They Invited Me to Dinner and I Ended Up Between Them

I’m thirty-eight, I’ve been married since I was twenty-three, and my sex life, while active, had settled into the comfort of the predictable. My husband is a good lover—attentive, generous—but our nights always followed the same script. I take very good care of myself: I go to the gym four times a week, I have dark, straight hair down to my shoulders, big breasts, and a figure that still makes people turn their heads in the street. I’m not complaining. But there was something missing, something I wouldn’t have known how to name if someone had asked me.

Rodrigo and Valentina arrived at the company just over a year ago. They had come from another city, with no one they knew here, and at first I took them for what they seemed: a couple trying to fit in. Rodrigo was fifty-two—tall, dark, with that calm confidence of someone who no longer needs to prove anything—and Valentina was the opposite of me in every way: blonde, petite, with a nervous energy that filled the space around her. The two of them began looking for excuses to be near me. A coffee in the mornings, a chat in the hallway, an invitation to lunch that I turned down twice without really knowing why.

The third time I accepted.

My husband had gone away that weekend fishing with some school friends. I had no real reason to refuse, and the truth was I didn’t want to. There was something in the way Rodrigo looked at me when he asked me a question—a fraction of a second too long, a silence that lasted just long enough—that intrigued me more than it should have.

I arrived at their house at seven in the evening with a bottle of red wine. Valentina opened the door before I could knock. She was wearing a black dress, very short, that rode up with every movement. She rose onto her tiptoes to greet me—I’m almost ten centimeters taller than she is, plus the heels—and her lips brushed the corner of my mouth. One second. Barely a brush. But I felt something I hadn’t expected to feel.

How strange, I thought as I went in.

Rodrigo was in the living room, sitting in a large armchair, shirtless. He stood when he saw me and wrapped one arm around my waist before saying anything. He kissed me on the forehead, slowly. I felt the heat of his chest and a scent of soap and something harder to pin down, but enough to make it hard for me to look away when he let go.

Valentina brought out a board of cheese and ham and opened the wine I had brought. We toasted. The conversation was light: work, the neighborhood, a play they had both seen and I hadn’t. At some point Valentina got up and sat on the arm of Rodrigo’s chair. Her dress rode up. She wasn’t wearing underwear. I saw it clearly. Rodrigo saw that I had seen it too, and a very slight smile crossed his face. Then he laid his palm on her thigh and slowly slid his thumb upward to where the fabric no longer reached. Valentina bit her lower lip and looked me directly in the eyes.

We kept talking. Apartment prices, the approaching summer, a play someone had recommended. The conversation was completely normal and completely false. Beneath it ran a current no one named but everyone felt.

All of a sudden Valentina stood up, took two steps toward me, and kissed me on the mouth. No warning, no introduction, no question. Her kiss was warm, direct, deliberate. I moaned against her lips without meaning to, and she pulled back just enough to look at me.

—I knew it —she said, with a smile that wasn’t surprise but confirmation.

And she kissed me again.

Rodrigo didn’t move from the armchair. He just watched us.

Valentina put one hand on my chest and with the other stroked the nape of my neck. I felt her tongue and my own breathing speeding up. My underwear was already wet. When she pulled away to catch her breath, she nodded toward the hallway without saying anything else.

***

The room was lit only by a small lamp on the bedside table. Valentina slid my underwear down my legs with a calm that made me nervous and gently pushed me toward the bed. She opened my legs and knelt between them. There was no shyness or hesitation: she gripped my hips with both hands, spread my thighs wide, and looked at my cunt as if she were memorizing it. Then she lowered her head and began licking me slowly, from top to bottom, tracing every fold with her tongue as if she knew exactly where to touch to take my breath away. First she brushed my clit with a couple of short, wet strokes, almost cruel in their precision; then she opened my sex wider with her fingers and slipped her tongue inside, moving it in slow, deep circles, never stopping sucking the tip every time my body trembled. I could feel her hot breath bouncing between my thighs, the obscene sound of her mouth pressed to me, and I could do nothing but cling to the sheets with tense fingers. When she added two fingers at once and drove them into me while continuing to suck my cunt, I lost control. I came with a broken, long moan, the kind that comes from deep in the belly and can’t be held back.

When I lifted my head, Rodrigo was in the doorway, watching. He hadn’t made a sound when he came in. He was wearing only pajama pants and had his arms crossed over his chest, completely calm, like someone watching something he already knows and still likes just the same.

Valentina sat up and looked at him. He came closer. He took me by the waist with one hand and turned me over on the bed, slowly but without hesitation. He pulled my dress off in one movement. He held my wrists above my head with one hand and squeezed my breast with the other, hard, with a decisiveness that drew an involuntary sound from me. He didn’t ask permission. He didn’t give it.

—Tonight you’re going to do what I say —he whispered in my ear.

I didn’t object. I didn’t want to object.

