The Weekend I Stopped Being My Husband’s

Lorenzo looks at Mariana and likes what he sees. The dress is an off-white, sleeveless, backless thing with a low neckline that hints at the curve of her bronzed breasts. She is a woman in full bloom, lush, leaning happily on the man’s arm so he can feel the firmness of her breasts against the fabric. She knows exactly what she’s doing.

They stroll through the tapas bar district of Salamanca, with the temperature finally bearable after a sweltering day. Mariana left the hotel in denim shorts and a T-shirt, the tiniest thong underneath and the vibrating egg fitted where he had ordered it. Lorenzo chose every item that afternoon, and as they crossed the threshold he demanded that she insert the device before setting foot in the street.

He seduced her the day he met her, when he saw her come without any attempt at concealment on a café terrace. She struck him as a woman burning for pleasure, blazing without shame. That was why, months earlier, he had accepted the videos his friend sent him during the lockdown of the pandemic, and why he had proposed a partner swap for an entire weekend. He liked seeing her have orgasms. He liked controlling them even more.

He is amused by the way Mariana plays at being cultured when they walk among the old buildings of golden stone, reciting dates and names while the vibrating egg toys with her from within. It was during that walk that he saw the dress in a shop window. Lorenzo ordered her to go in and buy it. She understood at once that he wanted to put her on display, and she barely had time to pull the fitting-room curtain shut. The sales assistants saw her almost naked, with only the thong on. Mariana was amused to notice her spectators’ excitement, to play with the desire she awakened. They left the shop with the dress on.

She’s hot, and she knows it. She isn’t tall, but she has an ass just the right size to fit an open palm, firm, and breasts that stand proud, with those long nipples that show through the fabric. Every inch of her quivers when she moves, a mix of hunger and naughtiness that drives him wild.

He presses her against his body and kisses her in public, possessive, not hiding. The men at the bar follow her with their eyes, imagining what it would be like to have her. Lorenzo whispers in her ear, halfway between tenderness and command.

—Mariana… now I’m going to turn it up higher so you can come.

—Whatever you say, my king —she answers, her gaze surrendered.

She takes her glass of wine, takes a slow sip, licks her lips, and waits. She needs it. She’s had the vibration playing inside her for far too long and can’t hold on any longer. She wants to come, and she wants him to see it. She knows the desire she stirs in the strangers at the bar feeds her new owner’s lust, because she has agreed to give herself to his whims. He has put a thin steel ring around her ankle and another around her neck, marking her, making it clear that she belongs to him. He wants it to be obvious that she is coming, without a scene, but that the storm sweeping through her is visible.

The vibration increases. She looks Lorenzo in the eye, feels the first wave, smiles in surrender, and begins to fall apart. She grips the bar with both hands, bites her lip, her breasts trembling with the current coursing through her body. She draws in air, pants, nearly moans, and reaches the end. She presses herself against her man and kisses him on the mouth.

—Thank you for setting me free.

Lorenzo feels powerful. He understands what she means: before she belonged to another man, and now, because she chose it, she belongs to him. Seeing how desirable she is, how the men in the bar devour her with their eyes, and the alcohol in his veins turn him into an animal. He wants to drag her back to the hotel and possess her without delay. But she, affectionate, kisses him again and speaks softly.

—We’ve got one more stop, and then we’re going to make love. I want you to make me yours.

At the next tavern they order prawns, which look good, and a cold white wine. Standing at the bar, she begins to eat slowly, savoring each piece, splitting the head open to suck out the juices and eating the whole body as if it were something even more suggestive. A sip, another prawn, unhurried, knowing that the man’s desire grows with every gesture. He only has to look at the bulge she’s creating in his trousers. He drinks and eats quickly, wanting to finish. Mariana says there aren’t prawns like these in her country and, without waiting for an answer, orders another serving just to prolong the wait.

While they bring it and refill their glasses, she kisses him. She presses her breasts against the man’s chest, toys with the ring on her neck, looks up at him from below so he’ll know she’s his female. She turns just enough to show almost an entire breast from the side of the dress. She wants to drive him mad, and the alcohol is turning him into a wolf while she plays prey. She lets him drink, keeps him company, eats almost all the prawns to stretch out the moment. More than one bottle has disappeared by the time they head back to the hotel, wrapped around each other like two lovers, though she can feel Lorenzo’s urgency in every stop they make to kiss.

***

When they enter the room, Mariana switches on the light and stands still, playing at waiting for orders.

—Take your clothes off.

Easy. She only has to loosen the tie at her waist and let the straps slide down for the dress to fall at her feet. She’s left naked on the platforms, with the thong, the neck ring, the ankle chain, and the vibrating egg still inside her.

—You look so good —he says as he strips, already hard.

