The Video Call to My Husband from Another Man’s Bed
The plane touched down at 7:15, half an hour late, and Carolina felt her heart pounding for two reasons that had nothing in common. One she could say out loud: Mauricio’s birthday, the surprise party she herself had organized for weeks. The other she didn’t dare name even inside her own head, though between her legs it was already naming itself for her.
Through the window she saw the amber lights of the terminal and, farther away, the glow of the city where her husband had to be blowing out the first candles by now, surrounded by both families. She should be there. The thought appeared and vanished, as always, without leaving a trace.
—Are you coming? —Tomás asked from the aisle, adjusting his uniform jacket with that calculated slowness she already knew by heart.
Carolina had been married eleven years and had been fucking Tomás for four, in the same room of the same airport hotel. She knew exactly how many minutes she had left before someone noticed her absence, and she also knew that that calculation had long since stopped holding her back.
—I’m coming —she replied, and slung her handbag over her shoulder.
***
The hotel was five minutes from the terminal, one of those glass buildings designed for crews that arrive in the middle of the night and leave before dawn. Tomás always booked the same room, the one at the end of the corridor, far from the elevator. They went up without speaking, separated by a prudent meter, two tired colleagues in the eyes of anyone who might cross their path. But in the elevator, when the doors closed, Carolina felt the bulge of Tomás’s cock brush her hip from behind, and she had to clamp her thighs together to endure the hot stab that shot from her cunt to her navel.
The moment the room door closed, that distance evaporated. He took her by the waist before she could even drop her bag, and Carolina felt the cold of the wall on her back and the heat of his mouth on her neck, just below her ear, right on the exact spot where he knew she lost her will. His tongue drew a slow circle over her skin and went down toward the neckline, and she let out a rough gasp she didn’t recognize as her own.
—I’ve got twenty minutes —she murmured, even as she was already unbuttoning his shirt with impatient fingers—. Twenty, Tomás. Then I have to log on, no matter what.
—Twenty is more than enough to fuck you twice —he said against her skin.
The uniform fell apart piece by piece. First the silk scarf the airline made her wear around her neck; then the blouse, which he opened without patience until two buttons gave up and bounced onto the carpet. Carolina kicked off her heels and was left with her blue skirt half down, breathing fast, looking at him with that mix of desire and guilt she’d spent months unable to separate. Tomás opened his trousers without taking his eyes off her and pulled out his hard cock, thick, red at the tip, holding it for a second in his hand like someone displaying a threat. Carolina licked her lower lip without realizing it.
—On your knees —he told her, shoving her shoulder down—. First you’re going to suck me.
She dropped to her knees on the carpet without resisting. She wrapped both hands around his thighs, leaned in, and took him all the way into her mouth, to the hilt, until she felt the head knock against the back of her palate. Tomás groaned and grabbed her immaculate flight-attendant bun in his fist, undoing it with one sharp pull. Carolina closed her eyes and began to suck him hungrily, sliding him out and swallowing him again, strings of saliva hanging from the corner of her mouth, her tongue working the swollen vein underneath each time she went up. She could hear him going in and out of her own mouth with a wet sound that made her even hotter.
—That’s it, slut, that’s it —he murmured, looking down at her—. With that good-wife mouth. With the mouth that in half an hour is going to be singing happy birthday to your husband.
Carolina moaned around his cock and squeezed her thighs. The sentence went through her like a jolt. She dug her nails into Tomás’s ass to pull him closer still, to take him all the way to the balls, and he pushed her head down until she had to pull away coughing, eyes watering, a thread of spit running down her chin.
—Turn around —Tomás asked, his voice rough—. Against the mirror.
She obeyed without thinking. She placed her palms against the wardrobe mirror and saw her own reflection: mascara barely smudged, hair already loose, lips painted that blazing fuchsia she’d put on in the airplane bathroom thinking of Mauricio, of the photo they’d take together at midnight. The idea of her husband should have stopped her dead. Instead it pushed her forward and she arched her ass back, offering it to him.
Tomás pulled her skirt down to her ankles and ran his open palm along her back, slowly, from the nape of her neck to where the back stopped being called the back. He moved her soaked panties aside with two fingers and sank them into her cunt in one go. Carolina choked on a gasp. She was so wet that the fingers slid in with no resistance at all, and he pulled them out shining, showed them to her in the mirror, and put them in her mouth.
—Look at how wet you are —he said in her ear while she sucked them clean—. Look at how it’s dripping down the insides of your thighs. And I still haven’t put anything in you.
She opened her eyes. She looked at herself. A forty-year-old woman, married, mother of two, bent over against the mirror of an airport hotel with her panties at her knees and another man’s fingers being cleaned on her tongue. She didn’t fully recognize the woman in the reflection, and that, she discovered with a shiver, was exactly what made her addicted to those layovers.
Tomás positioned himself behind her. He took hold of his cock with one hand, ran it between her butt cheeks, slid it along the lips of her soaked cunt, and then, all at once, entered her in one slow thrust to the hilt. Carolina had to bite her lip to keep from screaming. She felt him open her completely, fill her all the way to the belly, and the mirror gave back the image of her own mouth open, her breasts rising and falling inside the bra that was half down, the way her fingers clutched the edge of the dresser searching for something to hold on to.
