The Surprise Waiting for My Wife at the Sex Shop
It wasn’t the first time we’d stepped into that place. Lorena had already taken two toys from there that ended up living in the drawer of the nightstand, and one afternoon, almost by accident, we locked ourselves in one of the booths at the back and fucked against the door until a badly stuck sign fell on top of us. But tonight I had come with a plan. And I had spent weeks writing that plan, with a knot in my stomach every time I thought about how I was going to tell her.
We were celebrating fifteen years of marriage. I had promised her a different kind of gift, a gift worthy of the moment we were going through. For a couple of years we’d been in a spiral of growing kinkiness, talking in bed about things we hadn’t even dared to think about before, video-calling another couple to show ourselves to one another without ever touching. Lorena has that very rare gift of knowing exactly what she wants and asking for it in plain language. I had only learned to listen to her.
We arrived at the shop fifteen minutes before closing, as I had arranged with Mario, the owner. She looked incredible: blouse open to the third button, short pencil skirt, high heels, and a perfume that made me lose my footing. She had done her makeup carefully that afternoon in front of the mirror while I pretended to read the newspaper and watched her in the reflection of the living room window.
“What are you plotting?” she’d asked, noticing my stare.
“Nothing. You look gorgeous.”
“I know that already. But you’re too quiet.”
Lorena isn’t stupid. In fact, she’s quite a bit smarter than me, and I have no trouble admitting it. That same night, when we got into the car, she suspected the gift was some new toy, an expensive vibrator or one of those harnesses we’d seen online, and that I would make her try it there and then, in one of the booths at the back. She arrived at the shop with a certain dampness under her skirt, as she later confessed to me, and with that nervous smile she gets when she senses something is about to go off-script.
Mario greeted us with the naturalness of someone who’s spent decades seeing worse things. He pulled down the shutter behind us and led us to an inner room, in the wing ordinary customers never set foot in. He cranked the heat all the way up, set so the temperature would push you to undress without thinking about it. The light was warm, orange, just enough not to lose a single thing that was about to happen.
“If you need anything, knock twice on the door,” he said, and withdrew.
The room had a leather armchair, a sofa against the left wall, and a dark screen built into the upper corner. Lorena looked everything over slowly, once, twice. I led her to the wall opposite the door, the wall she hadn’t studied yet. I took her face in both hands, gave her a long kiss, and whispered in her ear what I’d been rehearsing for weeks.
“I’m going to show you your present, my love. I love you like nothing else in this world. I hope you like it.”
She turned toward the wall. I watched her chest rise, stop, rise again. She brought both hands to her mouth.
***
In the wall, at the height of her waist, there was a hole ringed with black adhesive tape. A glory hole, to put it plainly. And sticking out of that hole was a cock. Black, thick, long, still only half-erect, circumcised down to the base. Someone had tied a gold gift ribbon around its root.
“These are the rules, Lorena,” I whispered, without letting go of her waist. “There are no rules. That cock is yours. Do whatever you want with it. I’m going to be here; that’s the only condition. In the shop there’s only you, me, and whoever that belongs to. The man on the other side is never going to come in, you’re never going to meet him, he can’t see us and he can’t hear us. He has no face. He’s just a cock. And tonight it’s yours.”
She called me crazy with a broken voice, without taking her eyes off the hole. It was territory we had never truly stepped into. We had played a lot at imagining threesomes, we had drunk to loosen our tongues and let fantasies slip out, but we had never actually brought anyone into the room. This was different. This was crossing a line you couldn’t cross back over with a simple “I was joking.”
She walked toward the wall like someone approaching a sleeping animal. She crouched slightly, looked at the ribbon, looked at the cock, then lifted her face to me.
“Can I touch it?”
“Anything you want, my love.”
I wanted to tell her, once again, that if this felt weird we’d leave. That nobody was keeping score. That this could be canceled with two words and a door. But I know her, and from the way she lowered herself to her knee on the floor I knew she had already decided. She took it between her fingertips, let go as if she’d touched something hot, then took it again more firmly.
