My Married Lover Came with a Stranger That Afternoon

That afternoon you learned that you could share me with anyone and I would let you do it. As always.

I was on all fours on the mattress, your cock in my mouth and your friend pounding my ass from behind. A strip of late-winter light slipped through the half-closed blind and fell right across the sheets. You were panting, glancing sideways toward the window, and then locking your eyes back on me. It amused you to think that your wife was watching television in the apartment across the street, not twenty meters away, with no suspicion that you were gorging yourself on the mouth and ass of that weird neighbor her face twisted with disgust whenever we crossed paths in the entrance hall.

Your cock was rock hard. The veins stood out against my tongue and throbbed in time with your breathing. The taste was a strange mix of sweat, cheap lube, and traces I didn’t even want to identify. I licked it without taking my eyes off your face, closed my lips over the head, and slid them down the entire shaft until I was working your furry balls with my mouth. When I looked up, I found you wearing that smile of yours, condescending and sharp, the one I hated so much.

The other guy’s cock wasn’t big, but he used it savagely. It drove in and out of my ass with a wet smack, his fingers dug into my hips, his heavy balls slapping against mine. Every so often the head of his shaft would catch — by chance, I suppose — a particularly sensitive internal spot that made my back prickle and sent little jolts through me.

I would have moaned with pleasure at each one of those jolts. I would have howled. But you wouldn’t let me.

As soon as you noticed my body shaking with a burst of pleasure, you shoved your hips forward and drove your cock all the way down my throat. You choked off the moan. You kept it for yourself. Strings of saliva escaped me and dripped onto your balls and then onto the sheets. You smiled again.

That same smile you had given us a few minutes earlier, when your buddy and I were licking your cock on our knees, taking turns with anxious clumsiness that made our tongues get in each other’s way and our faces brush together. Your phone had rung right in the middle of the action and you’d allowed yourself the luxury of answering as if nothing was happening, talking to God knows who — your daughter?, a supplier?, your brother? — while you looked at the two of us kneeling there, passing your dick from one mouth to the other like a shared candy.

I wouldn’t be surprised if you’d scheduled the call just to put on that show. I’m just as sure that that supposed friend of yours was really a rent boy you’d paid for the afternoon. It was hard to believe a man in his thirties, one I had never seen around the village before, was friends with a bald, short, arrogant fifty-something like you.

Who knows. You were always a twisted son of a bitch. And me, God knows why, you attracted me in a fatal, inescapable way that tormented me and turned me on in equal measure.

***

From the day you started coming on to me through the app, with that very you mixture of fake friendliness and real vanity, there was something about you that threw me off balance. I couldn’t have said what. When I finally gave in and let you come see me at home — discreetly, of course, you were married — and I saw you there in the landing, bald, short, rather ugly, dressed in that provincial-rich-guy way of yours and with that smile I hated so much, I almost slammed the door in your face.

Then you lunged at me, groped me, licked my nipples with the hunger of a starving animal, and my resolve fell to the ground at my feet. I remember wondering how the hell you had figured out so quickly what my weak spot was. I still don’t know, but the truth is you knew it from the very first time.

After that, I was always available whenever you felt like fucking or having your cock sucked. Discreet, patient, counting the hours and the days. Even when you went limp halfway through, or came in thirty seconds and left me frustrated, I felt strangely happy beside you, curled up against your hairy chest, my face smeared with your cum, listening to the slow beats of your heart while you told me all kinds of lies faker than a Mortadelo banknote. That you loved me. That I was your woman. That one day you would leave the other one.

When you left, I felt emptied out. I nosed through the sheets like a dog in heat, searching for your smell. It’s embarrassing to remember it now, but back then I didn’t even notice.

I don’t know what the hell you did to me, you piece of shit, but you had me at your feet. Or maybe, deep down, I’m far kinkier than I’m willing to admit, and that’s why I let myself get talked into it when you came up with ideas like showing up unannounced with a supposed friend to share me with him.

Like that afternoon.

***

As I said, I was on all fours with your cock in my mouth, and a few minutes later your friend’s thrusts got faster, rougher, more violent. His grunts grew harsher, his breathing broke into long gasps. His fingers sank so deep into my hips that I was sure he’d leave marks on me for days.

—I can’t take it anymore… I… can’t… moooore… aaaaah…

And I felt him shuddering inside me, felt his cock convulsing against the walls of my ass, felt his warm semen spilling into me. I suppose it was your idea too that he fuck me bare and by surprise, and I should have bitten your cock off for allowing it, but I only managed to pull it out of my mouth and say, in a gravelly voice:

—Come in my ass, I love it.

And I took you back into my mouth.

