I Came Home and My Husband Asked Me About My Fantasy

I boarded the plane knowing that layover marked the end of one thing and the beginning of something else I still didn’t know how to name. My parents had paid for my return ticket to Cartagena the same afternoon I confessed everything to them. Between Andrés and my children, there was no doubt. I would choose them a thousand times over. But the pain of knowing I was also leaving behind something that had made me feel alive for months didn’t fit in my chest.

When I landed, Mom and my brother Damián were waiting for me on the other side of the glass. My husband wasn’t. I didn’t have the face to blame him for it. I clutched my bag against my body and walked toward them with the feeling that each step was another charge on my record.

—Hi, honey —Mom said, and hugged me without much strength.

Damián didn’t hug me. He took the suitcase from my hand without looking at me and started toward the exit. I followed him in silence, biting my lip so I wouldn’t cry yet.

In the taxi home, Mom waited three traffic lights before speaking.

—Do you know what you did to Mateo?

—I do.

—Do you know what you could have done to those children?

—That too.

Damián was looking out the window. When he spoke, he did it without turning his head.

—Why, Camila?

I couldn’t answer right away. I squeezed my eyes shut until I felt the pressure behind my forehead.

—Life over there was sad. Andrés reached out his hand when I was drowning, and I fell into his hands. That doesn’t justify it. I know. But I don’t want to lie to you and say it was only desire.

Mom sighed. Damián stayed silent. I cried against the window for the rest of the ride.

***

When I walked into the house, Mateo was sitting in the living room with his hands clasped between his knees. Mom and Damián said goodbye in short phrases and left. They left us alone.

He cried before saying anything. Not in a scene. He cried with that contained rage of a man no one ever taught how to cry. I sat down in front of him without knowing where to put my hands.

—I didn’t expect this from you, Camila. Not from you.

—I know.

—The kids can never find out. Never. Do you hear me? We both take care of that forever.

I nodded.

—We’re going to act like a couple. We’re going to be fine in front of them. But if one day either of us decides to leave, that person goes with nothing. We don’t take fights with us, we don’t take memories with us, we never see each other again. That’s the only condition I ask of you.

—Okay.

—Swear it to me.

—I swear.

That same afternoon we told Mom and Damián. Mateo laid it out calmly, as if he were reading a contract. My mother cried less than in the taxi. My brother looked at me with something like respect, though also with distrust.

When they left, the house fell silent again. The children were with my mother-in-law. Mateo stayed in the shower for a long time. I sat on the bed in the master bedroom, listening to the water, smelling his soap, smelling everything I hadn’t smelled in months and that suddenly hit me hard.

***

When he came out of the bathroom, he was wearing only a towel. His hair was wet and his eyes were tired. I got up from the bed and walked toward him. I took the towel off without asking and let it fall to the floor. I looked at his cock hanging there, still soft, and knelt without thinking twice.

—I’m not in the mood —he said quietly.

—I am.

I took it in my right hand, weighed it, stroked it from the base to the head with my thumb. I shoved it all the way into my mouth before he could say another word. I felt it grow against my tongue, thick, hot, throbbing. I sucked his dick slowly, hollowing my tongue to take him all the way in, choking a little when the tip hit the back of my throat. I ran my tongue over his balls, sucked them one by one, mouthed them while I kept jerking him off with my hand. I heard the moan first, then the panting, then the low, animal grunt that told me I had won.

I pushed him against the bathroom door with his cock hard against my face. I stood and kissed him, letting him taste his own flavor in my mouth. I bit his neck, his shoulders, his chest. I bit the lobe of his ear and whispered something I had never said before.

—Hit me.

He froze. I looked him in the eyes.

—Hit me. A slap. For everything I did to you. I want you to give it to me.

—Camila…

—Do it.

He did. Just one, but hard. My face burned and my eyes filled with tears that weren’t only from pain. I smiled at him with my cheek red.

—Another one.

He gave it to me on the other side. He yanked my hair and made me look at him. I grabbed his cock again and took it back into my mouth, moaning with my throat full, while he held my head with both hands and fucked my mouth standing against the door. He shoved it in all the way. He made me truly cry, with drool hanging from my lips, with my makeup smeared, with my breath stolen.

He dragged me by the hair to the bed, threw me face down on the mattress, and ripped my clothes off in jerks. He spread my legs with his knee. He slid two fingers into my cunt in one thrust and found me soaked, dripping, with a wetness I hadn’t given him in months.

—Look how you are —he told me in my ear, voice rough—. Look how slutty your cunt is.

—Put it in me —I begged—. Put it all in me, Mateo. Break me.

He slammed into me in one thrust, all the way to the hilt. A scream tore out of me into the pillow. He started fucking me in and out with a fury I had never felt from him, gripping my hips, spanking my ass with his open hand, leaving each slap stamped into my skin. I lifted my ass to take him better, arched my back, pressed my tits into the sheets. I asked him to hit me harder. I asked him to call me a whore. I asked him to come inside me and leave me smelling like him for days.

He pulled out, grabbed my hair, and forced me to kneel on the floor. He shoved his cock into my mouth still soaked with my cunt and made me suck it that way, looking down at me. I saw the face of a man in whom someone had lit a match in his chest after years of being extinguished.

—Swallow —he said when he felt my legs trembling.

I came before he did, with two fingers on my clit, moaning with my mouth open and his cock on my tongue. He came immediately after, in thick, hot spurts that slid down my throat, dribbled from the corners of my mouth, fell onto my tits when he pulled his cock out to smear my face with the last drop. I licked his head. I licked the semen left on his skin. I smiled at him with semen hanging from my chin.

