My Husband Chose the Man Who Would Share Me

We had been married for fourteen years when everything changed. To tell this story, I’ll use names that aren’t ours: I’ll call my husband Daniel, I’ll call him Andrés, and I’ll be Lorena. We have two children and a life anyone would call normal. Our sex life had been good, with its ups and downs, like that of so many marriages. There were times when we sought each other out every night, and others when we went weeks without touching.

That was how the first years went. Then we decided, without ever quite saying it aloud, that we didn’t want to resign ourselves to that. We started fantasizing. At first it was timid, almost like a game for grown-up children: we imagined other people while we were together. The neighbor from the fourth floor, the guy from the hardware store, someone I’d seen that afternoon and found attractive. We changed each other’s names, took on those roles, and laughed afterward.

The kink grew on its own, without us forcing it. We liked it. You could see it on Daniel’s face, that mixture of arousal and vertigo whenever I whispered about someone else in his ear. When we met, I was no longer a virgin, and I’d told him everything before we got married: the few men I’d been with, what I liked, how they fucked me. That information, which for years had been little more than a fact from our past, suddenly became fuel.

“How did they put it in you?” he’d ask while he held me beneath him, his cock buried to the hilt.

And I told him. The positions, the places, the things they whispered in my ear while they spread my legs. I described how one of them grabbed my hair to fuck my mouth, how another licked my cunt until I trembled, how a third had first wrecked my ass. Listening turned him on, and telling him turned me on, feeling his cock grow inside me every time I let a dirty word loose. It was a circle neither of us wanted to leave.

There’s no going back from this, I thought one of those nights. And I was right.

“Imagine another man fucking you, just as I’m holding you now,” he told me once, almost breathless, pounding me harder. “And me watching him fill your cunt.”

“Yes,” I answered, surprised by how much I liked saying it. “Have him fuck me really hard, fill me with his cum while you watch.”

He came instantly with a hoarse grunt, spilling inside me. I came on his cock just a few seconds later, squeezing him with my legs, trembling all over.

***

Those conversations became routine. It wasn’t only in bed anymore. We could be at a shopping mall and, if we passed a man worth looking at, Daniel would point him out with a smile and I’d play along. “That one looks like he’s got a good cock. Bet he fucks deliciously,” I’d whisper in his ear, feeling his pulse quicken beside me and the bulge show through his trousers.

All of that happened over the course of four years. Four years of slowly raising the stakes. Until one night, when we finished and his semen was running between my thighs, I asked him what I’d never truly dared to ask.

“Would you really like another man to fuck me?”

He was silent for a moment, staring at the ceiling.

“Maybe I would,” he said. “But with the right man. Not just anyone. Someone who knows how to fuck you properly, who can make you come hard.”

“And you? Would you go through with it?”

“I would,” I replied. “But with your permission and with you present. Any other way, no. Never behind your back.”

We made a pact that dawn, almost like signing a contract. We would look for the right man together, without rushing. And we set about it, laughing at how absurd and exciting it was at the same time.

***

We started going out more. Bars, casinos, places where you could look and be looked at. I dressed carefully: tight jeans that outlined my ass, a short skirt now and then, a neckline just low enough to suggest my tits without becoming vulgar. Plenty of men stared at me, but of course, with my husband beside me, who was going to approach? We understood that quickly. The fantasy was more difficult than it seemed in the darkness of our bedroom.

We went on like that for a couple of months without getting anywhere, until the solution appeared on its own one Saturday, without us looking for it.

We were getting dressed for a family gathering when Andrés, one of Daniel’s coworkers, called him. He wanted to borrow a tool. Daniel told him to come pick it up, and a little while later the doorbell rang.

I remember him in detail. Tall, solidly built, broad-shouldered, his chest defined beneath his T-shirt and a bulge between his legs I couldn’t help glancing at. We said hello, exchanged four polite sentences, and he left as quickly as he’d arrived. But something stayed with me, a tingling between my legs that wouldn’t go away.

“What if it were him?” I blurted out to Daniel as soon as he closed the door.

“You’re crazy,” he laughed nervously. “Not him. He works with me. Anyone but someone from the office.”

That was where the conversation ended. But I’d liked the idea, and I decided I would do everything I could to convince him. That same night in bed, while Daniel licked my cunt from top to bottom, I replaced his name with Andrés’s. I knew what would happen. He got hotter than ever, fell into the game, and asked me to repeat it. I thrust my hips against his mouth and moaned Andrés’s name again and again, imagining the other man’s tongue between my lips, his thick fingers spreading me open. Daniel got up, turned me onto all fours, and drove himself into me to the hilt in one thrust, fucking me harder than he had in years while I shouted Andrés’s name into the pillow. He came inside me with a roar, and I came at the same time, my cunt clenched around his cock, soaked.

