The Anniversary Gift That Changed Our Boundaries
It wasn’t the first time we’d stepped into that sex shop. Marina and I had discovered it a couple of years earlier, when we started talking more than we kept quiet, and since then we’d taken home three or four toys that served us well. One afternoon, we even ended up locked inside one of the private booths, fucking with ragged breathing while a scratched-up screen projected something neither of us was watching. But that isn’t the story I came to tell.
Today’s story begins with an anniversary. Fourteen years married, the kids already grown and sleeping at my in-laws’, and a promise I’d made Marina two weeks earlier: “This year I pick the gift, and there’s no arguing.” She agreed with that crooked smile she wears when she senses something is brewing.
I spoke with Damián, the shop owner, a couple of days before. It wasn’t an easy conversation to start, but he handled that sort of thing with a natural ease I envied. We agreed on a time, a room in the back, and the help of an acquaintance of his willing to cooperate in exchange for absolute discretion. No one was going to see anyone’s face. That was the only condition I’d set.
***
I took her to the shop fifteen minutes before closing. Marina looked gorgeous: blouse with just the right neckline, skirt above the knee, heels that made her walk as if she were stepping on glass, and makeup that had almost undone me in the car. I gave her a long kiss at the entrance and told her to relax.
—What are you plotting? —she asked me for the umpteenth time.
—Something you’ll remember —I answered.
She was convinced, as she confessed later, that I was going to give her some new toy and make her try it right there, in that sordid little room we’d so often mentioned in passing. She went in with a mix of fear and curiosity, and with wetness already showing between her legs, as she also told me later.
Damián greeted us with a nod and let us through to the back. The room was small, windowless, with an old armchair, a vinyl sofa, a turned-off screen on the wall, the heat cranked up, and a reddish light that blurred the contours. It smelled of disinfectant with a background note of old tobacco.
I walked her to the wall opposite the door, took her face in both hands, and told her:
—I love you like crazy. Here’s your gift. I hope you like it.
She kissed me without understanding. When I pulled away, she looked ahead and brought both hands to her mouth.
***
In the wall there was a hole the size of a fist, its edges lined with padded tape. A glory hole, to put it plainly. And emerging from that darkness, a black cock, thick, long, still soft, circumcised, with a small red gift ribbon tied around the base.
Marina went speechless. I spoke to her in a low voice, almost in her ear.
—These are the rules, baby. There are no rules. That cock is yours for today. You do whatever the hell you want with it. The only condition is that I’m going to be here. In the shop it’s just you, me, and the owner of that. The man on the other side is never going to come in, you’re never going to see his face, he can’t see us, and we can’t see him. It’s just a cock. And for a few hours, it’s yours.
She called me crazy in a whisper, without taking her eyes off that penis. We had never actively involved anyone else in our thing. We had flirted with the idea of a threesome, exchanged videos with another couple online, gotten hot for months imagining situations we never actually dared to live out. But seeing her, my wife, in front of a stranger’s cock waiting patiently, I knew we were standing on the edge. Either we crossed that line, or we went home forever with the doubt.
***
She took two steps closer. She kept staring, measuring distances. Then she turned to me.
—Can I touch it?
—Anything you want, baby.
For a second I thought about telling her that if she felt uncomfortable we’d leave and never speak of it again. There was no need. She stretched out her hand and took it. Let it go. Took it again, this time more firmly. She looked at me with a nervous laugh, holding that huge thing between her fingers, pretending she didn’t know what to do.
She knew perfectly well what to do. She started moving it slowly, up and down, and within seconds that muscle began to wake up. It didn’t grow much in length —it was already impressive at rest— but it gained a thickness and hardness I’d only seen in porn, and even there not so often. The silence became absolute. I vanished from the room. In the whole universe there was only my wife, slowly jerking off a stranger’s cock.
Almost without realizing it, she brought her left hand to her chest over the blouse. She was rubbing a nipple while the other hand set a rhythm that grew more confident by the second. She looked at me only once, at the start, seeking one last sign. After that, her eyes stayed fixed on that penis, as if hypnotized.
—Are you sure about this? —she asked at last, without letting go of it.
It was she who was now giving me the ultimatum back. If I said a word, it would all end right there. I was jealous, I was scared, I had a knot in my throat. And I had a rock-hard cock inside my pants. I nodded.
Marina smiled. She took the gift ribbon between two fingers, tugged at the tape, and let it fall to the floor. Then she kept jerking it, now with both hands. She brought that чужерод flesh up to her face, rubbed it along her cheek, brushed her lips with the head without taking it in yet. I imagined her smelling another man, the different heat, the new texture. She unbuttoned two buttons of her blouse, slipped her free hand inside, and started squeezing one breast. That scene wasn’t for my cock, but the show was all mine.
***
The next step was inevitable. Without taking her eyes off me, she opened her mouth and took only the head inside. I knew that look by heart: it was the same look with which, for years, she’d made me lose my mind every time she knelt in front of me. The difference now was brutal: what she had between her lips wasn’t mine, the blowjob was for someone else, but the look was still for me. It hurt and drove me wild at the same time. There was no turning back.
