My Wife Set a Trap for Me at the Nudist Beach

We had been married for twelve years, and Marisol was still the person who read me best. I thought I had hidden that curiosity of mine well enough, the one that had no clear name but showed itself whenever she took her toys out of the bedside-table drawer. When her fuse ran out, after a few hours of fucking, we would resort to a dildo to prolong her pleasure. And I, my cock already limp and the semen still drying on my belly, would grab the thing when she finished and clean it with my mouth, with a devotion I couldn’t hide. I would take the whole thing in, sink it down to my gag reflex, suck my wife’s thick fluids off the silicone while I felt my cock start to rise again.

At first I told her I liked the taste of her. That was true, but only half of it. The other half was the weight of the latex against my tongue, the sensation of having something thick striking my palate, the gag reflex I had learned to tame in silence while she watched me from the pillow with one eyebrow raised. I didn’t fully admit it even to myself.

Marisol said nothing. She only watched me.

I’m thirty-seven years old, six feet tall, and solidly built. Hair loss won the battle early, so I shave my head down to the skin and let my beard grow to compensate. People see me on the street and think, “That guy’s tough.” At work I make crude jokes, sometimes tasteless ones about queers. Impossible to square that image with a man drooling over a dildo in the kitchen at two in the morning, his ass still clenched around the handle because he’s just secretly shoved it inside himself.

Marisol, by contrast, looks like the lightest, most carefree girl in the world. She’s thirty-five, five foot eight, weighs next to nothing, and is a redhead with freckles and green eyes that turn translucent when she gets angry. She dresses in ripped jeans and sneakers as if she were twenty. She’s the most observant person I’ve ever known.

That’s why, when she told me one afternoon that she had planned a weekend with a coworker and her husband at a nudist cove in the south, I knew she had something up her sleeve. I knew it, and still I said yes. Maybe I wanted her to know that I knew.

***

“You’ll like them,” she promised in the motor home, while I drove and she rode with her feet on the dashboard. “Carmen’s hilarious. And Tomás used to play basketball, so you can imagine.”

“Imagine what?” I asked without looking at her.

“That he’s tall. Very tall. And everything that goes along with that.”

She said no more. Marisol never said more than necessary.

We met at a café on the outskirts, and from the first handshake I understood what Tomás was like. Nearly six and a half feet tall, broad-shouldered, with an open smile and a way of looking you straight in the face that disarmed you. Carmen was dark-haired, with shoulder-length hair, short, with a body honed at the gym and small, pointed tits that showed beneath her braless T-shirt, her hard nipples pointing straight ahead. She and Marisol kissed like sisters, and I noticed that my wife kept her hand on Carmen’s waist longer than necessary, lowering it until it brushed the top of her ass.

***

The cove was almost empty when we arrived. Four or five families were scattered at the far end, and we parked the motor home at the campground next door and walked down. We undressed without ceremony, as if all four of us had done it a thousand times.

I made an effort not to look. I really tried.

Marisol opened the bottle of sunscreen and, without asking my permission, walked over to Tomás.

“Do you mind? I always do this for my husband, and the truth is I’m good at it.”

She rubbed his back, his shoulders, his legs. She moved down to his pubic area without hesitation. She ran her fingers over his balls, circled his cock with her closed fist, and stroked it up and down under the pretext of spreading the oil, squeezing when she reached the base and loosening her grip at the head. Tomás laughed, uncomfortable and comfortable at the same time. His cock began to stiffen by the third stroke, thick, its veins standing out, the head emerging and shining with lotion. It was a huge cock, much longer and thicker than mine, with heavy balls hanging beneath it. My wife smiled into his face as she kept jerking him off, making no attempt to pretend it was anything else.

Carmen pointed the bottle at me.

“Well then, return the favor.”

And she came toward me.

