My Wife’s Game on the Beach Changed Everything

Monday arrived with a strange hangover, the kind that isn’t from alcohol but from the mind. Sunday at the beach had left behind a trail that still burned inside me: jealousy driven into my chest like needles and, at the same time, a dull excitement that hadn’t left me all night. I’d slept badly, feeling Lorena’s breathing a handspan from my back, her warmth, the memory of how she’d paraded in front of my coworkers in that soaked white bikini.

At the office everything seemed normal at first. The usual mechanical good mornings, the hum of the fans, the steady tapping on keyboards. But the atmosphere was charged, and I felt it in every look Rubén and Iván threw me from their desks. They had been there. They had seen my wife in that transparent fabric clinging to her skin, laying absolutely everything bare. And I knew they knew it, and that made every gesture a reminder.

Mid-morning, Rubén came over to my desk with that discretion we use when a subject is really burning.

—Morning, Diego. How are you holding up? —he said, lowering his voice.

—Fine. You asking about yesterday?

—Of course. It wasn’t a pleasant day for you, mate.

I shrugged, but my voice came out hoarse, as if I had sand in my throat.

—Just home stuff. When we got back, we fixed it with three sentences. It’s nothing important.

Rubén leaned against the edge of the desk and lowered his voice even more.

—Without wanting to be an arsehole, your wife is smoking hot. That wet bikini clung to her like a second skin. It was impossible not to look. I’m telling you as a friend: either you take care of her, or one day she’s going to slip away.

I felt a jolt straight to my groin. I remembered how Lorena had bent down in the water, how Iván had looked at her with a shameless hunger he didn’t even try to hide.

—It’ll depend on what she wants —I replied—. I don’t force her to be with me. We’re both free. We only owe each other respect. And yes, I admit yesterday the little game went a bit too far.

—That’s not what I mean. —Rubén glanced around and leaned in more—. I’m going to tell you something, but not a word to anyone, especially not my wife. She and I have been to a swingers’ club a few times. Marriage gets boring, and it’s done us good. Maybe, after what happened yesterday, you should think about something like that. Just an idea.

—Seriously? —I asked, and I felt my voice tremble.

—I’m putting it out there. If you want, we can grab a coffee and talk it over. —And before he left, he added—: By the way, last night I fucked my wife like I hadn’t in months. And it was because of yesterday. Don’t get pissed. That’s all it was, just a bed fantasy. It doesn’t leave my house.

He walked off leaving me with my pulse in my throat and an erection I had to hide by adjusting my trousers under the desk.

***

At midday I went to get a coffee. I was rummaging for coins when Iván’s voice sounded behind me, deep and self-assured, with that tone that already got on my nerves.

—Leave it, come on. I’ll get this one.

I turned. There he was, with that smug half-smile and eyes shining with something that wasn’t friendship.

—I’m not going to say no —I replied—. It’s the least you can do after how much fun you had yesterday.

He smiled wider and pressed the buttons.

—Look, Diego, I don’t know what shit you two have going on, but get your story straight. I like women like that, and when I can, I get it on with whoever I want. What I don’t want is drama with husbands who are also coworkers.

—Tell me what happened when you went for the ice.

Iván sighed, looked around and started talking low, without filters.

—Your wife didn’t stop flirting with me all morning. That was out in the open, you saw it yourself. At the beach bar I took my trunks off and she couldn’t take her eyes off me. I thought it was some game you two had set up, that you were in on it. I swear I thought I had it in the bag already.

—Go on —I said, clenching my teeth.

—At the gas station she really put on a show. She came in wearing that bikini and not a soul wasn’t turning to stare. Then on the way back she asked me to pull over behind the dune. Again I thought something was about to happen. She sat in front of me, everything on display, and I had my cock hard as a rock. But she only talked about a modeling contract they’d offered her, about how she’d have to pose. I moved closer, kissed her earlobe, and she pushed me away with her hand on my chest.

—And?

—And she said: “Iván, I’m sorry. If I weren’t with Diego, I’d fuck you right here. But I love him. Sorry about today, which, by the way, I really enjoyed.” That was it. She gave me two kisses and got out. She left me with a world-class blue balls, man. You’ve got a knockout of a wife. —He frowned—. What the fuck did she tell you, if you don’t mind me asking?

—I’ll tell you another day —I said, and walked away with the coffee in my hand and my pulse pounding in my temples.

***

I sank into my chair, took out my phone and typed without thinking.

“Good morning, darling. Do you have a minute?”

The blue double check appeared instantly. Then the three dots, endless.

“Morning, baby. Yes, at work. What’s up, love?”

I called without waiting for a reply. Two rings and she picked up. Her voice came out cheerful, with that soft rasp she gets when she’s busy.

—Morning, you little beast!

—Hi, darling. Am I catching you at a bad time?

—Not at all. I’m putting the high shelves in the café in order. What did you want?

—I spoke to Iván. He says you didn’t show him any photo.

—That’s true, I didn’t show him anything. I was going to tell you last night, but I crashed after the fuck. How was I supposed to show that one an intimate photo, when he’d been dying to get a look at me all day anyway?

—Fuck, Lorena, yesterday you went way too far.

—Yes, I did. But I had you exactly where I wanted you: punished and jealous. And then, back home, you enjoyed it plenty, remembering everything. On the side, you made me enjoy myself too. I needed that.

