The Night My Husband Confessed His Affair

My name is Mariana, and that night I was waiting for him with my suitcases packed in the middle of the bedroom. Damián had been away for almost three weeks, on a job in the interior, and in the last few days something in his voice on the phone had become evasive. A woman knows. She doesn’t need proof; silence is enough.

He arrived after ten on a Friday, left his travel bag by the door, and found me sitting on the bed, purse over my shoulder, my expression hard. He didn’t need to say anything. He dropped his head like a child who’s been caught.

—I went off with another woman —he said at last, his voice breaking—. One night. I swear it was only one night.

He cried. He cried for real, with those clumsy sobs you can’t fake, repeating that he loved me, that without me his life meant nothing, that I should give him another chance. And I, who was no saint either, felt the floor soften beneath my feet.

I have things I keep quiet about too, I thought. I can’t be that harsh.

—I’m not promising anything —I told him—. This doesn’t get forgotten that easily. You hurt me. Give me a few days to sort out my head. And tonight you sleep on the sofa.

He agreed without arguing. I slept in my bed alone, in a T-shirt and nothing else, and in the morning I didn’t go to work: I called in sick. When I came out of the bathroom wrapped in just a towel, I saw him freshly showered, in house clothes, watching me with a mix of guilt and desire I knew by heart.

We ate breakfast in the bedroom. We talked about small things, like when we were dating, and for a moment the betrayal seemed far away. Then he tried to touch me and I pushed him away. Not out of pride, but because an idea had just begun to take shape in my head.

—I want you to tell me everything —I said—. How you met her, how it happened, every detail. That’ll be my condition for forgiving you. And if I feel you’re lying to me, I’m gone.

—Mariana, don’t ask me that —he replied, uneasy—. We’re going to end up fighting.

—Do you want to make up or should I grab my suitcases? Your choice. Start at the beginning. And don’t spare me anything. I want to know how you fucked her, with what words, in what position, where you came. Everything.

Damián took a deep breath, sat back against the headboard, and started talking. I settled myself on my stomach, chin on my hands, and let him tell it without interrupting him more than necessary.

***

—I got to the site on a Monday —he said—. On Wednesday the municipal supervisor showed up with her assistant to take inventory. Her name was Carla. The first time I called her “licenciada,” she corrected me: “Call me Carla, and stop using usted with me.” We ate in the same house, spent the whole day among blueprints and photos.

—So you were glued to her from day one —I cut in—. And what was she like? Describe her to me. I want to picture her.

—Older than you, in her thirties. Tall, with light brown skin, very long chestnut hair. Thin, with strong legs; you could tell she worked out. Breasts not very big, but perky, and a round, hard ass that showed under any pair of pants. She had a way of moving… —he stopped, searching for the word—. Confident. Like someone who knows she’s being watched.

—Prettier than me —I said, twisting the knife.

—There’s no comparison, Mariana. But I’m not going to lie to you: she had something going for her.

I pressed my lips together. Inside, though, what was growing wasn’t rage. It was something else, warmer, more confused, something I still didn’t know how to name.

—One morning she saw your photo on my phone —he went on—. She asked who you were. I told her you were my wife. She looked at it for a long time and said I was lucky, that you were very young and very beautiful. She said it without bitterness, almost sadly.

—How thoughtful —I snapped sarcastically—. And the night? Get to the point.

***

—Saturday was Andrea’s birthday, her assistant’s —Damián said—. It was the last day they’d be there, so we threw a small party at the house where they were staying. The laborers and I brought the food and the beer. By midafternoon there was music on, people dancing. Carla and I stayed seated, talking, both of us already a little drunk.

—And that’s where it started.

—She told me her marriage was falling apart —he said—. That her husband had been unfaithful, that they barely touched each other anymore. She asked if I found her unattractive. I told her no, of course not. And she confessed she envied the woman who had someone who listened to her like that.

Then I remembered that that same night I had been calling him. That he hadn’t answered. That we had agreed he’d go with me to my work’s year-end dinner, and that he stood me up in front of everybody. And I also remembered what I did that night to get revenge, what I never confessed to him. Rage and guilt mixed together in my chest.

—Go on —I said, my voice rougher than I meant it to be.

—We went out to dance. She was wearing a short denim skirt, tight, that rode up every time she turned. While we danced she pressed against me, discreetly, rubbing her body against mine. She took my hands and put them on her waist, and I started feeling her firm ass against my zipper. It wasn’t accidental. She ground against me slowly, measuring me, and when she noticed I was getting hard, she looked over her shoulder and smiled.

—Slut —I muttered, not even sure whether I meant her or me, since I could feel my nipples tightening under my T-shirt.

—When the song ended she whispered in my ear that she wasn’t used to drinking, that she felt dizzy, that I shouldn’t leave her alone.

—How convenient —I murmured.