She yanked off her blouse. She never wore a bra. Her tits were left bare, heavy and firm, swaying while she struggled to open her mouth as wide as she could to take in the tip of that cock. She drew in air, pulled it out, weighed it like someone admiring a collector’s piece, and looked around for something. She found a cushion tossed on the sofa, put it on the floor, knelt on it as if in church, and began the liturgy in earnest.
She took it deeper and deeper, no longer just the head. Saliva started running down her chin and dripping between her breasts. With one hand she held the base, with the other she smeared her chest with her own spit, squeezed her nipples, massaged herself. I couldn’t take it anymore: I pulled down my pants and started jerking off standing there, watching that pagan mass she officiated with a devotion that would have made me jealous if I hadn’t been the one who put her there. I thought about moving closer and giving her the chance to suck two cocks at once, but no. That moment was sacred. It couldn’t be interrupted.
***
We stayed like that for a good while. Marina drifted in and out of a soft trance: sometimes she pulled the cock out and licked it from top to bottom, played with the shaved balls protruding from the hole, slid her free hand down to her crotch and touched herself over her panties. Then she’d shove the cock back in as far as she could, almost gagging, let it out with a gasp, smile with her chin shining, and start again.
At one point she stood up, unbuttoned her skirt, let it fall, took off her panties, and was left only in stockings and heels. She knelt again. Now she was slipping two fingers into herself while trying to take that flesh deeper, staying for a few seconds with half the shaft pressing against her throat and forcing herself to endure it. Every time she let go, she gasped with a mischievous little-girl smile. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing.
I moved closer to her without putting my own cock into the scene. I knelt behind her, stroked her tits, her stomach, the inside of her thighs. She kept sucking and touching herself. I knew she could come whenever she wanted, but she loved delaying it, playing with her own orgasm like a horse she was letting out on the reins little by little.
I had an idea. I had her raise herself a little without stopping kneeling, asked her to open her legs, and slid under her, on my back, with my head between her thighs. I started eating her pussy from below while she, on top, kept sucking cock. From my angle I could see her breasts swaying, her wet chin, and that black cock going in and out of her mouth. Every so often she pulled it out, tapped it lightly against her face, laughed to herself, and swallowed it again.
She came with that cock in her mouth. My face filled with her wetness, my tongue felt her pussy contracting. She didn’t pull the cock out even to moan. I think it’s a miracle the stranger on the other side didn’t cum at that exact instant, because when she comes with something in her mouth, she grips in a way that leaves no mercy.
***
Marina loved blowjobs. She didn’t just suck me off because she loved me: doing it made her insanely horny. That’s why she was the best. And in that red room she was proving it with a practical exam no tribunal could have passed twice.
After her orgasm I decided it was my turn too. I got out from underneath, finished taking off my clothes, knelt behind her, and entered her without warning. She was soaked, warm, open. Her gasps were muffled by the cock she still had in her mouth. I fucked her hard, almost angrily, wanting to remind myself that this woman was still mine. I thought of the obvious thing: whether she’d want to take that monster inside her, whether she’d let herself be impaled by that thing. I couldn’t know, because she interrupted me.
—He’s about to come —she said, pulling it out of her mouth for a second.
As an experienced sucker, she knew what she was talking about. I pulled out of her, respected the ritual, stood up, and just watched. Marina jerked him off with her mouth open and her tongue out, resting the head on it. The stranger came first slowly, a first warm jet on her tongue. Then he ejaculated like an animal: she closed her mouth but didn’t move her face away, spat a little so the cum ran down over her tits, and kept jerking him while white lines spread over her skin. From the other side of the wall, for the first time, a few hoarse groans were heard.
When he finished, she slowed down until she stopped. She squeezed the base, a final drop appeared, she licked it hungrily, and let the cock go gently. That penis remained suspended for a moment, losing its erection, and slowly disappeared again into the darkness of the hole.
Marina was panting happily, shining with saliva, sweat, semen, and her own fluids.
—Thank you —she told me, rubbing the cum over her tits as if it were cream.
I moved in decisively, and there was no need to speak. I shoved myself into her mouth almost without warning, practically fucked her face. She, still kneeling with her legs open, masturbated at full speed. I came down her throat one second before she reached her second orgasm. This time she didn’t spit anything out. She swallowed it all, eyes closed and breathing ragged.
***
We let ourselves fall to the floor. Marina lay on her back on the worn carpet and I stretched out beside her. We held each other with our eyes closed. The room smelled of sex, of cum, of perfume mixed with sweat. For a moment we said nothing.
When I opened my eyes, I looked toward the hole in the wall. Only the dark opening remained. The owner of that cock had already left, without a name, without a face, without a word. As if he’d never been there.
To this day, that remains the most extreme night we’ve lived together. Marina mentions it from time to time, almost always in whispers, almost always when we’re already in bed and the light is off. I don’t know if we’ll ever do something like that again. I do know that she liked the gift.