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 almost 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 wavy chestnut hair down to my shoulders and green eyes. I’ve been married to Damián for almost seven years. Until the episode I’m going to recount, our life had been pretty calm, without shocks, without sour faces, and without secrets.

In bed there were no great surprises either. Ours was comfortable, predictable, without acrobatics. Damián climbed on top, spread my legs, shoved his cock into me, and pumped with the same rhythm as always until he came inside the condom. He never ate my cunt for more than two minutes, never asked me to suck his cock without a condom, never turned me face down to fuck me from behind. 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 pushed him so hard he nearly rolled to the floor. I spent days barely speaking to him, and he followed me around the house like a dog begging forgiveness. When I thought the subject 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. For me, seeing you happy would also give me pleasure.

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 it two days later. And the next day. And the week after. Gently, without raising his voice, but every day a little more. And, though I don’t like admitting it, he eventually got inside my head. At the office, driving, before bed, in the shower. I started imagining another man on top of me. Different hands, an unfamiliar breath, a new weight, a thicker cock opening my cunt, unknown fingers buried between my ass cheeks. And that — God forgive me — started to heat me up.

Damián was the only man I had ever been with in my entire life. I didn’t know any other cock, or any other way of being fucked. When we did it, I’d close my eyes and go to that fantasy of his: I’d imagine a stranger eating my cunt until he was full, burying his tongue in me, sucking my clit with hunger, then fucking me with a huge dick while Damián watched. And suddenly the orgasms were huge, endless, different from the ones I was used to. I’d cum soaking the sheets, biting my arm so I wouldn’t scream.

When he figured I was ready, he picked the conversation back up. First nervously, testing me. Then, seeing that I wasn’t getting upset, he started fine-tuning the details. That it would be when I wanted, where I wanted, with whomever I wanted. That all he asked 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 as if our lives depended on it, and I knew he had already won. I sucked his cock like never before, taking it all the way down my throat, and when he fucked me I asked him to come inside me. I felt the spurts slamming into the condom and hated that thin film separating us.

The following week I confronted him.

—All right, Damián. I agree. 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 anything, no matter what happens.

He was so euphoric his eyes got moist.

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

—You have my word on that.

On the other side of the city, near my mother’s house, there was a gym my cousin went to. I’d gone with her to class a couple of times, and there he was: the trainer. Tall, broad, with that lazy smile men get when they know women can’t resist them. He must have been twenty-eight, maybe thirty. For months I’d had him stuck in my head, imagining what he’d be like down there, how he’d fuck, how much cum he could unload with that macho look. 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 previous two days waiting for the bus on the corner and thought it was a reasonable excuse. So did I. I said yes.

On the second ride he saw I had a book in my hand and asked me about it. Ours started taking shape with that comfortable slowness of people who know where something is going 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 calmly. We’re two blocks away.

Damián was there, waiting for us. I did the introductions as naturally as I could and went into the kitchen to prepare the coffee maker. Before that I asked Damián to show him the library, to take whatever book he wanted. Mateo picked 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 froze for a second, smiled, and left.

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

—If you like him, go ahead.

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

—No. I want you to do it.

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

Our house is old but well kept. Upstairs, the four bedrooms. Downstairs, besides the living room, kitchen, and study, there’s a room with its own bathroom that we never use. The previous owners had set it up as a playroom for the kids, and between the kitchen and that room they had installed a large two-way mirror like a one-way observation glass: from the kitchen you can see the whole room, from the room you can see nothing. That would be the set.

***

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 without surprises. He answered, almost without looking at me, that with how pretty I was I should never be alone. That’s what he was there for.

I took him at his word right then and there.

—Actually Damián is going to Seville tomorrow. He goes and comes 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 in and gave him a kiss on the mouth that lasted longer than necessary. I slid my tongue into his, tangled it with mine, and felt his hand squeeze my thigh beneath my skirt. When I pulled away, my nipples were hard against the fabric of my blouse and he had gone hard beneath his tracksuit pants. I saw the pronounced bulge, thick, and my mouth watered.

That night I let Damián know.

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

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

***

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

—I’ll be home in twenty minutes.

When we got there I took him straight to the living room, poured him a whisky, and put on some low music. I told him I was going to put on something more comfortable and went into the downstairs bedroom, the one with the mirror. I had prepared a pink thong and a lace bra in the same color, all transparent, and over that a thin robe, also pink, almost useless. In the two nightstands Damián had left condoms. Seeing them brought a cruel smile to my face: he had thought of everything, except what I was going to do.

