My Friend’s Wife Took My Hand Under the Water

We had been going to the thermal spa on Saturday afternoons for more than a year, with the usual group. Three couples, the occasional guest, the same unchanging ritual: two hours in the pools and steam rooms, then something to eat or straight home. It was one of those habits you adopt without giving it much thought and that later turns out to be difficult to break.

I also went alone during the week. At midday, after those mornings of back-to-back meetings that left the brain without any useful energy for anything. The hot water, the relative silence, the feeling that the body stopped weighing anything for a while. I came out of there able to think again.

It was during one of those sessions that I ran into Lorena.

I had known her for four years, since Marcos had started bringing her to the group’s dinners. She was petite, with the kind of calm presence that didn’t need to assert itself because it already existed on its own. Dark-haired, with short hair cut to her jaw, and a smile that took time to appear but, when it did, rearranged her face a little. She worked in financial auditing or something similar, and dressed in the kind of functional executive style that looked completely natural on her.

We chatted during the session and ended up having lunch together in the hotel restaurant. She told me she came several Wednesdays a month, almost always at that time, and that she sometimes ran into a couple of acquaintances who were also thermal-spa enthusiasts. I told her I came on Tuesdays and Thursdays when I could. Before paying, we agreed to meet up the following week.

***

I arrived ten minutes late. Lorena was already in the lobby with Carlos and Nuria, the couple she had mentioned. Standing beside the locker-room turnstiles, she wore a dark-gray jacket and a tight skirt above the knee. A thin V-neck shirt underneath. The kind of work clothes that weren’t meant to be provocative and therefore were.

The introductions took as long as they needed to, and we went inside.

The session followed the usual order: cold pool, hot pool, dry steam room, wet steam room, then some time resting with towels rolled around our necks. At some point that afternoon, the four of us ended up in the indoor whirlpool, which was practically empty at that hour. The water reached our chests, and the bubbles made a constant, comforting noise.

Carlos and Nuria, on the other side of the whirlpool, had been gradually reducing the distance between them so slowly that it was almost hypnotic. When I looked closely, their hands had disappeared beneath the waterline. They were kissing with just enough discretion for people who knew they weren’t alone but had decided they didn’t care very much. Nuria’s mouth was half-open and her breathing was ragged; you could see, without really seeing, that Carlos’s hand was inside her swimsuit, two fingers moving slowly inside her, while she, with her arm stretched out beneath the water, held his cock and stroked it with her wrist in a slow, restrained rhythm.

Lorena was looking toward the other end of the room with the expression of someone pretending to be somewhere else.

“They’ve been like that since I’ve known them,” she said quietly, without turning around. “I try not to look, but it isn’t easy either.”

I had been unable to look anywhere else for a while.

“No,” I admitted.

“Careful,” she added with half a smile. “This ends up affecting you whether you want it to or not.”

She rested her hand on my thigh to underline the comment, a gesture that began casually and moved a few inches too far. When she went to settle it where she expected to find my thigh, it landed on something that wasn’t my thigh. On my hard cock, pressed against the fabric of my swimsuit, its outline already visible.

She went completely still for a second. Then she closed her hand, just slightly, enough to check its size and condition, and smiled.

Then she turned toward me without moving her hand.

“I see the warning came too late.”

“Pretty late,” I admitted.

“We women have an advantage in these situations,” she replied, leaning back against the edge with her eyes half-closed. “The water hides everything.”

I slowly slid my hand beneath the surface. I found her on the inside of her thigh, at the edge of her swimsuit. I moved the fabric aside with two fingers and touched her pussy directly: hot, slippery in a way that wasn’t water, her lips already swollen. I ran my middle finger along the opening, from bottom to top, and felt her part slightly. When I reached her clitoris, I stopped there, resting my fingertip against it and barely moving it in tiny circles.

“It isn’t very obvious here either,” I said.

She didn’t answer with words. She closed her eyes, let out a breath through her nose, and with the hand she had on my swimsuit slipped beneath the elastic waistband and grabbed my cock, skin against skin. Under the water, no one could see anything. She began masturbating me calmly, her fist closed just right, moving up and down along its full length, stopping at the glans to squeeze it for a second before moving back down. I kept working her clitoris with two fingers and slipped a third inside her, moving it slowly inward against the upper wall. Her pussy suddenly tightened around my finger, and I felt a brief tremor escape through her thigh.

Carlos announced that they were leaving, that they had to get back to the office. They withdrew their hands from the water with the same discretion with which they had put them in. The four of us said goodbye with that slightly hurried politeness of people who really are in a hurry. The couple disappeared down the locker-room corridor. Lorena and I remained alone in the whirlpool for a moment without saying anything, our hands still where they had been.

“Shall we eat?” I asked.

“Of course,” she said, and squeezed my cock one last time before taking her hand away. “But book a room while I get changed.”

