Deceit

Damián slid into the wrong bed that night and knew neither couple would ever look at each other the same way again.

I let my guard down for a second and Renata had already locked the door. She knew my secret, and she intended to use it to get exactly what she wanted from me.

I went down to the kitchen practically naked, with three strangers kneeling in my living room and my partner on the other side of the wall. What I didn’t know was that he was recording everything.

I thought it would just be another photo shoot. I had no idea the three of them would end up touching me at once—or that I’d let myself go without thinking of my husband.

She arrived on my friend’s arm, with that mouth and those full lips, and I knew right away that on my birthday she was going to be mine, even if she was another man’s girlfriend.

She laughed and said she loved spooning, pressed her body against mine, and in the borrowed bedroom’s darkness I understood it was no game.

Her father was speaking in my ear over the phone while she silently slid my thong down. We knew a single moan could give us away, and that made it hotter.

The plan was perfect: in my friend’s costume, my wife would never know the stranger dancing with her among the masks was me.

Identical down to the last gesture, that night each one seduced her sister’s boyfriend. They never noticed, and the thrill of the deception changed them forever.

“Come at eleven to the north area of the parking lot. No words.” An anonymous note, a nun’s mask, and a woman who may not have been his waiting against the car.

I came to that dinner expecting a glass of wine and an escape to the countryside afterward. I ended up kneeling in front of a stranger while my lover watched.

I accepted the dinner knowing how it would end. What he didn’t know was that every touch in the dim light was part of a plan I made before I took my clothes off.

She expected shouting, maybe the end of everything. Instead, he handed her a glass of wine and asked her to tell him everything, without leaving out a single detail.

He’d spent months sleeping beside a woman who prayed instead of touching him. Then he walked into the veterinarian’s office, and she locked the door.

She’d gone months without her husband touching her. That night, at the nightclub, I saw a small red ribbon hanging from her blouse and knew exactly what it meant.

That night I knelt while another man took my wife on the table. He thought he was in control; neither of them suspected what was really happening between us.

I was waiting for him with my bags packed, ready to leave him. But when he began telling me what happened with her, I discovered my body was reacting differently from my pride.

I finished getting dressed on the edge of that bed and understood there was no turning back: the dutiful wife was dead, and I wanted more, much more.

I had just enough budget, and my boyfriend offered me his aunt’s house. What I didn’t know was that his cousin would turn that week into something I never told him about.

Her husband came home tired and fell asleep in front of the TV. Her boss, on the other hand, looked at her as if he knew exactly what she imagined in the shower.