When I came back to the living room, Mateo stood up as best he could, almost choking, and opened his arms without saying anything. I didn’t need anything more. I walked over to him and stepped into that embrace. He kissed me like no one had ever kissed me before, with his whole tongue, probing my mouth, biting my lower lip, and his hands began sliding down my back with a calm that raised goosebumps on my skin. He grabbed my ass with both hands, squeezed it, pulled me against him, and I felt his hard, huge cock pressing against my belly. It was different. It was brutally different.

Damián is watching.

Mateo’s hands slipped under the robe, found my breasts, and his mouth went down to one of my nipples. He sucked it first over the lace, then pushed the cup down and took it fully into his mouth, licking, nibbling, tugging with his teeth. I felt my knees go weak. The other hand kept descending, lower and lower, until it slipped inside the thong, and his fingers reached a place only my husband had touched in seven years. He found my clit with his thumb and shoved two fingers into my cunt in one shot. I was already so wet they slid in without resistance, and he let out a rough little chuckle against my nipple.

—You’re soaked, fuck.

He started fingering me with a steady rhythm, curling his fingers upward, looking for the spot Damián had never found. He touched me as if he knew exactly where, exactly how much. I didn’t take long. My cunt clenched around his fingers, a gush of wetness escaped me and soaked his wrist, and I came moaning against his neck. It was long, it was loud, and it was entirely his fault.

He held me up because my legs weren’t working. He pulled his fingers out and ran them across my lips, wet with me. I opened my mouth and sucked them. 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 the robe, bra, and thong with a care that surprised me. I was still trembling from the previous orgasm, with not much idea what I was doing.

Then he undressed himself. And there I went silent. What Mateo had between his legs was almost twice as big as Damián’s. Longer, much thicker, with veins standing out along the shaft and a purple, swollen head, shining at the tip with a thick drop of pre-cum. I got scared. I seriously wondered how that cock was going to fit inside me without splitting me open. Instinctively I reached out and grabbed it. My fingers couldn’t even close all the way around it. I moved it up and down, feeling the weight, the heat, the skin hard and soft at the same time, and he let out a groan. I leaned down and took it into my mouth. I had to open very wide to get the head in. I ran my tongue underneath it, around the crown, and he grabbed the back of my neck without squeezing, letting me work. I went down as far as I could, until my throat pushed back at him, and stayed there, sucking him slowly, tasting the salty flavor leaking from the tip.

He didn’t give me time to keep going. He gently pulled me back and laid me down again. He kissed my mouth, then my neck, my breasts —sucking one nipple first, then the other, biting them hungrily—, my belly, and kept going down until his tongue was between my legs. He opened my cunt lips with both thumbs and started licking me all over, from bottom to top, long and slow, as if he had all the time in the world. When he found my clit I thought I was going to faint. He took it into his mouth, sucked it, toyed with his tongue over it until it vibrated. I pressed his head with both hands so he wouldn’t move. I dug my heels into his back, pulled his hair, and he kept eating my cunt with a hunger Damián had never shown me. He slid two fingers in again while he was licking me and curled them upward. I came again, much harder, soaking his face, biting the back of my hand so I wouldn’t scream too much, and in the middle of the shaking I remembered Damián. I thought about the look on his face on the other side of the mirror, with his cock in his hand. Whether he was enjoying it or whether he’d already regretted it.

When I came back to myself, Mateo was slowly biting my nipples and his cock was brushing my thigh, hard as stone, leaving a wet trail on my skin. I grabbed the back of his neck and brought him up to my mouth. I kissed my own taste off his lips.

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

He asked if I had anything to use as lubricant. I pointed to the drawer. He took out the bottle, poured a good amount onto his cock, and spread it with his hand, up and down, until it was gleaming. He put my legs over his shoulders, opened my cunt with his fingers, and slowly settled himself at the entrance. He rubbed the head against my lips, up and down, wetting it with my juices and the lubricant. He applied a little pressure, found the angle, and started to enter. I bit my lips and waited.

