My Husband Let His Friend Have His Way with Me

The game had been our secret ritual for years. Damián—my husband—enjoyed watching me turn his friends on while they couldn't touch me. I dressed to provoke, laughed too loudly at their jokes, brushed their fingers as I handed them a drink. Then, when the door closed behind the last guest, he would rip my dress off against the hallway wall and fuck me as if we'd gone a year without touching each other.

Playing with fire has its price. That night I got burned, and I still have the scar.

Mateo was an acquaintance from Damián's work. I'd seen him two or three times at birthday parties, always quiet, always in the corner of the bar with a whiskey in his hand. He was over six foot two, broad-shouldered, with forearms marked by veins that stood out whenever he gripped a glass. He didn't talk much. He only watched. That was the kind of man who turned Damián on. “Imagine him trying not to look at you,” he would whisper in my ear whenever Mateo was nearby. “Imagine him thinking about you when he fucks his wife.”

The dinner was arranged for a Thursday. Damián chose the dress I would wear. Black, tight at the waist, with a short hem that barely covered half my thighs. He made me try on five different thongs before settling on a flesh-colored one made of string, almost invisible beneath the fabric.

“I want it to show when you bend over,” he said, running his fingers along the curve of my back. “I want him to wonder whether he can see your cunt or if he's imagining it.”

“He's going to imagine everything,” I answered, turning in front of the mirror.

“That's the point, love.”

Mateo arrived at nine sharp with a bottle of red wine and a bouquet of lilies. He kissed my cheek and took half a second too long to pull away. Damián noticed. So did I. The air was already charged before we sat down at the table.

I served. I bent over on purpose more times than necessary. I sat across from him, crossed my legs slowly, and let the dress ride up as far as it was allowed to—and a little farther. Mateo drank his wine while watching my lips when I spoke, and every so often his eyes dropped to my cleavage and lingered for one long second on my tits. Damián pretended to concentrate on the food, but I knew he had a hard-on beneath the table. That was the whole game: watching him hold himself back while I got another man hard.

“I'll put on some music,” Damián said when dessert was over. “Dance with him.”

Mateo looked up. There was a question in his eyes, directed at my husband, not me. Damián nodded with half a smile, like a man opening a door.

I offered him my hand. Something slow and heavy was playing, one of those songs that dragged itself across your skin. I pressed against him from the first bar. He held me firmly by the waist, fingers spread over the fabric of my dress, and little by little lowered them until his palm rested at the top of my ass. My hip brushed against his and I felt the hard bulge, his cock outlined completely against the fabric of his trousers, pressing against my belly. Mateo breathed deeply, very close to my ear.

“Your husband is a patient man,” he murmured.

“Patience is the only thing I ask of him,” I replied, sliding my hand down his back to his waist and letting my fingers brush his belt.

I glanced at Damián. He was on the armchair, his glass half full, his eyes burning and one hand resting over the bulge in his trousers. He shrugged. The signal. The next stage.

I pulled away on the pretext of getting more wine. From the kitchen, I heard Damián speaking to him in a low voice.

“I've had a fantasy for years,” he was telling him. “Watching someone fuck my wife in front of me. And I can't think of anyone better than you.”

There was silence. Then Mateo's voice, different from the one he'd used all night.

“Are you sure about what you're saying?”

“Absolutely.”

“Because if you give me permission to fuck her, I won't be gentle with her. I'll split her cunt, and then I'll split her ass. Do you understand what I'm telling you?”

Something inside me trembled then. This wasn't the voice of the shy guest who had arrived two hours earlier. It was someone else. Something had lit up inside Mateo, and I felt it from the kitchen, ten yards away. My cunt clenched just from hearing him. This isn't a game anymore, I thought, gripping the empty glass while a thread of wetness ran down the inside of my thigh.

“Whatever happens,” Damián answered. “She's yours for the whole night.”

I returned to the living room with the full glass. Mateo rose slowly from the armchair and walked toward me. I barely had time to set the wine on the table before he grabbed me around the waist and lifted me off the floor as if I weighed nothing.

