My Infidelity Began in the Building’s Basement

I’ve been married to Esteban for seven years, and the last four convinced me that I’m no longer a woman to him. My name is Mariana, I’m thirty-six, and since our son was born I’ve been carrying fifteen kilos that never went away, heavy breasts that hang differently, a soft belly he no longer holds at night.

It’s not that he says it in those words. It’s worse: he says it with his back turned, with his phone in his hand, with that exact yawn when I appear in the bathroom in my underwear.

That afternoon the argument was uglier than the previous ones. We were finishing lunch and I asked him to come with me to the supermarket. He looked at me like I’d asked him for a kidney.

—Mariana, I don’t understand how you still haven’t lost the weight —he said softly, as if confessing something painful—. Before, you took care of yourself. Before, it was a pleasure going out with you. Now you look like someone else.

He said it without lifting his eyes from his plate, and that was what hurt the most, that he didn’t even care to look at me while he was destroying me.

I didn’t answer him. I grabbed the car keys, took the elevator down six floors with my cheeks burning, and got into the car without really knowing where I wanted to go. I shut the door, rested my forehead on the steering wheel, and started crying with that ugly kind of crying that gets stuck between your chest and your throat.

I cried without keeping track of time. I cried until the steam from my breath fogged the windshield and the parking garage lights turned into yellow smears behind my tears.

A tap on the passenger-side window made me lift my face.

It was Damián, the building’s night watchman. Fifty-five years old, dark-skinned, broad, gray at the edges of a badly shaved beard, with huge hands resting on the roof of the car. He was wearing the dark uniform and the flashlight hanging from his belt.

—Mrs. Mariana? Is everything all right? —he asked in that deep voice I’d always liked hearing when he wished me good night.

I shook my head. I didn’t have the strength to pretend.

He hesitated for a second, looked around the garage, and opened the passenger door without asking. He sat down beside me, leaving the flashlight between his knees. The seat creaked under his weight.

—Relax. If you want to let it out, nobody can hear you here.

And I broke down again. Through sobs, I started telling him everything I’d been keeping to myself for months. That my husband didn’t touch me. That when he did, it was out of obligation, two minutes without looking at me, his half-hard cock shoved in without any desire, and a silent ejaculation that didn’t even come close to my pussy. That that same afternoon he’d told me I looked like someone else. That I felt like an old piece of furniture in my own home.

Damián listened without interrupting. When I ran out of breath, he took a cloth handkerchief from his pants pocket, still neatly pressed, and dried my cheeks with the back of his rough hand. The touch startled me. It had been months since anyone had touched my face with care.

—Your husband is an idiot —he said slowly, without letting go of my face—. Forgive me for saying it like that, but he’s an idiot.

—Don’t say that, Damián.

—I’m saying it. Mariana, look at yourself. You’re a beautiful woman. Truly beautiful. You have a woman’s body, not a magazine model’s. There are guys like me who’ve spent years keeping our heads down so we wouldn’t look at you when you get out of the car, and that isn’t out of respect for your husband. It’s so we don’t disrespect you.

I was speechless. I felt the heat rising from my neck to my forehead, and at the same time, something lower, something I hadn’t felt in a very long time, began tightening between my legs. My panties went wet all at once, as if my pussy had understood before I did what was about to happen.

—You really think that? —I asked, and I didn’t even realize I’d started using the informal you.

He smiled with half his mouth, still holding my cheek.

—I think that, and I think a few more things that aren’t for me to say. I think, for example, about how those dresses look on you on Fridays when you go out with your husband. I think about how you get out of the car, how you fix your hair before going into the elevator. I think about it when I go up for my rounds and pass by your door, and I try not to think about your tits moving inside your T-shirt, about the ass that shows in your jeans, about how badly I want to kneel down and eat your pussy until you ask me to stop.

I swallowed. A heavy, insistent throb hit me between the legs.

—Damián…

—We’re very exposed here. The cameras only reach the first basement. If you want me to tell you everything I’m thinking, without anyone finding out, there’s a corner in the second basement where nobody ever comes down at this hour. I’ll open the gate for you.

I didn’t think. I nodded. I started the engine with trembling hands and drove slowly down the ramp, one turn, two turns, to the darkest corner of the second basement, where the yellow fluorescent light doesn’t reach and it smells like damp cement and tire rubber. I turned the engine off.

Damián got out first. He walked around the car unhurriedly, with no need to hide, as if he owned the place. When he opened the door for me and gave me his hand to help me out, I felt like I was accepting a deal without having said a word.

