The Club of Husbands Who Shared Their Wives

I had been moving through that parallel universe of infidelity for some time, an ecosystem with rules of its own. I explored it not from the place of the betrayed husband, but from that of the accomplice, the catalyst. I had become a kind of observer of cuckolds, and my great discovery was that they were not all alike.

I had classified them almost as a biologist classifies insects. There was the intermittent one, who opened the door to his bedroom one day and closed it the next with a paranoid bolt. There was the pure voyeur, who sat in a corner and drank in the sight of his wife with another man. There was the submissive one, a born obedient, a willing slave to someone else’s desire. And the most extreme of all, the one who found his ecstasy in the most servile act of all: the man who knelt to suck the cock that had just fucked his wife, or the one who opened his mouth to swallow someone else’s semen dripping from his wife’s cunt.

There was a curious pattern: with almost all the husbands whose wives I had fucked, I ended up forging a strange, powerful friendship. My role as “the other,” the man who emptied his balls into their wives right in front of them, broke down barriers and opened up a camaraderie born of 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 men who had known each other all their lives. I dealt with them both at once, and although their dynamic had a rehearsed quality to it, I filed it away as an unimportant oddity.

Soon that oddity became a pattern. The two of them began deliberately seeking me out. Our relationship shifted from cordial to intimate, full of confidences and casual touches. It wasn’t my imagination; others in the group noticed it too, though no one gave it much weight. I, on the other hand, was beginning to put the pieces together.

Gonzalo was a civil servant, with strong arms and a shaved head, carrying the calm of a self-assured man. 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 having “a few extra pounds.” Big, heavy tits that filled her cleavage, and a round ass that begged to be handled. Her appeal was in her eyes: a permanently suggestive expression, a mischievous glint that promised sins without saying a word. With me, however, she maintained a courteous distance she didn’t keep with anyone else.

Rubén worked at a bank, a sturdy man with dark hair flecked with gray. He was Gonzalo’s right-hand man in their productions. His wife, Renata, was Bianca’s antithesis: thin, athletic, straight hair falling over her shoulders, and a perfect, pert ass that showed beneath any clothing and cried out to be spread open with both hands. Renata did encourage me, with an open, playful friendliness.

The trigger went off one afternoon. Someone had shared 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, between us,” Gonzalo told me, lowering his voice as if he were sharing a state secret. “I’ll tell you the sin, but not the sinner. They say you’ve fucked two married women from the group. I’m telling you so you’ll watch your step.”

I tried to dodge it with a smile, but the details they knew about my “exploits” were too precise. They were true. When he saw me hold out, Rubén pressed the point.

“Come on, Mateo, at least say something. After everything we’ve told you...”

I hardened my expression. I didn’t usually get serious with them, but this time I did.

“Who I fuck is my business. And one thing I never do is give names or details. I’m telling you this because it’s the first and last time I’m going to let you talk about this in front of me. End of subject.”

Their reaction threw me. They didn’t get angry. There was no tension. On the contrary, they seemed pleased, almost cheerful. I thought I was imagining it.

“Mateo, I have a new play, the best thing I’ve ever written,” Gonzalo said, his eyes shining. “And we were wondering whether you’d like to be the lead. A young man who returns home and ends up entangled with his parents’ best friend’s mature wife. You’re the perfect age for the part.”

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

“Bianca would play the woman,” he added, and suddenly the offer became tempting.

Rubén, watching like a silent referee, cut in with a sly smile.

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

I returned his smile, but with an edge.

“Life is short. Everyone should fuck whoever they want, without worrying about obligations. Sexual morality is a cage invented by bores to spoil the fun for everyone else. I prefer to live outside it.”

The silence that followed was heavy. 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 hadn’t known I was taking.

“Oh, it got late,” Gonzalo said suddenly. “Mateo, can you drive us home?”

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

“Mateo, fuck, I left my laptop in your car. I can’t lose it; I have important work on there.”

I went down to the parking lot. I found it lying between the seat and the gearshift, in its black case. I took a picture and sent it to him. The reply came instantly, as though he’d had it written and was waiting for the moment.