—Around eleven she asked me to walk her to her room. She was afraid she’d fall. I took her by the arm. And once we were inside, before I could leave, she told me to prove she wasn’t ugly, and tried to kiss me.

—And you turned her down? —I asked, almost hoping he’d say yes.

—At first, yes. I was thinking of you. But then she started crying, told me to go, and I… I took her by the waist and kissed her. I shoved my tongue all the way in, and she moaned into my mouth like she’d been waiting months for it.

***

As he spoke, something inside me changed direction. I had expected jealousy, the urge to shout. Instead I started feeling heat rising up my neck, an uncomfortable wetness between my legs that had nothing to do with anger. I settled more comfortably on the bed, on my stomach, and noticed Damián glancing at me out of the corner of his eye, gauging my reaction.

—Should I stop? —he asked.

—No —I said, and my own voice surprised me—. It’s better to hear it from your mouth than from anyone else’s. Go on. And don’t leave out a word.

—I laid her down on the bed. She climbed on top of me, started taking off my shirt without stopping kissing me, biting my neck, my collarbone. She took off her blouse. She was wearing a white bra that contrasted with her brown skin. She unclasped it herself and threw it at my face. She took my hands and put them on her tits. “For tonight they’re yours,” she told me. “Suck them, squeeze them hard, don’t treat me like I’m going to break.”

—And what did you do? —I asked, my mouth dry.

—I sucked one nipple while I squeezed the other between my fingers. She threw her head back and dug her nails into my nape. I bit her carefully, and every time I ran my tongue around it, her back arched. She slid one hand down my stomach to my zipper and squeezed me through my pants. “Take it out,” she said. “I want to see it.”

I closed my eyes for a moment. I didn’t want him to notice, but I was imagining the scene in a detail that frightened me. My husband in another bed, other hands, another mouth. And instead of hating him, I was biting my lip so I wouldn’t sigh.

—She took it out herself —Damián went on, his voice lower now, thicker—. She pulled down my fly, yanked my pants and boxer briefs down in one motion. When she saw my hard cock a moan escaped her. She licked her lips, dropped to her knees on the floor, and took me with both hands. First she licked the tip, slowly, looking me in the eye. Then she took me into her mouth inch by inch, until she ran out of air.

—And did she suck it well? —I asked. I wasn’t even trying to hide how hard I was breathing.

—Better than anyone’s ever sucked me in my life —he said, lowering his eyes, ashamed, as if he knew that line would hurt me. But it didn’t hurt. It pressed on my belly for another reason—. She went up and down with her mouth, leaving a string of saliva hanging. She’d pull back and lick my balls, one by one. Then she’d take me back to the very root. I told her I was going to come and she didn’t stop. On the contrary. She fixed her eyes on me, sped up, and sucked harder.

—Did you come in her mouth? —My voice came out higher than I wanted.

—Yes. And she swallowed it all. She squeezed my balls while I finished, never taking her eyes off me, and when she opened her mouth to show me it was empty, she ran a finger over her lip and licked it.

I didn’t know where to put my hands anymore. Discreetly, I slid one under my body, to the edge of my soaked underwear, and pressed my thighs together to hold myself back. What’s happening to me?, I thought. How can I like this?

—Then she took off her skirt —he continued—. Underneath she was wearing white thong underwear, matching the bra. It was already see-through from how wet it was. She slowly pulled it down and spread her legs on the bed. Her shaved pussy was swollen, gleaming. “Eat me,” she told me. “I haven’t had anyone eat me out in months.”

—And did you?

—Half an hour —he said—. I ran my tongue from bottom to top, very slowly, playing with her clit. She clutched the sheets and my hair, pressed my face against her pussy and begged me not to stop. I slid two fingers into her and kept sucking her clit until she came, trembling, with her thighs clamped around my head. She came screaming into the pillow so no one would hear her.

—Go on —I managed to say.

—I looked for a condom in my wallet, put it on, and she settled underneath me, legs open and one knee against my hip.

—And you went in like that, just like that? —I asked. My breathing was ragged and I prayed he wouldn’t notice.

—Slowly. The tip first, barely pushing. She was so wet that I slid it all the way in with one thrust. She was moaning softly, almost in secret, biting my shoulder. The wooden bed creaked with every movement. At first I fucked her slowly, pulling almost all the way out and then thrusting back in to the hilt. Then I grabbed her legs and threw them over my shoulders, and started fucking her harder. At one point she asked me to stop, said it was too much, and a second later she was digging her nails into my back and wrapping her legs around me: “Don’t stop, don’t stop, fuck me hard, harder.” She had a long, silent orgasm, squeezing my cock inside her so hard I almost came too. And afterward she hugged me and thanked me.

I already had my hand inside my underwear, two fingers sunk into my soaking cunt. I pressed my thighs together so it wouldn’t show, so the mattress wouldn’t betray me. Don’t let him stop, I prayed. Keep talking.

