I Asked My Wife to Accept the Invitation

My name is Martín, and I work from home, designing things on a screen for clients I never see in person. I’m a normal guy, thin, nothing about me that stands out on the street. My wife is called Camila. We met in college and we’ve been married for a couple of years, with no big fights, no major drama. The kind of marriage anyone would envy from the outside.

But I carried a secret. Long before I met her, I’d been obsessed with stories about men who share their wives. I read them in secret, fantasizing that Camila was the main character. I was never jealous: I was the one who asked her to dress provocatively, the one who enjoyed watching her flirt at a party. But confessing the full fantasy to her seemed impossible. I was afraid of how she’d look at me afterward.

For weeks, she’d been showing me messages from a coworker. The guy kept throwing out hints, inviting her to his apartment, and she always laughed it off and kept her distance.

—It’s obvious what he’s inviting me for —she told me once—. If it were just to talk, I’d go בלי problem. But it’s not that.

And I, deep down, was burning with the desire for her to accept.

***

That afternoon she was at a café with her friends when her message arrived.

—He’s at it again about his apartment. He never gives up —she wrote, with a screenshot attached.

I don’t know where I found the courage. My heart was pounding like a drum when I typed back.

—Then accept.

There was a silence that felt endless.

—What? You know he wants to take me to bed? —she replied.

—I know.

—Do you actually want another man touching me?

—What if I told you yes?

Another silence. Then her message came, longer.

—I’d never let you be with another woman, Martín.

—I’m not asking you to. I’m just saying it would turn me on if you were with another man. I never told you, but it’s one of my biggest fantasies. I was embarrassed.

—Embarrassed, with me? —she answered—. I never would’ve imagined that. You really wouldn’t mind?

—Really. I’ve been thinking about it for years.

It took her a while to reply.

—Look, let’s do this. I’ll try it, because you know I never shut the door on an idea. But if I don’t like it, I’m out and it won’t happen again. And I don’t want this causing us problems later. Remember: the idea was yours.

—I know. Don’t worry, I’ve thought it through more than enough.

—Fine. I’m going to accept the invitation.

I stared at the screen, disbelieving and shaking. Years of fantasy were about to become real.

***

—He’s coming to pick me up. I’ll let you know when we get there —she wrote a while later.

Fifteen minutes passed. “I’m at his apartment now,” she told me. Then nothing. Half an hour. An hour. An hour and a half of total silence, with the phone burning in my hand and my imagination racing at full speed. When I was just starting to worry for real, her message arrived.

—I’m coming home, he’s giving me a ride.

—What happened? —I replied, anxious.

—I’ll tell you at home.

Twenty minutes later she walked in, kissed me, and we sat down on the sofa. I couldn’t stand the suspense.

—Come on, tell me. What happened?

—Exactly what we both knew was going to happen happened.

—Did you have sex with him?

—Wasn’t that what you wanted? —she said, and from her smile I knew she was enjoying my reaction.

I took her hand and placed it over my crotch, hard as a rock. Camila laughed.

—You’re so weird. Do you really like knowing I was with another man?

—I love it. Tell me everything, in detail.

And she did. How they chatted for a while, how at first she reflexively turned away from the first kiss and then let herself go, how she ended up on top of him with her skirt hiked up. She described everything to me while her hand moved slowly over me, and I listened, hypnotized, living the scene I’d imagined so many nights.

—The truth is —she said at the end—, it was hot.

I couldn’t take it anymore. I finished with an intensity I hadn’t felt in years, emptying myself completely.

—God, thank you —I muttered, laughing at my own mess.

—You’re very weird, my love —she replied, kissing my forehead—. And where did you get this idea?

Then I showed her the stories I read, the stories about open couples, about men who enjoyed watching their wives with other men. Camila skimmed them, fascinated.

—So this is what you like —she said.

—There’s something even darker —I worked up the nerve to say—. I don’t just like imagining you with another man. I also like being humiliated. For you to tell me you prefer other men, that I’m worthless, that I’m pathetic. It’s a game, I don’t take it seriously, but it turns me on a lot.

She stared at me and burst out laughing.

—You’re completely crazy. But I love that you opened up to me. It can’t have been easy to say something like that.

—It wasn’t.

—I love you, Martín. I want you to be calm: even if I’m with other men, I’m never going to leave you. You’re my man.

—I love you more. Thanks for trusting me.

***

For a couple of weeks she didn’t go out with anyone again. She devoted herself to tidying the house and set up a room we had full of boxes, turning it into a guest room that came out beautiful. I thought maybe it had been a one-time thing. Until one Saturday she surprised me.

