My Husband Insisted on Sharing Me, and He’ll Pay Dearly for It

What I’m going to tell happened a few months ago, and I still can’t believe how far I went. My husband practically pushed me into doing something I didn’t want to do, and he’s going to pay for it for the rest of his life.

My name is Marina, I’m thirty-two years old, I’m five foot six, slim, with shoulder-length wavy brown hair and green eyes. I’ve been married to Damián for almost seven years. Until the episode I’m about to tell, our life had been pretty calm, no upheavals, no sour faces, and no secrets.

In bed, there were no great surprises either. Ours was comfortable, predictable, without acrobatics. Until one night, in the middle of a slow, sticky fucking, he stopped, leaned close to my ear, and dropped the sentence that was going to twist everything.

—Have you never thought about what it would be like with another man? If another man made you feel what I don’t make you feel?

I shoved him so hard he almost rolled onto the floor. I went days without speaking to him properly, and he followed me around the house like a dog begging forgiveness. When I thought the matter was buried, one Sunday afternoon, with a bad movie on TV and too much wine in us, he brought it up again.

—Think about it, Marina. Don’t get angry. Maybe another man would awaken different things in you. Seeing you happy would give me pleasure too.

To get him off my back, I told him I’d think about it. I had no intention of thinking about anything.

But Damián was persistent. He came back to the attack two days later. And the next day. And the week after that. Gently, without raising his voice, but every day a little more. And, much as I hate to admit it, he eventually got inside my head. At the office, driving, before falling asleep, in the shower. I started imagining another man on top of me. Different hands, an unfamiliar breath, a new weight. And that — God forgive me — started turning me on.

Damián was the only man I had ever been with in my life. I didn’t know another body, or another way of doing it. When we made love, I’d close my eyes and drift into that fantasy of his, and suddenly the orgasms were enormous, long, different from the ones I always had.

When he judged I was ready, he brought the conversation up again. First timidly, testing me. Then, seeing I wasn’t getting upset, he refined the details. That it would be whenever I wanted, wherever I wanted, with whomever I wanted. That all he asked for was discretion and to be able to be present. I told him, once again, that I’d think about it. But that night we fucked like our lives depended on it, and I knew he had already won.

The following week I confronted him.

—All right, Damián. I accept. I’m going to sleep with another man, and I’m doing it for you. But on my terms. I choose who, how, and where. And I don’t want you questioning me about anything, no matter what happens.

He was so euphoric his eyes filled with tears.

—Whatever you want, my love. I only ask to be there, to be able to watch. And discretion.

—I can promise you that.

On the other side of town, near my mother’s place, there was a gym my cousin went to. I had gone with her to her class a couple of times, and that was where he was: the trainer. Tall, broad, with that lazy smile men get when they know women go for them. He must have been twenty-eight, maybe thirty. I’d had him stuck in my head for months. I signed up that same week.

On the third day, Mateo — that was his name — offered to drive me home in his car. He said it was on his way. He had seen me the two previous days waiting for the bus on the corner and thought it was a reasonable excuse. So did I. I accepted.

On the second ride, he saw I was carrying a book and asked me about it. What started between us took shape with the comfortable slowness of people who know where they’re headed without needing to say it. I lent him the book on the third day. On the fourth he invited me for coffee. On the fifth, it was me who said:

—Better let’s go to my place and have it in peace. We’re two blocks away.

Damián was there, waiting for us. I made the introductions as naturally as I could and went into the kitchen to make the coffee. Before that, I asked Damián to show him the library, to take whichever book he wanted. Mateo chose one, we chatted for a while, and he left. I walked him to the door and, without thinking too much about it, gave him a kiss very close to the mouth. He stood still for a second, smiled, and left.

—What do you think? —I told Damián when I closed the door—. Would he do as a replacement?

—If you like him, go ahead.

—I’m only doing it for you, Damián. If you have doubts, we stop it here.

—No. I want you to do it.

—Then I’ll let you know so you can be ready.

Our house is old but nicely set up. Upstairs, there are four bedrooms. Downstairs, besides the living room, the kitchen, and the study, there’s a room with its own bathroom that we never use. The previous owners had turned it into a playroom for their children, and between the kitchen and that room they had installed a large Gesell-cam-style mirror: from the kitchen you can see the whole room, from the room you can’t see a thing. That would be the setup.

***

The next day, on the way back from the gym, Mateo asked me about my married life. I lied. I told him Damián traveled a lot, that I felt lonely, that my marriage was a routine with no surprises. He answered, almost without looking at me, that with how pretty I was, I shouldn’t ever be alone. That’s what he was for.

I took him up on it right there.

—Actually, Damián is leaving for Seville tomorrow. He’s going and coming back the same day. He gets home between two and three in the morning.

Mateo didn’t ask anything else. When he stopped in front of the house, I leaned over and gave him a kiss on the mouth that lasted longer than necessary.

That night I told Damián.

—Tomorrow afternoon. You’re going to be in the kitchen, behind the mirror, and you’re not coming out of there for anything while he’s in the house. If at any point you want to stop it, we stop it. But once it starts, I’m not going back.

He hugged me and told me yes, he was sure, that it was what he wanted.

***

The next day, in the car, Mateo asked me if Damián had left. I said yes. We stopped at a bar for a drink and I took the chance to call him from the bathroom.

