The Dinner at That Chalet Where I Learned to Give Orders

After that night on the thirty-first floor, Ariadna and Marcos knew there was no going back. They had been fucking in secret for months in the empty offices of Banco Velmar, among balance sheets and cold coffees, and that time they had been recorded by a camera neither of them knew existed.

One week later, Marcos took his two suitcases to her penthouse on a quiet street in Chamberí. Ariadna opened the door in a black silk robe, shoved him against the wall before he could set them down, and kissed him until the neighbor on the fifth floor coughed in the elevator. They closed the door laughing like two kids.

They rented a bright apartment together in two days. They arranged the closets like someone building an altar to desire. On the left, his tailored suits, white shirts, ties lined up in order. On the right, her fitted dresses and a drawer with things no visitor was ever supposed to open: a thick black silicone dildo the size of a forearm, a leather harness, silver clips, a bottle of expensive lube, and a short riding crop.

Any excuse would do. She making coffee in the kitchen, him coming up behind her, hiking up her skirt, yanking her panties off in one tug, and burying his cock in her with a single thrust to the root. Ariadna braced herself on the marble and spread her legs, her wet cunt tightening around his dick while he bit the nape of her neck and whispered “my little whore” in her ear. He fucked her with long thrusts, pulling almost all the way out and then slamming back in, until she came with her cheek pressed to the cold stone and the coffee pot spilled, forgotten, over the heat. He came out afterward, his cock gleaming and still hard, and asked for her mouth; she turned and knelt there and sucked him off right on the spot, swallowing her own taste until he filled her throat with thick semen and she licked the clean tip as if it were dessert.

Him getting out of the shower, her on her knees without a word, swallowing his wet cock to the throat, deliberately choking herself just to see his eyes narrow. She cradled his balls in one hand, pulled him all the way out and ran her tongue from the base to the head, taking him back in until he brushed her tonsils. Marcos grabbed her wet hair and fucked her mouth slowly, setting the pace, until she signaled him and he came with a low growl, shooting hot milk in ropes onto her tongue that she swallowed while looking at him, and then she opened her mouth so he could see not a single drop remained.

In the living room, watching some random series, she would straddle his lap, lift her dress, push her panties aside and slide onto his cock without taking her eyes off the screen, as if nothing were happening. She rode him slowly, squeezing her cunt with each downward stroke, until he lost patience, lifted her in his arms, and they ended up against the glass with the city blazing below. Marcos would spread her ass cheeks, spit on her asshole, slide two fingers inside, and fuck her ass with his cock, slowly at first and then with brutal thrusts that made the window tremble. Ariadna would touch her clit with her free hand, press her cheek to the ice-cold pane, and come screaming at him to fill her ass, to cum inside, to call her his whore. He obeyed with a roar, emptying himself into her innards to the last drop.

They closed the Nordemar deal with brutal success. A seven-figure bonus for each of them, a photo of the two of them in the Velmar Tower with Damián smiling behind them, a champagne toast in the boardroom. Everything seemed perfect.

And then the first envelope arrived.

***

Thick paper, bone-colored, immaculate handwriting. Ariadna opened it with coffee in her other hand.

“I know what you did on Friday in room thirty-one. Beautiful show. One word from me and it all ends.”

Her cup fell to the floor. Marcos arrived that night, read the note standing up, without a flicker. That early morning they slept back to back for the first time in months.

Then more came. Blurry photographs. Emails from fake accounts. Messages at three in the morning: “Do you like risk? I do too.” They stopped touching each other at the office, stopped sleeping well. When they fucked, they did it in anger, as if they wanted to erase fear through force of hips. He would put her on all fours on the bed, grab her hips and drive into her to the hilt, with no foreplay, tearing screams out of her that were more fury than pleasure. He’d spank her ass until it turned red, yank her hair, slide his thumb into her ass while he thrust into her cunt, and she’d come crying with rage, clenching his cock in violent spasms, biting the pillow so as not to wake anyone. Marcos came inside her with his jaw clenched, and afterward he would hold her in silence while semen dripped down between her thighs.

The last envelope was cream-colored and smelled faintly of expensive perfume.

“Private dinner at my residence on Saturday. Matter: your professional future. Come alone. Damián Veltrán.”

Ariadna and Marcos looked at each other through the frosted glass separating their offices. No words were needed.

***

The chalet was a block of concrete and glass hidden among pine trees on the outskirts. Heated indoor pool, dim lights, minimal background music. The door was opened by a woman who was not the housekeeper.

