How I Ended Up Naked at My Husband’s Boss’s Poker Game

A few months ago Diego was promoted at the company. He went from regional manager to commercial director, and the person directly responsible for that promotion was Mauricio, his boss. Mauricio and I have been sleeping together for almost a year whenever the opportunity allows. Diego knows. Diego approved it.

I’m an economist. I advise a small portfolio of clients with solid wealth. I also charge some of those same men to sleep with them. My husband knows both calendars. That week the two schedules collided in a trip north and a poker game that ended with me naked in front of six strangers.

The underlying problem at Diego’s company was distribution across the river that splits the country in two. The previous contract had expired and Diego had found a new distributor with its own fleet and impeccable references. Mauricio insisted over two straight lunches that the three of us travel for the signing. The signing was an excuse: what he really wanted was to stretch the trip to the coast and spend two nights in a hotel facing the sea.

We agreed. Mauricio used the end of one of those Thursdays to bring up two requests. The first: one night alone with him at the beach resort. The second he said in a lowered voice. He had five friends with enough financial capacity to eventually need my two services. He wanted to organize a private poker game and introduce me as his companion. He wanted those friends to see me. Diego bit his lip not to smile.

I said yes to both things.

We left very early on a Tuesday. Six hours by car to the city where the new distributor was waiting for us. I dressed to get attention without shouting too much: tight jeans, boots, a body-hugging sweater, and nothing underneath. In the restaurant, Esteban —that’s what I’ll call the distributor— and his second-in-command didn’t stop looking at me the entire lunch. They talked logistics and margins; I, who understand the subject better than they do, kept quiet and switched my legs from one side to the other every five minutes. When I got up to go to the bathroom I walked slowly. When I came back, I did it fast. It always works.

The next day, while Diego and Mauricio were touring the distributor’s warehouse, Esteban took Mauricio aside.

—Diego’s wife is incredible —he said.

Mauricio, who knows how far other people’s desire goes, replied:

—If you increase sales by fifty percent, I’ll lend her to you for an hour. If you double them, you get her for an entire night.

Esteban nearly choked on his coffee. I found out in the car, on the way to the coast, as the three of us laughed. The conversation turned to jokes about how he already had a contract signed with the distributor before he even started working for it.

***

We arrived at the beach resort in the middle of the afternoon and settled into a hotel facing the ocean with floor-to-ceiling windows. That had been my suggestion. I like fucking against glass that looks out to the sea. I left my suitcase in Mauricio’s room. Diego stayed in his own.

We had dinner, the three of us, in a restaurant on the beach. Barely a salad for me. Then Diego wished us good night with a kiss on the forehead and went off. I went up with Mauricio.

We stood in front of the picture window without saying anything, arms around each other’s waists. Below, the nearly empty boardwalk. Beyond it, the sand and the blackness of the sea broken by the distant lights of some boat. Then Mauricio went to the bathroom to put on pajamas and I went in with my bag to change.

I took out a translucent white corset, no cups for the tits, sixteen black clasps down the front with no real function beyond the decorative. Four strips of fabric fell down to attach to two white garters on my thighs. Nothing else. A thin chain around my neck with a red coral heart. When I put the corset away, I found at the bottom of the bag an envelope I had not put there. I opened it. A gift. Generous. More than usual. Mauricio knew how to remind me why I was still with him.

I came out of the bathroom with my heels clicking against the ceramic tile. He was standing with his back to the glass, looking at the horizon. I passed between him and the window. The room light made anyone looking from the boardwalk able to see us perfectly. I didn’t care. Neither did he.

—Thank you —I said.

He smiled because he knew what I meant.

We kissed for a long time, tongue and bites, no rush. I took off his pajamas. He caressed me over the corset, grabbed my ass, said sweet things to me and, in the same sentence, called me a whore. Both things were meant seriously. He loosened the straps, opened the clasps one by one, and let the fabric fall to the floor. I was left in heels and garters.

He knelt and licked me everywhere. Hips, thighs, my hands, my cunt. He was fucking me with his tongue and going back to my clit and going back in. I let him. When I was close, I stopped him and knelt myself. His cock was hard as marble. A shiny drop at the tip. I took it all in, filled it with saliva, let it go.

—Against the wall —I told him.

I guided him to the side wall. I hung from his neck, wrapped my legs around his waist. His hands held me by the ass. The cock went in by itself. We only do this rarely and it feels different: the body’s weight falls onto the sex, the breathing mixes. He came inside me. I felt the cum running down my thighs when I got off him.

I cleaned his dick with my mouth, propped against the window. To my surprise, he got hard again right away. The pill, I guessed. I didn’t ask.

We moved to the bed. I rode him with my back to him, reverse cowgirl, guiding his cock with my hand. I went up and down while one of his hands played with my clit and the thumb of the other, well-salivated, slowly slipped into my ass. I appreciated it: it was the preparation. I changed the rhythm when I felt him getting close. Back and forth, in circles, then that blender motion I learned from watching porn. He came a second time. I gathered the cum dripping down me with my hand, showed it to him on my tongue, and swallowed it. Then I climbed up and made him lick my cunt. He did it without disgust. I like that.