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

I read the message three times. The capital letters, 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 upstairs with the laptop. I opened it. There was no password. It had been waiting for me. On the desktop 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 Gonzalo, her heavy tits hanging as she impaled herself on his cock, her face of ecstasy reflected in the mirror, a string of saliva falling from her lip. Another: Bianca on her knees with Gonzalo’s cock shoved down her throat, her eyes wet, a necklace of drool on her chin. Renata on all fours, Rubén taking her from behind at an angle that glorified that perfect ass spread open, his cock sliding in and out of her, shining with her juices. Another: Renata with her legs spread, her shaved cunt opened with two fingers toward the camera, dripping fresh semen.

And there was more: a folder called “CONTACTS,” with dozens of subfolders named after other men, other married women in similar acts, strange cocks buried in strange cunts, cumshots on tits, asses, open mouths. But in those, the faces were always blurred. Only in the pictures of Bianca and Renata were the faces sharp, perfect. They were a luxury product for a select customer: me.

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

***

I decided to turn their game around. The next day, I went to their territory. I showed up at Gonzalo’s workplace with the laptop in my hand, and his face shifted between panic and surprise. He insisted on buying a beer at the bar on the corner. I agreed.

“Fuck, Mateo, I don’t know how it fell out. My head’s somewhere else,” he began his performance.

I looked at him without blinking.

“Let’s see, 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 work of both of you.”

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

“You’re right. Forgive us,” he said. “It’s complicated to explain. A few years ago I suggested that Bianca bring in a third person. She went wild, convinced I was cheating on her. It took me days to explain that the third had to be a man, that what I wanted was to watch her enjoy herself, to see her get fucked by someone else in front of me.”

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

“She didn’t understand. To her it was a humiliation. Until one day I thought of presenting it as an acting exercise. I told her she was a fantastic actress trapped in good-wife roles, and that she should dare to do something raw. We set up a scene about a furtive encounter, with a hired actor. I directed her: ‘More passion. Make him want you. Suck his mouth as if your life depended on it.’ And I watched the barrier between actress and character disappear, watched the flush in her skin stop being acted, watched her nipples harden beneath her blouse and her underwear grow wet while that guy groped her tits, ‘acting.’”

He leaned toward me.

“That night, in bed, she asked me, ‘Did it turn you on to see me with him?’ I admitted that it had, that seeing her desired drove me crazy. And at last she 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, and she’s a born exhibitionist. The first time the four of us were together, Renata spread her legs on the sofa and masturbated in front of us without batting an eye. They didn’t need an excuse.”

“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. That you’d made her come three times in a row, that you’d emptied your balls inside her, and that the next day she could still feel her cunt throbbing. We want Bianca and Renata to experience something unforgettable, and we want to direct it. You’d be our star.”

He lowered his voice even further.

“Bianca is a bombshell. Insatiable. But she still refuses to take the real step, offstage. It’s her final frontier. She’s terrified of feeling that she’s betraying me. I’ve always seen her ‘needy,’ as if she were missing something, as if her desire were greater than my cock can satisfy.”

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

“You know, Gonzalo? From what I saw in those photos last night, it doesn’t surprise me at all that she feels that way. And I’m not talking about your wives, who look spectacular. I’m talking about you and Rubén. Yours looks like a champagne cork: short, too thick at the base, with no tip capable of digging where it needs to dig. It does its job of popping the bottle, and little more. Rubén’s is long, but thin as a skewer. Better for pointing than satisfying. With those two cocks, Bianca and Renata are condemned to go to bed only half-satisfied for the rest of their lives.”

Absolute silence fell. Gonzalo froze, his beer halfway to his mouth. I expected fury, denial. That wasn’t what I saw. I saw his skin flush, not with shame but with arousal. His breathing grew ragged, his pupil dilated. Beneath the table I saw a hard bulge forming in his pants. The 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 fuck his wife to tell him to his face that his cock wasn’t up to the task. That was his true prologue.

