Tell Me What You Want

by Megan Maxwell

  I’m so excited, I can’t stop looking. All the while, Andrés is biting my nipples. Frida is enjoying what she’s doing, licking Eric’s penis as if it were an ice-cream cone. She takes it completely in her mouth and begins to play with his testicles. I watch, and the heat in me intensifies. I shift a little to make Andrés’s task easier; I offer him my breasts so he can enjoy the banquet.

  Eric’s body shakes, and I pant.

  “Let’s go to the bed,” he says.

  The four of us make our way over. Eric takes off his bathing suit, and his lubricious penis is hard and aching to play. Andrés places himself in front of his wife. Eric finally puts himself in front of me. Frida deposits a white, square box between the two of us.

  “What would you like to play?”

  There’s a knot in my throat. I don’t know what to say.

  “Something easy,” says Eric.

  Frida and Andrés nod. She peers inside the box and brings out two vibrators like the one Eric gave me.

  “They’re clean, love. Hygiene above all.”

  I nod and take one.

  Eric bends my legs and opens my knees. My sex is hot, wet, and throbbing.

  “Masturbate for me, love,” Eric says to me.

  “And you for me, Frida,” Andrés pleads.

  I automatically splay my legs wide open next to Frida and in front of Eric and Andrés. I place the vibrator at my wet slit and turn it on. The vibration, the wetness, and my excitement demand more, so I jack it up. I’m burning. I’m hot and feel like I’m going to explode.

  Sitting between my legs, Eric watches and puts on a condom. I can read the need in his face; he wants me to come for him. I turn up the vibrator’s intensity, and its charge makes me arch my back and cry out. A loud gasp by my side reminds me Frida is in the same situation, and that turns me on even more, especially when Andrés removes the vibrator and penetrates her. Her panting turns into screams, and that urges me on. To have two people beside me making love is totally new to me, and I can’t stop looking until they come and their screaming turns to whimpers.

  Eric can’t take his eyes off me. He’s as out of his mind as I am.

  “Andrés, offer Jude to me,” he says, surprising me.

  Suddenly, I feel when Andrés gets up and sits on the edge of the bed.

  “Come here,” he says. “Sit on me.”

  Without really understanding what he means, I get up and go to sit facing him. But he turns me around, in Eric’s direction.

  “Lean on me,” he whispers in my ear. “Put your feet on the bed and open your legs. I’ll hold your thighs so Eric can enter you.”

  Completely turned on by the moment, I do what he says. I feel his penis on my butt as he opens my thighs. Eric comes up between my legs, and he grabs my ass. He slowly nudges his hard penis into me while Andrés holds down my legs and opens me up for him. After Eric pushes into me, I whimper and Eric is quiet.

  “This is what it means to offer yourself to somebody,” he says. “Do you like the feeling?”

  “Yes . . . yes . . .”

  “This is how I’ll offer you to other men,” he whispers as he continues fucking me. “I’ll open your thighs to give them access to you whenever I want. What do you think?”

  “Yes . . . yes . . . ,” I say, panting madly.

  He devours my mouth.

  “Later, perhaps Eric will offer you, and it will be Frida or me who fucks you,” says Andrés.

  His words incite me even more as I feel Eric’s penis, hard as a rock, inside me. Eric moves his hips and I gasp. He fills me completely and then starts to move back and forth.

  “Do you like it, Judith?” asks Andrés.

  “Yes . . . oh . . . my God.”

  What I’m feeling in this moment is so deep and marvelous. Eric continues while Andrés goes on making an offering of me. Frida watches while she masturbates with a vibrator. I bite my lips.

  “Come on, baby . . . ,” says Eric suddenly. “Tell me how you want me to fuck you.”

  When he sees that I don’t have a response, Eric slaps me on the ass and pushes more of himself inside me.

  I stammer, “Fast . . . hard.”

  “Like this, sweetness?” He accelerates and probes even deeper.

  “Yes . . . yes . . .”

