Her Messages Broke Her in Two Different Ways

Natalia sank into the sofa with the glass of wine she had poured before everything blew up. Outside, cars passed by, indifferent. Inside, only the thick silence of a house that suddenly felt чужed to her, as if when she opened the door she had stepped into someone else’s apartment.

She took a long gulp. The wine was good, Marcos always bought good wine, he always had good taste for everything. For wine, for restaurants, for choosing a mistress who, besides being young, also happened to be four months pregnant.

She had found out that afternoon through her sister-in-law Elena, who never knew how to keep a secret and who had had two too many glasses at the family lunch. “It’s that Daniela, with the belly already so obvious...,” she had said, and then the look of horror when she realized, and the silence that came too late to erase anything. Natalia had finished dessert without saying a single word. She had driven back home with her hands clenched on the wheel and her head making and unmaking the same knot, never quite undoing it.

She arrived. Went in. Poured the wine.

And then she saw it: Marcos’s work phone, on the bedside table in the bedroom, face up. He had forgotten it that morning, as he always forgot that phone, just as he forgot the charger and the keys and anything that had nothing to do with Daniela. Natalia picked it up with fingers that still weren’t trembling. She typed in the PIN he had never changed: the year of their wedding.

First try. Unlocked.

—Of course —she said out loud, to no one—. Of course.

She opened WhatsApp. The chat with Daniela was at the very top, no disguise, no code name, no hidden folder. Just “Daniela,” as if Marcos no longer bothered pretending, as if Natalia no longer mattered enough to deserve the effort of hiding it.

The last message was a photo.

Daniela in profile, completely naked. Her left hand barely covering one breast, the dark, hard nipples peeking between her spread fingers, swollen by pregnancy, much larger than they would be on any ordinary woman. The other hand resting carefully on a belly that was already clearly visible: round, shiny with oil, the sort of belly people touch without asking permission. Lower down, between her parted thighs, the shaved pussy, the lips wet and separated, a little bright drop caught in the light. Her smile was direct and had no innocence at all.

Beneath it, the text: “See how pretty you’re making me, baby? Four months already. You were so good to me, you fucked me so well to leave me like this. Come soon, I miss you. I want you to put your hand here and tell me it’s ours. And then I want you to put it in all the way, daddy, like you know how.”

Natalia had to brace her back against the doorframe. Her stomach tightened in a way that was not only nausea. There was something deeper, darker and more shameful than nausea: a heat she had not asked permission to move in, a thick wetness that had already started soaking the fabric of her pajama pants between her legs.

She kept scrolling.

***

There were photos from July, from the beach. Daniela in a tiny white bikini, the neckline so low the tits looked as if they were about to escape the fabric. The sun gilded her skin, her nipples showing through the wet swimsuit, thick and erect. In another photo she had pulled the bottom down just a finger’s width, just enough to show the beginning of the shaved cunt and a bit of her pink lips. They were from the same weekend Natalia and Marcos had been at his in-laws’ with the kids, while he watched the match with his brother-in-law and said he had a headache so he wouldn’t have to bathe them.

—You’re killing me, Dani —Marcos had written—. I’m here dying and you’ve got those tits looking like they came out of a magazine. I’ve had a hard dick since I opened WhatsApp.

—And your family? Are you all having a good time?

—Good, as in actually good, no. I miss you. I miss getting my cock inside your pussy and hearing you scream. I wish this were with you, without anyone else, fucking you in the sand.

—Come soon, daddy. I’m still here waiting with my cunt open. Last night I put two fingers in thinking about you and came twice in a row.

—Don’t tell me that or I’m gonna have to go to the bathroom and jerk off. Fuck, Dani. You drive me insane.

—Then do it. Do it thinking of me and send me the video. I want to see you come because of me.

—Deal.

And below, indeed, a video of Marcos. His hand wrapped around his cock, the fingers Natalia knew by heart stroking it up and down, the glans shiny and reddened, his thumb circling the tip. His low, rough voice, panting: “Dani, fuck, Dani, you’re such a dirty girl, you suck it so well.” Twenty seconds later he was shooting over his own belly in thick ropes, moaning her name, not Natalia’s.

Natalia noticed her jaw hurt from clenching it. She kept scrolling.

Another video. Eleven seconds. Daniela this time. She pressed play almost without meaning to, like someone touching a burn to make sure it still hurts.

