The New Year’s Eve We Were Three in Bed

Elena has a habit I discovered the first winter we lived together: when something turns her on, she can’t keep quiet about it. She sits on the edge of the bed, lets her hair down, and starts telling. Sometimes it takes her half an hour to get to the detail that really matters, but she always gets there. And I, thirteen years older and convinced I’d seen it all, learned that the best part of our relationship wasn’t in bed, but in what she told me before getting into it. She’d tell me who she’d fantasized about on the subway, how wet her cunt had gotten listening to a client in a meeting, what imaginary cock she’d shoved in her mouth while showering. And then I’d fuck her with all that on top of us, as if we shared a private library of filthy things.

That night she came home late from a work dinner. I heard her set down her keys, her heels, and from the rhythm of her steps I knew she was carrying something inside her.

—You won’t believe what happened with Marcelo —she said, collapsing beside me still in her coat.

Marcelo was a new partner at her firm. Older than her, calm, the kind of man who speaks little and watches a lot. For weeks he’d been showing up in her stories the way the weather shows up in a conversation: in the background, until one day it takes over the whole page.

—Tell me —I said, and turned off the bedside lamp so only the hall light remained.

—He chose the place. A table in the back, almost in the dark. I’d dithered a lot over my clothes, you know? I tried on three outfits before leaving.

—And which one won?

—The gray boat-neck sweater. Nothing underneath. No bra, no panties.

Of course I knew which one. It was the one that left her shoulders bare, the one that clung to her tits when she breathed deeply. The one she wore when she didn’t want to leave anything to the imagination and, at the same time, wanted to pretend she hadn’t thought about it. No panties was new. No panties was a statement.

—It wasn’t innocent —she admitted, reading my face—. I took it off my mind ten times and put it back on ten times. I left home already wet, Diego, I swear. When I got there, he stood up to greet me and went silent. Two kisses, and he went silent. He kept looking at my tits like he could see my nipples through the wool. And they were hard, standing out perfectly.

While she talked, she slowly started unbuttoning her coat, not even realizing she was doing it. I didn’t interrupt. I’d learned that interrupting her was like cutting the power.

***

—We talked about nonsense for a good while —she went on—. About the firm, a difficult client, a hideous painting he has on the wall. Detours. We both knew we were detouring, and I had my cunt soaking the edge of my skirt under the tablecloth. Until he asked about us.

—About us?

—About you and me. About the age difference. I told him the truth, that I like men who already know who they are. That a guy my age fucks you like he’s taking an exam, desperate to come and not looking you in the face. And that you lot… you know how to wait. You know how to lick, you know how to look, you know how to leave a woman shaking before you put it in.

She unfastened the last button. Underneath, indeed, the gray sweater. The hallway light traced the outline of her breasts and the shadow of her nipples, hardened by the cold outside, or by what she was telling me.

—I told him you knew —she added more quietly—. That I don’t hide anything from you. That you let me do what I want and then I tell you everything. That you fuck me better when I come home with another man’s story stuck to my body.

—And how did he take it?

—He was speechless. His eyes were shining. I think he’d never had a woman in front of him tell him, just like that, without apologizing, that her husband waits up for her so she can tell him how she’s been eaten out. He liked it. It scared him and he liked it, both at once. And you could see the bulge in his pants, Diego. It was so obvious he had to shift in his chair to get his cock comfortable.

She rested one hand on my chest. It was hot. The other drifted to her thigh, squeezing over the skirt.

—When I got up to go to the bathroom, he followed me with his eyes until I crossed the whole room. And when I came back, instead of sitting across from him, I sat next to him. Right up against him. Nothing else was needed.

—Don’t leave me hanging.

—He put his hand on my knee under the table. Casually. And he kept moving it up. Slowly, Diego, very slowly, looking me in the eyes the whole time to see how far I’d let him go. I spread my legs a little. Just a little. Enough for his fingers to keep sliding up the inside of my thigh, millimeter by millimeter, and for me to start clenching my teeth so I wouldn’t moan in the middle of the restaurant.

I felt her breathing change as she said it. It wasn’t acting. She was reliving it. She had even opened her legs a little there in bed, without realizing it.

—He got to the edge of my thigh and stopped. Brushing against me. With two fingers he stroked my bare cunt under the skirt, one second, two, and he felt how wet I was. He felt how my juices soaked his fingertips. I saw him swallow. And he stayed still. Waiting for me to say stop or for me to say keep going. I didn’t say either. I just held his gaze. And then he smiled, brought his fingers to his mouth —the fingers with my juices on them, Diego, the ones he’d just had inside my cunt— sucked them slowly, pulled his hand back, and asked for the bill.

