My husband let me go at the swingers’ club that night
“The decision is yours, you decide.” Rubén, my husband, kept those four words spinning around my head all week, ambushing me every so often. I’d had an incredible time the previous Friday with Adrián: he was attractive, funny, very forward, and with his groping he woke something in me I didn’t remember ever feeling before. A situation so filthy, so out of control, that my skin was still burning whenever I thought about it.
I loved Rubén madly, but in bed we’d fallen into an unbearable routine. Everything was predictable, mechanical, rehearsed. So much so that some nights I ended up faking it just so it would be over as quickly as possible.
He had thrown himself into his work. A couple of years ago he’d started a small remodeling company, and each month he devoted less and less time to me. The relationship I wanted us to have was slipping through our fingers.
I’d always had a good body. I knew men found me attractive, but I’d never given it much importance: I’d given myself body and soul to marriage and to my son. Now he was already on his own, living in another city, and despite the emptiness he left behind, I tried to make the most of it to recover some feeling with Rubén.
I went to the gym three times a week, I’d signed up for bachata classes, and I bought myself provocative clothes and lingerie sets I wouldn’t have dared to even look at before. I made sure I always looked good for him.
He didn’t seem to notice. He came home late, and on weekends he locked himself in his office or sprawled on the sofa watching series. Only on Fridays did we do anything together: we’d go out to dinner and then to some place for one last drink. I was the only one who ever felt like dancing. Even so, we had a good time; with alcohol and conversation we could spark the night up a bit, although he spent most of it glued to the bar while I moved alone on the dance floor.
After the gym I usually had coffee with a couple of girlfriends. Little by little our conversations became more intimate. Two of them were divorced, and what they told me about their dates made me blush and, at the same time, I loved hearing it. Often, without meaning to, I imagined myself in those stories and felt a tingle in my stomach.
I also started noticing the effect I had on people. I was looking better and better, dressing a little more boldly, and I noticed how some men kept their eyes fixed on my cleavage or turned around so they wouldn’t lose sight of my ass. At work, more than one had come up to me to say filthy things. At the last company dinner I had to put a colleague in his place when, after a few too many drinks, he got too handsy.
That’s why, when Adrián showed up at the club that Friday, it was a rush. I melted under his smooth talk and his brazenness. I had a man focused on me, on my body, on every gesture. The way he looked at me, talked to me, touched me… he oozed filth from every pore.
With Rubén, sex had always been good, though I didn’t really have much to compare it with. The truth was that after we did it I almost always still wanted more; I’d reach for a toy and take care of myself.
We didn’t talk about the subject during the week. Some days I was dead certain I wanted to see him again, and on others I held back, thinking about the consequences. When I got home I tried on the most daring clothes I owned and, looking at myself in the mirror, I thought I looked like a total slut. Far from scaring me, that idea turned me on.
On Thursday, after work, I did the week’s shopping and, on the way back, I stopped off at a shop to buy a new dress. Just in case. My head still had doubts, but my body had long since made up its mind.
On Friday at midday Rubén called me.
“Hi, Carla. Should I book dinner for tonight and we’ll go out for a while?” The way he said it made it obvious he expected me to say yes.
“Perfect, I feel like going out and dancing,” I answered, feeling my pulse speed up.
I spent the afternoon trying on clothes. In the end I chose what I’d bought the day before: a short white blazer, the kind that would normally go over another garment, but that night I would wear it only over lingerie. A lace bra that barely covered the lower part of my breasts and a tiny thong whose thin strap disappeared between my ass cheeks.
When Rubén saw me, his face changed. He smiled and said:
“Fuck, Carla, you’re good enough to eat whole. Though I get the feeling you already have in mind who’s going to eat you, and it’s not me.”
That comment cleared up the few doubts I still had about what my husband was thinking.
Dinner was pleasant. Not a single mention of what might come later. He made sure my glass was never empty and, later on, the shots arrived.
“Shall we pay and have the last one at Marsala?” he suggested at last.
The place wasn’t far and we walked there slowly, because I wasn’t used to the heels I’d put on.
“Baby, let me hold you by the waist, because with those heels I can’t reach your back,” he joked. “You look stunning tonight. When you get on the dance floor, you’ll tower over most of them.”
We walked into the room and my eyes searched for Adrián right away. I found him at the bar, chatting with a couple. We went over and, as soon as he saw me, his eyes went wide. I don’t know if they were talking about something interesting, but he left them mid-sentence and came over to us.
“Hey, you two fun freaks, how’s it going?”
Rubén bought him a drink, and he started telling us how lively the place was that night, that they’d opened the terrace and it was great.
