What I Saw in Her Bedroom and Should Never Have Confessed

We had been at the nightclub I’d taken Carla to after dinner for half an hour when they finally told us a table had opened up. Until then, we’d been sitting on the bar stools, drinking and watching people dance. There wasn’t much flow between us, perhaps because of the volume of the music and the crowd moving around us, which didn’t exactly help conversation.

We swooped on the table before someone else could take it. I noticed a couple of envious looks, but pretended not to and ordered another round from the bartender, this time without alcohol for Carla, whose eyes were already shining from what she’d drunk. I didn’t trust her tolerance and preferred not to have to carry her home in my arms, with the ensuing scolding from my wife. Carla didn’t complain.

The table was perfect: round and surrounded by a tall, arch-shaped booth, the kind where, if you knew how to position yourselves, you could get a degree of privacy without being seen from outside. It was also far from the dance floor, so we could talk without shouting.

Not long after we sat down, Carla insisted we dance. I resisted, but eventually gave in. At first we danced apart, following some frantic music that urged the more uninhibited dancers to move like puppets with broken strings.

Then the slow music began, and a handsome guy who was half drunk tried to pull her away by the waist. Carla twisted free, and I took her out of his hands with a couple of firm gestures.

We danced for quite a while to songs I hadn’t heard in rooms like that for years. It was the music of my youth, and I liked feeling it beside my sister-in-law. Carla, for her part, pressed herself so tightly against me that I could feel her belly and thighs against mine. Nothing would have happened if the heat of her body hadn’t given me a brutal erection, my cock hard and outlined against my trousers, searching for the space between her thighs. I apologized, but she pretended not to notice and didn’t move an inch. On the contrary, she shifted her hip just slightly and pressed my bulge with her pubic bone, very slowly, a brush that lasted three or four beats and left my cock throbbing. When I looked up, she was watching me with a smile that had nothing innocent about it.

The frantic music soon returned, and we decided to escape it by going back to the table.

When we sat down, I looked at my watch: it was nearly two in the morning. If everything went well, in less than an hour we could leave and go to sleep, which I badly needed after the extra shifts of the previous few weeks.

I was quietly taking in the packed atmosphere when I heard my phone buzz. The music reached the table muffled, making the notification easy to hear.

The message was from my wife, Lucía. We’d been exchanging notes throughout dinner. I’d told her how the night with her sister was going and let her know we were at the nightclub. I was about to read it when Carla excused herself to go to the bathroom. On the way, she checked her own phone, as if she’d just received something too.

—Is Carla nearby? —Lucía wrote.

—No, she just went to the bathroom —I replied.

—I’ve just had an idea.

—You’re scaring me, but go on.

—To get Carla warmed up, you could tell her about that afternoon when you caught her in her bedroom doing… you know… that.

I thought about it for a second and immediately remembered what Lucía meant. It was an embarrassing experience from years ago, and my sister-in-law had been the protagonist. The last thing I would have thought of doing was talking to Carla about that humiliating yet intensely arousing incident. Never. Not even though, at another point, I had fantasized about confessing it to ease my guilt.

When she saw I wasn’t answering, Lucía insisted.

—Don’t tell me you don’t remember… we’ve talked about it a thousand times.

—Of course I remember. But how could I tell her that? I’d die of embarrassment. She’d probably get angry and tell me to get lost.

—Don’t be silly, darling. Give her a couple of shots and you’ll see how she won’t just not get angry, she’ll get horny. Take it from me—when it comes to what women like, I know more than you do.

I turned it over in my mind. Maybe Lucía was right. Telling Carla could be a way of finally exorcising the demons that had accompanied me ever since. Even so, it seemed outrageous. I had kept it to myself for several years before daring to tell my wife, expecting her to look at me like a pig. Instead, Lucía had treated it as a joke and made me repeat it three times, the last while she rode me with my cock buried to the hilt in her pussy, asking me to describe every detail as she came, soaking my shaft.

—I don’t know, let me think about it… Maybe —I typed.

