My Husband Asked a Stranger to Touch Me

After that second time with Marcos, I expected Rodrigo’s fantasy to die down on its own. Men usually get their fill of what they’ve built up in their heads, and reality rarely outdoes imagination. But my husband wasn’t like that. Rodrigo was the type who, instead of calming down, opens himself up to something bigger, more elaborate, as if every thing he got was only the door to the next room.

It had been almost three weeks since I’d seen Marcos when Rodrigo brought up the subject. It was late, the lights already off, when I noticed he wasn’t asleep. His breathing was too regular, too controlled to belong to someone sleeping.

—Are you still in touch with him? —he asked into the dark.

—With who?

—Marcos.

I took a moment to answer.

—Once in a while. Why?

—Because I’ve thought of something. —He paused, as if arranging the words—. I want to meet him. All three of us together, a friends’ get-together, something that seems normal. And during that night, he can touch you. Without me noticing.

I turned toward him in the dark.

—Without you noticing?

—He knows that I know. But we act like I don’t. You let him, he does whatever he wants, and I look the other way. —He paused again—. What do you say?

What he was describing was so specific, so thought through in every detail, that I knew he’d been turning it over for days. And although I tried to keep my expression neutral, something in me began to heat up in a way I didn’t want to admit out loud. I felt my nipples hardening beneath my T-shirt, and I prayed Rodrigo wouldn’t notice in the dark. Under the sheets, without meaning to, I clenched my thighs and felt my cunt was already wet just from hearing the proposal.

It wasn’t a very sincere prayer.

—You’re crazy —I said.

—Probably.

—I can talk to him —I added, because it was true. And because I wanted to.

Rodrigo didn’t answer with words. His hand found mine under the sheet and took it to his fly. He was hard as a rock, pressing against the fabric of his pajamas. I let out a short, rough laugh.

—So that’s what gets you going —I whispered.

—Picture him on top of you while I pretend not to look —he said, his voice hoarse—. Picture his cock going into you while I pour him another drink.

I pulled his pants down just enough to get his cock out and took it into my mouth right there, in the dark, without turning on the light. Rodrigo tangled his fingers in my hair while I sucked him slowly, my tongue flat against the underside, listening to his breathing grow more and more ragged. He came in less than five minutes, with a short, muffled groan, and I swallowed everything without pulling away. Then I climbed on top, still tasting his semen in my mouth, and rubbed myself against his thigh until I came too, biting his shoulder so I wouldn’t wake anyone.

When I finished, I felt him smiling in the dark, and that was enough to keep me awake long after he fell asleep.

***

The next day I texted Marcos from work, between one meeting and another. I explained the plan exactly: Rodrigo wanted to meet him, we were going to arrange a night together, and during that evening Marcos could touch me, do whatever he wanted to me, on the sole condition that my husband pretended not to see it. I made it clear that Rodrigo knew everything. That there was no trick of any kind.

I put the phone away and didn’t look at it again until I got home that afternoon.

There were four messages from Marcos. The last one said: “Really no rules other than that?”

I answered that there weren’t. That if he could keep the game going until the end of the night, I’d be alone with him afterward, and he could fuck me however he wanted.

His reply came in thirty seconds. It wasn’t text. It was a photo, without warning and without context.

I looked at it in the bathroom at home, the door closed. My father-in-law was in the kitchen preparing dinner, oblivious to everything. The photo was exactly what I’d imagined it would be: his cock in his hand, thick, the head swollen and a drop of pre-cum shining on the glans. Below it, written: “This is going to split you open when the time comes.”

I had to brace myself against the edge of the sink and wait for my heart to slow down before I could leave. Without thinking too much, I pulled down my panties and slipped two fingers between my legs, looking at the photo on the screen. I was soaked. I rubbed my clit quickly, my mouth pressed shut so I wouldn’t make a sound, and came in less than a minute, leaning against the sink, with the image of that cock burned into my head. Then I washed my hands, fixed my panties, and breathed slowly.

I fixed my hair in front of the mirror, breathed slowly, and opened the door.