She laughed, nervous. She glanced at me for a second. She started moving it slowly, with her hand barely closed, not quite knowing what to do. The cock answered almost instantly. It didn’t get much longer —it was already impressive at rest—, but it got thicker, harder. The skin tightened. The network of veins appeared. I had only ever seen anything like that on a screen, and never this close.
A strange silence settled in. In that room there was only my wife slowly jerking off a stranger’s dick. At first she looked me in the eyes, seeking approval. Then she stopped looking at me. Her attention was wholly fixed on that shaft, as if she wanted to memorize its weight. She barely noticed that her left hand had slipped under her blouse and was stroking one breast.
“Are you sure about this?” she said suddenly, without letting go of it.
She was the one giving me the final chance now. If I said no, this died right there. I was jealous, I was scared, I had a rock-hard cock in my pants and my heart was pounding at two hundred. I nodded. Lorena took the gold ribbon, pulled one end, untied it, and let it fall to the floor.
***
She went back to stroking it, now with more commitment. She wrapped her hand around it, squeezed, and her fist wasn’t enough to cover the whole circumference. She brought it to her cheek, slowly rubbed her face against it, and then turned her neck to look at me. She wanted me to see her. She wanted me to record every detail. She unbuttoned two more buttons, slipped a hand into her cleavage, and pinched a nipple.
The next step we both knew was coming before it happened. She pressed her lips to the tip. Stuck out her tongue, drew a slow circle, opened her mouth just enough to take the glans inside. And while she did it, she lifted her eyes to me. I know that look. I’ve seen it a hundred times. The difference tonight was that the cock in her mouth wasn’t mine and the blowjob was being done for someone else, but the look was still only for me. It pissed me off. It sent me soaring.
There was no turning back now. We had left all exits behind. My wife was sucking the dick of a stranger, thick, dark, veined, and I had practically put it in her mouth with my own hands. And you could tell she was loving it.
She pulled it out for a moment to catch her breath, opening and closing her jaw like an athlete adjusting their breathing between sets. She searched the floor and found a velvet cushion someone had left against the sofa. She placed it under her knees, settled herself like someone preparing for a ceremony, gave a small bow forward, and started sucking it for real.
She took it deeper and deeper. She was no longer satisfied with the tip. She was slobbering without shame now, and the spit was dripping in strands down her chin, her neck, her breasts that she had freed from her blouse. With one hand she held the base, with the other she smeared her nipples with her own saliva, squeezed them, pinched them. I had unzipped my pants and started jerking off in silence, three steps away from her. I thought about stepping in, about offering her a double blowjob. But no. That moment was hers. That ceremony was a liturgy and I wasn’t going to interrupt it.
We stayed like that for several minutes. Her sucking that shaft at a rhythm that seemed rehearsed, from the tip to about a third of the length. Sometimes she pulled it out and licked it slowly, top to bottom, tracing every vein with her lips. She caressed his shaved balls with her other hand. Other times she took that same hand to her own crotch under the skirt and rubbed herself with two fingers over her panties, which were already soaked through. I heard her breathing in ragged bursts. I heard her moaning softly with her mouth full.
She suddenly stood up, unbuttoned her skirt, and let it fall. She pulled off her panties in one quick motion and was left only in her stockings and heels. She knelt again on the cushion. Now she had both hands free: one for the cock in the hole, the other for her own sex. She started rubbing her clit at a different rhythm from the blowjob, fast, urgent. She tried to take it all the way down. She forced it to the back of her throat, held it there for a few seconds, nearly choked, released it with a wet smack of spit and laughed with her chin shining, then started again. It was a binge.
***
I moved in behind her. Not to get my own cock into the scene —tonight wasn’t for that—, but to be with her. I caressed her waist, her tits, kissed her neck while she sucked. I slid my hand down her belly, reached her cunt, and felt that she was dripping. I brushed her clit with my thumb and she let out a deep moan that got trapped in the dick. I knew she could come whenever she wanted. But Lorena likes to delay orgasm until the very last possible second.
