The Gift My Wife Secretly Recorded for Me

Marcos's office at the advertising agency always smelled of the same reheated coffee and the same pine deodorant he had been using for a decade. He was a man of fixed habits: he arrived first, left last, and in between built campaigns for brands he never cared much about. He was forty-two, had a mortgage signed by both of them, and a wife, Sofía, who in his mind remained the best part of everything else.

Roberto had arrived at the department a year and a half earlier with the loose energy of someone who had worked too many places to sit still. He was brilliant with clients and considerably worse a person than he appeared. From the start, he pursued Marcos with the precision of someone choosing his next piece: he invited him to lunch, included him in hallway conversations, treated him like an equal instead of the drab coworker everyone else ignored.

On an ordinary Wednesday, Roberto sent him a link through the work group with the message: “This is making the rounds on the forums. Wild, isn’t it?” The video lasted four minutes and showed a woman surrounded by ten men taking turns fucking her in every hole in what could have been any anonymous room. Marcos closed it after thirty seconds. That night, when Sofía was asleep, he opened it again. He watched the whole thing, three times, with his hand inside the waistband of his pajama pants and his breath held so he wouldn’t wake her. He came over his own stomach watching the woman in the video open her mouth to take one man's cum while another kept pounding her from behind.

The second time Roberto sent him something like that, Marcos didn’t close it.

What followed was such a gradual slope that he never recognized the exact moment he crossed the line. He started looking for more on his own, first cautiously and then with the comfortable impunity of someone who had gone too long without being caught. He kept the files in a password-protected folder named “Q4 projects.” He stayed up until two in the morning in front of the screen while Sofía slept on the other side of the hall with the solid indifference of someone who trusts the other without question. That trust was what weighed on him most and, at the same time, what made him come back every night to watch open cunts, throats gagging, loads spread across other people’s skin. That trust was what weighed on him most and, at the same time, what made him come back every night.

Roberto knew it. He never said anything directly, but he smiled when Marcos looked away, and that smile held too much information.

***

What Marcos didn’t know was that, while he built his obsession in silence, Roberto was working at the other end of the marriage.

Sofía had been noticing Marcos’s coldness for months: the nights he pretended to be tired, the distance she attributed to work or age. Roberto began appearing at the edges of her life with practiced ease. He called to ask about Marcos, met her for coffee “just in case she needed to talk.” He was charming in a way more dangerous than direct attraction.

He told her about the videos with clinical calm, as if diagnosing an illness. He told her Marcos was trapped in a specific fantasy — women passed from hand to hand, mouths full, cunts shared among many — and that this fantasy was driving him away from her because no real woman could compete with a fiction built to fit desire. He told her the only way to get him back was to become that fiction. Miriam, the agency’s account director, was also part of the plan, though Marcos learned that detail much later.

Sofía took weeks to accept what Roberto proposed. She said no four times before she said yes.

The excuse for the trip was a team retreat from which Marcos was excluded at the last minute because of a supposed conflict with an important client. La Encina estate was ninety kilometers from the city, surrounded by pines and with mobile coverage only at the entrance. Sofía left on Friday afternoon with a travel bag and a distracted kiss on the cheek. She came back Sunday afternoon with a different look in her eyes. Marcos didn’t know how to read that difference then.

***

On Monday he arrived at the office before anyone else. In the second drawer of his desk — the only one that locked, the one he used to keep the “Q4 projects” folder and which had been his private space for years — there was a black case with no cover. He recognized it because it hadn’t been there on Friday. Someone had opened the drawer. Someone knew where he kept the key.

The disc was a standard DVD with no title printed on it. Marcos held it for a moment before inserting it into the computer. He plugged in the headphones, turned the volume down to the minimum, and waited.

The image took three seconds to appear.

It was Sofía.

She was sitting on the brown leather sofa Marcos recognized from photos Roberto had sent him months earlier of “a friend’s estate.” She was wearing a midnight-blue satin dress he had never seen before. She held a glass of wine without drinking from it and looked at the camera with a calm that was not hers, or at least not the one he knew after ten years.

—Hello, Marcos —she said.

He turned the volume up.

—Roberto showed me your files. The whole folder, including the password. I know exactly what kind of videos you were searching for every night and how long you’ve been doing it while I slept. I know you like watching women with their mouths open waiting for loads from five cocks. I know you get hard seeing them fucked by several men in every hole at once. I know everything, Marcos.

Sofía paused briefly. She took a small sip of wine and set the glass down carefully on the side table.

—At first I felt destroyed. Then I felt stupid for not having seen it sooner. And then, when Roberto explained what he wanted to do, I went through every possible stage before saying yes. But I said yes, Marcos. I said it for you. To give you something no screen can give you. To let fourteen men fuck me while a camera recorded everything, so you could finally see me the way you always wanted to see those other women.

