He Said His Son Desired Me and Paid a Fortune
I had been on the eleven o’clock news for ten years. Ten years of heavy makeup, cold earpieces in my ear, of smiling with half my mouth whenever the director asked me for “a little more warmth.” My name, Mariana Salinas, sounded from thousands of televisions every night, and that had built me a shell few things could penetrate.
That night, however, the shell broke before I went on air.
A production assistant approached me between two commercial breaks. She was new, nervous, with a notebook clutched against her chest.
“Ms. Salinas,” she whispered, “this was left for you at reception. They said it was urgent.”
She handed me a thick ivory-colored envelope sealed with red wax. There was no return address. Only my name, handwritten in a script I recognized without quite knowing why: the handwriting of someone accustomed to signing million-dollar contracts. I tucked it among the scripts, adjusted my earpiece, and looked back at the camera as if nothing had happened. My voice didn’t tremble. My hands did, but they were beneath the desk and no one saw them.
When the segment ended and the musical curtain flooded the studio, I locked myself in the dressing room with the envelope resting on the vanity. I opened it with a silver letter opener my mother had given me. The card inside was brief, almost cruel.
“Ms. Salinas: my son Tomás has taken a particular interest in you. I am offering you a night with him. The compensation will be generous, enough to secure your family’s future. Discretion guaranteed. Sincerely, Eduardo Quintana.”
I knew the name. Everyone did. Eduardo Quintana owned the largest hotel chain in the country, a man who appeared on the covers of business magazines as often as his son Tomás appeared in the gossip columns. Tomás was twenty-seven, had a catalog face, and a collection of scandals his father made sure to cover up.
It wasn’t the first indecent proposal I’d received. In my position, it was practically an occupational hazard. But this one was different. The signature. The audacity. The fact that a man like Quintana had gone to the trouble of writing by hand instead of delegating the assignment to an assistant.
I felt heat at the nape of my neck. It wasn’t embarrassment. It was my pussy getting wet inside my underwear without asking permission while I reread the word “night” and imagined what lay behind it.
***
I got home after one. Sebastián was in the study’s armchair, reading a quarterly report with his glasses halfway down his nose. At forty-four, he was still the man who had made me feel safe when fame first began to tighten around my chest. Calm, analytical, able to read me at a glance.
I didn’t say anything when I came in. I sat beside him, took off his glasses, and placed the note on his lap. He read it twice. I knew because his eyes returned to the beginning of the paragraph after the signature. When he finished, he didn’t squeeze the paper or crumple it. He folded it in half carefully, as if it were another quarterly report, and left it on the low glass table.
“Eduardo Quintana,” he murmured. “That man doesn’t haggle when he wants something.”
“What are you thinking?” I asked.
My husband turned toward me. His hand found my thigh over the fabric of my dress pants. The pressure was firm, deliberate. I recognized the look. It was the same one he wore when explaining a complicated financial operation and realizing that, instead of being bored, I was listening attentively.
“I’m thinking it’s an opportunity,” he said, lowering his voice. “One night. A lot of money, yes, but that’s not what interests me. What interests me is another man fucking you really hard, making you come until your legs shake, and then having you come back to this bed and tell me about it with every dirty word that slipped from your mouth in his.”
I looked at him, searching for a shadow of doubt on his face. A joke. A trace of “I expected you to say no.” There wasn’t one. Sebastián was serious. His hand had closed around my thigh with a strength I hadn’t known he possessed.
This is what he really wants, I thought. Not the money. The story. Hearing me say cock, dick, cum, with another man’s voice still lodged in my throat.
His hand moved up to the inner seam of my pants. I didn’t push it away. On the contrary, I opened my knees a little farther and let his fingers find, through the thin fabric, the wetness the letter had already caused. Sebastián let out a brief, surprised laugh.
“You’re soaked, Mariana,” he murmured against my ear. “Just from reading it.”
“Shut up,” I told him, but I didn’t remove his hand.
“Do it,” he whispered, biting my earlobe. “Accept. I want you to go, for that rich little bastard to spread your legs all the way and open you up, to fill your mouth with his cock if he feels like it, and for you to come back and tell me everything with those anchorwoman lips that speak so beautifully on camera.”
I told him with my eyes, not my voice. I was going.
