The Consultation Where I Confessed My Darkest Fantasy

For six months I had been trapped in a spiral I didn’t dare tell anyone about. It started on an ordinary Tuesday, one of those nights when Mariela was already asleep and I stayed up aimlessly browsing on my phone. I clicked on a category I had never looked at before, just out of curiosity, and from that night on I couldn’t think about anything else.

It wasn’t the sex that hooked me. It was the humiliation. Watching men like me kneeling, looking at their wives spread-legged while other guys with cocks twice as thick as theirs fucked them all the way to the balls. Hearing the women scream that they had never been fucked like that, that their husbands could no longer fill their pussies, that they needed a real cock. Something in my stomach twisted, and at the same time I got hard as a rock beneath my pants. I felt dirty and aroused in equal measure.

Mariela noticed the distance. She asked me if I was stressed at work, if I was still in love with her, if there was someone else. I lied to her with the same old phrase.

—I’m tired, love. It’s the office.

But it wasn’t the office. It was knowing that every night, while she slept with her arms around me, I went to the bathroom with my phone, pulled down my pants, and jerked off watching other men’s wives being destroyed by strangers. I came back to bed with the semen still warm on the toilet paper and my soul more broken than before. I started avoiding her in bed. When she touched my cock through my underwear, I closed my eyes and imagined her sucking someone else’s, her mouth full of a cock that wasn’t mine, looking at me while strings of saliva ran down her chin. I got hard instantly. And that embarrassed me more than anything else I had ever felt in my life.

One morning before dawn, I promised myself I would stop. The promise lasted three days.

I typed “porn addiction psychologist” into the search bar and booked the first available appointment. Dr. Lucía Bertrán had a good rating, a serious-looking photo, and an address twenty blocks from my house. Far enough away that no one would see me going in.

I arrived fifteen minutes early, a knot in my throat. The waiting room smelled of wood and freshly brewed coffee. When she opened the door and said my name, I felt my knees tremble.

—Come in, Damián. Relax.

The office was warm. A tobacco-colored armchair, a thick rug, a window with half-closed curtains filtering the evening light. She sat across from me with a notepad and crossed her legs. She must have been around forty-five. Clear eyes, hair pulled back, wedding ring on her left hand.

—Tell me what brings you here.

I wanted to answer with a rehearsed sentence, but it dissolved in my mouth. I lowered my eyes to the floor.

—I have a fantasy I can’t get out of my head. It’s been months. I can’t concentrate, I can’t fuck my wife without thinking about it, and I’m ashamed even to say it out loud.

She didn’t move.

—What fantasy, Damián?

I took a deep breath. I dug my fingernails into my palm.

—Imagining my wife fucking another man. Me watching. Her with another man’s cock inside her, telling me he fills her pussy better than I do, that she comes harder with him. I know it sounds horrible. I don’t want it to really happen. But the idea gets my cock harder than anything in my life ever has.

I waited for judgment. It didn’t come.

—You’re not crazy, Damián. What you’re describing is called a cuckold fantasy, and it’s one of the most common ones I hear in this office. What we have to do isn’t destroy it. We have to understand it.

I felt as though I were breathing for the first time in six months.

—And how do you understand something like that?

—By closing your eyes and letting it come out. Here, with me, without guilt. If you keep it out, it will start eating you from the inside. If you look it straight in the face, you’ll be able to decide what to do with it.

She asked me in a soft, almost maternal voice. Rest your head against the back. Close your eyes. Breathe slowly. I did.

—Now think about your wife. What’s her name?

—Mariela.

—Mariela is with you at home. What happens next?

I swallowed. My voice came out hoarse.

—The bedroom door opens. A guy comes in. I know him by sight, from the neighborhood gym. He’s younger than me, taller, stronger. He doesn’t say anything. He just looks at us. And Mariela looks at him.

—Describe him.

—He has broad shoulders, a swimmer’s back. His shirt is tight across the top and loose around the waist. He’s wearing athletic shorts and nothing else. And when he pulls them down, I understand why Mariela is biting her lip.

—Keep going.

***

—He has a huge cock. Long, thick, with pronounced veins and heavy balls hanging between his legs. Mine looks like a toy next to it. It’s half-hard and already reaches halfway down his thigh, pointing forward as if it knows exactly why it came. The pink tip, shiny. Mariela looks down and her mouth falls open on its own. I hear her swallow from where I’m standing. I don’t move. I only hear my own breathing and feel the bulge beginning to show in my pants.

