I Gave My Wife Permission, and I Wasn’t Ready for That Call

It started long before that afternoon at the cinema, though I never had the courage to say it out loud. For months I had been imagining Tamara with another man, and the mere idea dragged me to a contradictory place where jealousy boiled alongside an arousal I struggled to admit. My wife was twenty-nine, with a smile that still blushed easily and a body that had known only me. Maybe that was why the fantasy obsessed me so much: imagining those tits I had sucked a thousand times being squeezed by other hands, that tight cunt that only my cock had opened being penetrated by an unfamiliar dick.

That afternoon we went to see a French indie film, one of those that plays in the small theater downtown and leaves without much fanfare. It was about a couple about to get married who, encouraged by some open-minded friends, decide to try sex with other people before pledging fidelity. It was a mediocre script, full of slow shots and pretentious dialogue, but the subject left us silent for the first ten minutes on the drive back to the car.

“They did it really fast,” Tamara said at last, turning the radio down low. “From the moment they suggest it to when they jump in, barely two scenes pass.”

“The movie’s an hour and a half, babe. If they think about it too much, we’d fall asleep in the seats.”

She laughed, but the laugh lasted less than usual. I was hanging on that detail, on any crack where I could wedge the question that had been turning over in my head for weeks.

“We could try something like that sometime,” she let slip, without looking at me, pretending to focus on the red traffic light.

I felt my stomach drop two floors. I gave a nervous laugh I didn’t recognize in myself and said the only thing I could think of.

“No way. You wouldn’t be up for something like that.”

“I wouldn’t be up for it? Test me and see.”

She said it with a calm that wasn’t entirely a joke. The light changed and we pulled off. We talked about it the whole way home, half joking, half serious. When we got to the apartment, we fucked like we hadn’t since our anniversary trip. I tore her clothes off in the hallway, shoved her against the wall, and slid my hand between her legs over her panties. She was soaked, dripping, with panties so wet they clung to her cunt. I ripped her panties off in one yank and sank two fingers into her pussy while I bit her neck. She clutched my waist and reached for my fly with both hands, desperate to get my cock out. When she managed it, she dropped to her knees in the hallway and took it into her mouth all the way to the base. She sucked me with a hunger I didn’t know in her, sucking me with her eyes closed, pinching her own nipples with one hand while with the other she stroked my balls. I grabbed her hair and fucked her mouth at my own pace, feeling her throat tighten around my head. When I was about to come, I pulled her up, laid her on the couch, and drove my cock into her in one thrust. She screamed. I fucked her cunt with rage, propping her legs on my shoulders, going in all the way and pulling almost completely out before shoving myself back deep inside. I shut my eyes and imagined she was with another man, someone faceless but with huge hands, with a cock thicker than mine opening her cunt while I watched from a corner. I came inside her harder than I had in years, in long bursts, while biting one of her nipples. Later, in the darkness of the bedroom, she confessed in my ear that she had imagined the same thing too, that she came thinking I was someone else, and she asked me to keep rubbing her clit until she came a second time, with my semen still dripping down the insides of her thighs.

***

Three or four days went by with my libido through the roof and the fantasy even higher. I expected her to bring the subject back up, to open the door again, but Tamara said nothing. She came back from the studio, talked about her clients and her color proofs, and went into the shower as if the cinema conversation had never happened. One Friday, while we were eating reheated pasta, I decided to go for it myself.

“Hey, whatever happened with getting permission to sleep with other people?”

She lifted her eyes from her plate and looked at me with a tight smile. She tucked her hair behind her ear, that gesture she makes when something interests her more than she wants to admit.

“I thought you’d ruled it out. Since you weren’t pushing it, I figured you’d chickened out.”

“Not at all. In fact, I already have a date next Friday.”

I said it without thinking, with a boldness that came from some strange place. It was a lie, of course. There was no date. I had the faintest idea how to organize something like that.

“You’re fast!” she laughed, this time genuinely. “Who’s the lucky girl?”

“Lorena, the girl at the bar on the corner. She’s been flirting with me for months.”

I held the lie together with one detail that was true: there was a Lorena at the bar, a friendly girl who sometimes served us drinks. Tamara had seen her a couple of times. But between that and her supposedly being crazy about me there was an entire universe of distance.

“Fine,” she said, getting up to take the plates to the sink. “Fair is fair. I’ve got mine too.”

I felt the back of my neck burn.

“You? Who?”

“Remember the technician who came to fix the air conditioning last week? Marcos, the one with the thick mustache.”

I remembered him perfectly. A tall, solid man, the kind who walks into a house and fills it without trying. He must have been about forty and had a way of looking at Tamara that day which I had decided to ignore.

