His Wife Called Me a Bitch, and I Decided to Prove Her Right

At thirty-nine, I learned two things: that female pride is a hungry beast, and that nothing feeds it better than watching a married man beg in silence.

My name is Camila. I work as an executive assistant at an insurance consultancy in Rosario, and for the past two years I’ve been answering to Julián, one of the firm’s three supervisors. Forty-five years old, tailored suit, thick wedding band on his left hand, and a wife who comes by the office three times a week with the excuse of bringing him lunch.

The first time she saw me she sized me up from head to toe as if she were assessing a threat. And no wonder. I was never discreet with my body. Twelve years of Pilates and generous genetics gave me long legs, wide hips, and an ass that no pair of dress pants can hide, no matter how loose you pick them. I’m not a thin woman; I’m a full, firm woman, and I know it. Big tits, dark nipples that show through silk when it’s cold, and a neatly shaved cunt I care for like a private work of art.

—Good afternoon —I said with my most professional smile.

She barely nodded.

Perfect. Another jealous wife.

Over time I understood the ritual: Victoria would arrive, set the Tupperware on Julián’s desk, sit for ten minutes in the visitor’s chair, and while her husband talked to her about the weather and the kids, she would watch me. She looked at my calves, my earrings, my mouth. Never my eyes. When she left, the office air smelled of her expensive perfume and a hostility nobody named.

Julián, for his part, was worse. Or maybe better, depending on how you look at it. Every time I bent down to pick up a file, I felt his eyes nailed to the back seam of my pants. Every time I came close to have him sign a document, he would pretend to read carefully while his hand brushed the back of mine. He’d make low-voiced comments —“that perfume gives you away,” “watch how you walk, Camila, people are working”— and I let them fall to the floor as if I hadn’t heard them.

I wasn’t interested in being the boss’s affair. Not because I was prudish. The cliché bored me. A married man, an office, one drink too many at someone’s birthday. I had turned down that same postcard three times in my career and I wasn’t about to star in it a fourth.

Until that Tuesday in June.

***

It was late. Julián was in a meeting upstairs and had asked me to answer the company’s pending messages from his corporate account. Nothing unusual: I handled all his correspondence. What wasn’t usual was his personal phone vibrating on the desk and the notification spilling across the screen.

“Victoria (wife).” Three messages.

I looked toward the door. Nobody. I slid my finger across the screen.

“Is the bitch still there?”

“I told you to ask for a different assistant. That bitch is going to climb on top of you any minute now.”

“Julián, don’t make me come by today too. If I see her again in those pants I’m slapping her.”

I kept scrolling. There was more. Two full weeks of conversations where I was “the office slut,” “the bitter one,” “the one who walks like a cow in heat.” And what hurt me most —or what made me angriest, I still don’t know— wasn’t that she insulted me. It was that Julián never replied defending me. Sometimes he played along with, “calm down, sweetheart, she’s just an employee.” An employee.

I put the phone back where I’d found it. I breathed. I looked at my hands: they were shaking. Not from fear. From rage.

If she thinks I’m a bitch, I’m going to show her what a real bitch can do.

***

I hadn’t fucked anyone in two months. I’d broken up with an architect in April and since then only my fingers had kept me company, almost every night. I’d lie on my back, spread my legs open, and slide two fingers into my cunt imagining any cock, any mouth, anything that wasn’t my own hand. My body was ready for whatever. My head, for the first time in a long time, was too.

By six-thirty the floor had started to empty out. At seven there were three people left. At eight, just Julián and me. I went into the bathroom, let my hair down, touched up my lips with a red lipstick I kept in my bag for occasions that never came, and took off my panties. I rolled them up and left them at the bottom of my bag. Under my pants, my cunt was already wet just thinking about what I was going to do.

Julián was sitting in front of the monitor, typing with two fingers as always, with that clumsy concentration of men who learned computers late. He didn’t hear me come in. I leaned over the back of his chair, brushed his neck with my lips, and spoke into his ear.

—If your wife thinks I’m a bitch, today I’m going to prove her right —I said—. I want you to take home the smell of a real slut. I want tomorrow, when you kiss her, to still feel my cunt stuck to your tongue.

Julián turned his head so fast he almost hit my nose.

—What… what are you saying?

I put a finger to his lips.

—I already checked the floor. Nobody’s left. And before you ask why, I also saw your wife’s messages. So don’t pretend to be a gentleman, because you’re no good at it.

I slid my hand over the seam of his pants. He was already hard. The cock outlined against the fabric like a hot stone. Of course he was hard; he’d been imagining this scene for two years and I was serving it to him face-first, under neon light, without asking permission. I squeezed his cock over the pants, felt it throb, and smiled.

