My Lover Made Me Wear My Wife’s Lingerie

Sebastián and I became lovers after a work trip to Monterrey, where we had to share a room. Back in our city, we kept up the same old routine: two married friends, two fathers, two office coworkers no one would look at twice. But behind the door, whenever we managed to be together, he was the macho and I was his female.

Our city is small, and that made everything complicated. A hotel was out of the question: anyone could recognize us in the lobby. My house and his were no good either, because there was always someone around. The only real window was the week Marina — Sebastián’s wife — worked the evening shift at the hospital. That gave us four or five safe hours, and we took advantage of them in his marital bedroom, on the very sheets where she slept. We both liked that detail. It was perverse and forbidden, and we knew it.

That spring Carolina, my wife, went to stay a week at her parents’ house. School break, happy kids, delighted in-laws. I dropped her off on Sunday, ate lunch with them, and went back that same night because I had a meeting on Monday. The house was empty for the first time in years.

The next day, barely had I stepped into the office than I whispered it to Sebastián.

—I’ve got the house to myself all week.

His eyes lit up as if I’d handed him a gift. That week, on top of everything, Marina worked evenings. We’d gone more than ten days without touching each other.

All day long he sent me WhatsApp messages. Every time the phone vibrated, I knew what I was going to find. I’ve been hard since I got here. I’m going to tear you apart until you can’t sit down tomorrow. Today you’re not getting any air. I answered some with an emoji and a little lie; others I read and deleted because the accountant was seated two meters away. But they did their job: by four in the afternoon I couldn’t think about anything else.

We left together in his car. He drove to my house almost without speaking, one hand on my thigh and his jaw tight. When he pulled into the garage and lowered the shutter, it was like I could finally breathe. He shoved me against the wall, yanked my shirt off, and I stripped his off too. We ended up chest to chest, his erection pressing against mine through our pants, hands on my ass, his tongue in my mouth. If I let him keep going, we wouldn’t even make it to the living room. I asked for five minutes to shower. He agreed reluctantly, and we went in.

We passed through the living room and he stopped to look at the photos on the wall. The wedding one, the first child, the travel pictures. Suddenly the weight of what I was doing hit me: four years of marriage, two kids, a woman who trusted me looking out at me from a frame while I brought my lover into her house. Sebastián didn’t notice, or if he did he didn’t care. He walked over to the dining-room photo, the one Carolina liked best, and let out a soft whistle.

—Damián, you never told me your wife was that hot.

—Stop, seriously.

—Don’t get mad. But she’s gorgeous. Looks like she wouldn’t break a plate and a killer body. Those are the worst.

—The worst for what?

—For a guy — he said, and laughed.

I told him to shut up, that he was making me jealous, that I didn’t want to hear him talking about Carolina like that in her own house. He laughed harder, held up his hands in surrender, and dragged me toward the bedroom.

On the dresser there was a full-body photo of Carolina with the kids, taken at the beach the summer before. He picked it up, looked at it for a while, and smiled again in that slow way of his that I knew so well.

—Mmm. Really hot. Angel face and sinful hips. You take care of her, I get it.

—Sebas, seriously, enough already.

—Fine, fine. Relax. Let’s shower.

The bathroom is small, so our bodies kept bumping into the glass and into each other. Warm water ran down his back and outlined his shoulders. We soaped each other slowly, stopping where we needed to stop. He filled my ass with foam, shoved two fingers into my opening and pulled them out again, and I soaped his cock and balls with a calm I didn’t feel. I was already ready from the garage; he was too. But he liked to stretch the moment out.

—You’ve got the best ass I’ve ever seen in my life — he told me in my ear while water ran over his face—. Still tight as the first day. It’s unfair.

When I got out of the shower, I left him rinsing off and threw myself on the bed, still damp, waiting for him. I watched him come out and head not to the bed but to the laundry hamper beside the sink. He stuck his hand in and pulled out a pink garment of Carolina’s, a lace panty, one of the small ones, the kind that barely cover half the butt cheek. He stretched it between his hands, brought it to his face, and inhaled deeply, without the slightest shame, like a dog recognizing something.

—Goddamn, Damián. It smells like a real female.

—Put that down, please.

—Your wife is in heat, did you know that? A woman in heat smells different. This is pure pheromone.

—Sebas, come to bed.

He came closer, but with the garment still in his hand. He sat on the edge, his fingers playing with the lace.

—I’ve got an idea. But you’re going to hate it.

—I already hate it.

—Put them on.

I looked at him like I hadn’t understood. But I had. He said it again, not smiling, with that steady look I’d seen only a few times.

—Put them on. I want to fuck you with your wife’s panty on. I want that smell on you when I go in.

—I’ve got clean thongs of hers, I can give you one of those.

—No. I want these. The used ones. The smell.

I thought about it for three seconds and gave in. I stretched out my hand, took them, and put them on standing there in front of him. When I caught a glimpse of myself in the closet mirror, I was almost surprised: they fit me. The pink fabric hugged my ass, the lace worked its way a little between my cheeks, and the crotch was damp with Carolina’s fluids, who was indeed probably in her fertile days, because the garment was sticky in an unmistakable way. Feeling that on me lit me up in a new way, strange, shameful, and arousing all at once.

—Holy shit — Sebastián murmured—. They look fucking insane on you.

He asked me to get on all fours on the bed. I obeyed. He gave me a slap on the ass and squeezed my cheeks with both hands, opening and closing them like someone inspecting what they’re about to eat. Then he bent down and started at the edges, at the skin the panty didn’t cover. Short bites, tongue, teeth with care. Every centimeter. My skin prickled from the nape of my neck downward.

