The Masked Ritual My Husband Took Me To

We had been playing with the idea for four years without daring to name it. Mateo and I talked about it at night, in low voices, after fucking, when thoughts become more honest than one would like.

—Imagine me with someone else while you watch —I would tell him, with my hand still on his damp chest, feeling his cock hard again against my hip—. Imagine you don’t recognize me, that I’m with a man whose face I can’t see, and you’re there, in a corner, watching him open my legs, watching him bury his cock deep inside me, watching him make me come without even knowing my name.

He would groan, harden again just from hearing it. I would lower my hand, wrap my fingers around his cock, work him slowly from root to tip until a thick drop escaped, which I would catch with my thumb and take to my mouth. Then I’d climb on top, shove it in myself, and keep talking in his ear while I rode him slowly, my cunt already soaked from the conversation.

—Imagine two men opening me up, one above, one below, and you stroking your cock while you watch them fill me.

He would come almost at once, with a broken moan, inside me, gripping my hips with both hands. We were not a broken couple; we were the opposite. We had been together twelve years, married for eight, and the trust we had built let us skirt those edges without fear of falling.

The envelope arrived on an ordinary Tuesday. Matte black, sealed in burgundy wax, no sender. Inside was a card with terse instructions: formal attire, Venetian mask, password “Quimera,” encoded address, and a date. Veracruz, in one month. Location: the old Fortress of San Juan de Ulúa.

—Is this what I think it is? —Mateo asked, reading over my shoulder.

—It’s exactly what you think it is.

I never found out who had referred us to the club. We suspected a friend who had been talking to us in code for years about “private encounters.” We left it at that, in the uncertainty. Part of the game was not knowing.

***

I got off the plane with tense legs and my cunt already swollen just from thinking about it. Mateo had been stroking me the whole flight, his hand under the blanket, his fingers barely brushing the inside of my thigh, sliding up to the edge of my panties and back down again, never quite reaching where I wanted. At one point he slipped two fingers in through the side of the lace, found I was already wet, smiled, and pulled them out to suck them in front of me without breaking eye contact. It was measured torture, calculated to arrive at the fortress with desire stretched to the skin.

—Don’t come yet —he whispered before landing—. Tonight I want you on the edge all night. I want you to get to that fortress so hot you’ll be drooling at the sight of anyone.

Veracruz smelled of salt and may blossoms. The driver waiting for us wore a black mask and said not a single word during the ride. We crossed the bridge connecting to the mainland and the fortress emerged in the distance, a dark mass outlined against the sea, lit only by real torches crackling in the Gulf wind. There were no electric lights outside. It was like stepping into another century.

—Ready? —Mateo asked, adjusting my golden mask over my face.

—Ready.

I lied. One part of me was about to turn back. Another part, the darker one, was already inside, legs spread.

***

At the gate, a tall man dressed in immaculate black waited with his hands clasped behind his back. His mask was a silver skull, too beautiful to feel sinister.

—Good evening —he said in a deep, polite voice—. Will you give me the word?

—Quimera —we answered in unison.

He nodded and led us through a damp stone corridor lit by candles in niches. It smelled of incense, melted wax, and something else, something I took a moment to identify: the sweat of aroused people, wet cunts, and semen. Mateo squeezed my hand and I knew he had smelled it too.

The main hall was enormous. Wooden ceilings, iron chandeliers, a colonial mosaic floor. Fifty or sixty masked people, dressed with formal elegance, talked in small groups. A chamber orchestra played a slow string piece in a corner, made to be danced to slowly. Women in dresses cut obscenely, breasts almost bare, slits showing thigh all the way to the hip. Men in tuxedos with looks that weighed like hands and bulges that showed unmistakably under their trousers.

A masked woman offered us two glasses of a dark, spiced liquid. I didn’t ask what it was. I drank it down. It burned.

—The rules are simple —said the man in the skull mask, appearing behind us again—. Absolute anonymity. No names, no identities, no after. What you do here tonight stays here. Any contact outside the venue means expulsion. Everything else is allowed. Everything. As long as there is consent. Enjoy yourselves.

