The Night My Wife Gave Me to Another Woman

My name is Marcos, and I’ve been married to Carla for twenty-two years. I’m saying that right up front because without that detail, what happened that night means nothing. Two decades are a lot of identical nights, a lot of indistinguishable Fridays, a lot of sex you already know by heart before it begins. We didn’t get along badly. Quite the opposite. That was precisely the problem: we got along too well, and comfort had devoured desire without either of us realizing it.

First came the magazines. Then the occasional toy we bought half as a joke. And one day, almost without discussing it, we started reading forums for the liberal lifestyle at two in the morning, the light from our phones illuminating our faces. We fantasized in low voices, like two teenagers. We imagined another couple in our bedroom and laughed, but the laughter soon faded and we ended up reaching for each other with an urgency we hadn’t felt in years.

“What if we actually did it?” she asked one night, turning her back to me.

“Did what?” I replied, even though I knew perfectly well.

I knew, and my mouth went dry.

We joined a chat network for couples more out of curiosity than anything else. I’m dark-haired and slim, and at forty-eight I still take care of myself. Carla is blonde, with a terrific figure and a dirty look that comes naturally whenever she gets turned on. We posted a couple of discreet photos and started talking to people. Most of them did nothing for us. Until they appeared.

They called themselves Lorena and Andrés. Our age, from our city, with plenty of experience in this and a way of writing that drew you in: direct without being crude, funny, without the anxiety beginners have. Andrés was dark-haired, somewhat shorter than me, with an ordinary appearance. Lorena, judging by the photos, was something else. Brunette, smiling, with a body that didn’t seem real.

We talked every night. About sex, experiences, what we liked and what we didn’t. The naked pictures arrived, ours and theirs, and with every exchange things went up another notch. I saw Lorena naked for the first time early on a Wednesday morning: large tits with dark nipples, a closely shaved pussy, thick thighs spread open in front of the mirror. Carla, lying beside me, was stroking me over my trousers while she looked with me. They received their share too: photos of Carla on her knees sucking my cock, my cum running down her chin, and another of her open ass with two of my fingers buried deep inside. Inevitably, sooner or later someone was going to suggest meeting. Lorena did, as she did with almost everything.

“Dinner,” she wrote. “No pressure. If there’s chemistry, great. If not, at least we’ll have had a good meal.”

That sentence took away our fear. Or almost.

***

The days beforehand were a nervous wreck. Carla changed her mind four times. One morning she was determined, and that afternoon she would tell me it was madness, that we were too old for this, that there was no need. I let her talk. I knew we’d go in the end, because curiosity had already bitten us, and there’s no coming back from that.

Before we left, she gave me one condition, looking very serious as she put on her lipstick.

“If I don’t like him, nothing happens. I decide. Deal?”

“Deal,” I said.

We got dressed up like we hadn’t in years. I shaved myself and put on a cologne she adored. Carla chose a silk blouse, tight-fitting trousers, and underneath, a nearly transparent black thong she’d bought for the occasion. When she showed it to me, lifting her blouse a little with a mischievous little-girl smile, I almost suggested we stay home, throw her onto the bed, tear that thong off with my teeth, and fuck her until she forgot all about dinner.

They had chosen the restaurant. We arrived five minutes late on purpose, so we wouldn’t seem eager, and there they were. In person, Lorena was even better than in the photos. She was wearing a loose dress, no bra, and breasts that revealed themselves as perfect whenever she moved, her nipples pressing against the fabric whenever she took a deep breath. Andrés stood to greet us with a calm smile that disarmed me.

Dinner was much easier than we’d feared. We laughed, told stupid stories, and drank just enough wine for it to go to our heads. Little by little, the conversation grew more intimate, like someone slowly loosening a knot. A hand on an arm. A knee brushing another beneath the table. Carla was radiant, though more restrained than Lorena, who played without trying to hide it: at one point she ran her tongue over her lips while staring straight at me and sucking on an olive, and I felt my cock hardening beneath the tablecloth.

In the middle of dinner, I got up to go to the bathroom. Lorena immediately rose as well.

“Wait, I’ll come with you,” she said, as if it were the most normal thing in the world.

We went down the stairs toward the restrooms together. On the last step, where nobody could see us, she pushed me against the wall and kissed me. It wasn’t a polite kiss. It was long and deep, her tongue thrusting to the back of my mouth and one hand going straight to my crotch. She squeezed my cock through my trousers without the slightest hesitation, weighed it in her hand, smiled when she felt how hard it already was, and kissed me again, biting my lip.

“Well, well,” she whispered against my mouth. “That’s quite a package you’ve got.”

She slid her hand beneath my shirt, dug her nails into my chest, and squeezed my dick again, wrapping her fingers tightly around it. I took the opportunity to run my hand beneath her dress: she wasn’t wearing panties, and her pussy was hot, wet, and swollen. I thrust one whole finger inside in a single motion, and she let out a hoarse moan against my neck.

