The Night Andrés Asked Her for the Impossible

The room smelled of cold coffee and defeat. Andrés had been sitting across from Sebastián for forty minutes without finding the exact words, shifting only enough to reach for the glass of water nobody had bothered to refill. The amount was the same as always: impossible. Too much to pay all at once, too much piled up to negotiate in installments. Sebastián listened with the calm of a man who already knows how it’s all going to end.

—I don’t have the money —Andrés said at last, looking at the table—. And I’m not going to have it in the next six months.

Sebastián crossed his arms and waited. He wasn’t an impatient man, and that made him harder to deal with.

—You must have thought of something —he said.

Andrés swallowed. He had thought of something, yes. He had thought about it for days, with a mixture of self-disgust and an attraction he still didn’t fully understand. He had crossed that mental line hundreds of times in the past few weeks, like someone peering over the edge of a cliff without quite jumping. And now he was jumping.

—Elena —he said.

Sebastián didn’t react right away. He let one second pass, then two, then three.

—Your wife?

—Yes.

Another silence. Sebastián had known Elena since the wedding, four years earlier. He had seen her at dinners, at birthdays, at that New Year’s party where she’d worn a green dress he remembered with unsettling clarity. He had always kept his distance. She was his friend’s wife.

—Does she know you’re making this proposal? —he asked.

—Not yet.

—And if she doesn’t agree?

Andrés didn’t answer. They both knew there was no good answer to that question.

—Whatever you want —Andrés said finally—. One time. Whatever you want. And we clear the debt.

Sebastián took a moment longer to answer. When he did, he didn’t smile. He only nodded slowly, as if signing a document.

—All right. I’ll fuck her however I want, at her place, in her bed, and you watch. No complaints, no cutting me off halfway through. If she says yes, I’ll split her in two. We clear?

—We clear —Andrés said, his voice dry.

—And I want you there. The whole time. Watching.

***

Waking Elena was the hardest thing Andrés had ever done in his life. She slept on her side, her loose hair covering half her face, and when she opened her eyes and saw him sitting on the edge of the bed, she knew at once something was wrong.

—What happened? —she asked, sitting up.

He explained everything. No detours, nothing softened. He told her the word fuck, he told her Sebastián’s name, he told her she was going to have to open her legs for another man so they wouldn’t lose everything. As he spoke, he watched Elena’s face change: from initial confusion to horror, and from horror to something he couldn’t read.

—No —she said when he finished. Her voice was steady, but her lips trembled—. You can’t ask that of me.

—I know.

—Andrés. Just you. From the beginning, just you. No other dick, ever. And now you’re telling me to open my legs for your friend.

He knew it. Four years together, and before him, no one. Elena was the kind of person who reached adulthood with few experiences and no regrets. For her, the body was intimate, not something to negotiate. And he was asking her to negotiate it.

—I’ll be there —Andrés said—. The whole time. If at any point you want to stop, we stop. But if we don’t do this, we lose everything. We lose it all.

Elena stared at the wall for what seemed to Andrés like a very long time. Then she got up without saying a word, went to the bathroom, stayed there five minutes, and came out wrapped in a dark cotton robe that fell to mid-thigh. She wasn’t wearing anything underneath. Andrés noticed: the weight of her breasts against the fabric, the shadow of her cunt hinted at as she walked.

—Not one more word —she told him before leaving the bedroom—. Not one. If you’re going to make me fuck your friend, shut up and take it.

***

Sebastián was standing by the window when Elena walked into the living room. He looked at her openly, with that kind of attention reserved for when there’s no longer any need to pretend indifference. He ran his eyes over her body like someone appraising merchandise: her breasts pushing against the fabric, her hips, the dark patch of her pubic mound showing through the robe. She held his gaze, back straight and hands clenched at her sides.

—Hello, Elena —he said.

