What Happened in Mar Azul with My Best Friend

My name is Sebastián, and this is the confession I’ve been wanting to put into writing for years. The story of how I ended up sharing my wife with my best friend in a house in Mar Azul, and how that weekend changed us forever.

The fantasy started long before reality did. We’d been married five or six years when I worked up the nerve to tell Camila. I wanted to see her with another man. Not because I didn’t love her, not because I was bored, and not because I was missing anything. It was a specific, primitive heat that took hold of me when I watched her sleep and thought about what other men would have given to be in my place.

—What if it were for real? —I asked her one night, after sex, with the lights off and my voice low, as if the walls could hear.

She laughed first. Then she went quiet. And then, slowly, she started asking me questions.

We spent months talking about it without shame. There were arguments, pullbacks, nights when it seemed like the whole thing would die on its own. But bed was where the idea kept coming back. I’d whisper scenarios to her while I had her legs spread, with two fingers buried in her cunt up to the knuckles, feeling her thick juices run over my palm. I made up situations, I used real names, and she’d rock her hips against my hand with an urgency she couldn’t hide. And in one of those games, when I asked her which of my friends she’d choose if she had to choose, she bit her lip, tightened her cunt around my fingers, and told me, almost embarrassed:

—Lautaro.

My whole body heated up. My cock got so hard it hurt against the waistband of my briefs. Lautaro had been my best friend since college. Taller than me, quieter, with that look of someone who had no idea what effect he had on women. Once, at a barbecue, I’d seen him come out of the bathroom in his underwear and I never forgot the bulge hanging there inside them, thicker than mine, much longer, outlined against the white cotton as if the fabric were too small for him. Camila choosing him didn’t offend me. On the contrary. It made me grind my teeth, haul her on top of me, and shove it into her in one go, without warning, all the way to the hilt.

—Say it again —I asked, moving slowly inside her—. Tell me who you want to fuck.

—Lautaro —she whispered, cheeks red, arching so he’d go all the way in—. I want Lautaro’s dick, Sebas. I want it.

I came right there inside her in four short thrusts, biting her shoulder so I wouldn’t yell. Camila came after me, with two fingers on her clit and his name stuck to her mouth.

From that night on, Lautaro was the name we said when we were in bed. Camila said it with shame at first, then with guilt, then with a desire she no longer bothered hiding. I told her what he would do to her, how he’d pry her ass open with those big hands, how he’d take her from behind, how he’d make her suck him down her throat. She ended up coming thinking about him, with my cock inside her but her head somewhere else, which absolutely fucked with my mind in the best possible way.

But one thing was playing with words. Another was crossing the line.

***

The opportunity appeared on its own, the way the things you want too badly tend to. My parents had a house in Mar Azul, deep in the woods, and they lent it to us whenever we asked. For the long weekend in January, we arranged to leave the kids with my mother-in-law and go down alone. The night before the trip, Camila was in the bedroom choosing what to pack when my phone rang.

It was Lautaro.

—Where are you going? —he asked, because I’d told him our plans in the college group chat.

—To Mar Azul. What are you doing this weekend?

—Nothing. Mariana kicked me out two months ago. I’m alone all the time.

—Come with us.

I said it without thinking, but I said it. I hung up with my hand shaking and walked to the bedroom. Camila looked at me from beside the suitcase, in a short nightgown and with serious eyes.

—You invited him —she said. It wasn’t a question.

—If you don’t want him to come, I’ll cancel it.

She stayed like that for a long while, with a white bikini in her hand and her gaze fixed on some point in the wardrobe. Then she let out a slow breath.

—Let him come.

That night we didn’t sleep. I stripped her completely in the dark, spread her legs, and buried my face between her thighs. I ate her cunt hungrily, my whole tongue pressed to her clit, two fingers going in and out while I spoke softly against her wet flesh.

—Tomorrow he’s going to be in this house —I told her, lips pressed to the lips down there—. Tomorrow you’re going to fuck him.

—Yes —she said, gripping my hair, pushing me deeper—. Yes, yes, yes.

—Tell me what you’re going to do to him.

—I’m going to suck him off completely, Sebas. All of it. I’m going to suck that cock until he finishes in my mouth.

I got on top of her and shoved it in hard. Camila screamed into the pillow. I fucked her hard, hands on her tits, pinching her nipples between my fingers, while she asked for specific things: for him to grab her by the hair, to take her from behind, to fill her up with cum while I watched. I made specific promises. When I came, inside, in hot spurts running down her thighs, I told her in her ear it was going to happen, that there was no turning back, and she squeezed my hand without answering, with her cunt still throbbing around my soft cock.

