The Voyeuristic Bet That Got Me into Their Group

Ending that stage of my life should have made me feel free, but all I felt was the same old emptiness. While everyone else talked about plans, trips, and parties, I quietly gathered my things, pretending I didn’t care that I hadn’t been included in anything. I had learned to move among people like a ghost: without provoking outright rejection, but without leaving a mark on anyone.

I tried to get closer to some girls I had shared years of routine with. I smiled, made a silly comment about the end of the school year, and they barely gave me a curt reply before going back to talking among themselves. It wasn’t even a spectacular humiliation; it was worse, it was that polite way of erasing me.

I kept putting away my notes while listening to what they were saying. Almost all of them were going to spend part of the summer in the same coastal town, meeting every afternoon on the same beach and every night in the same bars. Hearing it made me go rigid inside. I knew that place because one of my aunts lived there.

It wasn’t just that I wanted to go. It was a clumsy, desperate obsession: just once, I needed to feel that I was inside the group, that they talked to me, that they looked at me for something. I no longer dreamed of making them like me or of being popular with them. It was enough for me to exist for them.

When I got home, I found a note telling me to call my mother. She told me, almost without taking a breath, that she and my father were going away for several weeks, that they had left me money, and that surely I would have plans with my friends. She said that last word with a strange pause, like someone carrying out a formality without wanting to check whether she was lying.

—Of course. Don’t worry —I replied.

I hung up and stared at the wall. My parents had never hit me or made me go hungry, but I had been excess baggage to them for years. I was convenient as long as I didn’t take up space or ask for affection.

Then I thought of my aunt. I didn’t see her often, but I remembered the way she spoke, her boldness, her habit of saying the things that embarrassed other people. I called her without thinking too much and, to my surprise, she told me to come whenever I wanted.

She welcomed me with a strong hug and a broad smile. There was something insolent about her: a physical confidence that filled the house before her voice did. Her name was Mara, she was around forty, and she seemed to enjoy every look she drew. She wasn’t merely beautiful; she was a woman who knew perfectly well what effect she had and didn’t pretend to be modest.

We sat down to drink something cold and, without quite knowing why, I told her everything. I told her about my invisibility, about the anxiety I felt watching other people socialize so easily, about how badly I wanted to belong to the group that had ignored me for years. She listened to me without interrupting, with an attentiveness I wasn’t used to.

—And would you do anything to get in? —she asked me at last.

—Yes —I answered without hesitation—. Anything.

Mara held my gaze for a long moment. Then she set down her glass and leaned back in the armchair, thoughtful.

—People like them always want one thing —she said—. Someone beneath them. A girl they can laugh at, put to the test, someone who won’t ruin their fun with pride.

I felt a stab in my stomach. I knew what she was implying, and even so I wanted to hear the whole thing.

—If you become that girl, they’ll let you stay close —she continued—. Not as an equal. Not at first. But they’ll open the door. In exchange, you’ll have to put up with looks, jokes, orders, and humiliation. And if you hesitate at the worst moment, they’ll throw you back out again.

I swallowed.

—I’ll do it.

—Don’t play with that, Vega. They can make you feel very small.

—I already feel small —I told her—. If they at least look at me, I’d rather have that than keep being nobody.

Mara didn’t comfort me. She merely smiled, as if she had expected that answer, and stood up.

—Then we’re going to do it properly. If you’re going in through the door of humiliation, go in without trembling.

***

The next morning she took me shopping and chose everything for me. A tiny bikini that left me exposed in a way I never would have allowed myself to be on my own. While I looked at myself in the fitting-room mirror, she gave me simple instructions: smile, don’t get angry, accept the jokes, answer obediently, and above all, seem available for whatever social game they wanted to set up.

—You’re not going to beg —she said—. That’s pathetic. You’re going to look delighted to take part, even when they’re laughing at you. That combination drives them crazy.

I nodded, feeling my heart in my throat.

We reached the beach shortly after noon. I recognized the group immediately. It was them, scattered across towels, coolers, and parasols, taking up more space than they had any right to, as always. My breathing sped up so much that I had trouble continuing to walk.

