The Cheaters’ Agreement Nobody Signed

Valeria opened her eyes slowly. The rumpled sheet had become tangled around her thighs during the night, and the morning air came in cold through the half-open window. She liked sleeping in her underwear, with her body exposed to that temperature that kept her alert even while asleep.

Andrés was standing in front of her. Naked, with that tranquility that was irritating and familiar at the same time. Broad back, smooth abdomen, and a half-hard cock making no effort to hide itself.

Valeria lowered her gaze unhurriedly.

—Are you cheating on me with someone? —she asked, without looking up yet.

Andrés smiled. He scratched the back of his neck lazily and didn’t answer.

She swept the sheet aside in one movement, sat up on the edge of the bed, calmly pulled down her panties, and spread her legs. She propped herself up on her elbows and looked him directly in the eyes.

—Prove that you’re not.

She didn’t need to ask twice. Andrés knelt on the rug, grabbed her thighs underneath with both hands, and pulled her toward him until her ass was at the edge of the mattress. He looked at her open pussy for a second, breathing over it, then ran his entire tongue over it from bottom to top, slowly, flattening her clitoris at the end. Valeria let her head fall back and exhaled. He repeated the motion, again and again, and when he felt her grow wet, he began sucking her clitoris with his lips closed, tugging at it with short, tight sucks while he pushed two fingers inside her and curled his fingertips against the inner wall. Valeria buried one hand in his hair and pressed his head against her pussy without the slightest gentleness.

—Keep going —she panted—. There. Don’t stop.

Andrés didn’t stop. He licked her until she came in his mouth, her legs trembling over his shoulders, and when he stood up his chin was glistening and his cock was completely hard, pointing at her navel. Valeria turned around, got on her knees on the bed with her ass sticking up, and spread her cheeks with both hands.

—Put it in me now. All of it.

He thrust into her in one stroke, all the way to the bottom, and Valeria groaned into the pillow. Andrés gripped her hips and began fucking her quickly, with those hard thrusts that made his balls smack against her swollen clitoris. Each blow drew a short moan from her. Andrés delivered one sharp slap to her right buttock, then the left, and kept thrusting into her.

—Is that enough proof for you? —he said through clenched teeth.

—Harder, you bastard.

He grabbed her hair, pulled her backward, and sped up. Valeria felt his cock swell inside her, felt it begin to throb, and deliberately tightened her pussy around it. Andrés came with a growl, unloading all his semen inside her in three or four final thrusts. They stayed that way for a moment, locked together and panting. When he pulled out, a white string slid down the inside of Valeria’s thigh. She let herself fall onto her side on the bed, smiling with her eyes closed.

—Approved —she murmured.

***

Don Eduardo was fifty-one and possessed the calm certainty of a man who had worked long enough not to have to prove anything. At the company, people treated him with respect; at home, with the inertia of twelve years of marriage. His wife was five years younger, with generous hips and dark hair, always well groomed. She wasn’t dazzling, but she had possessed something he had once loved very much and now took for granted, just as he took the heating or hot water for granted.

Wednesdays were for fucking. It was an unwritten, almost liturgical tradition. They had breakfast together, he went to the bathroom first, she used it afterward, and at some point between coffee and eight fifteen, the usual thing happened: she pressed against the hallway wall with her skirt pulled up to her waist and her panties lowered below her buttocks, while he stood behind her with his trousers around mid-calf, fucking her from behind with his left hand on her shoulder and his right hand searching for her clitoris from the front. Four minutes, five at most. One muffled moan from her, one short grunt from him as he came inside her, and then they washed up. After that, work.

That morning had been the same.

What Don Eduardo didn’t know was what happened on Tuesdays.

***

At two in the afternoon, several people on the floor stood up almost at the same time. By the coffee machine, Patricia was telling Carlos something in a low voice, wearing the expression of someone who possessed valuable information.

