My Husband Planned Everything with His Best Friend

I’m going to tell this exactly as it happened, without dressing it up, because I still don’t fully understand why I let it happen. That summer night, in the patio of my house, I ended up alone with Damián, my husband’s best friend. Tomás had already gone to bed, defeated by the heat and the beers, and we stayed outside, talking as if we’d known each other forever.

Damián had that ease that made me laugh at anything he said. He wore his shirt open, his broad chest and dark skin barely gleaming under the lights hanging from the eaves. I was in shorts and an oversized T-shirt, with nothing underneath, and only then did I realize how little the tight fabric left to the imagination, pressed against my tits, my nipples hardening beneath the thin cotton.

I couldn’t stop looking at him. His huge hands around the bottle, his defined arms, that mouth that spoke slowly. I’d been noticing him for weeks, ever since he’d stayed at the house for a few days. I’d spied on him in the bathroom one morning, the door deliberately left half open, and I’d seen the cock hanging between his legs, thick and long even at rest. Since that day I hadn’t been able to get the image out of my head. And he knew it.

All of a sudden he stood up without warning and I jumped.

—Relax —he said, lowering his voice—. Look at what a beautiful night. Dark, perfect. Your white skin shines more than the moon.

I blushed like a teenager.

—That’s the alcohol talking —I answered, trying to laugh—. You’re saying nonsense.

—It’s not the alcohol —he cut in, not smiling now—. It’s your skin. You don’t see yourself the way I see you.

I got up from the chair. I thought of my husband sleeping on the other side of the wall, of how this was going to a place you don’t come back from.

—I’m going to bed, Damián —I said—. Tomás is your friend. This is wrong.

He grabbed my wrist before I could take the second step. Not violently, but with a firmness that left no room for argument.

—What are you doing? —I asked, and my voice came out weaker than I wanted.

—For days I’ve been leaving the bathroom door half open —he whispered in my ear—. And for days you’ve been looking. Today you stood in the hallway longer than anyone needs just to walk by. Let’s not play dumb.

I yanked my arm. He didn’t move an inch. He was much stronger than I’d imagined, and instead of scaring me, that lit something in my stomach that had been out for years. I felt my pussy suddenly getting wet, soaking my shorts.

***

I wanted to protest, to tell him he was mistaken, but before I could put the sentence together he pulled out his phone and held it in front of my face.

They were photos of me. Me in the red thong Tomás had given me, posing in front of the bedroom mirror. And below that, a conversation. Messages from my own husband to Damián. Someday I’d like to see her with someone like you. See her lost, make her discover what she’s missing. Fuck her like I can’t, make her a slut for one night.

I felt the ground move under me. I read it twice, three times, looking for another explanation that didn’t exist.

—This was his idea, not mine —Damián said, putting the phone away—. Normally I wouldn’t do something like this. But the day I saw you, I stopped being careful. And the photos your husband sent me didn’t help. Who knows what’s going on in his head. What I do know is that you want this too.

—No —I said, but it sounded like a question.

—No?

He held my gaze. I was breathing hard, my legs weak, and there was a huge rage toward Tomás mixed up with something else I didn’t want to name. My husband had offered me up like a gift. And the worst part was that a part of me, a part I didn’t recognize, felt chosen.

Damián put one huge hand on the back of my neck and pulled me close. He kissed me slowly, and I, who had come to tell him to stop, kissed him back. I found his tongue, dug my fingers into his shoulder, let him crush me against him until I could feel all of his body. And then I felt it: the hard, thick cock pressing against my stomach through his pants. A surge of desire hit me so hard it left me weak. Without thinking I lowered my hand and grabbed him over the fabric, measuring him with my fingers, and he let out a low growl against my mouth.

—See? —he told me, biting my lip—. You do want it.

When I pulled away to breathe, there was no turning back anymore and we both knew it.

—Inside —he said. It wasn’t a question.

***

He took me to the guest room almost in the air, one hand at my waist, as if I weighed nothing. He set me down on the edge of the bed and knelt in front of me.

—I want you quiet —he said—. Your husband is on the other side of the hall. If he hears you, all the better for him.

He yanked my T-shirt off and stayed a second staring at my tits. He took one in each hand, squeezing them, playing with my nipples between his fingers until a short moan slipped out of me. He bent down and put one in his mouth, sucking hard, biting it just a little, while with his other hand he pinched the other nipple. I arched toward his face, pushing myself at him, and he laughed with my nipple between his teeth.