For the following weeks I patiently kept wearing down his resistance. Every night there was a different Andrés: Andrés spreading my legs on the kitchen table, Andrés putting his cock in my ass, Andrés coming all over my face. Until one early morning, he gave in.

“All right,” he said, looking at me seriously. “Let it be him. But he has to pursue you. It has to come from him, not from you or me. If he wins you over, it’s because he wants to.”

“That,” I replied with a laugh, “leave to me.”

***

That was how the strangest chapter of my life began. I had to seduce him without making it seem as though I was seducing him. Daniel invited him over more often; they both liked chess, and that was the perfect excuse to get together, have a drink, and let the hours pass. I dressed well, nothing spectacular, enough to be present without being obvious. A T-shirt that clung in all the right places, no bra some nights so my nipples showed, my lips only lightly painted.

After a few weeks, we took another step. Daniel suggested that the three of us go to a casino to unwind. We started going once a week, and from the very first night my husband invented excuses to move away: he was going to try another machine, he preferred the tables in back. He left me alone with Andrés.

Andrés gradually loosened up. I noticed it in the way he smiled at me, different from before, more open. In how he brushed my hand “accidentally” when he passed me a drink. In the way his eyes dropped to my cleavage and lingered a second too long when he thought I wasn’t paying attention. Daniel played in the distance and watched us out of the corner of his eye, and knowing he was watching made my cunt soak my panties.

We went out like that three times. On the third, I decided it was time to cross the line. I told Andrés the cigarette smoke was making me dizzy, that I needed some air, and asked whether he would come outside with me.

“Of course,” he answered, getting up immediately.

We went out to the parking lot and, without thinking too much about it, headed straight for his car. We got in. He took the driver’s seat, and I sat beside him. I put on some music, more to have something to do with my hands than for any other reason. Then I felt him take my hand and caress it slowly.

“Lorena,” he said in a low voice, “I’m crazy about you. I haven’t stopped thinking about you these past few weeks.”

I didn’t answer. I only smiled at him. He was about to say something—I don’t know what—when he leaned over and kissed me. I didn’t resist. I let myself go, and his kisses felt better than I’d expected, slow at first and then hungry, his tongue pushing deep into my mouth. By then there was no turning back: we kissed again and again, and I felt his hands rise to my breasts and squeeze them through my shirt. He pinched my nipples through the fabric until they grew hard as stones, and I moaned into his mouth. It was a strange and pleasurable sensation at once, the feel of new, unfamiliar hands, much larger and rougher than Daniel’s.

He slipped his hand beneath my shirt, yanked up my bra, and grabbed my tits against my bare skin, kneading them and twisting my nipples between his fingers. I returned it with my mouth open against his, panting, while I lowered my hand to his crotch and squeezed him through his trousers. He was huge and hard, and the mere thought of what I was doing, with my husband a few yards away knowing about it, clouded my head.

“There are security guards here,” he muttered hoarsely. “Let’s go somewhere else.”

He drove to a secluded, unlit street and switched off the engine. We started again. The kisses, hands everywhere, ragged breathing. He pushed my skirt up to my waist and slipped his hand inside my panties. His fingers forced their way between the lips of my cunt and found my swollen, slippery clitoris. I let out a long moan when he began rubbing me in circles.

“You’re soaking wet, Lorena,” he whispered in my ear, biting my earlobe. “I’ve never felt a cunt this wet.”

He thrust two fingers into me, and I threw my head back against the seat. He drove them in to the knuckles, slowly pumping in and out, while his thumb kept working my clitoris. I felt everything inside me tighten. In that secluded car, with the windows fogging up, he made me come for the first time, and I gripped his wrist with both hands while I moaned without being able to cover my mouth.

When I’d recovered a little, I threw myself on top of him. He awkwardly unbuttoned his trousers and pulled out his cock. And there it was, the first time I saw it. Thick and long, with a prominent vein underneath and a shiny purple head. Much bigger than Daniel’s. I took it in my hand and couldn’t quite encircle it with my fingers.

“Fuck,” I murmured. “You’ve got a huge cock.”

“It’s all yours,” he answered with a smile. “Do whatever you want with it.”

