“¡Qué mujerón…” he whispers in my ear with his raspy voice.
I feel sick to my stomach, knowing I don’t desire him but only want to be desired by someone other than Peter. I hate my body, and he’s the first man besides Peter who will see me in all my fluffiness.
I press my hands against his hard chest to slow him down, trying to counter this uncharacteristically spontaneous moment. I don’t take chances, especially not when it comes to sex. One of the reasons I can’t let go of Peter is because our sex is toe-curling, gasping, good. He knows every curve and nook and cranny, and I feel comfortable with him—unlike with Domingo, as he unbuttons my pants. He’ll see it all, right here, in broad daylight: my chichos, fupa, C-section scar…
“No sé…” I say, holding back a gasp as Domingo’s fingers enter me.
“¿Qué, no sabes, linda? Está ready…”
Domingo pumps his fingers into me and I close my eyes, imagining it’s Peter. I let go because I need this. Because it feels fucking good. God, he’s good.
“Oh, ah…” I whimper beneath his touch. Two fingers inside me now, pumping steadily, as his thumb massages my nub. My legs begin to tremble. My chest heaves as he keeps working my flower and nibbles my neck.
“Ooh… I’m so close…”
“Así, linda…” Domingo whispers, working me to the bone.
“Oooooooh!” I scream, loud enough for the neighbors to hear.
My pussy throbs and I feel a rush… and then a pounding at the door. I’m still pressed against it and jump forward as I hear him yelling.
“Reina! Is that you?” Peter pounds harder and I push Domingo away, but he wants more.
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“¡Déjalo que sufra!” Domingo wants Peter to hear me cum. To suffer.
The thought is tempting. All the times Peter cheated on me, betrayed me, hurt me…I could hurt him back in a way I never have: by being with someone else. By screaming another man’s name so loud he’ll know exactly how I’ve felt all these years.
I pull Domingo back into my arms and his fingers slip back in. “Vamos. Sigue,” I say.
He smirks and laughs. “¡Qué mala eres!”
Me, a bad girl? I’ve never been, but maybe it’s time I am. Maybe I should just have fun with someone other than Peter. It feels good. Literally. I moan as he keeps pumping and I whimper louder.
“Reina, please don’t do this!” Peter yells, still standing outside Domingo’s door.
“Oh, Domingo… that’s it!” I yell louder, wanting Peter to hear me clearly, to hurt him like he’s hurt me.
Domingo follows suit and starts grunting and moaning as I grab his member and stroke it.
“Ah, I’m coming, oh God!” I yell, my flower’s sap flowing all over Domingo’s fingers. He massages my nub faster and I know I am about to burst—right there, as Peter listens on the other side of the door.
And then I release. I scream so loud the neighbors can hear. So loud Peter pounds the door one more time and yells, “You’ll pay for this.”
I know I will. He will flaunt every woman in front of me and even threaten to stop paying child support, but in that moment, delirious with ecstasy and revenge, I don’t give a damn.