She spread the lotion over me slowly, and I, betraying myself, couldn’t stop looking at Tomás. Marisol was still massaging his cock with a catlike smile, now crouched down with her face level with his cock. She ran her tongue over the head once, as if tasting it, and went back up. Tomás let out a moan. Carmen grabbed mine, weighed it in her hand, and gave a quiet laugh.

“Yours is almost ready too.”

Marisol looked me in the eyes over his shoulder. Only for a second. Long enough.

That’s it. She’s caught me.

***

When all four of us were shining with oil, Marisol dropped the idea as if it had just occurred to her.

“Tomás, my husband gives incredible massages. Why don’t you let him prove it? Let’s see if he can beat your team physio.”

Tomás laughed and lay facedown on the towel.

“If you do it better than mine, I’ll hire you myself.”

I worked on his neck, his shoulder blades, his long back. I moved down to his buttocks and forced myself to treat them as if it were a sports massage: knead, release, press. But my fingers lingered a little longer than they should have. I spread his cheeks with my thumbs—“so I can get properly into the glute,” I told myself—and saw his dark, contracted asshole between all that muscle. My mouth watered. I lowered my thumb until it brushed against him, and Tomás let out a short, dry sigh, one of those sounds that can’t be disguised. I didn’t pull away. I passed over it again. And again. Carmen and Marisol were whispering beside me, and at some point they stopped whispering. When I looked over, they were kissing open-mouthed, their hands on each other’s necks. Carmen had her hand between my wife’s legs and was rubbing her pussy with two fingers, sinking them in to the knuckles.

“The front too,” Marisol said without breaking away from Carmen, her voice already hoarse.

Tomás turned over. He was rock-hard. His cock lay against his belly, long, with a transparent drop hanging from the tip.

I ran my hands over his chest, his waist, his groin. And, without asking anyone and without explicit permission, I grabbed it. I grabbed it with both hands because one wasn’t enough to wrap around it. I began sliding my palms up and down it under the pretext of spreading the lotion, twisting around the head the way I like it done to me, squeezing the base with my left hand while my right moved upward. Tomás closed his eyes and spread his legs. I reached underneath, grabbed his balls, and kneaded them slowly. I leaned closer. I licked the drop from the tip before I realized what I was doing.

He didn’t stop me. That was the important thing.

I opened my mouth and took the head in. It fit entirely, but just barely; the skin stretched at the corners of my mouth. I went lower. It touched my throat, and I arched my tongue to swallow it. I began moving up and down, sucking with my cheeks hollowed, helping myself with my hand at the base. Tomás was moaning loudly, his head thrown back, one hand on my shaved nape, not pushing but not letting me pull away completely either. Marisol stopped kissing Carmen to watch me. I saw her face from the corner of my eye. She was biting her lip.

***

There were few people at the cove, but someone could come by, so we ended up climbing into the five-person tent Tomás had set up against a stone wall. It was hot inside and smelled of old canvas.

Marisol climbed on top of Tomás. She grabbed his cock with one hand, opened her pussy with the other, and lowered herself slowly. A long moan escaped her when she felt it reach the bottom. She began moving up and down, bracing herself against his chest, her small tits bouncing with every downward motion. Carmen climbed on top of me and did the same, with less ceremony, grabbing my cock and impaling herself on it in one thrust. She was soaked. She squeezed me inside as if she wanted to wring me out. Both of them had their backs to us, crouching, lowering themselves onto us at a rhythm they controlled.

I watched my wife’s freckled shoulders moving up and down on top of another man, watched her pussy spread open every time she rose and reveal Tomás’s thick cock, slick with fluids, and for the first time in years I felt no jealousy. I felt something more confused, more ancient, more mine. My balls swelled. Carmen noticed and sped up, bracing her hands on my knees and pounding me against the canvas with her ass.

Tomás came first. He let out a low roar and dug his fingers into my wife’s hips. Marisol jerked upright, Tomás’s cock sliding out of her pussy, thick semen streaming down her thighs. She straddled Carmen’s face and began to press down. Tomás’s cum mixed with my wife’s fluids fell into Carmen’s open mouth, onto her chin, onto her tits. Carmen swallowed what she could, then used her tongue to clean the rest of Marisol’s pussy folds.