***
He moved calmly, as if twenty minutes didn’t exist, holding her by the hip with one hand and pushing her hair off her neck with the other. He pulled almost all the way out and slid back in slowly, letting her feel every inch, every vein, until he was knocking against her cervix. Carolina pushed back to meet him, setting the pace when he acted indifferent, gasping against the glass fogged by her own breath. Tomás ran a hand across the front of her, pinched a nipple between two fingers, twisted it just a little, and she came for the first time without warning, gushing around his cock, trembling all over against the mirror.
—You already came, you dirty bitch —he said, laughing softly—. And the party hasn’t even started yet.
—Harder —she demanded, and did not recognize her own voice—. Harder, I don’t have all night. Break me.
Tomás gave a low laugh and did as she asked. He took her by both shoulders and drew her toward him with every motion, fucking her for real now, with dry, hard thrusts that shook her tits against the glass and made the sound of flesh slapping flesh echo through the room. The entire mirror trembled with them. He landed a sharp slap on her right ass cheek and she cried out against his arm. Another on the left. Her skin began to burn red, in five-finger marks she’d be wearing all night under the party dress.
—Tell me what you are —he asked, never stopping.
—Your whore —she answered without thinking.
—Louder.
—I’m your whore, Tomás, your whore, fuck me, fuck me please.
Carolina felt the heat rising in her again from her belly, that familiar tide building fast, too fast, and she hated herself a little for how good it felt.
And then the phone vibrated on the nightstand.
On the screen, a name blinked: Marcela. The soul mate who was holding the party on the other side, the one Carolina herself had made into a conspirator and improvised mistress of ceremonies without telling her, of course, the whole truth.
—Stop —Carolina said—. Stop, stop, it’s now.
Tomás froze, still buried to the balls inside her, breathing against her nape. His cock throbbed inside her, hard, pulsing against the walls of her cunt.
—Tell them you’re busy.
—Don’t be an idiot. —She pulled away from him with a sharp movement that made them both let out a stifled groan when his cock slipped out all at once—. It’s my husband. It’s his birthday.
***
She sat on the edge of the bed with her legs still trembling and her thighs wet with the semen that hadn’t come yet and with her own earlier release. She ran both hands through her hair to tame the mess, pulled up the bra strap he’d lowered, and angled the phone camera so that only her face was visible and, behind it, a neutral wall that might have been a crew lounge or anywhere else in the world. She took two deep breaths. Composed her smile. Pressed the green button.
—Hiii! Whew, I almost didn’t make it, my love, forgive me everyone —she said, and her voice came out perfect, warm, exactly the same as always—. There was insane traffic getting out of the terminal and I’m still buried in those damn flight reports.
From the other side she could hear the whole bustle of the party: the murmur of people, a glass clinking, Marcela’s voice asking for silence over the microphone. And then he appeared in one corner of the frame. Mauricio, with his tie a little crooked and that good-boy smile he always wore when he was happy, raising a hand to greet the screen.
Forgive me.
—My love, I know this isn’t the first time I haven’t managed to sing you happy birthday in person —she continued, looking into the camera with a tenderness that, deep down, wasn’t entirely fake—. But I want you to know, in front of all these people who love you so much, that you’re the kindest man I know.
While she spoke, she felt the mattress dip behind her back. Tomás had knelt behind her, out of frame, and slid one hand along her spine, slowly, millimeter by millimeter, down to the small of her back. He parted her legs with his knee, and Carolina clenched her teeth for a moment and kept smiling at the screen as if nothing were happening.
—You let me grow beside you, indulging every one of my whims, putting up with my spoiled little-girl tantrums —she said, and on the word “girl” Tomás’s hand wrapped around her waist and moved down, sinking two fingers into her dripping cunt from behind—. You supported me like no one else when I dreamed of flying, of traveling the world. I am who I am because of you.
Tomás’s fingers went in and out slowly, twisting inside her, searching for the spot. Carolina clutched the phone with both hands so she wouldn’t tremble. She could feel his thumb drawing circles over her swollen clit, and she had to clear her throat in the middle of the sentence so she wouldn’t moan live.
—Look at her, how lovely! —someone shouted in the background at the party, and applause followed.
Tomás used the noise to bury his face in her neck and bite exactly where he knew to, while he pulled his wet fingers out and ran them along the line of her ass, leaving her shining. Carolina held her breath, disguised it as emotion, and brought two fingers to the corner of her eye as if wiping away a tear out of pure nostalgia. She felt the tip of his cock resting at her entrance, pushing in just a little, threatening to slide back into her right there, in front of the camera, in front of her husband’s goofy smile.
—Sorry, sorry, I’m just getting emotional —she said, laughing toward the camera while her lover’s cock slipped back inside her by an inch, then two, forcing her to squeeze her thighs around the phone so nothing would show—. Well, my love, I don’t want to abuse anyone’s patience. Everyone raise your glass and toast this man, because he deserves it like no one else. Happy forty-six trips around the sun!
