My Wife Discovered She Liked Being Watched

This really happened, so forgive me for changing the names and places. Let’s say her name was Nadia and that I was just another student, with no car and no second home where we could hide. We met at the university, and within a few weeks we were already a couple. We had no money for hotels, so our encounters happened wherever they could happen: dark parks, dim corners of bars, the back seats of an empty movie theater.

I had had other girlfriends, and with all of them I had resorted to those places, but none was like Nadia. The others made a thousand objections if there wasn’t absolute privacy. She, on the other hand, would let herself be touched, would suck me off, or would climb on top of me in any park as long as the gloom gave the impression that nobody was watching. And I say “gave the impression” because, to be honest, if I could make out what other couples were doing in the dark, it stood to reason that they could make out us too.

We fooled ourselves into thinking we were invisible. I, because I was too horny to think straight. She, I suspect now, because of something she took years to admit to herself.

The first time I thought about it was one dawn at a bus stop. We lived at opposite ends of the city and that night had run late: she missed the last service and we had a dead hour to kill before the first night shift bus. The avenue was central, cars were still passing, but there were hardly any pedestrians.

We started like any other couple, kissing to pass the time. Then she pulled down my zipper and slid her hand in. Anyone passing by was driving and understood perfectly well what was happening, and even so I didn’t stop. Nor did I stop when, with one quick movement, she bent down and took me into her mouth.

“Not here, they’re going to see us,” I protested, doing nothing to pull her away.

And they saw us. We could make out the shocked faces of the drivers, hear an occasional horn blast. Nadia did not take the task lightly: she lingered, played, delayed the finish again and again. During one of those pauses she miscalculated, and I came just as she was drawing back in, splashing half her face. She burst out laughing in the middle of the street, my semen on her cheek, and I understood that I was in love precisely with that.

***

Two years later the crisis hit, as it does for almost every couple. To make matters worse, I committed the stupid mistake of sleeping with one of her friends, who, after swearing me to silence, went rushing to tell her. I came off as an adulterer and a liar, and Nadia’s revenge was not long in coming.

One night she went out, carefully chose someone whom, according to her, had to be better-looking than me so the debt would be settled, and let herself be led away to a secluded place. The next day she told me everything, with a sincerity that hurt more than the betrayal itself.

What I didn’t confess then, nor to myself, is that while she was talking I got rock hard. I kept asking for details, the dirtiest ones, and I savored every single one. I pictured her letting herself be stripped, enjoying another man, cleaning herself up afterward. Yes, the horns hurt, but desire hurt more. For days I ran to lock myself away and masturbate like an adolescent every time the memory came back.

When I thought the relationship had returned to normal, I hinted at the idea of a threesome. She admitted she had fantasized about it once or twice, but refused outright, and I didn’t dare insist.

***

We finished our degrees, got jobs, bought an apartment, and got married. It was a fifth-floor place with a terrace, and that first summer we still didn’t have curtains or air conditioning. We spent the day naked because of the heat and, when night fell, we turned off the lights and went out to catch the breeze just as naked, convinced that the height and the darkness protected us from any eyes.

One of those nights, on the terrace, Nadia knelt down and started sucking me. I suggested going into the bedroom and she ignored me. When she knew I would no longer resist, she sat on top of me and started riding me. I sat her up and asked her to rest her elbows on the table so I could enter her from behind; from there we could see the street and the people passing below, safe once again in the belief that no one could see us. The orgasm was so intense that we repeated the scene many times that summer.

One dawn, coming back from drinks, we looked up at our own balcony from the sidewalk. We could make out the flowerpots, the table, the chairs. Had there been a couple up there, we would have seen them too. We weren’t certain we had been watched, but we kept doing it on the terrace, yes, without ever speaking of the matter, without ever confessing that the possibility of being observed was exactly what turned us on.