Daniela lying on her back, the camera pointing down from above. Her legs wide open, her pussy completely exposed, two fingers sunk in to the knuckles going in and out slowly, slick with so much juice. Her thumb moving in circles over the swollen clit. The belly just barely visible, rising and falling with each more ragged breath. Her voice so low, almost a whisper: “Marcos… I’m thinking of you… I want you to come and put it in me… I want your cock inside me now… to drive it in deep like you know how, daddy…”

At the end of the video, Daniela pulled out her soaked fingers and put them in her mouth, sucking them one by one while staring straight into the camera.

Natalia switched off the video.

She stood in the middle of the bedroom with the phone lit in her hand and that voice bouncing around inside her head. Her temples were pounding. She also felt, with a clarity that shamed her, the wet heat between her legs, her cunt throbbing beneath the fabric, her nipples hardened and rubbing against the cotton of her pajamas. She was wet. Wetter than she remembered being in months.

She took off her pajama bottoms. Her panties, already soaked at the crotch, she let drop to the floor without folding them. She pulled the T-shirt over her head. Her tits fell heavy, the nipples tense and dark, almost painfully erect.

She opened the bedside table and took out the vibrator she had kept for two years, the one she used when Marcos traveled for work —or when he said he was traveling, she corrected herself now—. She switched it on. The buzz filled the room like a confession nobody had asked for out loud.

She lay on her back in bed. Her bed. The one they had chosen together in that furniture store in the neighborhood, one autumn Saturday with the kids hanging off their arms and arguing about whether the headboard was too high. The bed where they had slept together for eleven years, each on their own side, with the emptiness that sometimes settles between two people without either of them knowing exactly when it began.

***

—Bitch —she whispered, and she wasn’t quite sure who she was saying it to.

She ran her free hand over her pussy before touching the vibrator, gathering up the juices already wetting the inner part of her thighs. Three fingers sliding up and down between her swollen lips, parting them, checking how soaked she was. Then two fingers going in deep, slowly, while her thumb found her clit. The moan escaped before she could stop it.

She placed the vibrator against her clit and clenched her teeth. The pleasure was immediate and disproportionate, almost insulting in its intensity. The fingers of her other hand kept moving inside her, fucking herself with the rhythm Marcos hadn’t given her in months. Her hips lifted on their own, her toes curled against the sheets.

She imagined Marcos arriving that night at Daniela’s apartment. The elevator, the doorbell, Daniela opening with that smile from the photo, a short transparent nightdress, the belly visible under the fabric, the nipples dark against the cloth. Him going in, running his hand over her slowly, with the care people reserve for things that truly matter. “It’s ours,” he’d tell her. “It’s ours,” while he pulled the nightdress down until she was naked in the entryway.

She turned up the intensity.

She imagined Marcos kneeling in front of Daniela right there, against the wall. His face buried between her thighs, his tongue going deep into her cunt, his lips sucking her clit with the same persistence he hadn’t used on his wife in years. Daniela grabbing his hair, rubbing his face against her pussy, moaning, “Yes, daddy, like that, eat me good,” her round belly resting against his forehead like a reminder. Marcos licking, sucking, pushing his tongue inside her until her legs trembled, until Daniela came against his mouth with a rough cry that filled the hallway.

Natalia pushed a third finger inside herself. Her cunt made a wet sound when it took it, open and slick.

She saw Marcos getting to his feet, unbuttoning his trousers, pulling out his hard cock and pressing it against Daniela’s lips. Her opening her mouth, letting him shove it all the way down her throat, his hands holding her head, fucking her mouth slowly while he looked at her belly from above. “Like that, Dani, you suck me so well, look at me, look at how you’re eating my cock.” Spit running down her chin, her swollen breasts bouncing with each thrust, the obscene, wet sound of her throat taking everything he put into it.

—You’re doing it now —she panted through clenched teeth—. Right now while I’m here alone, with three fingers all the way in, coming because of you.

Tears rolled down her temples onto the pillow. She didn’t wipe them away.

Further down, in the history, there was a message from three weeks earlier that had hit her like a slap the first time she read it:

—This weekend Natalia’s going to her mother’s —Marcos had written—. I’m staying with the kids. I put them to bed at nine and they’re out cold.

—Are you inviting me to your house?

—To the bedroom. I lock the door and nobody hears us. I want you to stay the whole night, Dani. A whole night.

—Marcos… in your bed. In the same bed where you sleep with her every day.

—Yes. I want that. I want it to be our place, even if it’s only once. I want to fuck you in that bed, Dani. I want to come on those sheets. I want her to come back Monday and not know we did it.

—Fuck, Marcos.

—I want you to suck my cock on the side where she sleeps. I want to take you doggy style with your belly brushing the mattress. I want to cum inside you and sleep holding you, the whole night. One night like it should be.

—God. I’m so turned on when you talk to me like that. Okay. I’m coming. But you give me everything, huh? All night, daddy.