An idea hit me. I made her sit up a little on her knees, changing the angle of the hole relative to her face, and opened her legs. I lay on the floor on my back, my head between her thighs, and started eating her pussy from below. From there I could see her breasts swaying above my face while she kept up with the blowjob, could see how she pulled the cock out to rub it across her cheek, how she slapped herself lightly with it, how she swallowed it back down. Now and then she stopped sucking and just looked at it, simply looked, as if she still couldn’t believe it was real.
She had her first orgasm with the cock in her mouth. My face filled with her wetness. She didn’t pull away to come, didn’t break contact for a second, and I’d swear the stranger on the other side of the wall almost came at the same time, but held on. I heard her panting with the voice muffled by the dick in her mouth, felt her legs trembling against my ears. And when she finished, she didn’t even allow herself a break. She leaned forward, grabbed it again with both hands, and went back to the liturgy.
As is no secret, Lorena loves blowjobs. She loves giving them. She loves the weight, the taste, the heat. It drives her insanely hot. She doesn’t do it just because she loves me; she does it because she genuinely likes it.
When I came out from underneath her, her face was still bathed in saliva. I took my pants off completely, knelt behind her, and shoved my own cock into her cunt in one thrust. She was so open and so soaked that I slid all the way in in a second. I started fucking her hard, gripping her waist, while she kept her mouth full of the other one. The muffled gasps she made against that cock had me at two hundred. I wanted to punish her with thrusts. I wanted to mark her from the inside.
I thought the obvious thing. I thought about whether Lorena would want to go one step further, whether she was going to ask me to move the other cock to another hole, whether that boundary would fall tonight too. I didn’t have time to ask.
“I think he’s going to come,” she said, pulling it out of her mouth for a moment.
***
She knows how to recognize that moment. She’s known since her very first blowjob. I wanted to respect the liturgy to the end. I’d already gotten involved plenty, and it wasn’t my gift. I pulled out, stood up to one side, and let her do it.
She stuck out her tongue, rested the glans on top of it, and started jerking it with both hands, looking up from below, hungry. The first thing that came out was a thin stream, almost shy, falling onto her tongue. Then came the rest. He came like an animal. Lorena closed her mouth in time, but she didn’t pull away. The man kept cumming and she kept jerking him off, the streams painting white streaks over her breasts, her stomach, her thighs over her stockings. For the first time all night I heard his voice on the other side of the wall: a deep, animal groan that ended in a contained sigh.
My wife gradually slowed her pace. She squeezed the base of the cock with her fist and worked her way back up to the tip, and from there a last lazy drop oozed out. Lorena licked it with the tip of her tongue, hungry. She let it go.
We stayed like that for a long minute. The cock on the other side slowly lost its hardness, pointing less and less upward, until it sank back into the shadow of the hole. My wife was happy. She was glowing. She was laughing to herself. Her skin was covered in semen, sweat, spit, and her own fluids. She looked at me, whispered “thank you,” and smeared with both hands what was on her tits and belly, as if she didn’t want to lose a single drop.
I moved in determinedly. She didn’t hesitate. She opened her mouth and I shoved myself down her throat, almost fucking her mouth instead of letting her suck me. She was jerking herself off with her free hand at a speed that was terrifying. I came in her mouth a second before she reached her second orgasm, and she didn’t pull away. That load, she told me later, she didn’t want to spit out. She swallowed it all.
She let herself fall backward, onto the cushion and the floor, legs open, arms outstretched, eyes closed. I lay down beside her. She smelled of sex, semen, sweat, expensive perfume. I held her without saying anything for a long while. Until that night, it was the most extreme and the most exciting experience we had ever lived together in fifteen years.
Before leaving, I looked at the hole in the wall. Only the empty opening remained. The other man was already gone. We never learned his name. We never will learn his name. And in a way, that was better.