—Camila, wait —he tried, voice hoarse.

—No —I replied.

I knelt in front of the executive chair, opened his belt, pulled down the zipper, and yanked his cock out of his boxer briefs. It wasn’t the biggest I’d seen, but it was thick, hot, the tip already shining with pre-cum. I gripped it firmly at the base, looked at it for a full second as if I were measuring it for a suit, spat on it, and took it to the back of my throat without warning.

Julián let out a long moan, the kind that escapes before the brain can censor it. I felt the tip hit the back of my palate and still I didn’t stop. I pushed deeper until my nose was pressed into the hair of his pubic mound and tears sprang to my eyes.

—God, God, God —he repeated, clutching the armrests.

I pulled his cock out slowly, lips tight, and a line of saliva hung from my chin to the tip. I looked at it with hatred and hunger.

—Is that how Victoria sucks you off? —I asked, and without waiting for an answer I swallowed him whole again.

I didn’t want to be nice. I wanted to prove something —to him, to Victoria, to myself— and I did it with every shove of my mouth. Saliva ran from my chin down to my tits, black mascara tears streaked my cheeks, and the wet echo of sucking thundered through the empty office. I licked his cock from base to tip, then went lower, sucking his balls one by one while I worked his shaft with my fist. Julián moaned like a teenager. I drove my tongue under the head, that spot that makes men shiver, and felt his balls shrink up.

When I felt him trembling too soon, when I felt the first spasms warning that he was about to come in my mouth, I yanked him out and squeezed the base with my fingers until he groaned in frustration.

—You’re not coming like that —I warned him—. You haven’t earned it yet.

—Please —he begged.

I liked the “please.” A lot. I kissed the tip of his cock, a soft, almost sweet kiss, and he trembled all over.

***

I pulled him up by the tie. I tore off his jacket, shirt, belt. I dragged down his pants and boxers in one motion and left him naked, cock hard and pointing at the ceiling, while I was still fully dressed. Then, slowly, with that slowness that comes when you know you hold the power, I unbuttoned my blouse one button at a time. He watched me the way one watches a saint about to catch fire.

—Do you like these tits, Julián? —I asked—. The same ones your wife calls “cow tits in heat”?

—They drive me crazy —he said, voice broken.

I let my bra fall to the floor like a piece of used paper. My big tits bounced free, nipples hard as stones. I squeezed one with my hand and offered it to his mouth. Julián lunged like a hungry dog and sucked it as if his life depended on it, biting my nipple, tugging it, switching from one breast to the other without being able to decide. I dug my nails into the back of his neck.

My high-waisted pants went the same way. I stayed in my knee-high stockings —the ones Victoria would have hated— and a pair of black heels I had no intention of taking off. No panties. When Julián saw my shaved cunt, shiny with wetness, a low moan slipped out of him.

—Yeah —I told him—. I came prepared like this. I came without anything under because I knew how tonight would end.

I pushed him toward the meeting table. The same one where she had sat last Monday, glancing at me from the corner of her eye while sipping coffee. The same polished wood where Victoria had rested her designer handbag.

—Here —I said, bracing both palms on the wood and arching my back to offer him my ass—. Right here.

Julián stood still for an instant, as if the image had paralyzed him. Me with my legs open, bent over the table where his wife sat, my swollen, dripping cunt on display, my ass lifted and my stockings up to my knees. Then he knelt behind me and opened me with both hands, spreading my cheeks apart. His mouth found one place, then another, without order, without method, with the messy hunger of a man who has been daydreaming for too long. He licked my pussy from bottom to top, long and complete, until his tongue reached my asshole and stayed there for a second, probing. I let him. I braced myself on the table and moaned long and deep, without shame.

—That’s it, you son of a bitch —I told him—. Eat me whole. Everything. The cunt and the ass. I want to leave here with your face marked between my legs.

Julián obeyed. He pushed his tongue into my cunt as far as it would go and then worked up to my clit, sucking it between his lips like it was candy. I felt my legs shaking against the edge of the table. He slid two fingers inside me, thick, while he kept licking, and found that spot inside —the one I don’t always even find myself— and pressed it with his fingertips until I cried out.

—Your wife never lets you, does she? —I said through clenched teeth—. She never lets you do this.

—Never —he confessed, mouth still pressed against me—. She never lets me go down on her. It grosses her out.

—Then today you’re going to learn how to really eat a woman —I answered—. After that you’re going home with my taste in your mouth, and you’re going to kiss Victoria on the forehead like nothing happened. And every time you kiss her on the lips you’re going to think about my cunt.