“Seriously? You think he’d be into it?”

She turned from the sink, drying her hands with a dish towel, and yanked her T-shirt off in one motion. Underneath she wasn’t wearing a bra. Her breasts, full and firm, with her nipples already hardened by the cold kitchen air, were pointed at me.

“The way he looked at me that day, I highly doubt he’d say no.”

And in that instant, I knew she had already decided everything before I had.

***

Friday came sooner than I wanted and later than she expected. I had toyed with the idea of renting a hotel room and getting drunk alone, to keep up the alibi, but in the end I called two friends from work and convinced them to have a few beers. I told them Tamara was at her cousin’s birthday party. Marcos was supposed to come “check the equipment” at seven-thirty. I showed up at the bar at nine.

I ordered a pitcher and checked the clock every ten minutes. At eleven, still nothing. At twelve, I stopped checking. My friends were telling office stories and I nodded along, not hearing a single word. My phone felt like a stone in my pocket. Every time someone else’s phone vibrated, I jumped. In my head I saw her with her legs open, with another man’s cock going in and out of her cunt, and my own cock got hard under the table whether I wanted it to or not.

At one-oh-nine, mine buzzed. A voice message. I walked out of the bar, stood on the sidewalk, and listened with my breath held.

“Baby, come home. Marcos just left. It was… it was incredible.”

Her voice was still shaking. I called a taxi without saying goodbye to anyone and gave the driver our address with a dry throat and cold hands.

***

I climbed the three flights on foot because the elevator was taking too long. The apartment door wasn’t locked, just pulled shut. I pushed it open slowly. The air smelled like sex. It smelled of sweat, of a masculine cologne that wasn’t mine, of cum and fucked cunt, of something sweet and hot I couldn’t quite identify. The hallway light was off. Only the little lamp in the bedroom cast a yellow rectangle on the floor.

Tamara was lying face down on the rumpled sheets, one arm hanging toward the floor. One leg was exposed, still trembling slightly, as if her muscles hadn’t fully settled yet. Her white lace panties were tossed a meter from the bed, with a dark wet stain at the crotch. There was a used condom on the floor, swollen and full, another crumpled one on the nightstand, and a third at the foot of the bed. Three.

I sat on the edge of the mattress and kissed her shoulder. She smelled like him. A thread of semen was running down the inside of her thigh, white and thick, mixed with her own juices.

“Don’t turn on the light, please,” she whispered without opening her eyes. “How did it go with the girl at the bar?”

“Good,” I lied for the last time. “But I’d rather know what happened here.”

She turned slowly. Her hair was stuck to her forehead and her neck was marked red, just below the ear. A bite mark that was already starting to darken. She had other marks too: her nipples were reddened, almost purplish from being sucked so much, and there were finger marks across her hips. She began to speak in a low, hoarse voice, in that tone she uses when she tells me secrets in bed.

“Marcos was forty minutes late. I opened the door in my robe, already a little made up, and he stood there in the doorway looking at me as if he couldn’t understand what I was doing like that. I asked if he wanted a glass of wine and he said yes. He sat on the couch. I sat in the armchair across from him, legs crossed and my robe half open on purpose, letting him see the swell of my breasts. We talked about work, the heat, stupid stuff. And then I asked him about you, told him you weren’t coming home to sleep tonight, that you were with someone.”

“And him?”

“He raised his eyebrows. It took him a few seconds to understand. I offered him another drink, and while I was pouring it I unbuttoned my robe and let one strap of my slip fall down. One breast was left out, my love, with the nipple hard and pointing at him. I told him, just like that, no detours: ‘Do you want to see what my husband is missing?’ And he went quiet, staring at my tits like he’d never seen a pair before. His cock showed through his pants right away. It made a huge bulge, I’m not lying.”

I clenched my jaw. I didn’t know if I was getting hard or about to cry. I was getting hard, that much I know.

“He got up from the couch and grabbed me by the waist. With that strength big men have. He lifted me like I weighed nothing and carried me to the bedroom. He threw me on the bed on my back and ripped my nightgown off in one yank, did you hear? He tore it at the seam, look, it’s still over there. He stood at the foot of the bed looking at me naked and started unbuckling his belt without taking his eyes off my cunt. When he pulled his pants down, I let out a moan, my love. A real moan, not the fake kind.”

“Why?”

“Because he was huge. I already told you on the phone, but I’m not exaggerating. He had a big cock, bigger than yours, my love. Don’t hate me for saying it, but you asked me to tell you. It was thick, curving slightly upward, full of veins throbbing when he gripped it with his hand. It must have been hard to close my fingers around it. He climbed onto the bed and spread my legs wide open, without asking anything. He looked at my cunt for a moment, like that, in silence, and opened me with his thumbs. He licked me from ass to clit in one long, slow pass. Then he sucked my clit with his lips, working it like it was a nipple, and shoved two thick fingers into my pussy at the same time. I came in his mouth in less than three minutes. I came so hard I pressed his head against me with both hands, my love. I couldn’t let him go.”

