Mask

It was enough to close the door, put on the lace, and switch on the light to stop being Damián. What he didn’t know was who was watching him from the other side.

I found a glass of wine, a black blindfold, and a heated text on the screen. I read it slowly and understood that that night my husband had decided to fulfill his greatest desire.

Before every take he put on the mask and stopped being himself. He knew she wouldn’t fake a single blow, and that was exactly what he paid for.

He never confessed that attraction. Until I saw her leaning at the bar, wrapped in synthetic fur, looking at me like a predator choosing prey.

He stood with his legs open and his hands behind his back, trembling. He had spent months dreaming of that moment, and she still hadn’t even looked at him.

I woke up bound, gagged, and blind, not knowing where I was or how much time had passed. I knew only one thing: the woman I had been no longer existed.

I’d been married and bored for years when those four guys surrounded me on the dance floor. None of them guessed that, under the costume, I was more than ready to play along.

I’d been turning the idea over in my mind for weeks, but nothing prepared me for what I felt when the first unknown hands traced my skin in the dark.

She accepted the invitation to pay her cheating boyfriend back in kind and chose the fine-featured zombie, not imagining what she would discover when she took off the costume.

I woke up naked beside a man who wasn’t my husband and, for the first time in years, I felt completely desired. He still wasn’t done with me.

We didn’t know how to get out of the water without making it obvious what we’d just done. What we couldn’t imagine was that the night had only just begun, and the neighbors’ party would change everything.

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

“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.

Each email brought a new photo and a crueller line. I drank whiskey in front of the screen, not knowing whether the woman tied up was truly my wife.

Every insult shouted by that masked stranger was aimed at one person: the man beside me who slept believing I was his.

He thought that night was just a night out with his friends. He had no idea the masked woman on stage had been planning his downfall for weeks.

I received the unsigned note in front of everyone. That same night, behind a mask, a man's hands taught me what I'd kept silent for so long.

Centella pinned me against the booth wall, her breasts against my face, and whispered that I should learn to stay still and obey every order.

I hated her with all my might, and yet with her body bound over mine and the gag swallowing her insults, my body betrayed me in the worst possible way.

Behind every mask was an invitation no one dared say aloud, and that night you chose to accept it without asking me.