—The thing is, she looked a lot like the boss’s wife. She was wearing a burgundy coat and that silver pendant she always wears. And the guy with her was at least fifteen years younger than she was.

Valeria heard her from her desk.

—Don Eduardo’s wife? —she asked aloud before thinking.

Patricia stiffened.

—Lower your voice. I don’t know if it was her. It’s just that she looked a lot like her.

At that moment, the door to the office at the back opened. Don Eduardo crossed the floor toward the stairs. He hadn’t heard Patricia, but he had arrived in time to hear Valeria say his name.

When he returned, he stopped two meters from her.

—Valeria. Do you have a minute?

Carlos gave her a sympathetic look. Sofía, from the other side of the room, watched her too, but without an ounce of generosity. Lorenzo was leaving at the end of the month, which meant the position would be open. The two of them were the strongest candidates. Sofía had been with the company for four years; Valeria, three, but she had closed the best numbers of the last quarter, and she knew it.

A call from the boss could mean many things.

Valeria picked up a notepad and followed him.

***

Don Eduardo’s office smelled of cold coffee and that specific silence found in places where decisions are made. He didn’t walk around the desk to sit in his chair. He remained standing, leaning against the edge with his arms crossed.

He asked her what she had heard.

Valeria chose her words carefully. She told him what Patricia had said: the burgundy coat, the silver pendant, the younger man. She said it in the same tone she would have used to read out the figures from a quarterly report.

Don Eduardo nodded slowly and said it was probably a case of mistaken identity. But he said it too quickly. His hands, which normally rested motionless, searched for the pen in front of him without finding it.

Valeria left without hurrying.

There’s something there, she thought as she returned to her desk.

***

That night, Don Eduardo came home and greeted his wife normally. They had dinner without incident. She talked about renovating the kitchen and a cousin who was getting married in October. He listened and responded at the appropriate moments.

The silver pendant was hanging from the bathroom mirror, as always.

He could ask her. Of course he could. But doing so meant admitting that he cared more than he himself believed he cared. It meant upsetting the balance of twelve years of comfortable, well-organized inertia.

He didn’t ask.

That night, she took the hairbrush from the bathroom as she sometimes did, when he said he had done something wrong. It was another ritual, as established as the one on Wednesdays. Don Eduardo took off his trousers and lay facedown across his wife’s knees, and she began striking his buttocks with the brush, first over his underwear and then without it. He endured in silence, his face buried against the back of the chair, while he felt his cock hardening against her thigh with every blow. When he stood up, his cheeks were flushed with embarrassment and his conscience was strangely relieved.

They got into bed. She turned off the light. In the darkness, Don Eduardo made a decision.

***

Seven days later, he told his wife he had a meeting outside the city. He left home at eight thirty as he did every day. He had breakfast at a nearby bar, read the newspaper without reading it, and returned on foot at eleven.

The keys made no noise. The front door didn’t creak.

He heard the shower running in the bathroom off the hallway.

He approached slowly. The door was open a few centimeters. He looked.

His wife stood beneath the hot stream, her hands braced against the tiles and her ass pushed backward. Behind her was a man he had never seen in his life— younger, athletic, with a long cock sliding in and out of her pussy at an unhurried, confident pace, like someone who already knew exactly how she liked to be fucked. The stranger squeezed one of her tits with his left hand while holding her hip with his right. Her mouth was open against the tiles, and she was saying something he couldn’t hear, but he recognized it from the way her jaw moved: ask me, more, like that, there. Things she hadn’t said to him in years.

Don Eduardo remained motionless for five seconds. The man pulled back on his wife’s wet hair, and she let out a long moan that pierced the fogged glass. Then he left.

***

He reached the office before noon. Valeria lifted her head from her desk and looked at him.

—Didn’t you have a meeting outside?

—It was canceled. —He paused.— Come to my office when you can. There’s a report to review.

She picked up the notepad and followed him.

