The Friday Pact No One Was Supposed to Discover

Carla and Damián had been separated for three months, but signing the papers hadn’t solved anything. They had a nine-year-old son, Tomás, who still didn’t understand why his father now slept somewhere else. To spare him as much hurt as possible, they agreed to keep the Córdoba house untouched for a while. Damián rented an apartment ten blocks away, but he came back on weekends to maintain the appearance that nothing had broken.

The pact, however, went far beyond appearances. Every Friday night, once Tomás was asleep, they fucked on purpose loudly, shamelessly, like in the early years. The idea was for the boy to hear something through the wall and associate it with the normalcy of a couple that still fucked each other hard.

—That way he won’t get traumatized —Carla had said, with a smile that was half bitter, half complicit—. And we get to let off steam too. I haven’t come with a cock inside me in three months, and I’m not planning to keep going like this.

Damián had agreed without thinking twice.

***

It was Friday again. The house smelled of the dinner Carla had prepared: something simple, breaded cutlets with mashed potatoes, so the night wouldn’t get complicated. Tomás was in his room, glued to the console before going to sleep. Damián arrived at nine on the dot, with a bottle of red wine tucked under his arm.

—Hi, baby —he said loudly, and kissed Carla on the mouth as if it were any other good Friday.

Tomás peeped at them from the hallway and smiled, oblivious to the performance.

The three of them had dinner, chatting about school and a match. Damián messed up the boy’s hair, Carla served ice cream for dessert with a slightly trembling hand, anticipating what would come later. When Tomás went to bed, they stayed in the living room, drinking in silence. Damián watched her over the rim of his glass. She was wearing a tight dress that clung to her body, and he knew it by heart.

—Ready? —he murmured, resting a hand on her thigh and sliding it up to brush her cunt over her panties.

—Shut up and come upstairs —she answered, low and husky—. I’ve been soaking wet just looking at you all through dinner.

The divorce had come about because they’d both cheated and because years had worn them down, but desire had never gone out. On the contrary: now that they meant nothing on paper, what happened between the sheets had become rawer, more honest.

***

They climbed the stairs slowly, making sure every step creaked. They entered the master bedroom, the same one as always, and Damián slammed the door shut. Carla yanked off her dress and was left in black underwear, the fabric barely holding on over her skin. Her nipples pressed hard against the lace.

—Look at what you do to me —he said, undoing his belt and pulling down his pants. His cock was already pushing against his briefs, thick, begging to get out.

She knelt in front of him without waiting for anything. She tugged his underwear down in one pull and his cock sprang into her face, hard, with a drop gleaming at the tip. She took it with both hands and ran her tongue along it from bottom to top, unhurried, looking him in the eyes. She licked his balls first, one and then the other, taking them only slightly into her mouth, and then moved back up the shaft to the tip, where she lingered sucking the glans as if it were candy.

—Like that, slow... —Damián panted, his hand tangled in her hair, gauging the volume so it would carry through the wall—. Suck it all, whore.

Carla opened her mouth and took him all the way in, until the tip hit the back of her throat and she had to breathe through her nose. She went up and down at a slow rhythm, letting saliva drip and wet his balls, attentive to every reaction of his body. She pulled his cock out for a second, spat on the glans, and took it back in, now faster, both hands helping at the base, making a show of the sounds with her mouth on purpose.

—You suck cock so fucking well, holy shit —he groaned aloud—. You never forgot, did you?

—Never —she answered, mouth full and voice rough, and gave his balls one long lick to the tip before sinking her face back down again.

On the other side of the wall, Tomás could hear something: a murmur, a moan, bodies rubbing together. Nothing a nine-year-old boy could name.

—Come here —Damián said after a few minutes, pulling out of her mouth before he came. He lifted her by the arm and pushed her gently onto the bed.

She lay down and spread her legs, sliding the last piece of clothing off over her ankles. Damián bent down between her thighs first and dragged his tongue along her cunt from top to bottom, wide and flat, tasting her. Carla was already soaked. He opened her lips with two fingers and sucked her clit slowly, with his whole mouth, while she arched her hips against his face.

—There, there, don’t stop —Carla panted, yanking his hair.

He slid two fingers inside her and curved his knuckles, searching for that spot deep inside, never stopping sucking her clit. Carla bit the pillow for a second and then remembered the pact and let out a loud moan, all the way to the ceiling. Damián left her hanging on the edge and pulled away in time, climbing up her body, kissing her belly, her nipples, her neck.

He settled himself on top of her, rubbing the head of his cock against her lips without going in yet, stretching out the wait until Carla drove her heels into his back.

—Don’t make me beg —she pleaded, loud enough for it to echo through the house—. Stick it in already, for fuck’s sake.

Damián shoved in at once, all the way, to the hilt. Carla bit back a cry halfway and let the rest out on purpose. She felt his cock open her from the inside, hard as the first time.