—All of it.

***

Natalia screamed.

It wasn’t a scream of just one thing. It held rage and pleasure and shame and something darker than all three together, something with no name in any decent dictionary. The orgasm came like a wave breaking badly: sudden, uneven, longer than she expected. Her body arched violently, her thighs closed over her hand, squeezing it, her fingers clung to the sheets as if the floor had moved beneath her. She felt her cunt contracting in long spasms around her own fingers, expelling a gush of hot fluid that soaked her palm and kept running down the crack of her ass onto the sheets. Her pelvis shook on its own, her tits jolted with each spasm, her throat let out a guttural sound she didn’t recognize.

Then she collapsed all at once and lay still, legs open, fingers still sunk to the knuckle in her own cunt, the vibrator buzzing uselessly against her thigh.

Daniela’s photo lit up the phone screen, resting on its side against the pillow: hand on her belly, cunt open, satisfied smile, eyes looking straight at the camera.

Natalia looked at it for a long moment.

—He’s giving you everything —she said quietly. Not as an insult. Just as a fact she had just accepted—. He fucks you better than he’s fucked me in years.

She closed her eyes. Beneath the rage, beneath the disgust for him and for herself, there was something that wouldn’t go away: the image of Marcos locking that same door, switching off the light, telling Daniela “we’re alone here” while their children slept on the other side of the hallway. The domestic obscenity of that scene. The borrowed intimacy without asking anyone’s permission.

She imagined the mattress sinking under the two of them. The creak she knew by heart, the same one every morning when he got up before her to shower. The headboard hitting the wall, that headboard they had argued was too high, marking the rhythm of each thrust. Daniela’s voice saying “more slowly, the kids,” and him laughing softly, putting a hand over her mouth while he kept driving into her deep. “Shut up, Dani, shut up and let me fuck you good.” The belly between them, round and warm, the swollen tits bouncing with each shove, like a secret that no longer belonged to anyone but the two of them.

She turned the vibrator on again.

This time she shoved it inside. All the way. Moved it slowly, feeling it open the walls of her cunt, the buzz reaching her in waves that made her whole body prickle. With her other hand she pinched one nipple until it hurt, twisting it between thumb and forefinger the way she knew she liked it when she allowed herself to think about what she liked.

This time she didn’t cry. This time she closed her eyes and let the scene run to the end: Daniela on all fours in the middle of the marital bed, her belly hanging beneath her, her heavy tits swaying. Marcos behind her, kneeling, his hands gripping her ass, spreading it, driving his cock inside her in one single thrust. The hard slap of his balls against her cunt. Daniela’s muffled moan into Natalia’s pillow. “Stay tonight,” he whispered to her while he fucked her. She nodding, biting the white pillowcase, moaning softly because the kids were sleeping on the other side of the hallway. The headboard banging against the wall, the mattress creaking just like when Natalia was left alone, the sheets bunching under both their knees, stained with spit and juice and semen.

“I’m going to come inside you,” he whispered. “It’s ours, Dani. Another child if you want. Whatever you want.” Daniela arching her back, opening wider, offering herself. “Yes, daddy, give it all to me, fill me.” Marcos driving in to the hilt and letting out his final groan as he came inside his lover’s cunt, on top of his wife’s sheets, the two of them falling asleep wrapped around each other in Natalia’s bed as if it had always been theirs, as if eleven years meant nothing.

The orgasm was short and dry and almost mechanical. But it came. The walls of her cunt closing again around the vibrator, one spasm, two, three. A long sigh. Nothing else.

She pulled the vibrator out slowly, slick with her own fluids, and let it fall onto the sheets. She stayed still for a while she didn’t measure, staring at the ceiling, her legs still open and her cunt throbbing slowly, emptied.

***

Afterward she sat up. Gathered the clothes from the floor and pulled them onto her still sticky skin. She went to the bathroom, washed her face with cold water, wiped the fluid from the inside of her thighs with a wipe, looked at herself in the mirror longer than necessary. Then she went to the kitchen, poured herself what was left in the bottle, and returned to the sofa.

Outside, the cars kept passing.

She left Marcos’s phone exactly where she had found it: on the bedside table, face up, lit with Daniela’s photo and her four-month belly.

Tomorrow there would be decisions. Calls. Lawyers. Conversations with the children she still didn’t know how to begin. Tomorrow the world would be completely different and she would have to learn to move through it alone, rebuild something from nothing, invent a version of herself that did not go through Marcos.

But tonight, at least, had been hers.

Even if it hurt in a way that had no name.

Even if desire and rage turned out to be, in the end, exactly the same thing.