  He moves his hips like a piston, and I scream. The intensity of his moves increases second by second, penetration by penetration, as does my pleasure. The heat makes me moan. Eric turns his hips and launches himself into me one last time, and we both come.

  After that initial round, there are two more, which I enjoy like a madwoman. I can’t help but see how much Eric loves to offer and fuck me. He has made me see a new world, and all I want to do is enjoy it.

  That night, finally alone in our room, Eric holds me. My legs are still shaking, and I can’t stop thinking about what happened. I also remember that Fernando said he loves me exclusively but Eric doesn’t. That bothers me. But all kinds of images from today are running through my mind, and my sex shudders. Suddenly, I feel Eric’s mouth on my forehead; he’s giving me little kisses that feel wonderful. Eric is sweet and possessive, and I like that. He has utterly charmed me. We haven’t talked about what happened. It isn’t necessary. Our eyes speak for us, and there is no need for questions or explanations. Everything we did was an indulgence, and we loved everything we did. Finally exhausted, I fall asleep in his arms.

  40

  The next morning, I’m alone again when I wake up. Quickly, images from the previous night play like a slide show in my mind, and I flush. I’m also undeniably aroused.

  Eric’s world is seducing me, and I like it more and more each time. Suddenly, the door pops open. It’s Eric with a breakfast tray.

  “Good morning, little girl.”

  That greeting, which is so my father, makes me smile. I sit up. Eric puts down the tray, gives me a sweet peck, and sits by my side.

  “I’ve brought you orange juice, cold cuts, toast, plum cake, and two cafés con leche. How’s that for a good breakfast?”

  “The best,” I say.

  For about ten minutes, we eat and laugh, and when we finish off the tray, he puts it on the floor and sits back down next to me. He is incredibly handsome in a white T-shirt and camo shorts.

  “How are you doing?” he asks as he takes my face in his hands.

  “Fine. Why do you ask?”

  His brow arches.

  “If you’re checking in because of yesterday, relax, I’m good. I had a good time, and I did it because I wanted to.”

  Eric nods. I can see from his expression that he needed to hear that.

  “I loved experiencing that with you. It was incredible,” he says.

  “For me, it was strange. Different. But also curious. And I saw how much you liked it when Andrés and Frida touched me.”

  “Mmm . . . I get off watching your face, sweet thing! I love how you open your mouth and then twist and arch . . . Drives me loco.”

  We both laugh.

  “Listen, about the party tonight . . . if you don’t want to go . . .”

  “Oh, I want to go.”

  “Sure?”

  “Totally.”

  My decision seems to have caught him off guard.

  “You don’t want to go?”

  “No, it’s not that . . .”

  “Is there another woman I should worry about?”

  Eric laughs. “Not a one. I’ve just played with them and . . .”

  “Have you played with a lot of them?”

  “Yes.”

  That’s unsettling.

  “Played a lot? A lot a lot?”

  “A lot a lot. I’ve known some of these women about ten years, sweetness. But you have nothing to worry about. I, on the other hand, have much to worry about. You’ll be new, and I’m sure a lot of men will be watching you and hoping you’ll choose them.”

  “You think?”

  Eric nods, and his eyes darken. He suddenly seems wary, and that alarms
me. Is he jealous?

  “Yes, I think so. But don’t forget, love, that . . .”

  “We’ll only do it with who I want to do it. Or am I wrong about that?”

  “No,” he says as he pushes a lock of hair away from my face.

  I swallow some of my coffee.

  “Are you going to offer me to another man?”

  My question surprises him again. As usual, he thinks about it and finally responds with his own question. “Would you like me to?”

  “Yes . . . I was excited to feel I belonged to you. It really turned me on last night.”

  He laughs aloud and gives me a kiss on the lips.

  “Miss Flores, are you talking about having a master? Didn’t you say you didn’t like S and M?”

  “I don’t,” I stress. “But I like feeling like I belong to you.”

  Eric nods. “I won’t forget that when I offer you tonight,” he says, his eyes drilling into me.

  It’s clear he’s only going to do what I want. I lie back down on the bed and beckon him with my finger.