The mattress springs protested beneath them. He began to move hard, pulling almost all the way out and driving back in to the balls, and the headboard slammed against the wall with a dry, steady rhythm. The sound was unmistakable, made to seep through the thin partition separating the rooms.

Tomás, buried under the covers up to his nose, heard everything. At first it had caught his attention; now he understood it as proof that his parents were still his parents.

They’re okay, he told himself, and fell asleep peacefully.

In the bedroom, the rhythm grew. Damián held her by the hips, marking each thrust. His thighs slapped against her ass with a wet snap that filled the room.

—Harder —she demanded through clenched teeth, clawing at his back—. Don’t stop, fuck me like when we were dating.

—Like this, whore? —he shot back, pushing all the way in and staying there for a second, grinding her into the mattress.

—Like this, like this, don’t pull out.

Carla came first, with a shudder that rose from her legs and left her breathless, clamping down on his cock inside her with spasms, repeating his name loud enough to be heard all over the house. Damián turned her face down, lifted her hips, and kept going from behind, slower now, measured, watching her ass open with each thrust. He landed a dry slap on one cheek and she moaned louder. She buried her face in the pillow, but the sounds still slipped out. He gripped her hips and sped up, feeling her tight and wet, until his cock started throbbing. He pulled out just in time and came across her back, in two thick streams that stained her from the shoulder blades to the waist, groaning her name against the nape of her neck.

—Fuck, Carla —he panted, collapsing to the side.

She turned over, semen still warm on her skin, and ran two fingers across his chest.

—You still come like that for me.

—Always.

***

The pact had started as a crazy idea, proposed by Carla that very same afternoon they signed.

—Tomás needs stability —she had said—. If he hears us still being active, he won’t think we hate each other.

Damián, who had never told her no, saw the chance to keep having her without the burden of everything else. But every Friday the sex became bolder, more addictive. It was no longer only for the boy; it was for them, for the thrill of pretending at a normalcy that kept slipping out of their hands.

That first night, when they were done, he stayed lying there staring at the ceiling and she curled up against his chest for a while.

—That was good —Carla murmured.

But they both knew they wouldn’t sleep together. Damián would get dressed before dawn and leave for the apartment, sustaining the illusion until Saturday.

***

The following week, the ritual repeated itself. Damián arrived with flowers this time, so Tomás could see the gesture from the couch. They had dinner, laughed, and when the boy fell asleep, they went upstairs. Carla was wearing a red lingerie set with garters that made her legs look longer than he could stop staring at. No panties under the garter belt: she showed him that much as soon as they closed the door, lifting her bra and parting the stockings.

—Tonight I want you to tie me up —she said, taking a pair of handcuffs from the nightstand drawer.

Damián smiled crookedly.

—You’re impossible.

He cuffed her to the bed frame and left her exposed, arms stretched out and tits pushed up. He started with her nipples, sucking them one after the other, biting them lightly, lingering until she tugged at the chains and asked for more. He worked down her belly slowly, his tongue tracing a line to her navel, and kept going lower, prying her thighs open with his shoulders and burying his face between her legs.

—Don’t stop —she begged, loudly, head thrown back.

He sucked her clit with his mouth closed, pulling at it gently, then licked it with a flat tongue, up and down. He slipped two fingers inside without stopping using his mouth, curling them, and with the other hand he grabbed one breast and twisted her nipple. Carla pressed her thighs against his head and arched off the mattress. She came with the handcuffs rattling against the metal of the headboard, screaming his name without caring about the volume anymore. Tomás, on the other side, heard the muffled moans and the rhythmic thuds and imagined his parents wrapped up in each other, happy.

Damián didn’t untie her. He settled to his knees between her still-shaking legs and rested his cock at her entrance, not yet pushing in, rubbing the glans against her swollen clit.

—Ask me for it.

—Stick it in me, Damián, please.

—Louder.

—Fuck me, for fuck’s sake, fuck me now!

He drove in all at once and she screamed at the ceiling. He fucked her like that, tied up, with her legs spread wide and her feet hooked in the air, in and out with all the force of his hips. Then he freed her and took her again, this time from the side, lifting one leg over his shoulder, seeing her face in profile, mouth open, eyes half-closed.

—You’re impossible —he told her in her ear, thrusting.

—Give me everything —she answered, digging her nails into his forearm—. Inside, all the way inside.

They came almost together, stifling each other’s names against one another, and this time he didn’t pull out: he emptied himself inside her, feeling her clench around him with each pulse, the echo fading through the sleeping house.

***

With time, the pact kept mutating. One Friday, Carla suggested trying something new, a toy she kept at the back of the closet: a thick silicone dildo, which she herself took into her mouth before handing it to him to use. Damián spread her legs, slid the toy in slowly, and then began working it with his wrist while he sucked her clit. She came in less than five minutes, arched, both hands pressing his head down against her cunt. Then he took the toy out and slid his cock in, and fucked her with her juices still dripping down the insides of her thighs.