—That’s my boy! Go for it.

—Okay, I’ll tell you later. I have to go—she’s coming back.

—Ugh —Carla complained when she arrived—. There’s a line from hell. I don’t understand why they make rooms so big and bathrooms so small. Anyway, I’m no better off than before; I’ll have to come back later.

—Relax, we can talk while this empties out —I replied, pointing at the clock—. From this hour on, people start leaving to carry on the party somewhere more… intimate. Usually at someone’s place.

Carla’s eyes sparkled for an instant.

—You mean they split up into apartments to… fuck?

The swallow of beer went down the wrong way, and I had to cough so I wouldn’t choke. That word coming from her mouth was the one I least expected. I wondered whether Lucía was right, and whether Carla enjoyed verbal teasing. I had nothing to lose, so I decided to test the waters.

—What about in your city? —I asked with half a smile—. Don’t people go home when they pick someone up? It would be a shame, with how good it feels to be on a proper mattress, with room to fuck the way God intended.

She returned my smile with a mischievous touch.

—Now that you mention it… —she replied without embarrassment—. This must be the best place of all. That would explain why the bathrooms are always packed with women with their hands on their pussies and men with their cocks out.

My smile froze.

—Haven’t you had a little too much to drink, sister-in-law?

—Anyway, I don’t know much about that —she continued, now with a shy expression—. I’ve been with my boyfriend for ages, so I don’t pick anyone up.

There was a silence that she immediately broke.

—But tell me something… —she pressed on suggestively—. When you used to pick women up, where did you take them? Because home, with your wife nearby, doesn’t seem like the best place to stick it in her all the way.

I didn’t know what to say, so I opted for the truth.

—Please, Carla. I’m in my thirties, and I’ve even got a few gray hairs —I said wearily—. Picking women up is something I stopped doing a long time ago. And with Lucía, I don’t need to look outside the house.

Carla smiled slyly.

—Thirty-four, Diego. Don’t act ancient —she retorted—. I’m only ten years younger than you. What I see is an interesting guy, with those gray hairs at your temples that look great on you. If you went to the gym once in a while, you’d even be hot.

I couldn’t help blushing.

—Don’t flatter me. The tequila’s going to your head.

We both laughed at once. Then, after a conspiratorial silence, Carla’s face lit up.

—I’ve got an idea! —she suddenly said.

—What idea?

—Well… you know… —she clarified, lowering her voice—. The… fucking.

Carla didn’t so much as blink when she said the word, but I blushed again. I swallowed and waited for her next sentence. What the hell was she going to suggest? I hid my nerves by taking a sip of beer and noticed that my hand was trembling.

—Why don’t you tell me a dirty story?

***

I remained silent longer than usual, stunned, so she insisted.

—But it can’t be a made-up story or something from a porn film —she said, resting her face in her hands and leaning toward me—. That would be cheating. It has to be something that happened to you.

I swallowed. I calculated the odds of Carla asking me for a “dirty” story just minutes after Lucía had suggested I tell her precisely that one.

—I can’t think of any —I said, buying time—. Unless I tell you something from my days with your sister…

—With Lucía? —she made a disgusted face—. Please, Diego, don’t even think about it. I’d die of embarrassment.

—It’s just that…

—Come on, go for it. I bet you fucked someone interesting before you met my sister. You weren’t kids anymore when you got together. I bet you dated lots of women.

The temptation grew uncontrollably. Lucía’s words returned to my head: “when it comes to what women like, I know more than you do.” I took a deep breath and jumped in.

—Well, I’m starting to remember something that happened to me a few years ago —I stopped halfway through the sentence—. Although I don’t know if I should tell you.

Carla bounced on the bench and, taking my hands, leaned even closer.

—Great! Come on, brother-in-law, don’t hold back. Please, please.

I exhaled and looked at her, dazed.

—It’s a horrible story, Carla. I don’t know, I don’t know…

—Why not? —she complained, moving so close that I felt her breath on my face. She had climbed onto her knees on the bench and was looking at me expectantly—. How can a dirty story be so horrible?