***

We picked Lautaro up at six in the morning. He climbed into the car with a bag, a freshly-awake boyish smile, and the smell of shampoo. Camila had put on a thin cotton dress that showed the bikini marks underneath, and when she greeted him with a kiss, I saw him linger on her cheek for a second longer than necessary.

The drive took five hours. We talked about everything and nothing: work, his breakup with Mariana, the last time the three of us had shared a dinner. At times, while I was driving, I glanced at the rearview mirror. Camila had taken off her sandals and was resting her feet on the glove compartment. The dress had ridden up to mid-thigh. Lautaro kept looking at her legs as if he couldn’t remember how to stop, his jaw tight and one hand resting suspiciously on his jeans.

—Hey, Lautaro —I said on a straight stretch, my heart pounding in my throat—. Cami told me the other day you’re the best-looking of my friends.

Camila turned around and stabbed me with her eyes. Lautaro laughed awkwardly.

—Come on, what are you saying?

—No, seriously. I asked her which of my friends she’d sleep with if she could, and she said your name.

The temperature in the car shifted. Camila bit her lip and looked out the window. Lautaro cleared his throat. I kept driving, cock hard under my jeans, knowing I’d just pushed the first domino.

—Well —Lautaro said after a while, in a low voice—. That’s a compliment.

Camila didn’t answer. She didn’t need to.

***

We arrived at noon. The house was on a sandy street, surrounded by pine trees, with no neighbors in sight. I showed Lautaro the guest room, next to ours. Camila disappeared into the bathroom and came out in a bikini, with a sarong tied around her waist. I loaded the quad with the beach chairs and the three of us went out into the woods.

There were few people on the beach. I stretched the chairs out on the cold sand and went into the sea before they did. From the water, with the sun hitting me full in the face, I watched them. Camila was lying face down on the towel and Lautaro, sitting beside her, had taken the sunscreen bottle from her.

He put it on her shoulders first. Then he moved down her back with both hands. He reached the base of her spine and stopped there for a second, waiting for a sign. Camila lifted her hips slightly. Lautaro kept going down.

I was floating with the water up to my chest. My cock was hard, and under the water I grabbed it with my hand and started stroking it slowly, never taking my eyes off them. He was caressing her ass over the bikini bottoms, squeezing her cheeks, running his thumb along the center line. Camila turned her head toward me. She looked for me with her eyes. She saw me watching, saw my arm moving under the water, and she understood. She stayed like that, holding my gaze, while Lautaro slid the bikini fabric aside and shoved two fingers deep into her cunt.

I saw her bite her lip. I saw her squeeze her eyes shut for a second and open them again, pinning me with them. I saw Lautaro moving his fingers inside her, his hand almost entirely disappeared between her cheeks, and I saw her start to rock her hips against that hand, slowly, trying to hide it. She came right there, on the towel, biting the fabric so she wouldn’t scream, with two чужие fingers inside her and her husband watching from the sea while he jerked off under the water.

I didn’t go toward them. I didn’t have to. It was exactly what I had asked for.

***

We went back to the house at dusk. Camila was silent, with salty skin and shining eyes. Lautaro looked at me like he owed me an explanation I wasn’t going to ask for. The three of us cooked together in the open kitchen: he cut tomatoes, she rinsed lettuce, I uncorked a bottle of cold white wine.

We ate outside, under hanging lights. The wine ran out quickly. I opened another bottle. Camila sat across from me, Lautaro beside her. Under the table, at some point between the second and third course, I saw their knees touch and stay touching. Then I saw his hand disappear beneath the tablecloth. Camila opened her legs slightly, without looking up from her plate. He talked to me about anything at all, but he was short of breath, and her face turned red in a way I knew well.

—Sebas —Camila said, her voice a little broken—. Are you okay?

—I’ve never been better.

Lautaro looked at me. I held his gaze.

—If it’s now, then it’s now —I said.

Camila got up first. She walked to the living room, poured herself another glass, and sat down on the long sofa. Lautaro followed her. I stayed at the table for two eternal minutes, listening to the first sounds: a low laugh, a whisper, the rustle of her dress against the leather sofa, a cut-off moan. When I went in, she already had his hand under her panties and his mouth against her neck.

I sat in the single armchair across from them and watched.

***

Camila took his shirt off first. She kissed his chest with a slowness I had never seen from her, working her tongue down his belly button line, barely biting the skin of his stomach. When she pulled down his shorts, she let out a short sound, almost a nervous laugh, and looked at me over her shoulder. She was looking for permission. I nodded from my chair without saying anything.

She pulled his underwear down and there it was: the cock I had seen outlined in cotton years ago, now out in the open, thick, long, the head red and glossy, pointing at the ceiling. Camila stared at it for a second. Then she took it with both hands, weighed it, stroked it, ran it over her cheek as if she were measuring what she had in front of her.