She didn’t answer. She stayed where she was, three meters from him, waiting. Andrés sat in the armchair at the back, out of direct sight but without disappearing completely. He was keeping his promise: he was there.

Sebastián approached slowly. Not like someone collecting payment, but like someone who knew he had time. He brushed her shoulder with his fingers, an almost neutral touch, and Elena didn’t step away. Her breathing was controlled, deliberate, like someone practicing before stepping into cold water.

—Tell me what scares you —Sebastián said, his voice low.

—Everything —she replied.

—Do you want me to stop?

Elena took two seconds. Two seconds Andrés counted from his armchair.

—No —she said.

The robe fell to the floor without drama, simply slipping from her shoulders. Sebastián looked at her in full, unhurried. She was tall, with a curve at the hip that showed even at rest, and her nipples were hard not so much from desire as from the temperature in the living room. Or so Andrés told himself. Elena’s pussy was shaved at the sides, with a short strip of dark hair above, and the inner lips were just barely visible. Sebastián ran his tongue over his lower lip.

—Fuck, you look so good —he said, matter-of-factly, as if stating a fact.

Elena flushed at once, from her neck to her ears.

Sebastián had her sit on the sofa. He knelt in front of her and started with the basics: her hands. He took her hands, opened them, brushed her palms with his thumbs. It was strange, unexpected, and precisely for that reason it worked. Elena loosened her shoulders. Then he slid her hands up her forearms, her elbows, her arms to her shoulders, and from there down to her breasts. He took them in both palms, weighed them, squeezed them gently, and pinched her nipples with his thumbs until they truly stood hard, no longer just from the cold. Elena let out a sharp breath.

—That’s it —Sebastián said, and lowered his mouth to one nipple, took it fully into his mouth, sucked hard, bit it with his upper teeth, and sucked again.

Elena moaned for the first time that night. A short, surprised sound that escaped without permission. Andrés, from his armchair, gripped the edge of the cushion with his fingers.

When Sebastián lowered his head and gently parted her thighs, she closed her eyes. His first contact with her cunt was so slow it almost didn’t seem like contact at all: just the warmth of his breath before touch. When the touch came, Elena held her breath for a moment and then let it out slowly, like someone setting down a weight she’d been carrying for a long time. Sebastián ran his tongue over her whole slit, from bottom to top, flat and slow, and stopped at her clit. He circled it twice with the tip of his tongue, then sucked it flat, drawing in air with a wet sound that filled the room.

Andrés found himself watching. He couldn’t stop watching. His wife’s face with her eyes closed, lips parted, one hand gripping the edge of the cushion. It was an expression he knew well in another context, but with something different now: something rawer, more startled. And between Elena’s open legs, Sebastián’s head moving, his tongue going in and out of his wife’s cunt, Sebastián’s fingers spreading her lips so he could lick her better.

—You’re wet, Elena —Sebastián said, lifting his face for a second. His mouth was shiny—. You’re soaked.

—Shut up —she whispered, eyes still closed.

—I’m going to eat you out completely —he said, and went back down.

Elena started moving without realizing it. Her hips sought the rhythm of Sebastián’s tongue as if her body were making decisions her head still hadn’t approved. A sound rose from her throat, small and restrained, then another, louder one she made no attempt to suppress. Sebastián slid in one finger, then two, curling them upward, searching for that spot inside while he kept sucking on her clit.

—Wait —she said, opening her eyes at once.

Sebastián stopped immediately, his fingers still inside her.

Elena looked at him, then at Andrés, then back at Sebastián. Her face was hard to read. It wasn’t fear. It wasn’t what Andrés had expected, either.

—Keep going —she said—. Don’t stop. Keep going.

***

What came after was gradual, like most things that change everything forever. Sebastián ate her pussy until Elena came for the first time, her legs trembling and her hands clamped in his hair, pushing his face against her cunt as she came. It was a long, noisy orgasm, unadorned. When it ended, she collapsed against the back of the sofa, breathing through her mouth.

