Confession: My Wife and the Condominium Gardener

We inaugurated the beach house on a long weekend, the first days of March. Daniela and I had spent months waiting for that moment. We had signed the papers in December and, between winter and the builder’s delays, we hadn’t been able to set foot in the place until then. The house smelled of fresh paint and new wood. We still didn’t have curtains, or rugs, not even the hall mirror. Just a huge bed in the master bedroom and the promise of three nights for us alone.

On Friday we spent the day cleaning. Daniela swept the terraces while I assembled the living room furniture. In the afternoon the neighbors from the adjoining lot arrived, a young couple who were also breaking in their house, and we invited each other to an impromptu barbecue. We cooked, drank a couple of bottles of Malbec and, well into the night, made a cocktail with mint from the garden. When the neighbors went back to their house, it was two in the morning and Daniela’s eyes were bright and her laughter loose.

—Let’s go to bed —she said, pulling me by the hand—. But to bed for real, not to sleep.

We went up to the bedroom without turning on the light. The full moon came in through the picture windows and fell on the sheets in a milky white glow. Without curtains, the whole room was exposed to the garden. We found it funny, almost like a game. The two of us liked the idea of showing ourselves, of knowing that someone, somewhere, might be watching. It was one of those small perversions we had cultivated over the years, along with some occasional threesomes in hotels and a shared taste for her wearing clothes that suggested more than they hid.

We started kissing standing in front of the window. I slid the straps of her dress down and let it fall to her ankles. She wasn’t wearing anything underneath: her tits moved with the force of the fabric falling, her nipples already hard from the cold breeze. I took one into my mouth and sucked it without hurry, tugging with my teeth until she let out a long gasp. She unbuckled my belt with the calm of someone in no rush, tugged my pants and boxers down in one yank, and grabbed my cock with her whole hand, squeezing it until a growl escaped me. We were completely naked and completely visible from the garden when Daniela gripped my arm and whispered in my ear.

—There’s someone outside.

I looked discreetly. Between the white lily bushes that lined the window, a shape could be made out, a shadow denser than the others. It wasn’t the neighbors: they had gone the other way. It was a lone figure, crouched, patient.

—If they want to see something hot —she murmured—, let’s give them something hot.

She knelt in front of me, slowly, never taking her eyes off the window, and started sucking me off with theatrical slowness. First she licked my whole dick from the balls to the tip, with her tongue flat, soaking the whole thing. Then she only took the head into her mouth and played with her tongue around the glans, looking up at me with those bright eyes she knows how to make. When she finally opened her mouth all the way and swallowed me down to the throat, I felt my knees go weak. The moon lit up her back and the curve of her hips, and the wet shine of saliva running down her chin every time she pulled my cock out to breathe. She started sucking me in rhythm, grabbing my balls with one hand and massaging them, while with the other she stroked her cunt, legs spread so the garden shadow could see everything. I couldn’t stop looking at the shape between the lilies, and the shape couldn’t stop looking at us. When the shadow moved, just enough to show a face between the leaves, I recognized him. It was Ramiro, the condominium manager.

***

Ramiro came by every morning to say hello. It was his job: checking the houses, the gardens, the perimeter lights. But it was also his excuse. He had a very particular way of looking at Daniela. He would run his eyes all over her, without even trying to hide it, with that almost childlike frankness of men who grew up in the country. He was sturdy, broad-shouldered, with weathered hands and a crooked smile that seemed to be hiding something. He had to be around forty.

Daniela found him amusing. She would receive him barefoot, in tiny shorts or dresses that clung to her hips, and offer him coffee on the veranda with a naturalness that got my blood running hot. I could tell from a mile away: she liked being looked at, and I liked that she liked it. We had talked about it more than once. In bed, we had confessed darker fantasies than that. The idea of sharing her with another man had never gone beyond a whisper in the ear at the right moment, but that night, in front of the window, it stopped being just a whisper.

Daniela still didn’t know it was him. I decided not to tell her. I lifted her face, kissed her long and deep, my mouth still tasting of my cock, and laid her down on the rug in the room, right in the rectangle of moonlight coming in through the window. I spread her legs toward the window, wide open, so Ramiro could see my wife’s cunt shining wet under the moon, and I lowered my head. If someone was watching, let them watch properly.

