I Asked My Friends for Something No Husband Would Ever Ask For

My name is Andrés, and this happened a few years ago, when I still believed life had an order and that things turned out the way you planned them. I’d been married to Marisol since I was twenty-five. I met her when we were very young, we became boyfriend and girlfriend almost immediately, and we got married barely two years later. She was dark-haired, with black hair down to her back, not very tall, with a body that even today I struggle to describe without sounding like an idiot in love: big firm tits, a round ass, wide hips, and a shaved cunt that drove me insane the very first time I licked it.

We had always wanted to be parents, but in due time. First the house, then the business, then stability. We did everything right, in the proper order, like two responsible people. When we finally felt ready, we stopped being careful and started trying in earnest.

The months went by and nothing came.

At first we took it with humor. Then with patience. Then with that silent anxiety you never say out loud. We got tested thinking it would just be a formality, something to put our minds at ease.

I was the sterile one.

There’s no elegant way to tell that moment. The doctor was talking and I could see his lips moving without fully understanding what he was saying. Marisol squeezed my hand under the table. We left in silence and drove home without saying a word, each of us staring out our own window.

The following days were the worst of our marriage. We didn’t fight, which would have been healthier. We simply didn’t talk. We ate in front of the TV, went to bed with our backs to each other, and pretended to sleep.

One night, I finally worked up the nerve.

—Forgive me —I told her in the dark—. I know how much you wanted this.

—It’s not your fault, Andrés.

—What if we adopt?

She stayed quiet for a long while.

—I want to go through the pregnancy —she said at last—. I want to feel it growing inside me. If it can’t be that way, I’d rather not be a mother.

She mentioned insemination, a bank, an anonymous donor. The idea of my child coming from a test tube, from the semen of a stranger whose face I’d never see, stirred something inside me I couldn’t name at the time. And then, without really thinking it through, I said the sentence that changed everything.

—What if we ask Diego or Tomás?

Marisol slowly turned her head on the pillow.

—What for? If you don’t want a bank.

—Like people make babies for real. Naturally. One of them fucks you and fills your cunt with cum, like he should.

—Are you serious? You’d let one of your friends sleep with me? Fuck me without a condom until he gets me pregnant?

She said it with a breaking voice, half outrage, half something else. And I, expecting to feel anger or disgust just from imagining it, instead felt a strange calm, almost relief, and an uncomfortable erection pressing hard against my pajama pants.

—If it’s to give you a child, yes. I’ve known them my whole life. I trust them more than anyone.

She didn’t answer. But that night, for the first time in weeks, we fell asleep in each other’s arms.

***

Diego and Tomás had been my friends since school. We had grown up together, gotten drunk together, and held each other up through every ugly thing life throws at you. If there was anyone in the world I could trust with something like that, it was them.

I met them at a bar. We ordered a couple of beers and I let the conversation flow until I worked up the nerve.

—I have to ask you something —I blurted out—. Something big.

—You got serious all of a sudden —Tomás said.

—I’m sterile.

Diego set his bottle down on the table. Tomás looked at me, not knowing what to say.

—I’m sorry, brother —Diego murmured at last—. I know what this meant to you two.

—That’s why I came. I need one of you to get Marisol pregnant. To fuck her until you fill her up with your cum.

The silence that followed was so heavy you could hear the music in the background, an old song none of the three of us would ever have picked.

—Andrés... —Tomás began.

—I already talked to her about it. We’re sure. Don’t get me wrong, this isn’t some whim. It’s the only thing left to us, and I want the father to be someone I care about, not a catalog number.

—What if we offer you money for a better treatment? —Diego tried.

—It’s not about money. It’s this or nothing. I need you to shove your dick all the way in and empty your balls inside her, as many times as it takes.

They looked at each other. That look old friends have, one that says more than any speech ever could.

—You know what? —Tomás said—. If you think about it, better if both of us try. Twice the chances. Twice the load inside her.

I laughed without meaning it, tears in my eyes.

—Thank you. Seriously. You have no idea what this means.

***

I texted Marisol that they’d agreed. When we got home, she was waiting in a short skirt and a blouse that left little to the imagination. She was nervous; I could tell from how she laughed at anything, from how her hand trembled a little when she poured us something to drink. She wasn’t wearing a bra and her nipples stood out hard against the fabric.

We sat in the living room and made the absurd effort to talk about anything at all, as if we weren’t all thinking about the same thing. Until Tomás stood up and held out his hand to her.

—Shall we? —he said softly.

Marisol looked for me. I nodded. And I watched them disappear down the hall toward the bedroom.

I stayed with Diego in the living room, the two of us silent, pretending to be interested in the television. A few minutes passed, and then the sounds started. First her breathing, then a muffled moan, then no longer muffled. I heard the wet, unmistakable sound of a cock going in and out of a soaked cunt, the rhythmic slap of Tomás’s hips against my wife’s ass, and Marisol’s voice asking for more.

—Like that, like that, deeper —I heard her moan—. Break me, don’t stop, fuck me hard...

I expected to feel jealous, a stab in the chest, the urge to get up and end everything.

I felt the opposite. My dick got hard as a rock under my pants.

—You okay? —Diego asked me, awkwardly, glancing sideways at the bulge I had no idea how to hide.

—Yeah —I said, surprised by my own voice—. Honestly, hearing her turns me on. I’d never heard her moan like that before.

Diego let out a nervous laugh and adjusted himself too.

—Me too, not gonna lie. I’ve been hard since she opened the door.

