I Came Home Before My Shift and Opened the Bedroom Door

My name is Marcela, I’m fifty-two years old, and my husband, Andrés, is fifty-eight. We’ve been married for more than three decades and have three grown children. What I’m going to tell happened several years ago, when the five of us were still living under the same roof and the hospital’s rotating shifts had us crossing paths in the hallways more than sleeping together.

Andrés was always very attentive to his body. He lifted weights three times a week, ran at dawn, and watched what he ate. He had defined shoulders, firm arms, and a high, hard ass he was proud of. When he put on jeans, female looks were never lacking in the supermarket aisle. And not just female ones, though it took me a while to understand that.

We’re both lab technicians at the same hospital, but they never assigned us the same shift. Sometimes I’d leave night duty as he came in for the day shift; other times, the opposite. That rotation was annoying in a way, but it also made sense: with three teenagers at home, there was always one of us around to keep an eye on homework, fights, and schedules.

When we happened to be free at the same time, we made the most of it. One of those nights, after the kids fell asleep, we locked ourselves in the bedroom and stripped without hurry, kissing like we hadn’t been able to in months. I ran my tongue down his neck, bit his shoulder, grabbed his cock over his briefs, and felt it grow in my hand until the cotton could no longer contain it. I yanked down his underwear, took it in my mouth without preamble, and licked the tip with my tongue flattened out, savoring that first salty taste gathered in the slit. Andrés groaned loudly, grabbed my hair, and pushed his hips forward to drive it deeper into my mouth.

We ended up in sixty-nine, a position we always liked because it made us feel like no one was left out of the pleasure. I was underneath, with his body on top of mine and his head between my legs. He opened my cunt with two fingers and started licking my clit with such insistence that I arched my back at once. He sucked it, nibbled it softly, then lowered his tongue to my entrance and pushed in as far as he could. His cock was hanging over my face, hard and throbbing, and I took it into my mouth little by little, sucking him all the way to the back of my throat, spitting on it so it would slide better, squeezing his balls with my palm.

My hands were free and, without thinking too much, I caressed his buttocks. I’d done it a thousand times, but that time I let my fingers slide a little farther. His back tensed. I ran my tongue over his asshole and he started breathing hard. I spread his cheeks open with both hands, pulled them apart well, and sank my tongue right in the middle, licking his ass with a shamelessness that surprised even me. Andrés stopped licking me for a second and let out a muffled moan against my cunt. I moistened two fingers with my own saliva and with the wetness dripping from me below, and began to press slowly. He lifted himself slightly, without saying a word, leaving me the whole area open.

I slid one finger in, then two. I pushed them in to the knuckles and felt the ring tighten, clamping down on me, pulsing. I started a slow back-and-forth, turning my fingers, looking for that spot inside him I knew bent his legs. With my other hand I never let go of his cock: I stroked it firmly, squeezing the base, spitting on the head so my hand would glide. He let out a long sigh, almost a whimper, and started moving his ass against my fingers, pushing so I’d take them deeper. I drove both in to the hilt, scissored them open, and when I went back to sucking him whole and squeezing his balls at the same time, it didn’t take him long to come over my chest with an intensity I’d never seen in him. Thick, white, hot jets, one after another, that landed and stuck between my breasts. We ended up wrapped around each other, laughing like newlyweds, his cum still trickling down my sternum.

From that night on, the game became a habit. Sometimes he asked for it with a gesture, other times outright with words: "put them in me," "deeper," "don’t stop." I did it gladly: if one of my caresses gave him that kind of release, why would I deny it? I know the area is sensitive and erogenous in men. I never thought of it as anything strange. It was simply ours.

***

Several months passed. One November night I left home for my shift with a thermos of coffee and a book for the dead hours. When I got to the hospital, the duty chief laughed when she saw me come in.

—Marcela, you grabbed the wrong sheet. You’re on day shift this week. Go home and sleep.

I cursed under my breath. I’d checked the schedule wrong. At eleven-thirty at night I was back, driving through a storm that seemed like it would never end. The neighborhood streets were flooded. I arrived soaked to the bone, my sneakers making puddles in the entryway.

The roar of rain on the roof drowned out every other sound. I said hello out loud, but no one answered. I passed by the boys’ room: all three asleep, with the little night lights on and their breathing heavy. I closed the door softly and kept going down the hall toward the bedroom. I was thinking of slipping under the sheets and giving Andrés a scare. Maybe taking the chance to repeat what we’d done the other night.

