The Afternoon My Ex-Wife Caught Me With Him

Camila and I had something good from the first month. Sex three times a week, toys in the drawer, an understanding in bed that many couples would envy. And yet, for the past couple of months, something old started itching at me: the urge to feel another cock opening my ass and another mouth filling mine.

It’s not the first time it’s happened to me. I’d tried it years ago, with a guy from the gym, and ever since then I knew that desire wasn’t going to be put out by tenderness or good sex. It only went to sleep. And this time it had woken up again.

Before going on, I’ll make the basics clear: I’m short, dark-skinned, with dark hair, no hair on my chest, my back and legs marked by two years of serious weightlifting. I have a short but thick dick, enough to make more than one woman ask me, laughing, if I had a bottle hidden in my pants. That’s enough for me to feel confident, especially naked.

Taking advantage of that confidence, one afternoon when Camila was at her mother’s, I pulled down my pants, positioned myself in front of the mirror, and took a couple of photos. In one you could see me on all fours with three fingers sunk in to the knuckle; in the other, with a glass dildo all the way inside me, shining under the desk lamp.

I opened one of those apps to meet men and made a short, no-nonsense profile: “Bi. I want it in my mouth. Up for anything.” It didn’t take long for men to write to me. In less than a week I had four guys waiting for me to give them a date and an address.

One of them beat the rest. His name was Mauro, he was in his early thirties, with a crooked smile in the photos and a long cock, thick at the base, bending slightly to the left. It wasn’t just the cock. It was the way he wrote. No disgust, no pretense, telling me everything he was going to do to me: run his tongue over my ass until I was shaking, finish between my cheeks, watch me spit out his load.

We talked five days in a row. On the sixth I said yes and we arranged to meet at his apartment on a Thursday in the middle of the afternoon. Before hanging up he confessed something that almost made me back out: he had a partner too. Her name was Daniela. They lived together. But she was away at a three-day conference and there was no chance of crossing paths.

I believed him. I wanted to believe him. And at the appointed hour I was riding the elevator up in a building I didn’t know.

As soon as he opened the door I understood we were going to skip the whole coffee part. He kissed me on the mouth before closing it, as if we had never seen each other before and at the same time as if we were old lovers. I had never kissed a man. I thought his beard would bother me. What surprised me was how much I liked it.

I tore open his shirt with clumsy fingers and kissed his neck, his chest, the trail of fine hair running down to his navel. He slipped his hand into my pants without asking, grabbed my hard dick and let out a low, satisfied laugh, as if he had just confirmed something.

—You were ready before you even rang the bell —he said.

I didn’t answer. I unzipped him.

The cock in the photos didn’t do him justice. I had it in my hand, not fully hard yet, and my mouth was already watering. I knelt in the living room entrance, kissed the tip, then licked it from the base upward, slow, just like I’d seen a thousand times on screen. When I took the whole thing in my mouth, I heard a deep groan that lit me on fire inside.

—Just like that, slowly. Let it grow —he told me, grabbing the back of my neck.

I felt it harden against my palate. It was a sensation unlike anything with Camila, or with any woman. It was filling my mouth with something alive, something that responded to my movements, urging me to open wider.

Mauro lifted me off the floor, took me into the bedroom, and stripped me while finishing what I had started. He put me face-down on the bed, spread my legs, and started moving his tongue over me from my feet upward. My calves, my thighs, my balls. When he reached my ass, a moan slipped out of me that didn’t even sound like mine.

—Stay still —he said, and kept going.

I could feel the ring of my entrance opening and closing with every lick. I grabbed my dick and started jerking myself off, slowly at first, then faster, while I begged him to fuck me. I lifted my hips, spread my cheeks with both hands, offered him everything. It was an invitation no man can refuse.

He spat, stroked his cock a couple of times, and pressed it against me. The first pressure left me breathless. I pushed back myself, wanting more, wanting to finish opening up all at once. When I felt him all the way inside, with his balls touching mine, I let my head fall against the mattress and smiled like an idiot.

He grabbed my waist and started moving. His rhythm was careful at first, measuring each thrust, watching how my body responded. Then he turned up the intensity. I moved with him, forward, back, sideways, looking for new angles. The only sounds in the apartment were the wet noise, the slaps of his pelvis against my ass, and my own ragged breathing.

And then the front door opened.

***

Mauro stopped dead. I felt him yank out of me, cold, almost violent. I was left on all fours, my ass still open, not understanding. Before he could even reach for pants, footsteps were already in the hallway.

I turned to look and almost collapsed.

In the doorway was Daniela. My ex-wife.

We hadn’t seen each other in almost five years. The last I knew, she’d moved to the other side of the country. The people you have unfinished business with always cross your path again, even if you’re not looking for them. I remembered that line, read somewhere, just when it was already too late to escape.

