New Year's Eve Confession: My Husband Shared Me

Hello, curious people of this page. My name is Marina, I’m in my thirties, I’ve been married for several years, and this is the confession that still makes me squeeze my thighs whenever I remember it. It happened during a New Year’s Eve dinner at a family country estate, one of those gatherings where everyone arrives dressed up, smiles too much, and pretends they aren’t looking at what they shouldn’t.

My husband, Andrés, travels a lot for work. Sometimes he’s gone for several days and comes back tired, smelling of hotels and highways, while I stay home accumulating desire, jealousy, and fantasies. I’m not going to paint myself as a saint: I like feeling desired, I like being watched, and I know perfectly well when a dress outlines my ass in exactly the right way.

That night I arrived early to help my mother-in-law with the tables, flower arrangements, and guest list. The estate looked beautiful, with warm lights strung over the garden and a huge tent at the back, beside the dance floor. I had deliberately chosen a table in a corner, partly hidden behind some large planters, thinking I would play with Andrés under the tablecloth once the party was further underway.

Before the guests arrived, I went upstairs to the room they had assigned us. I took a quick shower and put on a red set: bra, thong, and garter belt. It wasn’t for the party; it was for him. When Andrés came in with my coat, which he had just picked up, he found me in front of the mirror, my skin still damp and my stockings only halfway up.

“I’m not going to last until midnight like this,” he said, closing the door with his foot.

I knelt in front of him without answering. I unfastened his belt, lowered his zipper, and felt his cock hardening beneath the fabric. I was about to put it in my mouth when someone knocked on the door. It was my mother-in-law, hurrying us along because the first guests were already coming in.

Andrés let out a frustrated laugh and adjusted his clothes. I stayed there, hot and on my knees, wanting to curse half the world. To make matters worse, several boxes of wine were sent to our room, and the private plan I had imagined filled up with bottles, noise, and people coming and going.

I finished getting dressed angrily. The dress was black and tight, with a slit that revealed the garter belt if I crossed my legs carelessly. I put on gold earrings, perfumed my neck, and went downstairs determined not to behave as well as everyone expected.

Dinner began quietly. We greeted cousins, business partners, family friends, and couples I barely knew. Among them was Julián, a man of about thirty-five, tall, wearing a white shirt and a shameless gaze. I didn’t know whether he was Andrés’s friend or someone else’s guest, but from the moment he saw me at the bar, he never stopped watching me.

Andrés noticed it too. During dinner he placed a hand on my knee and slowly moved it upward beneath the tablecloth. I kept talking as though nothing were happening, but opened my legs slightly to give him room. His fingers found the edge of the stocking, then my bare skin, and when he brushed my thong, I bit my lip to keep from moaning.

“I owe you for upstairs,” he whispered in my ear.

“You owe me much more than that,” I replied without looking at him.

After the toast, the older people began to leave and everyone else moved toward the dance floor. Our table was almost hidden at the back of the tent, with music, laughter, and clinking glasses a few yards away. I already had wine in my blood and my body had been burning for hours.

I slipped my hand beneath the tablecloth and reached for Andrés. First I squeezed his cock through his trousers, feeling it grow. He stayed still, a glass in one hand and his jaw tight. I carefully undid his belt, lowered the zipper just a little, and slipped my fingers inside his boxers.

He was hard and hot. I stroked him slowly, moving my palm up and down, damp with precum, while he pretended to watch the dance floor. I brought two fingers to my mouth, wet them with saliva, and wrapped them around him again. I felt him draw deep breaths, struggling not to move too much.

“Don’t make any noise,” I told him.

Then I slid beneath the table. The tablecloth covered almost all of me, and his coat hid the space between his legs. I lowered his trousers a little farther and pulled out his cock, thick and shining at the tip. I licked it from the base to the glans, slowly at first, enjoying the power of having him trapped there, unable to moan or push my head the way he liked to.

I put it in my mouth. I went down until it filled my throat and I had to hold back a gag. He rested one hand on the back of my head through the tablecloth, almost as if he were stroking a napkin, but I knew he was desperate. I sucked his cock eagerly, alternating my tongue over the tip with long, filthy, wet strokes.