Another Friday, it was Damián who showed up with a bottle of oil and ran his palms over her whole back before touching her. He massaged her shoulders, her waist, her ass, and then worked down to the insides of her thighs until she opened her legs on her own.

—You’re ready —he told her, sliding his hands and slipping two fingers in from behind while with his other hand he opened her cunt lips.

They started in the shower, water falling over both of them while he held her against the tiles, one of her legs hooked over his hip. He drove into her standing up, pinning her against the cold wall, and Carla dug her nails into his shoulders with every thrust. Then, in bed, she climbed on top and set her own pace, moving up and down on his cock with her tits bouncing, his hands gripping her hips, both of them searching each other’s eyes in the dimness.

—I’m coming —she warned, not slowing, grinding against the base of him with short circles.

—Come for me, baby, come on top of me.

She came riding him, chest against his chest, biting his shoulder so she wouldn’t scream too loudly, and he came right after, gripping her ass and grinding her down against his hips until the last drop.

The divorce had stripped away their inhibitions. Before, sex had become a Sunday chore; now it was a weekly appointment, loud and unfiltered, with words in each other’s ears that turned them both on.

—You’re the only thing I wouldn’t negotiate —Damián told her one of those nights.

—Me neither —she answered, and for a second neither of them knew if they were acting.

***

One stormy Friday, the power went out, but they didn’t stop. With a couple of candles lit, Damián tied her up again, this time with a scarf around her wrists, and ran his hands over her first, then his mouth. He sucked her nipples, her belly, the insides of her thighs, and ended between her legs, eating her cunt until he made her come twice in a row. Thunder cracked outside; inside, their sounds mixed with the rain against the window. Then she turned face down, rose to her knees, and he grabbed her hips and drove into her from behind, fucking her by candlelight while their shadows trembled against the wall.

—Don’t stop —she begged, eyes closed, pushing her ass back against his hips.

Tomás heard some muffled shout and thought it was the thunder.

The pact lasted for months. Every Friday, desire climbed another step. They invented roles: her, a secretary who arrived late; him, the boss who made her stay. Carla bent over the bedroom dresser, her skirt hiked up and her panties around her ankles, and Damián took her from behind, grabbing her hair, both of them laughing under their breath between panting fits.

—No one gets out of here until the report is finished —he improvised, giving her ass a slap.

—Then I’m going to take all night, boss —she shot back, arching her back to take him better.

He fucked her against the dresser until the perfume bottles chimed, and then he lifted her, turned her around, sat her on the edge, and kept going from the front, looking into her eyes, her legs crossed around his waist. He came inside her again, biting her neck so he wouldn’t shout.

But under the game there was something neither of them dared say out loud. The divorce hadn’t killed love; it had turned it into something else, into an urgency they only found on Fridays.

—Maybe we should try again —Carla whispered one night, still breathless, with his hand still between her legs.

Damián took a while to answer.

—Maybe. But while we think about it, let’s not stop doing this.

And so they went on, Friday after Friday, sustaining the charade for Tomás and feeding the thrill for themselves. The boy grew up without suspecting anything, falling asleep to the sounds of a passion they had begun by pretending and that, without realizing it, had become real.

***

With the weeks, the ritual sharpened. Carla put on soft music at the start of the night to cover for them, and turned it off when they began. Damián learned to read on her face what she wanted before she said it. One Friday they tried staying face-to-face, without rushing, looking at each other, and it was almost worse than all the fury of the other nights. He moved slowly, going all the way in and staying there, feeling how her cunt embraced him completely, and she held on to his neck and didn’t stop looking into his eyes even when she came, trembling in silence, squeezing him inside with every spasm.

—That’s different —she said afterward, voice broken.

—I know —he said.

One Saturday like that, while they were having breakfast with Tomás before Damián left, the boy suddenly asked why they sometimes made so much noise at night.

The two of them looked at each other over the table, not quite sure who would answer.

—Because we love each other very much —Carla said at last, and for the first time in months it didn’t sound like a lie.

Damián said nothing, stirring his coffee. That night it hadn’t been Friday, and yet he had stayed over.

***

The pact began to spill into other days without either of them naming it. First a Tuesday when he stayed because Tomás had a fever. Then an entire Sunday. Fridays were still the most scandalous, but they were no longer the only ones.

One of those nights, wrapped around each other in the dark, with his cock still inside her, loosening little by little, Carla confessed what she had been keeping to herself for so long.

—At first we did it for him. I knew that.

—And now? —Damián asked.

She didn’t answer with words. She leaned in, kissed him slowly, with no audience on the other side of the wall this time, and moved on top of him again, searching for the friction once more, still full of him, feeling him harden inside her again. She moved slowly, forehead against his, until they both came again, quietly, with no need for anyone to hear them, and she let the silence say everything.

And then the two of them realized the same thing, though neither put it into words: long before, that had stopped being for their son. It was for them. It had always been for them.