My father-in-law looked up when I came into the kitchen.

—Do you need any help? —I asked, moving closer than necessary to see what was on the stove.

He cleared his throat.

—You can chop the vegetables.

I started cutting while we talked about unimportant things. At one point, reaching for the knife that was on the other side of the counter, I came so close to him that I almost brushed against him. I saw his cheeks color. I kept cutting as if I hadn’t noticed.

Nothing else happened. And it didn’t need to.

***

Marcos replied that he had a commitment that weekend, but the following one was free. One more week of waiting.

Rodrigo took it with less elegance than I expected.

—We could’ve done something this weekend —he said that night, while changing his shirt.

—We can do something anyway —I answered.

He looked at me with an expression somewhere between surprise and uncertainty, as if he expected me to be joking.

—What do you suggest?

—I’m not going to fuck anyone —I clarified—. But I can let myself be looked at. Let myself be touched, up to a point. By someone we don’t know.

In less than two minutes he had a detailed plan. That was Rodrigo when something truly excited him: fast, precise, with that energy of someone who has just found exactly what he was looking for.

***

On Saturday I dressed more carefully than usual. A dark fabric skirt that reached halfway down my thigh, a blouse with just enough of a neckline to draw attention without looking vulgar, my hair loose over my shoulders. Underneath, no panties. Rodrigo was waiting in the living room with the keys in his hand and that smile of his that says he’s been waiting for days for something that’s finally about to arrive.

We went to a city a little over an hour from ours. I wanted distance, discretion, the comfort of not running into anyone I knew.

The shopping mall didn’t work. Too bright, too familiar, too much like an ordinary Tuesday. We drove twice around the perimeter until we found what we were looking for: a side street with smaller shops and bolder window displays. One of them, half hidden behind a beaded curtain, was exactly the place.

The man who helped us was named Javier. In his forties, thin, with the calm courtesy of someone who’s seen worse things than a couple looking for naughty clothes. He didn’t raise an eyebrow when Rodrigo explained, with total ease, that we were looking for something intimate.

—We’ve got several options —said Javier, and disappeared toward the back of the store.

He came back with his arms full. Costumes, lingerie, lace sets. He laid them on the counter while describing them in a low voice. I noticed a pink pleated miniskirt, tiny, almost provocative, and a thin-fabric top that was more promise than garment.

—These —I said—. Can I try them on?

Javier pointed toward the back with a gesture.

The fitting rooms were two spaces separated by a thin curtain. Rodrigo stayed leaning against the wall opposite mine. While I changed, I heard him speaking quietly with Javier. I couldn’t make out what they were saying, and that made me more nervous than I’d expected.

The top was small. My tits filled the fabric until it stretched tight, until it became almost transparent at the points of most pressure. My nipples stood out pale through the material, two dark, hard spots impossible to hide. The miniskirt reached halfway down my thigh, and when I bent to put on the stockings that came with the set, I understood it had been designed so very little was left to the imagination. Without panties, if I bent even a little more, my cunt would be on display.

I looked at myself in the full-length mirror for a second.

Jesus Christ.

—Ready? —Rodrigo called from outside.

I came out.

Javier opened his mouth for an instant before he could compose any neutral expression. That instant was enough for me to know exactly what he was thinking. I felt my nipples hardening on their own from the air and from that look.

—Turn around —said Rodrigo, with the voice of someone enjoying the moment with no hurry at all.

I turned slowly, fully aware of what I was showing from behind. When I turned back, the two of them were still looking at me in exactly the same way.

—What do you think, Javier? Does it suit her?

—Very much —he said, his voice a tone lower than before—. It suits her perfectly.

Rodrigo slid an arm around my waist and positioned me with my back to Javier. He gave my ass a firm slap. I let out a sound I couldn’t control.

—Sorry, baby. There was a mosquito.

It took me a second to follow his game.

—What a mosquito —I said.

—Looks like there’s another on the other side. —Rodrigo looked at Javier—. Would you be so kind?

The silence that followed was brief but dense. Javier looked at both of us, assessed the situation in the time it took me to breathe, and then slapped my other cheek. Harder than I expected. The sound echoed in the small store and I bit my lip to keep from moaning.

