The Night Another Woman Taught Me to Desire Her

I’ve been married to Diego for ten years. We have two children, a house with a small garden, and a routine that works. What nobody knows—not my mother, not my friends, not Diego himself—is that since I was sixteen I’ve carried a curiosity I was never able to satisfy: I always wanted to know what it was like to fuck another woman.

It’s not that I feel dissatisfied in my marriage. Diego is attentive, hardworking, and we have no complaints in bed either: he fucks me well, makes me come almost every time, has a thick cock that fills me, and knows how to use it. But there are fantasies you keep in a locked drawer, and they reappear at the most unexpected moments. Mine were always the same: a woman, her skin, her mouth on my pussy, the different scent women have, tits pressed against mine. I never acted on it. I never thought I would.

Until that Saturday night.

***

Diego called me in the afternoon to let me know he would be bringing Mara home, a coworker from his office who lived on the other side of the city. They had gone out to dinner with the team, and public transportation had stopped running. Could she stay the night? Of course. I told him I’d prepare some snacks and that there was no problem.

When they came through the door after eleven, I was finishing up in the kitchen. I saw Mara and stopped for a second longer than usual.

She was slim, one of those women who seem fragile but have something firm in the way they move. Her dark, almost-black hair fell to her shoulders, slightly tousled, as if she’d been dancing. Her eyes were a difficult-to-define gray-green. A white shirt with the first few buttons undone, revealing the tops of small, firm tits without a bra; tight jeans that outlined her hips and a round, pert ass.

“Nice to meet you,” she said, giving me two kisses. Her perfume was soft, floral without being cloying. I felt her nipples harden briefly against my arm when she leaned in.

Get a grip, I told myself.

The three of us sat in the living room. Diego opened a bottle of wine, and we talked about unimportant things: work, a show we were all watching, the weather. Mara was easy to talk to, direct, with a dry sense of humor. I liked her immediately, though I tried to make sure that “liked” meant nothing more than sympathy. But every time she crossed her legs on the couch and her shirt fell open a little farther, I felt something tighten down below, between my legs—a wet throb I hadn’t felt in years simply from looking at someone.

By one in the morning, the children had been asleep for hours. Diego began to yawn. The problem was space: our house had two bedrooms, one for us and one for the children. There was no guest room.

“I’ll sleep on the mattress,” Diego said. He’d always had that host instinct that made him volunteer before anyone asked. “You two can have the bed.”

Mara protested. Diego insisted. I said nothing.

***

The room was dim when Mara and I got into bed. Diego was already snoring softly on the mattress on the floor. We took opposite sides of the bed, with a reasonable distance between us, and talked quietly for a while longer: where she was from, how she’d joined the company, whether she liked the city.

At some point, the conversation faded. Mara said she was tired. I said the same. We both fell silent.

It took me a long time to fall asleep. My body was rigid and my mind raced for no apparent reason. I could hear Diego breathing in the background and Mara breathing right beside me. Her perfume still lingered in the air, mingling with the scent of clean sheets. I could feel how soaked I was beneath my panties, so wet I was afraid of staining the sheet, and my nipples had hardened beneath my pajama shirt without my doing anything to provoke it.

Stop, I told myself. She’s your husband’s coworker. Stop it right now.

I didn’t stop.

I figured about forty minutes had passed when I felt Mara move. She shifted toward my side of the bed, slowly, as if measuring the distance.

“Are you awake?” she whispered.

“Yes,” I answered, almost breathlessly.

There was a pause.

“Do you mind if I move a little closer? I’m cold on the edge.”

“I don’t mind.”

She slid over until she was a few inches from me. I could feel the heat of her body before she touched me. My heart was beating so hard I was surprised she couldn’t hear it.

“Can I hold you?” I asked, not knowing where I’d found the courage.

She didn’t answer in words. She simply turned toward me and settled against my side. Her head came to rest near my shoulder. Her hand lay on my stomach, just beneath my tits.

Neither of us said anything for a while. I put an arm around her shoulders and began stroking her arm slowly, without thinking too much about what I was doing. She let out an almost imperceptible sound, something between a sigh and a murmur. Then she moved her hand a couple of inches upward, and the tips of her fingers brushed the swell of my tit beneath my shirt.

Something inside me came undone.

“Are you okay?” I asked.

“Very okay,” she said softly. “And you?”

“Me too. Wet,” I whispered, unable to stop the word. “I’m wet.”

I felt her smile against my shoulder.

“Me too,” she said. “Since you opened the door for me.”

“Can I kiss you?”

