My Husband Proposed the Game, and I Changed the Rules

My name is Valeria. I’m twenty-eight years old, blonde, with short shoulder-length hair, wide hips, and a way of moving that has always made heads turn. Andrés and I had been married for eight months when he said something, almost without meaning to, that changed everything.

We weren’t in bed. We were having dinner. I had made pasta, he had opened the last bottle of red wine we had, and suddenly, between one sip and the next, he looked at me in a way I knew well.

—Have you ever thought about being with another man? —he asked.

I lowered my fork. I looked at him. He had that expression he wore when he was nervous but pretending he wasn’t.

—Are you seriously asking me that? —I said.

—Yes.

I didn’t answer right away. I kept eating. I let the silence do its work.

—And what would you do if I did? —I asked at last.

Andrés swallowed. His cheeks were flushed, and it wasn’t because of the wine.

—I want to watch you —he confessed—. I want to know that you’re with someone else, that he’s got you inside him, that another guy is fucking you, and that afterward you come back to me with someone else’s cock juice filling your pussy.

There are moments when something that looks like a question is really a door. This was one of them.

—Fine —I said—. But there are conditions. I know everything before, during, and after. You’re there or kept informed. Once a month. Always with a condom. Agreed?

He nodded like a man who had just signed something without knowing exactly what it entailed.

I knew before he did.

***

For the next three weeks, the arrangement was the only thing we talked about. In the car on the way to work, in bed before falling asleep, while I showered and he shaved in front of the mirror. I told him about scenes that occurred to me and watched him fall silent, his eyes wide and his cock outlined beneath his trousers. He liked listening to me. He liked it far too much.

One night I described how I imagined a stranger pressing me facedown against the wall of a bathroom, hiking up my dress, moving my thong aside with two fingers, and pushing his cock all the way inside me without asking permission. Andrés remained motionless for a few seconds. Then he tore my panties off in one yank and fucked me against the back of the armchair with an urgency he didn’t usually show, whispering in my ear, “Tell me another man is going to put it in you. Tell me,” while he came inside me within minutes.

—When? —he whispered, still inside me, still hard.

—Soon —I replied.

The night came on a Saturday.

I dressed slowly, knowing he was watching me from the armchair. I chose a short wine-red dress with a neckline that left little to the imagination. No bra. High-heeled boots that made my footsteps sound like an announcement. I painted my lips a dark red, looked at myself in the mirror, and didn’t quite recognize the woman I saw. She was me, but with something loosened.

—Are you nervous? —Andrés asked from the armchair.

—I’m ready —I said. Which isn’t the same thing.

I hitched my dress up to my waist. I was wearing a black lace thong. I ran two fingers over the fabric and lifted them so he could see them glistening under the hallway light.

—I’m already wet —I told him—. And I haven’t even left the house yet.

I watched him through the mirror as he unconsciously reached for the bulge in his trousers.

—Save that energy —I said, lowering my dress—. For when I come back with another man’s cum dripping from my pussy.

Andrés pressed his lips together and nodded silently.

***

The bar was called The Corner. We had chosen it together: lively enough that I wouldn’t feel exposed, dark enough that anything could happen without anyone asking questions. Warm lights, music at medium volume, people who came to drink and watch.

Andrés sat at a table near the back wall, facing the bar. From there he could see everything without anyone knowing he was watching. I told him not to move, not to text me, and to wait. That it was part of the arrangement.

I went to the bar alone.

I ordered a gin and tonic. I sat on a high stool, crossed my legs, and waited. I could feel people watching me. Two men at a table near the window. The bartender, out of the corner of his eye. It was a strange feeling, knowing I had permission to do what I was about to do, and that my own husband had given me that permission.

I didn’t have to wait long.

I saw him arrive as though he were part of the place’s décor, someone who belonged in that kind of bar. Dark-haired, close-cropped beard, blue linen shirt with the sleeves rolled up, thick forearms, and large hands. Dark eyes that moved around the room without hurry. His name was Esteban; he told me that once there was no turning back. But that came later.

He approached without asking permission. He set his glass on the bar, two fingers’ breadth from mine.