Then Carmen came over to me, kissed me with her tongue, and passed me the mouthful of what Tomás had left in Marisol. I tasted it—salty, thick, someone else’s. I swallowed it. I swallowed it without thinking. And I knew, as I did, that this was the moment there was no going back.

Marisol was watching me from the other side of the tent. She was smiling.

***

It didn’t take me long to come inside Carmen. I grabbed her hips and drove into her hard, all the way to the bottom, three or four times, and unloaded inside her with a convulsion that bent my back. This time Marisol came over and, instead of passing the load to me, waited for Carmen to get up, spread her ass cheeks with both hands, and licked her pussy until she had drawn out all my cum. She swallowed it in front of me, slowly, never looking away, letting a string hang from her mouth before gathering it with her finger and licking it off.

“I’ve never seen you like this,” she said softly, almost tenderly.

The two women finished in their own way, in a sixty-nine on the canvas, noisy and uninhibited as if they had rehearsed it. Marisol on top, Carmen underneath, both of them eating each other’s pussies, fingers shoved wherever they could reach. Marisol had an orgasm that made her thighs tremble around Carmen’s head and crush her face. Carmen came right afterward, screaming muffled against my wife’s pussy.

Tomás and I sat there for a while, watching them, our shoulders touching. Both of us had half-hard cocks again. My hand moved toward his thigh. He didn’t pull away. My hand went higher. He exhaled. I grabbed his cock. It was halfway hard again, sticky with my wife’s pussy. I worked it slowly until it became completely rigid in my palm.

We did a sixty-nine too. I was underneath, he was on top, and the difference in our height meant that his cock reached the back of my mouth every time he dropped his hips. I didn’t know what to do at first; I gagged twice and tears sprang to my eyes. Then I knew exactly what to do. I relaxed my throat, breathed through my nose, and stuck out my tongue to accompany every downward stroke. Above me, he was eating my cock with a hunger I hadn’t expected, sucking hard with his cheeks hollowed and going down to the root. I felt his tongue scraping my frenulum. I grabbed his ass cheeks with both hands and spread them. I ran a finger over his asshole, wetting it with my saliva. His whole body shuddered.

“You’re missing something,” Marisol said when we finished that round, her lips shining and her hair stuck to her forehead.

I knew exactly what we were missing. I had known all afternoon. I had known for years.

***

“I’ve never done it before,” I admitted, looking at Tomás. “Neither have you.”

“Neither of us,” he repeated.

Carmen and Marisol laughed, delighted. My wife came over, knelt between Tomás’s legs, and for a long ten minutes did to his cock what I had spent twelve years asking her to do to me whenever I was desperate. She swallowed it whole, down to her throat, then came up for air with strands of saliva hanging from her chin. She licked his balls one by one, took them into her mouth, sank her tongue beneath them, into his perineum, and kept going down to his asshole. She ate his ass with her pointed tongue, pushing inside and covering it with saliva, while her hand kept jerking him off. Tomás let out guttural moans I would never have believed possible from a six-and-a-half-foot man.

Carmen did the same to me, with less elegance and more determination. She swallowed my cock in a single thrust, gagging as she did, and kept going down as if her life depended on it. She licked my balls, sucked them, and then lifted my legs against my chest and ran her tongue over my asshole. The first time I felt someone else’s tongue inside me, I thought I was going to come from that alone. She pushed the tip in. Pulled it out. She inserted a finger, slick with saliva to the knuckle, and curled it, searching. When she found the spot, a cry escaped me all at once.

“You first,” Marisol decided, pointing at me.

Tomás sat down on a folding hammock, his cock pointing toward the canvas roof and shining with my wife’s saliva. Marisol spat on the head again and spread it around thoroughly with her hand. Then she lubricated me with two fingers, entering a little at first and then pushing them all the way in, twisting them, opening me up. She put three fingers inside me. It burned and throbbed.