She sat up slightly and found me in the darkness. Her lips met mine with a precision that surprised me. The kiss was gentle at first, almost shy. Then her mouth opened, and her tongue brushed mine very calmly, pushing, playing, curling around mine until my mouth tasted entirely of her. I bit her lower lip, and she moaned softly inside my mouth.

Kissing her was different from everything I knew. I don’t know if it was the softness of her lips or the way she took her time—slowly, without hurrying—but I felt something opening in the center of my chest, and farther down, between my legs, something else opening that I could no longer contain. I put my hand on the back of her neck and pulled her closer, almost devouring her.

***

Her hands began to move. They traveled up my sides and reached my tits through my pajamas. She squeezed gently, and I released my breath in a rush. My nipples stood hard against the fabric, and she sought them with her thumb, first one and then the other, carefully pinching them until a tight moan escaped between my teeth.

“Here,” I said, guiding her hand beneath the fabric.

Her fingers on my bare skin felt different from Diego’s. Finer, more careful, as if she knew exactly what she was looking for. She pinched my nipples with a precision only someone who had them too could possess. She touched me for a long while, alternating pressure and caresses, sucking my nipples one by one when I lifted my shirt to my neck, while I kissed her neck, her collarbone, anywhere I could reach.

I pulled her shirt up. She helped me take it off. Her tits were small and firm, with dark nipples that hardened as soon as I ran my thumbs over them.

“God,” I whispered. “They’re beautiful.”

I leaned down and kissed them. I wrapped my mouth around one whole nipple and sucked, and she arched her back against my face. I ran my tongue around it in circles and then bit them gently, alternating between one and the other, until I left them red and shining with saliva. She gripped the sheet with one hand and pressed my head toward her with the other, asking for more. I heard her hold her breath, then let it out slowly.

“Keep going,” she panted. “Bite them, fuck.”

I pulled down her underwear. She did the same to me, sliding my panties down my thighs, over my knees, until she pulled them off my feet. For a moment we both lay still, naked, our legs intertwined in the darkness. I felt her thigh between mine and, without thinking, pressed my pussy against it. I was so wet that I soaked her skin instantly.

“Fuck,” she whispered. “You’re soaked.”

“I told you.”

“How many times had you done this?” I asked her in a very low voice.

“A few,” she said. “And you?”

“Never. Never with a woman.”

She looked at me, or at least that was what I felt in the darkness.

“Do you want to stop?”

“No,” I answered without hesitation. “I want everything.”

***

We began touching each other at the same time. I didn’t know exactly what to do, but instinct took over. I ran my hand down her belly, over her shaved pubis, and when I brushed her pussy with my fingertips, I felt how wet she was almost immediately—slick, hot. That turned me on more than anything else. The fact that she was wet too, that I had caused that in another woman, was something I had never imagined feeling.

I spread her pussy lips with two fingers, and she let out a long sigh. I rubbed her clitoris in circles, slowly, following her rhythm and watching how she reacted. It was swollen, hard, and the more I touched it, the more it swelled. I slid one finger inside her and felt her pussy close around it, squeezing. I added a second finger, and she exhaled sharply against my neck.

“That’s it,” she whispered. “Fuck me with your fingers.”

I moved them in and out, searching for the angle that made her tense. When I found it—upward, against the front wall—she grabbed my arm hard and thrust her hips toward me, riding my hand.

“There,” she said, almost voicelessly. “Don’t stop, don’t stop.”

I kept going. She kept touching me too, and at some point I lost track of what I was doing because what she was doing to me clouded my thoughts. She had inserted two fingers into me as well, while her thumb made precise circles over my clitoris, pressing harder and moving faster and faster. No one had ever touched me like that, knowing exactly where and how much, because she had the same thing and didn’t need to guess.

“I’m going to come,” I whispered in her ear. “I’m going to come now.”

“Me too, fuck. Together.”

We came almost simultaneously, in forced silence, biting our lips so we wouldn’t make a sound. I rested my forehead on her shoulder while my body shook in short, repeated waves, my pussy clenching again and again around her fingers, soaking her hand. She arched her back and exhaled through her nose very slowly, and I felt her pussy pulse against mine too, squeezing the fingers I still had inside her.

When it was over, neither of us spoke for a moment. I pulled my fingers from inside her, brought them to my mouth, and she sucked them while looking at me. Then she did the same with hers and made me taste myself.

“Come here,” she said at last.

She lay on her back and spread her legs. I understood.

I moved slowly down her body, leaving kisses on her stomach, her hips, the inside of her thigh. I bit the soft skin there lightly, and she let out her breath. When I reached her, I heard her inhale. She opened before my eyes, glistening in the dimness, swollen, her clitoris peeking out between her lips. The scent was strong, sweet, different from mine, and it filled my head.