I started licking her slowly, giving long strokes from her ass to her clit, stopping to suck each lip one by one. She had a shaved cunt, perfectly pink, and tasted like something sweet and salty at the same time. I slipped two fingers into her and curved them upward while I sucked her clit with my lips, no teeth, with that steady pressure I know drives her wild. She arched her back, came back for more when I groaned, cupped her tits with both hands and pinched her nipples. I felt her hand gripping my hair, pushing me deeper. When she came the first time, she dug her nails into my scalp and soaked my whole face, and I kept licking her until she begged me to stop. And, out of the corner of my eye, I could also feel Ramiro, motionless among the lilies, barely holding his breath, probably with his cock in his hand.

I turned her face down and lifted her by the hips, leaving her on all fours facing the window. I spread her ass cheeks with both hands, leaving her ass and cunt exposed, and spit on her before guiding my cock to the entrance. I entered her slowly at first, just the tip, pulling out and pushing back in a few centimeters, so Ramiro could see how she opened, how she swallowed it. Daniela pushed her ass back, looking for me, moaning softly. Then I grabbed her hair, wound it around my fist, and drove my whole cock into her in one thrust. Daniela screamed into the pillow, not from pain, from pleasure and from the awareness of being watched. I started fucking her hard, my hips slamming into her ass with a wet sound that bounced off the empty walls of the room. She pushed back with every stroke, asking for more, asking me to smack her ass, asking me to treat her like a slut. I gave her a couple of hard spanks that left the mark of my hand red under the moon. I had never been this hard in my life. I bit the nape of her neck, squeezed her hanging tits, shoved a spit-wet finger into her ass while I kept fucking her cunt. When I felt her coming again, clamping down on my cock with spasms that almost ripped my release out of me, I held it in with my teeth clenched and kept going a little longer, until I couldn’t anymore. I came inside her with a roar, unloading shot after shot deep in her cunt, my forehead against her back, panting as if I’d run a marathon. I felt my semen spilling down her thighs when I pulled my cock out.

When I leaned toward the window, no one was left among the lilies.

***

Two days later I invited Ramiro to lunch. Daniela agreed right away. I told her, without going into details, that I liked the manager and that it would be good policy to stay on good terms with him. She understood something else, or maybe she understood exactly the same thing and preferred not to say it out loud. She put on a white linen dress, without a bra underneath, and a pair of sandals.

Ramiro arrived on time, with a bottle of wine and a nervous smile. He ate little and drank a lot. Every time Daniela leaned over the table to serve the salad, he fixed his gaze on her neckline and lingered more than necessary. I let him. I poured him more wine. I asked him about his town, his family, the condominium gardens. He answered in short sentences, as if he were afraid of giving himself away.

When night fell, we saw him out at the door and went to bed. Again without curtains, again with the moon pouring in. We started kissing, and after a while, unsurprisingly, I saw a shadow in the garden. This time I told her.

—He’s outside.

Daniela slowly turned her head toward the window and looked without hiding. Then she looked at me, with a smile I had never seen on her before.

—It turns me on to be watched —she said—. It turns me on to make them hot for me. Does that bother you?

It didn’t bother me. I threw her onto the bed and yanked off her panties in one pull. I spread her legs wide, turned toward the window, and buried my face in her cunt until she writhed. Then I put her on her side, lifted one leg up onto my shoulder, and rammed my cock into her in one shot. I fucked her that night with a new intensity, knowing he was there, masturbating in silence, wishing he were me. I changed her position every few minutes, so the shadow outside wouldn’t miss a single angle: on her back with her legs open, on all fours with her ass pointed at the window, on top of me riding me with her tits bouncing in the moonlight. Daniela talked dirty like I’d never heard her before, said she wanted to be watched, that she wanted to feel them getting hot for her, that she liked being a public slut. I sucked her tits until they were red, shoved my thumbs into her mouth, pulled her hair. When I finally came, I asked her to kneel against the window and I emptied my cock onto her with licks, swallowing everything that came out, her ass aimed at the garden and at the eyes we knew were there.

And when she came again, wrapped around my neck, back in bed, she whispered that someday she’d like to know what it was like to be with someone else.

—If you allow it —she added—. Only if you allow it.

***

Fate took care of pushing us. A week later, my younger brother suffered a complicated appendicitis and had to be operated on urgently. I was the only one who could stay with him. Daniela was left alone in the beach house. I called her the first night, late, after leaving the hospital. She told me she’d been bored, that she’d read a little, that she was thinking of inviting Ramiro to dinner the next day.