“Not here,” she panted, pulling away with effort. “Not yet, you bastard.”

When she let go of me, she went into the women’s bathroom without saying a word, leaving me standing there with my finger shining from her wetness and my cock hard as a rock inside my trousers.

I waited for her. When she came out, she took my hand, opened it, and put something inside. It was her thong. It was soaked, heavy with moisture, the fabric at the center almost transparent with her juices.

“In case you want to smell what you’re going to eat later,” she whispered, winking at me before going back upstairs as if nothing had happened.

I returned to the table, trying not to let the bulge in my trousers show, but nothing gets past Carla.

***

We asked for the check, and as we were getting up, Andrés made the suggestion we’d both been waiting for.

“A drink to finish the night? We know a quiet place outside the city.”

“What kind of place?” I asked.

“A club. Lifestyle. You know what I mean.”

We said yes. But as soon as Carla and I got into our car, she grabbed my arm before I could start the engine.

“Listen to me,” she said, and I could tell she was serious. “You like her, it shows. If you want, fuck her—you have a free pass. But not me with him. He hasn’t quite done it for me. I’ll keep him entertained, distract him, and you go do your thing.”

I didn’t entirely like the arrangement. There was something about it that felt like a consolation prize, as though I were being given permission to do something that left my wife out. I almost turned around and sent them a message saying the night had become complicated. But I started the car. And I followed theirs along a dark road until we reached a gate.

The club was a secluded chalet with no sign out front. To get in, you had to say a password into the intercom. Andrés said it, and the door opened by itself. Inside, it was a pub-like place: low sofas arranged in private areas, warm lighting, a huge hot tub at the back sending up steam, and several doors leading to closed rooms. Good music played, neither too loud nor too soft. Other couples were busy with their own affairs, unhurried, paying no attention to anyone. On one sofa, a woman of about fifty was riding a gray-haired man’s cock without the slightest attempt at discretion; her tits were bare and her nipples bounced with every downward thrust. It wasn’t anything spectacular, but there was something about it that put the body on alert.

We sat in crossed pairs: me with Lorena, Carla with Andrés. And from there, everything happened fast.

I was already hot from the restaurant, with her thong still in my pocket, so no preamble was necessary. Lorena straddled me and began kissing me while rubbing her naked pussy against the bulge in my trousers. I lifted her dress to her waist and grabbed her ass with both hands, spreading and squeezing it. She took my right hand and guided it between her legs, leading my fingers to her open pussy. She was shaved, wet, burning. I thrust two fingers inside at once and began fucking her with them while searching for her clitoris with my thumb. Lorena bit my neck, moaned against my ear, and every time I hit the right spot she dug her nails into my back.

“Yes, like that, you bastard, don’t stop,” she growled. “Get them all the way in.”

From the corner of my eye, I could see Carla. Andrés was brushing her nipples through her silk blouse, and her eyes were closed, her head thrown back. I knew her well enough to realize it wasn’t an act. She was letting herself go more than she’d planned in the car, and seeing it, far from bothering me, pushed me over the edge.

Lorena unbuttoned my trousers, pulled out my cock, and bent over me. She put the tip in her mouth and slowly lowered herself, swallowing it whole until I felt her nose pressed against my belly. She sucked me hungrily, without hurry, pulling me out with a wet sound to lick my balls one by one before swallowing me down to her throat again. Every time she rose to the tip, she twisted her tongue around the head, making me arch on the sofa. From time to time she looked up at me, my dick filling her mouth and her eyes shining, enjoying having me at her mercy. I held the back of her head and let her set the pace, because anything she did felt right. At one point she pulled me out, spat into her palm, and began stroking me while licking my balls with the flat of her tongue.

“What a delicious cock you have, fuck,” she murmured. “I’m going to eat the whole thing.”

Across the private area, Andrés tried to get his hand into Carla’s trousers, but their tight fit made it difficult. And then what I hadn’t expected happened. My wife, the same woman who half an hour earlier had sworn she wanted nothing to do with him, lifted herself slightly and unfastened her trousers for him. She didn’t say yes with her mouth. She said it with that gesture. Andrés slipped his hand inside her panties, and from the way Carla’s mouth fell open, I knew he had just pushed his fingers all the way inside. She bit at the air, squeezed her thighs around his hand, and I, with Lorena swallowing my cock, couldn’t stop watching her.

***

It was Lorena who brought order to the chaos. She pulled away from my cock with a wet smack, wiped her lips with the back of her hand, and looked at me.

“Let’s go to a room,” she said, standing and tugging at my hand. “There are too many people here, and I want you to fuck me properly.”

We went into one of the private rooms with a bed and closed the door. She pulled her dress over her head in one motion and stood naked before me: her large breasts hanging naturally, dark nipples hard, her shaved pussy glistening between her thighs. She tore off my shirt and finished pulling down my trousers while devouring my mouth. She pushed me onto the bed, knelt between my legs, and began eating my cock again, this time with more fury, taking it out to the tip and swallowing it whole again. She spat saliva over my dick, spread it with her hand, and slapped her cheeks with it.

