I Confess What Happened on the Mountain with That Couple

I’m forty-eight years old, and the mountain is the only thing that truly belongs to me. I get up before daylight breaks, lace up my trail shoes, and head out to devour the paths I know by heart. No gym machine can match what a steep climb does to you with cold air slapping your face.

In autumn I change pace. Mushroom season comes, and then I stop running and spend hours crouched among the brush, hands full of dirt and fingers stained green. I know the good spots, the ones you don’t tell anyone about and keep for yourself.

I need that silence. The smell of damp earth, pine, wet rock. I like going home with the basket overflowing, my boots filthy, my body wrecked. That’s why what I’m about to tell still throws me off, because I go up into the mountains to be alone.

***

That October morning I was hunting saffron milk caps when I heard voices among the trees. At first I thought someone was calling their dog, but they sounded far too urgent. I followed the echo until I came out into a narrow clearing and saw them.

A young couple, in their thirties, decked out in that technical gear from expensive brands. He was sitting against a rock, face twisted in pain, clutching his right leg. Dark-haired, short beard, athletic build. Every time he tried to move his ankle, he clenched his teeth.

She was crouched beside him, hair pulled back into a high ponytail, blonde and petite, asking him over and over if he was okay. She looked scared, lost, not knowing what to do with her hands.

“Do you need help?” I said, stepping out from between the pines.

They both startled. He tried to sit up with a grimace.

“Yeah, fuck… I twisted my ankle coming down over the rocks. I can’t put weight on it,” he replied.

She turned to me, relieved.

“Do you know the area? We don’t know how to get down from here.”

I set the basket on the ground, crouched, and felt along his leg carefully. It wasn’t the ankle.

“You’ve got a calf cramp,” I told him. “It’s locked up solid.”

I pulled down his technical sock and felt the calf hard as stone. A textbook cramp, the kind you get from lack of preparation.

“My name’s Diego,” he said, bearing the pain, “and she’s Carla, my wife.”

“Andrés,” I said, and started working his calf with my thumbs, digging them into the muscle. “This is going to hurt, but there’s no other way.”

Diego grabbed a root to endure it. While I pressed, I looked him over properly. The guy had a defined torso, broad shoulders, the arms of someone who spends hours on the weights. But his legs were another story: thin, soft, undefined. A bench-press bro who skips leg day. You could tell at a glance.

“Been a long time since you trained legs?” I asked without looking up.

He went red.

“I focus more on upper body…”

Carla let out a nervous little laugh.

“I tell him that all the time, but he never listens to me.”

I kept kneading the knot, slowly working up toward the back of the knee, feeling the muscle begin to give under my fingers. Diego breathed deeply, trying to relax.

And then I saw it.

A bulge was starting to show beneath his gray tracksuit pants. It was getting bigger while I worked his leg, and he kept shifting position trying to hide it, but there was no way. Carla noticed too. She stared at her husband’s crotch for a full second, then burst out laughing.

“Enjoying the massage, babe?” she teased, pointing straight at the package without any pretense at all.

Diego turned his face toward the trees, red to the ears. He said nothing. Didn’t deny it. Just sat there with the erection clearly outlined and the shame burning his face.

I kept going like nothing was happening, though inside things were starting to stir. They were both hot. But I kept my cool.

“That’s normal,” I said calmly, still not letting go of his leg. “Deep massage gets the circulation going. Happens to a lot of people.”

Carla was still smiling, amused by the scene.

“You’ve got a good body,” I told Diego as I finished. “Your upper body is seriously worked.”

He nodded, still blushing, with a shy smile of pride. The calf was looser now. I stood up, dusting my hands off, and when I rose I felt my own cock half-awake, pressing against my trekking pants. The situation had turned me on more than I’d expected.

***

Carla stood too, relieved.

“Thank you so much, really. I don’t know what we would have done without you.”

She came over with her arms open to kiss me on the cheek. I leaned toward her, and when I turned slightly my crotch ended up right in front of Diego’s face, still seated against the rock. My bulge, outlined in the fabric, at eye level.

He froze. His gaze dropped to my crotch before he could help it. Carla finished the kiss, pulled back, and then she noticed it too. A strange silence fell, thick, the kind that changes everything.

Diego turned his face and started rubbing my bulge with his cheek, slowly, as if testing it. I felt the rough tickle of his beard through my pants. A soft, deliberate brush.

I looked at Carla. She wasn’t looking away. She was smiling, but not nervously: it was a heated smile, eyes shining, lip between her teeth. This was their thing. They’d done it before. One of those couples.

Diego looked up at me, my crotch pressed against his face.

“Can I?” he asked in a husky voice.

I nodded without saying a word.

He started over the fabric, kissing, tracing the length of my cock with his lips, his tongue slipping out to dampen my pants. And he moaned low, guttural, as if every brush felt good. I finished getting hard inside my clothes, and he felt it and pressed harder, leaving the fabric soaked with spit.

Carla knelt beside her husband, fascinated. Still smiling, she slipped her hands into the waistband of my pants and slid them down, freeing me. The mountain air hit my skin, and Diego opened his mouth on instinct.

“My husband only gets hard with a cock in his mouth,” Carla said, half mocking, half turned on, stroking his hair. “And they say he sucks beautifully. Right, baby?”

Diego only moaned and nodded, eyes locked on me. Then he opened wide and took me in.