***
The agreed-upon night arrived three days later. I stood before the dressing-room mirror with my hair swept to one side and a black dress clinging to my body like a second skin. Beneath it, crimson lace lingerie, a set I had bought that very afternoon and Sebastián hadn’t seen. I had kept it hidden from him. It was my part of the bargain.
I looked at myself one last time. The anchorwoman was gone. In her place was a woman with her tits squeezed by a lace bra, wearing a thong already sticking to her pussy from sheer anticipation, ready for another man to fuck her until he broke her.
The hotel was in the heart of the financial district. It smelled of expensive flowers and new carpeting. The concierge took me to the penthouse without asking the name of the person waiting for me. Quintana had arranged that too, I supposed. I knocked on the door, my heart beating against my ribs as if it wanted to get out and go downstairs to the street on its own.
Tomás opened the door. He looked younger in person than he did in photographs. A white linen shirt open to the second button, loose dark trousers, bare feet on the carpet. He had the look of someone who had never heard the word no, and his eyes traveled over my dress without shame, stripping me before I crossed the threshold. I looked at the bulge between his legs without hiding it. He was already hard. The fabric of his trousers outlined it completely, long and thick, pulling to one side.
“You’re prettier in person than on camera,” he said with a low smile. “Come in, please.”
I entered. The air conditioning raised gooseflesh on my skin. Tomás closed the door and turned the bolt with a click that sounded more serious than I expected.
The penthouse was a glass box above the city. Thick rugs, dark furniture, a panoramic window displaying the lights like an electrical map. I didn’t look at any of it. Tomás had invaded my space before I could set down my bag. He smelled of citrus cologne, something woody underneath, and the heat given off by young bodies.
“My father paid a lot for this,” he murmured, bringing his mouth close to my ear. “But I’m not here for the money. I’m here because I’ve been jerking off for months thinking about what’s underneath the suits you wear on-screen. Thinking about what it would be like to shove my cock all the way down that mouth you use to deliver the news, what you’d sound like moaning my name instead of reading the eleven o’clock headline.”
His hot breath struck the back of my neck. I didn’t answer. I wasn’t going to give him an answer to that sentence. His hands found my waist and pulled me toward him with a strength that wasn’t brutal but wasn’t gentle either. I felt his cock against my lower belly, hard and insistent, pressing against the fabric as if it had a life of its own.
“I want to see you now,” he said. “I want to see your tits, I want to see your pussy, I want to see all of you.”
The first kiss wasn’t gentle. It was teeth and tongue, urgency, my lower lip caught between his. His hand rose and squeezed one of my tits over the dress, feeling for my nipple until he found it hardened beneath the silk. I bit his tongue in response. He growled inside my mouth and pinched my nipple between two fingers, hard, drawing a short moan from me that disappeared into his lips.
His fingers searched for the dress’s fastening at my back, and the fabric gave way as if it had been waiting for him. The black silk fell into a puddle at my feet. I stood in the middle of the penthouse in red lingerie and heels, with his eyes on me.
Tomás stepped back to take in my whole body. He ran one hand through his hair. With the other, he openly squeezed the bulge in his trousers, adjusting his cock against his thigh.
“Fuck,” he breathed. “You’re perfect. Look at these tits. Look at this ass. I’m going to wreck you tonight, Mariana.”
I felt something new. It wasn’t only desire. It was power. I shoved him with my open palm toward the leather sofa behind him. He fell into a seated position, legs spread and erection still trapped in his clothes. I bent to remove my heels, slowly, without taking my eyes off him, then lowered the straps of the red thong until they lay on the floor. I remained naked from the waist down, in heels, with my bra still on and my nipples showing above the red lace. I brought one hand to my pussy and opened my lips with two fingers, showing him how wet I was.
“Take what you paid for,” I told him. “Eat me.”
***
He needed no second invitation. He grabbed my hips and pulled me toward his face with brutal force. The first lick stole my breath: long, broad, flat, from my perineum to my clitoris, devouring me as if he wanted to drink me down. I held on to his hair, my fingers tangled in the dark strands, while he worked his tongue in precise circles, closing his lips around my clitoris and sucking from time to time until my knees shook.
“That’s it,” I said, not recognizing my own voice. “Just like that, suck my pussy. Don’t stop.”