The camera pulled back slightly. Sofía crossed her arms over her lap.

—What you’re about to see happened on Saturday night at this same estate. I chose to be here. No one forced me to do anything. And I hope that when you finish watching, you understand that you don’t need to look for anything in any folder anymore, because now you have something better. I hope you enjoy it as much as I did.

***

The image cut to black for two seconds. When it returned, it was another room.

The large hall at La Encina had a solid wood table in the center, the kind made to withstand generations. Sofía was standing beside it, still in the blue dress, when the men began to enter the frame.

Marcos recognized them one by one with a slowness that pierced his chest. The agency director. The IT manager. Two coworkers from the creative department. The neighbor from the second floor who had been lending him tools for twelve years whenever he needed them. Roberto’s cousin, whom he had seen three or four times at the company Christmas dinner. Others took longer to identify. Fourteen men in total, and Roberto behind the camera.

Roberto approached Sofía with a black silk blindfold. She let him place it on her without protest, without turning her head away. When the darkness covered her, her body changed: her shoulders dropped, her mouth parted slightly, and in that tiny gesture Marcos recognized something he had not seen in ten years of marriage.

Hands began moving from every angle. The blue satin dress was unbuttoned with deliberate slowness and fell to the floor without Sofía doing anything to hold it back. She was left in black lingerie, and anonymous fingers unhooked her bra from behind while others pulled her panties down to her ankles and kicked her out of them. Her nipples hardened instantly in the hall’s cool air, and a large hand caught one breast from behind and squeezed it hard enough to draw a gasp from her.

They positioned her with her back against the table, bent at the waist, palms flat on the wood and ass raised. Someone knelt behind her and spread her cheeks with both hands, and Marcos saw on the screen how a tongue sank without ceremony between his wife’s legs, licking her cunt from top to bottom, pushing between the already shining lips. Sofía arched with a sound that was neither complaint nor moan but something more primal: a physical response coming from deeper than he had ever known how to stir in her.

Marcos had to lower the volume.

When the tongue was done, one man stood behind her, grabbed his cock in his hand and rubbed it over her soaked cunt lips. He pushed into her in one thrust. Sofía let out a deep cry and her breasts shook against the wood with each stroke. The man fucked her holding her by the hips, driving himself all the way in, pulling almost completely out before slamming back into her.

—Like that, like that —Sofía panted, the blindfold still on—, harder, fuck, harder.

Marcos had never heard that voice in his house. It was the voice of another woman.

Another man came up in front of her, climbed onto the table astride her shoulders, and brought his cock to her mouth. Sofía opened without hesitation and took him to the back of her throat, her lips stretched around the base and her throat widening to receive him whole. The man fucking her from behind did not slow down, and each thrust pushed her forward and drove the cock in her mouth deeper still. She choked, coughed, spat saliva, and kept sucking. The camera focused close on the bright strands hanging from her chin while the man held her head and fucked her mouth without mercy.

They lifted her onto the table. They laid her on her back with her legs spread wide, and one of the creative department men — Marcos recognized him by the watch — positioned himself between her thighs and shoved into her. Another knelt beside her head and she turned her face and opened her mouth again. A third came up on the other side and placed another cock in her free hand. Sofía closed her fingers around it and started stroking him while the other hand groped blindly for another body, found a set of balls, and caressed them with spread fingers.

Four men at once. And she didn’t stop. Her moans came out muffled by the cock in her mouth, high when they pulled it out so she could breathe, broken when the thrust from below made her whole body jolt. The camera moved to a close-up of her cunt: the lips stretched around the cock penetrating her, her fluids shining on her skin, a finger slipping underneath to rub her swollen clit.

Sofía came for the first time on the creative man’s cock. Marcos knew because his wife shuddered in a way he recognized after ten years. That exact tremble. That guttural sound. Only here she was doing it with a stranger’s cock buried to the root, while sucking one man and jerking off a third. The man did not stop. He sped up. He came inside her with an animal grunt and pulled out dripping, and Sofía remained open and leaking on the wooden table.

Another took his place immediately. Then another. The rotation was orderly. When one finished, another took his place without interruption, grabbed his cock, rubbed it over her soaked cunt, and plunged in all at once. Sofía took whoever came near her in her mouth while others held her by the hips from behind. The blindfold stayed in place. She still could not see any of them, and that blindness seemed to free something in her that Marcos could not name precisely but recognized at once.

They changed her position without asking. They lifted her, sat her astride one man who had lain down on the table, and she began moving up and down with her hands braced on the man’s chest and her tits bouncing with every drop. Another positioned himself behind her. Marcos saw him spit on his fingers and open her ass, and saw him push in one finger, then two, then his cock. Sofía held still for a second, clenched her teeth, and let out a long, hoarse moan when the double penetration was complete. Then she began rocking between the two cocks with a rhythm of her own, moaning louder and louder, begging them to move at the same time, to fuck her together, not to stop.

