The Deal They Closed with My Wife’s Body
The dawn arrived without warning, the way everything had since I signed that agreement I hadn’t known how to read. I had spent the night organizing the files from the previous session: deleting metadata, compressing folders, saving copies on the encrypted server Roberto had installed on my own computer. I finished at four. At eight, while Valeria slept on the left side of the bed with her back to me, my phone vibrated with the notification that now organized my days better than any calendar.
09:00 h. Gran Palacio Hotel. Mediterranean Tower. Penthouse Suite.
I showered in the guest bathroom. The marital one had not been mine for months.
***
I packed Valeria’s luggage with the precision Roberto had taught me during the first weeks, when I still pretended that what was happening had a logic I might eventually understand. I opened the wardrobe drawer that no longer held my things and took out the black lingerie set with lace trim, the ivory silk ensemble with the thin straps, and the dark red one she reserved for important meetings. I added the stiletto heels, the perfume Roberto bought by the liter from a wholesale supplier, and at the bottom of the bag I placed the high-definition camera: battery charged, four new memory cards in the side pocket.
Roberto’s instructions had been clear from the beginning, phrased with the same neutrality he would use to give instructions to a service provider.
—No condoms, Marcos —he told me the first time, sitting across the office table with a half-finished coffee—. Clients at this level pay precisely for that. Bare cock inside your wife’s cunt. Creampies inside, no barriers. If any of them has to go look for a clean cunt somewhere else, we’ll have lost the account and you’ll have lost the silence agreement. I don’t think you want that.
I didn’t want that.
When Valeria came into the living room already dressed, her hair gathered in a low bun and her lips painted dark red, she picked up the bag from the floor without looking at me and set it on the sofa to check it. She nodded once when she found everything in place.
—The car leaves in twenty minutes —she said.
***
The drive to the hotel took forty-five minutes in the late-morning traffic. Valeria was in the back seat with her legs crossed, touching up her lips in the mirror on the sun visor. I was driving. I always drove since Roberto had explained to me that being part of the team meant, among other things, being useful on transfers.
Halfway there, without looking away from the mirror, Valeria spoke to me.
—Mr. Kanamoto has been negotiating with Roberto for six months —she said—. He’s the majority shareholder of the Asian group. If this contract closes today, Roberto is managing partner before the year is out. —She paused to finish shaping her lower lip—. Kanamoto has his preferences. He says condoms are for strangers and for cowards, that he needs to feel his cock go in direct, skin against skin, and come inside another man’s female to know he’s marking her. —She closed the lipstick and put it away—. Keep that in mind when you’re behind the camera.
I drove in silence through a red light.
—And if at any moment —she continued, now looking directly at me through the rearview mirror— you make that face you sometimes make, the one where it looks like you’re calculating something, I swear that before we leave the hotel that complaint I’ve had ready since October will have gone out to three inboxes. You know that perfectly well, Marcos.
I knew it.
I signaled and took the exit toward the harbor.
***
The penthouse suite at the Gran Palacio occupied the entire thirty-second floor. When the private elevator opened its doors, I understood that this time the scale was different from the previous ones. The main room was a meeting room disguised as a luxury bedroom: white marble floors, floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the sea, an oval glass table in the center surrounded by black leather chairs. On the table, a folder with printed documents and two silver pens.
Mr. Kanamoto was seated on the sofa at the back: a man of about seventy in a charcoal-gray suit and an expression that conveyed nothing in particular. To his right, standing with arms crossed, two men with the build and posture of people trained not to move unless necessary. By the bar, the executive director of the consultancy, whom I recognized from having seen only once in Roberto’s office. And at the back, pouring whisky with the ease of someone in his own territory, Roberto.
When I came in behind Valeria, Roberto lifted his glass in greeting.
—Mr. Kanamoto —he announced, in the tone he used to close presentations—, allow me to introduce the person with whom we have formalized this preliminary agreement. —He stepped toward us—. And this is Marcos, her husband. He’ll make sure the memory of this afternoon is recorded with the quality you deserve.
Kanamoto looked at me for three or four seconds, eyes still, expression unchanged. Then he turned his gaze to Valeria, ran it over her from head to toe, stopped at her tits and her crotch, and said something in Japanese that nobody translated.
