The Club of Husbands Who Shared Their Wives

I’d been moving through that parallel universe of infidelities for a while, an ecosystem with its own rules. I traveled it not from the place of the betrayed, but from the accomplice’s, the catalyst’s. I had become a kind of observer of cuckolds, and my great discovery was that not all of them were alike.

I had classified them almost as a biologist classifies insects. There was the intermittent one, who one day would open the door to his bedroom and the next would lock it with a paranoid latch. There was the pure voyeur, who would sit in a corner and drink in the sight of his wife with another man. There was the submissive one, born obedient, a consenting slave to another’s desire. And the most extreme of all, the one who found his ecstasy in the most servile act of them all.

There was a curious pattern: with almost all the husbands whose wives I got to know intimately, I ended up forging a strange, strong friendship. My role as “the other man” broke down barriers and opened a camaraderie born from a shared taboo.

It was in my theater and sports group that two men began to stand out on my radar. Gonzalo was a familiar figure, charismatic, always at the center of something. One day he showed up with Rubén, and their chemistry was that of two people who had known each other all their lives. I dealt with them both at once, and although their dynamic had a rehearsed edge to it, I filed it away as an unimportant oddity.

Soon that oddity became a pattern. The two of them began to seek me out deliberately. The relationship went from cordial to intimate, full of confidences and brushes of contact. It wasn’t my imagination; others in the group noticed too, though no one gave it much weight. I, meanwhile, was starting to put the pieces together.

Gonzalo was a civil servant, with strong arms and a shaved head, the calm of a man who knew himself secure. His great passion, which he shared with his wife Bianca, was theater: he directed and wrote. Bianca was a lawyer, with wavy brown hair and a powerful body she criticized for “a few extra kilos.” What made her was her gaze: a permanently suggestive expression, a mischievous glint that promised sin without saying a word. With me, however, she maintained a courteous distance she didn’t have with anyone else.

Rubén worked in a bank, sturdy, dark-haired with streaks of gray. He was Gonzalo’s right hand in the productions. His wife, Renata, was Bianca’s antithesis: slim, athletic, straight hair falling over her shoulders, and a perfect ass that could be guessed beneath any clothes. Renata did encourage me, openly playful and friendly.

The trigger went off one afternoon. Someone had told the details of one of my encounters, and my reputation as a lover had spread like wildfire. Filtered through the husbands, the story reached the ears of the two friends.

—Mateo, in confidence —Gonzalo told me, lowering his voice as if sharing a state secret—. I’ll tell you the sin, but not the sinner. They say you’ve slept with two married women in the group. I’m telling you so you can watch your step.

I tried to dodge it with a smile, but the details they handled about my “feats” were too precise. They were true. Seeing me resist, Rubén pushed.

—Come on, Mateo, at least say something. With what we’ve told you...

I hardened my expression. I wasn’t usually serious with them, but this time I was.

—Who I sleep with is my business. And something I never do is give names or details. I’m telling you this because it’s the first and last time I let this be talked about in front of me. End of topic.

The reaction threw me off. They didn’t get angry. There was no tension. On the contrary, they seemed satisfied, almost cheerful. I thought it was my imagination.

—Mateo, I’ve got a new play, it’s the best thing I’ve written —Gonzalo said, eyes shining—. And we were wondering if you’d want to be the lead. A young guy who comes home and ends up tangled up with the mature woman of his parents’ best friend. You’re the perfect age for the part.

I shrugged. Theater wasn’t my thing and I told him so.

—The woman’s role would be played by Bianca —he added, and suddenly the offer became tempting.

Rubén, who had been watching like a silent referee, chimed in with a sardonic smile.

—No wonder you’re hesitating. You’re young; you see relationships in a more modern way, less primitive... right?

I smiled back, but with an edge.

—Life is short. Let everyone fuck whoever they want, without thinking about obligations. Sexual morality is a cage invented by boring people to ruin everyone else’s fun. I prefer to live outside it.

The silence that followed was thick. They looked at each other, and for a second I saw a flash of triumph in their eyes. It was as if I had just passed an exam I didn’t know I was taking.

—Oof, it’s late —Gonzalo said suddenly—. Mateo, can you give us a lift home?

I dropped them at their doors with a simple “see you tomorrow.” As soon as I got to my apartment, the phone buzzed. It was Gonzalo.

—Mateo, fuck, I left the laptop in your car. I can’t lose it, I’ve got important work on there.

I went down to the parking garage. I found it fallen between the seat and the gear lever, inside its black case. I took a photo and sent it to him. The reply came instantly, as if it had been written and waiting for the moment.

—PLEASE... DON’T LOOK AT ITS CONTENTS. I TRUST YOU.

I read the message three times. The capitals, the “please,” the “I trust you.” It wasn’t a warning. It was an invitation. A challenge. My mind translated it on its own: look at it, that’s what we want.

I went back up with the laptop. I opened it. No password. It was waiting. On the desktop there was a folder with a name as obvious as it was insulting: “MATEO.” I clicked.