Tomás’s hands squeezed my ass, his nails digging into the flesh. He spread my cheeks with his thumbs, and I felt his tongue move down from my clitoris, enter my pussy, gather some of the wetness, and move farther back. He licked my ass with the tip of his tongue, a slow, teasing circle, while two of his fingers thrust into my pussy.
“Motherfucker,” I moaned, throwing my head back.
I had arrived thinking it would be a formality, a transaction, and there I was, standing in a stranger’s penthouse, with the fingers of a twenty-seven-year-old fucking my pussy to the knuckles while he licked my ass as if he’d been paid for that too. His fingers slid in and out with a wet, obscene sound that echoed through the empty penthouse. I felt my juices running down the insides of my thighs.
“You’re dripping,” he said, pulling his mouth away for a moment, his lips glistening. “My whole face is wet with you.”
“Suck me more,” I ordered, pushing his head back against my pussy. “Don’t stop until I come.”
He went back to work. He curled his fingers inside me, searching for the spot Sebastián had taken years to find and he found in two minutes. His tongue worked my clitoris with a new, almost cruel speed. My first orgasm came without warning, like a surge of electricity. I had to brace one hand against the back of the sofa to keep from falling. I screamed something meaningless. I pressed myself against his face without worrying about suffocating him, and Tomás continued with his tongue a second longer than necessary, sucking the last spasms from me until I gave him a gentle blow on the shoulder to make him stop.
“Come here,” he said, standing, his chin and cheeks shining with my cum.
He led me to the bed, a huge platform with white sheets, and undid his belt with clumsy fingers. When he pulled off his trousers and boxers in one motion, I stared at him for several seconds. His cock was exactly as the fabric had outlined it: long, thick, with a vein running up the left side, the head red and already wet with pre-cum.
I knelt on the carpet without being asked. I took his sex in both hands, one above the other, and looked up at him while running my tongue over the tip, gathering the transparent drop on his glans.
“Open up, anchorwoman,” he murmured, gripping my hair. “Open that pretty little mouth.”
I opened. He slid it in slowly the first time, gliding over my tongue until it touched my throat. I pulled back for a second, breathed through my nose, and swallowed it whole again, this time to the base. I felt his balls against my chin. I heard his hoarse curse above me.
“Fuck,” he panted, throwing his head back. “Fuck, fuck, how this woman sucks.”
I worked him slowly, alternating tongue and lips, pulling him out to the tip to suck him like a lollipop and sinking him back in to the hilt. My hands kept pace, squeezing the base and twisting gently. I liked the control. I liked that this boy—the one from the magazines, the one from the scandals—was clutching the sheets as if afraid to push too hard. I ran my tongue over his balls, one first and then the other, briefly taking them into my mouth. He made a sound that was neither word nor moan.
“I’m going to come like this,” he warned, gripping my hair harder. “I’m going to come in your mouth, Mariana.”
“No,” I told him, releasing him for a second, my lips shining with saliva and his pre-cum. “Inside. I want your cum inside me. Put it in me.”
I brought him up onto the bed. I lay on my back across the sheets and watched him spread my legs with both hands, like someone opening a book he had wanted to read for a long time. He looked closely at my pussy, shiny, swollen, open.
“What a delicious pussy you have,” he murmured. “All pink. All wet for me.”
“Shut up and put your cock in me,” I said.
He climbed on top of me. He guided himself with one hand, rubbing the head of his cock against my lips, sliding over my clitoris, teasing me and getting himself wet. He entered in a single movement, deep, all the way to the bone. I screamed something that wasn’t a word. I felt every inch forcing its way in, the sensation of being filled, very full, more than I was used to.
He began moving slowly, measuring me, withdrawing almost completely before plunging back in to the end. Then he sped up. His hips struck mine with a dry, obscene smack, and every thrust tore a new moan from me. The bed creaked. The headboard struck the mirrored wall. I dug my nails into his back. I left long red marks. I wanted to leave them.
“Harder,” I begged, biting his shoulder. “Harder, Tomás, fuck me harder.”
He obeyed. He grabbed both my legs and spread them farther, nearly folding them against my chest, and began driving into me with a new fury, every thrust reaching the deepest point. I could hear the noise of our bodies, the sloshing of my soaked pussy, his panting against my neck.