I drew breath and, without thinking, let it out.

—Because it has to do with you.

Her smile froze.

—With me?

—Yes —I replied hesitantly—. With you… and me.

She slid backward and sat down again. I thought she was going to say something that would expose me, that perhaps she would stand up and leave. Instead, her smile returned like a ray of sunshine.

—Then don’t you dare keep it to yourself, or I’ll kill you.

***

The bartender passed by, and I ordered two double shots of tequila. There was no turning back, so I might as well loosen my tongue with something strong, just as Lucía had advised. Although in this case, it wouldn’t be only Carla’s tongue.

Two minutes later, after the first drink, I began my story.

—You see, this happened when you were still living in the old apartment, the one downtown. You were at university, in your second or third year, I don’t remember exactly.

—Jesus, Diego —she interrupted—. That was ages ago. I would have been…

—Twenty-one, more or less —I declared, my face burning—. Your sister and I had gone to help your father with some moving paperwork, and we took the opportunity to spend a few days with you.

Carla stared at me, wide-eyed, without batting a lash.

—The thing is, one afternoon we all went our separate ways: Lucía with some friends and me to walk around the city. I came back around seven. It got dark early—it was February. When I let myself in with the keys they’d given me, the house was dark except for a faint glow coming from the end of the hall.

—What a story —she said, hugging herself—. I’m getting goose bumps already.

—Wait until you hear what real goose bumps are —I told her, taking another sip of tequila—. I left my shoes at the entrance and walked barefoot over the carpet toward the light, which turned out to be coming from your room.

—Go on —she murmured, already hooked.

—I heard a kind of muffled moaning and took it for laughter. The door was ajar, not fully closed, and the light that had guided me spilled through the gap. I peered in and at first didn’t see anyone. The noises had stopped.

—Look —Carla interrupted again to show me the goose bumps on her arms.

—I was about to continue toward my room —I went on— when what I saw through that gap rooted me to the spot. From there, I could see the sofa you had opposite the bed perfectly. Remember it?

—Yes, I still have that sofa —she replied—. But please, go on. What did you see that left you like that?

—I saw you, Carla.

—Me? —she smiled—. What a scoop. You saw me in my own bedroom.

—Right. But what you don’t know is what you were doing.

—No way —she sat up and, planting one knee on the bench, brought her face close again—. What was I doing?

—Imagine it —I said slowly, barely looking at her—. You were sticking your fingers into your pussy.

—Fuck, Diego —she covered her face with her hands. Now she was the one blushing to the tips of her ears—. Was I masturbating?

—With your fingers buried to the knuckles —I confirmed, releasing all the air I’d been holding—. Rubbing your clitoris as if your life depended on coming.

—And you were watching? —she gave me a light slap and leaned back—. You sat there staring at my pussy, you pervert?

My heart sank. I was sure this was exactly what would happen. I’d screwed up.

—I’m sorry, I swear. I know I shouldn’t have.

—You’re sorry? —her expression was one of deep reproach—. You’re sorry, you filthy bastard?

I was about to take her by the arm, convinced that her next move would be to run away, when she burst out laughing and couldn’t stop.

—You saw me with my legs spread and just stood there staring… —she laughed—. Please, brother-in-law, you really are an idiot.

—Don’t mess with me, Carla —my heart was racing. Was she pulling my leg?

At last she calmed down.

—So what did you do? —she asked ironically, still smiling—. Did you run away terrified, or did you pull your cock out right there?

After her fit of laughter, my embarrassment had turned into something else. My cock, which had been throbbing since the dance, hardened again against my trousers.

—Look, Carla, I was over thirty and you were barely over twenty —I told her—. What did you expect me to do? Walk into the room like in one of those cheap porn movies and fuck you against the sofa?

—You’re very explicit —she complained half-jokingly, biting her lip.

—Do you know what would have happened if your father or sister had caught me putting it in you? They’d have kicked me out of that house. And rightly so.

