The Card Game That Got the Three of Us Out of Control

Bruno and I had been mulling over the idea for months, those late-night conversations you have half joking and half serious, when the darkness makes nothing seem that grave. They always ended the same way: a laugh, a “someday,” and bed. What I never imagined was that that day would arrive on an ordinary Friday, with a deck of cards on the table and Leandro sitting across from us.

Leandro was Bruno’s friend from university. That night he had come over for dinner and it got late. When the first bottle of wine was emptied, my husband opened another and, with it, the cards. We made up the rules on the spot, laughing. Each hand had a winner, and the winner gave the orders. The loser obeyed. A die decided how many seconds each punishment lasted.

It started as a silly game. It stopped being one very quickly.

The first clothes came off without much tension, with the cheerful awkwardness of people still pretending it wasn’t leading anywhere. A shirt here, a belt there. But by the fourth hand I was down to my underwear, and both men were looking at me in a way that left no doubt where we were headed.

Then I won. And for the first time that night, I had both of them at my mercy.

I looked from one to the other, reading the nervousness on their faces. Then I lowered my eyes to the bulge both of them were making under their clothes, and had to bite my lip to keep from losing the thread of my own thoughts. I had never found myself in a situation like that, and my first reaction was to compare. I had never complained about Bruno’s body, never thought he was lacking anything. But Leandro’s, even guessed at through his pants, promised a lot more.

—I want you to take it out —I said, surprised by my own voice—. And jerk off for me.

They moved their chairs away from the table, ending up in front of me with no obstacle between us, and began a motion they knew well. The die gave them just a little over a minute, but it was enough to leave me hypnotized, rubbing my thighs together, watching as both glans disappeared and reappeared between their fingers, swollen and shining under the lamplight.

—Time’s up —I announced, and the two of them stopped reluctantly.

***

The next one I lost. I was left with only the thong on, and they couldn’t take their eyes off my breasts, stroking themselves slowly so they wouldn’t lose erections that I doubted were in any danger. The die clacking against the table brought them back to earth. This time Leandro got to give the orders, and the number was generous.

—Bruno —he said, looking at my husband with a half smile—, I want you to kiss her between the legs. —He paused, savoring it—. But over the fabric.

I don’t remember ever spreading my legs so quickly. Even before Bruno got up from his chair, I was already leaning back in the armchair and resting my heels on the armrests. I was completely surrendered, hungry for any touch no matter who it came from. The wetness had made the fabric almost transparent, and my sex, swollen, throbbing, could be seen with complete clarity.

Bruno sank between my thighs, trying hard to follow the order to the letter. I sighed when I felt the curious advance of his tongue through the cotton and couldn’t stop myself from clutching my breasts in desperation. That was when Leandro came around behind the armchair and held my wrists, reminding me without words that rules were there to be obeyed.

I moaned. Feeling trapped in that game, immobilized by one man while the other devoured me, was too much. From his position, Leandro couldn’t see how my husband was cheating, slipping a finger under the elastic and placing his mouth directly over my clit. Or maybe he did see it and preferred to stay silent. The thing is, my cry would have been enough evidence in any trial. All Leandro did was cut the time off just before I came, leaving me on the edge, trembling with rage and need.

***

The following hand was strange. Bruno won, Leandro lost, and I was left in the middle and completely naked, which sooner or later had to happen. It barely mattered who lost anymore: by then we all wanted the same thing, and it was hard to remember why we were still pretending the cards mattered.

My husband came close to finishing without anyone touching him. His jaw was clenched and his knuckles white on the edge of the table. I dealt the cards, because between all the trembling neither of them was able to, and Leandro won again.

—I want you to suck both of us —he asked as soon as he saw his card—. Both of us.

I looked at them with hungry eyes, getting closer on my knees as I bit my lip. The die gave us a short count; it wasn’t going to last, but I intended to make it intense. They sat together on the sofa and I settled on the floor, between my husband’s legs.

—The loser watches —I told Leandro, and Bruno—: you first.

I gripped my husband’s erection firmly and took it into my mouth, resting my palm on his abdomen to keep the glans pointing upward. I ran my tongue along the whole length, from base to tip and back again, without taking my eyes off Leandro while I did it. I could feel Bruno shudder beneath my fingers. Time didn’t let me be as gentle as I would have liked, so I started to take nearly all of him, moving my head in a slow back-and-forth motion, fucking him with my lips. Judging by the drops beading on his glans, he was at the limit, so I had to pace myself: I didn’t want the night to end before it had really begun.

I left him desperate, drenched in my saliva, and turned to the second course.

Leandro’s was different, thicker, longer, and I had wanted it from the very first punishment. I took it all in one go, until I felt it at the back of my throat, and he let out a curse that made me smile around him. I sucked him eagerly, not hiding how much I was enjoying it, until the game’s timer forced me to stop.

***

I let Bruno win the penultimate hand almost on purpose. I needed him to regain control, to hold on, because I already knew where I wanted all of this to go. He chose to take a breather, sitting and watching, while Leandro made the most of his turn to tick fetishes off his list.

—Get up on the table —he ordered—. And jerk us off only with your feet.

I used the chair to climb up, deliberately prolonging the moment when I set my knees on the cloth and offered them a privileged view of how soaked I was. Then I sat on the edge, letting my legs hang over theirs. Leandro had always told me, half joking over dinner, that I had pretty feet. That night, with cobalt-blue nail polish, he found out he wasn’t exaggerating.

I squeezed both members between my soles and started moving slowly, feeling them slide against my skin. Both of them threw their heads back almost at once. It was absurd, it was ridiculous, and it was the hottest thing I had ever done in my life.

And then I decided enough with the cards.

I climbed down from the table, swept the deck aside with one swipe, and shoved Leandro against the back of the armchair. There was no order, no die, no punishment. I straddled him and guided him inside me in one stroke, with no mercy, letting out a long moan as I felt him fill me completely. While I rode him, I searched for my husband’s eyes over my shoulder.

—Come —I told him, and didn’t need to say it twice.

Bruno positioned himself behind me. I reached out my hand, drew him in, and for a good while the three of us stopped being people obeying rules and became something else, something nameless and without turns. I rose and fell on Leandro while my husband kissed my neck, squeezed my breasts, bit my shoulder. When we changed position and I had both of them in turn, I lost track completely of who was who.

The orgasm I had been putting off all night finally hit me without warning, brutal, leaving me breathless and clutching both of them at once. I heard them finish almost back-to-back, one after the other, with my name half-said between their teeth.

After that, the three of us sprawled on the sofa, sweaty and wordless, laughing softly like kids who had gotten away with a prank. Bruno brushed a lock of hair from my face and looked at me with a smile that said everything. Leandro reached for the wine bottle on the floor and checked, disappointed, that it was empty.

—Is the rematch —he asked, shaking the deck— next week?

Bruno and I looked at each other. And we both nodded at the same time.