***

Don Eduardo closed the door. He didn’t go sit down. He remained standing in front of the window, looking at the street below with his hands in his pockets.

—You were right —he said.

—I didn’t say anything.

—But you knew.

Valeria sat in the visitor’s chair with her legs crossed and waited.

He told her what he had seen. He did so without embellishment, with the dry precision of someone who had decided not to feel anything yet. The shower. The stranger. His wife with her hands against the tiles and the other man’s cock driving deep inside her. When he finished, he finally turned and looked at her.

—I don’t know why I’m telling you this.

Yes, you do, Valeria thought.

She needed this. The promotion, the recognition, three years of waiting for someone to see what she was worth. And she truly loved Andrés, but there were things she needed to achieve on her own, without asking anyone for them. This was one of them.

—Do you like what you see? —she asked directly, uncrossing her legs very slowly, just enough for him to see the inside of her thighs for a second.

Don Eduardo didn’t answer immediately. The fly of his trousers tightened, and that was answer enough.

***

There was no romance. Nor did they seek any.

Valeria didn’t let him kiss her on the mouth. That boundary existed, and she maintained it without explanation. Outside of that, there were no other limits.

She stood, locked the office door, and walked back toward him. Without looking at him, she unbuckled his belt, lowered his trousers to his knees, and tugged down his underwear. Don Eduardo’s cock sprang out, already almost hard, thick and bigger than she had expected. She knelt on the carpet, her pencil skirt taut across her thighs, and gripped it at the base.

—Stay right there —she whispered, addressing the cock, not him.

She ran her tongue along its underside, from his balls to the tip, very slowly, and fixed her eyes on him as she closed her lips around the glans. Don Eduardo let out a short gasp he couldn’t contain. Valeria began sucking it in earnest, taking it halfway into her mouth and drawing it out with suction, making noise on purpose. She took his balls in her other hand and squeezed them carefully, tugging them downward. When she felt it thoroughly lubricated by her saliva, she took it all the way in, until the tip touched her throat, and held it there for a few seconds, tears springing to her eyes. He muttered an obscenity and placed one hand on the back of her neck.

—Fuck, Valeria...

She pulled it out, breathed, and sank it back in. Again. And again. His cock gleamed with saliva. Then she lowered herself, licked his balls one by one, took them into her mouth in turn, and traced a path backward with her tongue, all the way to where he hadn’t expected. When she ran the tip of her tongue over his perineum, Don Eduardo convulsed and a guttural moan escaped him, one he probably hadn’t uttered in his entire adult life.

—Stay still —she said, smiling without taking her mouth away.

There was something satisfying about it that had nothing to do with desire but with control.

She stood, hiked her skirt up to her waist, pulled her stockings and panties down to her knees in one tug, and turned around. She planted her palms on the wooden desk, arched her back, and spread her feet as far as her clothing around her legs allowed. Her pussy gleamed, swollen and open.

—There’s your report —she said over her shoulder.

Don Eduardo opened the desk drawer. The condom was already there. Valeria knew that too: he had imagined this moment before she crossed the door. He put it on with clumsy fingers, positioned himself behind her, gripped his cock, and rubbed it over her pussy lips, up and down, getting it soaked. Then he pressed the tip against her entrance and pushed.

It entered in a single thrust, all the way to the bottom, with more force than she had expected. Not violently, but with something accumulated over days—twelve years of functional Wednesdays. Valeria gripped the edge of the desk, rested her weight on her forearms, and breathed slowly, finding the rhythm. She made no sound. He grabbed her hips with both hands and began fucking her against the desk, thrusting deep, the dry smack of his pelvis against her buttocks obscene in the office’s silence. Valeria bit her lower lip to keep from moaning; a few short, spaced-out gasps escaped through her nose.

Don Eduardo reached underneath her, found her clitoris, and began rubbing it with two fingers while continuing to thrust. She closed her eyes. She felt everything contracting inside her, felt the boss’s cock swell inside her just as she began to tighten around it. They came almost at the same time—she with a silent spasm around his cock, he with two final thrusts and a contained grunt against the nape of her neck.