—All right, all right —she apologized—. I get it. But let go of my arm, you’re hurting me.

—Besides —I drained the tequila and looked straight at her, more relaxed now— the story doesn’t end there. Do you want me to continue, or is that enough?

Carla resumed her listening posture and urged me to go on.

—Please, keep going. You’ve got me on tenterhooks —she said—. What were you wearing?

—You were lying on the sofa, your head resting on the arm closest to the door, with your back to me. You were wearing a long camisole and white cotton panties, nothing else. You had pulled the camisole up to your waist and your tits were bare, your nipples hard as rocks.

—And could you see…?

—I could see everything. Your whole pussy, with those dark hairs, your lips shining because you were so wet, your swollen clitoris peeking out between your fingers —I said, no longer holding back—. You were caressing yourself with one hand while holding your phone with the other, presumably looking at something. You dropped it almost immediately, and it fell to the floor.

—I don’t know whether to believe you —she suddenly said, her voice slightly hoarse—. Which hand was I touching myself with, my left or my right?

—Your left. Your right was holding the phone.

Carla made a gesture that said “you got it right,” and I asked her to explain.

—Why do you ask? Were you trying to catch me out?

—I’m not left-handed, but when I masturbate I always rub my clitoris with my left hand —she blushed even more and laughed shyly—. I use the fingers of my right hand to put them inside.

—So you see I’m not lying. Though it never occurred to me to think about which hand you were using.

—Go on. How was I doing it?

—You used two fingers to caress your clitoris, very slowly, in circles, running them up and down along your entire slit with a gentleness that didn’t match your increasingly agitated breathing. Every so often you lowered your fingers to the entrance and wet yourself with your own juices, then brought them back up to your clitoris and rubbed it with your soaked fingers.

—How embarrassing —she covered her eyes, though with her fingers spread so she could watch me—. Could you really see that much?

—Perfectly. I could even see your asshole, Carla. It was a beautiful sight, I swear. You, who were always complaining that you didn’t like your body, and me watching you there with your pussy spread wide open, as if you’d been drawn by a good porn artist.

—Keep going. What happened next?

—You dropped the phone and started touching yourself faster, as if you were out of your mind. Your fingers flew over your clitoris. With your other hand, you had slipped beneath your camisole and were squeezing one tit hard, pinching the nipple and twisting it as if you wanted to hurt yourself.

—Yes, yes —she laughed under her breath, her voice increasingly broken—. You have no idea how much that turned me on. Sometimes I’d leave marks on my nipples for the next day.

—Then you started moaning again, very softly. “Yes, yes, like that,” I heard you murmur. You hadn’t realized the door was ajar, so you carried on without the slightest inhibition.

—Don’t assume that —she clarified—. I knew that door sometimes opened on its own. I figured one day it would cause me trouble, though I thought it had never happened… or so I believed.

—I can stop if you want.

—No, go on. What difference does it make now?

—At one point I thought I was intruding, that I’d seen everything and knew how it ended. So I decided to leave as quietly as I’d arrived.

—And you left?

—I couldn’t. When I was about to take my first step, you moved and my attention returned to you. I froze again, my cock hard as a rock inside my trousers.

—What did I do?

I swallowed as I remembered.

—You arched your back, lifted your hips and, with one tug, pulled your panties down to mid-thigh. Then you drove two fingers of your right hand into your pussy, all at once, to the knuckles. There was a squelch, Carla. A wet, obscene squelch, as if your pussy were begging for more.

I saw a bead of sweat run down her temple, and Carla wiped it away with a slap, trying to pretend nothing was happening. She didn’t succeed, and I understood that my story was heating her up by the second.

—And did you see…?

—Your entire pussy, soaked, in close-up. Your fingers going in and out, shining with your juices. Your other hand flying over your clitoris.

Carla ran her tongue over her lips. Tiny beads of sweat glistened on her upper lip.

—And… did you like it?

