Her Husband Offered Her to Me, and She Ended Up Asking for More

I’m forty-two, still single, and honestly, it suits me just fine. I meet people through apps, go out to bars, and every now and then I drop into some swinger club when the mood takes me. I keep myself in shape, still have most of my hair, and I’ve had more than enough stories to fill a book. I’m not looking for a relationship: I’m looking for specific hours with specific people, and I prefer not to repeat. If the girl is married, that’s her problem; her accounts are her own.

That week I was in Valencia for work. I’m a technical sales rep, and I had wrapped up the pending matters by Thursday at noon. I had the night free and, the next day, seven hours of driving back home. I ate dinner at the hotel without much appetite and, instead of going to bed early as I’d planned, I looked on my phone for a club a colleague had recommended months earlier. It was fifteen minutes by taxi from the center.

I went in around eleven. The place had the expected décor: red lights, low couches, a bar at the back, and, on the right wing, the dark area. I ordered a beer, leaned against a column, and started looking around. There were a few regular couples I recognized right away by the ease with which they moved among the tables. And, in one corner, a couple that didn’t fit the picture.

She had to be in her late thirties. Short hair, light eyes, a skirt that fell just to mid-thigh, and a white blouse left open to the second button. She wasn’t wearing a bra: her nipples showed every time she took a deep breath. She wasn’t spectacular in the billboard sense. She was the kind of woman you’d barely notice on the subway and then find yourself thinking about two stops later. Her husband, on the other hand, looked like an ordinary man, glancing around with the nervous smile of someone who isn’t quite sure why he’s ended up in a place like that.

I watched them. They talked for a long while in their corner before standing up and heading toward the dark area. When I saw them cross the hallway, I left my beer half-finished and went in through the parallel door, the one that leads to the men’s side.

The room was divided by a row of waist-high bars. Behind them, the men, pressed against the wall. In front, the space for couples or women. Whoever wants to be touched, steps closer. Whoever doesn’t, stays in the middle. The rule is not up for discussion.

From my side I could see them hesitating at the threshold. The faint light from the doorway cut them out like a silhouette. He held her by the waist and whispered something in her ear. She shook her head, then nodded, then gave a soft laugh. In the end they took three steps forward and started kissing in the middle of the room. He kept nudging her, unhurried but with a clear purpose, toward the bars.

They stopped about eight inches away. An anonymous hand darted under her skirt; she pulled back at once. They returned to the center. He kissed her. Touched her. Pushed her forward again. This time they came over to my side. I waited. When they were within arm’s reach, I rested my open hand lightly on her waist, without grabbing, without slipping fingers in. Just the weight of it.

She startled. Then she went still. I didn’t move. I started sliding my hand very slowly along her side, over the blouse, down to her stomach. After a couple of minutes, she took a step back and rested her back against the bar. That said everything.

I stroked her belly with my palm spread flat. The fabric was thin and I could feel the warmth of her skin. At one point, my hand met her husband’s, who had come up on the other side. I stopped, waiting for some reaction. He unbuttoned one of the buttons on her blouse so I could slide my hand underneath. That was an invitation.

I rested my fingers on the bare skin below her navel. She drew in a deep breath and tipped her head back. This is serious, I thought. I had no intention of rushing. I knew any sudden movement would ruin everything.

And then another guy came up on my left and shoved his hand straight under her skirt. She sprang away, said something to her husband, and they left through the opposite door.

I turned to the intruder.

—Next time wait to be called —I said quietly, without aggression—. There are rules.

He didn’t answer. I held his gaze for a couple of seconds and went back to my place.

***

I waited fifteen minutes. I was convinced they weren’t coming back. Just as I was thinking of ordering another beer and shifting my attention elsewhere in the club, I saw the woman come through the door. Alone. Without her husband.

She walked down the center of the room with a little more confidence than before. She moved up to the bar and brushed her open hand against the hands reaching over the wood. When she got to mine, she took my fingers and pressed them against her stomach, as if telling me to keep going from where we’d left off.

The button was still undone. I slipped my hand under her blouse and rested my fingers on her navel. She lifted her arms and held onto the bar above her head, leaving her body exposed, like a dancer in a cage. I leaned over the bar and spoke into her ear.

—I knew you’d come back. I was waiting for you.

She didn’t answer, but she smiled. With my right hand I started unbuttoning her blouse one button at a time while, with my left, I pressed the bulge in my trousers, already pushing against the fabric. When I reached the last button, I opened her blouse and left her breasts bare. Small, firm, with hard nipples. I ran my thumb over them and felt her shiver.

