I Filmed My Girlfriend With Another Man and Couldn't Stop

I never thought I’d write this, but I need to get it out of me or I’m not going to sleep. Lucía and I had been together for four years when the idea started. At first it was a bedroom game, a fantasy we whispered in the dark and pretended to have forgotten the next day. Until one day we stopped pretending.

She was the one who said it out loud. One dawn, her head on my chest and my cock still soft between her fingers after we’d both come, she confessed that she wanted to feel another man. Not behind my back, she made clear right away: in front of me. She wanted me to see everything, to film it, to be there while some other guy opened her legs and fucked her hard. And the strangest thing is that the idea, instead of destroying me, made me harder than I’d been in months. She noticed immediately, squeezed my cock, and laughed softly against my neck.

It took us weeks to dare. We searched forums, ruled out dozens of guys who only wanted something quick, until he showed up. He called himself Damir, a Croatian living in Amsterdam, and the first thing he sent us wasn’t a photo but a list of rules. I filmed and obeyed. Lucía obeyed and enjoyed it. He gave the orders. If we accepted, a weekend in his loft awaited us.

We accepted. We bought the tickets that same night, before we could change our minds.

***

The loft was on a quiet street in De Pijp, in a brick building with an old elevator that opened straight into the living room. Lucía had put on a long coat over a black lace set she’d picked for him, not for me, and that already told me something about the night ahead. I carried the camera in my backpack and had a knot in my stomach that I couldn’t tell if was fear or desire.

Damir was exactly like his photos and worse for my pride: taller than me, broad, tattooed arms, and a calm that filled the room. He let us in, offered us water, and went through the rules one by one, looking at her almost the whole time and at me only when it was my turn to be humiliated a little.

—You hold the camera —he told me, pointing at the tripod—. Close up. I want you to miss nothing. You wanted to be here, so now you’re going to be really here. And I want you hard while you film her. If you’re not hard, then you’re doing something wrong.

I nodded. I took out the camera with slightly clumsy hands, turned it on, and the red light stayed fixed. From that moment on everything would be recorded, and that certainty tightened my throat.

Damir came up to Lucía without haste. He unfastened her coat button by button, looking into her eyes, and when the garment fell to the floor and the lace appeared, she was already breathing with her mouth slightly open. I knew her well enough to tell she was more turned on than I’d ever made her. Her nipples were showing through the bra, and when he ran his hand over her crotch over her panties, the fabric was already dark from how wet she was.

—Come closer —he ordered without turning around—. Film your girlfriend’s face. And film this too. —He hooked two fingers on the edge of her panties and pulled them aside just enough to show the swollen, glossy cunt to the camera—. Look how wet your girl is and I haven’t even touched her yet.

***

He kissed her like he’d known her all his life. It wasn’t a shy first-date kiss; it was a kiss that folded her at the waist, left her clinging to his chest for air. He shoved his tongue all the way in and with the other hand ripped her bra off in one yank, leaving her tits bare. He grabbed both breasts, squeezed them, pinched her nipples until Lucía let out a whimper into his mouth. I was filming from a foot away, watching Lucía surrender to that mouth, hearing her moan into it, seeing her knees give way when he jammed two fingers into her cunt over the lace, and I felt something new: a mix of jealousy and desire so intense I could barely keep the camera steady. I was rock hard in my jeans too, and he knew it.

He sat on the sofa, opened his fly, and pulled out his cock. It was thicker than mine, longer, and already fully hard, with a prominent vein running along the shaft. He guided Lucía downward until she was kneeling between his legs. He looked at her for a second, then looked at me.

—Close up —he repeated—. I want it clear how she takes it in her mouth.

Lucía took him into her mouth slowly, sticking out her tongue first to lick him from the balls to the tip, with a level of devotion I’d never seen from her before. She took the whole head in and went down millimeter by millimeter until the tip touched the back of her throat and tears sprang to her eyes. She went up and down, used both hands around the shaft, made that wet, filthy sound she’d never dared make with me, pulled back to catch her breath with strings of saliva hanging from her chin, and took him all the way back in. Damir grabbed the back of her neck and started setting the rhythm, fucking her mouth without mercy.

—That’s it, you slut, all the way down —he said—. Let your boyfriend watch you suck it with his eyes.