A torrent of images unfolded before me. Bianca and Renata, naked, in explicit poses, each with her husband. Bianca riding on top of Gonzalo, her face of ecstasy reflected in the mirror. Renata on all fours, Rubén taking her from behind from an angle that glorified that perfect ass.

And there was more: a folder called “CONTACTS,” with dozens of subfolders named after other men, other married women in similar acts. But in those, the faces were always blurred. Only in Bianca’s and Renata’s were the faces sharp, perfect. They were a luxury product for a select client: me.

It was a club. A brotherhood of husbands who shared their wives like trophies. And I was the new guest, the main course they had spent months preparing.

***

I decided to turn their game around. The next day I went to their turf. I showed up at Gonzalo’s workplace with the laptop in hand, and his face split between panic and surprise. He insisted we have a beer at the bar on the corner. I accepted.

—Fuck, Mateo, I don’t know how I dropped it. My head was somewhere else —he began his act.

I looked at him without blinking.

—Let’s be clear, Gonzalo. Don’t take me for an idiot. You didn’t forget the laptop. You left it there on purpose, without a password, so I’d see exactly what you wanted me to see.

His smile froze. He opened his mouth, but nothing came out.

—And now tell me what you want. And don’t tell me Rubén isn’t involved, because I know this is the two of you.

He leaned back in his chair, defeated. The air of a confident boss vanished.

—You’re right. Forgive us —he said—. It’s hard to explain. A few years ago I suggested to Bianca that we bring in a third. She went ballistic, thought I was cheating on her. It took me days to make her understand that the third had to be a man, that what I wanted was to see her enjoy herself, be desired by someone else.

He took a sip, his gaze lost in the foam.

—She didn’t get it. For her it was humiliation. Until one day I had the idea of presenting it to her as an acting exercise. I told her she was a fantastic actress trapped in good-wife roles, that she should dare something raw. We staged a scene of a furtive encounter, with a hired actor. I directed her: “more passion, make him desire you.” And I saw the barrier between the actress and the character dissolve, saw the flush in her skin no longer just acted.

He leaned toward me.

—That night, in bed, she asked me: “Did it turn you on seeing me with him?” I confessed it did, that seeing her desired drove me crazy. And she finally accepted it. Theater was our passageway across the line. With Rubén and Renata it was more direct: he’s been a voyeur all his life, she’s a born exhibitionist. They didn’t need an excuse.

—And why me? —I asked, already knowing the answer.

—Because you’re different. You don’t move in those circles, you’re from our world. And we know you’re good. One of them was very explicit: she said that with you it wasn’t just sex, it was an experience. We want Bianca and Renata to live something unforgettable, and we want to direct it. You’d be our star.

He lowered his voice even more.

—Bianca is a bomb. Insatiable. But she still refuses to take the real step, offstage. That’s her last frontier. She’s terrified of feeling like she’s betraying me. I’ve always seen her as “needy,” as if something were missing, as if her desire were bigger than what I can give her.

That was when I saw my moment. The door he himself had left ajar. I leaned back, crossed my arms.

—You know, Gonzalo? From what I saw last night in those photos, I’m not surprised at all that she feels that way. And I’m not talking about your wives, who are spectacular. I’m talking about you and Rubén. Yours looks like a champagne cork: it does the job of popping the bottle, little more. Rubén’s is long, but thin as a stick. More useful for pointing than for satisfying.

Silence fell completely. Gonzalo froze, beer halfway to his mouth. I expected fury, denial. That wasn’t what I saw. I saw his skin flush, not from shame, but from arousal. His breathing broke up, his pupil dilated. Humiliation hadn’t hurt him: it had turned him on.

And then I understood everything. He wasn’t just a cuckold who wanted to watch. He was a masochist. He needed the man who was going to please his wife to tell him to his face that he wasn’t up to the task. That was his real prologue.

—You like it, don’t you? —I said with a slow smile—. Hearing it like that. Hearing me say you’re not enough.

He looked down, unable to hold my gaze, and barely nodded.

—Yes —he whispered, his voice broken and feverish at the same time—. Yes, fuck, yes.

The game had changed completely.

***

—This is done my way —I told him, setting the glass down with a hard clink—. Forget your play and your rehearsals, that’s the excuse of cowards. Tonight, at your place, at eleven. Wine, low music, whatever lighting you know how to set. Tell Bianca I have a surprise and nothing more. And when I get there, don’t hide in a corner. I want you sitting in that armchair by the window, watching everything. Understood?

He swallowed. He nodded, a gesture of total submission.

—Understood.

I arrived on time. Gonzalo opened the door for me, dressed in black, trying to project a control his eyes betrayed. The house smelled of expensive incense and anxiety; slow jazz played in the background. Bianca was on the sofa, wearing a blood-red dress that clung to her curves. She sized me up with those honey-colored eyes, somewhere between courtesy and confusion, without smiling. She didn’t know what I was doing there.