Valentina took off her dress and was left completely naked. She lay down beside me and began running her fingers over my belly, my hips, my back, while kissing my mouth hungrily, prying it open with her tongue, sucking my lips until they were swollen. Rodrigo turned me over, put me face down, held my wrists behind me, and slid his fingers into my vagina with a firmness that made me tense and loosen at the same time. He moved them inside me with almost offensive precision: one, two, three deep strokes, then a slow turn, then exact pressure against the most sensitive wall. No one had ever touched me like that, with that combination of control and detail that left no room for thought. I felt my cunt opening and closing around his fingers, soaking them, and the rhythm disarmed me even more than the pleasure.

Then he ordered Valentina to lie beneath me.

He arranged us so that our hips faced each other, skin against skin. Valentina wrapped her arms around me from behind, squeezing my tits with her hands and sucking my neck while I felt her cunt pushing against mine, wet, slippery, rubbing shamelessly until the two of us were panting. The friction was immediate: warm, rough, completely new. She spread my thighs with her knees and guided me so I moved over her sex, seeking the exact angle, the exact rub, until every slide between us became a wet, filthy burst of pleasure. Rodrigo knelt behind me, spread my ass wide with both hands, and penetrated me anally.

The pain was sharp and immediate. I screamed and asked him to stop.

He didn’t stop.

He held me firmly by the waist, not letting me escape even a centimeter, and he went in slowly but without giving in, filling that hole with brutal pressure, unbearable at first. I felt the burn stretch every fiber, the flesh protesting, the anus resisting opening all the way. For a few seconds that was all there was: tension, a sting, a throbbing ache that made me cry from rage and desire at the same time. Rodrigo didn’t stop moving his hips; just a short thrust, then another, measuring how to give without breaking. In thirty seconds the pain began to transform. It didn’t disappear, but underneath it something else appeared: a dense, total sensation coming from several places at once. His cock pushing from behind, Valentina’s cunt against mine, the pressure on my tits, the heat of her mouth on my neck, the inability to control absolutely anything that was happening. I closed my eyes and focused only on what I felt.

Valentina kissed me with her mouth open while rubbing harder against me, moving her pelvis urgently, and I began responding without thinking, mounting her thigh, driving my hip against hers, hearing the slick sound of our bodies sticking and peeling apart. Rodrigo grabbed my tits from behind, kneaded them with exact brutality, pinched my nipples until they were hard and sensitive, and each time he drove deeper from behind I felt pleasure forcing its way over the fear. He ordered me to look at Valentina. He ordered me to kiss her. He ordered me to keep moving against her while he fucked my ass with the patience of someone who knows he’s going to take you to the edge and hold you there.

The rhythm kept building. Harder. Faster. Deeper. Valentina spoke in my ear, her voice broken by gasps, telling me to let go, to give her more, that she was soaking the whole bed with that dripping cunt of hers that wouldn’t stop grinding against mine. I could feel her trembling beneath me, her nails marking my back, and I didn’t want to stop. Rodrigo came with a low sound, almost contained, and pulled out. He let go of my hands. Valentina kept moving against me, slower, deeper, until the two of us came together with our bodies intertwined and our breathing mixed. I felt the spasm rise through my belly, clench my legs, empty me in waves that left me voiceless.

I lay back on the bed and stared at the ceiling. Did that just happen?

***

Rodrigo stood up, held out his hand to me, and took me to the bathroom without saying a word. He turned on the shower. The water was hot, and he soaped my back with the same authority with which he had directed everything else. Valentina joined us a couple of minutes later. The three of us in that small space, steam rising from the water, almost no words.

Rodrigo bathed the two of us, slowly, without urgency. He ran his hand over my breasts, my belly, between my legs, removing sweat and fluid with a calm that left me trembling again. He washed Valentina’s hair, spread her legs under the stream, and swept his flat hand over her cunt, unhurried, while she rested her forehead on his shoulder and moaned softly. Then he wrapped us in towels, one each, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. He got out of the shower and went to the bedroom. We followed him.

Valentina helped me find my clothes, which had ended up in different corners of the room. She watched me dress with a calm expression, with no trace of discomfort or expectation. Just the calm of someone who has gotten exactly what she wanted.

Rodrigo appeared in the doorway, in a robe.

—Next week —he said. It wasn’t a question.

Then, after a brief pause:

—Start thinking about how you’re going to present the idea to your husband.

I didn’t answer. I put on my shoes, picked up my bag, and went down the stairs to the street door.

***

I walked to the car slowly. The night was cool and my body was still hot. I sat in the driver’s seat and didn’t start the engine for several minutes. From there I could see the lit window on the first floor.

I thought about my husband fishing somewhere on a river, completely unaware of everything. I thought about Rodrigo and Valentina upstairs, alone now, doing to each other what they do when no one else is around. I thought about what I had felt in that room: his control, her precision, the sensation of having no decision to make.

Start thinking about how you’re going to present the idea to your husband.

I didn’t know if I wanted to do it. I didn’t know if I’d be able to. All I knew, as I started the car and turned on the lights, was that the following week I was going to come back. With him or without him.