I Came Home Early Before the Barbecue and My Wife Wasn’t Alone

It was November 2014 and, on the surface, my life ran like a Swiss watch. I’d been married to Mariana for eleven years, we had two kids in primary school, a comfortable mortgage, and a dog named after my grandfather. I worked nine to six at a parts distribution company, and she kept the house and the kids running with the quiet efficiency of someone who had learned not to need help. From the outside, we were the model couple in the neighborhood.

Inside, the bed had become just another piece of furniture. Mariana had gotten even prettier over the years, with that strange mix of grown woman and girl who still laughed at dumb jokes. She had wide hips, firm tits despite two pregnancies, a round, perky ass, and a mouth that, when she bit her lip, left me breathless. I, on the other hand, had packed on weight in all the least flattering places. My belly spilled over my belt, and when I looked at myself in the mirror from the side, I preferred not to keep going. My dick, besides, had never been anything special: a thin, short cock that had been enough for Mariana in the early years and then wasn’t anymore.

We’d been months without really touching each other. I’d put an arm over her in bed and she’d turn away without saying a word. I’d ask for a long kiss and she’d give me a short one. I’d whisper in her ear that I wanted her, and she’d answer that she was tired, that tomorrow would be another day. But tomorrow was never another day.

Until Damián started showing up at the house.

Damián was an old college friend who over the years had become a compadre. He worked as a personal trainer at a gym downtown, and it showed: he was over six feet tall, with coat-hanger shoulders and arms that strained the sleeves of any T-shirt. He was dark-skinned, with a shaved head and a slow, measured way of speaking that made people shut up to listen. He had something about him, a density of his own, as if he took up more space than everyone else.

The first time he came over for a barbecue, nothing strange happened. The second time either, or so it seemed to me. But by the third, I started to notice. Mariana, who walked around the house in leggings and an old T-shirt, would go into the bathroom as soon as he rang the bell and come back out in a short dress, heeled sandals, and lipstick. She smelled of a perfume I didn’t recognize. And, strangest of all, she stopped looking at me.

“Did you change?” I asked her one afternoon, pretending not to care.

“I had tomato on my clothes,” she answered without lifting her eyes.

There wasn’t a trace of tomato in the kitchen.

That same night, while Damián was saying goodbye with a long hug, I noticed how my wife kept her face pressed against his chest a few seconds too long. When he got into his car and drove off, she stood there in the doorway, barefoot, staring at the spot where the car had been.

This can’t be a coincidence, I thought.

And then I made my plan.

***

It was an ordinary Saturday. The kids were sleeping over at my mother-in-law’s and the house was ours. I announced another barbecue, which always suited Mariana because it meant she didn’t have to cook. Damián confirmed by text at eleven in the morning, and right at one o’clock the doorbell rang with his military punctuality.

“Come in, come in,” I said, patting his back. “Mariana’s already inside.”

He came in carrying a box of craft beer and a smile that was far too relaxed. Mariana, who had gone into the bathroom twenty minutes earlier, came out at that moment in a floral dress I didn’t remember ever seeing and some silver hoop earrings that swayed every time she turned her head. Under the dress, you could tell she wasn’t wearing a bra: her nipples outlined themselves with every movement.

I acted like nothing was happening. We chatted for a while in the living room, I opened the beers, and I lit the charcoal in the grill out back. At two on the dot I took my wallet out of my pocket and made a show of concern.

“Shit, I forgot the offal and the chimichurri. I’m going to the butcher on the corner, okay?”

“I’ll come with you,” said Damián, with that polite tone of his that now sounded to me like choreography.

“No, stay. Keep an eye on the coals, because if they go out we’re starting from scratch. I’ll be back in fifteen minutes.”

I saw him settle into the garden chair with badly hidden relief. Mariana, standing in the kitchen doorway, twisted a lock of hair around her finger.

I left. But I didn’t go to the butcher.