I sat down on him slowly, my back to Tomás, with my knees braced on the hammock on either side of his hips. I felt the thick head pressing against my asshole. I lowered myself an inch. It wouldn’t give. I lowered myself another. It wouldn’t fit. It wasn’t going to fit.

“If you need to stop, you stop,” Marisol whispered in my ear. It wasn’t an order; it was permission. And that was precisely why I didn’t stop.

I pushed down with all my weight, and the head slipped in at once. The pain was worse than anything I had imagined while secretly reading about it online. I bit my lips to keep from screaming, because someone might be walking near the tent. My eyes filled with tears. Tomás held my hips with both hands and kept me there, without moving, letting my body get used to him. After a long minute, I began to lower myself farther. An inch, another, another. I felt him opening me from the inside, felt his cock filling me into a place I hadn’t known I had. When I reached the bottom and sat on his thighs, we both exhaled at the same time.

“Harder,” Marisol told him. “Let him know what we feel.”

Tomás began moving from underneath, thrusting into me slowly at first and speeding up when he noticed I had stopped trembling. Every time I rose, I felt the full drag of his cock sliding out, and every time I sank, he struck the bottom and stole my breath. Carmen knelt in front of me and took my cock into her mouth again, I suppose to distract me from the pain. Between the two sensations, I stopped thinking. The pain began turning into something else, a thick heat rising up my back and making me clench my ass around him with every thrust. Tomás groaned, sped up even more, and dug his fingers into my hips. Ten whole minutes. I’m not exaggerating. When I climbed off, his cock slid out shining, my asshole open and throbbing, my knees shaking and my cock dripping onto the canvas floor, though I hadn’t come.

“Your turn,” I told Tomás, my voice broken.

We switched. This time I was on top, and he lay on his back with his legs raised, the two women beside us cheering us on as if it were a game. I spread his ass cheeks with both hands and saw his asshole, closed, a virgin like mine had been until ten minutes earlier. Marisol came over and spit there, then worked her tongue over him for a while to prepare him. When she moved away, I pressed my head against him. I pushed. It wouldn’t go in. I pushed harder. Tomás clenched his teeth and let out a long groan. The head went in all at once. His body went taut as a string.

“Wait,” he panted.

I waited. I ran my hand over his stomach, grabbed his cock, and worked it slowly to help him relax. When I felt him loosen, I started pushing again, an inch at a time, letting him set the pace. When I reached the bottom, I began moving slowly, and he let his breath out little by little, relaxing. Then I began fucking him harder, gripping his thighs, watching his enormous body move beneath me in time with my rhythm. Carmen was eating his cock meanwhile, with both hands and her whole mouth. Tomás let out a long, hoarse moan, completely different from the voice he had spoken with at the café that same morning. It was a new voice. A voice that, I supposed, he too had been hiding for years.

I came inside him. Without warning. I felt myself unload in waves while I kept thrusting, and felt Tomás’s ass tightening around me with every spurt. He came into Carmen’s mouth almost at the same time, with a muffled cry. When I pulled out, my semen streamed thickly over his perineum. Marisol crouched down and licked it off without ceremony, cleaning away whatever seeped out with her tongue.

***

We ended up sprawled across the canvas, sweaty, not entirely sure who had put what on top of whom.

Marisol ran her hand over my shaved head.

“Better?” she asked me.

“Better,” I replied, and I meant it.

“I’d been waiting for years for you to tell me yourself,” she said, without reproach, without triumph. She simply said it.

Carmen and Tomás laughed from the other side, holding each other, their cocks and pussies still shining.

“I’ll organize the next one,” Carmen said.

And so she did. We returned to that cove twice more that summer. After that we arranged other getaways, at other beaches, in rented houses inland. Marisol has never asked me again why I sucked her toys with such devotion. She knows. I know. And ever since that tent at the southern cove, we both know too that we had spent twelve years truly loving each other, but not completely.

Now we do.