—Sebas —she said, turning her head toward me, my best friend’s cock pressed against her face—. Sebas, look.

—I’m looking at you —I told her, my voice rough—. Suck it.

She opened her mouth and took it all in. Not little by little, not slowly: all of it, until the tip hit the back of her throat and she made a wet, muffled sound. Lautaro threw his head back and let out a long groan, gripping the back of the sofa with both hands. Camila started moving her head on his cock, one hand at the base and the other resting on his thigh as a point of balance. Saliva ran down her chin, dropping in thick beads onto the tits that had slipped out of her dress. Every so often she pulled off, caught her breath, looked at it, and took it all back in again.

—It tastes so good —she murmured between sucks—. It tastes so good, Sebas.

Lautaro was looking at her, not at me. At some point he turned his head, met my eyes, and asked for permission too. I made a short gesture with my hand.

He lifted her off the floor in one yank. He pulled her dress over her head. He yanked off her panties with two fingers, without care, and spread her cheeks with both big hands while he sat her down on top of him, facing me, so I could see everything. Camila grabbed his shoulders, lined his cock up with the entrance to her cunt, and lowered her hips little by little, her mouth open and her eyes locked on mine.

He went all the way in. I watched her swallow him whole, watched her close her eyes and arch, watched her let out a guttural moan from deep in her chest. She stayed like that, impaled, adjusting to him. Then she started moving.

—Oh, Sebas —she said, looking at me—. Oh, my love, look how I’m taking it.

—I’m looking at you —I answered, not touching myself, hands on my knees—. Fuck it. Fuck it all the way.

She started slowly, rising and falling on his cock with her mouth open. Then with less shame, bracing her hands on his knees, arching her back, letting her tits bounce. Then as if I weren’t even in the room: she moved with a ferocity I didn’t know she had, thighs spread to their limit, with her clit slapping against his pubic bone on every drop. Lautaro grabbed her hips and started thrusting his pelvis up into her, fucking her from below, and the sofa made a rhythmic noise that filled the whole house.

—Turn me around —Camila begged, gasping—. Turn me around, I want you to take me from behind.

He lifted her off his lap, put her on all fours on the sofa, face turned toward me, eyes on mine. He stood up behind her, grabbed his cock, ran it through her wet pussy to coat it, and shoved it in with one thrust. Camila screamed. A whore’s scream, long, shameless. And there, on all fours, with her head resting on the sofa leather and her tits hanging down, she let my best friend fuck her while I watched from three meters away.

—Harder —she begged—. Harder, give it to me harder.

Lautaro grabbed her by the hair, yanked her head back, and started giving it to her the way it’s asked for in those moments: his pelvis slamming against her ass, with a skin-on-skin sound that could be heard all through the house, his breath ragged. Camila opened and closed her mouth, unable to speak. Tears filled her eyes from the effort, or the pleasure, or both.

When she came, she said it. She said his name. She said it twice.

—Lautaro, Lautaro, I’m coming, I’m coming —she repeated, and her cunt clenched around his cock with such force that he lost his rhythm.

A few more thrusts and he followed her. He asked, gasping, where. Camila turned her head and looked at me. I answered for her.

—Inside —I said—. Finish inside her.

Lautaro clenched his teeth, grabbed her hips with both hands, drove into her to the hilt, and emptied himself there, inside my wife’s cunt, with a long groan that came up from his chest. Camila stayed still, her face against the leather, feeling every spurt. When he pulled out, a thick thread of cum ran down the inside of her thigh to her knee.

I didn’t touch myself. It wasn’t necessary. My briefs were soaked.

***

That night I didn’t sleep in my bed. I stayed on the sofa until the sky over Mar Azul started to lighten, listening to them on the other side of the hall. The guest room door had been left slightly open. I heard them a second time, around three in the morning: the creak of the bed, her voice asking, his deep voice answering. Then a third time, already near dawn, slower, quieter. I didn’t go look. I didn’t want to see it again. I had already seen what I needed to see.

The next morning, Camila came downstairs barefoot, wearing one of my shirts badly and with her hair mussed. She sat on my lap, took my face in both hands, and kissed me as if she were afraid I’d leave her. I could smell him on her neck.

—Do you regret it? —she asked me.

—No.

—Do you want him back?

I thought about the answer. Not for long, but I thought about it.

—I want whatever you want.

Lautaro appeared after that, looking like he didn’t know where to step. We poured coffee. The three of us looked at each other over our cups. And we understood, without saying it, that the trip had only just begun.

What happened in the months that followed is another story. But that one, the story of that first weekend in Mar Azul, is still the most intense night of my life. I’m confessing it now because enough time has passed, because Camila knows and laughs that I’m writing it down, and because there are desires you only fully understand when you dare to live them.