Carla Was Crying Over Her Husband and Ended Up in My Bed

After Lucía left me, my life was suspended in a kind of thick fog. We had spent three years together before the distance between Valencia and Seville brought everything to an end. One day she simply told me she couldn't go on, that she needed something I wasn't in a position to give her, and hung up the phone.

I didn't have too many friends in the city. I'd moved there for work, and I'd shared almost all my free time with her. When she left, I was stuck with a half-empty apartment, two withered plants, and far too many hours to think.

That's how I ended up on those dating sites. At first out of curiosity, then boredom, and finally through a strange mixture of wounded pride and the desire to prove to myself that I was still capable of being attractive to someone.

Carla appeared one November afternoon, in one of those chats where most of the profiles were obvious lies. Hers didn't seem to be. She had thick black hair and a smile that looked somewhat shy in the picture. She lived twenty minutes from my house, in a coastal town south of the city.

We wrote to each other for two weeks before deciding to meet. In every message, we let out pieces of our stories, and I was surprised to discover that hers was almost a mirror image of mine. Her husband had left her two months earlier, without arguments, scenes, or warning. One afternoon she came home from work and found the wardrobe half-empty and a short note on the kitchen table.

—The worst part isn't that he left —she wrote to me one night—. The worst part is not understanding why.

That sentence broke something inside me. I had never understood why Lucía had decided to leave either. Maybe that's why I wanted to meet Carla in person as soon as possible.

We arranged to meet on a Saturday afternoon at a terrace in the city center. She arrived in a simple black dress with her hair tied back, and when she smiled at me from the bar entrance, I realized the photograph hadn't done her justice. She had enormous, dark eyes and curves the dress barely concealed. Her tits were large and heavy, filling out the neckline in a way that made it impossible not to look there every couple of minutes. She had a narrow waist, wide hips, and walked with a confidence that contrasted with the sadness evident in the way she spoke.

We ordered beers, talked for hours, and then went to dinner at a nearby Japanese restaurant. Our conversation flowed as if we'd known each other forever. She laughed easily, and when she laughed, her whole face lit up. I couldn't stop looking at her mouth and imagining it open, her red lips tight around my cock.

After dinner, we ended up at a bar that played quiet music. We danced slowly, without getting too far apart, and sometime between the second and third gin and tonic, I kissed her. It wasn't a rough kiss. It was slow, almost careful, as if we were both asking permission at the same time. Her tongue entered my mouth slowly, testing, and I felt my cock harden against her hip. She noticed too, because she pulled her face back slightly and lowered her eyes for a second toward my crotch before kissing me again.

When we went outside, I suggested she come up to my place.

—I can't —she said, looking away—. I'm still in love with him. I know it's absurd, but I don't want to do something I'll regret tomorrow.

I walked her to her car and we said goodbye with another kiss, shorter, almost apologetic. I got home monumentally horny, my cock still half-hard inside my jeans, and that night I jerked off thinking about what her tits would look like outside her bra, what her voice would sound like if I made her beg for more. I came in two minutes, my mouth full of her name.

***

We saw each other twice more over the following weeks. Both times, the same thing happened: a pleasant dinner, long conversations, kisses by the car door, and a gentle “no” as soon as I tried to go further. The third time, I decided not to insist. The next day I sent her a message saying that I understood her, that I thought she was wonderful, but that I preferred not to see her until she had things clear in her head.

Ten days went by without hearing anything. Until one Tuesday night, around eleven, my phone rang.

—Do you have a minute? —she said, her voice agitated—. I have news.

From her tone, I thought something bad had happened, but it was the opposite. Her husband had called her that very afternoon. He had apologized, told her he had made a mistake, that he wanted to come home, and that he would go see her the following weekend.

—I'm telling you because… because you've treated me well, and I didn't want to simply disappear —she said.

I felt something bitter in my throat. I knew my chances had just evaporated. But I did the right thing. I congratulated her, told her I was very happy for her, and wished her luck. I hung up certain that I would never hear from Carla again.

***

The following Friday, almost one in the morning, her name appeared on my screen again. When I answered, the first thing I heard was sobbing.

—He didn't come —she said through her tears—. He sent me a message an hour ago. He says that… that he got confused, that it's better for both of us. That he isn't coming back.

I didn't know what to say. I let her cry on the other end of the phone for several minutes. When she calmed down a little, she asked if we could talk.

—I don't want to be alone tonight —she added—. I just need a friend.

—Come over —I replied, before I even thought about what I was saying—. I'll make you something to eat and we'll talk as much as you need.

It took her five seconds to answer.

—All right. I'll be there in half an hour.

I hung up and got moving. I took what little I had from the refrigerator, put together a makeshift cheese board with some cold cuts, and opened a bottle of red wine I'd been saving for a special occasion. I lit two candles in the living room, not because I intended to seduce her that night, but because it seemed like the right thing to do for someone arriving with a broken heart. Or at least that's what I told myself.

