The Waiter We Took Up to Our Room in Agadir

Our first trip to Morocco was turning out to be a revelation. Far from the routine of Albacete, the North African air seemed to have infected us with a wilder desire, far more uninhibited than the one we wore every day. The five-star resort on the outskirts of Agadir where we were staying was an oasis of white marble, palm trees, and expensive silence, the perfect setting to take our complicity to a place we had never been before.

That night, after a quiet dinner in the hotel restaurant, we decided not to turn in early. The white wine and candlelight had already left us in that alert state we know so well, and the heat of the night, heavy with salt and jasmine, was asking for more than just going back to the room to sleep.

We walked for quite a while along the promenade until we found a charming place, a corner where the smoke from the hookahs floated beneath bronze lamps. We sat down on low sofas, surrounded by rugs, ready to have a green mint tea and share a shisha. That was when he appeared.

The waiter, a young Moroccan named Karim, came over to our table with a silver tray. He was the prototype of North African beauty: dark-skinned, broad-shouldered, with a deep, dark gaze that, however much he tried to keep professional distance, kept drifting to Marisa’s curves, outlined beneath her light silk dress. Every time he leaned in to serve us or change the coals, his eyes swept over my wife with a restrained desire I caught at once.

—Have you noticed how the waiter is looking at you, Marisa? —I whispered in her ear as I exhaled the sweet smoke from the hookah—. He really likes you. I bet you whatever you want that guy would give anything to be with you if he could.

Marisa let out a little laugh and settled into the sofa, letting the dress strap slip a little, knowing full well she was the center of attention.

—Andrés, are you at it again with your fantasies? —she replied in that playful tone she uses when she starts getting into the game—. You’re always at the same thing, you never stop.

—Look at the opportunity we’ve got in front of us, you can’t deny that —I insisted, enjoying the tension building between us—. Nobody knows us here. I’m convinced that if we ask him to come up to the room when he finishes his shift, he won’t say no.

Through the hookah smoke, our eyes met. It was no longer just a bedroom conversation moved to a bar: it was the beginning of something.

***

The game moved from whispers to action. Every time Karim came over to add coals, Marisa gave him a longer smile and let her eyes travel from his face to his shoulders, openly sizing him up. Far from getting jealous, I embraced my role as the complicit husband and broke the formality with jokes about how much we were enjoying the country and, above all, its people.

—Morocco is a very pleasant place, Karim —I told him, while Marisa brushed his arm as she picked up her glass—. But my wife says the best thing about it is the hospitality of its men. That you have something special. Is that true?

Karim, who until then had maintained impeccable composure, tensed up. His cheeks darkened beneath the tan and a nervous smile, charged with intent, appeared on his lips. He looked at Marisa, who was staring at him with an appetite that left no doubt, and then he looked at me, seeking the permission my relaxed attitude was granting him.

—Spanish women are very special too —he replied, with a voice that had lost all professionalism—. And very beautiful.

—So beautiful that sometimes we get bored being alone together in the room —Marisa finished, leaning forward so the neckline of her dress would offer a privileged view—. Sometimes we look for friends who want to show us the secrets of the city. Secrets that don’t show up in guidebooks.

The message landed like a direct hit. Karim swallowed, looking back and forth between our smiles. The thrill of knowing himself desired by a tourist couple in his own country had him hypnotized.

—What time do you finish? —I asked, completely naturally, as if asking for the way back.

—At twelve we close —he stammered, unable to look away from my wife’s lips.

—Well, if you feel like it, when you get out. We’re in room 318 at the resort across the street —I said, leaving a generous tip on the table—. If you want to have some tea with us and tell us what’s worth seeing around here, come up and find us. No need to knock very hard. We’ll be waiting, if you decide to come.

We got up slowly. Marisa passed by him, brushing her hip against his, leaving behind the trace of her perfume and a promise that would keep him counting the minutes until midnight. On the way back to the hotel, I felt the nerves and excitement take over both of us equally.

***

We arrived at the room trembling with pure anticipation. We switched on a few dim lamps that bathed the marble in a warm amber light, and opened the terrace window so the Atlantic breeze would move the curtains and cast shadows on the walls. Marisa took off her sandals and poured herself a glass of wine while I unbuttoned my shirt.

—He’s coming, Andrés —she whispered, coming closer to give me a kiss that tasted like mint tea—. I saw his hands trembling when you told him the number.

At twelve thirty, a soft knocking broke the silence. We looked at each other with a nervous smile. I was the one who opened the door. There was Karim, still wearing part of the bar uniform, but with a transformed look: he was no longer the helpful waiter, but a guy who had come to claim the invitation from two strangers who had driven him crazy.

—Come in, Karim. I’m glad to see you’re a man of your word —I said, motioning him inside.

He came in cautiously, dazzled by the room and, above all, by Marisa, who was waiting for him reclined on the edge of the bed with her dress slightly hiked up. Karim stood in the middle of the room, his dark skin contrasting with the whiteness of the sheets. He was as nervous as we were, but the bulge in his trousers made it clear he hadn’t come up to talk about tourism.

