I Suggested to My Best Friend That We Fulfill Our Fantasy

“What do you want for breakfast, darling?” Lorena asked me from the kitchen.

“Coffee and toast are fine,” I replied without taking my eyes off the race they were showing on television.

After thirteen years by her side, Lorena still had something that made people turn their heads in the street. Thirty-four years old, olive skin, brown hair falling in waves to the middle of her back, long legs from running every morning. She wasn’t a woman with exaggerated curves, but she moved as if she were, and that was enough. Sweet-natured, the kind of woman who made you want to come home early.

I’m Esteban, her husband, and the one telling you all this. Thirty-eight years old, a programmer who worked from home in front of a screen. Nothing spectacular: slim without being skinny, neither tall nor short, with nothing particularly distinctive about me. Except, perhaps, for the ideas that had begun creeping into my head around that time.

We had been married for eight years, after dating for five. A good life, I couldn’t deny it. My remote job was enough for both of us, so she devoted herself to her own things, her mornings at the gym, her garden. We lived in a quiet house on the outskirts of Bend, one of those Oregon cities where nothing ever happened. By mutual decision, we had no children. Everything was fine. So fine, so calm, that I could feel monotony quietly settling between us.

“What if we stop by that place I told you about the other day?” I said that afternoon as I drove toward the shopping center.

“Which place?” she asked, turning toward me.

“The one I mentioned the other night. In bed. While…” I left the sentence unfinished, with a mischievous and slightly embarrassed tone.

“The sex shop?” She laughed. “Of course. I already told you: as long as it stays between us, I’m willing to try anything. Although I don’t think I can go any further than that.”

I don’t know exactly when it started, or why. For months, an idea had been circling in my head: seeing Lorena with another man. I love her, and I have no doubt whatsoever that she loves me. Maybe that certainty was precisely what gave me permission to fantasize. Maybe it was the same old jealousy, transformed by some strange mechanism into desire. Maybe I wanted to see her surrender, give up her body and completely lose her head with someone else, with another cock inside her, coming harder than she ever did with me. I don’t know. All I know is that the idea kept growing, stopped seeming crazy, and became the fantasy I whispered in her ear every time I fucked her.

***

“What do you think of this one?” I asked her in the store, holding a vibrator with a built-in stimulator.

A saleswoman approached when she saw us hesitating and recited its list of features: several vibration modes, a curved shape for the G-spot, waterproof, and app-controlled from a phone. Lorena and I looked at each other and smiled. Neither of us had ever tried anything like it. We bought it without thinking too much.

That night I was on top of her, sliding into her slowly. Lorena dug her fingers into my hips and pulled me toward her so I would bury my cock deeper, spreading her legs as far as she could, her pussy dripping around my dick.

“Give me more,” she begged between gasps. “Harder, fuck me harder, don’t leave me this horny, I’m begging you.”

There was something resembling frustration in her voice. As if I wasn’t measuring up to what her body was demanding at that moment. I knew that tone well. We had never discussed it, but we both knew I wasn’t some stallion, that my cock didn’t reach as deep as she wanted, that I didn’t fill her the way she needed. The feeling between us had always prevailed over that, and there had never been any need to say it out loud.

I thrust hard a couple more times, trying to force anatomy to give way, but my dick struck the same old limit. Lorena arched her waist, searching for more, and there was nothing more I could give her. She looked at me with shining eyes, biting her lip, and I knew she understood too.

“What if we try what we bought today?” she suggested, her breathing ragged.

I reached into the bedside-table drawer and took out the vibrator. I returned to the bed, kissed her slowly, slid my hand down to her soaked pussy, and caressed it gently, sinking two fingers in to the knuckle so I could feel the way she clenched inside. She was so wet that she dripped down my wrist. I pulled my fingers out and brought them to my mouth while I switched on the toy with my other hand and passed it over her folds at medium intensity, circling her swollen clitoris. Her moans intensified. She spread her legs, placed her hand over mine, and began guiding the movement at her own pace. I understood that I was in the way, so I let go of the vibrator and left it entirely to her.

She remained lying there, one hand controlling the toy pressed against her pussy and the other kneading one breast, twisting her nipple between her fingers, her eyes closed. I stroked my cock beside her, sucking on her other breast and nipping at the nipple while I watched her writhe. My dick throbbed in my fist, leaving a thread of precum each time I saw her bite her lips.

“Ahh!” A moan sharper than the others. She had inserted it and was simulating thrusts with her wrist, sliding it in and out, the wet sound of the vibrator splashing inside her pussy filling the room.

