I Discovered My Wife Was Receiving Visitors While I Worked

For weeks I had suspected it. Marina was never careful, and I had become an expert at hiding what I saw. But there are signs you can’t cover up: a fingerprint bruise on the hip, a different smell on the sheets, that loose way she walked some afternoons. Every time I came back from the office I found another clue. I had no more doubt that my wife was giving herself to another man while I was away.

That night the confirmation came to me in the most brutal way. I was looking for a towel in the bathroom hamper when I saw her black lace panties thrown on top. The crotch was stained, with a thick, still-warm mark that was not hers. I stood there, the garment in my hand, staring at it under the yellow bathroom light. By the position of the stain I understood what had happened that same afternoon, while I was closing the quarterly spreadsheet at my desk.

I should have felt rage. Instead I felt my cock harden all at once, hard as a stone, throbbing on its own inside my pants. I pulled down the zipper and took it out into the air. I smelled the fabric slowly, that smell of another man’s sex, of a body used, and I touched myself slowly, without rushing, imagining Marina moaning for another man. I came right there, standing up, biting my lips so I wouldn’t make a sound. Then I folded the panties exactly as they had been, left them where I had found them, washed my hands, and went down to the kitchen as if I knew nothing.

***

Marina was washing the dishes, wearing only a long T-shirt that barely covered her ass. The fabric rode up every time she bent over the sink. I came up behind her, wrapped my arms around her waist, and started kissing her neck, slowly, right behind the ear, where I knew she lost her mind.

“You’re affectionate today,” she murmured, without pulling away.

“I missed you all day,” I lied against her skin.

My hands climbed to her tits, heavy and hot under the cotton, and I squeezed them until I felt the nipples harden against my palms. She arched back, rubbing her ass against my cock, which was already hard again. I lifted her shirt with one hand. She had nothing on underneath. The panties from the hamper were proof that she had taken them off hours earlier.

I spread her cheeks with both hands and looked. Her ass was red, still marked, with that unmistakable swelling of having been used thoroughly that very afternoon. I didn’t need to ask anything. I ran a finger through the crease and she trembled, letting out a long sigh.

“You taste so good,” I whispered in her ear, slipping the tip of my finger in without effort, because it went in on its own.

Marina moaned and leaned farther over the sink, opening her legs. I lowered my hand and touched her cunt: it was soaked, the lips swollen and hot. I worked her with two fingers while kissing her back, feeling her wet my entire hand. She started moving her hips against me, looking for me, breathing harder and harder.

“Put it in me,” she begged softly. “Please.”

But I wasn’t in any hurry. I liked the filthy thrill of knowing what had already happened in that kitchen, in that bed, while I was working. I turned her around, lifted her, and sat her on the cold countertop. I opened her legs and lowered my head. I licked her slowly, with a flat tongue, seeking the taste of the afternoon mixed with hers. She tasted of recent sex. Marina grabbed my hair and pressed me against her, moaning without shame.

“Like that,” she panted. “Don’t stop.”

I licked her until she came trembling all over, squeezing my head between her thighs. Then I set her down, put her on her knees on the kitchen floor, and shoved my cock into her mouth. Marina sucked me hungrily, looking up at me with shining eyes, taking me deep down her throat. I held her head with both hands and set the pace, slow, deep, feeling her throat contract around me.

“Later I’m going to fill you completely,” I promised, hoarse.

***

I carried her almost in my arms to the bedroom and threw her face-down on the bed. I spread her cheeks again, spit straight in, and entered slowly. Her ass received me warm, tight but soft, as if it were still adjusting to something bigger than my fingers. I started gently, enjoying every inch, listening to her moan into the pillow.

“Tell me the truth,” I whispered, sinking in all the way. “Who was here today?”

She only moaned louder and pushed her ass back against me.

“Nobody,” she lied between gasps. “Only you.”

I slapped her ass hard. Her skin was marked instantly.

“Don’t lie to me,” I said, without stopping. “I know your body better than anyone.”

I grabbed her hips and started fucking her harder, with thrusts that made her ass bounce against my pelvis. The noise was obscene, wet, mixed with her moans. I slid two fingers into her cunt while I kept pounding her from behind, and that was what finally broke her. Marina exploded with a long cry, clenching around me, trembling from head to foot.

I couldn’t hold back anymore. I drove in to the hilt and emptied myself inside her, feeling everything mix together, mine and whatever had already been there. I stayed on top of her, panting, listening to her breathe. That night, with her face buried in the pillow and my cum inside her, I promised myself I would find out who he was. Not to end it. To watch him.

***

The next morning I went to the office like every day, but I couldn’t focus. In every meeting the image of the stained panties, of Marina’s marked ass, kept flashing through my head. Midmorning I got a message from her: “I miss you, love. Come home early.” I smiled to myself in front of the computer. I knew how to read between the lines. That line wasn’t for me.

