The Infidelity We Committed When My Husband Traveled

Sofía found the message on a Tuesday afternoon. Camila’s phone had been left charging in the kitchen, and when the screen lit up with a vibration, the name that appeared stole her breath: Diego. The photography instructor at the cultural center. The same one who told her “you’re different from all the rest” every Thursday, in his studio, while he unbuttoned her blouse with the blinds half-closed and slipped his tongue between her tits before lowering her to the floor and fucking her against the tripod.

The message said: “Last night was incredible. I love when you stay after class and suck my dick with that little whore mouth of yours.”

When Camila came down from her shower, Sofía didn’t beat around the bush.

—You too? —she asked, phone in hand—. With Diego?

The silence lasted ten seconds that felt like ten minutes.

—Did he tell you you were special? —Camila asked, her voice breaking.

—Yes. While he was filling my cunt with his cock on the darkroom table.

—He told me that too. With his dick in my mouth, Mom.

They cut it off the next day. Each on her own side, no scene, no explanations. Diego insisted a couple of times and then disappeared. But something remained between them: the image of having shared the same man without knowing it, of having had the same cock inside them, the daring, and also, though neither said it out loud, the curiosity of knowing how the other one got fucked, what noises she made, what he had done to her with his tongue and hands.

***

Andrés noticed nothing. He never noticed anything. He was forty-seven, his head buried in his accounting work and his weekends devoted to soccer or falling asleep in the armchair before eleven. He wasn’t a bad husband, but it had been a long time since he’d looked at Sofía as anything more than the woman who shared his bed. When he put his dick in her, it was quick, always in the same position, and he came in less than five minutes. She had been pretending for years.

One Saturday, when Andrés left early for his match, Camila suggested going to have a drink at the square. Sofía hesitated. She wasn’t the kind of mother who went out with her daughter. But that day she said yes.

They dressed with more intention than usual. Sofía put on dark jeans that hugged her hips and a linen shirt that hinted at the shape of her breasts. At forty, her body still turned heads: narrow waist, long legs, a back kept straight by years of Pilates, firm tits that still didn’t need padded bras.

Camila chose short shorts and a T-shirt tied at the waist that left a strip of flat stomach visible. At twenty-two, with light brown hair falling in waves over her shoulders and those light eyes inherited from her grandmother, she didn’t need to try very hard. Her round ass showed in the shorts with every step.

In the square, the men looked at them. Not in passing. They really looked. A runner almost tripped because he turned his head toward Camila. The waiter at a café brought them cookies they hadn’t ordered.

—See? —Camila whispered.

—I see —Sofía answered, and without meaning to, she straightened her back to push her chest out.

They went home before Andrés arrived. They hadn’t done anything, only let themselves be looked at. But that night, each in her room, they thought the same thing: about the stares, about how for a while they hadn’t been mother and daughter but two women. Sofía slid her fingers into her cunt until she came, biting the pillow. Camila, two rooms away, did the same with the vibrator hidden in the sock drawer.

It became a habit. Whenever Andrés had plans, they went out. They started buying clothes they hid in the back of the closet, in bags no one ever checked. Clothes that were only for them and for strangers’ eyes. The game was simple: how much could they arouse without giving anything away.

Until that wasn’t enough anymore.

***

One Friday, Andrés announced he was leaving for a whole weekend to attend a conference.

—You’ll be alone —he said, closing the suitcase—. Take care of yourselves.

—We always take care of ourselves —Sofía replied, with a smile he didn’t know how to read.

When the taxi took him away, mother and daughter looked at each other. No words were needed.

Sofía went up to her room and took out the bag from the back of the closet. She put on a tight black T-shirt that fit her tits as if they’d been molded into the fabric, no bra, with her nipples showing through the cotton, and a gray pencil skirt with a side slit that rose to mid-thigh. Underneath, a black thong so narrow it wedged itself between her ass cheeks. Low heels, silver earrings, hair tied back in a low ponytail.

She looked at herself in the mirror. I’m not bad at all. Tonight they’re going to eat me alive.

Camila chose a mustard T-shirt that fit her torso like a second skin and a short pleated skirt that ended four inches above the knee. Hair loose, lips barely glossed. Under the skirt she wore nothing. When she came down the stairs, her mother was already waiting at the door.

—Ready?

—Ready.

They walked six blocks to a bar with tables on the sidewalk. Midafternoon sun, coffee served in china cups. The boys were at the next table.

There were three of them. Early twenties. Santiago was tall, dark-haired, with a strong jaw and a gray T-shirt stretched across his shoulders and thick arms. Nicolás was lean, blond, with stubble and a gaze that took in everything without missing anything. Tomás was the shortest, but his energy filled the space: gesturing hands, laughter that carried from far away.