Fuck. He was good. I felt it right away: his tongue circling the glans, lips tight to create pressure, throat relaxed to take me deeper. It was nowhere near his first time. The guy knew exactly what he was doing.

Carla bit her lip, one hand going to her crotch over her pants.

“Look how much he’s enjoying it,” she whispered. “He loves it.”

Diego didn’t stop. He breathed hard through his nose each time he took me to the hilt, snorting, desperate to feel me fill his throat. He grabbed my ass with both hands, dug in his fingers, and started fucking his own mouth, pulling me toward him again and again. He was enjoying it more than I was, rubbing his own cock against the air while he swallowed me down.

Carla had taken off her leggings and was touching herself over her underwear, watching her husband like he was something that belonged to her.

“That’s it, baby,” she encouraged him. “Take it all.”

Without taking her eyes off him, she yanked his tracksuit pants and underwear down to his knees. Diego’s cock was rock hard, pointing upward, a thread of fluid gleaming on the tip.

“Look at that,” Carla said, running a finger over the glans. “Leaking just from sucking.”

She gave his cheek a soft pat without taking me out of his mouth.

“You love it, huh? Knowing he’s going to fill you while I watch.”

I felt the pressure rise from the base. I grabbed his head.

“Open your mouth,” I said. “Now.”

Diego let go of me at once and stayed there with his mouth open, tongue out. Carla was kneeling beside me, watching. The second his lips closed around the glans, the first shot burst out.

“Fuck,” I growled as I came hard.

He closed his mouth and took it without hesitation, his throat working as he swallowed. He didn’t let go for a second: kept sucking, drawing out the last drop, cheeks hollowed by the suction. Even when I stopped coming, he kept cleaning me with his tongue, looking for any trace left behind.

“The bastard’s got a real addiction,” I said between gasps.

Carla licked her lips and grabbed her husband’s face.

“Open up. I want to see if you swallowed it all.”

Diego opened his mouth, a line of saliva hanging from my glans. Hardly anything was left. Carla leaned in to kiss him, hunting for my taste on his tongue, and the two of them moaned as they devoured each other’s mouths.

***

When they pulled apart, Carla looked at me with dilated pupils. Then she fixed her gaze on her husband, who was still red, swollen, and dripping over the dirt of the mountain.

“After the meat comes the fish,” she told him with that superior smile that turned me on even more. “Now you’re going to eat me.”

She sat back against the rock, spread her legs abruptly, and shoved his head down toward her crotch. Diego didn’t resist. He jerked her underwear down in one pull, exposing his wife’s wet, glossy sex, and buried his face between her thighs. The obscene sound of his tongue filled the silence of the mountain.

“Fuck, Andrés,” she panted, looking at me. “He licks better after swallowing a load.”

Her moans started rising, higher and higher, broken and breathy. Her legs trembled against Diego’s face. She grabbed the rock but it wasn’t enough, and she stretched her arms toward me, looking for support. I held her by the waist just as her knees gave out.

“Don’t stop… don’t stop…” she panted against my ear, her nails digging into the back of my neck.

I could feel her ragged breathing against my throat, her chest rising and falling, crushed against mine. Her whole body tightened all at once.

“I’m coming…” she whispered, voice broken.

She clamped her thighs around her husband’s head, trapping him, and buried her face in my shoulder so she wouldn’t scream while the waves rolled through her. I held her firmly, feeling her shake all over in my arms. Diego didn’t let up: he kept licking, drawing out every spasm.

When she calmed down, she lifted her head from my shoulder, cheeks red, hair mussed.

“Fuck, Andrés,” she said hoarsely. “I need you to fuck me.”

I brought my lips to hers slowly, almost uncertainly, barely brushing them. But Carla wasn’t in the mood for delicacy. She crashed against my mouth with brutal intensity, thrusting her tongue deep inside, biting my lip, grabbing my hair to press me harder against her. I kissed her back just as fiercely, hands going down to her ass, feeling her grind against my cock, which was waking up again.

At our feet, Diego looked up, his cock dripping nonstop, making a puddle in the dirt.

Carla pulled back only to breathe and looked at her husband with a wicked smile.

“Baby,” she said in that tone between mockery and desire, “I’m going to make one of your fantasies come true. You’re going to take this cock” —she pointed at my dick, now almost fully hard— “and you’re going to put it inside me yourself.”

Diego’s face lit up. His cock jerked.

“Carla…” he whispered, trembling.

“Yes, you are,” she cut him off. “You’ve been asking me for months to fuck another man in front of you. Well, here it is. But you’re the one who’s going to put it in me.”

I stayed still, letting her take the lead. Carla braced herself against the rock and spread her legs wide, open and still wet from her husband’s tongue.

“Come here, Andrés.”

I stood in front of her, cock pointed toward her sex. Carla looked at Diego with authority.

“Come on. Take it in your hand and put it in. Slowly.”

Diego swallowed, trembling, but obeyed. He reached out and gripped my cock with uncertain, hot fingers. I felt him shudder at the touch.

“Fuck,” he breathed, feeling my thickness in his palm.

I didn’t think about anything else, not what would happen after or how I’d gotten there. This doesn’t happen to me, I remember thinking. In slow motion I watched my cock enter Carla’s sex, guided by her husband’s hand, who was watching everything in a state of ecstasy, not blinking, as if this were what he’d been waiting for all his life.