Black chiffon dress, dark hair down to her waist, a smile that stripped you in two seconds. She looked around forty and wore it like an elegant threat.

“Come in,” she said. “My husband is waiting for you.”

Damián received them in the living room with a strange smile, almost nervous for a man who ran the entire bank. Pearl-gray suit, no tie. Over dinner they talked about the deal, the investors, the bonus. All too normal.

With dessert, Damián picked up a remote control and pointed it at a huge screen.

The video played without sound for the first few seconds, and that was the worst part. Ariadna recognized herself leaning over the boardroom table, her skirt hiked up to her waist and her panties hanging off one ankle. Marcos behind her, trousers half down, his cock sliding in and out, shining between her spread ass cheeks. Madrid’s lights in the background. Then the audio came on, and she felt the air leave her body hearing herself beg Marcos, voice broken, “Harder, harder, cum inside.” Marcos clenched his fists until his knuckles went white.

Damián spoke with studied calm.

“I’m not firing you. I just want one night. One single night. After that, the video disappears forever.”

The woman in the black dress — Olivia, he said, my wife — stood and caressed her husband’s hair like a pet.

“My Damián likes to watch,” she said in a sweet, cruel voice. “He loves watching other men fuck me. He loves being pushed aside, being given limits, being made to wait on his knees with a hard cock he can’t touch. Isn’t that right, darling?”

Damián nodded, face flushed, breathing shallow.

“Right,” he whispered.

Olivia looked at Ariadna, then at Marcos, and narrowed her eyes like someone who already knew she’d won.

“Come upstairs with me. We’re going to choose how we spend the night.”

***

They went upstairs. Damián stayed below, seated on the edge of an armchair, waiting for permission nobody had given him.

In the master bedroom, Olivia opened two drawers with the theatricality of someone who had rehearsed the scene many times. Belts, blindfolds, dildos, harnesses, nipple clips, a thin whip, toys lined up like surgical instruments.

“For my husband,” she said, handing Ariadna a leather blindfold. “You decide how much he sees. And for you, darling, choose whatever you want. Tonight we’re going to use both of them together.”

She stepped toward her, too close, invading the air Ariadna was breathing.

Ariadna didn’t back up. She looked her in the eye, voice low and steady.

“Out.”

Olivia blinked.

“Sorry?”

“I said out. —She didn’t raise her voice. She didn’t need to— Here, I decide this, and I decide it with my man. Go downstairs, stand beside your husband, and wait. We’ll call you when you’re ready.”

Olivia opened her mouth to answer. Something in Ariadna’s gaze made her close it again. She left without a word, barefoot on the wood.

Ariadna turned to Marcos. She cupped his face with both hands and kissed him, slow, deep, unhurried for the first time in weeks.

“Tonight we’re the ones in charge,” she murmured against his lips. “Not to pay anyone back. For us. I set the pace, you follow me, and they only exist for whatever we decide. Okay?”

“Okay,” he answered, and there was relief in his voice, not defeat.

***

When they went back down, Olivia and Damián were exactly where they had been told to sit, close together on the low sofa, hands on their knees, like two students waiting for their grades.

Ariadna went first to Damián. She slid the blindfold over his face slowly, adjusting it, leaving him in darkness in his own house.

“You don’t touch,” she whispered in his ear. “Not your wife, not me, not your cock. You listen. And you thank us for however little we let you hear.”

The most powerful man in the bank trembled under her fingers, and that tremor pleased Ariadna more than any seven-figure bonus. It was real power, the only kind that doesn’t appear in any contract.

Then she turned to Olivia, who watched her with a mix of anger and desire.

“You thought you were running this,” Ariadna told her. “Look at yourself. You’ve spent the whole night waiting for someone to tell you what you’re worth.”

“And what am I worth?” Olivia asked, chin high in challenge.

“Whatever I decide. Take off your dress.”

Olivia obeyed, slower than necessary, letting the black chiffon fall onto the rug. Underneath she wore nothing. Small, firm breasts, dark nipples already hard, a shaved, gleaming pussy. Ariadna looked her over with no shame at all, like a cattle dealer.

“Up. On the bed.”

She pushed her with an open hand against the chest. Olivia fell onto her back on the mattress, black hair fanning out over the spread, and for the first time all evening she had nothing clever to say.

Marcos approached by instinct, reading Ariadna the way he had been reading her for months. She gave him the slightest nod and he understood. He stripped slowly, his cock already hard and pointing at his stomach, and took Olivia by the ankles, drew her to the edge of the mattress, spread her legs wide. Ariadna climbed onto the bed and straddled her face.