She started moving her ass against my pelvis, through the bar. I could feel the rhythm, slow at first, then more insistent. I grabbed her breasts with both hands. Then I brought my right hand down her hip, lifted her skirt a few inches, and stroked her thigh from the knee to the edge of her thong. She opened her legs. No theatrical gestures, no rehearsed moans. She simply opened them.

Out of the corner of my eye I saw a shadow in the doorway. Her husband had come back and was standing a meter away, watching. He made no move. I kept going.

I pulled her thong aside and slid two fingers over her soaked sex. She let go of the bar with her left hand and reached for my trousers. She fumbled at the button and lowered the zipper. I wasn’t wearing underwear. My cock came out in her hand, hard, and she squeezed it softly, measuring it, before starting to stroke it in a lazy rhythm.

I pulled her skirt up to her waist. I gripped both sides of her thong and slid them to her hips. I pressed myself against her, the tip of my cock against her entrance. My intention was clear. I was going to fuck her against the bar, in front of her husband, without a condom.

Just as I pushed in, she turned, looked at me wide-eyed, and said, almost without a voice:

—To a room. Come on.

And she headed for the door.

***

I jerked my trousers back up and followed her. I passed behind her husband without looking at him. I didn’t want to give him time to think, or to change his mind, or to stop anything. I caught up with her in the hallway, grabbed her arm, and led her toward the rooms at the back. The third one was free. We went in and I locked the door.

She sat on the edge of the bed. I moved closer. Without saying a word, she undid my trousers again and pulled them down to mid-calf. She took my cock in her mouth in one go, as far as she could get it, and grabbed my hips with both hands to set the rhythm herself.

It wasn’t the nervous blowjob of someone doing it to please. It was the blowjob of someone who’d been thinking about it for weeks. I took off her blouse, still hanging off her shoulders, and let her slip out of my mouth only so I could finish undressing. When I came back, she had lain down on her side on the bed, her head resting against my stomach. She sucked me like that, calmly, while stroking my balls with her other hand.

—You suck like few women do —I told her.

She looked up and took me all the way to the back of her throat. I gave her a couple of seconds and gently pulled her away.

—Stop. I want to see your face.

She sat up, took a condom from the pocket of the skirt she was still wearing, opened it with her teeth, and rolled it on me without saying a word. Then she took off her skirt, climbed on top of me, and sat down hard, all the way in. She let out a long, rough groan I would never have expected from a woman who, twenty minutes earlier, I’d struggled to meet in the eye.

She rode fast. Too fast for me, but I didn’t want to stop her. She came in less than two minutes, biting her lip so she wouldn’t scream. She collapsed onto my chest, panting.

—I can’t take any more —she gasped—. If you want, you can take over.

She got onto all fours beside me. Her back was covered in freckles I hadn’t seen under the red light in the room. I moved behind her, grabbed her hips, and drove in at once. She took me easily again. I started pumping slowly, watching her ass move. I ran my thumb over her clit and felt her shudder again.

There was another hole, smaller, that had been asking for attention the whole time. I wet my finger with saliva and stroked the entrance. She didn’t move. I kept at it, without stopping fucking her, and I noticed she spread her legs a little more.

—There? —I asked.

—There. Slowly.

I pulled my cock out, positioned myself at the other entrance, and pushed gently. She clenched her teeth, but didn’t move away. When I was all the way in, I waited a few seconds. Then I started moving. Softly at first. Harder when she herself began pushing her ass back against me.

—More?

—More.

I grabbed her hair at the nape of her neck, not to pull, just to hold her steady. I slapped one ass cheek, then the other. They left marks instantly. She was moaning, but it was no longer the controlled moan from the club. This was a different register. We were both close.

She came before I did, with a cry that died in the pillow. I pulled out, removed the condom, and came over her. The first spurt landed on her neck and part of her hair, because she turned her face at that moment. The second ran down her back. The last drops landed on her reddened ass.

She stayed lying there, face down, not moving. I lay down beside her, catching my breath.

—Thanks —I said—. One of the best I can remember.

—Mine too —she answered, eyes closed—. One of the best.

I got dressed in silence. She stayed as she was, naked, skin marked and her body covered in my semen. The ceiling light was yellow and cast shadows along her side. It was an image I wasn’t going to forget easily.

—Are you staying? —I asked—. I have to go. I’m up early tomorrow.

—Yes. Do you know which one is my husband?

—I think so.

—When you leave, tell him I’m here. Tell him to come.

I left with the door ajar for her. I crossed the hallway and went back to the main room. Her husband was sitting alone at a round table, holding a glass he didn’t seem to have touched. He looked up when he saw me appear. I stepped close enough and spoke in a low voice.

—Your wife is waiting for you in the third room. Thanks for sharing her.

He didn’t answer. I left without looking back.