When he reached the center, he pressed his nose against the fabric and inhaled again. Then he moved it aside with two fingers and, without warning, plunged in his tongue. I let out a rough groan against the pillow. It wasn’t a kiss, it was something else. He devoured me from the inside, with hot saliva and short thrusts, and within minutes I was already shaking, arms giving out, face pressed into the sheets, breathing out of control. I’d never come like that before, just from that, without him touching my dick. But that time I did. I felt the spasm climb up my legs, a sensation that wouldn’t fit inside me, and I shot inside Carolina’s panty, staining it from the inside while he kept his face buried between my ass cheeks, holding me by the waist so I wouldn’t fall.

—That’s it, that’s it —he said—. Come. Come down there.

When I got my breath back, desire hadn’t gone down at all. On the contrary. My whole skin was burning. I heard him open the bottle of lubricant from the dresser and, without any further preamble, felt a big wet finger go all the way inside. I clenched my ass instinctively and he gave a low laugh.

—Relax, honey. Relax.

That word did something to me. He’d never used it with me like that, in the feminine. And he said it naturally, as if he’d been waiting months for the moment. He slid in a second finger, moved them in circles for a long while, until I couldn’t bury my face in the pillow any longer. Then he pulled them out. He stayed still for a moment, looking at me from behind.

—I have to confess something — he said softly—. While I eat you out like this, with your wife’s panty on, I imagine her. Do you mind if I call you Carolina? Just for today.

I didn’t answer. But I didn’t say no either.

And by staying quiet, something shifted inside me. I didn’t imagine being with Carolina, but being Carolina. On all fours, with a hard male behind me, waiting for him to enter. My head filled with images I couldn’t bring myself to say out loud.

—Ready, love — he whispered, already lying over me, his cock working its way between my cheeks over the shifted fabric—. I’m going to fuck you slow, princess. Like your husband doesn’t fuck you.

—Put it in — I said, in a voice I didn’t recognize.

The head went in without effort. My body took it as if it had been waiting for hours. Then the rest, centimeter by centimeter, patiently. I felt every millimeter stretching, felt the thickness of every vein on his cock molding itself inside me. When his balls pressed against my ass, he let out a muffled moan.

—You took it all, Caro. My Caro. Such a good girl.

—Yes — I said—. Keep going.

The rhythm started slow. He had one hand on my nape and the other on my waist. He talked the whole time, in my ear, with that voice he got when he was about to lose control. He told me I was his, that my husband would never be able to imagine what was happening to me that afternoon, that if he opened the door and saw us he wouldn’t be able to handle it. He sped up. His hips slammed into me with a sharp sound. I clenched the pillow between my teeth so I wouldn’t shout, and hearing him ask if I liked it was almost worse than the pounding itself.

—Take it, take it, take it — he said—. Take it, little slut, take it all.

I felt my legs trembling again, a second orgasm rising through places I didn’t know I had. At that moment he gave one final deep thrust, his cock swelled inside me, and he came. I felt the hot stream spread inside me. I came almost at the same time, once more over the soaked and ruined pink fabric. My body contracted as if it wanted to milk him, and he groaned against my ear.

—I’m filling you up, I’m filling you up, honey. Filling you right to the top.

Then he collapsed over my back, without pulling out, kissing my neck, my shoulders, the nape of my neck. I still couldn’t speak. We were both soaked in sweat, panting, and the ruined panty was twisted into a knot between my thighs.

When my breath came back, he asked me in my ear, very softly.

—Wouldn’t you like to see her there where you are? Carolina, like this, getting off like you did?

I didn’t answer right away. The question wasn’t new. It had been there for months, hidden behind other phrases, behind the messages he sent me describing what he’d do to the wife of any acquaintance. But this time he’d said it cleanly and was looking me in the eye. He pushed.

—Don’t be selfish, Damián. Give her that gift. Let her know what it’s like. Once. Just once.

I thought of Carolina, of her smile in the photo, of the way she laughed when I bit her neck, of how little I’d lately noticed what she would or wouldn’t want. I thought of what I was doing in that very second. I thought that it wasn’t me who had the right to decide whether I was being selfish or not.

And in the end I spoke.

—All right. You win. But she doesn’t find out anything. Not about me, not about this. If she finds out, it’s over.

He didn’t answer with words. He kissed me deeply, gratefully, and I felt him getting hard again inside me, as if just imagining it lit everything up. He started thrusting again, this time without pause, without question, almost with rage. When he came the second time, his semen mixed with the first. Then he stayed sprawled over my back until he went completely soft and carefully pulled out.

He showered quickly. He had to get home before Marina. He gave me a quick kiss on the forehead, dressed, and left.

I stayed lying face down for a long while after that, not moving. The pink panty, balled up, under my hip, soaked with both of us. The afternoon light coming in through Carolina’s side of the window. And in my head, nonstop, only one scene: her in my place, on all fours on that same bed, getting off the way I got off. It didn’t make me feel guilty to imagine her. It made me hot. And that scared me.

***

That week, while Carolina was at her parents’ house, Sebastián came every afternoon. And every afternoon he asked me to put on something different of hers. A bra, a thong, a short nightgown. He described it to me while he fucked me, told me how he’d fuck her, step by step, what he’d say to her, how he’d make her moan. I listened with my eyes closed, without fighting it.

On Friday, when I went to pick up Carolina at my in-laws’ house, she hugged me at the gate like she hadn’t hugged me in months. I hugged her back and gave her a long kiss on the forehead. On the way home she didn’t stop talking about the kids, about her mother, about a cake she’d learned to make.

And I drove without really listening, thinking about what was coming. Still not knowing when. But knowing, with a cold certainty, that it was going to happen.