I began stroking it slowly, moving my fist up and down, squeezing at the base and loosening my grip at the top. With my other hand I grabbed his balls and massaged them while he tipped his head back against the headrest and moaned under his breath. I leaned over and ran my tongue over the tip, licking away the drop of pre-cum already beading there. Then I put it in my mouth, just the head at first, sucking it with pursed lips and circling my tongue around the glans.

“That’s it, Lorena, that’s it, suck it all,” he panted, resting a hand on the back of my neck.

I went lower, swallowing it halfway. I didn’t have enough mouth for so much cock. I pulled it out, spit on it to lubricate it properly, and took it back in, deeper this time, until I felt it hit my throat and my eyes watered. I made wet, noisy sounds with my mouth, sucking him loudly, drooling all over his cock, alternating with the hand that kept pace. I licked him from his balls to the tip and devoured the head, sucking it as if I wanted to tear it off.

I brought him to the edge with my hands and mouth, alternating between them, until he warned me in a choked voice that he was about to come.

“I’m coming, Lorena, I’m coming…” he moaned, clutching my hair in his fingers.

I didn’t stop. On the contrary, I sucked him harder, moving my head quickly and creating a vacuum with my mouth. I felt him come in hot spurts against my tongue, one after another, filling my mouth with thick, salty semen. I swallowed it all without taking him out, milking him with my fist until the last drop while he trembled in the seat and moaned my name. When I finally let him go, I licked him from top to bottom to clean him, and he looked at me as if he’d just seen a ghost. I thought of Daniel at the casino, waiting for me and imagining exactly this, and felt a lash of pleasure between my legs.

We spent about forty minutes in that car. On the way back, Andrés told me he wanted me for himself, that he wanted all of me, to fuck me slowly in a bed, discreetly, so no one would find out.

“I want that too,” I lied, at least partly. “No one will know. We’ll both be discreet.”

***

We met up with Daniel at the casino. He was anxious and did a poor job of hiding it. Ten minutes later we said goodbye, left Andrés at his car, and went home. The entire drive I told him everything: the kisses, Andrés’s hands squeezing my tits, how he’d made me come with his fingers, the size of his cock, how he’d put it in my mouth all the way to my throat, how he’d come and I’d swallowed it all. Daniel was burning, silent, both hands tight on the steering wheel and a massive bulge straining against his fly.

We got home and didn’t even have time to reach the bedroom. He threw me against the living-room sofa, ripped off my panties, and spread my legs with one swat. He dropped to his knees and buried his face in my cunt, licking me furiously, sucking my clitoris until I screamed at him to stop because I couldn’t take any more. He turned me over, put me on all fours against the back of the sofa, and drove his cock into me to the hilt in a single thrust. He fucked me as if he wanted to reclaim what he’d just lent out, pounding me hard, pulling my hair, and slapping my ass.

“Tell me again how you sucked him,” he growled in my ear. “Tell me how he put his fingers in you.”

And I told him, panting, while he tore my cunt apart with his thrusts. We both came at the same time with a cry, and he collapsed on top of me, soaked in sweat, his cock still inside me, shooting hot jets of cum into me.

Over the following days, Andrés and I began writing to each other in secret. The messages grew increasingly explicit: what he wanted to do to me, how he would fuck me, what position he wanted me in. He believed it was our secret; he had no idea that I showed every message to Daniel, and that after reading them my husband would tear off my clothes and fuck me savagely. We set a date to meet for real. Five days later.

When the day came, I prepared as if it were my first time. I shaved my entire cunt, leaving it smooth as a little girl’s, put on brand-new fine black lace lingerie, and dressed up for him. Before leaving, I called Daniel, who was at work, just to tell him I was on my way.

“Enjoy it,” he told me, his voice trembling. “Let him fuck you properly. And come back and tell me everything.”

I waited for Andrés in the parking lot of a shopping center. He was already there. I got into his car, we embraced, and he kissed me, pushing his tongue deep into my mouth. He told me I looked beautiful while slipping his hand beneath my skirt and confirming with a moan that I was already wet for him. That day I was completely his for the first time, and I felt fuller, more thoroughly fucked, and more filled than I’d expected. But that’s another story, one that deserves to be told slowly and separately.

The only thing I’ll reveal for now is this: we agreed to see each other regularly, to become full-time lovers, and to keep it secret. He thought we were hiding it from Daniel. Daniel, meanwhile, knew everything. And throughout the months that followed, that was how we kept ourselves aroused—the three of us bound to a game of cocks, cunts, and semen that none of us wanted to end.