I drove three blocks, turned the corner, and parked behind a dumpster that blocked the van from view. I walked slowly back toward the house, keys in hand, my heart hammering against my ribs as if it wanted out. Before leaving, I’d left the latch on the back gate open, the one that led to the side patio and that we almost never used.

I went in that way, silently. The smell of charcoal was still hanging in the air, but the grill was empty, abandoned. I went up the back stairs, placing my weight on the outer edge of each step so they wouldn’t creak. The bedroom door was half open. A yellow light came through the crack, along with a sound I recognized without thinking: the wet slurping of a mouth sucking, and a man’s breathing slowly speeding up.

I peered in.

***

Mariana was kneeling on the floor, her dress pulled down to her waist and her tits out, those tits of mine I hadn’t touched in months. Damián was standing in front of her, still wearing his white T-shirt but already without pants or underwear. And there, hanging between his legs, was the biggest dick I had ever seen in real life outside a screen: dark, thick as my wrist, long, with bulging veins and a shiny purple head. It was twice, maybe three times the size of mine. The difference was so obscene that for a second it made me laugh, a bitter laugh that broke apart in my throat.

Mariana was holding it with both hands, and even then there was still length left over. She was licking it from base to tip, with her tongue flat and her eyes closed, like she was eating an ice cream that couldn’t melt. When she got to the top, she opened her mouth as wide as she could and tried to swallow it. The head went in with effort, and then she gagged, coughed, a thread of saliva dripped from the corner of her mouth down to her chest, and she started again. My wife’s mouth, the one that gave me short, dry kisses, sucking another cock with a hunger I had never known in her.

“Look at how you get her going, you bitch,” Damián panted, grabbing her by the hair. “Suck it, come on, suck the whole thing.”

“It’s huge,” she whispered, voice rough and lips shining. “It’s the biggest fucking cock I’ve ever tasted in my life.”

“Bigger than your husband’s?”

She laughed, that murky laugh that comes from the bottom of the throat.

“Don’t compare them. Don’t even joke about comparing them.”

I pressed myself against the doorframe like someone had shoved a knife into my gut. And yet, I don’t know how, I already had a hard-on straining against my pants. Hearing my wife say that should have broken me, but instead I got harder. Damián took her face in both hands and started fucking her mouth to his rhythm, pushing her head forward and back. She made choking sounds, snorting sounds, saliva foaming, and she didn’t pull away. She buried her nose in his shaved crotch and held there for a few seconds, as if she were testing herself.

When he pulled out of her mouth, her face was soaked, a string of spit hanging from her chin, her eyes watery. Damián gave her two, three slaps with his cock across the cheek, leaving wet marks on her skin.

“To the bed,” he ordered.

Mariana stood up, yanked her dress off in one motion, and climbed onto our bed, onto the bedspread she herself had chosen at the mall last summer. She lay on her back, spread her legs, and used her fingers to open her pussy for him too. I saw her from the hallway: her cunt was swollen, wet, shining, with thick moisture running down toward her ass. Damián climbed on, settled himself between her thighs, and his cock hung heavy over her belly, almost reaching her navel.

“Hurry up,” she murmured. “I don’t have much time.”

“I decide the time,” he answered.

Damián grabbed her hips with both hands, pulled her open until she was wide apart, and pressed in. The head of his cock sank into the mouth of her pussy, and for a second Mariana went rigid as if something were about to be shoved into her. She opened her mouth as though she were about to scream, but no sound came out, only a long sigh, a surrender.

He pushed slowly. Centimeter by centimeter, watching every reaction on my wife’s face. You could see how her pussy stretched to take him, how her lips clung to that black cock and clung to it dripping. Mariana arched her back, dug her fingers into the sheets, and bit the air. Half of him was still outside.

“You okay?” he asked.

“Keep going,” she panted. “Put the whole thing in me, you motherfucker, come on.”