As soon as my heels touched the concrete, he led me to the hood of the car and pressed my back against the metal, still warm from the engine. He looked me over from head to toe and let out a long sigh, as if he’d spent years waiting for that permission. Without saying a word, he slid a hand down my neckline and pulled one breast out of my bra. He weighed it in his hand, squeezed it, brought it to his mouth and sucked my nipple with a slowness that arched my back against the hood. Then the other one. Both breasts out, hanging heavy, shiny with saliva, marked by the teeth he’d slowly bitten into me with.

—What tits, fuck —he said with his mouth still on my nipple—. That asshole has really neglected them.

I knelt down without him asking. I don’t know what came over me; I only know I needed him in my mouth right then. I unbuckled his belt, pulled down the zipper, and took his cock out from inside his briefs. It was thick, darker than the rest of his body, with visible veins and a drop of fluid gleaming at the tip. I took it with both hands and put it in my mouth as far as I could. Damián let out a rough groan and laid his open palm on the back of my neck, not pushing me, just guiding me.

—That’s it, Mariana. Just like that. Suck me slowly, nobody’s done this to me in years.

I licked every inch of it, from the balls to the tip, spit on the head and took it back into my throat. I could feel it swelling in my mouth, throbbing against my tongue. Every time I gagged, a strand of saliva ran down my chin, and he wiped it away with his thumb and put it back in my mouth along with his cock. I sucked him off like I hadn’t sucked anyone off since I was a girlfriend: hungry, cheeks hollowed, looking up at him from below so he could see my face.

—Enough, woman, you’re going to make me come too soon —he panted, and lifted me by the elbows.

—Turn around —he said softly.

I did. I stayed with my palms on the hood, legs instinctively spread, feeling him position himself behind me. He slowly hiked up the skirt of my dress until it was bunched around my waist. I couldn’t help glancing sideways. His hands were huge, dark against the pale skin of my thighs.

—Fuck, Mariana —he murmured—. If you only knew how long I’ve been imagining this.

He yanked my panties down to my ankles in one pull. I felt the cool air of the garage against my ass, and at the same time the heat of his hand sliding up my thigh, prying my pussy lips open with two fingers.

—You’re soaked —he said, and there was a pride in his voice I hadn’t expected—. Now that’s a woman. Look at you dripping.

He crouched behind me. I wasn’t expecting that. I felt his beard scraping the inside of my thighs and then his hot tongue sliding from my clit to my asshole, without disgust, without pause, devouring me whole. My knees went weak and I had to brace myself with my forearms on the hood so I wouldn’t fall. He ate my pussy with his mouth open, swallowing everything I gave him, shoving his tongue hard inside me and pulling it out to lick my clit again with the tip. With one hand he pulled one cheek of my ass open and with the other he squeezed my nipples from below. It lasted so long I lost track of everything. When I realized it, I was already trembling, moaning against the metal, legs spread as far as the panties tied around my ankles would allow.

—Please —I begged him—. Fuck me already.

He stood up. I heard the zipper of his pants, the rustle of his belt slipping from the loops, and felt the tip of his cock pressing against the entrance of my pussy, slipping on how wet I was. He gripped my hips with both hands.

—Tell me what you want.

—I want —I said, my voice breaking—. I want you to make me feel like a woman again. I want you to put it all in me.

He went in slowly, without a single rough thrust, giving me time to feel how thick he was, giving me time to understand that I would be remembering that first time for a long while. My pussy opened around him centimeter by centimeter, and I felt a delicious burn, that burn that tells you a real cock is going in. When he reached the hilt, he stayed still for a few seconds, breathing by my ear, his balls pressed against my lips.

—You’re beautiful. You’re beautiful, do you understand? Say it.

—I’m beautiful.

—Again.

—I’m beautiful.

He began moving with a slow rhythm that had nothing to do with my husband’s haste. He came almost all the way out and then sank back in, calmly, measuring me. Each thrust made me press my forehead harder against the hood, and every time I did, he pushed my hair away from my nape and kissed me right there, on the spot I’d almost forgotten existed. I could feel the wet sound of my pussy sucking his cock every time he pulled out, the obscene slapping echoing against the basement’s concrete walls, and it made me even wetter.

—How you squeeze me, woman. What a pussy you have. This pussy can’t be wasted, you hear me?

He grabbed my hips and sped up. The thrusts started slapping my ass with a sharp sound, my tits were shaking as they hung out of my dress, and I pushed back because I needed him to drive it deeper, further in, all the way to my belly. He slid his wet thumb, coated with my own juices, into my asshole and that was where I lost the little composure I had left.