—And her?

—She gets up from the edge of the bed. She pulls her shirt over her head and her tits are bare, her nipples already hard and erect. She walks toward him as if I weren’t in the room. She doesn’t ask my permission, doesn’t look at me. She kneels on the rug in front of him and grabs his cock with both hands. She measures its thickness by spreading her fingers, and there’s still more left over.

I felt heat in my neck. Lucía’s voice continued guiding me, patiently.

—Does she suck it?

—She runs her tongue over it first, from the balls to the tip, long and slow, as if she were savoring an ice cream. Then she takes it into her mouth. At first, just the head, sucking hard, her cheeks hollowed. Saliva spills from the corner of her mouth. Then she starts going down. She swallows half of it, pulls back, then takes it in again, deeper. I hear her gag when it catches in her throat, but she doesn’t let go. She keeps pushing her face against the guy’s pelvis until it goes all the way in.

—Keep going.

—I hear him let out a breath through his teeth. He grabs her head with both hands and starts moving her face up and down, fucking her mouth at his own pace. She doesn’t resist. Her eyes shine with tears, and drool runs down her chin until it falls onto her tits. And she makes sounds I’ve never heard from her with me—guttural, wet, obscene sounds. My wife deep-throating like a video slut for a guy she met five minutes ago.

—Does she look at you at any point?

—Yes. She turns her face, with him all the way down her throat, and looks at me from down there. She slowly pulls him out of her mouth, a thick strand of saliva connecting her lips to the tip, and smiles at me. She smiles with her swollen, glistening lips, her chin wet. And then she says something that leaves me breathless.

—What does she say?

—She says, “Forgive me, love. But I can’t let go of this cock. It’s so much bigger than yours. You have no idea how it feels in my mouth.”

Lucía wrote something down without interrupting me. My breathing had become short and ragged. My cock throbbed inside my pants, hard and pressed against the fabric.

—And what do you do?

—Nothing. I can’t move. And at the same time I’ve never been this horny in my life. I grab myself through my pants and squeeze, that’s all, and I feel like I’m two strokes away from coming without even taking it out.

—Keep going, Damián. What happens next?

I squeezed my eyes shut harder. The scene unfolded on its own, without me having to push it.

—He lifts her off the floor by her hair. He throws her facedown onto our bed and puts her on all fours, her ass raised, facing me. He yanks her panties down and leaves them caught around her knees. I can see her pussy from where I’m sitting. It’s soaked, swollen, shiny. Dripping. It runs down the insides of her thighs. I’ve never seen her like that with me. Never.

—And him?

—He gets behind her. He grips his cock and runs it over her pussy lips, up and down, coating it with her juices. He taps her clit with the tip and Mariela moans, pushing her ass backward, searching for him. And before putting it in, he looks at me and says one word.

—Which one?

—“Watch.”

***

—He penetrates her with one thrust. All the way in. It goes in completely at once and Mariela lets out a scream that bounces off the bedroom walls. It isn’t a scream of pain. It’s something else. It’s the scream I never got from her in fifteen years of marriage. An animal scream, sharp and long, as if something inside her had broken and she liked it.

—How do you feel at this point in the fantasy?

—Humiliated. And horny. My underwear is sticking to my glans from all the pre-cum I’m leaking. I can’t separate the two things. They’re the same.

—That’s okay. Keep going.

—He starts fucking her slowly. He pulls almost all the way out and drives back in with one hard thrust, measuring her, as if he had all the time in the world. He grabs her hair with one hand and pulls her head back, arching her. With the other hand he digs his nails into her ass. Every thrust can be heard—that heavy, wet sound of their pelvises colliding and her pussy dripping. My bed makes a noise it had never made with me. Mariela’s tits sway forward and backward with every drive, and she bites the sheet so she won’t scream so loudly.

—Does he talk to you?

—Yes. Without stopping. Without stopping fucking her, he asks me if I’ve ever seen how a woman is really fucked. He tells me to learn. He asks if I know how much of him my wife takes when a man with a real cock fucks her. He tells me to come closer. To kneel beside the bed, near her face.

—And you?

—I kneel. I crawl across the rug and kneel right beside Mariela’s head. She’s ten centimeters away. I can see her open mouth, the drool, her vacant eyes. Every time he drives into her, she thrusts her face forward and her moans hit me in the face like hot air.