When they finished, the silence lasted several seconds. The only sounds were his breathing, as he remained bent over her back, and the hum of the fluorescent light. He pulled out slowly. Valeria straightened, pulled up her stockings and panties, and smoothed her skirt with her palms. She ran a finger along the corner of her mouth.

Valeria fixed her hair while looking at the dark windowpane, using it as an improvised mirror. Then she picked up the notepad from the floor.

—I’ll have the closing report ready by Monday.

Don Eduardo nodded, still unable to speak properly.

She opened the door. Sofía looked up from her desk. Valeria held her gaze for a moment, without smiling, then returned to her own.

***

Andrés was reading when she got home. Book in hand, glasses on, in the same position as always. He looked up when she began undressing in silence.

—How was your day?

—Good —Valeria said—. The promotion is mine.

He lowered the book a few centimeters.

—What did you do?

—What had to be done.

Andrés knew his wife well enough not to ask questions he didn’t want answered in detail. He set the book on the nightstand and removed his glasses.

—You’ve cheated on me too —Valeria said, without accusation, like someone stating a fact.

—I did what you asked me to do —he replied.

—And?

—I touched her ass at the bar, and that was all. Nothing else, I swear.

Valeria nodded in silence. A long pause.

—I went further —she admitted.

Andrés didn’t respond immediately. When he spoke, he did so slowly.

—Do you want to talk about it?

—No.

They remained still. The ceiling lamp hummed faintly. Outside, a car started and drove away down the street.

Valeria turned around and switched off the lamp on her side.

—Give me the Vaseline.

He searched for it in the nightstand drawer without saying anything else. It was the first time they had done it like this, though they both knew, without saying so, that it wouldn’t be the last.

Valeria got on all fours, her face pressed into the pillow and her ass raised. Andrés coated two fingers and spread the Vaseline over her asshole, drawing circles, patiently pushing his fingertip in until the muscle yielded enough to admit an entire finger. She exhaled. He moved it slowly, pulling it out and pushing it back in, then inserted a second finger and spread them inside her. Valeria buried her face deeper into the pillow.

—Now —she said hoarsely—. Put it in me.

Andrés coated his cock with Vaseline, positioned himself behind her, and pressed the tip against her opening. He pushed slowly. It hurt at first. More than she expected, though less than she would have admitted. The head of his cock entered her with a burning sensation that ran up her entire spine. She gripped the pillow with her fingers and breathed through her nose, slowly, searching for the rhythm. Andrés paused with only the tip inside, waited, and then pushed the rest in inch by inch, both hands spread over her buttocks to hold her open.

—Keep going —Valeria whispered—. Put it all the way in.

Once he was entirely inside her, he stayed still for a few seconds. Then he began to move, very slowly at first, barely withdrawing, gaining confidence. Valeria brought one hand to her pussy and began rubbing her clitoris at the same rhythm. The pain changed its nature. It became something else: deeper, more internal, something pushing toward a place without an exact name but unmistakable.

Andrés sped up. He squeezed her buttocks with both hands, fucking her ass with increasingly longer thrusts, and she felt his cock opening her from within and withdrawing, again and again, in a rhythm that no longer hurt but made her clench her teeth against the pillow to keep from screaming. Her fingers never stopped on her clitoris. She felt everything coming together—the burning, the pressure, her own hand—in a single point that began to tremble.

When the orgasm came, she didn’t hold it back. A long, guttural moan escaped against the pillow while her ass contracted in spasms around Andrés’s cock. He lasted two more thrusts, then came inside her with a grunt, gripping her hips hard and unloading all his semen deep inside.

Andrés remained still afterward, his cock still inside her and one hand on her hip. He pulled out slowly, carefully. Neither of them spoke.

It was enough.