  “You’re the expert. I’m in your hands.”

  Eric grins and kisses me again.

  “Love . . . you surprise me more each day.”

  “I like it when you call me ‘love.’ Have you noticed the way you affect me when you use such sweet words?”

  “You’re starting to scare me.”

  That makes me laugh.

  “I scare you?”

  Eric starts tickling me.

  “Yes, Miss Flores . . . I think you’re going to be dangerous.”

  After dinner, Frida and Andrés go to bed to get some rest. Eric suggests we do the same, but I’d rather read for a while in the shade. Eric accompanies me, and we lie in the comfy hammocks near the pool, sharing music on my iPod while we read.

  But the truth is, I hardly read. And though I enjoy Eric’s company, my mind can’t help but go over all the things that might happen later. Having him here by my side, calm and relaxed as he reads the paper, is sublime. Suddenly, a song comes on my iPod, and Eric starts to sing along. I’m utterly floored.

  He’s singing along to Malú’s “Black and White.” He knows all the words!

  Stunned, I don’t dare move a muscle. I go on pretending I’m reading my book. Listening to Eric sing that song—which always reminds me of him—gives me goose bumps. When the song ends, I realize he’s just looking at me.

  “I still remember the day I first heard you sing that.”

  “Yes, and you were so sweet—you told me how terrible my singing was, remember? So, how is it that you know that song? That day, you asked me for the name of the song and the singer.”

  “I looked it up.”

  “Why would you do that?”

  “Because listening to that song reminds me of you.”

  I’m speechless. Eric keeps reading, and I keep pretending to be reading. I’m pretty emotional because, without words, sweet or otherwise, he’s told me, “I love you.”

  41

  At eight in the evening, Frida and I decide to get ready. The guys do too. We dress separately so we can surprise one another, and I like that. Frida offers to do my makeup. I don’t wear makeup very often, so I let her. When I open my eyes and look in the mirror, I’m absolutely flabbergasted. That woman there, the one with those amazing eyes, is me?

  Frida laughs, and we continue getting ready. For the occasion, she has bought a red dress with a deep neckline and lots of fringes. Mine has silver sequins, and it’s loose from my shoulders to my hips. Both dresses go to about the knees and are very sexy and suggestive. We’re wearing skyscraper heels, very long necklaces, feathers in our hair, and, as a finishing touch, gloves that go up past our elbows. We check ourselves in the mirror.

  “Oh . . . we look like real flappers!” says Frida, laughing.

  Once ready, we grab the two long cigarette holders we bought and go to meet the guys, who are waiting for us.

  “You look sensational,” says Eric.

  “You like it?”

  “I love it, so much that I don’t think I’m going to let you leave the house.”

  I laugh and walk a few steps, shaking my hips to show off the dress.

  Eric laughs too and takes me by the waist as we follow Frida and Andrés to their car. “We’re going to have a really good time.”

  At nine thirty, we arrive at a majestic mansion decorated in Roaring Twenties style. I’m enchanted. As I look around, I’m a little surprised to see a live band playing at the far end of an enormous room. The musicians are dressed in white, just like in the gangster movies I used to watch when I was little.

  Eric introduces me to the hosts, and they compliment me on my dress. I smile. Andrés and Frida greet them as well. As we enter the room, there’s spirited conversation, and I notice everybody knows Eric. He introduces me to the other partygoers, but I can’t help being taken aback. It’s really shocking that this is a sex party. There are people here of all ages. Young and old.

  When the introductions are over, Eric and I listen to the music for a while. It turns out Frida is an expert on the Roaring Twenties, and she tells me which number is a boogie-woogie, a fox-trot, or a Charleston. It’s all new to me. I’m more of a rock girl. After we’ve had a few drinks, I learn that Frida helped Maggie, one of the hosts, organize the party. As the night continues, I become more aware of how men come up to us and eat me up with their looks. I know what they’re thinking, but I’m cool. Nobody, absolutely nobody, says anything that makes me uncomfortable. Everyone here is very well mannered.