—Do you remember the room I fixed up? —she said—. Actually, it’s going to be the sex room.

—How?

—I thought it’d be hotter for you to hear the action live, not have me tell you afterward. And the idea of you listening turns me on. I put in a hidden camera; I only turn it on when I want you to watch.

—I like it when you give orders.

—Then start learning —she laughed—. I’m going to shower, because I’ve got company.

That night she got herself ready like never before, put on a short silk robe, and waited. At ten, a car horn sounded outside.

—Right on time —she said—. Tonight you’re only going to listen.

—All right. Let yourself go.

I locked myself in our bedroom with my ear pressed to the wall. At first there were muffled voices, then silence, and then the unmistakable sounds. Camila’s moans began softly and grew until they filled the entire house, mixed with the thudding of the other man’s body against hers. I heard her screaming with pleasure, completely out of control, and that was too much for me. I came harder than ever, and stayed hard afterward.

They were at it for hours. I lost count of how many times I finished listening to her from the other side of the hallway. Around four in the morning I heard the door, the car starting up, and then she came into our bedroom and found me awake.

—What are you doing awake? —she asked, laughing.

—With those screams, nobody on the whole block could sleep.

—Was I that loud?

—Yes. And I loved it.

—Finally a man treated me the way I like, while my little husband listened from the next room —she said, and the rawness of her words set me on fire—. Did you like it?

—I’m obsessed. I want to be with you, though you must be exhausted.

—I’m never tired for you. Besides, I want you to feel what he left inside me.

I laid her on top of me. She tasted like another man, and I didn’t care. I kissed her, took her hips, and pushed into her. She was warm inside in a way that drove me impossibly wild, and a few minutes later I came. We collapsed, both of us laughing.

—You’re as weird as I am —she said—. And I love it.

***

From that point on, everything changed. Camila discovered she liked the game as much as I did. She took to choosing, to knowing she could have whoever she wanted. A couple of days later, while I was working in my upstairs office, she appeared in a miniskirt and left me her phone with the camera on. This time I didn’t just listen: I watched.

Seeing her on the screen receiving another man, kissing him, kneeling in front of him, was like watching a movie with my wife as the lead. The guy grabbed her by the hair, turned her around, bent her over the bed, and she responded to every move by asking for more. When he finished, I had already emptied myself just from watching. A few minutes later she came upstairs, wearing that fierce smile I was starting to know.

—Well? Did you like it? —she said.

—Too much.

—I still can’t believe you like this. By the way, this one was coming at ten tonight. The one now was someone else.

—Two in one day?

—You gave me the freedom, and I’m using it —she laughed—. Knowing I can choose who I sleep with makes me insanely turned on.

—As far as I’m concerned, don’t stop.

—Your wife, the bad one —she said.

—And your husband, the one who enjoys it —I replied.

***

That night the second one arrived. I listened from the room, but this time she ended up letting me see her in person. After hours, when the guy left, Camila walked into the room naked, leaned over in front of the dressing table with a look that admitted no argument.

—You filthy freak, come here —she ordered.

I didn’t think twice. I knelt behind her and did everything she asked, while she told me in my ear how little I was worth and how much she liked me accepting my place. It was the game I had imagined so many times, made real down to the last detail, and I had never been more turned on in my life.

—Now finish what’s yours —she said at last.

I entered her and, with so much pent-up tension, I didn’t last even ten minutes. She managed to come with me, as hot as I was. We fell onto the bed, spent.

—I’m dead —she laughed.

—I’m in heaven.

—I’m as weird as you are —she said, curling up against me—. I love all of this.

***

The following weeks were a spiral neither of us wanted to leave. Camila became more confident, freer, more in command of her desire. Sometimes she let me watch, sometimes only listen, sometimes she told me everything afterward in vivid detail, and each mode had its own filthy thrill. I discovered I liked all of it: being the spectator, being the last one of the night, being the one who collected what she decided to give me.

One of those nights, while she was getting ready in front of the mirror for a new date, I hugged her from behind.

—Are you happy? —I asked seriously, for the first time.

—Very much so —she answered, looking at me in the reflection—. I’ve never felt so desired. And I’ve never loved you as much as now that you’re not hiding from me.

—Neither have I.

—Wait up for me —she said, taking her bag—. I’ve got a surprise ready for when I get back. Something I know is going to drive you crazy.

—I already want to see it.

I opened the door for her, watched her get into the car and disappear into the night. I went back inside, sank onto the sofa, and smiled to myself, phone in hand, waiting for the camera to light up at any moment. What had started with two words typed in secret had become the life neither of us would ever confess out loud. And for nothing in the world would I want it to be any different.