When he began to tense, I wanted to pull away and prolong it, but he held me firmly. His cum filled my mouth in several hot spurts. I swallowed some, while the rest escaped at the corner of my mouth and ran down to my chin. I came out from under the table with my face burning, wiping myself with a napkin as he adjusted his clothes with a drunken smile.

I was soaked. That wasn’t an expression: my thong clung to my pussy, and every brush of the garter reminded me that I still hadn’t gotten mine. I asked him to take me upstairs, and Andrés agreed immediately, staggering a little from the wine.

We went in without anyone stopping us. He closed the door, left an open bottle on a table, and watched me take off my dress. I slowly unbuttoned it with my back to him, letting him see the fabric fall to my feet. When I turned around, he was already hard again.

He kissed me hungrily, pushing me against the dresser. He lowered his mouth along my neck and breasts, biting my nipples through the lace until I gasped. Then he knelt and pressed his face against my soaked thong. He licked the fabric shamelessly, breathing in my scent, rubbing himself against my thigh as though he hadn’t come minutes earlier.

“Take it off,” I ordered.

He moved it aside with two fingers and buried his tongue directly in my pussy. I grabbed his hair, spread my legs wider, and let him eat me with that mixture of clumsiness and eagerness he had when he was drunk. His tongue moved up and down, paused on my clit, then plunged back in, and I began moving my hips against his mouth without the slightest shame.

The orgasm seized me quickly, too quickly. I moaned through clenched teeth, trembling on my feet, and he didn’t pull away until I had to push him back because I was burning with sensitivity. Then I hauled him up, tore his shirt from his shoulders, and kissed him, tasting myself on his mouth.

Andrés picked me up and fucked me standing, my back against the wall and my legs wrapped around his waist. He thrust in with one hard stroke, all the way to the bottom, and I let out a cry that he muffled with his mouth. He fucked me like that for a while, hard, breathing in my face, slamming his hips against me while I dug my heels into his back.

But he had drunk too much. I felt him lose his rhythm, sweating, bracing me against a low table so he wouldn’t let me fall. He spread my legs and kept thrusting, more slowly, until he suddenly tensed and came inside me with a hoarse moan. I hugged him out of habit, but frustration rose in my chest like a slap.

“No, Andrés. Don’t leave me like this,” I said, still panting. “I’m way too horny.”

He laughed, exhausted, and collapsed onto the bed. At that moment the door opened. Julián came in carrying a box of wine and froze when he saw us: my naked husband, me in the red bra, my thong off to one side, and my legs still trembling.

“Sorry, I thought no one was here,” he said, unable to tear his gaze away.

I grabbed a towel and barely covered myself. Instead of throwing him out, Andrés lifted his head with a strange smile, one I had never seen on him before.

“Wait,” he said. “I need to ask you a favor.”

Julián set the box on the floor. I looked at my husband, confused, my pulse still racing.

“I want to watch you with her,” Andrés blurted out. “I want to see another man fuck her. And I want it to be in the ass.”

I was speechless. So was Julián. A few heavy seconds passed, filled with breathing and distant music. I should have told him to leave, but the way Julián was looking at me, the way Andrés began touching himself again while he waited for my reaction, turned me on obscenely.

“You’re drunk,” I said, although my voice came out weak.

“Yes,” Andrés admitted. “But I’ve been imagining this for years. And you’re thinking about it too, Marina.”

I didn’t answer. The towel loosened between my fingers and fell to the floor. Julián swallowed. He approached slowly, as if waiting for me to stop him, and when I didn’t, he took me by the waist and kissed me. His mouth was different, firmer, unfamiliar, and that made me moan against his lips.

Andrés moved behind me and took my breasts, pinching my nipples while Julián kissed my neck. I felt two male bodies surrounding me, two scents, two sets of breaths. I became so aroused that my husband’s semen began sliding down my thighs.