He kissed me with a brutality that left me defenseless. His tongue pushed into my mouth without asking, invading me to the back, searching for mine and flattening it. His hand seized the nape of my neck and pulled my head back, exposing my throat. He bit me there, in the hollow between my collarbone and ear, hard, and I felt my legs go weak. His other hand slipped beneath my dress, tore off my string thong with one sharp yank, and threw it onto the floor. He thrust three fingers into my cunt all at once. I was so wet they slid in without resistance. He pulled them out, lifted them, and ran them over my lips.

“Suck them,” he told me.

I sucked them. He watched me with a new smile, the smile of a man who had just discovered he had permission for anything. All night, I had been the one lighting the fuse. Now he was the one holding it.

“Kneel,” he ordered in my ear.

I obeyed. I didn't think. I obeyed.

I lowered myself to the living-room floor, looking at Damián, who had loosened his belt in the armchair, opened his fly, and already had his cock out, squeezing it in his hand without moving it, as if he didn't dare begin. Mateo unbuttoned his jeans in front of me. He shoved down his boxer briefs. What he pulled out made my lips part involuntarily. Thick, ridged, with a fat vein running the whole length, the purple head glossy with pre-cum. Bigger than anything I'd ever had. I gripped it with both hands, one above the other, and the head still stuck out. It barely fit in my mouth.

“Open your mouth,” he ordered. “All the way. Stick out your tongue.”

I obeyed again. He rested the tip on my tongue, ran the head over my lips, smearing them with his wetness, and then thrust it halfway into me in one push. He grabbed my hair with one hand and guided the pace. He pushed slowly at first, testing my throat, then began pressing my head against his pelvis, forcing me to swallow him whole. My eyes watered immediately. Gags escaped me, strings of saliva dripping from my chin onto the dress's neckline, staining my tits with my own spit. He didn't slow down. He shoved himself all the way in and held me there, inside him, counting two, three seconds while I tried not to choke. I looked up at him from below, my knees against the wooden floor, feeling both the shame and the strongest arousal of my life at once. Damián was panting in the armchair, now openly jerking off. Mateo didn't look at him. Mateo looked at me, enjoying every gag.

“You suck cock so well, slut,” he murmured. “No wonder your husband puts up with everything you do.”

He pulled out of me abruptly. A strand of saliva hung from my mouth to the tip of his cock. He lightly slapped my cheeks with it, first one, then the other, rubbing it across my face.

“To the sofa,” he said after a while.

He lifted me by my hair. He dragged me two steps. He shoved me against the back of the sofa, hiked my dress up to my waist, and spread my legs with one knee. He positioned himself behind me, pressed the head against my cunt, and entered in a single thrust all the way to the bottom. I screamed. The initial pain was electric and lasted only a few seconds before turning into something else, something that climbed my back and reached my eyes. I felt fuller than ever, his cock pressing inside me against my walls, touching places Damián had never reached.

“Ask nicely,” he said in my ear, stopping halfway, his cock buried to the root.

“Please,” I moaned.

“Louder. Ask me to fuck you.”

“Please, fuck me! Fuck me hard, please!”

He began pounding into me without mercy. Every thrust made a sound, a wet squelch mixed with the slap of his pelvis against my ass cheeks. He seized my wrists above my head with one hand and held me there, motionless, while he drove in and out with a precision that was anything but accidental. His other hand found one of my tits beneath the dress, pulled it out over the neckline, and pinched my nipple until I screamed. I couldn't move, couldn't stop him, didn't want to stop him. I closed my eyes and let him. Damián was jerking off a yard away from us, his mouth open, his breathing ragged, his cock glistening with saliva and pre-cum.

“Is this how you wanted to see me?” I asked my husband, my voice broken by every thrust. “Like this, with someone else's cock buried all the way inside me?”

“Like that,” Damián answered, almost breathless. “That's how I always wanted to see you. All my fucking slut.”

“Both our slut,” Mateo panted, and smacked my ass, making me jump onto his cock.

Mateo suddenly pulled out. His cock emerged wet and shining, completely coated in my juices. He turned me around, threw me facedown over the back of the sofa, and put me on all fours with my ass in the air at the edge of the seat. He gripped my hip and looked at Damián over my back.

“Will you lend her to me back there too?”