—Excuse us —Tomás said, coming closer—. Got a light?

—We don’t smoke —Camila said.

—What a shame. How about we sit with you for a bit? It’s packed.

There were several empty tables. The excuse was terrible. Sofía said:

—Sit down.

They talked about everything and nothing. Tomás made Camila laugh with impersonations of teachers. Santiago asked Sofía about her job, her tastes, how it was possible that she had a twenty-two-year-old daughter.

Nicolás watched. That was all he did: watch. But his gaze traveled over Sofía’s body as if he were touching her with his fingers, lingering on the nipples marked under the fabric, on the slit in the skirt, on the wetness already beginning to build between her legs.

The coffees became beers. At some point, Santiago’s leg brushed Sofía’s under the table. Neither pulled away. Tomás’s hand rested on the back of Camila’s chair, millimeters from her shoulder. She didn’t move away. Under the table, Tomás put his hand on her bare knee and slid it up the inside of her thigh. Camila opened her legs an inch, then two, and when his fingers brushed her wet cunt with no underwear between them, she bit the rim of her glass to keep from moaning.

Nicolás said something funny and when Sofía leaned forward, the neckline of her shirt opened just enough for him to see the top of her breasts and her hard nipples. She didn’t straighten back up.

When the waiter said they were closing, it was almost ten.

—We’re alone —Sofía said, and the words came out before she could think them—. My husband traveled.

The three exchanged a look. Santiago smiled.

—Let’s go.

***

The apartment smelled like jasmine. Sofía lit a candle. Camila put on low music. Someone poured five glasses of red wine. They sat on the big sofa: the three boys in the middle, mother and daughter at the ends.

At first everything was proper. Legs brushed, arms rested where they didn’t need to, but no one crossed the line. Sofía felt Santiago’s heat against her side and, when she looked down, noticed the bulge tightening his jeans. Camila felt Tomás’s hand on the back of the sofa, inches from her neck.

—Let’s take a photo —Santiago suggested.

They pressed together for the picture. The boys’ arms slid from shoulders to hips. No one separated after the flash. Santiago’s hand stayed at Sofía’s waist, fingers brushing the fabric just under her breasts and then moving up, brazenly, to knead a tit over her T-shirt. Tomás’s hand was on Camila’s thigh, where the skirt no longer covered, and from there to her groin, and from there, without any transition, to the wet lips of her bare cunt. Camila parted her lips and dug her nails into the sofa.

—Continue? —Nicolás asked, his voice low.

He didn’t say, “continue with the photos.”

Sofía breathed in deeply. One of them nodded. Maybe both at the same time. Santiago blew out the candle.

The orange light from the street came through the window, diffuse, erasing the edges of everything. Santiago brought his face close to Sofía’s. He left his breath on her lips for a second, two, three.

—Sure? —he whispered.

Sofía nodded and his mouth was already on hers. He bit her lower lip, slid his tongue in slowly, all the way down, and she sucked it with her own. Sofía grabbed the back of his neck and pulled him against her, and with her other hand, without thinking, she reached for the bulge between his legs and squeezed it through his pants. It was hard, long, throbbing.

—Fuck —he murmured against her mouth.

On the other side of the sofa, Tomás had taken Camila by the nape and was kissing her hungrily while still sliding two fingers into her cunt. She laughed against his mouth, a short sound that turned into a moan when he found the exact spot and started massaging it in circles.

—You’re soaked —Tomás whispered in her ear.

—Take my skirt off —she answered.

Nicolás didn’t move. He watched from the other side, with one palm open over his own crotch, waiting. Sofía caught a glimpse of him and liked knowing he was watching her.

Santiago slid his hands under Sofía’s shirt. He moved up along her ribs to her bare tits. She wasn’t wearing a bra and he let out a gasp when he found her hard nipples between his fingers.

—You’re not wearing anything under there, mama.

—Neither is she —Sofía said—. Take it off.

He pulled her shirt off with a slow motion. Sofía didn’t cover herself. She offered her breasts to the dim light, to Santiago’s eyes and Nicolás’s, who hadn’t stopped looking at her from the shadows. Her nipples grew even harder under those two gazes.

Santiago leaned in and devoured them. He sucked one until she moaned, then the other, biting it lightly, tugging with his teeth. Sofía threw her head back and let out a deep moan that echoed through the room. With both hands she undid Santiago’s belt, pulled down his jeans, and took out his cock. Big, thick, the tip already wet. Sofía knelt and took it all into her mouth in one go, gagging.

Camila heard her. She turned her head and saw her mother naked from the waist up, kneeling in front of Santiago, sucking his dick with her eyes closed and saliva running down her chin.

—What are you looking at? —Tomás asked.

