Party of Five – Part 1

This story is a continuation, and contains spoilers, of this one: Five

 

The storm roared outside, turning the windows of the airport’s VVIP lounge into black mirrors reflecting five identical faces — but souls that danced to their own rhythm. Camila, Valentina, Sofia, Luna, and Isabela — blue-eyed quintuplets with bodies that defied logic and statistics — had been stuck there for hours, their flight to an exotic destination indefinitely delayed. Mr. Smith, the wealthy man who had brought them together for one explosive night in Buenos Aires, wasn’t there. Called away on business, he’d left the day before, abandoning them alone. Empty champagne flutes lay scattered across the table, and the mix of alcohol and boredom had stripped away their inhibitions.

“Did Mr. Smith really believe that story about us being eighteen and two days old?” Valentina asked, laughing.

“That was John’s excuse to spice up the fetish,” Camila replied. “But we’ll tell Mr. Smith the truth when we meet him in Cancún — we’re 25.”

The VVIP lounge was a sanctuary of luxury: soft leather sofas, nearly empty champagne bottles, the girls’ expensive perfume mingling with the faint scent of ozone from the storm. After hours confined together, the alcohol was flowing freely, and the sisters were electric. Camila, the princess, adjusted the tight dress hugging her curves, laughing loudly, her eyes glowing with the confidence of someone who knows she’s the star. Valentina, the rebel, tossed her leather jacket on the sofa, drumming her fingers with a smile that promised chaos. Sofia, the odd one, curled up in a corner, avoided gazes, nervously playing with her hair, but her eyes held secrets. Luna, the athlete, stretched her legs, her body buzzing like she was ready for competition. And Isabela, the nerd, set her magazine aside, her eyes analytically observing her sisters’ every move.

“How about a game to kill time?” Camila suggested, her voice thick from the champagne. “Truth or dare.”

“No dares,” Valentina interrupted, grinning wickedly. “Let’s play truth or truth. Only the dirtiest stories. No escaping.”

The sisters burst into laughter, even Sofia, hesitant, raised her glass with a slight tremble and a shy blush on her cheeks.

“Rules?” asked Luna, leaning in, a competitive spark in her eyes.

“Tell one filthy story from your past,” Camila said, in a tone that was born to command. “And no lying — or you pay a forfeit.” She winked, and the air heated like a flame had been lit.

Truth #1: Isabela, the Nerd
“I’ll start,” said Isabela, adjusting her imaginary glasses. Her voice was calm, but her eyes sparkled with mischievousness, amplified by the champagne.

“Dare us,” said Sofia, blushing but with a sly twinkle in her eyes. “Tell us how you used your brains to do something dirty.”

Isabela smiled, more relaxed than usual.

“When I was 20, I needed a top grade at university to get a scholarship. My economics professor — Mr. Pedro — a serious man in his fifties, always praised me in class. Said I was one of his best students. I knew I really was. And I knew that behind the compliments and those glances, he wanted something more.

For the semester test, I got a 9 out of 10 — great, but not enough for the scholarship. It was super competitive. I talked to him about it, but he was firm:

‘Isabela,’ he said, ‘nine is an excellent grade. Your exam is a solid 9. I can’t change that.’

I wasn’t giving up. I calculated every move: scheduled a meeting in his office, said I needed help with a project, wore a pencil skirt and a half-buttoned blouse.

‘Isabela, what project do you need help with?’

‘This one, professor,’ I said, handing him my graded test. ‘I know I deserve a 10.’

‘Isabela, come on. We’ve talked about this. Your grade is 9. And it’s a great grade. I won’t change it.’

I “dropped” my pen and bent down slowly. He blushed. I closed the door, sat on his desk, and said I’d do anything for that grade.

‘What are you proposing, Isabela?’

‘Exactly what you’re thinking, professor,’ I said, biting the pen, winking.

I slowly unbuttoned my blouse, staring into his eyes. Handed him the pen. He crossed out the 9 and wrote a bright red 10. Then I undid the rest of the buttons, letting my breasts out. Pedro dove between them, inhaling my jasmine perfume. I slipped off the rest of my clothes. We fucked in his chair, books falling, the scent of paper and coffee in the air, the chair creaking underneath us. I felt his cock pulsing, my tits bouncing against his face and chest.

I smiled, in control, my own heat rising with each of his moans. His orgasm hit hard — hot cum splashing against my skin, the smell of sweat mixing with jasmine. He groaned so loud a janitor might’ve heard. My grade went up, and he never looked at me again without trembling.”

“The nerd has a wicked side!” Camila laughed.

“Strategy always wins,” said Isabela, raising her glass, her eyes calculating her sisters’ reactions.

Truth #2: Valentina, the Rebel
“My turn,” said Valentina, her devilish smile shining through the alcohol buzz.

“Tell us about a time you broke the rules and got away with it,” suggested Isabela, eyes gleaming.

Valentina laughed, leaning forward.

“When I was 23, I was speeding down a deserted road to Bucaramanga. A cop pulled me over, all serious.

‘You were going 160 kilometers an hour and possibly drunk.’

‘Officer, I was just going a little fast. I’m totally fine to drive.’

‘This is serious. You can’t continue. I’m confiscating your vehicle.’

My skirt was short, and I bent down very slowly to grab my documents, knowing full well he wouldn’t look away.

‘Is there no other way?’ I asked, flashing the sisters’ secret weapon.”

The room erupted with laughter. They all knew the “secret weapon” well.

“He led me behind some trees, thinking he was in control. There, with the squad car gleaming under the sun, radio crackling with distant orders, the smell of gasoline and dry dirt in the air, I pushed him against the car’s cold metal, feeling the engine’s warmth under my palms.