—Well, Karim, looks like you were really eager to show us those secrets —Marisa said in a velvety voice, standing up and walking toward him.

She stopped a hand’s breadth from his chest and began to unbutton his shirt with deliberate slowness. I positioned myself behind her, my hands on her hips, watching over her shoulder as the boy’s chest rose and fell with quickened breathing.

—Relax —I whispered in his ear as Marisa undid the first button—. Whatever happens here stays between us. I want to see what you’re capable of, and I want to be close enough not to miss a single detail.

Karim seemed to relax when he understood my presence wasn’t an obstacle. His hands, big and long-fingered, finally dared to touch Marisa’s waist with a firmness that drew a moan from both of us.

***

Marisa wasted no time. She finished opening his shirt, revealing a firm, bronzed chest with almost no hair, and ran her nails over his muscles while I stayed beside her, enjoying watching her savor the moment.

—Look at that skin, Andrés —she murmured without taking her eyes off the boy—. It’s like silk, but hard. And that color drives me crazy.

Karim was breathing hard, head thrown back, letting her do as she pleased. When she took his hands down to his belt, the silence grew thick, broken only by the sound of the zipper. The moment the trousers hit the floor, the shock hit us both.

—Fuck, Andrés —Marisa exclaimed, frozen for a second—. Look at what this boy’s got. It’s huge, and perfect too, well proportioned.

She knelt in front of him and looked at me with a glint in her eyes I had never seen so intensely.

—I love knowing that’s going to go inside me, Andrés —she told me in a voice that made me shiver.

I put a hand on the back of her neck and gently pushed her forward while with the other I held Karim’s shoulder. The contrast between my wife’s white skin and the boy’s darkness was an image that seared itself into me forever.

—Don’t wait any longer, baby —I told her, feeling my own arousal hit its limit—. Taste him, while I get you ready.

Karim let out a deep growl when Marisa took him into her mouth and began to lick him hungrily. She pushed him back slowly until he was lying on the sheets, positioned herself between his legs, and went at him full force, using her hands to accompany what her mouth couldn’t take in. The boy, who had surely never imagined a scene like this, began to lose control; his fingers sank into the bed and his hips gave little involuntary jolts.

—Look how he’s getting hard, Andrés —she gasped between sucks, her eyes blazing at feeling she had total control—. He’s going to explode.

I stroked her hair and spoke to Karim in a low voice, urging him on. The boy couldn’t take it anymore: he let out a hoarse cry, a phrase in Arabic we didn’t understand but that sounded like pure glory, and his body tensed like a bow. Marisa didn’t pull away. She grabbed him by the thighs to catch every spurt and not miss the end of the release.

—There’s so much coming out, Andrés —she stammered, trying to swallow and taste at the same time.

When Karim finished, emptied out and trembling, she sat up and looked at me, her face lit by desire, running her tongue over her lips.

***

—You have to try this, Andrés —she whispered, her voice syrupy, still on her knees—. You have to feel how hot it comes out, and how much there is.

Without waiting for a reply, she pounced on me. She wrapped her arms around my neck and planted a deep, long kiss on me, the kind that leaves you breathless. I immediately tasted the warm otherness passing from her mouth to mine. It was an absolute transgression: we were merging our intimacy with that of a stranger in the middle of Morocco, and that taste was the seal of our freedom.

While we kissed, her hands slid down to my trousers. She freed me urgently and, without wasting a second, lowered her head to take me in.

—Now it’s your turn —she gasped before starting in with wild devotion.

The sensation was indescribable. Karim, from the back of the bed, propped himself up on his elbows, hypnotized as he watched my wife devour me. His dark eyes were wide open; he would never have imagined that his part of the night would end up turning us on even more.

—Look how he’s watching us —Marisa whispered, stopping for a moment—. He’s freaking out. He doesn’t know that this is what brings us together most. Come on, get hard, I want yours now.

***

With a firm movement, I positioned her in the middle of the mattress, on all fours, in that position we love so much. Karim, sitting to one side, couldn’t take his eyes off us, fascinated by the ease with which we were acting.

—Look how you’ve got me because of you two —she moaned, burying her face in the pillow and keeping her ass raised.

I braced myself on her hips and drove into her in one thrust. Marisa let out a cry of pure pleasure. Every thrust was an act of possession and, at the same time, of shared celebration. I looked at Karim, who was still watching as the husband of the woman he had just met now claimed her with his whole body.

—Tell him, Andrés, tell this boy what it feels like —Marisa panted, moving her hips to the rhythm of my strokes, mistress of the center of that universe we had created in 318.

Karim could no longer hold back at the sight. His breathing was a rough whistle.

—Can I? Can I too? —he stammered with an urgency that made me smile.

I stopped for a second. I looked at Marisa; she turned her face back toward me, hair tousled, and nodded frantically.