“Eat me,” she ordered, holding her by the hair. “And do it properly.”

Olivia stuck out her tongue and began to lick Ariadna’s cunt hungrily, sucking her lips, sliding her tongue into the entrance, seeking the clit with the tip. Ariadna moved slowly against her mouth, riding her face, looking over her shoulder at Marcos, who was already running the head of his cock along Olivia’s pussy lips. The other woman moaned against Ariadna’s sex when Marcos drove all the way in with a single thrust.

“You won’t come until I say so,” Ariadna ordered, tightening her grip on Olivia’s hair. “And you’re going to ask me for it. Keep sucking.”

Marcos started fucking her slowly, with long, deep thrusts, watching Ariadna the whole time. He gripped Olivia’s hips hard, driving in to the balls, and every time he went all the way in, Olivia moaned against Ariadna’s cunt, the vibration sending a shiver through her. Damián, blindfolded on the sofa, had only the sounds: the slapping of Marcos’s cock going in and out of his wife’s soaked pussy, Olivia’s muffled gasps, Ariadna’s voice giving orders in his own bedroom.

“Harder,” she told Marcos. “Fuck her like you fuck me. So she knows the difference.”

Marcos sped up, his hips hitting Olivia’s thighs with a wet, sharp sound. Ariadna leaned forward, reached out, and pinched Olivia’s nipples, one then the other, twisting them until the other woman opened her mouth in a soundless moan against her sex. She gave her a soft, almost affectionate slap to the inside of the thigh.

“Keep licking, whore. My tongue’s getting numb.”

Olivia redoubled her effort, sucking Ariadna’s clit with short pulls, sliding two fingers into her soaked cunt. Ariadna felt the orgasm climbing through her legs and didn’t stop it: she came with a low moan, pressing her thighs against Olivia’s cheeks, forcing her to drink in every spasm. When she was done, she yanked Olivia’s hair up and looked at her shining chin.

“Good girl.”

She got off the bed and signaled Marcos, who pulled out of Olivia’s pussy with his cock dripping, hard and red. Ariadna knelt in front of him and took him into her mouth to the throat, tasting the other woman’s juices on her tongue, looking Olivia in the eye while she sucked him. Olivia moaned on the bed, her legs still open, her cunt throbbing and empty.

“Please,” she whispered. “Please, let me go.”

“Not yet,” Ariadna said, releasing Marcos’s cock with a wet kiss on the head. “Turn over. On all fours. Ass up.”

Olivia obeyed with a tremor in her thighs. Ariadna took the bottle of lube from the drawer, poured it slowly over the crack of the other woman’s ass, and watched her clench at the cold. She slid two fingers into her ass, very slowly, to the knuckle, and Olivia moaned with her face buried in the bedspread.

“Marcos,” Ariadna said without turning around. “In the ass. It’s what she deserves.”

Marcos moved behind her, ran his cock along the slick cleft, and pushed in slowly. Olivia screamed when the head forced past the ring, a long cry Ariadna muffled by pushing three fingers into her mouth.

“Suck,” she told her. “And don’t even think about coming yet.”

Marcos fucked her all the way in, centimeter by centimeter, until he was buried to the balls in Olivia’s tight ass. He started to fuck her with long thrusts, pulling almost all the way out and then slamming back in, and Olivia’s asshole stretched obscenely around his cock. Ariadna lay down beneath her, on her back, and began to suck her clit while Marcos tore her ass apart from above. Each thrust drove Olivia’s pussy against Ariadna’s mouth, and Olivia cried from pleasure, no longer able to hold herself up.

Every time she was getting close, Ariadna could feel it in her breathing and stopped her with one word, with a soft bite on the thigh, with a finger pressed to the base of the clit to cut the circuit. Every time Marcos sought her gaze, she marked the pace with a hand gesture: slower, harder, hold it. Damián moaned softly on the sofa, forbidden to touch himself, his cock straining against the fabric of his trousers like a public humiliation.

“Ask for it,” Ariadna said at last, her lips pressed to Olivia’s swollen clit.

“Please,” Olivia moaned, unrecognizable. “Please, let me. Let me come, I’m begging you.”

“Who are you begging?”

“You. Only you. Please.”

“Now.”

Olivia broke with a long scream, arching, gripping the sheets while Marcos emptied into her with a thick rush of semen that overflowed from her ass and ran down her thighs. Ariadna held her by the chin through the last tremor, never letting go, forcing her to look into her eyes while she fell apart and at the same time licking her cunt to stretch every spasm out.