I pushed the door. I didn’t manage to open it all the way.

Andrés was straddling another man. He was riding him with his back arched and his mouth open, eyes closed. I watched his body rise and fall in a rhythm I knew all too well. The other man’s cock was going in and out of my husband’s ass, thick, slick with spit, shining under the light. The bedside lamp was on and gave the scene an amber, almost theatrical tone. Andrés was stroking his cock with his right hand, groaning low, letting himself drop with all his weight onto that cock I could barely measure with my eyes.

I closed the door without making a sound. I didn’t scream, I didn’t cry. I walked into the dining room and sat in the same chair as always, still wet, water dripping from my hair onto the table. I stared at one fixed point in the tile.

Maybe ten minutes passed. Something in me needed to look again, as if I needed to confirm it wasn’t a trick of my mind. I went back down the hall. When I cracked the door open by barely an inch, the positions were different: now it was my husband behind, thrusting. He had the other man’s hips in his hands, drove his cock in to the hilt with dry, hard strokes, and each time he sank in, you could hear a muffled gasp. The one receiving had his face pressed to the mattress and his ass held high, offering it all. He lifted his head for a second and the bedside lamp hit his face full on.

It was Damián. Damián, our back-neighbor. Damián, Sofía’s husband, my friend from the neighborhood, the guy we left our keys with when we went on vacation, the one who had fixed our garage gate the previous winter.

I closed it again. I walked slowly toward the street, still with my purse over my shoulder. The rain hit my face and I didn’t care. I crossed three houses to Patricia’s, a friend who’s lived alone since her divorce. I rang the bell twice.

Patricia opened the door in a robe, saw my face, and asked nothing. She let me in, gave me a towel and a dry nightgown, and poured me a tea with a splash of cognac. Only then did I tell her everything, in detail. Including the detail I myself was realizing as I said it: that more than anger, what I felt was a strange kind of curiosity. And something lower down, between my legs, a dampness I didn’t dare name for her.

—Don’t decide anything tonight —Patricia told me—. Sleep here. Tomorrow you’ll see.

We shared her bed. She held me from behind and I fell asleep faster than I expected.

***

The next morning, I left her place at the same hour I usually came home from my night shifts. When I got in, Andrés had already left for the lab. The kids were having breakfast with the radio on. I packed their lunches, asked the oldest about his math test, and saw them off at the door. Then I lay down for a while.

I slept badly. When I got up, it was almost four. I went downstairs to wash the lunch dishes and, while rinsing a cup, I saw Damián crossing in front of my house with a bucket and a coil of cable. Something moved inside me, something I didn’t fully understand. I dried my hands on my apron and went out.

—Damián, good timing. Do you have a big screwdriver? My counter came loose and I can’t find mine.

He looked at me without suspecting a thing. He smiled with that usual friendliness.

—Come on, let’s go to the house. I’ve got several. Try whichever fits.

I walked behind him the twenty meters that separated our doors, looking at his ass under his work pants, imagining again that cock I had seen going in and out of my husband’s body the night before. Sofía wasn’t home: she worked at city hall and didn’t come back until seven. The house smelled of coffee and wood.

Damián opened the toolbox on the kitchen table and started showing me screwdrivers of different sizes. I was looking at him, not the tools. At some point he handed me a fairly large one, with a black rubber handle.

—Does this one work for you?

I took it. Looked him in the eyes. Ran the handle over my lower lip, slowly.

—Mmm. It’s not exactly what I need.

I touched the tip of the handle with my tongue, licked it lightly, and stuck my tongue out so he could see what I knew how to do with it. Damián’s breathing changed. I saw surprise cross his face, then a slow smile I recognized: the smile of someone who understood the offer and accepted it.

I lowered my hand to his pants. Rested my palm over the bulge. I hadn’t been wrong about what I’d seen the night before: what Damián had between his legs didn’t resemble anything I’d ever touched before. Even through the fabric, it was long and thick in a way that was a little frightening. I gripped it with my whole hand and felt it starting to harden against my palm, throbbing, growing toward the side of his thigh.

I knelt on the ceramic floor of his kitchen. I yanked down his jeans and briefs in one pull. He braced himself against the counter to keep his balance. There it was, in front of my face, what had gone into my husband’s body the night before: a long, thick cock, veins running along the shaft, and a red, shining head with a fat bead of clear fluid already beading at the tip. I couldn’t wrap a single hand around it. I had to use both, one over the other, and I still had cock left over at the top.