On the screen, Mauricio put a hand to his chest. He mouthed a “thank you, my love” that the connection failed to carry as sound. And that silent image, her husband thanking her with shining eyes for the speech she was dictating to him from another man’s bed, with another man’s cock half inside her cunt, was what almost broke her.
—Uh, they need me urgently here —she improvised quickly—. I have to go. As soon as I can I’ll head over, I promise. Dance, drink, enjoy yourselves! Marcela, my love, will you do the honors? Thank you.
She touched the screen without waiting for an answer and the party vanished at once, swallowed by black. The room fell silent again, with the two of them breathing as the only sound, and the wet noise of Tomás’s cock settling all the way inside her at the exact moment she let go of the phone.
***
Carolina set the phone face down on the nightstand, very slowly, as if the device might still be listening. She stayed motionless for a second, seated on the edge of the mattress with his cock inside her, feeling like the worst woman in the world and, at the same time, more alive than she had in years.
—You’re incredible —Tomás said behind her, and there was something between admiration and fear in his tone—. Your voice didn’t shake once. And you were impaled.
She turned toward him, letting him slip out with a wet pop. She put a hand on his chest and shoved him against the headboard until he lay back, then climbed on top of him without giving him time to say anything else. She didn’t want to hear his voice. She didn’t want to think. She wanted to finish what the video call had interrupted and erase, even if only for ten minutes, Mauricio’s face thanking her from the other side of the country.
—Don’t talk —she ordered him—. Not one word.
She grabbed his cock with her hand, still shining with her, and drove it home in one hard thrust to the hilt. She groaned with her mouth open when she felt it slam against her womb. She settled astride him and began to move, hands planted on his chest, head thrown back, riding him with rage. Her tits spilled out of the bra and bounced in front of Tomás’s face with every rise and fall, and he stuck out his tongue and caught one nipple between his teeth, biting it until she yelped.
The flight-attendant bun had come completely undone and her hair fell across her face. Tomás held her by the hips, trying to keep up with her, but Carolina didn’t need anyone guiding her anymore. She was driving his cock into her cunt up and down, with short, furious thrusts, pulling him up to the tip and then dropping all her weight at once, smashing his balls against her ass on every descent.
—Come inside —she ordered between gasps—. Come inside and stay there, and let it run down my leg when I get to the party. You owe me.
—You’re crazy —he panted, gripping her buttocks with both hands.
—Come, you son of a bitch.
The tide the call had left half-finished came back at once, higher this time, and now there was no screen to smile at. She bit the back of her hand so her scream wouldn’t tear through the hotel’s thin walls, and her whole body went rigid like a rope and then let go, wave after wave. Her cunt clenched in spasms around Tomás’s cock, gripping it, milking it, and he held out for three more thrusts before spilling himself completely inside her, moaning her name into her hair, fingers dug into her back as he filled her belly shot after shot.
Carolina stayed still on top of him, feeling every throb of his cock inside, feeling the hot semen spreading where her husband’s should have been. She collapsed against the chest of that man who was not Mauricio, trembling, empty, satisfied in a way that made her ashamed.
***
They stayed still for a while, tangled together, listening to the air conditioner and the distant rumble of a plane taking off. When Carolina got up, she felt the warm thread running down the inside of her thigh, just as she had asked. She didn’t wipe it away. She picked up the blouse from the floor and started looking for the two buttons that had flown off. She found one under the bed. The other never turned up.
—I really have to go now —she said, while adjusting her skirt over her soaked cunt and rebuilding her bun in front of the same mirror as before—. If I arrive after half the guests, it’ll get ugly.
Tomás watched her from the bed, one arm crossed under his neck and his cock still half hard, shining.
—How long are you going to keep doing this, Caro?
She paused with the lipstick halfway to her mouth. She looked at him through the reflection, without turning around.
—Doing what? —she asked, though she knew perfectly well what he meant.
—With him. With me. With both things at once.
Carolina finished painting her lips that blazing fuchsia, pressed them together, and looked at herself for a long second in the mirror. The woman in the reflection was once again the usual one: the impeccable wife, the devoted mother, the soul mate who had planned a perfect party. No one, not Mauricio, not Marcela, not her children, would ever know what that mirror had seen, or the semen that was still dripping inside her on the way to the taxi.
—I don’t know —she answered at last, and for once she wasn’t lying—. But tonight, no.
She picked up her bag, slipped on her heels, and went to the door. Before opening it, she turned back toward Tomás, still naked among the rumpled sheets.
—The next layover is in twelve days —she said—. Same room. And I want that mouth of yours all night.
Then she stepped out into the corridor, composed, perfumed, with the phone in her hand already dialing a taxi and her cunt still dripping inside her panties. At that hour the traffic would have eased. She would get to the party with just enough time to hug her husband, blow out the last candle with him, and let herself be photographed cheek to cheek, smiling for the camera with the same mouth that half an hour earlier had had another man’s cock all the way down her throat.
Mauricio would tell her, as every year, that she was the luckiest woman he knew to have him. And she, as every year, would answer that yes, the luckiest in the world, and for once it would be half true: no one had as much luck as she did to go undiscovered with her lover’s semen still warm between her legs.