I closed my eyes. I could see every scene as if it were being projected on the wall. A thread of liquid was leaking from the head of my cock inside my pants.

“Then he got on top of me and put it in my mouth. I knelt down and sucked him all the way, slowly, like I had all the time in the world. I took him down to my throat and choked, saliva dripping from my chin down to my tits. He kept telling me to stop, that he was going to come too fast, and I didn’t stop. I sucked his balls, licked his whole cock from the base to the tip, did things to him that I don’t do to you because you never dared ask me for them. His hands sank into my hair, he set the rhythm, shoved his cock into my mouth until tears came to my eyes. And I was happy, my love. I was being a whore and I loved it.”

“And after that?”

“After that he put on the condom and lifted me on top of him. I don’t know how I ended up riding him, but when I realized it I was impaled all the way to the base, bouncing against that huge hairy chest. I felt split open, my love. I’m not lying. The first thrusts hurt and felt good at the same time. His hands were on my hips and he moved me however he wanted, lifting me up and down on his cock like I was an instrument he knew how to play. He sucked my tits while he fucked me, got a whole nipple into his mouth and bit it just as I came down. I came twice like that, one right after the other, without stopping. The second time I bit his shoulder so I wouldn’t scream and wake the neighbors. And he kept going. He lasted forever. He changed the condom without even really pulling out and kept going like nothing. He changed positions three or four times, I don’t remember the order. He had me on my back with my legs over his shoulders and he’d go so deep I could feel the tip against something, I don’t know what, something inside me you had never touched. He had me on my side and fucked me from behind, grabbing one breast with one hand and my neck with the other. At some point he had me on all fours at the edge of the bed and pulled my hair and whispered in my ear if I liked being his bitch tonight. He licked my ass while he fucked my pussy, my love. He licked me all over. No one had ever done that to me.”

“What did you say to him?”

Tamara opened her eyes and finally looked at me. They were wet, shining, as if she were still inside it.

“I told him yes. I told him tonight I was his, that he could do whatever he wanted to me. I’m your wife, my love, but tonight I was his bitch for five hours and I loved it. I want you to know that. I need to tell you. He fucked me so hard on all fours the bed hit the wall. He spanked me until my ass was red, look, touch me here, it still burns. And I asked for more. I asked him to put it deeper, to fuck me harder, to make me scream. He insulted me in my ear while he drove into me and I loved hearing it.”

The silence in the room grew thick, as if the air itself had weight. I stroked her hair and kissed her forehead. I didn’t know what to answer. There was no right answer to something like that.

“And then?” I asked, because it was the only thing I knew how to do.

“We both finished. Well, he finished twice. The first time in the condom, while he was fucking me on all fours. I felt his cock throbbing inside me and he was growling like an animal, crushing me into the mattress. The second time he took the condom off, laid me on my back, and jerked off fast over my stomach. He finished on me, my love. He covered me in semen from my navel to my tits. Long, hot spurts. He shook the last of it off onto my nipple. Then he stayed there five minutes breathing on my neck, saying nothing, with his hand spread over my breast, over his own semen that was drying on my skin. He dressed in silence, kissed me on the mouth with his tongue deep inside, and left. I called you right away, while I still smelled like him, while what he left inside me the first time was still dripping out, before the condom.”

I put my hand on her thigh. It was still hot. I slid my hand up to her pussy and found it swollen, soaked, open. When I ran a finger over her lips she shuddered all over and asked me to touch her slowly, that she was very sensitive. I stroked her clit with two fingers, slowly, and she spread her legs without thinking, eyes closed. I felt her whole body tense, felt her clench around my hand. She came again against my fingers, biting her lower lip not to moan too loudly. Then she reached for my hand, brought it to her mouth, and sucked my fingers wet with her own juices mixed with what he had left in her. She sighed and settled against my chest, exhausted, as if the confession had used up the last energy she had left. I felt her small for the first time in years, fragile in my arms, and at the same time freer than ever.

“I’ll tell you everything in more detail tomorrow,” she murmured, already almost asleep. “I’m wrecked. I love you.”

I turned off the lamp and stayed silent, staring at the ceiling, counting heartbeats, with my cock still hard against her hip and his foreign semen drying between the two of us. I had given the permission. The fantasy had been mine. The only thing I hadn’t expected was to come home and discover that she, in fact, had wanted it far more than I had.