The Night My Wife Chose Another Man in Front of Me

A week after the night with Lucía, everything in me had changed. Mariela had imposed a new wardrobe on me under my office clothes: thong, garter belt, sheer stockings, always black. I had to dress like that every morning before putting on my suit, and spend the day with the feeling that anyone could discover me. I started wearing looser pants for fear the garter clips would show, and I walked differently, with my thighs together, already feeling like someone else’s property.

What was strange was that, after a few days, that feeling stopped bothering me. I caught myself thinking of myself in the feminine without even noticing. I’d run into a co-worker in the elevator and find myself noticing how she crossed her legs, not her neckline. I’d study my reflection in the bathroom mirror, looking for signs that someone might notice something different. It was pure paranoia, but Mariela’s plan was working: every night, when I got home, I arrived already domesticated, ready to kneel and obey.

The last test was missing. To confirm my new place in bed.

Mariela told me on some ordinary Thursday, while she was taking off her makeup in front of the bathroom mirror.

“I met someone. He’s coming Saturday.”

“Here?” I asked, with toothpaste water running down my chin.

“Here. You’re going to open the door for him. In a thong. Nothing else.”

Ever since we’d agreed to the new rules, she could see whoever she wanted. It was part of the punishment for all the lies I’d told her over the years. I had accepted it, even though there wasn’t much left of the “me” I used to be. What hurt most wasn’t that she was sleeping with another man, but finding out late, like a dog learning about its owners’ plans. This time, at least, I was going to be there in front of him.

“I told him about you,” she continued, without looking at me. “I said my husband was a cuckolded fag and that I used to bring home some lover or other to humiliate you. He thought it was funny. He told me he’d already been with a couple of bisexual couples, and that he’d fucked both of them. I made it clear that this time you’d just watch. End of story.”

I wanted to thank her for not making me go out dressed as a woman to receive him. A thong was already plenty. And yet, somewhere in the back of my mind, I noted that next time she might not be content with that.

***

On Saturday at exactly nine, the doorbell rang. Mariela was in the bedroom finishing her lipstick. I opened the door as she’d ordered me to: wearing only the black thong, barefoot, my arms crossed over my chest as if that could cover me from something.

A tall man came in, with neatly combed white hair and gray mustache. Mid-fifties, still in good shape. Nice clothes, good perfume, a confident smile. I looked him in the face and felt something drop straight to my feet.

It was Esteban. Almost twenty years earlier I’d met him in a downtown sauna, back when I still wasn’t fully out to myself. He had taken me to a room and put it in me without much tenderness, on two different nights months apart. After that, I never saw him again. I remembered him younger, of course, but that face and that voice were the same.

He recognized me too. You could see the flicker, a millimeter’s pause in his smile, before he held out his hand as if we were strangers.

“Nice to meet you,” he said, looking me up and down without hiding it.

“Come in,” I answered, and I didn’t recognize my own voice.

I led him into the living room. Mariela appeared minutes later in a low-cut black dress, no bra, her firm breasts pressed tight against the fabric. Esteban looked at her like he’d been waiting a month for that sight.

She sent me to the kitchen to get something to drink. When I came back with the tray, they were already on the couch, mouths locked, my wife’s hand over the bulge in his trousers.

“Let’s go to bed,” he murmured against her neck. “I want to fuck you.”

“First dessert,” Mariela said, barely pulling away. “I want the cuckold to suck it. That’s all. The rest is mine.”

“As you wish, beautiful.”

She turned to me. Her eyes were shining, her breathing a little faster.

“Come here, little faggot. On your knees. Take his pants off. I want you to see what a real man is.”

What Mariela didn’t know was that I already knew that body. I knew the size and shape and exact curve. I moved in silence, knelt, and unbuckled his belt. Esteban stared at me as if to tell me to enjoy it, that this was something else now.

I pulled his cock out. It was huge, just as I remembered: long, thick, heavy in my hand. Mine didn’t even come close to half of it. I understood again why Mariela had accepted this date.

“Look at it,” she mocked from the side. “See what you’re going to watch go inside me? See what a real male is? Suck it good, faggot. Get it wet. So it remembers what it has to do when it’s on top of me.”

I started sucking it. Esteban kept up the game.

“That’s it, little faggot, that’s it. Swallow. Now look at your wife standing next to you. Waiting naked for me to give it to her properly. Watch how I’m going to fuck her.”

Mariela slipped the straps of her dress off her shoulders and let the fabric fall onto the rug. She was left only in her thong. Her nipples had hardened. I kept sucking, with tears filling my eyes that I didn’t want to spill. I managed to keep them in, but she noticed anyway.