Sebastián got up from the floor, took off his shirt, unbuckled his belt and trousers, and yanked them down with his boxer briefs in one motion. His cock sprang free, hard, thick, the head glossy. Elena looked at it without wanting to look, and Andrés saw the exact moment she unconsciously licked her lips.

—Come here —Sebastián said.

Elena slid along the sofa until she knelt on the floor in front of him. There were no instructions. She took his cock in her hand, hesitated for a second, and then took it into her mouth. At first just the tip, then halfway, then she gripped it more eagerly and started sucking for real, eyes closed and one hand at the base. Sebastián placed a hand on the back of her neck, not pushing, just guiding.

—That’s it, that’s it —he said—. Fuck, you suck dick so well.

Andrés didn’t recognize his wife. Elena, the woman with few experiences, the one who had been only you, was kneeling and sucking another man’s cock with a hunger he had never seen from her at this hour. And he, instead of stopping it, had a cock hard as stone inside his pants. He grabbed it through the fabric and squeezed.

Sebastián lifted her from the floor by her arms. He gently pushed her toward the sofa, set her on her knees on the seat with her hands on the backrest, and positioned himself behind her. He ran a hand over her back, grabbed one ass cheek with the other, and gave her a sharp slap. Elena shuddered.

—Again —she said, almost voiceless.

Sebastián hit her again, harder, and left a red mark on her pale skin. Then he took hold of his cock, dragged it up and down her cunt slit a couple of times, soaking it, and shoved it in to the hilt in one thrust.

Elena made a sound Andrés had never heard from her. It wasn’t pain. It was something like surprise, like when you put your hand into hotter water than expected and discover it doesn’t burn, only warms. A deep, long moan that came up from her chest.

—So tight —Sebastián growled behind her, gripping her hips with both hands—. You’re so fucking tight.

The thrusts began slowly and found their own rhythm. Sebastián grabbed her hair, wound it around his fist, and tugged back without roughness but with firmness, forcing her to arch. Elena gripped the sofa back with one hand and sank the other into Sebastián’s thigh from behind, scratching him with her nails without realizing it. Her body started responding with a kind of honesty that had no filter: her ass pushing back to meet the thrusts, the moans rising higher and higher, sweat shining on her back.

—Harder —Elena said, eyes still closed—. Fuck me harder.

Sebastián let go of her hair, grabbed both hips, and started fucking her for real, slamming his pubis into her ass with a sound that was both wet and dry. Elena’s breasts swayed beneath her with each удар. The sofa creaked.

Andrés had risen from the armchair without consciously deciding to. He stood beside the sofa, watching his wife’s body from an angle he had never had before: he saw Sebastián’s cock going in and out of Elena’s cunt, glossy with her fluids, saw her ass marked by the slap, saw her face turned in profile, mouth open. She saw him, and instead of closing her eyes, she held his gaze for several seconds. That look completely undid him.

He knelt close to her. Took her free hand. Elena squeezed it hard, and that pressure was the most intimate thing of the entire night.

—Are you all right? —he asked, in a voice so low it was barely a question.

—Yes —she said, and said it with a conviction he hadn’t expected, while Sebastián kept driving into her from behind—. Yes, yes, yes.

—Take it out —she told Andrés—. Take it out. I want to see you.

Andrés lowered his pants. Elena reached out and grabbed his cock with the hand he’d taken before, and began stroking it in the same rhythm that Sebastián was fucking her. A second later she turned her head and took him into her mouth right there, kneeling on the sofa, sucking her husband while her husband watched another man drive into her from behind.

***

There was a moment when Sebastián pulled back, panting, his cock glossy all the way to the base, and told Andrés to switch places. Andrés got behind her. Elena arched her back to take him with an urgency she hadn’t given him in a long time. When he pushed into her, she let out a moan that was almost relief, as if her cunt had been waiting for him.