I sat up on the bed in a rush, trying to cover myself with the sheet, with a sense of shame that was choking me. Mauro stammered something, I don’t know what. Daniela didn’t look at him first. She looked at me.

—Don’t move —she told me, softly, almost amused.

Then she turned to him.

—So this is your Thursday-mid-afternoon friend, huh? —she said to Mauro—. For months I’ve known you were fucking guys when I wasn’t around. What I didn’t know was that you were going to bring me this one.

Mauro opened his mouth and closed it without saying anything.

I knew Daniela. I’d known her for four years. And all at once I remembered a night when we were coming back from a party and she, drunk and happy, had confessed that her biggest fantasy was to have a dick for a day, to really understand what it felt like to fuck someone. She’d said it laughing. I took it as a game.

I looked into her eyes that afternoon, in Mauro’s bedroom, and understood it had never been a game.

She was angry, yes. But under the anger there was something else, much bigger. She grabbed Mauro by the face and kissed him hard, tongue and all, as if she had to mark him in front of me. Then she knelt and pulled his pants down in one motion.

—Look —she told me, without looking at me—. You stay there and watch.

She sucked him slowly, with technique, holding his cock with both hands. I had received that same mouth for years and my stomach turned with jealousy, excitement, and something I didn’t even know how to name.

She took off her blouse without letting him go. Then the black bra. Her tits were fuller than I remembered, her nipples hard, and she squeezed them herself while she kept sucking him.

She lifted her head, let Mauro go, and pinned me with her eyes.

—I want you to fuck him again. Blindfolded.

It wasn’t a request. It was an order.

I got on all fours in the middle of the bed without thinking. My dick, which had gone soft from the shock, got hard again the moment I felt her walking behind me. Daniela tied my eyes with her own black bra. It smelled like her perfume, that same one from always, and the smell went straight to another bed, another time.

—Still —she repeated.

I felt Mauro’s hands spreading my cheeks. Then his cock, again. This time without any preamble. It went in to the hilt and made me moan out loud. In the dark, blind, all I had left was my body.

The hands jerking me off couldn’t be his, because he was holding my hips. They were different hands. Smaller. Familiar. Daniela is jerking me off while he fucks me, and I don’t dare take off the blindfold.

Then he stopped. I felt him pull out, slowly, completely. A long few seconds passed in which nobody spoke. And then he went back in, but different. It wasn’t him. It was slimmer. Harder. More insistent.

—Open your mouth —I heard.

Before I could obey, they forced it open with something rubbery, a thick dildo that filled me to the throat. The blindfold was yanked off.

Daniela was on top of me, holding my hair, fucking my mouth with a toy strapped to her waist. She was wearing a black harness, her tits bounced with every thrust, and she looked at me with a mix of fury and laughter I had never seen in her before. Behind me, Mauro held my hips and shoved his cock back into me to the hilt.

Both of them. At the same time. In the same rhythm.

My ex-wife was fucking my mouth the way I had fucked hers so many times. And for the first time I truly understood, really understood, what she had meant to tell me that drunk night.

When she pulled out of my mouth, she held my face between both hands. Her breathing was ragged.

—Now fuck him —she said, nodding toward him.

Mauro got on all fours beside me, offering me his ass. It was appetizing, round, defined. I settled in behind him, ran my tongue between his cheeks, slid one finger inside, then two, then three. I heard him panting into the pillow.

In that position, my own hole was exposed to the air. I wasn’t surprised to feel, almost immediately, something else entering me. Daniela. My ex’s bitch, as she used to call herself in other times. She was behind me with the harness still on and fucked me without asking permission, without warning.

The worst part —or the best, I don’t know what to call it— is that I liked it.

I started fucking Mauro to the rhythm she set for me. The three of us ended up pressed together, chained, moving like a single machine. I don’t remember the order of things very well. I know Mauro came first, soaking the sheet underneath. I know I came inside him, biting my lip so I wouldn’t scream. And I know Daniela kept moving in me a few minutes longer, until she slipped out, slowly, and gave my right cheek a sharp slap.

She took off the harness. Let it fall to the floor, unhurried.

I looked at my hands. They were trembling.

—Get yourselves together —she said, fastening her bra—. We need to talk, all three of us. Calmly.

She came over to where I was still kneeling on the bed, grabbed my face like I was still hers, and left me one last thing before leaving the room.

—From now on, both asses are mine. You know where to find me.

***

I got home after nine. Camila asked me how the gym had gone and I answered with a long kiss, different, which she accepted without suspecting a thing. That night we had dinner in silence, watching a series I didn’t pay attention to.

Later, in the shower, I jerked off thinking about Mauro, Daniela, the black harness tossed on the floor of a bedroom that wasn’t mine. And for the first time, in no uncertain terms, I understood that this was not going to end that week.

I don’t know what I’m going to do. I know Daniela has my number. I know Mauro does too. I know next Thursday Camila will be at her mother’s again.

And I know I’m going to answer.