the back of my neck, not to force me, just to accompany me. I sucked him with my mouth open, letting a thread of spit fall over his balls, then licking his balls one by one, going back to the cock and swallowing it whole until my nose touched his pubic hair.

More cocks started appearing through the holes in the walls. Three in total, anonymous, belonging to people whose faces I wouldn’t see that night. One of them, as I would find out later, was the bartender who’d been making our drinks since we arrived.

I took care of them all.

I crawled on my knees from the sofa to the wall and took the first one with my right hand, the one in the middle hole, and took it into my mouth. I sucked it slowly, massaging the invisible balls with two fingers through the hole, feeling the skin of the head stretch against my tongue. On the other side, a muffled moan. Then I moved to the upper hole, where a thinner but longer cock was poking through, and I swallowed it until my throat tightened around it. I spit, lubed it with thick saliva, and took it into my mouth again with eagerness while with my other hand I gave myself a quick clit stroke.

There was something almost artistic about the order, the cadence, the way I alternated without losing rhythm. One in my mouth, two in my hands, jerking them at the same time, switching every few seconds, letting my mouth fill with that salty mix of pre-cum and spit. The sounds coming from the other side of the wall were full of gratitude, of contained amazement, of that sort of praise that doesn’t need words but has them anyway: incredible slut, keep going, don’t stop, suck my cock like that, I’m going to come, open your mouth.

The first one came in the middle hole. He filled my mouth with a hot, thick spurt, and I kept my lips pressed to the opening until I felt him stop throbbing. I swallowed it all, stuck my tongue out to show I was empty, and on the other side someone clapped once, sharp, admiring.

The second one came over my tits, shooting through the lower hole with a force that surprised me, leaving white streaks from my neck to my nipples. The third, the one in the upper hole, told me to open my mouth and gave me the last drop, pressing the tip against my lips so nothing would spill.

Marcos stroked my hair with one hand. Not to direct me, but to be present, so I’d know he was still the center of that booth even though the others were taking part from a distance. He was jerking off slowly with his other hand, watching the show, saving himself for what came next.

When the last one withdrew from the hole, I turned around, braced my hands against the wall, arched my back, and offered my ass to Marcos like someone offering a long-promised gift.

—Fuck me now —I told him—. Hard. Like you hate me.

He didn’t make me repeat it. He grabbed my hips and shoved his cock into me in one single thrust. My cunt made a wet sound as it took him, and I let out a scream that bounced off the booth walls. He started fucking me with long, deep thrusts, pulling his cock almost all the way out and driving it back in to the hilt, with that slow cadence of someone who knows he has all night. Then he sped up. He grabbed my hair, pulled my head back, and started fucking me with just the right amount of violence, the exact kind I’d asked for, the kind that was running down my thighs from pure pleasure.

—Tell me you’re a slut —he growled against my ear.

—I’m a slut —I panted—. Your slut. The slut of everyone who watched.

—Come again.

And I came. With his cock inside me, with his hand squeezing one tit, with his other hand sliding down to my clit and rubbing me in fast circles. I felt my cunt clench around him and he let out a short, satisfied laugh, never stopping his thrusts.

He pulled his cock, shining with my juices, out of me, turned me around, sat me on the edge of the sofa and fucked me again while looking into my eyes. Now I was the one moving my hips, up and down, feeling every vein on his cock rubbing inside me. I bit his lower lip, sucked it, licked his neck while I kept riding him.

—I’m going to come —he warned.

—In my mouth —I said, dropping down immediately and kneeling again.

He came in three long spurts that I aimed with my tongue out, one into my open mouth, another crossing my face from cheek to chin, the third landing on my tits already marked by the strangers. I licked the tip until the last drop, cleaned it with my tongue, and smiled up at him from below with my face wet and my tits covered.

—You’re the most confident woman I’ve ever seen in here —he told me, still breathing hard.

I didn’t answer. But I kept the compliment.

***

When the others were done, the booth fell silent. The holes were still open but empty, or so it seemed. I pulled myself together, adjusted myself, and looked at Marcos, who was watching me from the far end of the sofa with an expression that was hard to classify.

—There’s a small private room twenty meters away —he said.

—I know there is —I replied.

I followed him, with the cum still drying on my tits under the dress, feeling my cunt still throbbing and asking for more.

In the private room there were no holes in the walls. Just a narrow bed, a little lamp on the floor, and the certainty that this part was exclusively for the two of us. He laid me on my back, spread my legs until my boots almost touched his shoulders, and slid his cock back into me, already hard again. He drove it into me slowly, looking at me, with that different concentration that appears when there’s no audience.

He fucked me slow and deep, propped on his elbows, kissing me while he moved inside me. I felt every centimeter going in and out, the friction against the walls of my cunt, the weight of his balls slapping against my ass with every thrust. I wrapped my legs around his waist and pulled him closer. He gave it to me like that for a long while, without hurry, until I felt a different orgasm coming on, deeper, one of those that start in your belly and climb up your spine.

—I’m going to fill you —he murmured.

—Fill me.

He came inside me with one final long thrust, buried to the hilt, and I came with him, feeling his cock throb as it unloaded hot spurts against my cervix. We stayed like that for a few seconds, joined, breathing the same air, until he slowly withdrew and I felt the semen trickle down over my ass to the sheet.

It was brief. It was enough.

***

Lucía was already at the bar when I came out. She was slightly disheveled, with the straps of her dress adjusted in the asymmetry of something freshly corrected, and a red mark on her neck that was turning violet. The other three women were with her, all with drinks in hand, all wearing that expression of quiet satisfaction that needs no comment. One of them had swollen lips from having sucked a cunt for hours; it showed.

They invited me to join them. I ordered the same blue drink, which by then had something ritualistic about it.

—Why didn’t you tell me you were going to stay upstairs and leave me alone? —I asked her when the others walked away for a moment.

Lucía looked at me with that same sidelong smile.

—Because I knew that if I told you, you’d come upstairs out of solidarity. And upstairs wasn’t your place tonight. You needed dicks, not cunts. It was written all over your face from the second we walked in.

—And how did you know what my place was?

—Because I know you —she said, with a simplicity that admitted no reply—. Up there, I’m the one who reigns. Down here, you are too. We both win. Tell me, how many guys fucked you?

—Four —I said—. One face-to-face, three through the holes.

—Divine slut.

—Same as you.

We toasted.

We finished our drinks without asking for phone numbers, without exchanging surnames, without making plans. That night had the perfect structure of something that doesn’t need a continuation. We said goodbye to Marcos and the others with the same cordiality with which we’d greeted them when we arrived.

In the taxi home, Lucía fell asleep against the window before we reached the highway. I watched her for a moment and then looked out, toward the city lights passing by, feeling Marcos’s cum still wetting the panties I’d put back on.

I thought about the holes in the booth. About the anonymous cocks appearing one after another. About the feeling of knowing someone was watching me while I filled my mouth without being able to see him. About the way that had changed something in me, not dramatically but in a quiet, permanent way, like when you learn something you didn’t know you needed to know.

I never went back to Éclipse. Not because the night had been bad, but for exactly the opposite reason: some things lose something when repeated, and that night had been perfect in its uniqueness. I liked keeping it as it was: complete, unrepeatable, mine.

Lucía would understand that. She always understood those things.