Mara set our things down nearby and removed the light dress she had been wearing over her bikini. Several heads turned at once. I did the same with clumsy movements and felt the weight of their stares boring into my breasts, my hips, the little fabric covering me. I wanted to fold my arms across myself, but I didn’t.

We approached a group of girls I recognized immediately. We talked for a minute, then two. A couple of well-aimed comments from my aunt and a couple of ridiculous answers from me were enough to get the laughter started. They weren’t cruel guffaws yet, but that playful tone of superiority with which someone assesses whether the other person is suitable for having fun with.

—Are you seriously dressed like that? —one of them asked, openly staring at my bikini.

—Yes —I said with a smile—. My aunt says I have to get used to having everything show.

The laughter grew. They weren’t ignoring me. That alone was enough to send a strange heat rising between my thighs.

Mara steered the conversation toward an absurd volleyball bet. I understood immediately that she had planned it. They understood too, but only the part that suited them: two women willing to make fools of themselves in front of everyone for nothing in return.

We lost, of course. We lost spectacularly, crashing into each other, tripping, hitting the ball badly. Every mistake fed the shouts of those who had come over to watch. I laughed with my best agreeable idiot’s expression, although inside I was trembling.

When it was over, Mara looked at me for a second. It was a silent order. We approached the winners and fulfilled the bet. We handed over the tops of our bikinis and remained bare-breasted in front of the entire group.

The noise that caused went through my body. Whistles, shouts, applause, phones being raised. The sun beat directly down on my nipples and the salty air hardened them. I wanted to cover myself instinctively, but I forced myself to lower my arms.

—Look at her, now she really isn’t hiding —a boy said with a laugh.

—If you want pictures, I don’t mind —I said before thinking it through.

That was what finally got me inside. They surrounded me with an almost childlike delight, as if I had suddenly found the exact role I was supposed to play. They made me pose, smile, turn around, bend over a little, stick out my chest. Every click of a phone was a mixture of shame and relief. At last they were paying attention to me.

Several hours later, when the beach had emptied out a little, I went back with Mara. We were still half-naked, both of us tanned by the sun and watched sidelong by anyone who passed nearby. She asked me whether I regretted it.

—No —I told her, and it was true—. No one had ever looked at me so much.

I told her about the pictures, the jokes, the comments. I also confessed something else: one of the boys, Damián, had made me nervous from the moment we arrived. Not because he treated me well, but because he was the kind of man everyone followed, self-assured, brazen, and a little cruel.

Mara smiled as if she had just heard exactly what she needed.

—Then we’re going to make sure he invites you to tomorrow’s party.

***

Damián was with two friends near the shore. We approached them still bare-breasted, as if it were already normal for us. All three of them looked us over without bothering to hide it. I felt my cheeks burning, but also a damp tingling between my thighs that embarrassed me more than my nudity.

We talked for a few minutes. Mara asked if we could stay with them for the remaining time before we left, and Damián immediately agreed. I tried not to look at him too much, although every time I did, I discovered that he had been calmly running his eyes over my body for some time.

At one point, Mara managed to draw him a few steps away. I didn’t hear what she said, but I saw his expression change, grow interested, tense. Then he beckoned me over.

—You two get in the water —Damián ordered the other two with a crooked smile—. Take Vega with you and keep her entertained.

I went with them without protesting. As soon as the water reached our waists, they started touching me as if they already knew I wouldn’t move away. One hand on my hip, another on my ass, fingers pressing into my flesh brazenly. I let out a broken breath and one of them laughed.

—Look at her. She likes it.

I did like it. And admitting that to myself made me feel even dirtier and more aroused.

When we returned to shore, Damián was waiting for me with a smile. He told me I was invited to the party. I nearly hopped with happiness. He looked at my bare breasts, then at my face, and added:

—But since you like putting on shows so much, you’ll have to behave.

Mara intervened before I could answer. What followed was another game, another surrender, another boundary crossed. We ended up stripping completely for them for a while, with no bikini, with nothing on. The thrill of being watched by the entire group left me trembling. When I dressed to go home, I was wearing only a long T-shirt and could still feel the dampness between my thighs.

That night I barely slept.

***

The party was at a rented house near the waterfront promenade. Loud music, cheap alcohol, low lights, and too many people moving through rooms that smelled of sweat, perfume, and desire. Mara walked me to the door, ran her fingers through my hair, and kissed my forehead before leaving.