From the bedroom came a long, sharp cry, and then Tomás’s voice, hoarse, warning he was about to come. A roar and then silence. I pictured the scene with a clarity that burned me: my best friend’s cock buried to the balls in my wife’s cunt, unloading thick jets of semen against her cervix, searching for the egg I would never be able to reach.

When it went quiet, Tomás came out adjusting his clothes, disheveled, with an apologetic smile and his zipper still halfway up.

—Your turn —he said to Diego—. I left her nice and loaded, but the more the better.

Diego went in almost running. A few minutes later the moans returned, different now, higher, more surrendered. Marisol was asking for Diego’s cock as if she’d been waiting years for it. I heard the bed creak, the pace quicken, and how she begged him to come inside, to fill her all the way up, to leave not a single drop outside. Diego yelled when he finished, and I, sitting alone in the living room, had to clench my jaw not to come in my pants without even touching myself.

When they left, I went into the room. Marisol was lying on her back, exhausted, her legs still open and a thick thread of mixed semen leaking from her swollen cunt onto the sheets. There were finger marks on her tits and neck, and an expression I didn’t know. I went over, lay down beside her, and brushed the hair off her face.

—Are you okay? —I asked.

—More than okay —she said, and laughed, still breathless—. I’ve got so much cum inside me I don’t want to move so it won’t come out. Thank you, baby.

—Don’t thank me.

—I love you.

—And I love you.

I ran my hand over her belly, then moved lower and stroked her soaked cunt. She sighed and guided my fingers inside. She was hot, slippery, dripping the semen of two other men. I massaged her slowly, feeling the foreign cum wet my fingers, and she came again, pulling my hair, biting my shoulder, while whispering in my ear that they should fuck her again the next day.

***

What started as a solution turned into a routine, and the routine into a way of life we never planned. Diego and Tomás came over almost every day. Sometimes in the daytime, sometimes at night, sometimes both together. I had stopped having sex with Marisol so as not to “contaminate” the attempt, according to a half-made-up theory of Diego’s, but the truth is that by then none of the three of us cared much about theories.

I watched her come out of the room with trembling legs, with her mouth swollen from so much sucking, with smudged mascara and her neck covered in hickeys. Sometimes it was my job to open the door and lead them to the bedroom where she was waiting on all fours on the bed, ass lifted, cunt already open and shining. Other times I stayed in a chair in the corner and watched Diego fuck her from behind while Tomás shoved his dick in her mouth, watched her suck them both in turn, watched her let them fill her with cum from front and back without ever complaining.

One night, Tomás called me into the room. Marisol was riding him, bouncing on his cock, her tits bobbing at my eye level. Diego was getting ready behind her to put his cock in her ass at the same time. We had never done it like that.

—Come here —she said, gasping—. I want you to lick me too. I want to feel all three of you.

Don’t judge her. Don’t judge me. I knelt beside the bed and she turned her head and swallowed my cock whole while my two friends fucked her in both holes. I felt her moan with my cock in her mouth, felt the thrusts travel up her body to my glans, and when the three of us came almost at the same time (the two of them inside, me in her mouth) she swallowed everything without stopping smiling, and caressed my face as if to say, “thank you for this too.”

What was strange was how much I liked it. Seeing her desired, hearing her enjoy herself, feeling that my two best friends and my wife were sharing something I had set in motion with my own words. I had become a spectator in my own marriage and, instead of hurting, it turned me on in a way I couldn’t explain.

Almost three months passed. I kept pressing Marisol about the test, but she preferred to wait, not to get her hopes up. Until one night she met me at the door with shining eyes.

—Andrés, I’m pregnant.

I lifted her off the ground. We both cried, hugging in the hallway like two kids. After so many months of darkness, finally the light.

—Two and a half months —she said through tears—. We’re going to be parents.

That same night she told me, with a certain shyness, that the doctor had recommended she keep having sex with the father during the pregnancy, that it was good for her. That she had already talked to Diego and Tomás. And I, having by then already accepted what our life had become, simply said yes. That she should get fucked as much as she wanted. That the house belonged to the three of us.

***

Over time, Diego and Tomás ended up moving in with us. I had two free rooms and the excuse was to help with the rent, but the three of us knew that wasn’t the reason. The house turned into something I would never have imagined years earlier, when I dreamed of the perfect family from the manual. At night I would hear, from my room, how Marisol moved from one bed to the other, how she let one of them fuck her before sleeping, and the next morning sucked the other’s cock to wake him up. There was never a shortage of cum in that house, not a single night.

Marisol gave birth to a beautiful little girl. I cut the cord. I held her first. I was the one who got up every dawn when she cried, who changed her diapers, who sang to her until she fell asleep. Diego and Tomás were part of all that, yes, but the little girl called me daddy, and for me that was everything.

Months later, Marisol asked if we could have another. She had always wanted a big family, and so had I. I said yes without hesitation. This time there wasn’t even any awkward conversation with the guys: they were already part of the house, the routine, our life. That same night the three of them took turns on her until dawn, and I watched her come so many times I lost count, her cunt overflowing with semen onto the sheets.

Today we have four children and Marisol is expecting the fifth. The people who see us in the square see a couple with a bunch of kids and two friends who are always around. No one imagines the story of how we got here, and it’s better that way.

I know many will read this and think the worst of me. That I’m not a man, that I lost my dignity, that I let myself go. I understand. There were nights when I asked myself the same thing. But then I open the bedroom door and see my children asleep, and Marisol happy, riding one of the two of them with her belly already round with the fifth, and I feel that of all the possible lives, I chose the only one in which no one was left without what they wanted most.

This isn’t the story I planned. It’s the one I got. And, against all odds, I wouldn’t change it for any other.