“You like it, don’t you?” I said with a slow smile. “Having me say it like that. Telling you your cock isn’t enough for Bianca. That she needs a cock like mine, thick and long, to fill her properly.”

He lowered his eyes, unable to meet my gaze, and barely nodded.

“Yes,” he whispered, his voice broken and feverish at once. “Yes, fuck, yes.”

The game had changed completely.

***

“This is going to happen my way,” I told him, setting down my glass with a sharp knock. “Forget your play and your rehearsals; that’s a coward’s excuse. Tonight, at your house, eleven o’clock. Wine, low music, whatever lighting you know how to arrange. Tell Bianca I have a surprise and nothing more. And when she arrives, don’t hide in a corner. I want you to sit in that armchair beside the window and watch everything. How I tear her clothes off, how I put it in her, how she comes on my cock. Understood?”

He swallowed. He nodded, utterly submissive.

“Understood.”

I arrived on time. Gonzalo opened the door, dressed in black, trying to project a control his eyes contradicted. 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, its plunging neckline revealing half of those heavy tits. She assessed me with honey-colored eyes, somewhere between courtesy and strangeness, without smiling. She had no idea 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 challenging yourself.”

She crossed her legs, slowly and deliberately. I caught a flash of white between her thighs: she wasn’t wearing panties, or else she was wearing the barest scrap.

“And you like directing, 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 is something 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 and slowly moved it upward until I brushed the crease of her groin. I felt the electric spasm run through her body. Her gaze flew toward Gonzalo, a silent question full of alarm. He merely smiled weakly, which did nothing to reassure her. I brought my other hand to the nape of her neck, tangled my fingers in her hair, and drew 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, with my cock inside you.”

She tried to pull back, but I held her.

“Mateo, I don’t know what you’re playing at, but...”

“This isn’t a game,” I cut her off, kissing her possessively, stealing her breath, driving my tongue to the back of her mouth. Her lips were tense, resisting, but my persistence softened them. I felt her tongue come looking for mine, shy at first, hungry afterward. My hand moved down her neck, covered one breast over the dress, and pinched her nipple until I felt it harden like a stone beneath the fabric. She moaned into my mouth. I moved lower, sliding up beneath the dress to the hot skin of her crotch. A soaked lace thong. I pushed the fabric aside with two fingers and found her naked cunt, swollen and dripping. I sank my fingers in to the knuckles, and she arched, letting out a long gasp.

“You’re already wet,” I said against her mouth, moving my fingers inside her, feeling her cunt tighten around them. “Soaked. Is it the excitement, or the need for someone to treat you the way you really want, like a female in heat?”

The confusion in her eyes had turned to pure fire, no longer directed at me but at her own life. I pulled out my glistening fingers, ran them over her lips, painting them with her own juices, and then pushed them into her mouth.

“Suck yourself,” I ordered. And she obeyed, closing her lips around my fingers, her tongue moving over them, her eyes fixed on mine.

“Prove it to me,” she said when I pulled my fingers out, and there was nothing left in that voice of the composed lawyer.

I stood and began to undress. Gonzalo didn’t move, his gaze fixed on me. When I yanked down my pants and briefs, I heard Bianca’s strangled intake of breath. My cock sprang forward, hard and thick, the tip already shining. Her mouth opened on its own, her eyes widening.

“Fuck...” she whispered, more to herself than to me. She reached out with a trembling hand, wrapped her fingers around it, and couldn’t quite close them. She weighed it. Measured it with her eyes, measuring herself against it. She licked her lips.

“Take it in your mouth,” I told her.

She slid from the sofa to the floor, knelt before me, and took my cock into her mouth without any further preamble. She sucked it with a hunger years overdue, tightening her lips, helping herself with one hand at the base, her tongue circling the glans, producing a wet sound of saliva and suction that filled the room. She pulled it out, licked me from top to bottom like an ice-cream cone, then took it back in until the glans touched the back of her throat and made her gag. Her eyes filled with tears, and she seemed to love it. I looked at Gonzalo: his hand was hard over the bulge in his pants, breathing through his open mouth.