—Yes, Andrés, let him too —she begged.

I pulled back and lay down on the bed, right beneath the curve of her thighs, to have an absolute close-up of what was about to happen. From my position the view was spectacular. Karim positioned himself behind her, grabbed her hips, and, guided by pure instinct, entered in one hard thrust.

—Oh God! —Marisa bellowed, arching her back.

A few inches away, I could see the boy’s dark skin disappearing and reappearing inside my wife. The contrast was brutal, an image beyond anything we had ever imagined out loud. Karim immediately set a rhythm that made the bed creak against the wall, and I, from below, couldn’t stop watching, celebrating inwardly that that woman so desired, being ridden by a stranger in Morocco, was and would always be mine.

***

In a display of control, Marisa decided to change position. She broke away from him and turned toward me; in a second I had her astride me, letting herself drop hard onto my cock. Her insides were burning from the friction the boy had just caused.

—You’re so horny —she gasped, arching as I gripped her breasts.

But it wasn’t enough. With ragged breathing, she stretched one hand back and reached for Karim, who was still standing at the edge of the bed, on the brink and not knowing what to do.

—Karim, come here, don’t just stand there —she ordered in a voice that brooked no argument—. Get behind me.

The boy came over, hypnotized. Marisa, without stopping moving on me, leaned forward and offered her ass again, this time without taking me out.

—Try it too —she asked him, looking at me with an expression of erotic madness—. I’m so open I’m sure the two of you fit. I want to feel you both at once.

I held her by the waist to steady her while Karim, his hands trembling, pressed the tip right to the entrance, where my own body was already taking up space. The contrast of colors, the two of us joined a handspan from my face, surpassed anything we had imagined.

—Push slowly —I asked him.

Marisa, her face buried in my chest and her nails dug into my shoulders, screamed as she felt him forcing his way in little by little, sharing the space with me.

—I’m coming, Andrés, I can’t take it anymore —she shrieked, and her body went into a wild convulsion.

The orgasm shook her with incredible force. Her muscles suddenly loosened, soaking everything, and Karim took advantage of that instant to push in decisively. I felt brutal pressure, a filling that seemed unreal. The two of us were inside her, pressed against each other, while she chained orgasm after orgasm, completely gone.

—Both at once —she cried out in a voice that was no longer entirely her own—. Can you feel it, Andrés?

Karim began thrusting in and out with short but powerful strokes, each movement a double friction that made her writhe on top of me. I held her tightly, feeling how she trapped us both. In the room there was nothing but the boy’s groans and my wife’s muffled cries in the middle of the night.

***

The accumulated tension took us to a point of no return. Karim was the first to give in: his body went rigid and he let out a roar that seemed to echo through the entire hallway. I felt perfectly how he emptied himself.

—Feel how he’s filling me —Marisa cried, eyes blazing.

The heat of another man, mixed with the thrill of seeing my wife surrender to a stranger, was the final trigger.

—Me too, Marisa —I said, almost losing consciousness from sheer pleasure.

I drove in to the hilt and let all my load go with a force that left me breathless. Karim, still spasming, didn’t pull away; he stayed there, next to me, letting me enjoy that feeling of shared fullness. Marisa collapsed onto my chest, exhausted, trembling from the double release. The silence that followed was broken only by our breathing and the murmur of the sea coming in through the terrace.

Little by little, Karim caught his breath. He withdrew with almost reverential slowness, still amazed by what he had just experienced, and got dressed in silence. Before leaving, we exchanged a look of gratitude and respect that went far beyond what any tourist guide could explain. After a brief goodbye, he left the room and disappeared down the corridor.

Marisa was still on top of me, her gaze lost on the ceiling and a smile of satisfaction lighting up the dim room. That night, in 318, we hadn’t had just sex: we had taken our complicity to a dimension only the two of us could understand.

***

The Atlantic light seeped through the slats of the blind, drawing golden lines across the bed. I was the first to wake. The morning silence was broken only by the distant murmur of the waves and the song of some bird in the hotel gardens. When I turned over, I saw Marisa still asleep, her face relaxed and a half-smile giving away the night before.

She opened her eyes slowly and took only a second to remember where we were.

—Good morning, babe —she murmured, her voice hoarse from all the screaming—. My whole body hurts, but it’s a pain I love. It’s like I can still feel him inside me.

I laughed and kissed her. We went down to breakfast on the terrace, facing the sea, surrounded by tourists drinking their coffee in complete normality while we shared a secret that made us feel like accomplices. Every time a waiter came over with fruit or juice, Marisa would glance sideways at me, that spark in her eyes, wordlessly asking me whether he might also have something to teach us.

As we took the last sip of coffee, she took my hand under the table.

—Andrés, where are we going next year? Because after this, I don’t want boring trips anymore.

—We could go back to Morocco —I told her—, but stay in Essaouira or Marrakech.

—We’ll think about it —she replied with a mischievous smile—. Though I wouldn’t mind repeating this place either.