—Don’t forget what you want —she told me—. If you go in, go all the way.

Inside, they greeted me with barely veiled jokes. Someone called me “the beach girl.” Someone else asked whether I planned to show something that night too. I responded with smiles, serving drinks, approaching whoever called me over, allowing myself to be used for small, absurd tasks. The more compliant I appeared, the more natural my presence seemed.

Damián appeared an hour later, already somewhat drunk but with that dominant calm that didn’t depend on alcohol. He wrapped an arm around my waist from behind and pressed his mouth to my ear.

—Come.

I didn’t ask where. I followed him down a hallway to a half-dark room. Two girls and another boy were sitting on the bed, watching as if they were waiting for entertainment. As soon as I entered, I understood there would be no intimacy. The door remained ajar.

—You like being watched, don’t you? —Damián said.

—Yes.

—Say it better.

I swallowed and obeyed.

—Yes, I like being watched.

He held my chin between two fingers. It wasn’t tender.

—Then you’re not going to act shy now.

He kissed me without gentleness, thrusting his tongue into my mouth as if he had already claimed me long ago. I tasted alcohol and mint, felt the weight of his hand squeezing one of my tits, his thumb brushing my nipple until it hardened. I moaned against his mouth and heard a low, excited laugh behind me.

—Look at her —one of the girls said—. She’s dripping just from that.

The sentence struck me like a lash. Damián lowered my face toward his neck and ordered me to kiss him while he slipped his hand beneath my skirt. I wasn’t wearing underwear, at Mara’s suggestion. His fingers found my wet cunt immediately.

—Fuck —he murmured—. You really did come prepared.

He parted my lips with two fingers and began rubbing me slowly, up and down, playing with my clitoris without letting me settle into the rhythm. I clung to his shoulders so I wouldn’t fall. There was nothing elegant about the way I was breathing; I was already panting.

—Spread your legs —he ordered.

I did. He thrust two fingers into me and tore a loud, wet, shameful moan from me. The room filled with the sound of his hand moving in and out of me while he kissed me at times and at others pulled away just to watch my face.

—This is how I wanted to see you since the beach —he said.

The others didn’t leave. On the contrary, they came a little closer. One of the girls brushed my hair away from my face to get a better look at me. I was so aroused I could barely think. All I felt were Damián’s fingers fucking me inside, faster and faster, and the delicious humiliation of being open for him in front of everyone.

—Get on your knees —he finally said.

I obeyed without looking up. I opened his pants and pulled out his cock. It was thick, hot, already fully hard. He tapped it against my lips.

—Let’s see if you’re just as diligent at this too.

I took it into my mouth slowly at first, feeling the pressure against my tongue, the salty taste of his skin, and the weight of the eyes on me. He grabbed my hair and set the pace immediately. He didn’t let me play delicate. He fucked my mouth with short thrusts, deeper and deeper, until my eyes filled with tears and saliva ran down my chin.

—That’s it —a voice behind me said—. Look how obedient she is.

Damián pulled his cock from my mouth so I could breathe and took the opportunity to run his thumb across my wet lip.

—Do you want to keep going?

—Yes.

—What do you want?

My face burned with embarrassment, but I said it.

—I want you to fuck me.

He laughed with an excited contempt that made me squeeze my thighs together.

—That, at least, you can say clearly.

He turned me around and pushed me toward the bed. I ended up bent over, palms pressed against the mattress and skirt hiked up to my waist. I felt his hand part my ass, caress the space between my cheeks for a second, and return to my cunt, where I was still soaked. Then the head of his cock brushed my swollen lips.

—Take a good look at her —he said to the others—, because later she’ll say nobody pays attention to her.

He entered me with a single thrust. I let out a sharp cry and gripped the sheets. He filled me all at once, hard, without giving me time to adjust, and then began fucking me with a brutal rhythm, short at first, deeper afterward. Every impact shook my entire body.

—Fuck, you’re tight —he grunted, burying himself to the hilt.

I could no longer answer in complete sentences. I only moaned, panted, and felt pleasure mixing with shame in a hot mass rising through my belly. One of the girls grabbed my chin and forced me to look at her.