The head went in first, thick, stretching me. I felt the burning stretch, the flesh yielding. He sank in at a snail’s pace, as if measuring. I felt myself opening little by little, unhurried, giving me time. Every centimeter he gained drew a gasp out of me. When he reached halfway he stopped and waited, letting me breathe. Then he pushed a bit more. And more. And more. When he finally took my legs off his shoulders and pressed himself to my body, I knew it was all inside. He was reaching the bottom of me, a place no one had ever reached before. I felt the head pounding against something that hurt and felt good at the same time. He started moving —long withdrawals, almost all the way out, and thrusts all the way in— and I burst into a succession of orgasms I couldn’t stop, one after another, like waves. Each slam shook me whole, made my tits bounce, ripped a broken moan from my throat.

—Oh God, how big you are… how you’re fucking me… like that, like that, keep going…

—Your cunt is so damn tight, fuck —he growled into my neck—. I’m going to fuck you until you can’t walk.

He rolled me onto my side, put one leg over his shoulder, and went in again from that angle, even deeper. I felt him touch places I didn’t know existed. Then he put me face down, lifted my ass with both hands, and buried himself in me from behind, gripping my hips and pulling me back with every thrust. The blows of his belly against my ass echoed in the room, and I buried my face in the pillow to muffle my screams. He slapped one cheek hard, then the other, and whispered in my ear that he loved the way my ass moved when he fucked me.

At some point he stopped so I could breathe. I was soaked in sweat, my hair stuck to my face and the sheets in a mess. Then he kept going. I slipped my hand between the two of us to touch where we were joined and realized he had a condom on. I hadn’t even noticed when he’d put it on. I made him pull out for a second, took off the condom with both hands, slid it down his wet, gleaming cock, and threw it toward the mirror side with force, so Damián wouldn’t miss the gesture. Mateo laughed, thanked me with a kiss, and went back in, now with nothing between us.

I felt the difference immediately. Skin against skin. His heat inside me, the texture of his veins scraping my cunt walls, the bare head driving into my depths. It was something else. It was the first time in my life a stranger’s cock fucked me raw.

—Harder. Come inside me. I want you to come inside me. Fill me, I want to feel all of it.

He put me on my back again, lifted my hips with his hands, and started pounding me with all his strength. The bed hit the wall, I dug my nails into his back, into his ass, pulling him toward me. He clenched his teeth, drove deeper, and touched a spot that made me explode again. My cunt clenched in spasms around his cock, contracting around it. Then he shuddered, groaned, and let go. I felt thick spurts filling me inside, hot, slow, one after another, as if they were going to stay there. I felt flooded. He kept moving, pushing his semen deep, all the way to the last drop. He knew perfectly well what was happening and what could happen. I didn’t care. I clung to his back and let myself go.

When he finally came out, his cock slipped from my cunt with a wet smack and behind it a thick white thread started leaking out, dripping down my perineum to the asshole. I stayed with my legs open for a moment, letting Damián see it clearly.

We showered together. Under the hot water he washed my cunt with his hands, carefully, and kissed me again. 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 went back to the living room, Damián was sitting on the sofa, looking half pleased, half 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, on the stranger’s cum still leaking out of me despite the shower. Damián went to shower. I went upstairs to the bedroom and changed my panties, which were soaked. I got into bed. When he came in, he hugged me from behind and asked if it had been worth it. I told him yes, but that I liked it more with him. I felt him hardening again against my body.

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 smeared saliva on my asshole, put one finger in first, then two, and when he had me ready he buried himself in one hard thrust. I screamed into the pillow. It burned, it tightened, and even so a moan of pleasure slipped out of me. He fucked my ass with his hands gripping my hips, and, I admit it, I enjoyed it. When he came inside and I felt his spurts filling me from behind too, I realized that in a single night I’d had two men unloading semen inside me. Afterward, as he whispered in my ear, he told me he’d come twice watching us, the first time when I threw the condom. I listened until I fell asleep, with both cums dripping into the sheets.

***

The next morning Damián had already left for the office. I got up and stepped into the shower. When I took off my underwear I saw that what Mateo had left inside me was still coming out, now mixed with Damián’s. I stood there, frozen in the middle of the bathroom, feeling two things that shouldn’t coexist: anger and happiness.

When I went downstairs for breakfast and to throw the shells into the kitchen bin, I saw that all the condoms we had in the house were there. Damián had used them with me since the day we got married. But after seeing me throw Mateo’s away, he’d gathered all of them and sent them to the trash. As if to say: no longer needed.

I leaned against the counter and took a deep breath. Given how deep Mateo had gone, the amount of hot fluid I felt going in, the way my body had opened wide that afternoon, I was convinced of one thing. I’m pregnant. I know it the way these things are known, without needing a test.

And I feel no remorse at all. 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 single one.