At one point she found me with her gaze over the lens, eyes shining and mouth full, and winked at me. She was telling me, without words, how much she loved having another cock in her throat while I filmed him. She pulled back, spat on the head, rubbed it against her tits, shoved it back in. She kept sucking him like that until his thighs went tight and he had to push her away by the forehead so he wouldn’t come yet.

—Lie down —he told her after a while, lifting her effortlessly and laying her on the sofa.

He ripped her panties off completely, threw them in her face, and spread her legs with both hands until she was fully open against the backrest. He lowered his head and drove his tongue between the lips of her cunt in one long lick, bottom to top, ending on the clit. He sucked it with hunger, nibbled it, slipped two fingers into her and curled them, searching for that spot inside while he kept eating her out. What followed Lucía hadn’t experienced with me in years: she arched her back, clutched the cushions, squeezed her thighs shut around his head and opened them again, stopped controlling the sounds she made. Her moans broke into screams, and she started saying “like that, like that, don’t stop, like that” to the camera, to me, to no one. She came against his mouth with a long cry that echoed off the bare loft walls, soaking his beard, and I filmed everything, close up, with my free hand dug into my thigh so I wouldn’t shake and my cock jerking inside my pants.

—Good girl —he said, wiping himself with the back of his hand and then showing the shiny fingers to the camera—. Now the important part. Keep filming, and you —he pointed without looking at me— get where you can see everything. I want you to watch him go in.

***

When he positioned himself over her, my mouth went dry. He ran the tip of his cock along the lips of her cunt, up and down, soaking himself in what she’d just come from. He teased her once, twice, never quite entering, until Lucía lifted her hips, begging him. Then he pushed. Lucía took him slowly, centimeter by centimeter, with her fingers dug into his shoulders and her face twisted between pain and a pleasure that was too much for her body. I filmed the joining from below: how the shaft disappeared inside her, how the lips of her cunt stretched around it, how he came out glossy and went back in. Each thrust pulled a sharp, almost surprised “ah” from Lucía, as if she still couldn’t quite believe what was happening to her each time.

—Tell your boyfriend what you feel —he ordered without stopping, going deeper and harder each time.

Lucía turned her head toward the camera, toward me, with glassy eyes and slack mouth.

—It’s… different —she panted to the rhythm of his thrusts—. It’s not like with you. It’s more. It’s bigger. It gets inside me. I feel everything, everything.

It should have hurt more than it did. And the truth is that it hurt and turned me on in equal measure, and I hated not knowing how to tell the two things apart. I kept filming while he changed her position without asking: he turned her face down, lifted her ass with one hand and grabbed her hair with the other, and drove into her again with a hard thrust that made the sofa tremble. He slapped her ass until it was red, fucked her like that on all fours, her tits bouncing against the cushion and her mouth open against the fabric. Then he pulled her up, sat down, and let her set the pace sitting on top of him, impaled to the hilt, moving back and forth while he sucked her nipples and dug his fingers into her hips. Lucía came on him again, her whole body curling in on itself, and again when he laid her on her side and lifted one leg over his shoulder to enter her from a new angle. She lost count, lost herself. Saliva dripped from the corner of her mouth, there were red marks on her neck, her breasts, the insides of her thighs. I didn’t exist except as the hand holding the camera and the hard bulge between my legs that I no longer bothered to hide.

The session went on so long I lost track of time. Damir wasn’t in any hurry to finish; he controlled every minute as if the clock obeyed him too. He pulled out all the way, waited for her to whine and beg for it again, then shoved it back in to the hilt. When he finally said he was close, he put her on her back, told her to look at him, and stayed inside her, pushing deeper, faster, until every muscle in his body tightened over hers.

—Film this —he said, and for the first time his voice sounded rough, almost human—. Film me filling her up.

I filmed him emptying himself into her with three, four long, deep thrusts, how he clenched his teeth and let out a low growl, how Lucía closed her eyes and released a very long sigh as she felt the hot stream of semen spilling inside her. When he pulled out slowly, the cum started leaking out of her cunt, white and thick, sliding down her perineum onto the sofa. Damir gestured for me to move the lens closer, and I filmed the close-up of my girlfriend open and full of another man’s semen, her thighs trembling and her swollen cunt dripping what someone else had just left inside her. I filmed the silence that followed, the sound of both their breathing, the drip of streetlight coming through the window. And I realized, with the camera shaking in my hands, that I had just witnessed the most intimate and the most humiliating moment of my life, and I didn’t want to erase it.

