I Saw My Wife With Her Assistant from the Garden

My wife is named Mariana and, after twelve years together, I still think there’s no one like her. She’s one meter seventy-two, weighs fifty-eight kilos, has shoulder-length black hair, and a body that makes men go silent when she walks by. She’s thirty-three and has worked with me at the same clinic since we finished our specialization. I’m a bit taller, I keep my hair short with a few prematurely graying strands, and nature gifted me with a member that she loves having in her mouth for hours.

About four months ago, a new guy started working with us. His name is Iván and he came in as Mariana’s direct assistant. He’s twenty-four, light brown hair, and that strange mix of shyness and brazenness you only get at that age. We invited him home a couple of times for work-related reasons, he met our kids, and everything seemed perfectly cordial. I noticed how he looked at her, how his eyes drifted whenever she bent over the table or tied her hair up in a high ponytail. I joked about it with Mariana and she told me he seemed “cute and a little dreamy.” I let it go.

The company organized a weekend at a resort an hour from the coast. It had everything: pools, horseback riding, fishing, two tennis courts, a nine-hole golf course. They assigned us a corner room on the first floor, with two large windows facing the side garden.

The kids went off to the pool as soon as we dropped our bags. Iván offered to watch them for a while and I took the opportunity to get Mariana into the room. I laid her on the bed, pulled down her shorts and thong, and ate her cunt the way she knows I like to do it, slow at first and then relentless. She came twice before I fucked her. Afterward, while I breathed against her neck, she sat up and gave me a blow job so long and so meticulous that I came with my back arched against the headboard.

When I could see again, I looked toward the window.

Iván was there, in the garden, standing four or five meters from the glass, watching.

The curtains had been left open in the rush we’d been in. I don’t know exactly how long he’d been standing there. I could see him step back two paces when I sat up, and then he turned toward the pool as if nothing had happened.

I didn’t say anything to Mariana at that moment.

At dinner that night, I watched him. He was seated across from her and laughed at everything she said. Mariana wore a thin-strapped dress that turned a little sheer when the light hit her from behind. Iván kept trying not to look at her cleavage and failed every time. I began to suspect she noticed. I don’t know why, but that night, when we went back to the room, I stayed awake a little longer, watching her sleep.

***

The next morning the four of us had breakfast together. The kids wanted to go fishing in one of the boats and Mariana, without looking up from her coffee, suggested I go with them. “You two stay,” she said, meaning Iván and herself. “I can’t stand being on a boat for seven hours.” Iván nodded, staring at the tablecloth.

I accompanied the kids to the dock. Three boats were waiting, each with its guide, and all the seats were full except for the two my children took. I stayed a while chatting with a couple of coworkers about the golf game that afternoon and at eleven I decided to go back to the room. I had nothing to do down there.

When I rounded the corner of the building I saw two figures come in through the side door, the one that led directly into the corridor on our floor. It was them. For a moment I stood still. Then, instead of continuing straight to the main entrance, I went around the building through the garden.

I approached the side window of our room. The curtains were drawn, but they were made of such a thin gauze that everything showed through. The other window, the one facing the back garden, had the blinds raised. I went to that one.

Mariana was sitting in the desk chair by the window. Iván was bent over her, his hands resting on the back of the chair. He kissed her forehead, her eyelids, her cheeks. He slowly made his way down to her mouth. He ran his tongue over her lower lip once. Twice. Mariana turned her face away.

She’s going to pull away, I thought. She’s going to stand up and throw him out.

She didn’t stand up. She said something, shook her head very slightly, almost a doubtful gesture. He stroked the back of her neck with his open hand and went back for her mouth. This time she opened it. I watched them kiss until they were out of breath, his tongue inside her mouth and her head tilted back toward the chair.

I felt heat in my face before anything else. Then in my chest. Then lower down.

Iván slid one hand down to her breast and pinched her nipple through the dress. Mariana took his wrist, slowly, without conviction. He took advantage of the gesture to slide his hand to her thigh. She parted her mouth for a moment, said something — some final hesitation, I suppose — and he kissed her again while lifting her dress to her waist.

I couldn’t move. Both hands were on the windowsill and my breathing was cut short.

He straightened up, unfastened his trousers and took out his cock. It wasn’t as long as mine, but it was thick, very thick. He held it in his hand and brought it to Mariana’s face. She leaned her head back, looking at him with her eyes wide open, as if she could still back out. He rubbed the head against her lips, slowly, once and again. I saw Mariana stick out her tongue and touch the tip with the tip of hers. How she let him rest it against her cheek. How she closed her eyes.