—More than liking it, I got rock-hard —I confessed, with no filter left—. I had to squeeze my cock through my trousers so I wouldn’t come right there. I couldn’t take my eyes off your open pussy, your fingers sinking in to the hilt, your ass tightening every time you lifted your hips.

Carla drained her tequila in one swallow and looked at me silently, waiting. I didn’t keep her waiting.

—You were reaching the end. You were breathing very fast, and your hips gave little jumps on the sofa, fucking yourself with your fingers. You pushed them in and out faster and faster, and every thrust made a wet little sound that drove me crazy. You bent your legs, and your knees came together and fell apart on their own. Your left hand was a whirlwind over your clitoris, while with your right you drove your fingers in until your palm touched you.

—I suppose I was about to come.

—Exactly. And I could tell. Your thighs tightened, your ass clenched, and a thin white trickle began to spill from your pussy, running all the way to your asshole.

—And then?

—A couple of minutes later, the orgasm shook your whole body, lifting and dropping you on the sofa. You pulled your fingers out of your pussy and rubbed your clitoris with both hands at once, like a madwoman. You raised your knees almost to your face, and I could see everything, Carla—your pussy convulsing, tightening in on itself, expelling liquid. Finally your back arched completely, your chin rose, and you lay still, eyes and lips clenched, for two or three endless seconds. Then you opened your mouth as if you couldn’t breathe and let out a long, high-pitched moan that escaped between your teeth.

—Then your head fell forward, and when the spasms came I could no longer see your face, but I could see your pussy still throbbing, contracting again and again, your thighs trembling. Your legs opened and closed by themselves, and a dark stain spread across the sofa upholstery. Your convulsions seemed endless. I swear I thought, “If only I could put my tongue there right now, if only I could bury it in that pulsing pussy and drink everything that comes out of it.”

—I believe you, I believe you —Carla said in a choked voice, pulling me out of my trance. I had been speaking almost to myself.

When I returned to reality, the scene was unbelievable. Carla’s right hand was hidden beneath the table, presumably between her thighs. With her left, she supported her chin, leaning far forward and blocking my view of the other arm. Given her position on the bench, she must have switched hands to hide herself while rubbing her pussy over her skirt, or perhaps directly beneath it, with her panties pulled aside. Her eyes shone, half-closed, and her lips formed a tense line. I saw her arm moving in small, rhythmic jerks, her shoulders contracting, her lower lip caught between her teeth to keep herself from moaning.

What was happening to her? You didn’t have to be very clever to understand: Carla was a breath away from coming right there, her hand between her legs, in sync with that afternoon years earlier that I had just returned to her. And I, my cock on the verge of bursting through my trousers, imagined how soaked her panties must be, how her fingers would be sinking between the folds of her pussy, how her clitoris must have swollen into a hard little pearl begging for more.

It was only a fleeting glimpse, because she realized I had returned to the present and hurriedly composed herself. She laughed, clapped to signal the end of the story, and excused herself to go to the bathroom, almost running. As she stood, I saw her tug her skirt down and cross her legs for a moment, and I’m sure she walked with them pressed tightly together at every step.

***

She took quite a while to return. This time the bathroom line didn’t deter her. Either she needed more time than usual to do something besides touch up her makeup, or she did. I imagined her locked inside a stall, her skirt pulled up to her waist, her panties around her ankles, two fingers buried deep in her pussy while she covered her mouth with her other hand so nobody would hear her come. I imagined the wet squelching, the spasms, her biting her palm to choke back the moan. My cock throbbed so hard I had to discreetly adjust it to keep it from showing.

When she returned, she was smiling and the tension had vanished from her face. She sat down as if nothing had happened and asked with feigned indifference:

—So what happened in the end?

—Actually… nothing.

She looked at me in confusion.

—Nothing?

—Nothing, I swear. When you finished, my legs finally obeyed me and I left. I didn’t even want to think about you coming out and catching me in the hall with my cock sticking out over my waistband. Besides, some lights came on at the entrance and the house came to life.