She arrived with swollen eyes, no makeup, and an oversized gray sweater that had probably belonged to her husband. She hugged me at the door without saying anything. She smelled of shampoo and held-back tears.

We ate slowly. She talked about him, about the six years they'd spent together, the apartment they'd bought, the dog he'd taken with him, the anger and sorrow that took turns overwhelming her. I listened and poured her wine. With the second glass, she held it out for me to refill. By the third, she had begun laughing at little things, as if her body had decided on its own that it couldn't sustain so much pain all night.

We moved to the sofa with the bottle half-empty. I made her a gin and tonic, and she settled in barefoot, her legs folded beneath her body. The living-room light was low, and the silence between one sentence and the next began to stretch out.

You shouldn't do this. She's broken and she's come looking for comfort, nothing else.

But her hand found mine on the back of the sofa, and she kept it there while she went on talking, almost without realizing it. I stroked her fingers with my thumb. Then I brushed a lock of hair away from her face. And then, without thinking, I grazed her cheek with the back of my hand.

—You look beautiful, even like this —I told her softly.

She looked at me for a long second, her lips parted, and leaned toward me. The kiss began gently, like that first one outside, and became hungrier with every breath. Her tongue entered, seeking mine with months of pent-up desire, and she bit my lower lip before letting it go. She climbed on top of me without breaking the kiss, her knees on either side of my hips, and I felt the weight of her tits pressing against my chest through the wool of her sweater. She began moving on top of me, rubbing her cunt against my cock through our clothes, very slowly, as if she wanted to find out how much I wanted her before deciding anything.

—Jesus, look how hard you are —she murmured against my ear, almost surprised, and pressed her hips against my bulge again.

I slipped my hands beneath her sweater and pulled the fabric up, stripping it over her head. Underneath, she wore a simple black bra that barely contained two enormous, round tits, their roots marked by two red grooves where the underwire dug into her. I yanked open the clasp at her back, and the bra fell down her arms. Her tits bounced free, her nipples already hard and dark, pointing upward. I grabbed one with my whole hand and put the nipple of the other in my mouth. I sucked it hard, tugging it with my lips, nibbling it between my teeth, and she arched her back and dug her fingers into my nape to keep me from stopping.

—Keep going, keep going —she panted—. God, it's been ages since anyone touched my tits like that.

I ran my tongue from one to the other, alternating, and slid my hand down her belly until I put it inside her pants. I pushed my fingers beneath her panties and found her soaked, her cunt hot, slippery, swollen. I rubbed her clit with the heel of my hand while slipping two fingers inside her, and she gripped my shoulders and started riding my hand, moving her ass back and forth.

—Let's go to the bedroom —I murmured, my mouth still full of tit.

She pulled away for a moment, as if suddenly remembering where she was and who she was with.

—I don't know if I should… —she began.

—We won't do anything you don't want —I replied, holding her face in both hands—. We'll just be more comfortable there.

She bit her lip, nodded, and stood up with me. We walked to the bedroom holding hands, and in the hallway I pulled down her pants' zipper. The fabric fell to the floor, and she kicked it aside, left wearing only black panties, soaked in front by a dark stain outlining her cunt.

In bed, everything was different. There was no hurry. I lay her on her back, caught her panties with my teeth, and slowly pulled them down, dragging them over her thighs and knees until I slipped them off her feet. She was shaved at the sides, with a thin strip of black hair on her pubis, her lips parted and glistening with wetness. She spread her legs on her own, with an immodesty I'd never seen in her before, and grabbed her tits with both hands.

—Eat me —she begged without opening her eyes—. Please, eat all of me.

I knelt between her legs, slipped my arms beneath her thighs to pull her against my mouth, and ran my tongue from bottom to top in one long lick, from her asshole to her clit. She gave a muffled cry. I opened the lips of her cunt with two fingers and began sucking her clit with my lips, squeezing it, releasing it, circling it with the tip of my tongue. I slipped in one finger, then two, curling them upward inside her to seek out that rough spot while I continued sucking her clit.

—Oh, fuck, fuck, don't stop —she moaned, moving her hips against my face—. Put it in me, put your tongue in me, eat it all.

I buried my tongue inside her cunt to the root, pulled it out dripping with juices, and returned to her clit. She grabbed my hair with both hands and pressed me against her, almost not letting me breathe. I felt her thighs tremble and close around my head, and suddenly her whole body went rigid. She came with a long cry, biting the back of her hand so she wouldn't wake the neighbors, while a hot stream of fluid soaked my chin. She kept pushing my face against her cunt while the spasms lasted, and I didn't pull away until she herself pushed me aside, completely spent.

I moved slowly upward, leaving a trail of kisses across her belly and between her tits, and licked my lips over her mouth so she could taste herself. She licked my chin, sucked my tongue with hers, and reached for my cock with her hand. She grabbed all of it, squeezing it, measuring it.

