My Father and My Husband Shared Me That Night

It was close to eight when Dad and Diego knocked on the door of the room where Henri and I had ended up sleeping in each other’s arms. The two of them had come to hurry us along to breakfast: they brought freshly made coffee and the look of people who still haven’t decided whether to laugh or complain.

Henri and I showered together, unhurried. We went down to the dining room of the country house in slippers and comfortable clothes. Four languages mixed at one table, and none of us minded the pauses.

I had dressed carefully. A long ankle-length strapless dress in French blue voile —chosen in honor of the guest— and mid-heel shoes so I wouldn’t get tired. The fabric was so fine that any ray of sunlight that came through the dining room window turned the dress into perfect transparency. I knew it. That’s why I had chosen it.

Henri kept looking at me as if he still couldn’t quite believe where he was.

—Could we have something again, you and I? —he asked me in French after the second coffee—. I didn’t come to buy you. I came to see you.

—Nothing is bought or sold here —I answered—. Here we accept what I offer until the guest says enough. And you still haven’t said enough.

He was silent for a second. Then he laughed softly and kissed my hand.

I explained then, while I was preparing the potato salad with eggs and pickles for the midday barbecue, that Diego and my father were part of the same arrangement. That he was the main guest, but that my husband and my father had their reserved place in my bed. Henri nodded slowly. When he learned that we also let Salvador, the caretaker at the estate, take part, his hands went to the hem of my dress.

He pulled down my neckline without asking permission. He squeezed my tits while I was slicing pickles. I didn’t tell him to stop. My tits are one of the parts of my body I like most, and I don’t tolerate them being handled timidly.

We had lunch. We drank coffee. And when it was already starting to get dark in Europe, the video call came in. This time from that side. Margaux, Henri’s wife, held the phone with one hand and with the other smothered a laugh. Behind her, Étienne —the house chauffeur— was fucking her doggy-style, without even trying to hide it. The boy’s dick was enormous; it wouldn’t go in more than halfway. When Étienne pulled out and came on her back, Margaux waved at the camera as if she were showing us dessert.

Henri ended the call. And the three of them turned their attention to me.

***

At seven I changed for the first time. Transparent white robe, thread thong, and a frame bra —the kind that is only the outline, without cups, the nipples free under the fabric—, very high heels. Since I had a voyeur among the guests, I decided to dedicate the first set to him.

I went down to the living room. I passed in front of the three of them, let the robe fall to the floor, and let them look at me to their heart’s content. My father stroked my ass without lifting his gaze. Henri sucked one nipple until he left a pink mark. Diego smiled from the sofa, glass in hand, with the calm of someone who knows the finish is going to be his.

I went back upstairs, took more time than necessary, and reappeared in a very short white babydoll, “half-assed,” as I call it, tied only by one bow in front. Henri sat me on his lap. My father kept stroking my ass. Diego yanked the bow loose and left my tits bare.

I disappeared again.

My third entrance was Henri’s favorite. I came out naked, with a white feather boa crossing only one shoulder and falling forward, just barely covering my pussy when I decided to. Black stockings with elastic bands. Nothing else.

—My loves —I told them, standing in front of the three—. What do you want us to do tonight?

—The usual. All of us —said Diego.

—Yes —said my father, without lifting his brandy glass.

—I want to ask for a favor —said Henri—. I want to be the last one. And the last part of the night, if you’ll allow me, I want to spend it alone with her. As if it were practice for the day I come back to impregnate her. Last night we only did it once. I feel it wasn’t enough.

Diego looked at my father. My father looked at Diego. The two of them nodded almost at the same time.

—Let’s do a full dress rehearsal —said Diego.

***

Diego went first. On all fours, deep inside, against the mattress in the master bedroom. He knows what I like and doesn’t need to ask. One hand on my waist, the other at my sphincter, one well-salivated finger, and that rhythm of his, with his hanging balls slapping me with every thrust.

Henri and my father were watching from two armchairs, in boxer briefs, brandy glasses in hand. I only saw them in flashes, whenever Diego let me turn my head.

When he came, he did it deep inside. He stayed like that, not moving, for a long minute.

—So the sperm can find its bearings —he said, and laughed at his own joke.

I threw myself onto my back, knees raised, in the pose of women trying to get pregnant, and let the cum start to drip out slowly. Diego wiped his dick on my stockings and handed it to me to suck so I could finish cleaning it.

—Dad —I said, sweetly—, your turn. Should I shower?

—No, Camila. I want you like that. Freshly fucked.

***

My father came up standing. His dick level with my mouth. I was still lying back like a statue. I sucked him slowly, while stroking his balls, and he watched my face as if he couldn’t believe it.

—Camila, Camila —he repeated—. How divine that you’re such a slut and that I get to fuck you.

That set me on fire.

I sat on the edge of the bed, grabbed him by the waist and guided his dick to my slit. It went in easily. I was still soaked with Diego’s semen. He moved a couple of times inside me, pulled out his shiny dick, and pushed me back onto the bed again.

He loves me. I know it as far as our love is possible. When I fell onto the mattress, I pulled him to me, and we kissed like two people who have spent years trying to forgive each other for something.

After that he asked me to slide to the edge of the bed, with my knees almost at shoulder height. He stood beside me, licked my pussy several times, and shoved it in while looking me in the eyes.

That look changed the night for me.