Her mischievous smile reappeared.

—And didn’t you need to go to the bathroom to… take care of yourself?

—For the same reason you needed to a little while ago? To stick your fingers in your pussy and come thinking about what I’d just told you?

She burst out laughing and blushed to the roots of her hair.

—And what do you know about why I went? You’re disgusting.

I gave her nose a gentle, conciliatory tap.

—All right, if you want, we’ll call it even —I suggested—. I also spent a couple of minutes in the bathroom, cock in hand and the image of you on that sofa in my head. I came in two strokes, shooting against the bowl until I was empty. It was one of the most brutal wanks of my life.

—Deal —she confirmed, holding out her hand. I shook it, and the grip was sincere and warm—. I’ll only tell you one thing.

—What?

—I hope those two minutes did as much for you as they did for me. I came too, with two fingers inside me, squeezing my clitoris with my thumb, and I had to bite my hand so I wouldn’t scream.

We laughed conspiratorially and decided to call it a night.

***

When I told Lucía about the evening, with both of us already in bed, my wife got as horny as Carla, or more. At least that’s what she told me, and I was able to confirm it shortly afterward. As soon as I finished telling her how her sister had masturbated beneath the table, Lucía’s hand was already squeezing my cock through my underwear, feeling how hard it still was.

—I think it’s been a productive night —she remarked when I finished.

—Do you really think so?

—Yes —she smiled, stroking my cheek—. You’ve broken the ice, which makes it easier for us to continue our game. Besides, you’ve gotten rid of that burden you’ve been carrying since it happened.

—You’re right —I nodded—. I needed to tell her to unburden myself. And at last I’ve done it. I felt so guilty for standing there watching like some common voyeur, cock in hand, watching your sister come…

—Well, it’s done now —she said, sliding her hand down my stomach and slipping it inside my underwear, gripping my cock with her warm palm—. And now… will you give me some attention? The story, and the way you experienced it with Carla, have gotten me incredibly worked up. Look how wet my pussy is.

She guided my free hand between her legs and pressed it against her naked pussy. She was drenched, literally dripping. My fingers slid between her lips without any resistance.

—Of course, sweetheart. I’m no saint either —I replied—. I’m as worked up as you are, or worse. I need to make up for the little night I spent beside your dear sister. I need to fuck you until I wreck your pussy.

I took her mouth and began kissing her desperately, thrusting my tongue down her throat while driving two fingers into her pussy in one stroke. Lucía moaned against my lips and squeezed my cock harder, beginning to pump it up and down. I pulled her nightgown over her head and threw myself at her tits, biting her nipples one after the other as she writhed beneath me and begged.

—Eat me, Diego, eat me like you would my sister —she panted.

I kissed my way down her belly and buried my face between her thighs. Lucía’s pussy smelled like a female in heat, her lips already parted and her clitoris so swollen it protruded. I ran my tongue from bottom to top, very slowly, gathering all her juices, and she jolted, lifting her hips from the mattress. I devoured her hungrily, sucking her clitoris, thrusting my tongue deep inside, circling it with the tip while I inserted two fingers and searched for her inner sweet spot. Lucía grabbed her tits with both hands and began twisting her nipples while she fucked my face with her hips, rising and falling against my mouth.

—Keep going, keep going, don’t stop, fuck —she panted—. Imagine it’s Carla, imagine it’s her pussy you’re eating, that it’s her fingers I’m putting in my mouth, that it’s her coming on your face.

I was overcome by the demons. I folded her legs against her chest and spread her pussy open with my thumbs, exposing her clitoris, and sucked it like a possessed man. Lucía began screaming uncontrollably, bouncing on the bed, and her first orgasm shook her, soaking my chin. I swallowed her juices with my eyes closed, imagining Carla coming in my mouth, and my cock throbbed so violently it hurt against the sheet.