He pulled my shorts off in one tug. I covered my pussy with my hands, by reflex, out of embarrassment, and he moved them aside with a softness that contradicted everything else. He spread my legs wide open, shamelessly, as if he were checking something that belonged to him.

—Look at how wet you are —he said, running two fingers through my slit—. You’re dripping, baby.

He shoved both fingers in at once and I buried my head in the mattress. He moved them inside me, curling them, searching for a spot Tomás had never found in twelve years. When he touched it, I shook all over.

—There —I whispered, without thinking—. There, don’t stop.

He laughed, pulled his fingers out, and brought them to his mouth. He sucked them slowly, looking at me in the eyes.

—Delicious —he said—. Now stay still.

He kissed me from my navel downward, unhurriedly, and when he reached my pussy I bit my lip until it hurt so I wouldn’t scream. He opened my lips with his thumbs and started licking my clit with the tip of his tongue, slow circles, then faster, then sucking the whole thing like it was a candy. He pushed his tongue inside, pulled it out, went back to my clit. He repeated that over and over, never letting me come.

It wasn’t like with Tomás. Tomás went straight for it, shoved his dick in for two minutes, came fast, left me halfway there. Damián had patience. He used his tongue as if he had all the time in the world, reading every tremor in my legs, backing off just before I could come and starting again. When I tried to rush him by clenching his head with my thighs, he pulled away, gave me a quick smack on the thigh, and went back to licking me from the beginning.

—Look at me —he ordered at one point.

I looked down and found him watching me from below, his mouth shining with me, a half-smile on his face and two fingers going in and out of my pussy while he sucked my clit. That image, more than anything else, finished me off. I grabbed the bedspread, arched my back, and came with a shudder that ran through my whole body, squeezing his fingers with my pussy, splashing his face, so hard I was afraid I’d woken the whole house.

Damián stood up, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and gave a low laugh.

—That’s it —he said—. That’s how I like it. Now go to your husband’s room and bring me the red thong. The one from the photos.

I looked at him without understanding.

—You want me to go in there?

—I want you to go in, find it, and come back. If he’s awake, even better.

***

I crossed the hall barefoot and naked, my legs still trembling and my pussy dripping down my thigh. I pushed open the door to our room. Tomás was lying there on his back, but by the way he was breathing I knew he wasn’t asleep. He was pretending. Waiting.

I opened the drawer, found the red thong among his clothes, and clutched it in my fist. I stood there for a second, looking at him in the dim light. I felt pity, anger, and a strange, new satisfaction in knowing that he had arranged all this and that now it was his turn to listen. I shut the drawer harder than necessary and went back the way I’d come.

Damián was waiting for me standing in the middle of the room, already naked. And there I saw it all at once for the first time: the dick standing up against his belly, thick, long, with a vein running from top to bottom and the wide tip shining with precum. My mouth watered without meaning to. It was almost twice the size of Tomás’s.

He took the thong from my hand, looked at it, tossed it onto the bed.

—Put it on —he said—. I want you wearing it when I finish with you.

I obeyed. I pulled the red thong up my legs, feeling the fabric immediately sink into my soaked lips. I don’t know at what point I stopped arguing and simply started doing what he asked, but I was already inside it and I didn’t want out. I knelt in front of him without being told. He understood the gesture and let out a deep laugh.

—You learn fast.

I grabbed his cock with both hands —one wasn’t enough— and ran my tongue from the base to the tip, slowly, tasting the salty flavor. I took the head into my mouth and sucked, hollowing my cheeks, while with one hand I worked him and with the other I held his balls. He looked down at me from above, breathing hard through his nose, not rushing me yet.

—Deeper —he told me—. All of it.

I tried. I pushed it down my throat until my eyes filled with tears and I ran out of air. I pulled it out coughing, a string of saliva hanging from my chin, and he grabbed my hair with one hand, setting the rhythm, forcing me to take more and more. He shoved it to the back of my throat and left it there for a second, watching me cry, before letting me breathe. I let myself be carried along in tears that weren’t from pain but from something I don’t have words to explain.

Every now and then he stopped, held my face with both hands, and made me tell him I liked sucking him. And I told him so, with a hoarse voice and his cock shining over my mouth, feeling more alive and more lost than ever. I sucked his balls, one by one, while I worked him, and he let out a low “holy shit” that went through me completely.