“See how your wife sucks, Gonzalo?” I said, gripping Bianca’s hair with one hand and guiding her head at the pace I wanted. “Has she ever sucked you like that? As if she’d been hungry for months?”

He shook his head, unable to speak.

I lifted her up and ripped the red dress off over her head in one pull. She wasn’t wearing a bra. Her breasts fell heavily, large and crowned by two dark, already erect nipples. I grabbed them, squeezed them, buried my mouth in them, biting her nipples until I tore an animal cry from her. I made her get on all fours on the sofa, her ass facing her husband. I tore off her soaked thong and threw it onto the floor beside Gonzalo’s feet. Her cunt was left exposed, pink, swollen, shining, a thread of fluid hanging down to the inside of her thigh.

“Look at her carefully, Gonzalo,” I said, spreading her ass cheeks with my thumbs to display everything. “Look at her open cunt. Look how wet it is before I put it in her. Your wife was this horny and you didn’t even notice.”

I lined myself up, pressed the glans to her entrance, and sank into her in one thrust, all the way to the bottom. The cry that escaped her throat wasn’t one of pain: it was pure pleasurable shock, the shock of a woman discovering a new dimension of sex. Her whole body tensed, her cunt clamping around my cock like a fist, then loosening as she surrendered.

“Oh God... oh God, so big, so big...” she babbled, her face pressed into the cushion. “You fill me completely... all the way...”

“Look at her, Gonzalo,” I said, beginning to thrust with hard, deep strokes that made the sofa shake and her tits bounce against the leather. “I’m going to give her what you never could. I’m going to fuck her until she forgets your name.”

He had gone white, his palm pressing against his erection through his pants, his face a mask of tortured ecstasy. And then I saw the transformation. Bianca stopped being the reluctant wife and became a beast in heat, pushing her ass back, seeking my thrusts, impaling herself on my cock with desperation.

“Harder, harder, give me all of it!” she screamed, her voice hoarse, her face turned toward her husband. “Do you see, husband? This is what I was missing! This is a real cock! This is what you never gave me! Ten years of nothing, ten years of two shitty little thrusts!”

I grabbed her hair and pulled it back, arching her spine, then drove my thumb into her asshole while I kept pounding her cunt. She let out an animal cry.

“Yes, there too, all of it, take me everywhere!”

Suddenly she stopped, panting, turned her head, and a diabolical idea appeared in her eyes.

“Stop. Pull it out. Gonzalo, come here. Kneel.”

He obeyed clumsily until he was kneeling in front of my sex, shining with his wife’s juices, dripping.

“Clean it. With your mouth,” she ordered. “Suck it. Get the taste of your wife’s cunt, fucked by another man, out of your mouth.”

“Bianca, no...”

“Shut up and do it!” she shouted, slapping him across the face so hard it echoed through the room. “Open your mouth!”

The blow seemed to wake him. The violence was exactly what he needed. His submission became total, and he opened his mouth. I pushed my cock inside, feeling Bianca’s husband suck it with the taste of his wife still clinging to my skin, swallowing the juices she had left behind. I gripped his head and fed it into his mouth all the way, without mercy. He choked, swallowed, opened his mouth again, obedient.

“Make yourself my dog, Gonzalo, just as I made myself his!” she continued, every word a lash that aroused her further as she touched her open cunt, watching the scene, two fingers moving in and out of it. “Suck it clean; leave it spotless so I can put it back inside me!”

When I decided he’d had enough, I pulled my cock from the husband’s mouth and mounted her again. This time I put her on her back, legs spread as wide as possible, ankles over my shoulders, folded in half so Gonzalo could clearly see me pushing in and pulling out, see her cunt stretch around my cock every time I buried it to the hilt. Bianca grabbed her breasts, pinched her nipples, and licked her lips.

“Look at me, husband, look at my face while he puts it in me properly... look at what I become... this is a happy woman, Gonzalo, this is what a real cock does...”

I felt her coming. Her whole body tensed, her cunt began squeezing in rhythmic waves, and she released a long, sustained scream while her husband remained at her side on his knees, still following her orders. She exploded into an orgasm that seemed endless, shaking beneath my cock, biting her lip until she drew blood.