—You’re waiting for someone —he said. It wasn’t a question.

—Yes —I replied—. You.

He looked at me with a slow smile, the kind of smile a person earns.

—Does your husband know you’re here? —he asked, his eyes on my ring.

—He’s sitting back there —I said without pointing—. And he knows exactly why I came. He came to watch another guy fuck me in the bathroom.

Esteban turned his head for only a second. Then he looked back at me, and I noticed him shift beneath his trousers.

—That sounds interesting —he said.

—It does to me, too.

He placed a hand on my knee and slid it slowly up the inside of my thigh until his fingers brushed the edge of my thong beneath my dress. I didn’t move my leg away. He felt how soaked I already was and smiled.

—Is all this for me? —he murmured.

—All this is for what you’re going to do to me.

—Where? —he finally asked, his fingers still there.

I indicated the hallway at the back with my eyes.

***

As soon as we closed the bathroom door, I slid the bolt into place and turned toward him.

Esteban was taller than he had seemed from the stool. He looked at me as if he had all the time in the world, and that made me more nervous than any urgency could have. He put his hands on my waist, slowly. He raised my dress with the same calm, without tugging or hurrying, until it was bunched above my tits. My nipples hardened in the open air, and he lowered his head and sucked one while pinching the other between his forefinger and thumb.

—Good —he murmured when he saw me—. Very good.

I leaned against the tiles. He pulled my thong down with two fingers and let it fall to the floor. He spread my legs with his knee and ran two whole fingers over my pussy, from bottom to top, all the way to my clit. He lifted them dripping and put them in my mouth.

—Suck —he ordered.

I sucked his fingers as if they were a cock, looking at him. His eyes darkened.

He knelt without my asking, put one of my legs over his shoulder, and opened me with his tongue. The first stroke tore a moan from me that I had to smother by biting the back of my hand. What he did was precise, methodical, unhurried. Long, flat licks from the opening of my pussy to my clit, interrupted by brief sucks at the exact center. Then he pushed his whole tongue inside me and moved it as if he were fucking me with it, while his thumb pressed my clit in small circles.

I closed my eyes. I gripped the sink pipe with one hand and pushed his head against me with the other. I felt the tension build at the base of my belly like rising water with nowhere to go. He slid two fingers inside me and curled them upward while he kept sucking my clit, and then I couldn’t take any more.

I came silently, squeezing his face between my thighs. I bit my lip until I nearly bled and felt my pussy clench around his fingers in spasms I couldn’t control.

When I recovered, he was already standing. He had lowered his trousers. His cock was enormous and thick, with a prominent vein running along it, and the tip was already dripping. Seeing it made my stomach flip.

—The condom —I said, my voice firmer than I felt.

—I don’t have one —he replied.

Silence.

I looked at him. I felt the heat of his body only a few inches away. I felt my own pulse between my legs, which hadn’t completely subsided in some time. I took his cock in my hand and squeezed it. It was hot, hard, throbbing.

—Do you want me to stop? —he asked.

Yes, I thought.

—No —I said—. Fuck me like this. Bareback. I want to feel all of it.

He seized my hip with both hands, lifted one of my legs and hooked it around his waist, guiding the tip with his other hand. First he ran it all over my pussy, wetting it, and then he began to enter slowly, as if he knew that made it worse. One inch. Two. The fullness of something I hadn’t planned and couldn’t ignore. I felt him opening me from the inside, every inch of that cock filling a place that had been empty for eight months without my knowing it. When he reached the end, I let out my breath in a rush and rested my forehead against his shoulder.

—God —I whispered—. You’re so fucking big.

—Hold on —he said in my ear—. I haven’t even started yet.

He began to move. Slowly at first, pulling almost all the way out and then driving back in to the hilt, with long thrusts that made me moan every time he reached the end. I had told him how to handle me without words, only through the way I arched my back against the tiles and squeezed the walls of my pussy around his cock. He bit my neck. He threaded his fingers through my hair and pulled my head back.

—More —I begged—. Harder. Break me.

He gave me what I asked for.