Damián nodded without speaking. His hand never stopped moving up and down his cock.

I turned my head in time to see Mateo's face. He spat into his hand, ran it over his entire cock, spat again, and smeared my asshole with two fingers, pressing and thrusting them in to the knuckles without ceremony. He opened me with his fingers, first two, then three, unhurriedly, as if measuring the territory. I tensed. I'd had anal sex with Damián, of course, but Mateo was on another level. This was going to hurt.

“Give me all of it,” I whispered, and I don't know whether it was lust or stupidity speaking for me.

He gave it to me. He placed the tip and thrust with his whole hip. He split me in two. I screamed into the cushion, bit the fabric, and felt fresh tears mingle with the previous ones. The burning climbed my spine to the nape of my neck. I felt every inch entering, claiming ground, until his pelvis collided with my ass cheeks and I knew he was fully inside me. Mateo didn't wait long. He gave me three seconds to adjust and began pounding with an animal rhythm. Every thrust lifted my body, tearing a moan from me that no longer belonged to me, but to someone I didn't recognize.

“What a tight ass, you fucking bitch,” he panted. “What an ass you've got.”

The pain and pleasure were the same thing. I couldn't separate them. I didn't even try. I felt his cock stretching me from within, driving in and out, while my cunt dripped below, a thread of wetness running from my pubis to my knee. Mateo noticed. He thrust two fingers into my cunt while continuing to fuck me from behind, pulled them out soaked, and ran them over my mouth.

“Look at you. Dripping over a stranger's fucking cock.”

“Look at him,” he ordered afterward, yanking my hair upward so I could see Damián. “Look at him touching himself while he watches you. Look at your husband coming while he watches you get fucked in the ass.”

I looked. Damián was close, his cock engorged, his hand moving at top speed. I was close too, even though no one had touched my clit. I was close from the submission alone, from feeling used between two men who looked at me like a thing, like a hole to empty themselves into. I lowered one hand and touched my swollen cunt. Two fingers, two circles over my clit, and I came undone. The orgasm shook my whole body, my ass clenched around Mateo's cock, and he let out a guttural roar.

“There it is, slut, there it is.”

All three of us came almost at the same time. Mateo let out a deep grunt, drove himself to the hilt, and filled my ass with so much semen that I felt it hot inside me; when he pulled out, it ran down my thighs in two thick streams, mixed with the juices from my cunt. Damián released a muffled moan against the back of the armchair, and a thick shot of cum spattered across his chest and shirt. I collapsed onto the cushion, trembling, wet everywhere, someone else's cum trickling between my ass cheeks, broken inside.

***

I lay there for a long while, my dress hiked up to my waist, my legs spread, feeling Mateo's semen continue to run down my thigh and stain the upholstery. Mateo stood, pulled up his pants without speaking, and went to the kitchen for a glass of water. He brought it to me. He placed it in my hand without looking me in the eyes. Then he sat beside Damián, and the two men shared a whiskey in silence while I pulled myself together at the other end of the sofa.

There was no second round that night. Mateo left around three, kissed my forehead, and squeezed Damián's shoulder with a manly pat that held something of gratitude and something of complicity. The door closed, and the two of us were left alone, looking at each other like two strangers who had just done something impossible to undo.

“Are you all right?” Damián asked me, kneeling beside me.

“I don't know,” I told him. “Ask me tomorrow.”

The pain lasted five days. It was hard to sit, hard to walk quickly, hard to put on tight pants. Every time I moved wrong, I remembered Mateo's cock splitting my ass. And every time I remembered, my cunt grew wet again, even though reason told me no, it had been too much, I wasn't ready to do it again.

Reason lost. Two weeks later, I asked Damián for it. We were in bed, him on top of me, his cock halfway inside.

“Invite him again,” I whispered in his ear. “But this time tell him not to ask me anything. Tell him to use me however he wants, wherever he wants, as much as he wants.”

Damián stopped. He looked at me. His eyes filled with the same hunger he'd had in the armchair, and I felt his cock grow even harder inside me.

“Are you sure?”

“Absolutely,” I answered.

I'd been burned. And now, with the scar still tender, all I wanted was to return to the fire.