She Went Out Into the Street Naked While Her Husband Watched

Adriana went down the stairs of the building with a determined stride and, before going out, stopped for a moment beside the mailbox to look at the street. The anger over how he had treated her in the apartment was still there, throbbing under her skin, but it mingled with an excitement that would not die down. She took a deep breath and let the two coexist.

It was a game. And she had decided to keep playing.

She looked at herself in the smudged mirror in the entrance hall and confirmed what she already knew: no one would notice that she had nothing on under her summer dress. Just lace stockings, useless, almost a private joke between her and Marcos. The thin cotton brushed her nipples every time she breathed, and between her legs the air slipped in unhindered, straight against her cunt, already soaked from the previous two hours. She lifted her eyes toward the opposite façade, where the café was located, the one they had gone down to have breakfast at those first two days of the trip.

She could not help thinking of the owner.

A mature man, with large hands and gray-streaked beard, and a calm that had struck her as almost insolent. Darío, he was called. He had told them so while serving them the second coffee, looking at her a second too long, just enough for Adriana to wonder, that same morning, what those hands would feel like squeezing her tits, what that beard would feel like scraping the insides of her thighs, whether he was thick and whether he knew how to fuck the way he looked. They had talked at length: about the old quarter, about the ruins he recommended visiting to the south, about his accent, which was not from there. Marcos had listened to everything with a complicit smile, as if he knew where that conversation was leading before they did.

“Why am I thinking about this now?” she murmured, and felt the mischievous smile forming on her lips all on its own.

She took hold of the handle. Behind her, faint in the distance, she heard the apartment door open on the second floor and Marcos’s voice saying her name, once, unable to reach her. Two sounds joined in her head: the murmur of the street beyond and his, up above, letting her go.

She went out.

***

The square was warm. Night had fallen a couple of hours earlier and the streetlamps lit the cobblestones a faded yellow. The first thing she saw was the café terrace, with its two rows of tables and wicker chairs, and she knew at that moment that she was not going to waste the opportunity. The young waiter, or the owner, or perhaps both, she thought, and was surprised by her own boldness. For an instant she imagined herself between the two of them, one cock in her mouth and another sunk into her cunt, and she had to clench her thighs as she walked.

She set off in the opposite direction, toward the narrow street that climbed up toward the market. She did not want to get there so fast. She wanted to stretch the moment, feel it grow. A pair of police officers crossed the corner at a leisurely pace and, for a second, the little fear she had left dissolved entirely: no one could see what she was hiding, no one knew she was walking with her cunt bare under the fabric, dripping with juice, her nipples hard against the cotton. She was just another tourist on a summer night. Anonymous. Free. A secret whore walking under the yellow light.

She walked as far as the dry fountain and crossed to the other side to head back down the opposite sidewalk. The men were noticing her, that was obvious. Not so much her face as the movement of her chest under the fabric, the way the dress clung with each step and hinted that she was not wearing panties. Adriana did not lower her gaze. She let them look. The breeze slipped under the hem and climbed her thighs like a furtive caress, licked the lips of her cunt, touched her bare shoulders, reminded her with every meter that she was on offer, exposed, hunting under her husband’s gaze.

Because she knew he was watching her.

***

Marcos was standing by the apartment window, hands resting on the sill, the light off. He had let her go only a few minutes earlier and still felt the heat of her skin in his palms. He had stripped her slowly in the hallway, had sucked her nipples until she begged him to fuck her, had put three fingers into her cunt and pulled them out shining so she would lick them, and then had slipped the dress over her head with a delicacy that contrasted with the firmness with which he had pushed her toward the door, without panties, without letting her come. The same firmness with which they had been playing for the previous hours, while he increased the intensity little by little, at her request, until leaving her like this: on fire, her cunt swollen, impatient, ready to fuck the first man she had within reach.

He watched her walk away down the street, oblivious to the world, and thought he would use the walk to lose himself from her sight, to do whatever she had to do far from where he could interfere. He was wrong. He watched her circle the entire square and come back along the opposite sidewalk, and stop, at last, on the café terrace, a few meters from the entrance. Right below his window.

She’s doing it so I can see her.

He swallowed. It had been his idea, the whole game. And now he discovered that the hardest part was not imagining her with someone else: it was watching. He reached for his pants without thinking and gripped his already hard cock over the fabric. The image of his wife spreading her legs for a stranger under that very window sent a jolt through his balls that almost made him come right there and then.

***

Adriana sat at one of the terrace tables, her back to the apartment, her legs crossed and her bag on her lap. She took out her phone. Nothing. She silenced it and put it away again. She did not want a message from Marcos now. She wanted the next move to come from the man who was already stepping out from inside the café, drying his hands on a cloth, with that owner’s calm that remembers every face that has passed by his tables.

“The one from breakfast,” said Darío, stopping beside her. It was not a question. “I thought you’d already left the city.”