***

When Lorena appeared in the restaurant, I had been sitting there for fifteen minutes with the menu unread. She was still wearing the same trousers as before but had changed her shirt. The new one was almost identical to the previous one, except for what became apparent when she bent down to put her handbag on the floor beside the chair: she was wearing nothing underneath, and her nipples stood hard against the thin cotton.

She said nothing about it. Neither did I.

The conversation was apparently normal for the first twenty minutes: work, the group, the following weekend. But there was something in the tone that didn’t quite fit, like when two people talk about one thing while thinking about another.

“How much time do you have this afternoon?” I asked at some point between the first and second courses.

She looked up before answering.

“Enough for you to fuck me properly,” she said very quietly, without changing her expression. “Room 214, right?”

I nodded. I called the waiter before dessert arrived.

***

The room was small and tidy, with a window overlooking an interior courtyard. The kind of functional room that didn’t try to be anything else. Lorena left her handbag on the desk chair. I closed the door and slid the bolt shut.

There wasn’t much ceremony.

I turned around and she was already close. I kissed her against the wall, carefully at first and then thrusting my tongue deep inside her mouth. Her hands grabbed my hips and pulled me against her. I could feel her pelvis moving slightly, rubbing against the bulge that had stayed hard for an hour, with very precise intent.

I lowered my mouth to her neck. She tilted her head back and rested her nape against the wall. My hands found the hem of her shirt and I lifted it over her head. Underneath, as I had suspected, she wasn’t wearing a bra.

Her tits were small and firm, her nipples dark and already hard before I touched them. I sucked one into my mouth whole, taking it as deep as it would go, and lightly bit it with my teeth. I felt her back arch and a moan escape her. I switched to the other and did the same, more slowly, tugging the nipple with my lips before releasing it. Her breathing grew more controlled, as if she were concentrating on not letting it show too much.

“You’ve been like this all afternoon,” I said against her skin.

“And you’ve had a hard-on all afternoon,” she replied, grabbing me over my trousers to make the point clear. “Since the whirlpool.”

It wasn’t a reproach.

My hands moved down to the skirt clasp. I undid it and the fabric fell to the floor. She was wearing a thin black lace thong, with a dark stain in the center that left no room for doubt. I ran my fingers along the edge from her hip to her inner thigh without moving the fabric aside, simply tracing the outline. She tensed slightly.

I moved the thong to one side. She was hot and soaked, shaved, her lips swollen and parted. I ran my fingers together over the opening, without forcing anything, with just enough pressure for her to feel the path from top to bottom. When I reached her clitoris, she let out a short, almost muffled sound. I pushed two fingers in at once, all the way to the hilt, and curled them upward, searching for the spot inside. I pulled them out glistening and brought them to my mouth.

“It’s been a long time since someone fucked me like that,” she said, watching me suck my fingers.

I didn’t ask how long. I knelt on the floor, tore the thong at the side with a single yank, opened her legs by resting one on my shoulder, and buried my face between her thighs. I ran my flat tongue over her entire pussy, from bottom to top, and settled on her clitoris, sucking it without hurrying. She folded forward, both hands in my hair, pressing me against her. I pushed my tongue inside her as deep as I could, pulled it out, and returned to her clitoris. I alternated until her hips began responding to a rhythm she set without thinking, thrusting her pelvis against my mouth, searching for more friction.

“Like that, like that, don’t stop,” she murmured. “I’m going to come, fuck, I’m going to come in your mouth.”

She came clutching my hair with both hands, a long tremor beginning in her thighs and rising through her entire belly. I kept sucking her clitoris as she came, more gently, until she pushed me away because she couldn’t take it.

I stood up. She sought my mouth, tasted her own flavor, and knelt to pull down my trousers and boxers in one motion. My cock sprang free, hard and pointing upward, the tip already wet. She stared at it for a second, smiled, and took it entirely into her mouth, all the way down, until I felt it touch the back of her throat.

She began sucking slowly, her whole hand closed around the base while her mouth did the rest. She went up to the tip, left her tongue on the glans for a second, and went back down until her nose pressed into my pubic hair. With her other hand she held my balls, squeezing just enough. She looked up at me from below as she sucked me, her lips shining and saliva running down her chin. Each time she reached the bottom she gagged slightly and swallowed, and that contraction of her throat around the glans almost made me come in her mouth the first time.

“Stop,” I told her, pulling her away by the shoulders. “Stop or this will be over before it begins.”

She stood up laughing. I grabbed her by the waist and lifted her bodily against the wall. She braced herself with her thighs open and positioned herself around me, finding the tip herself with her hand and guiding it to her entrance. I entered her slowly, finding the angle, and then thrust all the way in. She exhaled deeply, her mouth open against my ear. Her fingers closed around my back, digging her nails in.