I was still in the hallway, holding my breath, feeling how my own body was responding to what I was seeing. I braced myself against the doorframe. Part of me expected outrage, indignation, that famous movie-style rage. But the only thing I felt was heat. A dull heat rising from my stomach to the back of my neck and settling in my pants.

Damián pushed all the way in. When his balls hit Mariana’s ass, she screamed. A long, ugly, animal scream.

“Ah, fuck!” she shrieked. “You tore me open, you tore me open!”

“Take it, baby, take it,” he told her, not moving, letting her get used to it. “Feel it all inside you. Feel how it fills you up.”

“I can feel it in my throat, asshole,” she panted, and she laughed a nervous laugh that broke into a moan.

“Slowly,” she panted after that, grabbing him by the neck. “Slowly, because after this I can handle anything.”

“Anything,” he repeated, smiling. “That’s what I wanted to hear.”

They started a slow, deep rhythm, with long pauses that seemed designed to drive her insane. Every time he sank to the hilt, she let out a strange moan, a sound I had heard from her only two or three times in eleven years, on very particular nights I could barely remember anymore. Every time he pulled out, the cock came out shining, covered in white slick, and Mariana’s cunt stayed open for a second before swallowing it again. Without thinking, I unzipped my pants, took my cock out, and started jerking off.

Compared to the one going into my wife, mine looked like a toy. And yet I hadn’t been that hard in years.

***

I don’t know how long I stayed in the hallway. Five minutes, ten, maybe more. Damián had put her on all fours on the bed, one hand holding her waist and the other yanking her hair. Mariana had her face pressed into the pillow and her mouth open, a string of drool sticking to the fabric. Her ass shook every time he slammed into her, and her cheeks rippled in a wave that climbed all the way to her waist.

The cock went in and out at an increasingly brutal pace, with a wet, obscene sound from her soaked cunt. Damián gave one sharp slap to one cheek and left the red print of his hand on her skin.

“Whore,” he told her. “You’re a whore.”

“I’m your whore,” she answered, not lifting her face. “I’m your whore, come on, keep going.”

Her moans were no longer soft: they were full words, direct requests, phrases I would never have imagined my wife could say.

“Harder,” she panted. “Hard enough for it to be felt in the kitchen too, come on. Rip my cunt open, don’t hold back.”

“And if your husband comes in?”

“He won’t come in. And if he does, let him watch. Let him watch how I get fucked properly for once.”

That sentence hit me like a slap and like permission at the same time. I pushed the door open.

The creak stopped them. Damián froze, still inside her, eyes wide as eggs. Mariana turned her head slightly, with that slowness of someone who knows they’ve been caught and no longer cares. When she saw me standing in the doorway, pants open, cock out, breathing hard, she didn’t cover herself. She didn’t move. She just held my gaze.

“You were at the butcher,” she murmured, almost like a question.

“I came back early,” I said.

Damián made the move to pull out of her, to get up, to invent an excuse. I put a hand on his shoulder.

“Don’t stop,” I told him. “Don’t stop now.”

He went stiff, not understanding. Mariana was the first to react. She reached one arm back, grabbed his thigh, and pushed herself against him, forcing him to move. Damián closed his eyes, let out a long curse, and started pounding again, harder than before, as if my presence had unlocked him.

“Just like that, just like that,” she panted. “Let my husband watch his friend fuck me better than he ever could.”

I went up to the side of the bed. I pulled off my shirt, pushed down my pants, and stood there as I’d come into the world, belly exposed and all. For the first time in years, I didn’t care. Mariana turned her face toward me and looked up at me from below, lips parted, eyes shining.

“Come here,” she said. “Come here, give me yours too.”

I knelt in front of her on the mattress. She took me with one hand, guided me to her mouth, and started sucking me with a hunger I didn’t know in her. The same mouth that had gagged on Damián’s black cock was now swallowing me whole, down to the root, her nose pressed against my belly. She had room to spare. And still she sucked with hollow cheeks, making noise, looking me in the eyes as if she were saying something to me with her gaze.