“Tomorrow,” she answered, holding his gaze. “This is the last night.”

He nodded slowly, as if he understood much more than she had said. He pulled over a chair and sat down on the other side of the table, without asking permission, and Adriana felt the first warm pull between her legs, a thin trickle of wetness sliding down her thigh.

“And your husband?” Darío asked, glancing for a moment toward the dark façades.

“Up there.” She paused, long and deliberate. “Watching.”

The man did not flinch. He only smiled to one side and let silence grow between them, dense, almost physical. He poured her a glass of water without being asked and, as he set it on the table, his fingers brushed Adriana’s. He did not pull his hand away right away. She caught two of his fingers in hers and brought them to the edge of her mouth, not putting them in, just grazing her lips with the rough fingertips.

“The terrace closes in ten minutes,” he said in a low voice. “But the back room doesn’t close for anyone.”

Adriana felt her heart hammering in her throat. She looked at the glass, the man’s hands, the curve of his forearm beneath the rolled-up sleeve, and then glanced down for an instant at the bulge showing in his trousers, generous, already awake. She thought of Marcos, of the window, of what he would be imagining at that very moment, and understood that that image—her husband watching her disappear with another man, knowing they were going to fuck a few meters from him—was exactly what the two of them had been chasing all afternoon.

“Ten minutes,” she repeated, and stood up.

***

The café’s back room smelled of tea, old wood, and something warm she could not name. Darío lowered the terrace shutter from inside and, when he turned around, there were no tables between them anymore. Adriana leaned against the edge of a cold marble counter and let him approach, unhurried, measuring each step the way he had measured each word.

“Does he know you’re here?” Darío asked, with his mouth a breath from her neck.

“He’s counting on it,” Adriana whispered. “And he knows you’re going to fuck me.”

The man’s hands settled on her hips, over the thin fabric, and instantly discovered what was hidden underneath. The surprise lasted only a second; then, a slow smile.

“Whore,” he murmured, without anger, almost admiringly. “You went out into the street like this, with nothing on.”

“With this,” she answered, hiking up the hem to show him the lace stockings and the shaved cunt, already shining. “Only this.”

Darío let out a low growl. He slid his palms up her sides, brushing the outline of her breasts without quite touching them, and Adriana arched her back searching for that contact he was deliberately denying her. She had been like this for hours, right on the edge, and her whole body was begging her not to wait any longer. At last he grabbed her tits over the dress, squeezed hard, pinched her nipples through the cotton until he dragged a moan from her, and only then lowered the straps from her shoulders. The dress fell to her waist. Her breasts were bared, white, with nipples so hard they hurt.

He kissed her at last. Not on the mouth, but in the hollow of her neck, just below the ear, and she felt the coarse beard against her skin and a shiver running down to her knees. He lowered his mouth to the right nipple and sucked it whole, drawing on it, biting the tip with his teeth, and Adriana buried her fingers in his gray hair and pulled him toward her, shoving his face against her tit as if she wanted him to swallow it whole. He moved to the other breast without releasing the first, now rolling the wet nipple between finger and thumb, and she felt her cunt contract emptily, begging to be filled.

“Darío, please,” she panted.

“Please what?” he murmured against her breast.

“Fuck me.”

When Darío’s hands found the hem of her dress and slid up the inner side of her thighs, Adriana was already drenched, open, wanting him to finish once and for all what her husband had started hours earlier. The man’s thick fingers slipped over the swollen lips of her cunt, came away slick, and he lifted them to the light to look at them shining before putting them in his mouth and sucking them slowly, never taking his eyes off her.

“You taste like you’ve been fucked,” he said. “Your husband’s been getting you nice and hot.”

“All afternoon,” she answered, out of breath. “And he hasn’t let me come once.”

“Slowly,” he murmured, and it was almost an order as he sank his fingers into her again, this time two, all the way to the knuckles.

“No,” she answered, grabbing his wrist and guiding it deeper. “I’ve been slow all afternoon already.”

The man’s fingers moved inside her with just the right roughness she needed, bending against the spot that made her tremble, going in and out with a wet sound that filled the back room. She bit her lip to keep from screaming. She clung to the edge of the marble with one hand and to Darío’s nape with the other. He spread her legs with his knee, knelt between her thighs without taking his fingers out, and buried his face in her cunt. He licked her lips whole, sucked the clit with his mouth open, caught it carefully between his teeth, and Adriana threw her head back and slapped the marble with her palms.

“Yes, like that, don’t stop,” she panted. “Don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t stop.”

The first orgasm split her in two. Her knees buckled and Darío had to hold her by the ass while he kept eating her, drawing it out, wringing out every bit of pleasure she had been hoarding for hours. When she tried to pull him away, he held her against his mouth a little longer, until she begged him to stop through stifled laughter.