—I’ll be home in twenty minutes.

When we got there, I took him straight to the living room, poured him a whiskey, and put on soft music. I told him I was going to put on something more comfortable and went into the downstairs room, the one with the mirror. I had ready a pink thong and a matching lace bra, all transparent, and over that a thin robe, also pink, almost useless. On the two bedside tables Damián had left condoms. Seeing them made me smile cruelly: he had thought of everything, except what I was going to do.

When I came back to the living room, Mateo got up as best he could, almost choking, and opened his arms without saying anything. I didn’t need more. I walked up to him and slipped into that embrace. He kissed me like no one had ever kissed me before, tongue and all, and his hands began sliding down my back with a calm that made my skin prickle. It was different. It was brutally different.

Damián is watching.

Mateo’s hands slipped under the robe, found my breasts, and he lowered his mouth to one of my nipples. I felt my knees go weak. The other hand kept going lower, farther down, until it slipped inside the thong, and his fingers reached a place my husband had been the only one to touch in seven years. He touched me as if he knew exactly where, exactly how much. I didn’t take long to come. It was long, it was loud, and it was entirely his fault.

He held me up because my legs weren’t answering. He asked me in my ear, very softly, where I wanted him to take me.

—To heaven —I told him, and pointed to the door.

He carried me as if I weighed nothing and laid me on the bed. He took off my robe, bra, and thong with a care that surprised me. I was still trembling from the previous orgasm, with not much idea of what I was doing.

Then he stripped himself. And there I fell silent. What Mateo had between his legs was almost twice what Damián had. Longer, much thicker. I got scared. I seriously wondered how that was supposed to fit inside me without tearing me apart.

I didn’t have time to keep being scared. He kissed my mouth, then my neck, my breasts, my belly, and kept going down until he slipped his tongue between my legs. When he found my clit I thought I was going to faint. I clutched his head with both hands so he wouldn’t move. I came again, much harder, and in the middle of the shaking I remembered Damián. I wondered what expression he was wearing. Whether he was enjoying it or whether he already regretted it.

When I came back to myself, Mateo was slowly biting my nipples. I grabbed him by the nape and pulled him up to my mouth.

—I’m all yours. But please, slowly. It’s too much.

He asked if I had anything to use as lubricant. I pointed to the drawer. He took out the bottle, put my legs over his shoulders, and started easing himself into the entrance slowly. He applied a little pressure, found the angle, and began to enter. I bit my lips and waited.

He went down incredibly slowly, as if measuring. I felt myself opening little by little, without rushing, giving me time. When he finally lowered my legs from his shoulders and pressed himself against my body, I knew it was all inside me. He reached the very bottom of me, a place no one had ever reached before. He started moving, and I began a succession of orgasms I couldn’t stop, one after another, like waves.

At some point he stopped so I could breathe. Then he kept going. I slipped my hand between us to touch where we were joined and realized he was wearing a condom. I made him pull out for a second, took the condom off with both hands, and threw it toward the side of the mirror, hard, so Damián wouldn’t miss the gesture. Mateo laughed, thanked me with a kiss, and went back in, now with nothing in between.

I felt the difference immediately. Skin against skin. His heat inside me.

—Harder. Come inside me. I want you to come inside me.

He clenched his teeth, drove deeper, and hit a spot that made me explode again. Then he shuddered, growled, and let go. I felt the thick spurts filling me from inside, hot, slow, as if they were going to stay there. I knew perfectly well what was happening and what could happen. I didn’t care. I clung to his back and let myself go.

We showered together. I put on my pajamas and walked him to the door. I kissed him once more, told him we’d talk tomorrow, and closed it slowly.

***

When I got back to the living room, Damián was sitting on the sofa, looking both pleased and wrecked.

—And? —he asked.

—You tell me. You saw everything.

—It was… incredible.

I didn’t feel like talking. I was focused on what I felt running down the inside of my thigh. Damián went to shower. I went upstairs to the bedroom and changed my panties, which were soaking wet. I lay down. When he came in, he wrapped me from behind and asked me if it had been worth it. I told him yes, but that I liked it more with him. I felt him hardening against my body again.

I let him do it, but I asked him to take me from behind. I wasn’t going to let his semen mix with Mateo’s. Not that night. He buried himself in me hard and, I admit it, I enjoyed it. Afterward, while he whispered in my ear, he told me he had come twice watching us. I listened until I fell asleep.

***

The next morning Damián had already left for the office. I got up and went into the shower. When I took off my underwear I saw that what Mateo had left inside me was still coming out. I stood there in the middle of the bathroom, staring, feeling two things that should never coexist: anger and happiness.

When I went downstairs for breakfast and threw the eggshells into the kitchen bin, I saw that all the condoms we had in the house were thrown in there. Damián had used them with me since the day we got married. But after seeing me throw Mateo’s away, he had gathered them all up and sent them to the trash. As if to say: they’re not needed anymore.

I leaned on the counter and took a deep breath. Because of how deep Mateo had gone, because of the amount of hot fluid I felt entering me, because of the way my body had opened wide that afternoon, I was convinced of one thing. I’m pregnant. I know it the way you know these things, without needing a test.

And I don’t feel the slightest remorse. That’s why at the beginning I said Damián was going to pay for it for the rest of his days. He wanted this. I gave him the rules. I followed every one of them.