“Turn around,” he ordered, pulling out abruptly.
I turned, braced myself on my hands and knees, arched my back, and offered him my raised ass. I felt a sharp smack on my buttock that made my pussy clench. Another. Then the tip of his cock searching for my entrance and sinking in with one thrust from behind. He grabbed my hair, wrapped it around his fist, pulled me upright, and drove into me all the way with long, brutal strokes.
“You’re mine tonight,” he said, looking into my eyes in the reflection of the window. “And I’m yours.”
“Give me everything,” I answered. “Empty yourself inside me. Fill me.”
He reached around me, searching for my clitoris and rubbing it in quick circles while he continued thrusting from behind. My second orgasm caught me off guard and lifted me like a wave. My whole body shook, my pussy clamping around him in spasms I couldn’t control, and I felt Tomás tense a moment later, felt him plunge all the way in and remain there, emptying himself inside me with a hoarse moan born deep in his chest.
I felt every pulse of his cum inside me, hot and abundant. He stayed inside for a long while, breathing against my nape, until he slowly pulled out. I felt the warm stream run down the inside of my thigh. I didn’t clean myself. I let myself fall facedown onto the white sheets, his mark sliding down my skin, and began to laugh softly.
We lay together on the bed, stuck together with sweat, panting, with the window and the lit-up city on the other side of the glass.
***
I returned home at dawn. Sebastián was awake, sitting against the headboard and reading again. When he saw me come in, he set the book on the nightstand and gave me a slow smile. His gaze traveled down my body and stopped at the bruised mark on my neck and my tousled hair.
“Tell me,” he said. “And take everything off.”
I undressed in the center of the room, slowly, without shame. When I lowered the red thong, already dry, I saw his eyes fix on the insides of my thighs, still stained with another man’s cum. His jaw tightened. The sheet rose over his lap.
“Come here,” he said, his voice rougher than usual.
I slipped beneath the sheets with him and kissed him with a new intensity. I felt his cock against my thigh almost immediately, hard as a stone. I lowered his hand and brought it to my pussy. It was still open, swollen, slippery, with traces that weren’t mine.
“I still have his cum inside me,” I whispered in his ear. “Can you feel it?”
Sebastián made a guttural sound I had never heard from him. He inserted two fingers, curling them, and pulled them out glistening.
“Detail by detail,” he demanded, his fingers soaked. “I want to know everything.”
He gently pushed me beneath him. As he spread my legs and guided himself with his hand, I told him about the penthouse, the window, the dress on the floor, the first kiss, how Tomás had made me kneel on the carpet and eaten my pussy until he made me come standing up. Sebastián entered me with one thrust, sliding easily through the other man’s semen, and let out a low moan when he felt it.
“Keep going,” he panted, moving slowly. “Keep telling me.”
I told him how I had sucked Tomás’s cock down to my throat, how long and thick it was, how he had begged for my mouth. I repeated in his ear every dirty word Tomás had said to me. I described how he had put me on all fours, how he had grabbed my hair, how he had emptied himself inside me.
“Take what you paid for,” I murmured, biting his ear, and felt Sebastián’s whole body tense as he quickened his thrusts.
“God,” he panted. “God, Mariana.”
“I still have it inside me,” I repeated. “You’re fucking me on top of his cum. Do you like it? Do you like sinking yourself into the place where his was?”
“Yes,” he growled, thrusting harder. “Yes, yes, yes.”
“I’m still yours,” I added afterward, taking his face in both hands and forcing him to look at me. “But tonight I broke myself so you could put me back together. Now come inside me. Mix yourself with him. Mark me with both of you.”
Sebastián kissed the mark Tomás had left on my neck. He bit it hard, marking me on top of it, until I moaned. His thrusts became erratic, brutal. When he came, he did so with a long moan, buried to the hilt, emptying himself in the same place. He remained there, breathing against my collarbone for a long while, still inside me, feeling his cock slowly soften within me.
“Thank you,” he said, almost in a whisper. “For everything.”
I fell asleep with the sun already coming through the curtains, with both men leaking between my thighs, feeling that something had changed between us. Not the marriage. Not the love. Something deeper, a room we hadn’t known we possessed and that now, with the door open, we would never be able to close again.