***
They put the camera in my hands and pointed out the angle from which I was to work: to the right of the windows, with the sea blurred by the backlight. The instructions were technical and concise: close-up for the moments that required it, wide shot for group scenes, headphones on for high-fidelity audio. There was no chair for me. I stayed standing, feet shoulder-width apart, lens aimed at the center of the room, the screen showing me in real time what the lens captured.
Valeria positioned herself in the empty space in front of the table with the confidence of someone who knows exactly where she belongs. One of Kanamoto’s bodyguards came up behind her. The other circled in front. She did not retreat a single inch. I watched them lower her clothes with calculated slowness, without hurry, without asking permission: the dress slid from her shoulders, fell to her hips, then to the floor, and Valeria stood there on her heels with the black lingerie clinging to her body, arms relaxed at her sides, while the four hands of the bodyguards ran over the skin of her thighs, her belly, her tits over the lace, squeezing them as if testing a product before buying it.
When she was left only in the black lingerie, Kanamoto spoke from the sofa. Roberto, beside him, translated in a low voice.
—He wants to see the tattoo.
Valeria turned slightly to the right. On her left hip, in the exact space the lace left free, she had the four letters Roberto had suggested she tattoo in the second year, in that studio in the Gothic Quarter where I had gone with her without yet understanding what I was signing off on. Four letters in thin black ink, no embellishment.
Kanamoto nodded once. He said a word in Japanese.
Roberto smiled.
From behind the lens, I kept the shot steady.
***
What followed lasted almost two hours and not a single minute was lost by the camera’s harsh scrutiny. The first bodyguard led her to the sofa without ceremony. He sat her on the edge of the cushion, spread her legs with both hands, ripped her lace panties off in one yank that split the seam, and buried his face between her thighs. Valeria threw her head back and let out a long moan when the man’s tongue started working her cunt from bottom to top, pausing on the clit with slow licks and then pushing the whole tongue in, fucking her with his mouth as if he wanted to prep her before his cock took its turn. I went tight on close-up. The lens captured the shine of saliva mixing with her juices, the man’s fingers prying her cunt lips apart to work her better, and Valeria’s face contorted in that expression I had learned to recognize in the first years of the marriage and which now, behind a camera, had a concrete market value.
The second bodyguard stood at the arm of the sofa. He lowered his pants without urgency, pulled out a thick, already hard cock, and grabbed Valeria’s jaw with one hand to turn her face toward him. She opened her mouth without needing to be asked. The man shoved his whole shaft in with a single thrust, all the way to the back of her throat, and started fucking her mouth with a firm rhythm while the other kept eating her pussy. Valeria moaned with her mouth full, choking at times, eyes wet from the effort but without moving even a millimeter away. The bodyguard’s fingers tangled in the hair of her bun and ripped it loose. Saliva ran down her chin to her tits, which had slipped out of the black bra after he lowered the straps with one finger.
When the first bodyguard got up from the floor with his mouth shining, he lowered his pants and pulled out a cock even thicker than the other one’s. Valeria left the second man’s mouth with a complaining moan and got on all fours on the sofa, arching her back, offering her ass without being asked. The first man positioned himself behind her, grabbed his cock, and drove it in with a single thrust to the very bottom of her cunt. Valeria screamed. There were no condoms. Kanamoto had requested that expressly, and Roberto had guaranteed it before the meeting. The lens captured every detail with a clarity that left nothing to the imagination: the bodyguard’s cock going in and out of my wife’s cunt, the skin of her lips tightening around the shaft every time he sank to the hilt, the wet sound of flesh slapping against flesh, the man’s fingers dug into her hips leaving red marks that would last for days.
The second bodyguard came in front and shoved his cock back into her mouth. Valeria was speared between the two, fucked front and back, with the two men setting a coordinated rhythm that shook her whole body. I kept the shot wide so the camera would capture the full scene and then closed in on the penetrated cunt, on the mouth full, on Valeria’s face red and sweaty and wearing that expression of pleasure that was no longer acted but real. In the headphones the sound came amplified with no filter: the blows of hips against her ass, the muffled moans around the full mouth, the bodyguards’ grunts, the wet smack every time a cock left the cunt only to enter again. I had recognized them all in the first two hours of marriage, and now I recognized them again, magnified and sold, cut through by the lens of a camera that only shook when I breathed badly.