My body, that body I’d spent years feeling was too much, started trembling as if it were brand new. I realized I was about to come far sooner than I’d ever imagined. I dug my nails into the metal and let out a long, sharp, shameful cry.

—That’s it. Come, woman. Come on my cock.

And I came. Clenching around him, pushing my hips back, biting my lip so the echo of my scream wouldn’t bounce off the basement walls. I felt my pussy contracting around him in long waves, and a warm gush ran down the inside of my thigh. He didn’t stop. He waited until I’d finished shaking, turned me around carefully, and sat me on the hood. He held my nape with one hand and my hip with the other.

—Now I want to see your face.

He spread my legs until my heels hung in the air and looked at my open pussy, swollen, shining. He ran two fingers through it, brought them to his mouth, then grabbed his cock and put it back at the entrance. This time he went in with one hard thrust, all the way to the balls, and I screamed against his shoulder.

—Quiet, woman, they’ll hear us —he laughed softly, biting my neck.

He started fucking me with a deeper, slower rhythm, looking me in the eyes as if he were reading me. I held onto his shoulders and watched the sweat-darkened skin of his neck, the visible veins, that focused expression of a man who knows what he’s doing and why. Every time he drove his cock to the hilt, my tits bounced against his chest and he lowered his mouth to suck one nipple without stopping.

—Mariana, look at me. Don’t close your eyes.

I looked at him. And while he looked at me, I felt everything my husband had told me for years begin to come apart, sentence by sentence, inside me, pushed out by every shove of that cock filling me completely.

I came again, hanging from his neck, feeling my pussy clamp down in hungry little pulses around him. I stayed trembling, mouth open against his ear, murmuring things I didn’t even understand myself.

—I’m going to come —he warned me, his voice tighter, his cock swelling inside me.

—Inside —I said, without thinking—. I want you to come inside. Fill my pussy, I want to feel it.

He bit his lip, nodded, and came with a low grunt that rose from his chest. He dug his hands into my hips and pulled me against him, burying himself to the hilt, and I felt his hot load moving inside me in several thick waves, shot after shot, filling me like I hadn’t been filled in years. He stayed still inside me, forehead pressed to mine, waiting for the trembling to leave him. When he finally pulled out, a thick thread of semen mixed with my juices streamed from my pussy down to the car hood, and he looked at it with a satisfaction I didn’t try to hide from him. For the first time in a very long time, I didn’t feel used. I felt chosen.

***

When I finished straightening my clothes, Damián had already handed me the cloth handkerchief from his pocket, the same one he’d used to dry my tears earlier. I wiped between my legs with it to gather what kept running out of me, and handed it back to him with a shy little smile that didn’t suit his size.

—If you ever feel like coming down, after eleven I’m always here. The first-basement camera catches me from behind, so nobody will know where you’re going. Just ring the intercom twice and I’ll open the second gate for you.

I nodded in silence. I straightened the collar of his uniform with a gesture I didn’t recognize in myself, and went back up to the apartment with my legs still weak and my pussy dripping inside my panties.

I showered, lay down beside Esteban, who was already asleep with his mouth half open and the remote control in his hand. For the first time in four years, I didn’t feel guilty about anything. I looked at him with a strange calm, almost with pity.

I go down almost every week. Sometimes twice. When my husband is away on business and our son stays at my mother’s place, I ask Damián to come up to the apartment directly, and we leave his uniform thrown over the living room sofa. We do it in the marital bed, where he mounts me like a mare and forces me to watch myself in the wardrobe mirror while he tears my pussy apart. On the living room sofa, kneeling against the backrest, sucking him off with my tits out until he comes on my face and makes me lick every drop. Against the kitchen refrigerator, with one leg lifted onto the countertop and his cock entering me from the side, so deep it leaves his fingerprints in my hips. In every place where Esteban hasn’t dared look at me for years, Damián fucks me as if I were the last woman on earth.

Three weeks ago I started suspecting something. I bought a test and hid it in the back of the sock drawer. This afternoon, while Esteban took the boy to the park, I locked myself in the bathroom and took it. It came back positive.

I still don’t know what I’m going to do with the news. But one thing is clear: if the baby is Damián’s, I’m not going to say a word. I’m going to let Esteban raise him thinking he’s his, I’m going to watch him carry him in his arms every night, and I’m going to remind myself, every time I look at him, that there was a man who one day told me I was beautiful when I no longer believed it myself, and who filled my pussy with his load in the second basement until he made me feel alive again.

For me, that will be the best revenge possible.