“Like that,” she said. “Fuck me like that.”

I thrust against the wall. She answered by pushing her hips toward me. We found a rhythm that needed no adjustment: steady, with enough force for her ass to hit the wall with every thrust and for her tits to bounce up and down against my chest. Each time I reached the bottom, her pussy contracted slightly around me, squeezing me, and that made everything harder to control.

“Turn around,” I said.

I lowered her to the floor. She turned without saying anything, with a naturalness that left no room for doubt. She placed her open palms against the wall, arched her back, pushed her ass out, and stood still, waiting, her legs spread and her pussy open and dripping between her thighs.

I grabbed her hips and drove my cock into her with one thrust. She let out a moan she no longer tried to contain. I began fucking her from behind harder, driving each thrust deep, watching her back arch and her cheek press against the wall. She set the pace as much as I did, pushing her hips with every movement, seeking each impact herself. With one hand she touched her clitoris at the same time, and her breathing broke into increasingly shorter intervals.

“Harder,” she said. “Break me.”

I gripped her hair at the nape with one hand and pulled back just enough to arch her farther. With the other, I squeezed one cheek and spread it to get a better view: my cock sliding in and out, shining with her juices, her ass tightening around the base every time I went deep. I slapped her ass, and she answered with a longer moan.

She came like that, her forehead against the wall and her fingers working her clitoris at full speed, her body tense and a short scream finally escaping her. Her pussy closed around my cock in a series of contractions so intense they nearly made me come right then.

I came seconds later, buried to the hilt, gripping her hips so she couldn’t move, spilling inside her in several waves while she continued squeezing me from within. When I pulled out, a thread of semen ran down the inside of her thigh to her knee.

***

We lay down on the bed. The ceiling was white and there was nothing interesting to look at, but we looked at it anyway for a while without saying anything. Then Lorena rolled toward me and started from the beginning.

She moved down my chest without hurrying, running her tongue over my nipples, nibbling them, continuing down my abdomen with wet kisses. Her tongue paused briefly at my navel, then continued, and when she reached where she was going, she did it with a calmness I hadn’t expected. She took my cock in her hand—still half-hard, still sticky with both of us—and brought it to her mouth without showing the slightest disgust. On the contrary: she closed her lips around it and began sucking slowly, cleaning it with her tongue, tasting both of us at once. Without urgency. Concentrated, as if what mattered more to her was what I felt than reaching any particular destination.

When she had me hard again, she continued sucking me without hurrying, the whole time, her hand working the base and her mouth covering the rest. Every now and then she pulled it out and licked my balls one at a time, leaving them shiny with saliva, then went back up.

I turned her so we were parallel, head to feet. I opened her thighs with my hands and positioned her over my mouth. I ran my tongue along the opening, from top to bottom, until I found her clitoris again. She responded by closing her mouth more tightly around me and choking back a moan against my cock.

We stayed like that for an amount of time difficult to calculate, her eating my cock and me eating her pussy, each of us responding to the other. I pushed two fingers inside her while sucking her clitoris, curling them upward, and felt her whole body begin to tense. Her body arched with every movement of my tongue, her hips seeking more pressure with small downward thrusts against my mouth. Mine responded to every movement of hers. At some point she came without warning, a tremor running the length of her back and a muffled moan finally escaping her, with my cock still in her mouth.

When she sat up, she positioned herself on top of me with her back to me, leaning slightly toward my feet, and calmly sat on my cock. She inserted it herself, guiding it with her hand, and lowered herself until she had taken it all the way in. She set the pace: slow and precise, rising to the tip and lowering again until my balls touched her ass, with movements she controlled so exactly that nothing was left to chance. From below, I watched her hips move up and down, her narrow ass, and could feel everything with a clarity that made it difficult to think of anything else. I gripped her hips with both hands and began thrusting upward each time she came down, colliding with her, and she responded by quickening the pace.

When she sensed that I was close, she stopped, got off me, knelt between my legs, and finished me with her mouth and hand at the same time, her tongue working my glans while her fist moved up and down along the base. I came in her mouth, and she swallowed everything without pulling away, squeezing me with her lips until the last drop.

We finished when the light from the courtyard on the other side of the window had already turned to late afternoon.

***

Three weeks later, at the group’s monthly dinner at some friends’ house, Lorena and I talked about the benefits of the thermal spa with a casualness that would have seemed suspicious if anyone had been paying attention. But Marcos was serving the wine, my wife was laughing at something someone was saying at the other end of the table, and the general conversation swallowed up every detail.

“You should come one Wednesday at noon,” Lorena said, addressing the table in general. “There’s no one there at that time, and the water is perfect.”

“Maybe I’ll think about it,” Marcos said.

Lorena looked at me for a second before turning away.

“Definitely,” I said. “It’s incredibly relaxing.”