I ran my tongue along its entire length, slowly, measuring him. I licked it from base to tip, pausing on each vein, sucking the frenulum with my tongue flattened out. I went down to the balls and took them into my mouth one by one, sucking them hungrily, while my hand never stopped jerking him. Damián was breathing heavily over me, one hand on the counter and the other already finding the back of my neck.

When I tried to take him into my mouth, I knew only the head would barely fit. I opened my jaw wide, slid my tongue under the tip, and forced myself down. The head stretched my lips until they watered with tears. Damián slipped a hand down my neckline and started squeezing one breast with just the right firmness, as if he already knew what I liked. With his other hand he took my hair, without violence, and helped me swallow a little more, pushing me slowly, stopping when I gagged, letting me breathe, then driving it back in.

Feeling him throb between my lips, with that hand on my nipple pinching me slowly, set me on fire. My cunt was leaking beneath my skirt, I could feel the thread of my panties stuck to me, and I couldn’t help lowering one hand and touching myself over the fabric while I sucked him. I grabbed the base with my other hand and started sucking him hard, not technically, just greedily: he was going in and out of my mouth making a wet, obscene sound, and saliva dripped down my chin onto my breasts. I raised my eyes to him. He looked at me steadily, clenched his jaw, grabbed my head with both hands, and started fucking my mouth in his rhythm, driving his cock against my palate, against my throat, not letting me pull it out. Before I expected it, he growled hard, squeezed my nape, and came hot and thick into my mouth. It was several heavy spurts in a row, thick, salty, filling my tongue and forcing me to swallow little by little so I wouldn’t choke. I felt it go down my throat, warm, while he kept pressing my head against his pelvis.

I stayed one more second, running my tongue over the tip to clean him, sucking the last drops left in the slit. I straightened up. Damián grabbed my waist and led me toward the living room sofa, ready to keep going, to strip me completely, to shove what he had just emptied into my mouth right into my cunt. He was already lifting my skirt and sliding his hand inside my panties, and I was so wet that his fingers went in without resistance.

—Another day —I told him, moving his hand away and adjusting my neckline—. Today was this. And this, between you and me, doesn’t get talked about.

He smiled at me, breathless. Nodded. He understood the rules.

I walked back along the sidewalk, still tasting him in my mouth, feeling more awake than ever, with my panties soaked and my legs still weak. Damián was exactly the kind of man I remembered seeing the night before under the bedside lamp. And my husband, without knowing it, had shown me a map I hadn’t known existed.

***

Andrés got home from work around eight. The kids were riding their bikes around the block and nobody expected dinner until ten. I met him at the door and, without letting him go upstairs to change, took him to the bedroom and did something I hadn’t done to him with that kind of hunger in many months. I yanked off his belt, pulled his pants down to his knees, and knelt to suck his cock right there, against the closed door, with the same hunger I’d felt a few hours earlier sucking Damián’s. I worked him until he was hard as a rock, spitting on him, looking up from below, until he couldn’t take it anymore and lifted me by the arm.

I shoved him onto the bed, stripped myself in three moves, and climbed on top of him. I grabbed his cock, positioned it at the entrance of my cunt, and dropped onto it in one go, all the way to the hilt, without giving him time for anything. I started riding him with an urgency that left him speechless, bracing my hands on his chest, rocking my hips forward and back, feeling him drive all the way in with every drop. He grabbed my tits, squeezed them, pinched my nipples, and I sped up, bouncing on him, the sound of my wet cunt swallowing him filling the room. I came twice in a row, the first time arched back, the second collapsed on his chest, biting his shoulder so I wouldn’t scream. When I felt him close, I slid off him, took him in my mouth, and swallowed his cum too, the second load of the day, while he shook under me saying my name. When we were done, both of us were breathing as if we’d come back from a run.

We lay there, staring at the ceiling. I stroked his chest with two fingers.

—I have a fantasy —I told him.

—Tell me.

—I want to be with you and another man at the same time. Me in the middle. The three of us. One in my cunt, another in my mouth. And I want them looking at each other while they fuck me.

I felt his heart speed up under my hand. It took him two seconds to answer.

—And who did you think of?

—No one yet —I lied, smiling against his shoulder—. But I’m the one choosing the third. You in?

He squeezed my waist and said yes. I closed my eyes. I already had the name. All that was left was to see the face Andrés would make when I opened the bedroom door to Damián. Which of the two men would realize first that in this house, all these years, the ones who thought they were cheating on someone were being cheated on themselves.

Thank you for reading me.