—There you go —he said.

—Ow —I answered—. Was it that big?

—They’re common around here —said Javier. He was beginning to relax, to get into the tone.

What came next was a slow, almost ceremonial progression. Rodrigo caressed one side while Javier handled the other. The slaps returned, followed by broad strokes running across my ass from one side to the other, followed by more slaps. I felt the skirt riding up with each movement of their hands, and at one point I knew that if Javier lowered his eyes he’d see I wasn’t wearing panties. He saw it. I noticed it in the breath he caught.

—She’s got nothing on underneath —he murmured, almost to himself.

—She’s ready for whatever you want —Rodrigo replied, with a calm that sent a shiver through me.

Javier’s hand climbed the back of my thigh, slowly, testing me. When it reached the crease of my ass, it paused for a second, waiting for me to say something. I didn’t say anything. Then his fingers went on, sliding between my cheeks and reaching my cunt from behind. I was so wet that the first finger slipped in without any effort. A short, muffled moan escaped me against Rodrigo’s shoulder.

—She’s soaking —said Javier, his voice rough.

—You can say that again —Rodrigo answered—. Keep going.

Javier put in a second finger and started moving them slowly, in and out, with his thumb searching for my clit. My hands were braced on Rodrigo’s chest, my forehead against his shoulder, and my whole body was moving just barely, almost imperceptibly, pushing back to take those fingers better.

My breathing grew shorter, more irregular. I tried to stay still, but the small involuntary sounds betrayed me anyway.

—Hey, Javier —Rodrigo said at one point, with a calm that seemed almost obscene to me—. What do you think of the top?

He didn’t wait for an answer. He pulled it down.

Javier pulled his fingers out of my cunt, brought them to his mouth for a second, and then lifted both hands and placed them on my tits. He squeezed them, pinched my nipples slowly, tugging on them until I let out a quiet moan. Rodrigo held me from behind, his hard cock pressed against my ass through his pants, while Javier groped my tits from the front.

I let them do it. I was completely inside the scene, lit up, aware of every detail: the yellow light of the shop, the sound of the street filtering through the beaded curtain, the hands of two men moving over me at the same time, Javier’s mouth coming down now to suck a nipple while the other hand returned between my legs. When his fingers went back into my cunt, this time with more rhythm, I felt I was about to come right there, standing up, against my husband’s chest, with a stranger’s mouth on my nipple. But somewhere in my head it was still me. I was still in control. I knew exactly where the line was.

—That’s enough —I said.

The two of them stopped at once. Javier pulled his fingers out carefully, his hand shining with my wetness, and stepped back.

—Are you sure? —Rodrigo asked.

—Sure.

I readjusted the top, went back into the fitting room, and changed slowly, my legs still trembling and my cunt throbbing with need. When I came out, Rodrigo was already talking to Javier in a completely different tone, the tone of two acquaintances finishing a trivial conversation. Javier gave us the set without anyone asking. His face was slightly flushed and there was an obvious bulge in his pants he didn’t bother to hide. I think he also needed a moment to process what had happened.

We went out into the street. The cool night air was an immediate relief.

In the car, Rodrigo drove in silence for several minutes. He had that small, fixed smile he gets when something has gone exactly the way he wanted. Five minutes in, he put a hand on my thigh, slid it up beneath the skirt, and when he reached my cunt and checked how soaked I still was, he let out a low growl.

—Happy? —I asked, my voice trembling.

—Very —he said, simply, while slipping two fingers into me and starting to move them as he drove.

I leaned back against the window and spread my legs wider for him. I came before we reached the highway, biting my hand, Rodrigo’s fingers buried to the hilt and his thumb pressing my clit. Then I opened his fly and pulled out his cock, and sucked him for the rest of the drive, my head in his lap, swallowing his semen just as we were entering the garage at home.

The car stopped, and I thought of Marcos. Of the following weekend. Of the plan that was still pending, still there waiting like a half-open door in the dark.

That had only been the appetizer.