The ease with which you turned me into a desperate little slut still amazes me to this day.

The other one, once he’d emptied himself inside me, dressed in a hurry and left, saying he had things to do. I suppose that once he’d done the job you’d paid him for, he had nothing else to do there. I walked him to the door naked and said goodbye with a hurried kiss.

When I went back to the bedroom, I found you standing beside the bed. Your stocky silhouette was outlined against the dim afternoon light, your cock harder than it had been at any point before, the head greasy and shining with my saliva and your pre-cum. You were looking at me with cloudy, burning eyes, your chest rising and falling to the rhythm of your ragged breathing.

You were more animal than man. And that brutality you gave off in moments like that filled me with excitement: I was your prey, your toy, and at this point I’m not going to deny that I liked being it. You didn’t even have to say a word. I knelt and started sucking your cock again with a devotion that now makes me blush.

I knew what you wanted and more than anything I wanted to please you. Thank God you didn’t think to ask me then to lick your asshole, or kiss your feet, or crawl on the floor, because I would have done it. I would have done it, damn it, and I would have enjoyed it too. I would have let you piss on me, and I would have even thanked you. That’s how fucked up you had me.

I looked at your face and saw that you were enjoying the blowjob. Then you started telling me some filthy story about how and where you had met your friend, and other exploits of yours that I’m not going to repeat here. I remember being disgusted. I also remember that that same disgust turned me on in a monstrous, incomprehensible way. I needed to feel you inside me. I needed you to dirty me even more.

—Don’t you want to fuck me?

—You want me to fuck you, my love?

—Yes… I’m dying for it.

—Ask me, my little slut.

—Fuck me, my love…

—Ask me nicely…

—Please, fuck me… tear my ass open…

You liked it when I begged. You loved seeing a man a good handspan taller than you turned into a submissive little slut begging you to fuck him, to come on his face, to spank him. And I, though it makes me uneasy to write it now, was happy to give you that pleasure and let you use me the way one uses an inflatable doll or a handkerchief to wipe away semen after coming.

***

When you decided I’d begged enough, you made me get back on all fours on the bed. You rolled on the condom — you did protect yourself, you bastard — and shoved your whole cock into me in one thrust. My ass was already open from the other guy’s fucking and you slid in to the balls without effort. I took it with a cry halfway between pleasure and protest. My body hair stood on end. Saliva slipped from the corner of my mouth.

Your cock wasn’t very big, no, but I don’t know how you managed to hit that spot inside me where, when it was stimulated, it made my legs go weak and my head go foggy. It’s still a mystery I’m not sure I want to solve.

You fucked me without mercy, helped by the extra lubrication the other man’s semen gave your cock as it slid in and out of my ass, letting little warm trails of cum run down the insides of my thighs. You spanked my ass savagely and I begged for more. You dragged me in front of the wardrobe mirror, grabbed me by the hair, and fucked me standing up, forcing me to watch our reflections: you behind me, sweating, your face flushed with pleasure; me in front, glassy-eyed and drooling down my chin. You flipped me onto my back and fucked me the way you’d fuck a woman, while you tightened one hand around my throat and licked your lips with the other.

When you went soft again, I sucked you off once more, fresh out of my ass, until I brought you back to life. Then I sat on top of you and rode you with a quiet rage, while you squeezed my nipples and called me “my whore.” You fucked me in every position you felt like until you got tired, and then you fell onto the bed like a sack, sweaty, gasping, visibly pleased to have done with me whatever you wanted, as always.

***

I lay back with my head on your chest, surrendered to the caress of your body hair against my cheek, to the rhythmic sound of your breathing, to the throbbing ache rising from my ass, to the warm happiness of being there beside you like that, curled up in the hot, stale air of the room.

You kissed me. You promised me, once again, God knows how many things. You got me hard again, and when I was just about ready to ask for a repeat performance, you looked at the clock and said it was getting late, that your wife might get suspicious. I saw you off at the door with a long, desperate kiss. When you closed it and went down the stairs, I felt, without quite knowing why, that part of myself was going after you and would never come back.

I didn’t stay with you any longer. I didn’t want to. You begged me, called me at odd hours, showed up once in the entrance hall with an expensive bottle. I had to threaten to tell your wife everything before you loosened your grip. When you finally understood I meant it, you stopped writing.

I gained some peace.

But ever since that afternoon, every time I meet a married guy, a little older than me, who shows up at my place in secret and in a hurry, I can’t help acting like a heat-crazed slut willing to take any filthy thing he comes up with in good grace. And when they show up with a rent-boy transvestite for a threesome, or when they leave me with my ass open and my face soaked with cum or piss, I can’t help thinking of you.

And I still don’t know whether to curse you or thank you.