—He left?

—He took me home. In the car he didn’t touch me, even though my cunt was dripping all over the seat. He parked downstairs, at the door, and told me he wasn’t the kind of man who takes advantage of one too many drinks. That if anything happened, when it happened, he wanted me to be sure. And that then the three of us would sort it out.

I propped myself up on an elbow.

—The three of us?

—That’s what he said. “The three of us.” —Elena smiled in the half-light—. I told you, he’s not like the others.

When she finished telling me, I slipped my hand between her legs and found her just as wet as he had, or wetter. She climbed on top of me, pulled my cock out of my pants, took it in without ceremony, and fucked me slowly while whispering in my ear about Marcelo’s fingers, Marcelo’s tongue licking me clean in the restaurant. I came inside her thinking about another man’s hand on her cunt.

***

That word kept turning over in the house for weeks. The three of us. We never mentioned it again, but it was everywhere: in the way she looked at me when serving coffee, in what I kept to myself when she left and what she confessed when she came back. We had played with fantasy a lot. I listened, I imagined, I jerked off hearing her tell me how she came with another man’s mouth between her legs, and then I fucked her as if trying to reclaim a territory I secretly enjoyed lending out. But always from the outside. I was the one who listened. The one who watched.

New Year’s Eve arrived. We had plans to go to a hotel with a gala and an orchestra, the kind of night where you pay a lot to be bored politely. In the middle of the afternoon, while she was putting on makeup, Elena caught my eyes in the mirror.

—What if we stayed home?

—The two of us?

—I invited Marcelo —she said, still painting her lips—. For a change.

She dropped it with the same casualness she might have used to say she’d changed the wine. She set down the lipstick, turned, and looked at me straight on.

—Only if you want to. Really. If you tell me no, I’ll call him and say our plans got crossed. But I’ve been thinking about it for weeks, wanking myself off in the mornings thinking about both cocks at once, and this time I don’t want to tell you afterward. I want you there. —She came closer and adjusted my shirt collar—. This time you don’t stay outside. This time you fuck me with him in front of you and he fucks me with you in front of him.

I don’t know what face I made. She laughed softly.

—That same face he made when I suggested it to him.

***

Marcelo arrived at eleven, with a bottle of cava and a firm handshake when he offered it to me. There were a few awkward minutes, as there had to be, in which three adults pretended this was just another dinner. We toasted. We talked about anything. And little by little silence took the place of words, which is what happens when everyone knows why they’re there.

It was Elena who cut through the detour, as always. She set down her glass, stood up, and sat on the arm of my chair. She kissed me. Slowly, with tongue, pushing it all the way into my mouth, as if she wanted him to see it clearly. With one hand she found my cock over my pants and squeezed it, and she didn’t care that he saw. When she pulled away, she didn’t look at me: she looked at him.

—Come here —she said.

What I remember from that night is not what I had imagined. I had imagined it would be hard for me. That I’d see another man’s hands on her and feel like I was losing something. It wasn’t like that. Marcelo knelt in front of her and lifted her dress slowly, with the same patience she praised him for, and parted her underwear with two fingers. I saw my wife’s cunt opening for another man’s mouth half a meter from me. I saw him stick out his tongue and lick her clit first with the tip, very slowly, and Elena throw her head back and let out a moan I knew perfectly, that short moan that slips out when something feels even better than she expected. I saw Marcelo spread her cunt lips with his thumbs and bury his whole tongue inside her, all the way to the base, and his lips shining from her.

And while he ate her out, Elena wasn’t looking at him. She was looking at me. She had my hand trapped in hers and dug her nails into me and held my gaze, and I understood that I wasn’t the one who was superfluous. I was the center. All of it existed because I was watching.

—He’s eating my cunt, Diego —she said, voice breaking—. He’s eating me all the way. Don’t just stand there. I want you here.

I knelt down too. I kissed her mouth while he kept going below, licking her clit with watchmaker patience, sliding his tongue back into her cunt and rising again. She panted into my kiss, and I could feel her pleasure on my own lips. I yanked the straps of her dress down and freed her tits. I sucked them one after the other, her nipples hard as stones between my teeth, while she pulled my hair. We divided up her body without agreeing to it, as if it were the most natural thing in the world: me in her mouth, her neck, her tits; him between her legs, eating her cunt like a condemned man. Elena laughed and moaned at the same time, one hand on my nape and the other in Marcelo’s hair, ruling the two of us.