***

He stepped away completely, wiped his cock with a towel without taking his eyes off me, and gave me a half-smile.

—Your turn —he said—. Not so you can enjoy yourself. So you can feel the difference. Stick it in now, with mine still inside her, and see what you notice.

I’m not going to pretend I refused. I left the camera on the tripod, still recording, pulled my pants down with clumsy fingers, and got between Lucía’s legs. My cock was sore from being hard for so long. She took me without resisting, still trembling, and reached for my face with both hands.

—Keep going —she whispered—. It’s okay. Keep going, my love.

I thrust into her in one stroke and nearly came right there. It was the strangest sensation I remember: the absurd heat inside her, how open and slick she felt, another man’s semen coating my entire cock with every push, spilling out at the edges when I went in deep. Damir’s gaze watched everything from the couch, arms crossed, his cock half-hard again, satisfied. Each thrust made a wet, obscene sound, and Lucía looked up at me with a strange tenderness while running her hands down my back. She made me feel small and, at the same time, part of something neither of us knew how to name. I held off without finishing, pulled out before I came, not because I was told to, but because I felt that ending didn’t belong to me that night.

—That’s enough —he said after a while, standing up—. Good first session. Tomorrow, if you want, we can do it again.

I turned off the camera with numb fingers. The loft fell into a strange, dense silence while Lucía and I dressed without speaking, avoiding each other’s eyes like two accomplices to something we still didn’t understand. She put the torn panties in her bag.

***

In the taxi back to the hotel, Lucía rested her head on my shoulder and didn’t say anything for a long while. I watched the wet streetlights pass by and mentally replayed every shot I’d filmed, unable to decide whether what I felt was love, jealousy, or both boiled together.

—Are you okay? —she asked at last, in a thread of a voice.

—I don’t know —I answered, and it was the truth—. And you?

She took a while to answer. When she did, she squeezed my hand and guided it under her coat until she put it between her legs. She was still wet, still hot.

—I’ve never felt so desired. And I’ve never felt so close to you as when I was looking at you behind the camera.

That night, in the small hotel room, we put the video on the phone and watched it together, wrapped around each other in bed. Two minutes in, she was on top of me again, naked, with the screen propped against the pillow beside us. She sat on my cock and lowered herself all the way down in one go, her cunt still sensitive, moaning softly so as not to wake the man in the next room. She moved slowly, watching the video over my shoulder, whispering in my ear what she had felt at every moment: how Damir’s first thrust hurt, how she came unable to stop herself with his mouth between her legs, how she felt the hot stream inside when he came. I lost control and came a few minutes later, thrusting upward inside her while on the screen another man was coming in her cunt too. I don’t know exactly at what point I understood that this wasn’t going to be a one-time thing. Maybe when she, without taking her eyes off the screen, whispered that she wanted to go back.

—Tomorrow —she said, more statement than question, while I was still inside her—. Are we going back tomorrow?

I looked at her. She looked tired and yet lit up, waiting for my answer as if everything depended on it.

—We’re going back —I said.

***

We wrote to Damir in the morning, the two of us together, choosing every word. We thanked him, asked for a second session, promised to follow his rules again. He replied in less than ten minutes with a time and a single sentence: to get ourselves ready.

We spent the day in a cloud of nerves. Lucía bought a new set, this time red, bolder, with mesh panties that barely covered anything. I cleaned the camera lens three times for no reason, just to keep my hands busy. Neither of us mentioned the obvious: that we had crossed a line we couldn’t come back from, and that we no longer wanted to come back.

Months have passed since that first trip. We have an entire folder of videos that only the two of us ever watch, and a secret that binds us more than it separates us. People would say I lost something that night in Amsterdam. I, when I’m completely honest, know I found a version of Lucía and of myself that I didn’t know existed.

I don’t expect anyone to understand. I only needed to tell it, once, exactly as it happened. And to confess that, if she asked me right now, I’d pick up the camera again without hesitation.