—Gonzalo told me you’re an exceptional actress —I said, completely ignoring the husband, who had already slipped into his assigned armchair—. That you like to challenge yourself.

She crossed her legs, slowly, deliberately.

—And you like to direct, don’t you, Mateo? I’ve heard things.

I knelt in front of her, my face level with her knees.

—Forget everything you’ve heard. What you’re going to feel tonight no one will be able to describe to you.

And then I touched her. Not a caress: I placed my hand on her thigh, over the dress. I felt the electric spasm of her body. Her gaze flew to Gonzalo, a mute question full of alarm. He only gave a weak smile, which did nothing to reassure her. I brought my other hand to the nape of her neck, tangled my fingers in her hair, and pulled her toward me.

—Look at him —I whispered in her ear—. Sitting there with his hands in his lap, doing nothing. He’s a spectator, Bianca. And tonight, the show is you.

She tried to pull back, but I held her.

—Mateo, I don’t know what game you’re playing, but...

—It’s not a game —I cut her off, and kissed her with possession, stealing her breath. Her lips were taut, resisting, but my insistence softened them. I felt the resistance melt into curiosity. My hand slid under her dress to the hot skin of her sex. She was drenched.

—You’re already wet —I said against her mouth—. Is that excitement, or the need for someone to treat you the way you really want?

The confusion in her eyes had turned into pure fire, no longer against me, but against her own life.

—Prove it to me —she said.

I stood up and started stripping. Gonzalo didn’t move, his gaze locked on me. When I yanked everything off in one pull, I heard Bianca’s stifled inhale, her mouth opening, her eyes wide.

—Shit... —she whispered, more to herself than to me.

I made her get on all fours on the sofa, her ass facing her husband. I pulled aside the soaked lace and drove into her in one thrust. The cry that escaped her throat wasn’t one of pain: it was pure ecstatic shock, that of a woman discovering a new dimension of sex.

—Look at her, Gonzalo —I said, thrusting with hard blows that made the sofa shake—. I’m going to give her what you never could.

He had gone pale, palm pressing his erection through his trousers, his face a mask of tortured ecstasy. And then I saw the transformation. Bianca stopped being the reluctant wife and became a heat-crazed beast, pushing back, seeking my thrusts.

—See it, husband? —she howled, face turned toward him—. This is what I was missing! This is what you never gave me!

Suddenly she stopped, turned her head, and a diabolical idea was born in her eyes.

—Stop. Gonzalo, come here. Kneel down.

He obeyed, clumsily, until he was facing my cock, shining with his wife’s juices.

—Clean her up. With your mouth —she ordered.

—Bianca, no...

—Shut up and do it! —she shouted, and slapped him across the face with a crack that echoed through the room. The blow seemed to wake him up. The violence was exactly what he needed. His submission became total, and he opened his mouth.

—Become my dog, Gonzalo, just like I became his! —she kept going, every word a lash that excited her more, while she touched herself watching the scene.

The spectacle was insane: Bianca turned into a ruthless dominant, her husband delivered at her feet, and me in the center, the instrument of her transformation. I fucked her again while he followed her orders, until she exploded into an orgasm that seemed to have no end.

***

The air remained thick, a mix of sweat and power. But Bianca wasn’t tired: she was reborn. She sat up, eyes burning with a new ferocity, and looked at her husband. A dark stain spread across Gonzalo’s trousers. He had come just from humiliation.

She gave a cruel little laugh.

—Look at you. You came like a schoolboy. Pathetic.

She turned to me, and cruelty gave way to pure appetite. She climbed into my lap and guided me back inside, rocking slowly, deeply.

—See it, Gonzalo? He stays inside, fills me completely. You were clocking in and out, two thrusts and asleep. You were afraid to wake the woman inside me. Well, she’s awake now. And she’s never going back to sleep.

The night went on until it emptied both of us out. When I finally collapsed into the armchair, catching my breath, Bianca sat on the floor with her legs crossed, a deep calm on her face, the calm of someone who has solved an riddle that tormented her all her life.

—You know why I never told you anything, Mateo? —she asked—. I always knew you were dangerous for me. It wasn’t that I didn’t like you. It was that I knew if I gave you an inch, I’d fall. Not as an affair, but as a collapse. And I was right.

She laughed, bitter and free.

—All these years I protected myself behind my marriage and Gonzalo’s little games. It was a wall so I wouldn’t face what I knew would happen if I gave in. And tonight the wall came down.

She turned to her husband, who was listening with his mouth open.

—Do you understand now? You weren’t competing against another man. You were competing against a tsunami with a bucket of water. You never stood a chance.

Gonzalo lowered his head. Not in shame: it was total surrender, acceptance of his place in the new order. Bianca came over to me, not as a lover, but as an ally, and sat on the arm of the chair.

—That wasn’t a performance for you, was it? —she whispered—. It was an audition. And you passed it. We all did.

She looked at Gonzalo, then at me.

—I think it’s time to call Renata and Rubén. The show is about to begin. And this time the prologue is over. From now on, we’re all accomplices.