The first bodyguard came first. He did it inside, with two final thrusts deeper than the previous ones, grabbing her by the hips and driving in to the hilt while letting out a long grunt. When he pulled his cock out, a thick thread of semen ran down Valeria’s inner thigh to the back of her knee. I focused in close-up on the open, dripping cunt. The camera caught everything. The second bodyguard turned her again, laid her on her back on the sofa with her legs spread, and entered her between the thighs without waiting. He fucked her for another ten minutes, watching the previous load seep out every time he pulled his cock back. In the end he came over her tits and onto her open mouth, in long spurts Valeria received with her tongue out and her eyes closed.
Things had an order that everyone knew except me.
Valeria looked for me with her eyes only once, through the lens, just as the second man had finished unloading on her face. She found the camera, ran her tongue over her lips, gathering what had fallen there, and held the gaze for two or three seconds. Then she smiled.
She smiled as if I were not watching but as if precisely because I was, everything that was happening made sense.
***
When the bodyguards were done, Roberto and the executive director came over. The scene naturally migrated to the glass table where the contract documents were, and I understood that this was no accident but something Roberto had planned that way from the start: Valeria’s body over the merger papers, in the same frame. Advertising and contract in a single image.
Roberto grabbed her by the hair and laid her on her back on the table, her head hanging over the edge. He opened her legs and folded them against her chest, exposing her cunt and ass at the same time. The executive director came up by her head, pulled out a long, curved cock, and shoved it straight into her mouth taking advantage of the angle. Roberto, for his part, lowered his pants with one hand and used the other to spread her ass cheeks. He spat on her hole, ran the saliva over the tip of his shaft, and started easing his cock into her asshole slowly, gaining ground with each thrust until he was buried to the base. Valeria let out a howl muffled by the director’s cock. Roberto smiled and started fucking her ass with long, deep thrusts, looking at Kanamoto over his shoulder like someone demonstrating a product.
Over the next forty minutes, while the camera kept rolling, I heard Roberto comment out loud on the terms of the exclusivity clause between thrusts, without pulling his cock out of her ass. I heard the executive director answer with percentages while he fucked my wife’s mouth and squeezed her tits with both hands. The contracts were real. The negotiation was real. Roberto came inside Valeria’s ass while signing the first page of the preliminary agreement with the silver pen, and a drop of ink fell onto her belly at the same time a stream of semen leaked from her open hole. The executive director pulled his cock out of her mouth and emptied his entire load over her face, soaking her cheeks and forehead and eyelashes. Valeria was at the center of everything, used as collateral for the closing, with a coldness that was not indifference but something I had taken a very long time to recognize as a form of power she had chosen for herself.
Outside, Barcelona shone with that midday light that flattens everything and makes it neutral.
***
The suite door opened for a second time when Kanamoto made a brief call from his mobile. Six more men came in. Four wore hotel staff uniforms. Two arrived unidentified, in street clothes. Roberto received them with the gesture of someone expecting guests.
—Mr. Kanamoto wants to see the full version —he told me in a low voice, passing by my side—. No cuts. Close-up for the important moments. The material needs to be ready by Friday.
I stayed in position, behind the lens.
Valeria received them from the table, her hair loose and glued together by the dried semen, her breathing uneven and her tits still shining, with no sign that she wanted any of it to end. She got down from the table, knelt on the carpet in front of the ten men, and beckoned them closer with her chin. They formed a semicircle around her, dropped their pants without ceremony, and Valeria started sucking cock after cock, taking two in her hands while she sucked a third, switching from mouth to hand and from hand to mouth with a skill that had nothing to do with obedience or fear but with something I could not then name precisely and would later, much later, recognize as genuine desire and not performance.