***

The air grew thick, a mixture of sweat and power. But Bianca wasn’t tired: she had been reborn. She sat up, her eyes carrying a new ferocity, and looked at her husband. A dark stain had spread across Gonzalo’s pants. He had come just from the humiliation, without even touching himself.

She gave a cruel little laugh.

“Look at you. You came like a schoolboy. In your pants, without even taking it out. Pathetic.”

She turned toward me, and the cruelty gave way to pure appetite. My cock was still hard, gleaming with her juices, and I still hadn’t come. Her eyes lit up.

“You haven’t come. You still haven’t come.”

“No,” I said. “That orgasm is yours. You decide where it goes.”

She climbed into my lap, her knees on either side of my hips, grasped my cock with one hand, and guided it inside her again, slowly, feeling every inch, lowering herself until she was impaled all the way. She closed her eyes and threw her head back.

“Aaah... all of it... I’ve got all of it inside me...”

And she began to rock herself, slow and deep, rotating her hips, her tits bouncing against my chest, her arms around my neck. She leaned in and spoke into my ear, so her husband would hear every word.

“Do you see, Gonzalo? He stays inside me, fills me completely, touches me inside where you didn’t even know existed. You just did your duty, two thrusts and off to sleep. You were afraid to awaken the woman inside me. Well, she’s awake now. And she’ll never go back to sleep.”

I gripped her waist and began lifting and lowering her harder, coordinating my thrusts from below with her rhythm, until the sound of our bodies colliding filled the room, a wet, obscene pounding in time with her moans.

“I’m going to come inside you,” I warned her, feeling it rise.

“Yes, inside, all the way inside, fill me, fill me properly, I want to carry it all inside me all night.”

I dug my fingers into her buttocks, drove her down to the hilt, and came with a roar, long, thick spurts spilling inside her. Bianca moaned against my shoulder, feeling it, and came again with the contractions. She remained still on top of me, trembling, my cock still inside her, letting everything settle.

When she finally rose, a thick white thread began to run down the inside of her thigh. She looked at Gonzalo, spread her cunt open with two fingers, and a thick drop of my semen fell onto the floor between his feet.

“Come here, husband,” she said, with cruel calm. “Come clean me. With your tongue. From the bottom upward. Everything that leaks out of me is yours.”

Gonzalo crawled over to her, positioned himself beneath her, and Bianca squatted over him. I watched his tongue climb her thigh, collecting my cum, then enter his wife’s cunt to clean out what remained inside. She closed her eyes and bit her lip, wearing a smile made entirely of power.

When he finished, when Gonzalo pulled away with his mouth shining and his chin dripping, Bianca collapsed into the armchair beside me, satisfied, her legs still spread, her cunt swollen and reddened. She laughed, bitter and free.

“Do you know why I never said anything to you, 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 that if I gave you an inch, I would fall. Not like an affair, but like a collapse. And I was right.”

She reached out, took my limp cock, still shining, and stroked it with a new possessiveness.

“All these years I protected myself behind my marriage and Gonzalo’s little games. They were a wall keeping me from facing what I knew would happen if I surrendered. And tonight the wall fell.”

She turned toward her husband, who listened with his mouth open, kneeling at the feet of the armchair like a new dog learning its place.

“Do you understand now? You weren’t competing against another man. You were competing against a tsunami with a bucket of water. Against a cock that tears my cunt apart while you watch. You never had a chance.”

Gonzalo lowered his head. Not in shame: it was total surrender, the acceptance of his place in the new order. Bianca moved closer to me, not as a lover but as an ally, and sat on the arm of the chair, one breast brushing my cheek.

“This wasn’t a show for you, was it?” she whispered. “It was an audition. And you passed. We all passed.”

She looked at Gonzalo, then at me.

“I think it’s time to call Renata and Rubén. The performance is about to begin. And this time the prologue is over. From now on, we’re all accomplices. And that cock,” she added, squeezing it in her hand, “is going to have plenty of work for a long time.”