And he left, without waiting for a response.

Mateo looked at me through the slits of his silver mask. There was something in his eyes I had never seen before: a mix of pride, fear, and desire in equal parts.

—Are you sure? —he asked.

—We decided together —I replied—. And you promised not to clip my wings.

He nodded. He kissed me slowly on the mouth, biting my lower lip as he pulled away, and stepped back two paces. The agreed signal. From that moment on, I was free. And he was going to watch.

***

The first to approach me was a gray-haired man in a silver fox mask, wearing a tuxedo that smelled faintly of cedar. He invited me to dance without saying a word. I took his hand.

He danced well. Too well. His hand at my waist was firm and knew the exact pressure, neither too possessive nor too timid. He spun me slowly, and when I came back to him, his thigh slid between mine and I felt him press right against my cunt, felt him mount my leg slowly so I would rub myself against his thigh. I also felt, beneath the fabric of his trousers, his hard cock against my hip. Big. Throbbing.

—You’re wearing nothing underneath —he said, not as a question but a statement.

—No.

—You’re soaked. I can feel it on my thigh.

—I know.

—Your husband is a lucky man.

—My husband knows what he has.

His hand slid down my back to the base of my ass, squeezed it hard over the fabric, and with the same motion slipped under the dress and touched my bare skin. One of his fingers ventured farther in, slid between my cheeks, and found my cunt open from behind. He stroked me unhurriedly, twice, three times, while keeping the rhythm with his other hand. I didn’t pull away. I held his gaze through the mask and bit my lip to keep from moaning in his mouth.

The song ended. Another man was already waiting for his turn. And another behind him. The music continued. I danced, drank, let hands slide a little lower each time, let thighs brush against mine, let gazes strip me naked. One man slipped his hand down my neckline and pinched a nipple until it stood hard as stone. Another licked my neck and told me in my ear he wanted to see it opened over a table. Within twenty minutes I had forgotten where Mateo was and only knew he was somewhere in the hall, watching me, his cock hard in his trousers, swallowing hard.

A woman kissed my ear during one of the dances. She had red hair and smelled of something citrusy. She whispered:

—If you want to go further, there are private rooms in the west wing. There you’ll come until you lose your mind. The choice is yours.

—Are you going?

—I’m going wherever you go. And I know how to use my tongue too.

I laughed. I took her hand. And I walked toward the west wing without looking back.

***

The room was small, circular, with red velvet cushions and a single window closed off by carved wooden latticework. Three men waited inside, seated in silence, different masks, different bodies, different presences. One of them already had his cock out, thick, dark, holding it in his hand without urgency, waiting. Another still had his trousers buttoned, but the tense bulge on him looked ready to burst the seam. The redhead came in with me and locked the door behind us.

No one spoke. None was needed.

They lowered my dress from my shoulders with a slowness that hurt. The fabric fell to my waist and they left me like that for a moment, exposed, breasts out, nipples so hard they prickled, while everyone watched. I breathed deeply. The redhead knelt in front of me and started kissing my belly, slowly moving up to my breasts. I felt her tongue, cold at first, then hot, circling my nipples one after the other, and then lower, lower, until she spread my legs even while I was still standing and gave my cunt the first long lick. I closed my eyes. Behind me, someone pulled my dress all the way down. I was left naked except for my heels and mask.

A big hand took me by the nape and turned my face. A man’s mouth found mine and kissed me like no one had ever kissed me before, with controlled violence that dragged a moan out of my throat. When he pulled away, he gently pushed me downward by the shoulders. I was made to kneel on the cushions. In front of my face, three hard cocks, three different skin tones, three different shapes. The middle one, the thickest, came to my lips and I opened my mouth without being asked. He shoved it in all the way. It hit the back of my throat and made my eyes water beneath the mask. I sucked him slowly, swallowing, letting saliva drip down in thick strands to my breasts. With my right hand I jerked the one on my left; with my left, the one on my right. All three at once. I moved from one cock to another, switched them between my mouth without stopping jerking them, sucked their balls, went back up, took them to the hilt. One of them grabbed my hair from behind and set the rhythm. I let him.