He tried to play tough, but his eyes betrayed the lust.

‘Relax, officer,’ I whispered, ‘I’ll show you how we do it on the road.’

I knelt on the rough ground, scraping my knees, unzipped him slowly — the sound slicing through the silence like a challenge. His cock was already hard, throbbing in my hand. I stared up at him, licked my lips, and took him into my mouth. The salty taste mixed with sweat, and I sucked him rhythmically, sometimes slow, sometimes fast, gripping his thighs tight.

He moaned loudly, his voice drowning the radio, yanking my hair like he was in control. But I ran the show, speeding up until he shook, the cold metal against my back, his body heat burning through the air. My body buzzed with adrenaline, arousal growing with the risk — another car could show up any second. The danger turned me on more than him. When he came, a hot jet filled my throat. I swallowed, wiped my mouth, and stood as he panted, legs shaking. He tore up the ticket, opened the door for me, and let me go. I floored it, knowing no one would bother me for miles.”

Luna burst out laughing.

“You’re insane! But I’d have done the same.”

“Rules are for people who don’t know how to improvise,” said Valentina with a shrug.

Truth #3: Camila, the Princess
“My turn,” Camila said, her smile stealing breath, eyes glazed with champagne. “Ask me anything.”

“What’s the dirtiest thing you’ve done to get what you wanted?” Luna challenged, eyes twinkling.

Camila crossed her legs, her dress riding up a little, and began, voice dripping with malice.

“When I was 21, I went to the beach house of my university friend Daniela. Her parents came too. Her father, Miguel — 45, rich, charming — couldn’t take his eyes off me.

We had lunch together, the four of us, when Daniela’s mother, Mrs. Carmen, said:

‘Look, Daniela, how elegant your friend Camila is.’ Trying to compliment me — and maybe criticize her daughter. ‘A real lady. Polite. So nice.’

That pissed me off. I hate being called “nice.” I’m elegant, I’m polite — but “nice”? Never.

‘I’m a good person, Mrs. Carmen,’ I said, hiding my irritation.

‘I meant it — you’re a good girl. Harmless.’

Double insult. Harmless?!”

Valentina and Luna, tipsy and knowing their sister’s pride:

“What did you do?” Luna asked.

“I swallowed my anger… and plotted my revenge.”

“That afternoon, we agreed to go swimming at the hotel pool. I didn’t hold back. Put on my best bikini, made sure everyone was already there. Walked in slowly, letting every eye follow me. I strutted over to Miguel, who was lounging beside his wife, and stood right in front of him. Deliberately turned my back, giving him a full view of my ass. Mrs. Carmen shot him a nasty look. He tried to look away — but I know it was impossible.”

“‘Nice girl,’ huh?” Sofia snorted.

“But that was just the setup,” Camila said. “The real revenge came later.”

“At sunset, Daniela and her mom were getting ready for dinner. Miguel was watching the ocean on the balcony. I wore a floral dress — no panties, no bra. Sat next to him. My presence clearly affected him.

‘I didn’t like your wife calling me “nice” today,’ I told him.

‘She didn’t mean it badly, Camila. She was complimenting your attitude.’

‘Do you think I’m nice too?’

‘No — I mean, you’re a wonderful person…’

‘You’d better not. I’m not nice. Not harmless. I can prove it.’

‘What do you mean?’

I stood, turned around, and lifted my dress, showing off my ass.

‘What the hell, Camila?!’

‘Revenge for me. Pleasure for you. I want you to fuck me — here and now.’

‘Are you insane? My daughter, my wife…’

‘They’re inside getting dressed. Be quick.’

I placed my ass inches from him, looking back with wicked eyes. He hesitated — but only for a second. Then I heard the zipper. Felt him slide into me — hard and deep. The balcony heat burned my skin, the waves below crashing in time with his stifled moans.”

“Weren’t you scared?” Isabela asked.

“I was a little. He was terrified… but that only turned me on more.”

“He fucked me like a starving man, like he hadn’t had pussy in years. Maybe he hadn’t.

‘You’re not nice. You’re a devil. You’ll ruin my marriage.’

I laughed.

‘Fuck harder. Fuck your little “harmless” girl.’

I felt powerful, desired. People could’ve seen us from other balconies — it thrilled me more.

‘Miguel! Miguel!’ Mrs. Carmen’s voice came from inside the house, just meters away.

‘Oh God… I’m going to die!’ he said.

‘Don’t stop! I’m almost there, Mr. Miguel! Fuck me harder!’

The danger made me climax, and I felt his hot cum soaking my pussy. He zipped up and ran inside. I calmly cleaned up, joined them at the dinner table. They were already eating. I stuffed meatballs into my mouth, stared at Miguel — red, sweating, barely holding his fork. Mrs. Carmen didn’t say a word to me the rest of the trip. I think she got the message. Daniela — sweet, clueless — probably the only truly “nice” one at the table, ate in silence, totally unaware.”

The next day, he gave me a diamond necklace. Either to buy my silence… or something more. I never traveled with them again.”

The sisters burst into applause, jaws dropped.

“You’re diabolical, princess!” Valentina laughed.

“I call it talent,” Camila said with a wink.

Their laughter filled the VVIP room, the echo of empty glasses dancing with the thunder outside. Camila tossed her hair back, radiant, and challenged:

“Who’s going to top that?”

Luna stood, athletic body humming with energy, a mischievous smile on her lips.

“Careful, princess — Sofia and I have a story that’ll make even Mr. Smith tremble,” she said, pulling Sofia forward, whose shy eyes hid a burning secret.

The air crackled — and the game was about to level up.

(To be continued…)