I begged him to unload on my body all the rage that upbringing, pride, or love had kept him from unloading on my face. And he did. He turned me over again, shoved his fingers into my ass, spread my cheeks and spat there. He pushed his thumb in up to the knuckle. I shouted yes. He climbed onto the bed, took me from behind with the cock that had already gone hard again, and worked it slowly into my asshole while I bit the pillow and begged him not to stop. He gave me everything. He gave it to me two more times before dawn.

It was a punishment, and I needed it.

When we finished, we were both crying. He held me with a strength I had never felt from him. I fell asleep thinking that maybe that pact could work, with semen still running between my thighs.

***

The days passed and something new started to show. I wasn’t who I had been before. And neither was he.

He bought me tiny clothes. Black lace bras, heart-print thongs, fishnet stockings he made me debut in on something as trivial as going grocery shopping. I wore them under my dress and sometimes showed them to him in the car before getting out. I’d spread my legs in the passenger seat, pull the thong aside with two fingers, and show him my shaved cunt, shiny, waiting for him. He’d squeeze my thigh with a mix of pride and possession that hadn’t been there before. Sometimes he’d slide two fingers in right there, in the supermarket parking lot, until he made me come against the seat belt, people passing by the car with no idea of anything.

In bed he had become someone else. A Mateo I didn’t know. Rougher, more persistent, more capable of asking me for things he never would have dared name. He fucked me against the bathroom mirror so I could watch my face as he put it in. He made me kneel beside the bed and suck his cock before sleeping, every night, like a ritual. He spit in my mouth. He filled my tits with cum. He worked it into my ass with saliva and made me enjoy it. And I responded. More every night. Every night asking him for more.

—I’m your whore —I’d whisper in his ear while he fucked me from behind.

—My whore.

—Yours. Only yours. Right?

—Only mine.

—Tell me again —I panted, face pressed into the mattress—. Tell me I’m your dirty whore.

—You’re my dirty whore —he growled, squeezing my neck with his hand—. You’re my bitch. This cunt is mine.

But something started to fail. I could feel it. I needed more and he was getting emptier and emptier. We’d finish, and twenty minutes later I’d already be stroking him again, sucking his soft cock to wake it up, rubbing my cunt against his leg, seeking his mouth with my fingers wet with me. He tried to keep up. I’d suck his cock for long minutes until I managed to get a half-hard erection out of him, mount him, ride him while chasing a second orgasm that almost never came as quickly as I needed it to. After a while he would fall asleep with his cock outside, defeated, and I’d go to the bathroom to finish myself off alone, with three fingers inside and my thumb on my clit, biting the back of my hand so I wouldn’t make a sound. I’d come thinking of two, three, four cocks at once. I’d go back to bed with my thighs trembling and my chest empty.

***

One morning, after a particularly intense week, he sat on the edge of the bed and covered his face with his hands.

—Love, I don’t know what happened to me. I don’t know what happened to us. You wore me out.

I sat down behind him and hugged his back.

—Don’t worry. We’ll rest.

—It’s not about resting, Camila. It’s that I can’t keep up with you anymore. And it pisses me off. It really pisses me off. I feel like something woke up in you that I can’t switch off anymore.

His voice broke. I let go of the hug and started crying as I stared at the wall. I didn’t know what to tell him. He was right.

***

Several days passed without us talking about it. One Sunday afternoon, the kids were with my mother-in-law again. We were on the terrace, him drinking a beer, me with a coffee. The sun was dropping behind the hills and everything seemed calm. Then he said it.

—Camila. I’m going to ask you a question, and I want you to answer me truthfully. No matter what.

I looked at him.

—What’s your sexual fantasy?

I felt my throat close up. I thought of several answers. I thought about lying to him. I thought about saying something sweet, something he could fulfill on his own, something that wouldn’t put us on the edge of a cliff again. But we were already in another place. And lying to him now was worse than any truth.

—Do you really want the truth?

—The truth.

I breathed in.

—I want to be with several men. At the same time. I want all three holes filled at once. I want one cock in my mouth, another in my cunt, and another in my ass. I want them to pull my hair, spit on me, come inside and on top of me and on my face. I want to feel like their whore. I want them to use me like a piece of meat. And if they pay me, even better.

I didn’t dare look at him right away. When I did, I expected to find rage. But there was no rage. There was something more complicated in his eyes. A mix of defeat, curiosity, and beneath it all, a spark I hadn’t seen in years. I also saw his cock hardening against his pants.

—All right.

—What?

—That’s fine, Camila. We’ll do it.

I lost my breath.

—I’m going to make that fantasy come true for you. But with two conditions. First: I’m always there. I’m not leaving you alone with anyone I haven’t seen before. Second: I choose. I decide. I pick the right people. There are ways online. There are sites for this. I’m going to look into it and give you an answer.

I didn’t know what to say. I took his hand. He squeezed mine.

That night we didn’t fuck. We only slept wrapped around each other. But I didn’t sleep a wink for hours, thinking about the yes he had just given me, about the look on some stranger’s face when I walked into a hotel room, about Mateo’s voice telling them what they could and couldn’t do to me. Thinking about the woman I had been until a year ago and the one I was about to become.

Tomorrow, when the children woke up, everything would seem normal. Breakfast, school, kisses on the cheek, bedtime stories. And underneath it all, the new pact my husband and I had just signed, a pact without witnesses, without paper, without turning back.

At three in the morning, still awake, my cunt throbbing just from imagining it, I reached for him under the sheets. I found him hard. This time not to take anything. Just to make sure he was still there. I sucked him slowly, not waking him completely, and swallowed him whole when he came half-asleep in my mouth.