—I’m going to come —she warned suddenly—. Diego, don’t stop. Marcelo, keep going, keep going, don’t stop…

She came in his mouth with her teeth dug into my shoulder. I felt her whole body shake, her thighs squeezing Marcelo’s head, her broken breathing against my skin. When it was over, a weak, disbelieving laugh slipped out of her. Marcelo wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and smiled, still kneeling, his chin shining.

—To the bedroom —she said—. Both of you. Now.

We took her to the bedroom. Between the two of us we stripped off what was left of her dress and laid her on the bed. We undressed in front of her. Marcelo was hard, long, curving slightly upward, and Elena licked her lips at the sight. I undressed more slowly, knowing mine was the cock she knew by heart, and seeing it next to another’s drove her wild.

—I want both —she said—. Both in my mouth.

We moved to the bed. Elena knelt at the edge of the mattress and took one cock in each hand. She started with mine. She took it down her throat, with that way she has of sucking while looking you in the eyes, and I held her hair back from her face so he could see too. Then she let mine go and moved to his. She sucked it just as slowly, with her tongue, from tip to base, then alternated: mine and his, his and mine, then a while with both together against her lips, licking both of us at once with her tongue flat. Saliva ran down her chin and she didn’t wipe it away.

—Fuck me —she told him, my cock still in her hand—. Fuck me while I suck him off.

Marcelo went around the bed. He put a hand on her hip, got behind her, and slid into her slowly, watching her ass open around his cock. Elena let out a long moan with mine in her mouth. I felt every thrust of his in the way she moved, shoved against my groin. Marcelo fucked her at an easy pace, without hurry, looking me in the eyes over my wife’s body, as if he were asking permission and thanking me at the same time.

There was a moment when she was on top of him, facing away, riding him, and I was holding her by the waist from behind. Marcelo gripped her ass and lifted her up and down on his cock, and I watched him slide in and out of her from up close, shiny with her. I took her clit between my fingers and rubbed it to the rhythm of his thrusts. Elena started moaning uncontrollably.

—Again —she said—. I’m coming again, fuck, don’t stop…

Her whole body tightened. I felt her clench around his cock inside, and he cursed under his breath.

We changed again. We put her on her side on the bed, one leg raised. I lay behind her and slid my cock in slowly, entering the same place he’d just left hot. She shuddered when she felt me. Marcelo knelt in front, offering himself to her mouth, and she took him like she’d been waiting all night. I fucked her from behind while he fucked her mouth from the front. I heard her say my name between thrusts, and his, and then stop saying names. I felt Marcelo tense. He warned her with a short word and she nodded without taking him out of her mouth. He came on her tongue, and she swallowed as much as she could while a thread of cum ran from the corner of her mouth.

Watching her swallow another man’s load with my cock inside her undid me. I gripped her hips with both hands and fucked her harder, and she came a third time, howling, clinging to both of us, and from the way she went still I knew she had gone farther than any other night. I came inside her with Marcelo’s hand resting on her hip beside mine.

***

Marcelo dressed while it was still dark. He was discreet to the end, that had always been his virtue. At the door he shook my hand again, with the same firmness, and said two words I hadn’t expected: “Thank you, Diego.” As if I had been the guest. As if he understood that I was the one letting him in.

I went back to bed. Elena was awake, on her side, with that afterglow of hers. Her thighs still shining with all three of us, the sheet stuck to her ass, smiling. I rested my head on her shoulder.

—How are you? —she asked.

—Good. Better than good.

—Don’t you feel weird?

—I feel like you when you come home from a dinner —I said—. Like telling you about it.

She laughed and curled up against me. She found my cock with her hand under the sheets, still soft, and stroked it without hurry.

—Then tell me —she murmured—. Tell me what you felt when you saw me with his cock in my mouth. Tell me what you felt when he put it in me from behind while I was sucking you off.

And I told her. Slowly, the way she had taught me, leaving out no detail, while she made me hard again with her hand and climbed on top of me. She took my cock back inside herself, the same cock she had just shared with another man, and fucked me again while listening to me describe it. Because the best part of all of it, I discovered that dawn, wasn’t having been in bed. It was talking about it afterward, the two of us wrapped around each other, knowing I would never again be alone on the other side of the door.