—I’m afraid at night, alone in this house —she said—. But if it bothers you, I won’t invite him.

There was a long silence between us. We both knew what we were talking about. We both knew what she was asking for, and what she was asking for was not company.

—I trust you —I told her—. Do whatever you want to do. And tell me everything afterward.

I called her the next day at eleven at night. She didn’t answer. I called again at noon the next day. She told me, in a hoarse voice, that she had a lot to tell me and that she’d rather do it in person. That night, in my hotel room, I jerked off three times thinking about what was happening five hundred kilometers away.

I came back on Saturday. She was waiting for me at the door, with a coffee in her hand and bright eyes. When we sat down on the veranda, she told me everything, omitting not a single detail. How Ramiro had arrived with two bottles of wine. How, after dinner, he’d come up to her in the kitchen and put a hand on her waist without asking. How he had kissed her neck until she trembled. How he had unbuttoned her dress in the living room and pulled it down to her ankles.

—He’s got huge hands —she told me—. And endurance you can’t even imagine. He came three times in one night. I couldn’t take anymore.

She told me that he had stripped her completely against the living room wall, that he had grabbed her tits with those peasant hands of his and squeezed them so hard his fingerprints had been left behind. That he had kissed her nipples for a long while, biting them, tugging them with his lips, until she came from that alone. That after that he had sat her on the sofa, opened her legs, and shoved two thick fingers all the way in, curving them, searching for the spot, while with his other hand he squeezed her clit with his thumb. That he had worked his fingers in and out until she came against his hand, soaking his whole arm.

—He made me squirt —she told me softly, surprised herself—. It had never happened to me before.

Then he had knelt on the rug and eaten her out for minutes on end, his whole tongue inside her cunt, devouring it completely, while he held her legs open with his hands. He had sucked her clit, her lips, gone back up her belly, come back down again. He had given her three more orgasms like that, one after the other, until she asked him to stop because she couldn’t take it anymore, because she was too sensitive. That when he finally penetrated her, she felt something different, something deeper, not because of love but because of size.

—He’s big —she told me, looking me in the eyes to see my reaction—. Much bigger than yours. And curved. It hurt a little at first. He had to put it in slowly, pushing little by little, pulling out and going back in, until I got used to it. When he finally shoved it all the way in, I felt him reaching places no one had ever reached before.

I listened with a dry mouth and my groin on fire, my cock so hard it hurt inside my pants. I asked for more details. She gave them to me, without filter, enjoying telling me about it as much as she had enjoyed getting fucked. She told me how he had fucked her from behind against the sofa back, with her clinging to the cushions, him thrusting while standing, burying himself in her to the hilt with every stroke. How he had asked her to get on all fours on the bed and fucked her like that for what seemed like hours, while he slapped her ass and pulled her hair, while he shoved a finger into her ass so she’d feel full everywhere. How at one point he had put her on her back with her legs open against his chest, folded almost in half, and driven into her all the way in with cruel slowness, looking into her eyes, until she came screaming into the pillow.

—He watched me —she told me—. All the time he watched me, like he was measuring me, like he was marking me.

How, at the end of the night, both exhausted, he had asked permission to finish in her mouth and she had agreed without thinking. She had knelt on the bedroom floor, tits bare, mouth open, and he had jerked off above her with his cock pointing at her tongue. He shot a thick stream into her mouth, and another on her lips, and another on her tits, and she had gathered it all with her fingers and taken it into her mouth.

—I swallowed everything —she said, and laughed—. I hadn’t done that in years. And there was a lot. You have no idea how much he had.

That afternoon I took her to bed and fucked her with a fury I didn’t recognize in myself. I stripped her in one yank, laid her on her back and buried my face in her cunt before anything else, looking for his taste there, the mark. She was still swollen from the day before, her cunt red and puffy, and she complained at first when I entered her, but then she asked for more. I asked her to repeat everything while I fucked her. To tell me how he had put it in, how he had made her scream, how he had filled her. She told me in my ear, her voice broken, panting between words, while I drove into her harder and harder. I fucked her on her back, on her side, on all fours, sitting on top of me. I squeezed her throat gently with my hand, like I know she likes. I bit her tits until they bore the marks. I came three times before night fell: the first in her cunt, the second in her mouth, the third over her ass and back, with her looking over her shoulder at me and laughing.