I decided to come back early. I left the car two blocks away and entered the building through the service stairs, making no noise. Instead of using the key on the front door, I went up to the shared rooftop and climbed down to the small balcony that led to our bedroom. I hid behind the flowerpots and looked through the gap in the curtain.

And I saw him.

It was Hernán, the neighbor from the sixth floor, that big guy who was always too friendly in the elevator. Marina was kneeling in the middle of our bed, completely naked, sucking his cock with a devotion I had never seen from her. He held her head with both hands and set the pace mercilessly. She took it, drooling, touching her cunt with one hand while she looked up at him from below.

“That’s how I like it,” he told her, his voice rough. “Like a good girl.”

He lifted her, put her on all fours, and spit on her ass. He shoved his cock in with one thrust and Marina let out a scream that could be heard all the way to the balcony. He started fucking her hard, slapping her so her skin turned red. The bed creaked with every thrust and my wife’s tits swayed with every удар.

“Harder,” she begged him, with no shame at all. “Don’t stop.”

I took mine out right there on the balcony and started touching myself slowly, watching my wife give herself over without guilt. Hernán slid a finger into her cunt while he fucked her from behind and Marina came trembling, biting the pillow. When he finished, he drove in to the hilt and unloaded inside with a long grunt. As he pulled his cock out, a thick stream ran down her crotch. Marina stayed there, panting, her body open and satisfied.

I came against the balcony wall, unable to believe how hot it was to see my wife turned into something else. That afternoon, when I got home “as usual,” I found her showered, smiling, in clean clothes. She kissed me as if nothing had happened. And I, who already knew everything, kissed her back, feeling the filth inside me growing.

***

The following days turned into a secret routine. I started inventing meetings, short trips, outings that didn’t exist, just so I could come back and spy on her. I discovered that Hernán was not the only one.

On Tuesday, while I was supposedly in an out-of-town training session, Bruno showed up, the young guy who delivered the vegetables from the corner market. Young, skinny, quiet. Marina let him into the living room as if it were the most normal thing in the world. She knelt down, pulled his pants off, and sucked his cock with the same hunger I had seen in her with the neighbor. Then he bent her over the dining table, lifted her skirt, and rammed into her in one blow.

“Your husband has no idea,” he told her, fucking her fast. “That every Tuesday I leave you like this.”

“Keep going,” she moaned, gripping the edge of the table. “More.”

When he came, Marina knelt again and cleaned him with her tongue, slowly, wasting nothing. I watched it all from the terrace, touching myself again, dizzy with the filthy thrill.

On Thursday another one appeared: Iván, the trainer at the gym my wife went to. Huge, defined, with arms that looked twice the size of mine. That afternoon he had her for almost an hour in our own bed. First he ate her cunt until she came screaming. Then he turned her over and fucked her from behind with a force that made the headboard bang against the wall. Marina screamed so much I thought the neighbors were going to come upstairs.

“Tell me whose this is,” he demanded, pulling her hair.

“Yours,” she answered, lost. “It’s all yours.”

Marina came again and again, laughing and crying at the same time, begging for more. When he finished, he left her lying face-down, exhausted, her body open and her hair stuck to her face. I came twice in a row watching them from my hiding place.

Every night I came home and fucked her with a new fury, pushing myself into places other men had been hours before. And while I had her underneath me, I asked her in her ear who it had been that day. She never answered me with words. She only moaned louder, clung to me with all her strength, and came as if the question itself turned her on. Then she fell asleep against my chest, calm, as if I knew nothing.

***

Weeks passed like that. I already knew the schedule by heart: Hernán almost every midday, Bruno on Tuesdays, Iván on Thursdays. Some afternoons I even crossed paths with them without their knowing it, in the elevator, in the hallway, and I held their gaze with a calm they couldn’t understand. Once, just once, I saw her with two at the same time, taking turns, and I had to press myself against the balcony wall so I wouldn’t shout too.

I couldn’t stop. The filthy thrill had me trapped in a way I would never confess to anyone. My marriage had become this: a woman I desired all the more precisely because I knew she belonged to everyone, and a man who watched her in silence and loved her more each time.

One night, after spying on her all afternoon, I came home and found her asleep. I got into bed beside her, opened her legs slowly, and entered her, waking her with a moan in the darkness.

“I love you,” I whispered, starting to move slowly. “And I don’t care what you do when I’m not here. I like knowing.”

Marina went still for a second. Then she arched against me, squeezed me tight, and for the first time answered me with a voice rough from all the moaning.

“Then keep watching,” she said, turning her head just a little on the pillow. “Because tomorrow the three of them are coming together. And I left the curtain open for you.”

I came instantly, buried in her, understanding there was no going back. My love for Marina had become this: seeing her, knowing her desired by everyone, and still being the only one who came back to sleep beside her every night.