—Put it in me now —she whispered in my ear, her voice hoarse—. I haven't fucked in two months. I need you to put it all the way inside me.

I positioned myself between her legs and penetrated her with one hard thrust, without warning. Carla let out a muffled, sharp, almost startled moan, and dug her nails into my back hard enough to hurt. She was so wet that my cock sank all the way in at once, and I felt her cunt close around it like a hot fist. We started slowly, almost afraid of breaking something, but within minutes we were both lost. I lifted one of her legs onto my shoulder, and when I changed the angle, she clung to the headboard with both hands and arched her back until her tits pressed against my chest.

—Harder —she said with her eyes closed—. Fuck me harder, don't hold back, give it to me hard.

I thought of her husband, that stranger who had left her without an explanation, and something dark drove me to thrust with more anger than I'd intended. I buried my cock in her to the hilt again and again, slamming my balls against her ass with every thrust. The bed began banging against the wall, and her moans escaped between her teeth, growing higher and higher.

—Like that, like that, give me all of it —she panted—. Break my cunt, please, break it.

I pulled out for a moment, turned her onto her stomach, lifted her ass by the hips, and pushed back into her from behind. She loved it. She clamped her teeth onto the pillow and began thrusting her ass back against me, seeking me out. I saw her arched back, her disheveled hair, her white ass bouncing every time I thrust into her. I slapped her hard with my open hand; my palmprint reddened her skin, and she let out a moan of surprise mixed with pleasure.

—Again —she begged, looking over her shoulder at me—. Do it again, give me more.

I slapped her other cheek and grabbed the hair at the nape of her neck, pulling her head back while I kept fucking her. I rode her like that for several minutes, until I felt her begin trembling from head to toe again. She came a second time with her face pressed into the pillow, squeezing my cock so tightly she almost made me come right there. It wasn't revenge or hatred. It was simply knowing that she was mine that night, and that he was probably sleeping alone somewhere at that very moment, unaware of anything. I gripped her hips hard, thrust three or four more times all the way in, and came inside her with a hard jolt, shooting load after load deep into her cunt while Carla squeezed me with her legs as if she wanted to keep me there forever.

We lay still for a while, breathing. I felt her cunt pulsing around my cock, still buried inside her, and she slowly moved her ass, milking me of every last drop. I thought she'd fall asleep, or start crying. She did neither. She got up, went to the bathroom, and returned with two glasses of water, still naked, a white strand of my come running down the inside of her thigh. She handed me one and straddled me, her wet cunt resting against my belly as she drank.

—Don't think we're finished yet —she said, with a half-smile I hadn't seen all night.

She moved slowly down my body, leaving a trail of kisses across my chest and stomach, and before I could react, she had me between her lips again. She put my cock in her mouth even though it was still sticky with come and her juices, and didn't make a face. On the contrary, she took it all the way down to the base and looked up at me with shining eyes as she swallowed it to her throat. She did things with her mouth and tongue that I hadn't felt in years, certainly not with that kind of abandon. She ran the tip of her tongue along my frenulum, sucked my balls one at a time, then took me all the way in again with her cheeks hollowed, strings of saliva hanging from her lips when she pulled off. She stroked me with one hand while sucking my balls, alternating without stopping.

My cock became hard as a rock again within a minute. At some point she climbed back on top, guided the tip with her hand, and slowly lowered herself, impaling herself all the way to the bottom. She braced both hands against my chest and began moving on her own, at her own pace, raising and lowering her ass, rocking back and forth, looking into my eyes as if that part mattered more than the physical pleasure. I grabbed her tits from underneath with both hands, squeezed them, pinched her nipples, and she closed her eyes and sped up.

—I want you to finish here —she said at last, pointing to her mouth, and climbed off me with a wet sound.

She positioned herself between my legs again, took my cock down her throat, and began working it with her mouth at a rhythm that made me lose control within two minutes. I warned her, told her I was about to come, and she only tightened her lips and ran her tongue underneath it. I came in her mouth in long spasms, and she didn't pull away once. She swallowed everything without letting go, sucking until the last drop, then licked her lips and kissed the tip.

When it was all over, she collapsed beside me, one arm across her eyes, and remained silent for several minutes.

—I'm going to feel awful tomorrow —she said at last without moving.

—You shouldn't.

—I know. But I will anyway.

***

She left at dawn, in silence, wearing the same oversized gray sweater. Before she went, she stopped at the door and looked at me from the threshold.

—I'd rather we didn't see each other for a while —she said—. It's not because of you. It's because of me.

I nodded without saying anything. I knew it would be that way.

She never called me again. Months passed, and sometimes I still wonder whether her husband eventually came back, or whether she found someone else like me, willing to be on the other end of the phone at one in the morning on a Friday. The only thing I know for certain is that night was the best sex I've ever shared with anyone, and that I'll probably never experience anything like it again. And sometimes, that's enough to keep a memory alive for a very long time.