I parted her lips with my tongue and ran its tip from bottom to top, very slowly, stopping at her clitoris. She jerked. I repeated it, then again, wetting her all over with saliva. Then I closed my lips around her clitoris and sucked gently, feeling her whole body contract beneath my hands.

“Fuck, fuck,” she panted. “Yes, like that, don’t stop.”

I didn’t stop. I licked her carefully, experimenting, searching for what she liked: slow circles with the tip of my tongue directly on her clitoris, alternating with long, flat strokes from bottom to top. I pushed my tongue inside her, and she moaned through clenched teeth. I returned to her clitoris. I inserted two fingers and kept sucking her while moving them in and out at the same rhythm.

Her back arched slightly, and her hands sought my head again. I placed my free hand on her hip to keep her still and continued. She bit her hand to keep from moaning. The sheet rustled beneath her body in small, rhythmic tensions. I felt her pussy tighten around my fingers—a warning.

“I’m coming,” she whispered against her palm. “I’m coming, don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t stop.”

When she came, it was with her whole body: a long, continuous tremor that gradually subsided, a gush of hot liquid against my tongue, her thighs closing around my ears. I held her until she finished, never stopping my licking, slowing my tongue as she came down.

I climbed up to her, and we kissed for a long time. Her taste in my mouth and mine in hers at the same time was something I didn’t know how to name, but wanted to keep.

“Now you,” she said.

I lay back and let myself go. Mara moved down my body with more confidence than I’d had. She sucked my nipples until they were hard and sensitive, bit my hip, ran her tongue over my navel. She knew what she was doing, and I didn’t need to guide her. When she opened my legs and blew slowly over my pussy before touching it, my thighs were already trembling.

Her first lick was long and flat, from my entrance to my clitoris, and it tore a moan from me that I had to choke off immediately. The second went straight to my clitoris in quick circles, and my vision began to blur. She pushed her tongue deep inside me, pulled it out, returned to my clitoris, inserted two fingers, then three, curling them upward. At some point I had to cover my own mouth with the pillow because the sound about to escape me would not have gone unnoticed.

She sucked my clitoris with her lips tight around it, drawing hard, while her fingers relentlessly tapped my inner spot. My whole body contracted. She gave me one, two, three orgasms in a row, one on top of the other, without giving me a break, until I had to grab her hair and pull her away because I couldn’t take any more.

When I finished, I lay shattered for a long while, eyes closed, my body completely relaxed for the first time in years, my thighs soaked, my heart pounding against my ribs. I felt as if I had walked out of a room where I’d been locked up for far too long.

***

Mara was the first to notice.

“I think your husband is awake,” she said softly, with a hint of amusement.

I turned my head. Diego was sitting up on the mattress, completely motionless, looking toward us with his eyes open. The little light coming through the blinds was enough to see his expression: astonishment mixed with something I recognized easily. His hand was inside his underwear, and the bulge of his cock was clearly outlined.

“How long have you been awake?” I asked.

“A while,” he admitted, his voice slightly hoarse. “A pretty long while.”

Mara laughed under her breath. I did too.

“Well?” I said.

Diego didn’t answer immediately. He ran a hand through his hair.

“I never imagined something like this…” he began.

“Did you like watching?” Mara asked him directly. “Did it get you hard?”

A pause.

“Yes. Both.”

Mara looked at me. I looked at her. Neither of us needed much discussion.

“Then come here,” Mara said. “And bring that thing.”

***

What happened afterward was different. More chaotic, louder at times, more than any of the three of us could ever have planned. Diego climbed into bed naked, his cock already rock-hard, and the following hours were a mix of things I had never done before and couldn’t put in any exact order: Mara sucking him while he licked me, me riding him while she sucked my nipples and kissed me on the mouth, him fucking her from behind while I ate her pussy from below, all three of us touching each other, coming, changing positions, soaking the sheets.

But what I remember most about that night isn’t what the three of us did together. What I remember most is the moment before: Mara and me alone in the darkness, the silence interrupted only by our breathing, and the feeling of finally opening a drawer that had been locked for ten years.

The next morning, Mara had breakfast with us, said goodbye to the children as if she were a lifelong friend, and called a taxi from the front door. Before getting in, she kissed me on the cheek and whispered something in my ear that I still think about some nights, when Diego is already asleep and the house is quiet.

“I knew it from the moment I walked through the door,” she said.

I wasn’t lying when I said goodbye to her.

“Me too.”