Lucía fell silent for a few seconds. Then she continued in the same calm voice.

—Does Mariela say anything to you then?

—Yes. Between moans, her voice broken by the thrusts he drives into her. She looks at me and says, “Love, can you feel how he’s fucking me? Can you hear how wet I am? You never got me like this. Never. His cock reaches places yours can’t, love. Have you ever made me feel like this?” And I tell her no.

—Does it hurt to tell her no?

—It hurts. But it also relieves me. It’s the first time in years I’ve told her the truth about something important.

Lucía lowered her voice.

—That’s important, Damián. That sentence is important. Stay with it for a second.

I stayed with it. And inside, something gave way. Like when a screw that has been tightened too much for too long finally loosens.

—Continue when you’re ready.

***

—She comes like that, on all fours, her face crushed against the mattress. Her whole body trembles, her thighs clamp around his hips, and she screams my name. She screams “Damián” while she comes on another man’s cock. Then he turns her over. He puts her on her back. He spreads her legs with his knee, settles between her thighs, runs his cock once over her pussy, soaked with her, and drives it back in up to the balls. This time Mariela stares straight at me. She stretches out her arm, grabs my hand with hers, and squeezes it. She doesn’t let go. While he fucks her with everything he has, while he buries himself in her again and again and the mattress creaks and her tits bounce until they smack against her mouth, she holds my hand and doesn’t let go.

—What does that hand tell you?

—That I’m still her husband. That this isn’t about getting rid of me. It’s so I can see her like that, open, surrendered, fucked like a bitch, and know that even so she’s choosing to squeeze my hand. That she knows me like this. That she knows everything she’s capable of feeling.

—And how does that make you feel?

—It makes me feel loved. And that’s the strangest thing about the whole fantasy. He ends up coming inside her, filling her pussy with semen, pulls his cock out, and it all drips down her thighs onto our sheet. And she never lets go of my hand. Not when the other man comes. Not when he gets up and leaves. Not when we’re alone, with her legs still spread and another man’s semen running down her ass onto the sheet, still squeezing my hand. The fantasy doesn’t end in abandonment. It ends with one hand squeezing mine while something enormous is happening.

Lucía paused for a long time. When she spoke again, she no longer had the pen in her hand.

—Open your eyes, Damián.

I opened them. My shirt was stuck to my chest. My cheeks burned. My cock was still hard and throbbing, a patch of moisture marked on the light fabric of my pants. I felt naked in a new way.

—This isn’t a fantasy about your wife leaving you. It’s a fantasy about your wife choosing you despite having felt everything she’s capable of feeling. What excites you is honesty, not betrayal. Do you see that?

I nodded slowly.

—Pornography offered you a broken version of that. The version where you’re treated like trash. That’s why you got hooked and why it hurt you at the same time. What you need isn’t that version. You need to talk to Mariela.

—Do I tell Mariela this?

—Not tomorrow. But someday, yes. Start by telling her you’re in therapy. Then we’ll see what you tell her about what happens in here. There’s a version of this fantasy you can live out together, if you both want to. And there’s a version that never needs to happen, because it has already served its purpose. Both are valid.

When I left the office, I walked three blocks without remembering where I had left the car. In the building’s elevator, I looked at myself in the mirror. For the first time in six months, the man looking back at me wasn’t hiding from anyone.

Once I was behind the wheel, before starting the car, I sent Mariela a message.

When you get home, we need to talk. I have to tell you something.

She answered with a heart and an “Is everything okay?” that tightened my chest. I didn’t reply. I wanted to tell her while looking into her eyes, not through a screen.

When I got out of the car and walked to the front door, the last image that crossed my mind wasn’t the gym guy’s cock entering my wife’s pussy. It was Mariela’s hand squeezing mine while everything shook around us. And I understood that Dr. Lucía had been right from the very first minute. The fantasy had never been about her leaving. It had always been about her staying, even after feeling everything.

That night I told her I was going to therapy. Just that. The rest, I said, would come with time. Mariela hugged me without asking anything else. In the darkness of the bedroom, with her head resting on my chest, I felt something I hadn’t felt in a long time. It wasn’t arousal. It was peace. And underneath it, a new curiosity, patiently waiting until I was ready to look it straight in the face.