“Do you like feeling it inside?” I asked, without letting go of my cock.

“You have no idea how much… I needed it,” she replied in a broken voice. “It’s so deep… so thick… Oh, Esteban, it fills me completely. Do you like seeing me like this?”

“It drives me crazy to see you enjoy yourself. Put it all the way in, darling. All of it.”

She obeyed. She shoved the toy in with one jerk and cried out, arching her back off the mattress. She began fucking herself with it for real, without rhythm or shame, sliding it in and out faster and faster, her pussy opening around the vibrating silicone. That toy was driving her crazier than it had in a long time. Seeing her so surrendered, I dared to push the game a little further.

“You’d rather this were another man’s cock, wouldn’t you?” I whispered in her ear while she kept moving. “Would you like to have someone else on top of you right now, burying a real dick all the way inside you, the way I can’t? A really big, thick one that made you scream for real? That wrecked your dripping pussy?”

Lorena didn’t answer, but the game turned her on more with every word. She arched, moving the vibrator to seek both spots at once, rubbing her clitoris with the stimulator while she thrust it inside herself.

“I know you want it. Say it. Admit that you want another cock, one that fills you completely. I want it too,” I insisted, stroking myself faster a foot from her face.

Her legs began to tremble. She spread them as wide as they would go and surrendered. To the orgasm, the game, the desire, all of it at once. Her pussy visibly convulsed around the toy, squirting fluid that soaked her ass and the sheets.

“Esteban, forgive me,” she said as she came, her voice in pieces. “But I need a cock that gives my body what it’s asking for. A man who knows how to fuck me! Who’ll bury it all the way and not stop!”

Hearing her, I exploded. I came across her belly and breasts, shooting thick streams of semen that spattered her as far as the neck. She kept trembling beneath the vibrator, my cum mixing with her sweat as she moaned my name and that of a nonexistent man at the same time. She let the words out and, with them, everything she had been keeping inside. I’m not talking only about the orgasm. I’m talking about the confession.

***

The next morning, with her head resting on my chest, she tried to apologize.

“Darling, about last night… the toy, your words, everything swept me along. That isn’t me, you know that. Forgive me.”

“Don’t say another word,” I interrupted her, laughing. “That was the best orgasm of my life, and I think yours too. Not only does what you said not bother me—I love that you let yourself go like that. Just let yourself be carried away.”

From that day on, the game became a habit. Almost indispensable. The vibrator entered every one of our encounters, because it was the only way she could come with me. I fucked her from behind while she pressed the toy to her clitoris, or she sucked me on her knees with the vibrator buzzing between her legs, or she buried it in her pussy while I filled her mouth with semen. And meanwhile, every time she came moaning for another imaginary man, I wanted more. The fantasy was no longer enough.

***

“Hi, Bruno. Listen, come have a beer—I have to tell you something. My treat,” I told him over the phone.

Bruno was thirty-four, the same age as Lorena. A childhood friend, my best man, almost a brother. Olive-skinned, tall, athletic—the kind of man who, when we went out as young men, had been my only serious rival when it came to picking someone up at a party. I confided everything in him.

“Look,” I began, turning my bottle around and around in the bar, “this is incredibly embarrassing, but you’re the only person I can tell. For some time I’ve fantasized about seeing Lorena fuck another man. We talk about it in bed and she gets turned on, comes screaming every time I whisper it in her ear, but she still doesn’t dare take the step. Judging by how she reacts, I’m sure she’d enjoy it as much as I would.”

“Carlos… I mean, Esteban,” he corrected himself, serious. “You can’t force her. If you push her, she won’t agree, and even if she does, she won’t enjoy it.”

“I know. That’s the idea: for her to arrive there on her own. But I didn’t come for advice. I came to ask you to be the one to fuck her.”

Bruno lowered his eyes.

“I can’t. Not because of her, believe me. Because of our friendship. If this really happens, I don’t want to lose you both.”

“That won’t happen. I’m the one asking you. How could I get angry with you? And Lorena never has to know that you and I discussed this.”

It took him a while to agree. But he agreed.

***

The party was at Bruno’s house. Lorena dressed up in a way I hadn’t seen her do in a long time: a black skirt halfway up her thighs, a fitted, slightly low-cut blouse, high heels, and the silver anklet I had given her. There were about ten people, nearly all couples. We drank, talked, and little by little people left, until the three of us were alone.

“I’m exhausted!” Bruno exclaimed, dropping onto the sofa. “But I’m glad you two stayed.”