He rose slowly, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, and unbuckled his belt. Adriana looked down. The cock he pulled out was thick, thicker than Marcos’s, the head purple and already shining at the tip. She took it in one hand and brought it to her mouth without thinking, kneeling on the cold floor. She ran her tongue along its entire length, from the balls to the tip, and then took it all in until she nearly choked. Darío let out a growl and grabbed her hair, not roughly, but with a self-possessed firmness, guiding the rhythm.

“That’s it, pretty girl,” he told her. “Suck it like you suck his.”

“Better,” she answered when she let it go for a second, looking up with shining lips. “I suck it better.”

She swallowed it again, this time deeper, helping herself with her hand at the base. She sucked his balls one by one, licked them clean, returned to the cock and sucked it with hollowed cheeks until he had to pull her away by the hair.

“Stop,” he panted. “I don’t want to come in your mouth. Yet.”

He lifted her off the floor, turned her against the counter, and shoved her back until she bent in two over the cold marble. The dress, still bunched at her waist, left her ass bare. Darío spread her cheeks apart with both hands, spat without ceremony onto her already soaked cunt, and set the tip against her entrance.

“Put it in me,” Adriana panted, her cheek against the marble. “Put it all the way in at once.”

He obeyed. He shoved it in all the way with one thrust, and Adriana let out a cry that died against the stone. The cock filled her completely, more than she was used to, and for a second she stayed still, adjusting to that hot flesh buried to the hilt. Then Darío started moving. He came almost all the way out and slammed back in, and again, and again, gripping her hips with both hands, fucking her with the slow, brutal rhythm of a man who knows what he is doing.

“Harder,” she asked. “Harder, fuck.”

He grabbed a fistful of hair, yanked to lift her head, and increased the pace until the marble counter started banging against the wall. The sound of their skin colliding, of the wet cunt swallowing the cock again and again, filled the entire back room. Adriana brought a hand to her clit and started rubbing it while he thrust into her, and felt the second orgasm arrive much faster than she expected.

“I’m coming, I’m coming, I’m coming,” she panted.

“Come on my cock,” he answered, without stopping. “Soak it.”

She came with a long cry, the muscles of her cunt clamping around the dick like a fist, and he barely held on. When she collapsed over the marble, trembling, Darío pulled out, spun her like a doll, and sat her down in one jerk on the counter, legs open.

“Open yourself,” he ordered.

She spread the lips of her cunt with two fingers, still out of breath, and he sank into her again to the hilt, now face to face. He grabbed her by the nape, kissed her for the first time on the mouth with a dirty, hungry kiss, mixing the taste of her cunt with both their saliva, and moved inside her with slow, deep strokes, looking into her eyes.

“Think of him,” he whispered against her lips. “Think of your husband up there, knowing what I’m doing to you.”

Adriana moaned and dug her nails into his shoulders. Her dress had ridden up to her waist. The lace stockings, the only thing she was wearing, were still in place, useless and obscene at once.

She thought of Marcos. Of the dark window, of his hands resting on the sill, perhaps already masturbating, imagining her with that cock inside her. Of what he would be feeling, unable to see anything now but a lowered shutter and a faint light seeping through the edges. That idea—him imagining, him waiting, him burning in silence while she gave herself to another man, with her legs open on a stranger’s counter—pushed her over the edge for the third time.

“I’m going to come again,” she panted. “Come with me. Come inside.”

“Inside?” he growled.

“Inside. All of it. I want to carry it inside me when I go up.”

That was what snapped him. Darío grabbed her by the hips with both hands, pinned her against the marble, and came in jets inside her with a rough groan that went on through increasingly slower thrusts. Adriana felt the cock throbbing inside her, felt the heat of the semen filling her, and let herself go with him, arched, tits bared and mouth open.

She let herself collapse against Darío’s chest, trembling, her breathing ragged. He held her without saying anything, one firm hand on her lower back, still inside her, and for a moment the two of them stayed like that, listening to the distant murmur of the square beyond the shutter. When he finally pulled out, a thick thread of semen ran down Adriana’s thigh to the edge of the stocking. She gathered it with two fingers and brought it to her mouth without taking her eyes off his.

“For the road,” she murmured.

Darío gave a low, exhausted laugh.

“Your husband’s a lucky man.”

“He knows it,” she answered, stepping down from the counter with her legs still trembling.

***

When she went back out into the street, the night air felt cooler. Her dress was in place, her hair tousled, her cunt and ass sticky under the fabric, and a new calm had settled into her body. With every step she felt the semen sliding slowly inside her thigh, and the idea of going up like that, marked, still full, brought a smile to her lips. She crossed the square slowly, without hiding, and when she reached the entrance, she lifted her eyes toward the second-floor window.

Marcos was still there. A motionless silhouette against the dark glass.

Adriana took the phone from her bag. A message from him, sent twenty minutes earlier, waited unopened: “Are you okay?” She typed a single word before going up, knowing that tonight the game had just changed forever, and that neither of them would want to turn back.

“Better than ever.”