—Both —she panted—, fuck, both at once, harder, give it to me harder.

A third came up in front and she grabbed his cock and shoved it into her mouth without stopping moving on top of the other two. Three cocks inside at once. Her moans filled the hall with a cadence Marcos had never heard from her: deep, continuous, interrupted by sharper jolts when one of the men changed angle or increased the pace. There was nothing in that cadence of Sofía’s usual restraint. It was a sound without a filter.

Those waiting their turn touched themselves around her, some leaning on the table, others standing within reach. When one came before touching her, he did it on her skin: on her shoulder, on her back, on the tits hanging while they bent her over. Others held out and waited for their turn inside her. The cum started to pile up on her body, mixed with sweat, shining under the hall lamps.

There was a moment — forty minutes after it started — when the camera focused on her up close. Sofía had red, swollen lips from sucking, makeup smeared by sweat, loose hair stuck to her forehead and neck. A strand of cum ran from the corner of her mouth down to her chin. Her thighs glistened with her own fluids and those of others. The blue dress still lay on the floor a few feet away, perfectly untouched. And she was smiling. It wasn’t an acting smile. It was the smile of someone who has found something she was looking for without knowing she was looking for it.

The scene continued for another half hour. They put her on all fours on the table and took turns fucking her from behind while she sucked those waiting in front. They sat her on the edge of the table with her legs dangling open, and made her come two more times, once with a tongue between her thighs and once with two cocks taking her in rapid alternation. Marcos didn’t stop her at any point. At some vague moment, he realized that he was hard too. That he had been for a while, his hand squeezing the front of his pants under the office desk. He removed his hand. Put it back.

***

The ending came in a way Marcos had not anticipated.

The fourteen men stood around Sofía, who was still kneeling on the table, exhausted and propped on her elbows. Roberto approached her and removed the blindfold carefully, like someone lifting a dressing. Sofía took a moment to adjust her eyes under the hall lights. Then she looked at them all, one by one, with a slowness that seemed deliberate. She saw the director. She saw the neighbor. She saw the creatives. She didn’t look away from any of them. And then she looked at the camera.

She straightened up on her knees. She ran her tongue over her lips. She opened her mouth and stuck out her tongue slightly, offered. She closed her eyes.

The fourteen men began jerking off around her at the same time, each cock pointed at her body. The gasps overlapped. Sofía stretched her hands forward, palms up, as if receiving water. What followed was a thick, rhythmic rain that landed on her face, her chest, and her outstretched hands. One load crossed her cheek and reached her hair. Another fell on her lips and she moved them slowly, tasting it, swallowing what entered her mouth without closing it. Another drenched her tits. Another hung from her chin in a long thread before dropping onto her chest. Sofía took it with half-closed eyes and parted lips, without backing away, without looking away from the lens when she opened them again between spurts.

When the last man finished, Sofía ran her fingers over her face, gathered what she could, and brought them to her mouth, sucking them one by one in front of the lens. The camera moved in to a close-up of her face. Sofía wiped the corner of her mouth with her thumb and looked at the lens with an expression Marcos didn’t know how to classify.

—Roberto was right —she said, her voice still broken—. It’s not what you were looking for on that screen. It’s better.

She leaned back on her elbows and crossed her arms under her stained breasts.

—I always thought the difference between us was that you needed more than I could give you. Now I understand the problem was that I had never really tried. —A pause. A smaller, colder smile—. I’m not the woman you knew anymore, Marcos. I’m the one who let herself get fucked by fourteen men at once and came three times while they did it. I don’t know whether that pleases you or terrifies you, but here’s the answer to all those years of password-protected folders. I hope this image stays with you every time you try to open that drawer. Because now the drawer is empty. You already have the favorite at home.

The video ended with a still image of her face for three seconds before fading to black.

***

Marcos sat motionless in front of the screen with the headphones on. The DVD was still spinning. There was no one else in the office yet, and the monitor’s light was the only thing illuminating the room.

He thought of the “Q4 projects” folder. He thought of the eighteen months of videos stored away. He thought of the nights Sofía had slept on the other side of the hall with the calm indifference of someone who trusts the other completely.

There should have been something to feel: rage, betrayal, guilt. Probably all three at once, stacked in the right order. He had the materials to build them.

What he felt instead was something he didn’t know how to name. And a painful erection pressing against the zipper of his pants.

He took the disc out of the computer and put it back in the black case. He placed it exactly where he had found it, in the second drawer of his desk. He locked the drawer and put the key in his pocket.

And waited for the others to arrive.