I finished my drink and said I wanted to dance. Rubén preferred to have another one, and Adrián, of course, offered to come with me.
“I’m going with your wife, she looks incredible today and there are loads of vultures loose on the floor.”
The moment we stepped onto the dance floor, his hands were already on my ass, without even pretending otherwise. He shoved his crotch against me and I pressed myself against his groin. He was hard as a rock. He squeezed me tightly, and every time we came together his lips landed on my neck. First they were soft kisses, then a tongue that knew very well how to make me gasp. We went on like that until the music changed to something slower, and then I felt I was going to lose control completely. I decided to cut it off and suggest going back to the bar with my husband.
Rubén welcomed us with a smile and ordered another round. I was wired, but we managed to latch onto the conversation. Adrián told us about his life: he was divorced, and he’d had a rough time. For a long while things with his ex-wife hadn’t worked, especially in bed, so they decided to open the relationship. They went to swingers’ clubs, hung around in the liberal scene for a while, and in the end they realized it was over. Though it wasn’t easy, after fifteen years of marriage they split up.
After that, divorced and unattached, he’d had several experiences with women. Mostly married women whose husbands had stopped paying them attention and who were looking outside for what they no longer found at home. He was sticking a finger in the wound, but Rubén didn’t seem to take the hint. When Adrián went to the bathroom, my husband leaned toward me.
“How are you taking it, Carla? You look radiant. It drives me wild seeing how he touches you. Do you want to keep going and see how far you get?”
“I don’t know, Rubén. I’m having a fantastic time, I’m unbelievably turned on, and Adrián… well, you can imagine. But I love you madly and I need you to tell me what you really think.”
“I want you to let yourself go. Go as far as you feel like, don’t worry about me.”
And he kissed me, leaving my legs trembling.
Not long after, the three of us went out onto the terrace. A slightly older couple joined us, absolutely lovely. We drank without restraint, laughed at any old nonsense, and when they were already closing, the woman from the couple protested.
“Oh, I don’t want to say goodbye yet. Why don’t we go somewhere else?”
At that hour we didn’t know any place that was still open, but she knew exactly where to go.
“Sometimes we end the night at a liberal place with a great atmosphere. Don’t be scared: you can have a quiet drink there, nobody bothers anyone, and even though people go there for what they go there for, some just stop by for one last drink.”
Rubén looked at me, smiling. Adrián said it sounded good. I said nothing.
“Then that’s settled,” the woman said.
We followed them in our car; Adrián, in his.
***
When we entered the place I felt a shiver. It was pure filth. At the bar, several couples were chatting animatedly, and a few lone men were watching from a corner. We ordered drinks and I noticed that two of them wouldn’t take their eyes off me. Every time our gazes met, they smiled: a friendly smile, but one thick with vice.
We moved into a room with sofas, all fairly dark. Couples chatting, others tangled up without caring about the people beside them. We sat on two facing sofas, me between Rubén and Adrián. The conversation was still pleasant, although I was floating and, like Adrián, barely taking part.
Adrián put his hand on my thigh and I melted all over again. Soft music was coming from the adjoining room. I knew perfectly well where I was getting myself to, and, throwing myself in with no brakes left, I asked him to go dance. He took my hand, smiling, and we went in.
You could barely see anything. Just a little light in one corner and a lot of people. Over the music you could hear gasps, sighs, the odd muffled moan.
The second we went in, he grabbed me shamelessly. His hands went straight to my ass, hard, and he jammed his crotch against my slit, hard, erect. His lips travelled over my neck, my ears, while his hands squeezed me under the blazer. I was almost bare. He toyed with the thong strap until he brought his mouth to mine and started kissing me as if he wanted to devour me. I felt his tongue driving deep while he undid the blazer’s only button and held me by the waist. His hands climbed up to my breasts and trapped my nipples, hard, between his fingers.
His tongue never stopped searching for mine. I no longer owned anything. Then I felt other hands on my ass. Unknown hands that started touching me gently and, little by little, became bold. That hand pushed the thong aside and went for the entrance to my sex. I was so wet the finger slid in effortlessly, all the way to the bottom, and started moving slowly while Adrián feasted on my breasts.
I undid his trousers and reached for the cock he’d been rubbing against me all night. Right then, someone took my other hand and guided it to their erection. Without letting go of me, he masturbated with it.
The situation was completely overwhelming me. Standing up, half naked, with Adrián devouring my breasts, a stranger’s fingers inside me, and in each hand, a cock that wasn’t my husband’s. And somewhere in that darkness, I knew Rubén was watching. That certainty, far from holding me back, was what finally let me go completely.