—You like being used in front of everyone, don’t you?

I nodded as best I could.

—Answer.

—Yes —I moaned—. Yes, I like it.

Damián slapped my ass hard. It wasn’t a serious punishment, but it made me moan louder. Then he did it again. And again. Between blows, he kept thrusting into me until I lost my breath.

—Then enjoy it —he murmured beside my ear—. Because they’re all watching you.

I felt fingers on my breasts, someone else’s hand squeezing one nipple, another hand pulling my skirt farther aside. I don’t know when the door opened a little wider or how many people came to watch from outside. I do know that it pushed me closer to orgasm. I hated myself for it and came because of it.

It was a filthy, violent orgasm, my cunt clenching around his cock as I let out broken sounds I couldn’t contain. Damián didn’t stop. He held me by the waist and kept fucking me deeply, taking advantage of every spasm, every tremor.

—Squeeze, fuck, squeeze me like that.

I was half destroyed, but even so I kept moving my hips backward, seeking more. He must have noticed, because he grabbed my hair, pulled my head back, and fucked me even harder, with a wet, obscene sound that filled the room.

—You love it —he said through his teeth—. You’re an exhibitionist slut.

The word went straight through me. I believed it in that instant, and that made me moan even louder.

I felt him tense, thrust once, then twice more, and come inside me with a hoarse grunt. He remained buried to the hilt for a few seconds, breathing heavily, while I felt the heat of his release and my legs continued to tremble.

When he pulled out, a thick thread slid down my thigh. One of the girls saw it and let out an incredulous laugh.

—Look at her, she can’t even move. They’ve left her brainless.

I was still leaning over the bed, open, sweaty, and with my throat raw from moaning so much. Damián lifted my chin so I would look at him.

—Now you belong a little more to the group.

It wasn’t a pretty sentence. It was exactly what I had come looking for.

***

I thought it would end there, but it didn’t. They made me stay a while longer, serving drinks again, my cunt still sensitive and his cum slowly leaking from me. Every step reminded me of what had just happened. More than one person looked at me differently now, not with affection, but with that dirty complicity born after seeing you naked and fucked.

Damián called me again close to dawn, this time out on the terrace, where hardly anyone remained. He pressed me against the wall and slipped his hand between my legs without a word.

—You’re still wet.

—Yes.

—I thought you would have had enough by now.

—No.

He smiled crookedly, surprised and aroused at the same time. He inserted two fingers, then three, and fucked me with his hand while I clenched my teeth to keep from making a sound. Through the glass, people could still be seen inside, blurred by the lights. Anyone could look out.

—That’s your thing, isn’t it? —he whispered—. The possibility that they might discover you.

He lowered the zipper of my dress and pulled out one of my breasts. He tugged my nipple until I gasped. Then he took out his cock again and made me turn around, leaving me bent over the railing.

This time he entered me more slowly, savoring the path, as if he wanted to remind me that he was still in control. I pushed backward almost without meaning to. He laughed.

—Look how eager you are.

He fucked me there, one hand covering my mouth and the other gripping my hip, while the glass reflected our silhouettes. Every thrust made me bump gently against the railing. I heard the music far away, his breathing against my neck, and the wet sound of my body accepting him again.

It didn’t last as long as the first time. We were already too aroused. I came quickly, biting his palm, and he did so seconds later, outside this time, spilling over my ass and lower back with a short moan. The night air cooled my stained skin.

We remained motionless for a few seconds. I had my dress halfway up, breathing like a satisfied idiot. He looked at the mess he had left and ran two fingers over my back to gather some of his semen. Then he showed it to me with half a smile.

—Clean yourself up and go back inside —he said—. Don’t miss anything.

I returned to the bathroom with weak legs. When I saw myself in the mirror, hair disheveled, covered in cum, lips swollen, eyes unfocused, I didn’t recognize the girl who had arrived there obsessed with being accepted. And yet I recognized her more than ever.

They hadn’t made me a queen or an equal. They had given me a specific place: that of the girl who lets herself be watched, touched, and fucked while everyone else decides how much she is worth. It was a mean place, but it was a place.

And the worst part, or perhaps the most honest, was that I had wanted it.