“Hey, don’t you have anything better than this?” Lorena asked with a laugh, looking at her glass.

“For the lady, I have a sweet liqueur,” he replied with a smile. “Though I warn you, it’s an aphrodisiac.”

“Anything is an aphrodisiac for me,” she answered, and all three of us laughed.

I was sitting across from them; the two of them were together on the sofa. The alcohol rose, and with it the tone of the conversation. Lorena, careless in the comfort of familiarity, let her skirt creep higher with every crossing of her legs until it barely covered her groin. Between jokes, Bruno rested his hand on her thigh. Far from being uncomfortable, she seemed at ease.

“I told you the liqueur was an aphrodisiac!” he laughed, looking at her legs, his hand once again on her thigh.

Something was happening to Lorena. In all our years, she had never allowed Bruno anything like that. She looked at me with slightly unfocused eyes, as if trying to understand what was happening—or perhaps looking for my permission.

“Your friend is an idiot,” she told me with a laugh, looking into my eyes. Then, turning toward him: “But thanks for the compliment.”

And as she said it, she changed the way she crossed her legs, trapping Bruno’s hand between her thighs.

We went on talking as if nothing were happening. His hand climbed higher and higher, she remained comfortable, and I pretended it was the most normal thing in the world for someone to paw at my wife’s pussy in front of me. His hand rose shamelessly, pushed aside her skirt, and advanced. From where I sat I couldn’t see the exact spot, but I could see the fabric lifted completely, and she made no attempt whatsoever to adjust it. Every so often Lorena raised her top leg and set it down again, making it easier for him to advance.

It was a silent, electric game: doing something forbidden in full view while all three of us pretended that no one could see anything. Until I noticed the change in her. Her eyes closed for whole seconds. Her mouth hung open, her lip bitten, her breathing quickened. Bruno had reached his destination and was caressing her pussy over her underwear. I watched as he gradually moved the fabric aside with two fingers and sank them inside. She let out a low gasp and squeezed her thighs around that hand. Bruno’s fingers began moving inside her, sliding in and out with a slow rhythm, and I could hear the wet sound her pussy made as it received them.

He kept talking to me; she had already left the conversation, unable to hide her pleasure and enjoy it at the same time. She moved her hips against my friend’s hand, seeking his fingers, pressing herself against his palm. The moment reached its peak when Lorena threw her head back and, without thinking, spread her legs wide to give him free access. She pulled herself together abruptly and fixed me with her gaze, panting, Bruno’s hand still buried between her legs.

“I’m going to the corner store to see if they have more beer,” I said, without looking away from her.

Bruno nodded without removing his fingers. Lorena, without moving, held my gaze for a moment. Then she closed her eyes and spread her legs even wider—so wide that she revealed her pink underwear pulled to one side and my friend’s fingers buried to the knuckles in her wet pussy—and let her head fall completely against the backrest.

***

The trip there and back was slow. Not because I wanted it to be, but because I couldn’t stop thinking. Lorena was surrendering in front of me. Because of the alcohol? To please me? Because she was enjoying it? Maybe all of it at once, I told myself. And that last look? Did she want me to leave, to stay, or was she asking permission for something more? Jealousy suddenly struck me, cold. Had all this been a good idea? I didn’t know. But judging by how hard my cock was inside my pants without my having touched it, I knew that seeing Lorena in another man’s arms drove me crazy with arousal.

When I returned, before ringing the bell, I peered through the living-room window. I didn’t have a complete view, but it was enough to understand.

A mixture of jealousy, anger, lust, and satisfaction flooded my body all at once. Bruno was sitting there, his torso bare, his pants on the floor, and between his legs hung the biggest cock I had ever seen—thick, long, hard as a bar, with prominent veins. Lorena was kneeling in front of him, her skirt pushed up to her waist and her pink panties fallen to the floor. She had his dick in her mouth, sucking him all the way, helping herself with both hands because she couldn’t take it in at once. Through the glass I could hear my wife’s muffled moans and my friend’s deep grunts whenever she reached his throat. Bruno held her hair, setting the pace, and every so often pulled out to watch a strand of saliva hanging from her lips to the tip of his cock. She looked up at him from below, her eyes wet, and put him back in by herself.

Then she got up and climbed on top of him, facing him. She fitted the condom over him with both hands, smiling, and slowly impaled herself on that cock, which could never have entered her in a single thrust. She lowered herself gradually, mouth open in a silent gasp, stopping halfway to adjust to the thickness until she sat all the way down, his entire dick inside her. She stayed still for a moment, eyes closed, and shook her head as if she couldn’t believe what she was feeling.