He grabbed both my legs, lifted me off the floor, and pinned me against the wall. I wrapped my legs around his waist and hung from his neck, and he started fucking me for real. Every thrust rose inside me to my stomach. The tiles struck my back with every drive. His cock slid in and out with a wet, obscene sound that echoed through the bathroom and turned me on more than anything else. A long moan escaped me, one I couldn’t smother.

—Be quiet —he murmured, covering my mouth with his hand.

I licked his palm. I bit it. I kept moaning against his hand as he fucked me harder and harder.

He lowered me to the floor. He turned me toward the sink, put his hand on the back of my neck, and pushed me down until I was bent over in front of the mirror. I looked at my face in the reflection: smeared mascara, swollen lips, hair stuck to my forehead. Behind me, he gripped his cock and thrust it back inside me in a single shove.

—Look at him —he ordered—. Look at him while I fuck you.

I looked. He drove into me to the balls, gripping my hair with one hand and my hip with the other. The sound of his hips pounding my ass filled the bathroom. Every thrust shook my tits against the edge of the sink. I felt my pussy opening for him, squeezing him, soaking him.

—I’m going to come again —I panted.

—Come —he said—. Come with my cock inside you.

I came for the second time with him still inside me, feeling my insides squeeze him in long spasms beyond my control. I screamed against the arm he had pressed over my mouth. Esteban let out a deep, guttural sound, grabbed my hips with both hands, and buried himself to the hilt. He emptied himself inside me. Long. Hot. Unhurried. I felt every pulse of his cock as if it were the first time I had realized something like this was possible, and I felt his semen filling me, pouring into me, marking me.

He stayed inside for a while without pulling out, breathing against the nape of my neck. When he finally withdrew, I felt a warm stream run down the inside of my thigh.

We stood still for a few seconds. The only sound was the sink dripping and my own breathing.

Then I straightened my dress. I picked up my thong from the floor and put it in my purse. I didn’t clean myself. That was for later.

—Thank you —I said.

He nodded with the same slow smile as before.

I slid back the bolt and walked out.

***

Andrés was exactly where I had left him. Pale. His glass clenched between his hands, his eyes fixed on me from the moment I took my first step out of the hallway.

I approached calmly. I sat in the chair beside him, not on his lap as I had planned. I wanted him to look me in the face.

—How are you? —I asked.

—I don’t know —he said. He was being honest.

—I broke one of the rules —I told him.

I saw his jaw tighten.

—Which one?

—The condom.

The silence that followed was different from the one at dinner three weeks earlier. Denser. More real. The bar’s noise continued, people carried on, but everything between us had stopped.

—Valeria… —he began.

—It’s all right —I cut him off—. He came inside me. All of it. I can still feel it inside me. I wanted you to know now. I wanted to see your face when I told you.

Andrés stared at me without blinking. He wore an expression I had never seen on him before: something between fear, anger, and something I couldn’t name but recognized all the same. I lowered my eyes to his lap. He was hard, outlined beneath his trousers. I knew him by heart. That wasn’t anger.

I held my hand out across the table.

—We’re leaving —I said.

He took my hand and stood without saying a word.

***

We didn’t speak in the taxi. I looked out the window. He stared straight ahead. I could feel Esteban’s semen slowly running down the inside of my thigh, soaking me whenever I closed my legs, and each time the car stopped at a traffic light I focused on the sensation until my face grew hot. I opened my legs slightly and took Andrés’s hand. I guided it beneath my dress, placed it against my pussy, and pressed it there.

—Feel it —I whispered—. Feel what he left me with.

His fingers sank in on their own. He pulled them out dripping, glistening beneath the traffic light. He stared at them for a long second without breathing. Then he brought them to his mouth and sucked them one by one without taking his eyes off me.

I wondered whether Andrés knew what I was thinking. He probably did.

As soon as we closed the apartment door, I stopped in the hallway.

—Take off your shoes —I told him.

He did.

—Now kneel.

There was a pause. A long one. Andrés watched me from the other side of the hallway, and I watched him. Eight months of marriage. Eight months of knowing each other one way. This was another.

He knelt.