Another night we came back from dinner and dancing, drunk and hot. Nadia walked through the house turning on every light as she went, leaving the windows thrown wide open, turning the bedroom into a lit-up stage visible from the terraces across the way. We undressed slowly, and she displayed her whole repertoire: changing position again and again, holding each one just long enough to brand itself onto the retina of whoever might be watching. I was a puppet at her command.

The next morning she brushed it off. It was hot, she said, she liked seeing clearly what she was doing, nothing more. She didn’t convince me, but I learned to read her: from then on, every night, I waited to see whether she would lower the blinds. If she didn’t, I knew that was going to be a special fuck.

***

That summer we discovered nudist beaches and became hooked. But soon I understood that I didn’t just like getting an all-over tan: I liked seeing the lust on other men’s faces when Nadia walked naked toward the water. What I hadn’t figured on was that she liked receiving those looks just as much as I liked provoking them.

One spring day, with the beach almost empty except for a fisherman trying his luck with his rod, she insisted we set ourselves up relatively close to him. The ritual called for rubbing sunscreen on each other, and one thing is rubbing and quite another what she made of it. She did everything possible to excite me, and when it was my turn to return the favor she asked me to be bolder, without hiding it.

“He’s watching us,” I reminded her.

In answer she grabbed my erection. I slid my fingers into her and she was soaked. She urged me to penetrate her right there, twenty meters from the man, and with barely a few thrusts she had the fastest orgasm of her life. Then she took my hand and led me, both of us naked, up to the fisherman. She crouched in front of him and, with the greatest naturalness in the world, asked whether he would keep an eye on our clothes while we went in the water. The poor man kept looking from her face to the trail of arousal running down her thighs, and took a while to answer yes, delighted.

On the way home, Nadia swore the fisherman had never turned his head and that he was too far away. Of course, she didn’t remember having crouched down so he could get a good look at her.

***

That taste ended up deciding our vacations. We looked for a place with a nudist beach near where we were staying, and that’s how we found a campsite on the coast where nudism was not only allowed but mandatory in all the facilities. The atmosphere was family-oriented, full of married couples with children, but also of couples looking for something more.

We met them on the third day. They called themselves Marcos and Carla, two teachers who traveled from campsite to campsite every summer. Carla approached Nadia in the supermarket, and that same night we invited them to dinner. The conversation quickly turned to sex, and they confessed bluntly that what they were looking for was people to get into bed with. Well, the one who got into bed was Marcos; Carla usually played matchmaker and watched, joining in only now and then.

That night Marcos proposed a threesome discreetly and, to make things easier, Carla said she was sleepy and left. Neither Nadia nor I made the move, but when he left we made love while fantasizing about it. The old kink of seeing my wife with another man had awakened again.

For days they kept insisting, first with words and then with maneuvers: Carla tried to drag me off to play tennis or go for walks so she could leave Nadia alone with her husband. We had already agreed: if anything happened, it would only be with both of us present.

On Thursday Marcos came alone. Nadia was preparing dinner, I was listening to the radio. The conversation was awkward until he, with a smile, asked me whether I minded if he gave my wife a hand.

“If she lets you…” I answered, knowing full well where he wanted to put his hands.

He stood up, came up behind her, and kissed her neck while one hand rose to her breast and the other went lower. Nadia said “no, stop,” but when he turned her around and kissed her on the mouth, she responded naturally. I watched with my erection ready to explode, thinking about the kind of husband I had become.

She came into the living room without saying a word, waiting for me to decide. I suggested we lie down in bed for a while, and the proposal was approved unanimously.

In the bedroom, Marcos focused on her mouth and breasts while I used my tongue to make her ready for the visit. She gave him a devoted blowjob. When we switched roles, I was the one enjoying her mouth and he the one penetrating her. Marcos was not a quick finish: from his face I knew he was close, and the idea of him coming inside my wife, of me going into that mess afterward, made me frantic. I came in her mouth almost at the same time he finished with his final thrusts.

He apologized for not making her come and left to tell Carla about his victory. When I came back from seeing him to the door, I found Nadia masturbating.

“Finish me off, however you want, but finish me off,” she asked me.