“Don’t start crying on me now, faggot,” she said, almost tenderly.

When she thought it was enough, she ordered me to stand up.

“Take my thong off. Don’t touch me. I don’t want those filthy little hands of yours brushing against me.”

I slid the garment down with two fingers, without touching her skin. Her shaved sex, which I had licked a thousand times over the years, was there in front of me, exposed, belonging to someone else. She took Esteban’s hand like a bride crossing a threshold.

“Let’s go to bed. And you, useless thing, come with us. I want you beside us.”

***

I threw myself down on the edge of the mattress, curled up, hugging a pillow like a little girl. Mariela lay on her back with her legs open. Esteban climbed on top of her like a huge weight and took her wrists, one against the headboard and the other at her side, as if he were dominating her against her will. I knew it was theater, that she loved that theater, but seeing it from twelve inches away split me in two.

He entered her with a single thrust. Mariela screamed, and it wasn’t a fake scream. It was one of the deep ones, the kind I had never been able to pull out of her in fifteen years of marriage.

“Look, cuckold,” she panted, turning her head toward me. “Look at me enjoying it. Look at what it feels like with a man inside. You’re something else. You’re just a fag.”

Esteban moved with cruel calm. He pushed deep, withdrew slowly, pushed again. The bed creaked. Tears ran down my face without my being able to stop them, thick ones, sliding down my neck to my chest.

“Look, Esteban, look how the cuckold’s crying,” Mariela said between moans. “He disgusts me. So much of a faggot.”

They stayed like that for a long time. They changed positions a couple of times. Her on top, then on her side, then him behind. And then came the moment that finished me off.

“Turn over,” he said in her ear. “Get on all fours. I want to take you from behind.”

I felt the air stop in my chest. Mariela and I had never done that. She had asked for it, yes, a thousand times, and I had always been told no, that that part of her wasn’t to be touched, that it wasn’t for her. And now she was offering a man she had seen twice in her life what she had refused me for years.

“Please, Esteban,” she murmured when he spread her ass cheeks with his thumbs. “It’s the first time. Don’t hurt me. Do it slowly.”

She looked at me over her shoulder. This time there was no mocking smile on her face. There was fear. And also something like a plea, as if she expected me to rescue her. How? She’d gotten herself into this on her own. I was a shadow in a thong at the foot of the bed.

Esteban spat on the hole, played with one finger, then two. Mariela kept her ass cheeks open with her own hands. When he decided she was ready, he pressed the head of his cock there and started pushing, millimeter by millimeter, with a patience he hadn’t had with me twenty years before.

She screamed like never before. Esteban nailed me with his eyes.

“Look, cuckold, how I’m opening your wife’s ass. Would you like to be in her place? Next time it’ll be your turn.”

I knew it. I knew exactly what that cock was capable of doing to someone. And I wasn’t sure whether, if it came to it, I’d be able to refuse.

Mariela began to get used to it. The screams changed pitch, stopped being about pain and started to sound like something else. He moved slowly, in and out, and with his other hand he went looking for her clit in front. He made her come that way, with his cock in her ass and his fingers in front, and she said out loud to him to come inside her, give her his load, don’t stop.

At that moment, without anyone having touched me, with the thong still on and hugging the pillow, I came too. All at once, without knowing how, without wanting to. I felt it spill out, soaking the fabric and my thigh. Mariela turned her head a little and saw it.

“Look at this, Esteban,” she said, her voice already broken by orgasm. “He came by himself. Watching.”

***

After a long while of lazy kisses between the two of them, and of continuing to laugh at my expense with lines I’d rather not repeat, they planned the next meeting as if I weren’t there. Mariela told Esteban that this had been her first time from behind, and that now she was dying to see how he’d leave my ass afterward. As compensation, she offered him Lucía, the nineteen-year-old girl who was dying to be with an older man. Esteban settled back on the pillow with a catlike smile and said he accepted the gift.

Before getting up to fetch water, Mariela made me promise that the next day she would punish me for having come without permission. She didn’t explain how. She didn’t need to.

When Esteban finally left, near dawn, I sat on the edge of the bed while she slept. I looked at my hands, my legs, the thong stained and dry. I didn’t recognize anything. I didn’t know what was left of me. I only knew that on Monday I was going to put the garter belt on under my suit again, that I was going to sit in my office like any other day, and that inside my head there was no longer a man. There was something else. Something new, still unnamed.