“Come here,” I said, pulling her upward. “Sit on my face.”

She straddled my mouth without hesitation, her knees on either side of my head, and lowered her pussy until she crushed it against my lips. I plunged my tongue inside her, thrusting it in and out like a little cock, and sucked her clitoris until her thighs began to tremble. She tasted like a female in heat. She held onto the headboard and rode my face, rubbing herself against my mouth without the slightest shame.

“Eat me, eat me all up,” she panted. “Don’t stop, fuck, I’m going to come, I’m going to come in your fucking mouth.”

And she came. She came while squeezing my head between her thighs, in a long shudder that ran through her entire back, while I kept licking her swollen clitoris without letting her go. When the worst of it passed, she collapsed to one side, laughing, her chest rising and falling.

She gave me no respite. She pushed me onto my back, climbed on top of me, gripped my cock in one hand, and sank down onto it in a single motion. I felt her burning pussy swallow me whole, tight and throbbing around my dick. She began riding me hard, bouncing in a way that made her tits bob in front of my face. I sat up just enough to catch one nipple in my mouth, sucking and biting it, while digging my fingers into her ass to set the rhythm. She squeezed her pussy around my cock with every downward thrust, as if she were milking me.

“You fuck so well, you bastard, you take me so well,” she moaned. “Break me, break my pussy.”

I threw her onto her back on the mattress, spread her legs wide, and got between them. I lifted her knees until they were against her shoulders and buried myself in her pussy again with one hard thrust. I began fucking her brutally, without mercy, listening to the wet sound of my balls slapping her ass with every thrust. She clutched the sheets, arched her back, and shouted curses that must have been audible on the other side of the door.

“Turn me over,” she begged, panting. “Fuck me from behind.”

She got onto all fours on the bed, her ass raised and her head resting on the pillow. The sight was brutal: her round ass lifted toward me, her pussy and asshole exposed, everything glistening with her juices and my saliva. I positioned myself behind her, guided my cock with my hand, and sank it all the way inside again. I grabbed her hips and began pounding her at a savage pace, making her ass bounce against my belly. Every blow drew a moan louder than the last. I ran one hand through her hair, grabbed a lock, and tugged it gently. With the other, I slapped her buttock, and she pressed herself even harder against my cock.

“Harder, don’t be a fag,” she panted. “Fuck me like you hate me.”

I slapped her again, harder, and watched the red mark of my hand appear on her pale flesh. I moistened one finger with her own juices and rested it against her asshole, pressing slowly until I pushed it in to the knuckle. She let out a howl and began moving against me like a madwoman, coming again with my cock inside her and my finger in her ass, squeezing me so tightly from within that I almost came right there.

I held on as best I could. I pulled out, turned her onto her back, spread her legs, and pushed myself inside again while looking into her eyes. I sucked one breast, then the other, while continuing to fuck her. I couldn’t take any more. I warned her with a growl, and she understood immediately: she pushed me away, dropped to her knees on the floor between my legs, took my cock into her mouth, and sucked me hungrily for the last few seconds. I came in thick spurts in her mouth, long and trembling all over, gripping the back of her head. She didn’t let a drop escape: she swallowed everything, licked what remained from her lips, and looked up at me with the satisfied smile of a slut.

I collapsed onto the bed, breathless, my legs still trembling. Lorena climbed up beside me, draped one leg over mine, and stayed there, playing with the hair on my chest as if we’d known each other all our lives.

What happened afterward doesn’t have an orderly account, because there wasn’t one. There were more hands, more mouths, another entire round that began slowly and ended with her riding me again, until we completely lost any sense of time and place. At some point I stopped thinking about Carla, the car, the conditions. There were only her and me, sweat, and broken breathing against the pillow.

When we left the room, the night had completely fallen apart. We’d gone in at midnight, and it was already five in the morning. Carla was sitting on one of the sofas, disheveled, her blouse half open and revealing a reddened nipple, wearing a smile I hadn’t seen in a long time. Her lips were swollen from kissing, and the mark of fingers was still visible on her thigh. No explanations were needed. We looked at each other, and we both knew that something had broken, but in a good way.

We ended the night with all four of us in the hot tub, no sex anymore, just hot water, tired skin, and soft early-morning laughter. Lorena’s head rested on Carla’s shoulder, and my wife’s hand idly caressed one of her breasts beneath the water, as though playing with something that no longer frightened her. Andrés handed me a drink. And in that moment, with the steam rising, I thought that this hadn’t been an ending, but the beginning of something.

That was how we entered the world of swinging: with no preparation, no patience, from one day to the next. We arrived and lit the fuse. We kept meeting that first couple for years, until we truly became friends, almost family. We still see each other today, although for some time now whatever happens between us stays among the four of us. But that, as they say, is another story.