The Confession I Made to Valeria Before We Went to Sleep

Valeria, you’ve spent weeks asking me what happens to me when I go quiet in bed after we fuck, when I turn off the phone and lie there staring at the ceiling with that expression you call “the face of thinking too much.” The truth is simple: I’ve been turning something over in my head for a while now, and I don’t know how to tell you about it. Not because I’m afraid of your reaction. But because when I imagine saying it out loud, it becomes too real to keep belonging to me alone.

That night, with the little lamp on and your head resting on my shoulder, I decided I’d been silent long enough.

We were kissing slowly, like we do when neither of us is in a hurry and the time in the room seems to belong to another world. That calm you have when you kiss, the way you give me your mouth as if it’s the only thing that matters to you in that moment, unbalances me more than anything else. I brushed the hair off your face. I looked at you for a second. And I spoke before fear had time to step in.

—I have to tell you something —I said quietly.

You stopped kissing me. Not alarmed, but with that still, attentive focus you give me when you know what’s coming deserves to be heard for real. You tilted your head slightly toward me and waited, without rushing me.

—I’ve been thinking about inviting someone else. The two of us together. Someone we choose ourselves, no rush, no pressure of any kind. A guy who can fuck both of us properly.

You didn’t say anything for two or three seconds. I could feel you processing the words, making them yours, looking at them from every possible angle. Then you smiled at the corner of your mouth, that gesture of yours I never quite manage to decipher completely, the one that can mean twenty different things and still makes me nervous after all this time together.

—Go on —you said, and slid your hand under the sheet until you found my cock, already hard just from having said it out loud. You took it fully in your hand, without moving, just holding it, measuring what my body was confessing on its own.

Then I started telling you as if it had already happened. As if it were something I’d dreamed that week and needed to get out of me before it consumed me completely. You closed your eyes. You placed one palm on my chest and let the other one keep working me slowly, your thumb slipping over the head every time you came back up. I began speaking in a very low voice, with the room as our only witness.

***

In the fantasy, we’re in this same bed. The light is just as low, that orange half-dark that makes everything feel more intimate, more ours, as if the rest of the world no longer exists beyond these four walls. You’re wearing only that black strappy underwear that drives me crazy, the one that disappears between your ass cheeks and shows off every curve of your hips. Your tits are bare, your nipples already hard, and there’s a wet patch on the fabric of your panties that gives away how long you’ve been thinking about this. We’re kissing, with my hand between your thighs and two of my fingers pushing the fabric against your pussy so I can feel how wet you’re getting on your own, when the door opens.

He comes in slowly. In fantasies, details blur at the edges, but his presence is concrete: tall, still, with that way of moving that makes it clear he knows exactly why he’s there. He pauses for a second in the doorway and looks at us. We don’t separate. We keep kissing, but differently, with more urgency, as if his arrival were exactly the signal we’d been waiting for without knowing we were waiting. You start rocking your hips against my hand, rubbing your cunt against my fingers through the fabric, letting him see it.

He comes closer. He sits on the edge of the bed without saying anything. He takes off his belt, opens his pants, and when he pulls down his boxer briefs his cock comes out already semi-hard, thick, with the vein standing out underneath. You look at it without even trying to hide it and bite your lip.

His hands start moving down your back, slowly, with a pressure that isn’t tentative but deliberate. He unhooks your bra, slides it down your arms, and cups one of your tits fully in his palm, squeezing until a moan slips out of you. Mine move down your waist at the same time, I pull your panties off completely and throw them to the floor. Everything blends together at once: his fingers pinching your nipples, mine spreading your pussy lips, and you breathing differently because you feel that the two of us are there solely for you, that the whole night revolves around what you want to feel.

I lay you back on the sheets. You give him a look and he understands: he kneels beside your face and brings his cock to your mouth. You open your lips and swallow it without preamble, all the way down, and a groan rumbles out of his chest. You suck him with hunger, your tongue circling the head every time you come up for air, while I settle between your legs and part your thighs with my hands.

I lower my face. I lick your pussy from bottom to top, all of it, no rush, and when I get to the top I suck your hard clit between my lips. You’re soaked, your cunt swollen, tightening on its own when I run my tongue over it. I slip in two fingers and curl them forward while I keep sucking you, and you let out another moan, this time around the cock in your mouth, and he mutters a low “fuck me” that makes you even hotter.

Meanwhile, he lets your mouth go and grabs your tits with both hands, sucking your nipples one after the other, biting them carefully until you arch your back. With his thumb he presses right there, in that spot the two of us know well, making slow, soft circles without going in, without pushing further, only grazing your ass, only warming you up. You moan softly and instinctively push your hips back.

I climb on top. I position myself between your legs and slide my cock in slowly, feeling your body yield to me, feeling your cunt suck me in on its own. You moan against my mouth. You’re so wet it can be heard, that wet, filthy sound every time I come out and go back in. He keeps stroking your ass from behind with saliva-slick fingers, pressing that exact point that makes your whole back tremble, while I start fucking you with a slow, deliberate rhythm that the two of us can barely maintain.

The three of us find the rhythm together, as if we’d rehearsed it without knowing. Me fucking you deep and steady, my pelvis slamming into yours, and him slipping a finger into your ass up to the knuckle while his other hand keeps kneading your tits. You set the tempo: when you want it faster, you push your hips toward me and dig your heels into my ass; when you want it slow, you say it in whispers and we both obey without anyone having to insist.