Before she recovered, I climbed over her, grabbed my cock and plunged it into her with one thrust. Lucía threw her head back and arched with a cry. I began fucking her furiously, Carla’s image coming beneath the table lodged in my skull, the headboard banging against the wall with every thrust. I grabbed her legs and placed them over my shoulders so I could drive my cock all the way in, up to her cervix, and Lucía shrieked for more.

—Harder, more, tell me it’s Carla, tell me it’s her you’re fucking —she begged, writhing.

—It’s Carla —I played along, panting—. It’s your sister, darling. I’m shoving my cock down your little sister’s throat. I’m fucking her on your old sofa, the one where she masturbated that afternoon. Now my cock is giving her what her fingers couldn’t.

Lucía came with a howl that must have been heard throughout the building. Her pussy clenched around my cock so tightly it nearly made me come. I turned her over and put her on all fours, ass raised, and pushed into her from behind again. I grabbed her hair and began pounding her with all my strength, my balls slamming against her clitoris as I watched her ass ripple with every blow.

—Put it in her the way you’d put it in me, Diego, please —she pleaded with her face against the pillow—. Ruin my pussy the way you’d ruin hers.

I slipped a finger wet with her own juices into her ass, and she came a second time, screaming obscenities. I held out as long as I could, hammering into her until I couldn’t take it anymore and came inside her with a roar, releasing all the pent-up charge I’d carried since the dance at the nightclub. Wave after wave left me trembling over her, my cock still buried to the hilt and throbbing.

We collapsed in each other’s arms, sweating, semen running down her thighs. Lucía stroked my cheek and smiled.

—You should know —she whispered— that if it ever really happens, you have my blessing to fuck her like that.

***

Dear diary, I have to tell you about something incredible that happened to me with Diego.

As I told you, tonight he and I went out alone for dinner and drinks. My sister made an excuse so flimsy it didn’t fool anyone. But things turned out well, especially because of the story Diego told me.

It turns out that a few years ago, when I was at university, he caught me masturbating in my bedroom. With two fingers buried to the hilt in my pussy and my tits bare, according to the detailed description he gave me. And over that silly thing, he was left half-traumatized, feeling miserable for having stood there watching my open pussy. Poor innocent.

I had to bite my tongue to keep from telling him that what he saw that afternoon was something I did almost every day when I got home from class. Sometimes I fucked myself with the handle of my hairbrush, other times with a dildo I’d hidden in my underwear drawer, and many others simply with my fingers—two, three, four if I could take it. And that very often, while I hammered my clitoris, the person I was thinking about was him. Yes, my sister’s boyfriend, even though he was the last man I could ever hope to have.

If only he knew! If he knew that that very afternoon, while he watched me in amazement from the doorway with his hard cock in his hand—because I’m sure he was jerking off; he didn’t tell me, but I know he was—I was imagining him. I imagined his cock going in and out of me while he sucked my tits and whispered filthy things in my ear. But he’ll never know, dear diary. It will be our secret. Or who knows—maybe I’ll tell him someday, if the time comes.

Orgasms while thinking about Diego were twice as intense as the others. I imagined him coming to rescue me from anywhere, tearing off my clothes, throwing me onto the bed and fucking me until he split me in half. I imagined his cock sinking deep into my pussy, his hands squeezing my ass, his mouth sucking my nipples. I imagined swallowing him down my throat, choking on him, and then receiving his come on my face, my tits, inside my mouth. And I came with his imaginary hands in mine, his imaginary fingers in my pussy, biting my pillow so nobody would hear me.

Tonight, too, while he was telling me about the voyeur, I came beneath the table with two fingers inside my panties. Then, in the nightclub bathroom, with my skirt pulled up and my back against the stall wall, I pushed my fingers in to the knuckles thinking about him, about his face while he watched me come years ago, and I came again, biting my palm so the women in line wouldn’t hear me.

Anyway, memories from that time that have come back stronger than ever. Now I’m going to relive the old days by following the thread of the story he told me tonight. I’m going to get into bed, take the dildo from the drawer, and think about him again while I bury it deep inside me. Good night, dear diary.