I don’t know whether I mortified him or drove him insane. I suppose both. He kept eating me, now with more fury, more surrender, sucking and licking and working his fingers, until my legs could no longer hold me and I came with my face pressed against the desk, biting down on some random folder so I wouldn’t scream too loudly. I felt the orgasm stretch long and deep, riding me from the tips of my toes to the nape of my neck, while Julián held my hips and drank every drop coming out of my cunt.

Then it was his turn. He stood up, face shining with my juices, chin soaked, and grabbed my waist. His cock rubbed against my ass, burning hot. He asked me, voice cracked, if he could.

—You can —I said—. But not in front. In the place you look at most when I cross the hallway.

Julián took a second to understand. When he did, he moaned softly and drove his fingers into my hips. He had never done it to his wife. Victoria had never allowed it. I, on the other hand, took two fingers to my mouth, wet them well with saliva, and shoved them into my ass in front of him, opening myself with my own hand so he could watch.

—See? —I said—. You prep it like this. Now spit on me and put your cock in slowly.

Julián spit on my ass twice, and with his hand he smeared his cock with my own saliva and juices. He rested the tip against my hole. I placed a hand on the back of his neck and whispered that I wanted him slow, that I wanted him all the way in, that I wanted him to be mine for the first and last time.

He entered carefully. More carefully than I expected. The head of his cock forced the ring open; I felt it stretching me, burning me for a second, and I let out a long moan through clenched teeth. Julián stayed still, breathing hard, with half of him inside.

—Keep going —I ordered—. Put it all in.

He pushed in slowly, centimeter by centimeter, until I felt his balls crushed against my wet pussy. There he stayed for a second, buried to the hilt, panting against my back.

—Camila, I’m not going to last —he moaned.

—I don’t care —I said—. Tear me open.

And then, when the fear left him, he drove in with everything he had. He slid out and back in, first slowly, then faster and faster, the table creaking under my hands, my tits bouncing against the polished wood. I shoved two fingers into my cunt while he fucked my ass, and rubbed them against my clit in time with his thrusts. The sensation was double, obscene, almost unbearable: his cock filling my ass from behind and my own fingers working me in front.

The office smelled of sex, expensive perfume, his cheap Friday cologne, sweat. I rested my forehead against the table and listened to him pant behind me, saying things he would never say to his wife. “You’re the tastiest thing I’ve ever had.” “I don’t want to leave.” “Tomorrow you’re going to make me stay away again.” “Bitch, my bitch, what an ass you have.” I didn’t answer. I just let him talk while he broke me slowly, then fast, then wild, one hand clamped on my shoulder to drive me deeper onto his cock.

I came again, with my fingers buried in my cunt and his cock nailed in my ass, and felt my whole body close around him like a fist. That’s what finished him off.

—I’m coming, I’m coming —he moaned—. Where…?

—Inside —I ordered—. Empty yourself inside me. I want you to feel disgusting when you get home.

When he finished, he did it inside. I felt the hot spurts of semen shooting against my walls, once, twice, three times, while he growled like an animal and dug his nails into my hips. His legs were shaking. He clung to my buttocks like a shipwrecked man to a buoy and stayed there, buried, breathing hard, a full minute, with his cock still inside, throbbing.

When he finally pulled out, I felt the hot trail start running down the inside of my thigh. I didn’t wipe it off. Not yet.

—Camila —he finally said—. Camila, for God’s sake.

—Yeah —I replied.

I stepped away. I ran a finger down the inside of my thigh, gathered up some of his semen, and brought it to my mouth, looking him in the eyes. Julián nearly collapsed onto the table. I straightened my clothes with a calm that must have seemed cruel to him: first the bra, then the blouse, then my pants over my still-soaked cunt, no panties, with his come dripping inside me. I touched up my lipstick looking at the dark reflection in the monitor. I grabbed my bag.

—It’s nine twenty —I told him—. Victoria’s going to ask why you’re late. Think of a good excuse. And don’t shower until you get home. I want you to hug your wife smelling like me.

***

The next day, Julián walked into the office with a coffee for me and the eyes of a man who hadn’t slept. I thanked him with the same professional smile I wore every day. Victoria arrived at noon, as always, with her Tupperware and her watchdog glare. This time she didn’t size me up from head to toe. She didn’t dare. Julián held her hand over the desk and talked to her about the kids, dinner, the weekend. Every so often he looked at me for a split second and turned red.

I never touched him again. Not that week, not the next, not ever. I wasn’t interested in having a lover. For one afternoon, I was interested in reminding the world —and especially Victoria— that women like me don’t let ourselves be called bitches for free. And that when we decide to, we are exactly what they fear.

Two months later Julián requested a transfer to another branch. I signed his recommendation letter without a problem. In the end, I had given him something his wife was never going to give him. It was the least I could do for him.