—Stop —he said suddenly, lifting me off the floor—. Turn around. I’m going to finish in your mouth and I don’t want to yet.

***

He arranged me on the bed, on my knees, face against the pillow and ass lifted. He pulled the red thong to the side, without taking it off, leaving my pussy bare. I was terrified and desperate at the same time, a mixture I had never felt in twelve years of marriage.

I felt the tip of his cock pressing at my entrance, wetting itself with my juices. He slid the head through my lips, up and down, tapping my clit with the tip until I started pushing back on my own, searching for him.

—Ask me for it —he said.

—Put it in me —I whispered into the pillow.

—Louder.

—Put it in me, please.

He entered slowly, reading me, waiting for my body to get used to him before moving farther. I felt him opening me completely, centimeter by centimeter, until I felt him hit bottom and let out a long moan that escaped me before I could stop it. He didn’t tear me apart like I’d feared. He did something worse: he took as long as it took until I was the one pushing back, fucking myself on him, searching for him, asking for it without saying a word.

—Do you like it? —he asked in my ear, never stopping—. Do you like the way your husband’s friend fucks you?

—Yes —I admitted, and the admission closed my throat.

—Say it right. Say it loud so it can be heard.

—I like it —I said, louder—. I like the way you fuck me.

He grabbed my waist with both hands and sped up. The bed started banging against the wall, and I bit the pillow to muffle the sounds, but they slipped out anyway, short, wet moans that filled the room. He fucked me with long thrusts, pulling almost all the way out and then driving back in to the hilt, and every time he buried himself in me a growl escaped my throat.

He ran one hand down my back to the nape of my neck and pressed my face into the pillow. With the other he gave me a sharp slap on the ass that cracked like a whip in the silence of the house.

—Slut —he said, without cruelty, almost affectionately—. You’re a slut, and you know it.

And instead of being offended, I came. With my whole body, clenching his cock with my pussy until he let out a curse between his teeth. I stayed there shaking, crying from pleasure, too weak to hold myself up, and he kept fucking me while I fell apart beneath him.

Without taking it out, he turned me over, put me on my back, and spread my legs against his chest. He shoved it back in at once and kept fucking me like that, looking me in the eyes, his thumbs squeezing my tits. He sucked my fingers and brought them down to my clit, rubbing it in circles while he drove into me.

—Say it —he demanded, slowing only slightly—. Say that tonight you’re mine. That you’re my whore.

I didn’t recognize the voice that came out of my mouth. I told him I was his, that tonight I belonged to him, that I was his whore, that no one had ever fucked me like that. And as I said it I thought of Tomás, awake on the other side of the wall, hearing every word that he had put in my mouth with his plan, with his messages, with his photos.

—I’m about to come —he warned me, speeding up—. Where do you want it?

—Inside —I told him, without thinking—. Come inside me.

Damián came with a tight growl against my neck, sinking his cock all the way in and emptying himself there, in hot spurts that I felt filling me completely. He stayed over me, breathing hard, holding me so I wouldn’t fall. When he finally pulled out, I felt the semen dripping down the inside of my thigh, soaking the red thong he had never taken off me.

He let me fall softly onto the mattress and stayed silent for a while, stroking my back, as if he wanted to give me back something he had taken from me.

***

He didn’t let me sleep there. When I caught my breath, he helped me up, handed me my T-shirt, and walked me to the guest room door. I had the red thong soaked with him stuck to my pussy, a hot trickle running down my leg.

—Go to your husband —he said, without mockery this time, almost tenderly—. He made the decision. Let him live with the consequences. And don’t clean yourself up.

I crossed the hall one last time that night. I lay down next to Tomás, still wearing the red thong and dripping with another man’s semen, my hair a mess and my body wrecked. He was still on his back, motionless, pretending to sleep in a way we both knew didn’t exist. I felt him stir slightly when the smell of sex reached him too, thick, impossible to hide.

We didn’t say anything. There was no need. The next morning we didn’t talk about it either, nor that week, nor the month after. But something had broken and something had opened at the same time, and I was no longer the same woman who had gone out to the patio that night for one last beer.

I’m telling it now, so much time later, still not knowing whether what happened was a betrayal or a gift. Maybe both. All I know is that my husband opened a door that night, and neither of us ever knew how to close it again.