I felt the excitement hit me again hearing her speak so raw, without a filter.

—So… nothing happened between you two?

—Nothing at all. Just because I was in tease mode yesterday doesn’t mean I forget who my husband is. Feeling better?

—A lot. I love you.

—And I love you. What are you wearing today, you’re acting weird.

—You tell me what you’re wearing.

—A very short summer miniskirt and a fine mesh sweater, nothing underneath. And I’m up on the ladder cleaning the top shelves. —She let out a little laugh—. I’ve already caught a customer taking a photo of me from below. I’ll let him, let him enjoy himself. I’ve got to keep going. Kisses, love.

She hung up. I stayed staring at the screen, cold coffee in hand, imagining her up on that ladder, the skirt inching higher and higher.

***

Five minutes later, the phone vibrated on the table. A photo of Lorena. No text.

I opened it, dimming the brightness by instinct. There she was, on the metal ladder in the café, turned just enough for everything to show. The miniskirt had ridden up to reveal the lower curve of her ass, tanned and shining with work sweat. Up top, the mesh sweater had lifted with her arms stretched overhead; her back was bare, her spine outlined beneath a thin film of sweat, her breasts shaped through the nearly transparent fabric.

Below, at last, a message.

“The customer from earlier couldn’t resist. He sent me this to the café’s Instagram. Do I want you to reply to him, or should I tell him my husband already knows how pretty I am when I’m working?”

I looked at the time. There were hours left until I could leave. Endless hours imagining her there, exposed, while some stranger licked his lips over her image. I put on my headphones with dense, lyricless music and tried to focus on a spreadsheet I didn’t understand. Useless.

Because this started as a game, something hot to get us both fired up. And suddenly we were here, with a snowball getting bigger by the minute: her about to sign a contract to pose in lingerie in front of the whole world, pictures of her in catalogs and on social media, hundreds of eyes devouring her. My Lorena, the woman who serves me coffee in the mornings, turned into a public object of desire.

And it turned me on. Oh, it turned me on. Reading how strangers commented on her body, that gaze that had once been only mine, got me harder than ever and made me feel powerful. But behind that came the doubts, like little knives sinking in slowly. What if this got out of hand? What if the lust grew bigger than us?

And then there was her confession, the mutual fantasy. She wanted to see me with another woman. To sit in a chair, spread her legs and touch herself while I sank into someone else. “I want to feel jealousy so strong it makes me wet enough that I have to come while I watch you,” she’d told me. And I pictured it and got hard all over again. I wanted it and it terrified me in equal measure. Because I wanted her to be mine, not everyone’s. My wife, not just anybody’s.

And then there was Rubén’s offer, his discreet club, “people like us, nobody gets hurt if you set rules.” Maybe a place like that would let us explore all of it without breaking the love. Maybe. The only thing I knew for sure, sitting there with the headphones pounding in my chest, was that I wanted her, that I was scared, and that I didn’t want to lose her for anything in the world.

***

At last the workday ended. I got home, opened the door and there she was, just as she’d described herself on the phone: the miniskirt barely covering her ass, the mesh sweater hugging her breasts. She was smiling from ear to ear, eyes sparkling, and in her hand she held a cold bottle of champagne dripping with condensation.

—What are we celebrating? —I asked, my voice rough.

—I signed the contract! They called me this morning, I read it and signed it. I’m a model now, Diego! —she shouted, hopping in excitement—. I still can’t believe it.

The cork popped with a cheerful pop and foam splashed her fingers. She poured with trembling hands from emotion, spilling a little down her cleavage, which she slowly licked off without taking her eyes off me.

—Let’s toast —she said, clinking her glass against mine—. You’re married to a supermodel. My treat for lunch.

—Where to?

—To our usual Italian place. That one with the dim light where the waiter gets nervous when I cross my legs.

***

We got to the restaurant right in the middle of the lunch rush. Lorena walked ahead of me, swaying with a naturalness that was anything but natural. The waiter, a young guy, led her to the table with deliberate slowness, his eyes fixed on her as he helped her sit down. He swallowed audibly when she crossed her legs and the skirt rode up just enough to reveal the lace of her thong.

—What would you like to order? —he asked, his voice a shade deeper than normal, his gaze dropping again and again to her neckline.

—The menu, please —I said, trying to sound normal, even though under the table I was hard again from seeing how the kid couldn’t take his eyes off her.

When he left, Lorena leaned over the table so far that her perfume reached me mixed with the champagne still on her lips.

—Look at the contract, come on, you didn’t even open it this morning.

I opened the email. There was the PDF: clauses about lingerie shoots, runway shows, image rights. All very professional, all very real. I felt a knot in my stomach and a heat rising from my groin imagining her on a set, in front of hundreds of eyes.

—You’re right —I murmured.

—From now on the world is going to see me like never before —she said, leaning back and letting the skirt ride up again—. And it turns me on. It turns me on knowing your cock will get hard every time you see a new comment, some stranger drooling over my photo. Doesn’t it?

I didn’t answer with words. I held her gaze while the waiter came back with the drinks and lingered a second too long, mesmerized. And right there I understood that this had only just begun, that the next conversation waiting for us was the one about Rubén and his club, and that neither of us was going to turn back.

—Order whatever you want —I said at last, my voice rough—. The night is long, and we have a lot to celebrate.