While we rested we talked about the game the next day. Five of his friends, a small house rented for the occasion, no sex with any of them because there had been no recent test results requested. What I could do, I told him, was something I had never done with so many men at once. Serve them. Change outfits between hands. Show myself off. Make the last pass with everything out. His eyes lit up.

And since I was still wet and he, thanks to the pill, was still hard, we took out a small projector he had brought in the suitcase. I connected my phone, set it to cast onto the wall, and we watched ourselves. Me sideways, his cock between my ass cheeks, one of my legs crossed over his. He put it in my ass with patience, saliva, and a little oil. Slowly, without pain. The image on the wall wasn’t HD, but almost. I watched myself: the tits being stroked, the hand going back to the clit, my own head turning to kiss him.

—On your knees —he said after that.

He changed the phone to stream what his camera was focusing on. On the wall I saw the image of his cock pressing against my sphincter and going all the way in. I saw it go in and out. Then he pulled it out, pointed the barrel at the ceiling, made me turn around, and came on my tits. Seeing myself in that giant image while the cum fell over my nipples was something I had never felt before.

We cleaned up, washed up, slept.

***

The following afternoon we went to the house Mauricio’s friends had rented. Discreet, not very big. One first friend received us. Diego and I came in as “their friends Renata and Diego.” No one would say throughout the night that we were husband and wife.

Mauricio had planned everything. The game was meant to end at eleven: most of the guests were married, they couldn’t stay until dawn. Nonalcoholic drinks —everyone was driving— and savory bites. I was in charge of serving. The surprise was in the clothing.

I locked myself in the bedroom before the others arrived. I heard them come in, greet each other, sit down, deal the first hands. When Mauricio judged the time was right, he poked his head in.

—Renata, can you bring the drinks?

I came out wearing a black stretch tube dress, high heels, and nothing underneath. I greeted from afar with my hand, went to the kitchen, and came back with the tray. I bent just enough while serving. The dress rode up a little on me. My tits peeked out when I leaned over. They thanked me in silence and went back to the cards.

Two rounds later I heard “we’re missing snacks.” I was already changed. This time, a black pleated mini skirt and a white shirt with two buttons open. No bra. There were comments when I appeared. Diego, without anyone suspecting anything, answered for me: “She likes showing off.” I got applause. I smiled. I went back to the bedroom.

On the third outing it was a yellow bikini, curtain style, with the triangles tightened to the minimum. They barely covered my nipples. The back was a string. There were whistles. There was “where did you get this friend from?” They started leaning in while I served. Dirtier comments. “Damn.” “I’d love to get on that.” “How do we find you, gorgeous?” I withdrew amid smiles and without answering.

As I left I heard Mauricio’s voice explaining:

—Friends, the girl is very accommodating, but you need a little patience. She’s among the best in the country, her rate is high and, if you’re interested, she also advises on financial management because she’s an economist. She’s married. There won’t be sex tonight: we didn’t give enough notice for the tests. But some bonus fun, yes.

This time no one called me. Mauricio simply said from the bedroom door:

—Whenever you want, Renata.

I came out in patent-leather stilettos, a black micro thong, a demi-cup bra, and a sheer babydoll over it. The poker game fell apart. Nobody remembered poker. They stood up in a line. I walked slowly, once, twice. Two of them wanted to know what the thong was and how it stayed on. I brought a chair from the dining room, sat down in front of them, and explained it. I introduced myself with both professions —economist and prostitute— and said the rate out loud. Three nodded without blinking. Two shook their heads. I mentally discarded those two as future clients.

One asked, choosing his words, whether up-to-date test results allowed finishing inside. I told him yes, that I can’t conceive of sex without maximum pleasure for both people. Silence.

—One more pass? —I asked.

—Yeeees.

I went back to the bedroom. I signaled to Diego and Mauricio as I left. The two came in silence, took the mattress off the bed, and laid it on the living room floor. On top of the mattress they spread a transparent polyethylene film they had bought that morning. The others watched without understanding.

—It’s for the last pass —Diego said, and went back to the room to announce me.

—Friends, here is Renata, economist, just as you want to see her.

I appeared in the same stilettos. Nothing else. Hair pulled up in a high ponytail, tits firm and bare, cunt just a line between my thighs. I walked in front of them with my back straight and my breathing calm. I passed once. I passed twice. The third time I stopped in front of the mattress.

None of them dared say anything. The room was silent. Only the low hum of the heating and the breathing of six men watching me.

—This —I said, looking at the mattress covered in plastic— is so you understand what level you can reach with me. Not today. Today you only look. Next time, whoever wants to and brings the test results will have their place on it. One by one, or all at once, as you prefer. We’ll discuss the rate separately.

There was a slow round of applause that Mauricio started and the rest followed. Diego was looking at me from the doorway with that smile I know: half pride, half arousal.

I went back to the bedroom to get dressed. I sat in front of the mirror, took my phone, and checked my messages while I was still breathing hard. Three new numbers in my contacts before leaving the house.

And next time, the three of us already knew it, the mattress wasn’t going to be covered in plastic as decoration.