Only then did Ariadna look for Marcos. She drew him toward her, lay back at the edge of the bed, threw her legs over his shoulders, and said something in his ear nobody else heard. Marcos, still hard, sank into her with a slow thrust, all the way in, and Ariadna sighed as if she were coming home after a long trip. He fucked her while looking into her eyes, without speeding up, with that cadence only the two of them had, his cock dragging along every inch of her cunt. Ariadna came first, with a low moan that vibrated in her throat, clenching her ass cheeks so he would go deeper, and Marcos came inside her a second later, resting his forehead against hers. He finished as the night had begun: in command, but surrendered, because with him power was never against, always with.

***

Damián took off the blindfold when they gave him permission. His eyes were wet and he wore an absurd look of gratitude, as if they had done him some enormous favor. The crotch of his trousers was dark, damp, without anyone having touched him.

Ariadna and Marcos dressed slowly. They kissed in front of the hosts, slowly, like someone sealing a private pact, and left without saying goodbye.

In the car, silence. Then Ariadna, her voice still trembling with adrenaline:

“It’s over. We paid the price.”

“Never again,” Marcos said, gripping the wheel.

They reached the penthouse at dawn and fucked out of sheer relief, in the entryway, in the shower, against the glass with the sleeping city below. Marcos slammed her against the door before he even took off his coat, tore off her panties and fucked her standing up, holding her by the thighs while she bit his shoulder to keep from screaming. In the shower, she knelt under the spray and sucked his cock until he came in her mouth with a rough groan. Against the glass, he laid her face down on the carpet, lifted her hips, and slid in slowly, all the way to the hilt, fucking her long and deep while whispering in her ear that she was his, only his. They slept wrapped in each other’s arms, without nightmares, for the first time in weeks.

***

Monday dawned gray. On Ariadna’s desk, inside a wax-sealed envelope with red wax, lay an official contract: appointment as partner in the investment department, effective immediately. First woman in the bank’s history to hold the post. Damián Veltrán’s signature.

On Marcos’s desk, another identical one: general director, replacing Damián, who was stepping down for personal reasons.

Under each, a second smaller envelope, black, also sealed. Ariadna opened hers first. The same impeccable handwriting.

“Private contract. One night a month. Signature required for the appointment to take effect. Welcome. D. and O.”

They looked at each other through the frosted glass. Ariadna felt the ground open beneath her feet; Marcos felt his blood boil. Without a word, they went up to Damián’s office.

The door was open. He was waiting for them seated there, impeccable suit, serene smile. Olivia beside him, red dress, one leg crossed over the other, her heel swinging like a pendulum.

“You told us it was one night,” Ariadna said, her voice hard.

“I told you one night would erase the video,” Damián replied, opening a drawer and taking out two identical pens. “I didn’t say it would be the last.”

Olivia stood and came close to Ariadna until she was almost touching her. Ariadna smelled her perfume, the same one from the envelope, and something else too: the wet memory of her tongue, of her cunt, of the tremor with which she had begged for permission to come.

“You liked it,” Olivia murmured. “Both of you. The power. The control. My mouth on your cunt, your man’s cock in my ass. The taste of the forbidden. Don’t deny it, darling. I saw your face.”

Ariadna denied nothing. She looked at Marcos. Marcos looked at her. And he understood something the dinner had revealed to him and he could no longer unlearn: that he liked giving orders far too much, that the woman who had come to the city years ago to forget someone no longer existed. In her place there was another one, colder, more complete, more dangerous.

She was the first to take the pen. She wrote her name in a firm hand, and as the ink dried she knew she was not signing out of fear. She was signing because she wanted to come back.

Marcos signed afterward, never taking his eyes off her.

Damián filed the contracts away in a safe with a satisfied click.

“Perfect,” he said. “The next dinner, in one month. Don’t be late.”

As they passed, Olivia leaned toward Ariadna and whispered, loud enough to echo in the empty hallway:

“Welcome. Once you come in here, you don’t get out.”

In the elevator, finally alone, Ariadna spoke first.

“We’re a mess, both of us.”

Marcos pushed her gently against the wall and kissed her, sliding a hand under her skirt, pushing her panties aside, sinking two fingers into her still-sensitive cunt.

“And we love it.”

They thought they had paid a price. In reality, they had just discovered a new vice, and the worst part of all was how much they already wanted the next dinner.