I approached slowly. I took off my dress and let it fall. I was left with nothing on but my boots. I took the thong from my purse and held it out in front of him. It was soaked, dark with moisture, heavy.

—Open your mouth —I told him.

He opened it. I pushed the thong inside and left it there, clenched between his teeth. I watched his Adam’s apple move as he swallowed whatever was in the fabric.

—Take it out —I ordered afterward—. And you know what I want.

He spat the thong onto the floor. He put his hands on my hips and pulled me closer. I spread my legs and pressed my pussy against his mouth. When his tongue touched my lower lips, I felt him hesitate for a second. He knew what it tasted like. It tasted like another man. It tasted like Esteban’s semen, which was still dripping from inside me.

—Suck —I told him—. Suck out everything he left me with.

He surrendered. He licked me with a devotion I hadn’t expected. Slowly at first, then with greater urgency, pushing his tongue deep inside me, drawing out every remaining drop of semen and swallowing it. I felt his throat moving against me, the way he breathed with his face pressed to my pussy, the way he sucked my clit between swallows.

I told him everything while he did it. How Esteban had looked at me when he knelt. How he had used his tongue to make me come the first time. How he had lifted me into the air and pinned me against the wall. How huge he was, much bigger than Andrés. How he had entered me without hurrying and split me open. How I had said no when he asked whether I wanted him to stop, what that meant, and how it had felt to say it. How he had emptied himself inside me and how I had let him.

—He fucked me bareback —I said, pressing his face against me—. He came inside your wife. And now you’re swallowing it. All of it. Every drop.

Andrés moaned as he listened. That sound, muffled against my pussy, turned me on more than anything else that had happened that night. He reached for his trousers, pulled his hand out, and began masturbating while he ate me.

—No —I told him—. Hands behind your back.

He obeyed. He put his hands behind his back and kept licking me with his eyes closed and his hard cock exposed.

I came with one hand braced on his head so I wouldn’t fall. I came in his mouth. I squeezed his face between my thighs until I felt he couldn’t breathe, and only then did I let him go.

***

Afterward I sat him on the couch and climbed on top of him. I took his cock in my hand and pushed it inside me myself, lowering myself all the way to the hilt. He was so tense that I entered without resistance. I stayed still for a moment, looking at him, feeling him inside a pussy that still smelled of someone else.

—Listen to me —I said, taking his face in both hands—. The rules have changed.

—How have they changed? —he asked. His voice came out broken.

—I decide when, with whom, and how. No condom. No asking you. Whenever I want, with whoever I want. You wait for me at home, lick my pussy full of someone else, and thank me for letting you. Is that understood?

He looked at me with that mixture of things he could no longer separate: desire, fear, something very much like surrender.

—What if I don’t want to? —he whispered.

I leaned toward him, spoke slowly right beside his ear, and began rising and lowering myself on his cock, squeezing him with every movement.

—You already want it —I told him—. I’m fucking you with another man’s pussy juice on me, and you’re about to come in less than two minutes. That’s already a yes.

And I began to move in earnest. I planted my hands on his chest, arched backward, and started riding him with everything I had. I showed him my tits, showed him how his cock slid in and out of a pussy that had just been fucked by another man. I took his hand and placed it on my clit.

—There —I told him—. Rub it while I fuck you.

I obeyed myself. I rose and fell faster and faster, feeling him throb inside me. I squeezed the walls of my pussy with all the strength I had.

He came in less than two minutes, moaning my name with a desperation I had never known in him, gripping my hips and driving me down to the hilt. I felt his semen join Esteban’s inside me, felt them mixing, with no way left to tell what each man had put there. I came on top of him, squeezing him, feeling everything blend inside me and run down my thighs to the base of his cock.

When we finished, I remained still on top of him, without pulling him out, my head on his shoulder, breathing slowly.

—New rule number one —I murmured—: tonight is the new standard. Not the ceiling. The floor.

Andrés didn’t answer. He wrapped his arms around me and held me tighter.

And I knew that was a yes.

Not a yes born of resignation. A yes from someone who had just understood what surrender was for.

And I, for the first time in eight months of marriage, felt that I had just begun something.