***

The following weekend Ramiro showed up again, as if nothing had happened. We invited him to dinner, and this time there were no choreographies or excuses. After the second glass of wine, I looked him in the eyes.

—I want to watch —I said—. I want to be there.

He understood immediately. Daniela blushed like she hadn’t blushed in years, but she didn’t say no. The three of us went into the bedroom. I lowered her dress myself and let him kiss her breasts while I bit her neck from behind. I squeezed her tits from the front so he could suck them better, offering them to him as if they were mine to give. She bent down in front of him and unbuttoned his pants with trembling fingers. When she pulled out his cock, my breath caught: it was huge, thick, curved upward, with a broad purple head. Daniela’s eyes widened when she saw it and she glanced at me, looking for my approval. I nodded. She took it into her mouth slowly, just the tip at first, and swallowed it little by little. It didn’t all fit. Her mouth filled up, she choked, pulled it out with a string of saliva clinging to her lips, and took it back in. I was watching my wife suck another man’s cock in my own house, in my own bed, and I had never been more turned on in my life. I took out my cock and started jerking off while watching her eat him out.

When she was thoroughly wet, we put her on all fours on the bed. He knelt behind her and rested the tip of his cock against her cunt. I saw her clench her jaw when he started to push. His cock went in little by little, opening her, and Daniela moaned long and low, eyes closed. I came up in front, stroked her face, wiped the sweat from her forehead. She opened her mouth and I slid my cock inside. She sucked me while he fucked her from behind, with both men taking her at the same time, one at each end. I could feel how each thrust from Ramiro pushed her forward and drove my cock deeper down her throat. Ramiro gripped her hips with those huge hands and pinned her to the bed with slow, deep strokes, and Daniela moaned with her mouth full, clutching the sheets.

Then we changed her position. I laid her on her back at the edge of the bed and he penetrated her from the front, standing, with her legs hanging at the sides of his waist. I sat beside her, stroked her face and kissed her wet lips. Daniela had tears in her eyes, not from sadness, from an intensity that overwhelmed her. She squeezed my hand with all her strength while he drove into her harder and harder. I pinched her nipples, put two fingers in her mouth, watched her come against his cock with a tremor that shook her whole body. At one point she turned her head and said “I love you” in a voice broken by pleasure, as if asking forgiveness and thanking me at the same time.

We put her on top of him. Ramiro lay on his back and Daniela straddled him, impaling herself slowly on that curved cock that went all the way to the bottom. She started moving on him, her tits bouncing in the air, her thighs squeezing his hips. I knelt behind her on the bed and licked her ass while she rode him. Then I slid a finger in, then two, wet with my saliva. She pushed back, giving me permission. I got into position, rested the tip of my cock against her ass and pushed slowly until I was in. Daniela stayed still for a moment, breathing hard, adjusting to both of us. Then she started moving again, and the three of us moved together, with Ramiro fucking her cunt and me her ass at the same time. I could feel his cock through the wall between us, moving against mine inside her. Daniela was screaming, saying things I couldn’t understand, clutching my neck and his chest at the same time.

When he came, she screamed like an animal, feeling him unload inside her. I held on a little longer, fucking that tight ass, until I pulled out and asked her to turn around. She knelt between the two of us and opened her mouth. I finished in her mouth minutes later, on her tongue, on her lips, on her chin. Ramiro, still hard, ran his cock across her face and she cleaned the last traces off him with her tongue. The three of us stayed sprawled on the bed, sweaty, the smell of sex clinging to the sheets, not knowing what to say.

***

That was almost a year ago now. Ramiro is still the condominium manager. Every so often he comes to dinner with us. Every so often he stays late. Daniela laughs now when she tells the story to her two closest friends, the only ones who know. People ask me if I’m not jealous, if I don’t regret it, if I don’t feel less of a man. I always answer the same thing: that when she looks me in the eyes in the middle of all that, when she squeezes my hand, when she tells me I love you with her voice broken, I am the most complete man in the world.

Some call this weakness. Others call it betrayal. For us it has another name, one we don’t need to say out loud. The only thing I know is that I learned, in that curtainless house on the coast, that desire is not measured by exclusivity but by truth. And that between Daniela and me, there is plenty of truth for three.