Julián opened his trousers and pulled out a hard, heavy cock. I knelt before thinking too much. I took it in my hand, licked it from top to bottom, and then put it in my mouth. It was bigger than Andrés’s and forced me to go slowly at first, but soon I was sucking him hungrily, leaving saliva with every movement.

“Look at her,” Julián said, his voice breaking. “Your wife knows how to do it.”

Andrés moaned and masturbated while sitting on the bed, never taking his eyes off me. I raised my gaze while Julián’s cock was in my mouth, and seeing my husband like that, reduced to a spectator, made me feel dirty and powerful at the same time. I gagged a little, drooled, then went down again until the glans touched my throat.

Julián pulled me up by the arm and put me on all fours on the bed. I arched my back, spread my knees, and rested my face on the sheets. I knew what was coming. I gathered saliva on my fingers and spread it over my asshole, slowly opening myself for him while Andrés came closer to watch.

Julián’s tip pressed against my ass. It burned at first, an intense sting that made me clench my fists. He entered slowly, inch by inch, until my body gave way and accepted him deeper. I moaned loudly, not solely from pain, but from that brutal mix of invasion, pleasure, and shame at knowing my husband was watching everything.

“Like that, slowly,” I panted.

Julián grabbed my hips and began fucking my ass with a steady rhythm. Every thrust made his thighs slap against my buttocks. Andrés stood in front of me, stroked my face, and put two fingers in my mouth. I sucked them while the other man opened me from behind, faster and deeper, until I could no longer keep quiet.

“Tell him how you like it,” Andrés asked.

“I like it like this,” I moaned, looking at my husband. “I like him fucking my ass while you watch.”

Julián answered with a hard slap. The blow made me arch farther, and he took advantage of it to sink all the way in. The bed creaked, the bottles chimed on the table, and I no longer thought about the party, the door, or anything except those thrusts filling me from behind.

Then he turned me over carefully and lay on his back. I climbed on top of him, my back to his face and facing Andrés. I guided his cock toward my already open asshole and lowered myself in one motion, releasing a long moan as I felt it enter completely. Andrés came closer, kissed me, and stroked my clitoris with his wet fingers.

That was when I lost control. I bounced on Julián, moving up and down while my husband masturbated me. I felt the cock buried in my ass and Andrés’s fingers rubbing exactly where I needed them. I came with a muffled cry against my husband’s chest, trembling on top of another man, squeezing him inside me until Julián also began breathing as though he were about to break.

He took me by the hips and moved me to his rhythm, harder and faster. Andrés moved aside just enough to watch. Julián came inside me with a growl, holding me tightly as his body shook beneath mine. I felt the hot spurts filling me and remained motionless, exhausted, my head falling back.

For a few seconds no one spoke. All we could hear was the muted music outside and our breathing. Julián slowly pulled out of me, got dressed without comment, and picked up the box of wine as if nothing had happened. Before leaving, Andrés bumped fists with him with an awkward smile.

“Happy New Year,” Julián said.

I couldn’t help laughing, still naked on the bed, my legs weak and my body covered in marks. When he closed the door, Andrés hugged me from behind and kissed my shoulder. He didn’t seem sorry. Neither did I.

We fell asleep late, after cleaning ourselves as best we could and promising not to talk about it until the next day. But when I woke up, head heavy and body aching, the first thing I did was remember every detail. The table, my husband’s cock filling my mouth, Julián’s gaze, the cock entering my ass while Andrés watched me.

We left the estate at dusk, when almost everyone had gone. I saw Julián beside a pickup truck, already wearing another shirt and talking with some guests. He greeted me with the slightest nod, as if I were any acquaintance. Andrés returned the gesture and took my hand.

We got into the car in silence. We looked like the same respectable married couple as always, but something had opened between us. From that night on, we understood that Andrés’s desire wasn’t merely to watch me, but to share my pleasure and my shame. And I discovered that having him watch while another man made me his own didn’t destroy me as a wife: it made me naughtier, hungrier, and more honest about what I had always wanted to try.

That was our first time like that. Not the last. But I’ll save the other confessions for when Andrés travels again and I have another long night to remember them with my hand between my legs.