Then she began to move: a slow, deep rocking motion, her hands braced on the backrest on either side of his head so she could propel herself better, rising and falling along the entire length of that cock that split her open. Her skirt, completely disarranged, barely covered half her body. His hands squeezed her buttocks, setting the pace and spreading them so he could watch himself enter and leave. Bruno pushed her blouse up to her neck, tore off her bra, and buried his face between her breasts, sucking and biting her erect nipples. She threw her head back in surrender, her thighs trembling each time he buried himself to the hilt. Meanwhile they lost themselves in long kisses, tongues deep inside, like two unrestrained teenagers.

I could hear her, barely muffled by the glass, saying things to him she had never said to me.

“Oh, Daddy, what a huge cock… you reach all the way to my stomach… don’t stop, fuck me, fuck me hard…”

Then he wrapped his arms around her waist, kissed her as he stood up—with his cock still buried inside her—and laid her on her back across the sofa. Standing, he adjusted the condom, took her ankles, spread her legs wide, and drove into her again with one thrust. Lorena screamed, and the sound reached me clearly even through the glass. Now I could see her stretched out along the sofa, her head hanging over the armrest, her hair falling over the edge, her breasts bouncing with every thrust. One leg rested on Bruno’s shoulder, the other in the air, held up by his arm. She still wore her heels, and her pink underwear hung from one ankle.

He pounded her with a force I had never known anyone to possess, burying himself to the balls so deeply that the sofa slammed against the wall and her hair followed the violent rhythm. From the window came the dry, constant impact of their bodies, the splashing of her soaked pussy swallowing his cock again and again, and my wife’s screams, as she moaned like a bitch in heat. I watched her arch, tense all over, and come beneath him, her body shaken by spasms as she kept begging him for more. Bruno pulled out, turned her onto all fours on the sofa, and fucked her from behind, grabbing her hair and spanking her until her skin reddened. She thrust herself against his hips, seeking him, her ass in the air and her face pressed into the cushion. A short while later Bruno removed the condom, tugged himself two or three times, and emptied his entire load over her: thick streams of semen painted her back, buttocks, hair, and shoulder blades. Lorena remained there on all fours, panting, my friend’s cum running down her skin.

All of it was surreal: my wife opening herself for another man, swallowing a cock mine could never rival, her foot with the anklet I had given her resting on his shoulder, the kisses, the lifted skirt, someone else’s semen dripping down her back. I couldn’t take it anymore. Without taking anything off and barely touching myself, I came right there, standing by the window, soaking my underwear and pants with hot semen.

I moved slowly toward the door. I waited until I couldn’t hear anything and gave them time to get dressed before knocking.

“I think it’s time for us to go,” Lorena told me when she opened the door, still agitated, her clothes straightened but her hair disheveled, her cheeks flushed, and her legs slightly trembling. As I passed beside her, I smelled sex, sweat, and semen rising from her skin.

***

I never asked her what had happened that night. She never told me, and we both pretended it hadn’t happened. But our trust in Bruno grew, we began including him in all our plans, and in private we continued fantasizing. Only now, for Lorena, fantasizing no longer seemed enough.

I confirmed it weeks later, on the drive home from the tennis class the three of us took on Saturdays. She climbed into the back seat beside Bruno, claiming that he should rub a sore spot on her leg. I was driving, and in the rearview mirror I watched the massage move higher, watched her short skirt ride up with every movement, watched his hand disappear farther and farther inside until he pulled her panties aside and buried his fingers in her pussy. Lorena sought my eyes in the mirror and, without looking away, guided that hand exactly where she wanted it, spreading her legs as far as the seat belt allowed.

“Higher,” she asked Bruno, still looking at me. “There, Daddy, put them there.”

She closed her eyes, spread her legs, and surrendered again, now without the slightest shame. In the mirror I saw her unbutton my friend’s pants, pull out his cock, and bend down to suck him right there, her head buried in his lap and his hand pressing the back of her neck, while I tried to keep the car on the road. Then she straddled him, her back against the seat, looking at me in the mirror, and drove herself onto him in one thrust, all the way to the bottom. She began riding him there in the back seat, her breasts out of her blouse, moaning my name and his without distinguishing between them, while the car moved along the emptiest roads I could find. It was as if I had disappeared—or better, as if I existed only to watch. And that fantasy that had once begun as madness in my head, the one I had never imagined making real, was only just beginning to write its most dangerous chapter.