***

—Afterward she asked me to stay —he went on, now staring at the ceiling, lost in the memory—. That whatever happened there would stay there. That the next day we’d each go back to our lives and not look for each other. “Women need to respect each other,” she told me, “your wife doesn’t need to know.” She promised it like it was a sacred pact.

—How discreet, the bitch… —I began, but the word dissolved in my mouth. I didn’t have the strength to insult her. I only wanted him to keep going.

—We started again —Damián said, and I noticed his hand moving slowly beneath the sheet—. This time she wanted to be on top. She rode me with her back to me first, bracing her hands on my knees so I could watch her ass rise and fall on my cock. She moved in circles, squeezing me, and every so often she’d stop with my dick buried to the hilt and look back over her shoulder at me with that smile. Then she turned around, sat facing me, and wrapped her arms around my neck. She moved slowly, her eyes closed, repeating that she’d never felt anything like it, that she loved the way I filled her up. I grabbed her tits, bit her nipples, squeezed her ass with both hands and helped her move. She had another orgasm riding me, moaning into my mouth, and another one as soon as I started stroking her clit with my thumb while she rode me. Until she asked me to stop, said she couldn’t take any more, that her cunt was burning.

I stared at him. My husband still had his eyes fixed on the ceiling, oblivious to the battle I was fighting against my own body. I moved one hand over my tits through the T-shirt, pinched my hard nipples until it hurt. I slid the other down between my legs, already inside the wet fabric, and began rubbing my clit in slow circles, holding my breath.

—There was something more —he said, almost inaudibly.

—Tell me everything —I begged, and it was no longer an order: it was a plea.

—At dawn I heard noises in the next room. Andrea was with one of the laborers. You could hear everything: the bed hitting the wall, her moaning for him to give it to her harder. Carla woke up, felt me get up, and wouldn’t let me go. She curled up with her back to me, pressing her ass against my cock, which was already hard again from hearing the other woman next door. She started rubbing herself slowly. And then she asked me for something her husband had spent years begging her for and she’d always denied him. She wanted me to be the first. To fuck her in the ass.

I swallowed. My fingers moved on their own, slow circles, while I listened.

—I spit into my hand and told her to work her ass hole nice and wet —Damián said—. Then I licked her myself, with my tongue flattened out, soaking it, barely slipping in. She was trembling, clutching the sheet. I put on another condom and smeared spit on it. I set the tip against her and pushed just a little, with my hand on her stomach so she wouldn’t move. At first she complained, it hurt, she even cried a little and asked me to stop. I stayed still, with just the tip inside, stroking her clit with two fingers until I felt her start to loosen. I told her to relax, to breathe, that I wasn’t going to move until she wanted me to. And little by little she started leaning back on her own, seeking the movement, taking me in all the way. I kept rubbing her clit while I drove myself into her to the balls. When I had her all the way inside, she started lifting her hips, breathing harder, asking me to give her more. “Break my ass,” she told me, “break it, don’t feel sorry for me.” I grabbed her by the hair and fucked her ass slowly at first, harder after that, while she touched her own pussy with two fingers. She finished with an orgasm that left her wrecked on the mattress pad, trembling, eyes rolling back. I came inside the condom, my hands buried in her hips, not pulling out until the last tremor passed.

That image was too much. I closed my eyes, bit the pillow to smother the cry, and my whole body tightened all at once. My fingers were soaked inside, my clit throbbing, my hips moving on their own against my hand. I came in silence, barely a hand’s breadth from my husband, who kept talking without noticing a thing, one hand lost beneath the sheet and his gaze on the ceiling. I bit my lip so hard I tasted blood.

***

When I caught my breath again, I didn’t feel satisfied. On the contrary: the arousal was still there, right on the surface, more alive than ever. Damián finished his story in a tired voice.

—In the morning they came to pick them up. We all had breakfast together and they left. I never heard from Carla again. That’s the truth, Mariana, all of it. I have nothing left to hide from you.

I sat up slowly. I looked at him, and instead of the resentment I’d brought with me in those suitcases, I found something else. A new, dangerous idea, burning inside me. I climbed on top of him, ripped the sheet away in one tug, and grabbed his hard cock with my hand. It was hot, throbbing against my palm. I kissed him like I hadn’t kissed him in months, shoving my tongue in deep, biting his lip.

—I love you —I told him in his ear—. And I want you to do exactly to me what you did to her. All of it. The mouth, the cunt, the ass. In that order. But not here.

—Where, then? —he asked, bewildered and already rock hard under me.

—In a hotel. Somewhere I can scream without anyone hearing us, where I can ask you for filthy things without feeling ashamed. Borrow your father’s car, shower and get dressed. I’m going to get ready. And put on the black boxers, the ones I like.

As I watched him rush to get up, with his erection still outlined under his clothes, I smiled to myself. He thought he had confessed his only secret to me. He had no idea that that night he had just awakened mine.