I knelt between her legs and finished with my mouth what two men had not managed. After that, hard again, I fucked her until she came twice before I did.

***

Marcos and Carla left the next day, true to their route. But something in us had changed forever. If before I got turned on by a faceless man taking possession of my wife, now he had a face, a voice, and a memory. I started suggesting that we look for someone at home, and I insisted so much that she eventually agreed.

We knew of a place in the city where couples met up for exchanges and threesomes, and off we went. A blonde woman with huge breasts let us in and showed us around: a dimly lit bar, a dance floor, booths with low sofas. It worked like any other bar, she explained, except that everyone came with their partner and looked to hook up.

The place filled up with a mixed crowd: older married couples, thirty-something pairs indistinguishable from any neighbors, single guys throwing around looks. We camped out at the bar, too inexperienced to make the first move, until the blonde came over with a young man of about thirty whom she introduced as someone special. I’ll call him Daniel.

She took us to a booth and told us he was a doctor and had a girlfriend, who knew nothing about any of this. While he spoke, all around us things were happening: a woman riding a stranger among a group chatting as if nothing were going on; two men taking turns with a third; muffled moans in every corner. The spectacle had us at a hundred.

When Daniel went to the bathroom, Nadia and I looked at each other and, despite the fear, decided to go through with it. To make things easier I said I was going to the restroom and left them alone. I took as long as I could, and when I came back I panicked: they weren’t there. I found them dancing in the darkest area. Daniel was kissing her and she was responding passionately; he lifted her short skirt just enough for me to see his hand slipping under her underwear. She returned the caresses over his pants.

He pushed her against the wall, wanting to fuck her right there, but Nadia struggled. She was up for anything, but only if I took part even if only by watching; otherwise she would feel dirty, guilty. It took me a while to convince Daniel to continue at home, but faced with the choice of all or nothing, he agreed.

***

In the car, Nadia sat in front and he took advantage of every traffic light to touch her; her panties had ended up in her bag. Once home we poured ourselves drinks to lose our nerves, but nobody made the first move. I put on a movie to break the ice, and five minutes were enough for me to make the first move by kissing her. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Daniel come closer, and before we realized it the three of us were naked.

I suggested we move to the bed before I came too soon and ended up as a mere spectator. There I fucked her while Daniel occupied her mouth, his cock a handspan from my face. Then Nadia, in a gesture I still thank her for, moved it away and brought it toward me. I hesitated for a second, not out of lack of desire but out of embarrassment, but the flesh is weak. I let myself go, got the hang of sucking and fucking at the same time, and enjoyed myself more than I would ever have admitted.

We put her on all fours. When she came, she stopped moving her head without taking the cock out of her mouth, and her moans sounded like someone trying to scream with a mouth full. Daniel tried to change positions, but Nadia, with two men at her disposal, asked to try both at once.

“The husband chooses the hole,” I joked. “You suggested the other one, you keep the other one.”

I lay down and sat her on top of me, tipping her forward so Daniel could prepare her. He had a hard time getting in, but after that everything became easy. I felt his cock against mine with every thrust, separated only by a membrane that seemed on the verge of giving way. Far from hurting her, she was almost screaming with pleasure. I sped up, hoping all three of us would come at once, and we managed it: I felt her orgasm run through her, she felt herself flooded from behind, and her moans dragged mine along with them too.

Daniel got dressed, said he’d had a great time, and left us a phone number in case we wanted to do it again. Once we were alone, remembering every detail, we got so horny that we did it again, and this time we came even harder, telling each other what each of us had felt.

***

The next morning I found her crying. She said she was a whore, that she had done everything possible to get into bed with another man and that on top of it all she had liked it. I tried to explain that there had been no adultery because I was there, consenting, wanting it. But guilt won out, and she made me promise we would never do it again.

I promised her never again, unless she consented. And I didn’t lie. Since then, several times a year, she grants me one of those nights, and together we go out looking for someone with whom to live one more adventure.