Damián kept moving behind her. Every thrust of his pushed her against me, made her throat tighten around me, made me feel the strength of the other man by proxy. It was a chain of three bodies pierced by one current. I held her head with both hands, not daring to move it, and she sucked me on her own, in time with his pounding.

“Yours is good,” she panted, pulling me out of her mouth for a second. “My husband’s is good too. Different, but good.”

“Fuck her mouth,” Damián told me, never stopping his thrusts. “You fuck it, come on.”

And I fucked her mouth. My wife. I grabbed her head and shoved my cock in to the hilt, and she didn’t resist, she opened her throat wider and let me do it. On the other side, Damián was spreading her ass with his thumbs and still fucking her pussy with that monstrous cock. Both of us, one at each end, fucking her at the same time for the first time.

***

At some point Mariana pulled away, took my cock out of her mouth with a wet pop, looked at me, and said what I didn’t dare ask for.

“I want both of you.”

Damián went still, waiting for a translation.

“Both of you at the same time,” she repeated. “Front and back. One in the cunt and one in the ass.”

He looked for my eyes. Not with shame, not with discomfort. With a silent question. I nodded.

“The ass is for you, love,” she told him, giving me a kiss on the mouth tasting of Damián. “You open me first, because you’re smaller. Then him, if he can handle it.”

“Handle what, you bitch,” Damián laughed. “You’re the one who’s going to have to handle it.”

We arranged ourselves slowly, not really knowing how, laughing under our breath when elbows bumped and knees got tangled. Damián lay on his back in the middle of the bed, his black cock standing like a mast, resting against his navel. Mariana climbed on top of him, back to him, grabbed his cock with her hand, and sat down slowly, impaling herself again. When she had him all the way in, she lowered herself little by little until she was lying on his chest, tits pointed at the ceiling and legs spread wide open.

I climbed in between their legs. Damián’s cock was going in and out of my wife in slow motion, and on top of that there was her tiny, tight little ass, waiting for me. I spit into my hand and spread the saliva over her hole. She trembled all over.

“Put it in,” she panted. “Put it in slow, but put the whole thing in.”

I pushed. The head of my cock resisted at first, then sank in after a second, and Mariana let out a howl from deep in her gut. Inside she was hot, impossibly tight, and I could feel Damián’s cock pushing from the other side of the thin wall that separated us. It was a strange, intense sensation, as if I were touching my friend through my wife.

“You’re both inside,” she whimpered. “You’re both inside. Ah, fuck. Ah.”

“You okay?” I asked.

“I can handle anything. Fuck me. Fuck me between the two of you.”

We found a clumsy rhythm at first and then a synchronized one, an improvised choreography where when one pushed the other pulled back. Mariana stayed in the middle, trapped between us, with no escape and no wish to escape. I kissed her neck, bit her shoulder. Damián grabbed her tits from below, squeezed them, and murmured things in her ear I couldn’t hear.

“Harder,” she begged. “Harder, both of you. I’m about to come. I’m about to come like this, with both of you, don’t stop.”

Her ass clenched in spasms around my cock, and on the other side the same thing was happening with Damián’s cock. I started to feel myself go, knew I wouldn’t last much longer. Every time he thrust from below, my wife opened herself wider, and she sucked me harder. I looked down and saw both holes occupied, my thin cock in her ass, my friend’s dark cock in her cunt, both going in at the same time. The image hit me like something I would never get out of my head.

She came first. It was a long, sustained scream that turned into crying, with a tremor running through her whole body from top to bottom. Her cunt and ass contracted in waves at the same time, squeezing both of us like she wanted to wring us out. Damián came after, with a groan that rose from somewhere deep, and I felt perfectly how he throbbed and unloaded inside her, shot after shot, filling her from within. That heat of another man coming inside my wife, separated from me by a few millimeters of flesh, made me lose my mind.