—Fuck, Andrés —she said, resting her face against the backrest—. Fuck, you’re so hard.

Her body was lit up in a different way, as if the night’s accumulated tension had turned into something else. Every thrust pulled a new moan from her. And in front, Sebastián had knelt on the sofa too, with his cock right before her face. Elena took it without hesitation and put it back in her mouth, and there she stayed for a while: sucking one while the other fucked her.

The three of them found a rhythm none of them could have planned. Sebastián pulled his cock from her mouth, moved aside, kissed her lips smeared with moisture, ran his hands over her waist, nipped her neck carefully, grabbed one breast and squeezed it while Andrés kept fucking her from behind. Her eyes were open now, and she no longer looked scared but intensely attentive, present, like someone discovering that a place that once made her dizzy actually gave her something else.

When her second orgasm came, this time with Andrés inside her and Sebastián kissing her neck and pinching her nipples, Elena announced it without meaning to: a broken cry that escaped before she could hold it back, and then a brief, bewildered laugh, almost embarrassed, that Andrés stored away in the part of his memory reserved for important things. Elena’s cunt clenched around Andrés’s cock in spasms, squeezing him, and he had to grip her hips hard to keep from coming right then and there.

They switched again. Elena lay on her back on the sofa, legs spread and hair plastered to her forehead with sweat. Sebastián got on top of her and shoved back in, this time face to face, his arms braced on either side of her head. Elena hooked her legs around his waist, opened wider, and Sebastián started fucking her with long, deep thrusts, all the way in.

—Look at me —he told her—. Look at me while your cunt swallows me.

Elena looked at him. Andrés looked. No one looked away.

Sebastián came a little later, with a low sound, and pulled out at the last second. He came over Elena’s belly and breasts, thick white spurts that hung from her nipples and slid to the sides. Elena ran two fingers through the semen on her belly and brought them to her mouth without taking her eyes off Andrés.

Andrés couldn’t take it. He threw himself on top of her before she finished swallowing. He shoved back into the pussy wet with Sebastián and with her own juices, and fucked hard, short, three thrusts, four, and came inside with the moan of a tired animal. Elena’s body received him with a new familiarity: like someone who has gone away for the first time and comes home with different eyes.

***

In the end, when the living room returned to silence, Elena remained lying on the sofa with a pillow under her head and her gaze on the ceiling. She still had traces of semen drying on her skin, and she made no move to clean them off. Sebastián had dressed and was sitting in the armchair, the only thing still neutral in that room. Andrés had settled on the floor, close to Elena but not touching her, waiting.

—The debt —Sebastián said at last, breaking the silence.

—The debt —Andrés repeated.

Sebastián took out his phone, typed something, and set it on the coffee table face down.

—Paid —he said. He stood up, picked up his jacket from the back of the chair, and headed for the door. Before opening it, he turned around—. Take good care of her.

Andrés didn’t answer. He had already turned to Elena, who was still looking at the ceiling with that expression he didn’t know how to name.

—What are you thinking? —he asked.

Elena took a while to answer. Outside, the click of the door closing could be heard.

—That I don’t know if I feel the way I thought I would —she said.

—How did you think you’d feel?

She turned her head to look at him. Her face was calm, not broken.

—Worse —she said.

Andrés moved closer to the sofa and lay down beside her, pressed against the backrest to fit. Elena turned toward him and placed a hand on his chest, over his heart.

—And you? —she asked.

—I don’t know either —he admitted.

They stayed like that for a long while, without speaking. The debt had been paid. What had changed between them still had no name, but it didn’t seem broken either. It was something else. Something neither of them would have chosen any other way, and yet now it existed and had to fit somewhere.

Elena squeezed the hand on his chest once, and then closed her eyes.

Andrés watched her until her breathing grew slow and regular, and thought that sometimes the hardest doors to open are the ones that, once opened, can never quite be closed again. And that this is not always a tragedy.