And then she opened her mouth.

I’d taken my cock out without even realizing it. I worked it slowly, almost automatically, while I watched her do what she does so well, with her tongue wrapping around him and her lips tight and her free hand resting on his thigh. Iván had his eyes closed and his head thrown back. He held her neck and started moving her head to the rhythm he set with his hips. Mariana let him.

***

It lasted less than I expected. Iván sped up, grabbed her hair with both hands, pushed in all the way and stayed like that, his ass muscles taut as rope. I watched Mariana swallow. I watched her swallow again. And again. I came against the hedge, my forehead against the glass, making no sound.

When he pulled away, she wiped her chin with the back of her hand and let out a small laugh, almost shy. Iván knelt in front of her, stroked her thighs and whispered something in her ear. Then he lifted her dress all the way up and pulled her underwear down with patience, as if he had all day. Mariana protested, but she didn’t close her legs. She opened them.

He buried himself there with his mouth. He buried his whole face. Mariana put her hands on his head and pressed it against her cunt. She said something to him — I couldn’t hear it, but I could read it in the way her mouth opened — and she came hard, shaking in the chair, legs spread and neck taut.

Iván stood up without pulling his face away right away. His beard was shining. He took her by the backs of the knees, folded her legs up to her chest and thrust his cock in all at once. Mariana let out a cry I had to guess from reading her lips. He fucked her there, in the desk chair in our room, for three minutes, four at most, with her thighs trembling against his.

He came inside her. I could tell by how his back tightened and by how he stayed buried deep, squeezing her ass with both hands. Mariana wrapped her arms around his shoulders. They stayed like that, without talking, without moving, while I slowly turned around and went back the way I’d come through the garden.

***

I went up to the hotel lobby and caught a waitress passing by with a tray of champagne glasses. I took two. Carried them on my elbow and started calling Mariana from the corridor, even before I opened the room door.

“Mariana? Mariana, are you here?” I repeated it two, three times, giving her time.

When I opened it, she was reclined in the chair, her dress perfectly in place and her sandals where they should be. Iván was gone. Mariana pretended she’d been sleeping.

“I thought you were staying with the kids,” she said, her voice a little rough.

I smiled, handed her the glass and told her no, they’d be back in a few hours. We toasted. I took a sip of mine and set the glass on the table.

“I want you so badly,” I told her.

“Not now, baby. I’m tired. They could see us.”

“No one’s going to see us.”

I lifted her dress without waiting for an answer. She struggled a little, just enough to keep up appearances. When I opened her legs and found no underwear, I tipped her chin up with one finger. She said nothing. Neither did I. I lowered my head and kissed her on the pussy.

My initial plan was to open her up, find what I knew I was going to find, and make a scene. Confront her. Make her cry. What had made sense in my head ten minutes earlier had completely vanished.

I stared at my wife’s cunt, soft and wet, with a white thread dripping from her lips and running down. I swallowed. I didn’t know at what moment I decided what I decided. I ran my tongue all over the slit, slowly, from bottom to top, collecting everything I could. It tasted salty, thick, strange. It tasted like another man.

Mariana screamed. She didn’t fake it this time. Her whole body tightened and she grabbed my hair with both hands.

“Don’t you dare stop,” she said.

And I didn’t stop. I licked her all over, shoved my tongue deep inside, sucked her clit until she came with her heels dug into my back. Then I went up and kissed her mouth, with all of Iván’s taste still on my tongue, and fucked her with a fury I didn’t know I had. Her cunt was so soft, so slippery, so different from usual, that I finished in very little time. I came inside her with my forehead pressed against hers.

We stayed silent for a long while, catching our breath. I stroked her hair. Her eyes were closed and her breathing was ragged.

“Find him,” I told her at last.

She opened her eyes.

“Who?”

“Iván. Find him and tell him to come up. I want him to eat your cunt again, with me inside you. I want him to taste mine the way I tasted his.”

Mariana went very still. I saw every question pass across her face: when had I seen him, how much had I seen, why hadn’t I gone in, why wasn’t I angry, why was I asking her that. She didn’t answer any of them out loud.

“I know exactly what you did in that chair,” I said. “I’m not angry. We’re not talking about that now. We’re going to do something better. Call him.”

She took a long minute. Then she sat up, looked for her phone on the nightstand and dialed. She waited three rings. She asked Iván to come up with some work excuse or other. She hung up without looking at me.

I gave her the last glass of champagne. We toasted again, now with such steady hands that the crystal didn’t tremble. We waited for the knock at the door. It came six minutes later.