When they were close, they pulled me away. They didn’t want to finish yet. They lifted me between two of them and laid me on a velvet ottoman. The redhead climbed on top of me facing the other way, her shaved cunt right over my face, and slowly lowered herself onto my mouth. I licked her from below, searching for her clit with the tip of my tongue, while she leaned down and did the same to me, more expertly than any man I had ever had. Her tongue knew exactly where to turn, when to press, when to suck my clit whole like a piece of candy. I arched under her weight. She let out a muffled moan against my cunt and I knew I wasn’t bad at it either.

I can’t tell it in order, because there wasn’t one. It was a chorus. It was being at the center of four desires at once, feeling that four different people wanted me in four different places, and letting them. One of the men positioned himself between my spread legs, moved the redhead aside just enough, and with one thrust drove his cock into me to the balls. I screamed against her cunt. I screamed and she pressed harder against my mouth, almost drowning me. He started fucking me hard, with thrusts that made my head bang against the velvet. Another man put his cock in my hand and I jerked him in time with the one fucking me. The third came up to my face on the other side, pushed the redhead aside for a moment, and shoved it into my mouth. I was being used by all three at once, with the woman on top sucking me without pause, and I did not want her to stop.

I came quickly, too quickly, between the cock splitting me open and her tongue giving me no respite. I shouted something, I don’t know what, with my mouth full. My voice came out hoarse, unrecognizable. My thighs trembled, my cunt spasmed around the cock of the man fucking me, and he let out a roar and kept driving into me even harder, about to come himself. They didn’t let me rest. They lifted me off the ottoman, put me on all fours on the floor, adjusted me, made me arch my back, and then I felt another cock, different, thicker, pushing in from behind. Slowly at first, then with a rhythm that was no longer mine. It opened me wider than I was used to. A long moan escaped me, almost a lament, and even so I lifted my ass higher, asking for more.

The redhead stood in front of my face, spread her legs, and I ate her with hunger while I was being fucked from behind. I licked her dripping cunt, shoved my whole tongue inside, made circles on her clit until her knees buckled and she pressed my head against her belly. She came over my mouth with a long shudder, soaking my face.

The one fucking me from behind pulled out and gave his place to the third, who had been waiting for half an hour. He sank into me in one blow. I complained. He slapped my ass, then again, and kept pounding into me mercilessly. Another man grabbed my hair and shoved his cock into my mouth again, deeper this time, until I gagged. I was open at both ends, with the redhead caressing my nipples from one side and whispering filthy things in my ear.

I thought of Mateo. I thought he was watching me from some corner. I imagined his eyes behind the silver mask, his hand gripping his own cock inside his trousers, his breathing speeding up. And that made me come again, harder, shaking all over with a cock inside my cunt and another in my mouth, while the redhead licked my neck and said things in my ear that I didn’t understand.

The one behind me was the first to finish. He came with a grunt inside the condom, squeezing my hips until his fingers left marks. He pulled out and the other took his place without letting me close my legs. He mounted me from the front, my legs over his shoulders, and fucked me while looking into my eyes through the masks. He thrust deep, deep, deep. The one in my mouth pulled out his cock, jerked himself twice over my face, and filled my chin and breasts with hot semen in thick spurts that the redhead hurried to lick from me. The one fucking me from the front lasted less: two minutes later he pulled out, ripped off the condom, and emptied himself over me too, over my belly and pubic hair. And I came a third time, with no cock inside me now, only the redhead’s fingers on my clit and the smell of fresh semen in my nose.

***

I don’t know how much time passed. When I came out of that room my legs were shaking, my cunt was throbbing, I had dried semen on my belly, and the golden mask had shifted a little on my face. Mateo was waiting at the end of the corridor, without his mask now, hair tousled and eyes red-rimmed.

He hugged me before I could say anything. He hugged me so hard it hurt.

—Did you see it? —I asked him against his chest.

—I saw everything I needed to see.