When all ten cocks were hard, they laid her on the carpet and took turns. The first fucked her missionary, holding her legs against her chest. The second straddled her face and fucked her mouth from above, crushing his balls against her chin. The third came up from the side and grabbed her right hand so she could jerk him off. The fourth cock went into her other hand. Valeria was occupied by four men at once and there were still six waiting their turn. The ones waiting were jerking off standing up, aiming at her tits, her hair, her feet.
Then came the double. One lifted her from the floor and sat her on top of him, his cock buried to the hilt in her cunt, and Valeria started riding him. Another positioned himself behind her and began easing his cock into her ass slowly. Once he was in, they held her between them and started fucking her in sync, pulling out and pushing in alternately, with her clit brushing the belly of the man below every time the motion shook her. A third came up from the front and shoved his cock back into her mouth. Full triple penetration. The camera focused in close-up on the exact point where the two cocks were opening her from below and then moved up her body to her face with the third one filling her mouth. In the headphones the sound was wet flesh slamming against itself multiplied by three, plus Valeria’s muffled moans, plus the coordinated grunts of the three men.
All ten took their turns. None used condoms. They all came inside or over her. Valeria’s cunt ended up dripping with semen from four different loads mixed together, her ass open and dripping too from two more, her face and tits soaked with the other four. At some point they placed her on all fours and used her like a tray: one fucked her from behind while two others jerked off over her back and dumped their loads between her shoulder blades, leaving thick puddles that ran down her sides. Kanamoto watched from the sofa with his legs crossed and his hands on his knees, with the same expression as someone attending a corporate presentation and noting the relevant points. The recording continued without interruption.
***
There was a moment, near the end, when I stopped looking at the monitor and stared through the lens with unfocused eyes, not really processing what the lens was capturing. The headphones kept transmitting every sound, the continuous rhythm of ten bodies moving at once, Valeria’s voice mixed with theirs, Kanamoto’s comments in Japanese that nobody translated. At some point during that undefined stretch of time I understood that my role was neither husband nor witness but the keeper of evidence that would have a concrete price in a concrete market.
I kept the camera steady. It was the only thing I could control.
***
When the men withdrew, Kanamoto got up from the sofa with the slowness of someone who is in no hurry because the result is already assured. He came to the glass table and signed the documents with the silver pen. The paper had wet marks on the edges but the signature was legible, clear, legal. The executive director collected them and put them away in the folder without checking them.
Kanamoto stopped at my height before leaving. He spoke to me in English, weighing each word.
—You have a good hand with the camera —he said—. For a husband, you have a very good hand with the camera. It’s a pity you don’t have anything else.
He left. Roberto and the executive director followed him. The suite door closed with a soft click.
Valeria remained stretched out on the table, eyes closed and body motionless except for her breathing. Semen from twelve men ran between her thighs, gleamed on her tits, matted her hair. The signed documents lay beside her, spattered. The camera was still on in my hands.
Two minutes passed before she opened her eyes.
—Come here —she said.
I approached with the minibar towel. She sat up on her elbows and let me work in silence. I wiped the semen from her belly, her tits, the inner thighs, her ass. I passed the towel over her mouth. When I finished, she picked up the phone from the bedside table and read something on the screen.
—Roberto says the contract has been signed and that Kanamoto was very satisfied. —She set the phone face down—. Starting Monday we’re going to need our own distribution platform. Subscription channel, organized catalog by dates, premium content packages. You handle the technical side and billing. —She looked at me—. There’s an audience for this, Marcos. Much more than you think.
I nodded because there was no other available answer.
—And edit today’s material well. —She got down from the table and went to gather her clothes from the floor—. Roberto wants the camera to look steady in every shot. He says that’s the first thing the client notices when he decides to renew the subscription.
I picked up the bag, put away the camera, and waited at the door while Valeria finished getting dressed in front of the bathroom mirror. The elevator took a minute to arrive. During that minute I stood in the hallway looking at the suite number, thinking I didn’t know exactly when I had crossed the line separating what I was from what I had become, or whether that line had ever had a visible trace at all, or whether it had always been so fine that you crossed it without noticing, taking one wrong step in the wrong direction.
The elevator doors opened. Valeria came out of the bathroom without looking at me, passed by my side, and went in first.
I entered behind her and pressed the button for the ground floor.