I see you looking at him. You run your eyes over his body, top to bottom, with that calm, hungry attention I recognize because it’s the same one you gave me the first time we met and I knew I was in trouble. With one hand you reach out and find his cock again. You grab it. You start jerking him off to the rhythm I’m fucking you, squeezing your fist at the base every time I push all the way in. You feel exactly what’s there: thick, hard, throbbing against your palm.

***

Then we switch positions.

I pull out of you and he moves between your legs. He takes your cunt in his hand, runs the head of his cock over your wet lips to grease himself up, and slides into you slowly, with that same care I had at the beginning, but with a different way of filling you, a different rhythm, a different weight. You arch your back when you feel him sink all the way in. A hoarse “oh, fuck” escapes you. You cling to the sheets with both hands and close your eyes for a second, taking in the difference, feeling how he stretches you in another way.

I move beside you. I kiss your neck, your jaw, the corner of your lips, and bring my cock, wet with you, to your mouth. You open it without hesitation. You suck me while he fucks you, eyes closed, tasting yourself on me, and I hold the back of your neck to move my hips slowly inside your mouth. With my other hand I go down to your cunt and start rubbing your clit in fast circles with two fingers, adding myself to what he’s doing to you from inside.

You feel his weight on top of you, his rhythm different from mine, more direct, more urgent, every thrust shaking your tits against his chest. And at the same time you feel my cock in your mouth and my fingers soaking in your cunt around the edge where he’s entering you. You all move together. I watch and take part at the same time, not at the center but not outside anything either.

You pull my cock out of your mouth with a thread of saliva. You have that smile that only appears when something is really pleasing you, the one that opens your eyes a little more and lights up your whole face, and you whisper in my ear:

—I want to see you too. I want him to fuck you in front of me.

I understand without you having to explain anything else.

He pulls out of you. I position myself between your legs again and slide my cock into you once more, and you feel the difference right away: I go in slower, deeper, searching for that spot inside you with the head of my cock. You squeeze from the inside with that precision you have, knowing perfectly what that does to someone, milking me with your cunt while I start moving. He positions himself behind me, kneeling. I feel his hands on my hips, mapping the ground, taking the time he needs. He spits into his hand, smears my ass with saliva, and his fingers start slowly, patiently, drawing circles that open me up without my noticing when I started giving in completely.

First one, all the way in, curving forward. Then two, and that’s when a moan slips out of me that I wasn’t expecting. No rush, no unnecessary force, following a rhythm that pushes me deeper into you with each movement of his, as if the three of us were gears fitting together on their own. Every time he slips his fingers into me, I drive my cock into you to the hilt, and you feel everything amplified.

You look at my face as it happens. You see exactly what he’s doing to me, you see how my body responds, how my breathing changes, how my jaw trembles when he pulls his fingers out and sets the head of his cock at the entrance. And you like that, I can tell by how you squeeze me tighter with your cunt, by how you arch your back more, by how you moan with an intensity you haven’t had all night.

He pushes into me slowly and enters me completely. A long gasp escapes me against your neck. The three of us are chained into a single line: he fucking me, me fucking you, you in the center of it all, taking double of every thrust, every movement amplified by both ends at once. When he slams into me, I bury my cock in you to the hilt without being able to control it. When he pulls back, I come out too. We’re one body with three gasping mouths.

The rhythm picks up on its own. What started cautious and measured turns into something that admits no pause or control. The slap of skin on skin is audible, your sharp moans, his deep grunts against the back of my neck, and my broken breathing against your mouth. You take your hand to your clit and start rubbing it furiously, knowing you’re about to come. The three of us lose our composure at the same time, each in our own way. You keep directing until the last moment, with your hips, with your voice, with the fingers you dig into my back when you feel yourself getting close.

—Come inside both of you —you say, voice breaking—. Both of you, now.

The climax hits the three of us in waves.

He first, inside me, with three final thrusts that drive me to the hilt, and I feel the heat of his load filling me from within, spilling through me. The sensation of his cum running through me makes me lose control too: I come inside you, deep, trembling, shooting my seed into the back of your cunt while I clench my jaw not to make too much noise. You come a moment later, with a shudder I feel all the way from inside, squeezing me so hard with your cunt that I can’t move even if I wanted to, milking me down to the last drop.

We stay still. The three of us are still panting, still linked. He comes out of me slowly and I feel his cum running down my thigh. I pull out of you and see mine spilling out between your swollen pussy lips, running down your ass to the sheet. The only sound in the room is our breathing slowly catching up and the thick silence of the early morning outside.

***

When he leaves, silently, the way he came in, the door closes with a soft click and the room becomes ours again.

I lie down beside you. I wrap my arm around you. The room has that thick heat that follows, that smell of sex and semen and sweat that only exists when three people have lost their composure together for a good while and no longer care. The two of us look at the ceiling without saying anything, letting silence take the space the sounds used to fill.

After a long moment, you open your eyes and look at me. Your hand is between your legs, idly playing with what I left inside you.

—Just a fantasy? —you ask.

I shrug, smiling in the dim light.

—For now.

You lean in and kiss me slowly. Just like at the start of the night, when it was still only the two of us and the little lamp had just been switched on and I still hadn’t decided to open my mouth. You feel my cock start waking up again against your thigh and you smile against my mouth.

—Tell me about him —you say, your mouth still brushing mine—. Tell me how we choose him. And don’t leave out a single detail.

I don’t answer right away. I turn off the lamp. The room goes dark and the only point of reference is you: your warmth, your breathing, the weight of your leg over mine, your hand sliding down my belly again and taking my cock once more, the way you settle against my side as if it were the only place that makes sense to be.

—That’s another story —I say quietly.

You pull me closer. And I start again.