He practically carried me to a private room on the other side of the hall. He locked the door. And he looked at me like he never had before.

—You have no idea —he said, voice breaking— what that was for me. You have no idea. I came twice in my trousers watching you, without touching myself.

—Tell me.

—I watched you from the start. How you danced. How you let them touch you. How you responded. And at first I felt jealous, yes, a rage tightening my throat. But after a while, when I saw you go into the west wing with that woman, something in me changed. I looked through the keyhole. I saw them undress you. Saw you kneel. Saw you swallow three cocks. Saw you come with her tongue on you. Saw them fuck you at the same time. And I couldn’t stop touching myself.

He kissed me. A lot. He kissed my mouth even though it still tasted of others, kissed my neck biting it, my shoulders, my semen-stained breasts, as if he needed to relearn my body after having lent it out. He lowered his head and licked my belly clean of other men’s semen with his tongue, without disgust, almost reverently. He spread my legs and licked my swollen cunt, already used, still open, and I came in his mouth almost at once, grabbing his hair, trembling.

—I want to claim you —he said, rising to my height, unbuttoning his trousers—. I want to erase them.

—Do it. Fuck me like it’s the first time.

He pressed me against the wall and entered me without any preamble. I was still open, still sensitive, still slick from the others. He didn’t care. He thrust hard, with a new intensity, a mix of desire and reclamation that kept me pinned against the cold stone wall. He lifted one of my legs up onto his hip and drove deeper that way. He bit my neck where others had already bitten me. He squeezed my throat without choking me. He filled my mouth with two fingers and I sucked them while looking him in the eyes. He said things in my ear, things only a man who had just seen me with other men and survived that image could say.

—You’re mine —he repeated, driving into me—. You’re mine always. It doesn’t matter who else touches you, who else fucks you, who else comes on you. This cunt comes back to me. It always comes back to me.

—I’m yours —I repeated, clawing at his back over his shirt—. I’m yours. I’m yours. Fuck me harder. Empty yourself in me.

He spun me abruptly against the wall, made me put my hands on the stone, positioned himself behind me, and shoved back inside me in one thrust, this time standing, bent forward. He took me by the hips and fucked me with restrained fury for the rest of the night. Every blow of his made my breasts hit the cold wall. I moaned out loud, no longer caring about anything, wanting to be heard outside. He put his thumb in my mouth and then ran it over my ass, pressing only slightly, and with that double sensation, his cock inside me and his thumb brushing me from behind, I came once more, screaming against the stone.

We came almost at the same time, braced against that centuries-old wall, panting as if we had run kilometers. He emptied himself inside me with a long moan, pressing me against the stone, biting my shoulder. When I caught my breath I realized I was crying a little. Mateo was too.

***

In the car back to the hotel, the sky over Veracruz was beginning to change from blue to orange. Mateo drove in silence, one hand on the wheel, the other on my thigh, sliding up every so often to make sure I was still wet inside, with his semen and other men’s mixing and slowly leaking out. I looked out the window without seeing it.

—Do we accept the invitation? —I asked after a while.

There was a new envelope on the back seat. They had delivered it on our way out. Permanent membership, four meetings a year, different cities, same rules.

Mateo took a while to answer. When he did, he said it with a calm that made me understand he had been thinking about it for half an hour.

—If you want, yes. But only if after every night we come back like this, like tonight. Only if we keep coming back to each other. Only if after every cock that goes into you, the last one to fill you is me.

I took his hand. I squeezed it.

—Deal.

The sun finished rising as we entered the hotel. We went up to the room, showered together —he washed between my legs slowly, with his fingers, and I made him hard again without meaning to— and got into bed without pretending to do anything else. But after a while he was holding me from behind, slowly, and I felt his cock ready again, pressed against my ass. I turned toward him. Spread my legs over mine. He slid into me slowly, so slowly I felt every centimeter, and fucked me mouth to mouth, looking into my eyes, unhurried, no audience, no masks. I came without shouting, pressing myself against him, biting his lip. He came inside almost silently, a surrendered moan against my neck. And it was, against all odds, the best moment of the whole night.