—My mom sucking a cock —Camila said—. Letting herself go suits her. I’ve never seen her like this.

Nicolás got up. He knelt behind Sofía, between her open legs. Without saying anything, he pulled her skirt up to her waist and yanked her thong off in one pull. The fabric gave way with a dry snap.

Sofía was left completely naked, on all fours on the rug of her own home, Santiago’s cock all the way down her throat and her wet cunt pointed at the ceiling. She felt no shame. She felt power.

Nicolás ran his tongue all over her cunt, from bottom to top, slow, unhurried. He pried her lips apart with his fingers and drove into her, circling her clit. Sofía moaned with a mouth full of cock, and Santiago grabbed her head and started moving her himself, fucking her mouth at his own pace.

—That’s it, mama, take it all —he said—. I love how you suck it.

Nicolás slipped two fingers into her cunt while he kept eating her out. Sofía arched against the rug, fists clenched. When he added a third finger, she came for the first time that night, trembling all over, with Santiago’s cock still hammering against her palate.

Tomás had stripped Camila. The mustard shirt and pleated skirt were on the floor. He stopped to look at her: the small firm tits, the flat stomach, the shaved cunt glistening with wetness.

—Perfect —he said.

—Not that perfect —Camila replied, and knelt to pull his pants down with both hands.

Tomás’s cock sprang up in front of her face. She grabbed it by the base and licked it from the balls to the tip, looking him in the eyes. Then she opened her mouth and took it in slowly, centimeter by centimeter, until tears began running down her cheeks.

—Whore —Tomás gasped—. The way you suck, whore.

She pulled back, a thread of saliva connecting her lips to the cock.

—Fuck me already.

Tomás laid her on the sofa and spread her legs. When he entered, Camila closed her eyes and pressed her lips together. The moan escaped anyway. He grabbed her legs behind the knees and spread them wide, burying himself in one thrust. He started fucking her hard, skin slapping against skin, a wet obscene sound filling the room.

—Look at me, look at me while I fuck you —he said—. Watch how I disappear inside you.

Camila looked down and saw the cock going in and out, shining with her juices.

—Faster —she begged—. Harder, you son of a bitch.

Nicolás stood up, took off his pants and underwear. His cock was less thick than Santiago’s but longer, and it curved upward. He positioned himself between Sofía’s legs, where she was still on all fours. She felt the tip press against the entrance of her soaked cunt, wet, hot.

—Look at me —he said.

Sofía turned her head and looked at him. And he entered. One single motion, slow but firm, centimeter by centimeter, until his balls struck her clit. Sofía gasped and lowered her head against the rug.

—You’re so tight, mama —Nicolás murmured—. And so hot.

He started moving slowly, setting a steady rhythm, almost pulling all the way out before thrusting back to the hilt. Santiago knelt in front of her, lifted her head by the hair, and shoved his cock into her mouth again. Sofía was trapped between the two of them, speared from the front and the back. And she didn’t want to escape.

Nicolás increased the pace. He grabbed her hips with both hands and started pounding her harder, faster. The slap of skin against skin mixed with Sofía’s muffled moans and Santiago’s rough orders.

—Swallow it, like that, all the way down. That tongue, move it.

Then they changed positions. They put her on her back on the rug. Santiago lay down and pulled her on top of him, penetrating her from the front while she let herself drop onto his cock. Sofía began moving up and down, riding him, with her tits bouncing in front of his face. Santiago grabbed them with both hands and squeezed, and she bit her lip.

Nicolás positioned himself behind her. Sofía felt the tip of his cock pressing somewhere else, a place no one had ever entered before.

—Not there —she gasped—. Never there…

—Relax —Nicolás said—. I’m going to put it in slowly.

He wet his fingers with saliva, insisted with the tip, and went in. Sofía screamed. A hoarse, long scream, a mix of pain and pleasure, that made Camila turn her head from the other end of the room.

—See, Mom? —Camila said, her voice broken as Tomás was now pounding her from behind, on all fours over the sofa—. See what you were missing? See what it’s like to get fucked by two at once?

Sofía opened her eyes, looked at her daughter, and smiled back. One second. Nothing more. But those three boys saw that second.

The two of them started moving inside her, one in her cunt, the other in her ass, alternating so there was always one cock coming out and another going in. Sofía could barely scream. She just panted, mouth open against Santiago’s shoulder, feeling split in two, filled everywhere.

Tomás pulled the cock out of Camila’s ass —because he’d been there too, without her mother noticing— and offered it to her mouth. She opened without hesitation.

—Suck it, clean it off —he told her.

Camila closed her eyes and swallowed it whole, tasting herself.