Lust, incestuous desire, paternal tenderness, and the genuine conviction of wanting to be the one to get me pregnant when the time came. All of it together. The position was perfect, I almost had his balls inside me too. He started the back-and-forth with a grunt, mixed in two or three quick in-and-outs, and kept going without slowing. I was screaming without knowing what I was screaming. Henri and Diego watched from less than a meter away, amazed by the passion between us.

He came inside. Deep inside. I was trembling.

When he softened and pulled out, I put my feet down on the bed, opened my legs even wider, and offered him my shiny pussy so he could kiss it. He kissed it. He lay on top of me without penetrating me and whispered beautiful things in my ear that I’m not going to repeat.

***

Diego and Dad got up, keeping their promise. Before leaving, Diego came back for a second and left something on a chair.

My wedding dress.

The message was obvious: we had to keep saving stains from the men authorized to knock me up.

When the door closed, Henri took off his boxer briefs.

He’d had a rock-hard dick for quite a while. Being a voyeur turns him on more than fucking. I lay down on top of him, devoted myself to sucking him slowly, with excursions to the balls and the ass, and he thanked every lick as if it were a miracle.

—I’m going to knock you up spooning —he told me after that—. I want to be different from the others.

I settled onto my side, threw one leg over his, and opened my pussy wide. His dick is relatively long; he pushed it all the way in. While he was thrusting, he stroked my clit with one hand and intertwined my fingers with the other. He came with a hoarse groan and stayed inside, holding me from behind.

I was already thinking about the next day. About what I wanted to ask them for as the finale.

I got up, brought baby oil and smeared it over the front of his body, dick included, until he was hard again. He handed me the bottle. He smeared my tits, took a photo of me and sent it to Margaux. I climbed on top, rubbed my oiled body against his, and the rest was a wet, slippery rocking motion, with silly laughter every time I accidentally slid to one side. He came inside me for the second time.

When I got up, I walked over to the chair, grabbed the wedding dress, and wiped his dick clean.

—Now you’re part of my life —I told him—. You are formally authorized to impregnate me.

—It’s the most beautiful gesture I’ve ever received.

—I enjoy everything they give me —I said—. Semen, kisses, gifts, affection. Whatever it is.

We showered together and went back to bed to play like two teenagers discovering a new body.

***

On Sunday, though, I planned it from breakfast on. I wanted a double vaginal. I imagined Henri watching another dick move up to his inside me, and I knew he was going to enjoy it as much as I was.

In the middle of the afternoon I reappeared in the living room. Transparent white babydoll, open in the back in an inverted V, held by a single tie at the nape of my neck. A tiny black thong in front and a V toward the back with a zigzag cord through eyelets, like a miniature corset. High heels. A broad, knowing smile.

Diego and Dad already knew what I wanted. I had told them in the morning.

I sat between the three of them, sipped coffee with other people’s hands on my tits, and let one of them untie the strap at my neck. They stripped down. I took turns jerking them off, with their dicks between my breasts. Within minutes the three of them were hard.

—Henri —I said—. I want you to help. Don’t panic about what happens.

I sat him on the edge of the sofa, leaned his torso back and rested his head on the backrest. I climbed on top in reverse cowgirl position. I drove his dick all the way in and rode slowly up and down. When I felt him getting close to orgasm, I leaned my torso back and left my pussy fully exposed, with his dick inside.

Diego smeared a little watery gel on his hand. He placed the head of his dick at my opening, right on top of Henri’s. He pushed. My father told me afterward it looked like my pussy was going to burst.

But I wanted it. I was enjoying it like hardly ever before.

Henri tried to move and could barely do it. The rocking motion was all Diego’s, and while he was fucking me he was brushing against the Frenchman’s dick. Slowly my pussy adjusted. The pressure dropped a notch. And then Diego came. I screamed something I don’t remember.

Diego pulled out quickly and my father took his place. This time he went in without effort: the mixture of oil, gel and semen lubricated everything. Henri was able to move a little more. Diego leaned down to suck on my tits and kiss me with tongue. I was in heaven.

My father came inside and stayed one or two minutes longer, moving in and out slowly.

When he pulled out, I got off Henri and lifted him up onto me facing forward, proper cowgirl, and rode up and down as fast as I could so he’d finish too. Diego and Dad took turns sticking a finger in my ass, which was visible to everyone.

Henri came. I let myself fall onto the clothes scattered on the floor, exhausted. Cum was running down my thighs and my tits were shining with spit.

And my adored husband, without anyone asking him, knelt between my legs and gave me a slow pussy lick, alternating it with kisses on the mouth. Like a closing. Like a signature.

***

We showered in turns and went back to the city at dusk. That night I slept between Henri and Diego, the three of us naked, no penetration, just kisses and caresses. The next morning I took Henri to the airport.

We made plans on the ride. A vacation with no fixed destination. A private show in a downtown hotel at the request of one of his friends. An invitation to spend the autumn at his country place near Paris, where —he promised— he was going to introduce me to a friend or two and some bored wife in his circle.

Before crossing the boarding gate, Henri kissed me as if it were the last time, even though he knew it wasn’t. He promised me that in June we’d see each other again.

I, meanwhile, drove slowly back home, thinking about the rehearsal. About my father’s look. About the stain on the wedding dress. And about the day —now ever closer— when the rehearsal would become the real thing.