I held on a few seconds longer, just enough to feel the other man’s heat spilling inside her, and then I came too, in Mariana’s ass, with an eruption that bent me forward. She laughed and cried at the same time, murmuring nonsense, her mouth slack and her eyes rolled back. She had cum inside and outside, on her thighs, on her ass, on her belly.

When we pulled out, a thick stream of semen started running out of her cunt and soaked Damián’s balls. From her ass came another, smaller one, mine, trailing down her perineum. Mariana slid a finger underneath, pushed it in, pulled it out full, and put it in her mouth without saying a word.

***

The three of us stayed sprawled on the bed, watching the ceiling fan spin in circles. The grill out back had gone out long ago. Mariana was in the middle, her head on my shoulder and Damián’s arm over her waist. She smelled of sweat, perfume mixed with charcoal smoke, spent cunt, and semen. A new smell I couldn’t name at the time.

“Are you okay, love?” she asked me, with a tenderness she hadn’t shown me in years.

“I’m better than ever,” I answered, and it was true. “But I want to ask for one thing.”

Damián tensed on the other side.

“Say it,” said Mariana.

“This doesn’t end today. But I don’t want it to be in secret either. If this is going to keep happening, I want to be here. Even if it’s just sitting on the couch watching. I don’t want to be left out of my own house.”

Damián took a while to answer. Then he let out his breath in one go.

“That’s fair. And honestly, I prefer it that way. The guilt was killing me.”

Mariana propped herself on one elbow and stroked my face with the hand still sticky with semen.

“You’re my husband,” she said, with a seriousness that made me swallow hard. “This only works if I have you too.”

We spent the rest of the afternoon in bed, the three of us, talking in low voices like conspirators. Damián confessed that from the very first barbecue he had felt a current with Mariana that he hadn’t known how to stop. She admitted she’d been thinking about it for months, that my long shifts at the distribution company had left her alone with a mind that wouldn’t stop fantasizing and a pussy that wouldn’t stop getting wet thinking about him. I listened to everything without interrupting, one hand on my wife’s waist and the other resting, almost without thinking, on my friend’s thigh.

When it started to get dark, Damián dressed slowly. Mariana walked him to the door, still naked, legs stained, and gave him a long kiss that I watched from the couch without blinking. She grabbed his cock through his pants, squeezed it, and kissed it through the fabric.

“Next weekend the kids are going back to my mom’s,” she told him, biting his lip. “And bring a rested cock, because I’m going to need the whole thing.”

“I’ll be here,” he answered, and before leaving he pointed at me with his chin. “Compadre.”

“Compadre,” I replied.

***

That night we slept wrapped around each other, with the marks of other people’s hands still warm on our skin and the smell of semen still floating in the sheets. Mariana settled against my chest, threw one leg over mine, and sighed deeply. Under the sheet, she found my cock with her hand and took it softly, unhurriedly, as if she wanted to remind me it was hers too.

“You know what I liked about today?” she murmured.

“Tell me.”

“That you stopped being just the one who pays the bills. Today you were my accomplice. And I liked how you fucked my ass, love. Nobody had ever fucked it before. I saved it for you.”

I didn’t answer. I held her a little tighter, kissed her forehead, and stayed looking at the ceiling.

That November of 2014 changed everything. Not just the sex, that too; it changed the way we looked at each other at breakfast, the way she waited for me with coffee when I got home from work, the way I reached for her hand under the table when other people were around. Something had unlocked between us, and it turned out the key had been brought by a third person.

Damián came back many times. Sometimes I took part. Sometimes I watched from the couch, jerking myself off slowly while I watched my wife being wrecked by that cock that already knew the house. Once I fell asleep in the middle of the two of them, with my head on her back and his hand on my shoulder. But that’s another story.

That first night, when Mariana fell asleep breathing slowly against my neck, with both our semen still drying between her legs, I understood something I hadn’t understood in eleven years. Being present sometimes isn’t the same as standing beside someone. Sometimes it means daring to open the door and staying to see what happens inside.

And, for the first time in a long time, I stopped being a spectator in my own marriage.