Santiago came first. He thrust three more times, deep, and spilled inside Sofía with a long growl. She felt him pulsing against the walls of her cunt and was almost brought over by that alone. Nicolás kept fucking her from behind without slowing down.

—Hang on, mama, just a little more —he said—. I’m going to fill your ass all the way up.

He lifted her hips and set her on all fours again. He drove in to the hilt, grabbing her by the hair, pulling her head back. He bit the back of her neck, her shoulders. With the other hand he found her clit and pinched it between his fingers, rubbing in circles.

The orgasm rose through Sofía from her feet, ran up her legs, clenched her stomach and exploded in her chest. She screamed without a name, without words, just because she couldn’t do anything else. She came soaking the rug, with spasms shaking her whole body. Nicolás came inside her a moment later, sinking all the way in and staying there, trembling.

On the sofa, Camila rode Tomás with her face turned toward the ceiling, moving up and down, chasing her own rhythm. She squeezed her own tits with both hands, pinching her nipples. When he gripped her hips and pushed from below, driving himself into her to the bone, she screamed. Tomás came inside her with three violent thrusts.

But they weren’t finished.

Tomás reclined on the sofa, his cock still shiny and hard, catching his breath. Santiago looked at Nicolás. The two of them looked at the women, laid out at opposite ends of the room, legs open and semen dripping from them.

—Now both of them —Santiago said—. At the same time. So they can see each other.

They put them side by side, on all fours, on the rug. Elbow to elbow. Santiago behind Sofía, Nicolás behind Camila. They entered at the same time. The moans mixed, impossible to tell apart. Mother and daughter looked into each other’s eyes, faces inches apart, while two cocks went into their cunts in the same rhythm.

—Kiss your daughter —Santiago ordered.

Sofía hesitated for half a second. Then Camila leaned in and kissed her. On the mouth. With tongue. Their tongues met between moans, while the thrusts from behind made their foreheads knock together. Sofía tasted the semen still in her daughter’s mouth and sucked it all the way in.

—Fuck —Nicolás gasped—. Look at them, we’re switching.

They swapped. Santiago behind Camila, Nicolás behind Sofía. The rhythm held. Mother and daughter, four knees on the rug, moving to the beat of the same men who had first looked at them that afternoon in a bar. Tomás stood in front and took turns shoving his cock into their mouths, one and then the other, going in and out of both mouths alternately.

—Harder —Sofía begged—. Tear my cunt apart.

They gave it to her harder.

—Don’t stop —Camila said—. Fuck me like a whore.

They didn’t stop.

All four finished almost at the same time. Santiago pulled out of Camila’s cunt and emptied his semen all over her ass. Nicolás did the same with Sofía, coming on her back in a long thick stream. Tomás was last: he pulled his cock out of Sofía’s mouth, shoved it once more into Camila’s face, and came over the lips of both of them, one burst for each.

A collective collapse onto the rug, five bodies breathing hard, soaked in sweat and semen, trying to remember how to go back to normal.

***

At four in the morning, the boys got dressed in silence. Santiago kissed Sofía on the forehead.

—Incredible —he said.

—Yeah —she answered, without opening her eyes.

The door closed. Mother and daughter were left alone in the dark. Camila curled up naked beside Sofía on the rug, her hand resting on her mother’s belly.

—Are you okay, Mom?

—I’m very okay.

—Did you like it?

Sofía could lie. She could say, “I don’t know.” She could change the subject. But she no longer felt like lying.

—Yes. I liked it. No one had ever fucked me like that in my life.

—Me neither.

They slept until nine, naked and entwined on the stained rug. They cleaned before noon: glasses to the kitchen, cushions put back, melted candle into the trash, rug to the laundry room. When Andrés opened the door, the apartment smelled like bleach and coffee.

—What did you do this weekend? —he asked, setting the suitcase on the floor.

—Nothing —Sofía said—. We kept it quiet.

—Movies?

—Something like that —Camila said, with a smile so natural that even her mother didn’t notice the effort.

Andrés kissed Sofía on the cheek, nodded at Camila, and sat down to eat. He didn’t ask anything else. He never asked anything else.

That night, when he put his hand on her hip with his usual routine, Sofía let him touch her. She closed her eyes and opened her legs. Andrés shoved himself into her with his usual clumsiness, moved four times, and came. Sofía didn’t even feel it.

She thought about Nicolás, about the way he’d held her by the hair while he tore her ass apart. She thought about Santiago, about the weight of his body behind her and the taste of his semen at the back of her throat. She thought about her daughter’s smile from the other end of the rug, tongue out and a cock in each hand. She thought about the kiss they had shared, both of them with whore mouths.

Andrés fell asleep five minutes later. Sofía stayed awake, staring at the ceiling, one hand between her legs. And she smiled in the dark.