  After a few more drinks, I go to the bathroom with Frida. There are two empty stalls, and we each claim one. Then we hear the bathroom door open, and several other women come in. There’s a lot of chatter, but when I hear Eric’s name, I’m on alert.

  “Isn’t it wonderful to see Eric again!”

  “Oh yes . . . I’m so glad to see him here. He’s so handsome.”

  “How long has it been since he’s been to one of our parties?”

  “Two years.”

  “He’s looking really good. As attractive and sexy as ever.”

  “Yes . . . He seems to have recovered. Poor man.”

  Recovered? What happened to Eric?

  I’m certain I want to know more, but then I hear Frida.

  “Girls, you’re looking marvelous! Where did you get those dresses?”

  They immediately switch subjects and focus on shopping. When I leave the stall, I join them. Frida introduces me, and they’re all very charming.

  As I’m leaving the bathroom, one of the women, Marisa de la Rosa, sidles up to me. “You came with Eric, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “Where are you from?”

  “Madrid.”

  “Oh, I love Madrid! My husband and I are from Huelva, but we go to Madrid quite often. We have a little place there, on Princesa Street.”

  That surprises me.

  “I live over on Serrano Joven.”

  “There’s a gym on that street, right?”

  “The Holiday Gym?”

  She assents.

  “I go to that gym.”

  “What a small world,” Marisa says. “Our apartment is very close, and that’s the gym Mario and I go to when we’re in Madrid.”

  “Then surely we’ll see each other around.”

  “Of course.”

  We talk about a thousand things while I keep an eye on Eric, who is speaking to a man and a woman at the other end of the room. He seems to be having a good time. Marisa is delightful. She jumps from topic to topic and introduces me to several other women. When we’re left alone again, she picks up two glasses of champagne from a nearby table and offers one to me.

  “Would you like to have a good time with me next door, in the other room?” I turn three different shades of red. When she notices, Marisa smiles. “If you change your mind, let me know, all right?”

  She winks at me as she walks away, and I move toward Eric. When he sees me, he
gives me a kiss on the lips and continues his conversation with the couple he’s been talking to.

  There’s a hosted buffet, and the guests soon begin to enjoy the tasty feast. I feel men’s eyes on me, but also those of many women. And when I see how many women are looking at Eric, I get irritated. My possessive instincts are sharp tonight. Finally, Eric notices what’s happening, and he calms me by reminding me where we are. Still, women keep coming near us, drinking him in, and the ferocious feline in me keeps trying to break out of her cage.

  Eric excuses himself, takes me by the arm, and walks us over to a window. Once we’re alone, he kisses me on the mouth.

  “The rash on your neck is giving you away. What’s going on?”

  “Nothing.”

  Without realizing it, I go to scratch, but Eric grabs my arm and blows on my neck.

  “No. If you scratch, it will get worse.”

  That makes me smile. I remember what I heard in the bathroom, and I’m about to ask him about it, when he gets ahead of me.

  “Listen, hon, these people and I have known one another for many years. Relax.”

  When I look over at the women, I feel like they’re watching us. Just then, Eric’s cell buzzes, and once more, I see the name Betta on the screen. It is now the umpteenth time I’ve seen the same name.

  “Who is Betta?”

  Eric puts the phone away.

  “Someone from my past. Nothing important.”

  I take a swallow from my glass. I want to ask about this woman, but instead, I change the subject.

  “When I was in the bathroom, I heard some women talking about you.”

  “Oh yeah? I hope they were saying good and exciting things,” he says playfully.

  He makes a sly face, and I open my eyes wide.

  “Dickhead.”

  “Baby . . . those are women from years ago,” he whispers as he caresses my back.

  “They were saying something about you looking like you’ve recovered.”

  He tenses up. His hand on my back comes to a stop.

  “I’m not especially interested in the gossip in women’s bathrooms.”

  “Me neither, smart ass,” I say. “But when I heard that, I thought maybe . . .”

  Eric cuts me off with a brusque move that betrays his discomfort.