—Lorenzo, my love… what do you want me to do? Suck you off or take out my little egg and let you fuck me? —she asks in her most insinuating voice.

—Get on your knees and suck me.

Mariana kneels. His cock stands hard in front of her face, long, too long. She takes it and starts to mouth it. The egg speeds up inside her and that makes her hotter. When she lets go of the fist guiding her, she realizes the true size. She should have kept holding the base. She has practiced, she has learned to swallow, but the vibration distracts her, pushes her toward orgasm, and on top of that she’s had a lot to drink. Feeling the tip touch her throat, she thinks she might vomit, and there’s nothing sexy about that with a man in your mouth.

She decides quickly. The instant Lorenzo lets go of her head and leans back, she catches the cock in her fist and, as if it were a game, pulls it from her mouth. She looks at him with submissive eyes and begins to slap her cheeks with it, slowly, provocatively.

—I can’t take it anymore… please.

Being freed from the fear of vomiting makes the orgasm hit her almost at once. She comes, gripping the sex that she’s kissing while rubbing it across her face.

—Look at you… you already came. Get up. You haven’t been good.

When Mariana stands, she sees in Lorenzo’s gaze a savage lust, a desire to possess her, to dominate her completely. She stays still, arms at her sides.

—My love… can I take out the vibrator?

—Yes. Suck it and clean it.

She lowers her panties, pulls it out soaked with her juices, and takes it into her mouth. She likes her own taste, that proof of how wet she was. She feels like a female in the hands of her male, who watches her with a faun’s smile.

Lorenzo takes a bag from the sex shop out of the wardrobe and from it a small box. He goes to Mariana and opens it. Inside are two steel earrings, two studs to match the choker and the ankle chain.

—Do you want me to put them on?

—Yes. On your nipples.

Mariana is stunned. She hadn’t expected that. When she saw them, she thought of earrings for the ears, not for her tits. But she has the holes. She remembers when she was a girl and got the piercing done for the first time, how you had to keep the channel open so it wouldn’t close up. The same thing happened with the nipple rings: they were a gift for her husband, which she would wear when she wanted to drive him crazy, though she got turned on doing it too. The thin wire slips through without resistance. What surprises her is that Lorenzo has discovered the hidden opening in her dark nipples. She always thought it wasn’t noticeable. She threads the ring through the left one, closes it, lets it hang. Repeats with the right. When she finishes, she looks for the man’s eyes. She sees madness, a filthy master’s desire. She understands that she has been marked, that she is his, a female he owns and is going to use. And she trembles. She is afraid, but it excites her, and she likes it.

—Lorenzo… —she says, and only his name.

The “my love” she reserves for frivolous moments. “Master” and any other formula of submission feels like cheap romance to her; she even uses it sometimes when she writes her own stories. That’s why she calls him by his name now. She wants him to understand that this is more than a game, that it is her surrender as a woman.

—Touch yourself.

Mariana has understood the morbid pleasure he feels watching her masturbate. And it turns her on too. She does it slowly, focusing on her clit while with the other hand she toys with the rings, which tug at two hard, elongated nipples. She is very hot. She wants him to take her. She needs him, and she asks for it.

—Please… Lorenzo… fuck me.

—You know what you are.

—Yes, I know… your woman, your female, your little slut. I know it… fuck me.

—Get into bitch position.

She does, on the bed, on all fours, like a mare waiting for the stallion. He says nothing. He positions himself behind her, brings his cock to the soaked sex, rests the tip, and pushes. He enters hard, very long, all the way to the deepest part. The wetness lets him slide in easily to the hilt, and Mariana feels filled with man.

She breathes deeply. A thick pleasure floods her, the sensation of walking toward some faraway place. She is surrendered to the Italian, to a man who is not her husband, but who perhaps for that very reason gives her a different kind of delight, the delight of starring in her own adventure. Lorenzo moves, thrusting in and out again and again. She enters the path to orgasm once more, more and more female, more possessed, and comes with a moan. He stops, bends to caress the nipples with the earrings, and tugs on them. Mariana feels a little pain and moans again. The man’s hands grip her hips and he resumes the rhythm. The wave comes again, and a cry lets him know she’s there. And he stops again.

—I can’t take any more —she begs.

Lorenzo pulls her by the hair, lifts her up with his cock still inside her, strokes her breasts, twists her nipples, plays with the rings. He licks her neck, nibbles at it. Mariana is wholly a lewd desire twisting on a journey with no bottom.

—What are you? —he asks.

—Your woman… your slut. I want your semen.

—You know you’re mine. Say it.

—I’m yours… Lorenzo.

She understands that she is another male’s female. Her husband gave her away, but now she has given herself to the Italian, not in a game, but in a marvelous madness where love and lust blur together.

He gently pushes her so she takes up the mare position again. He grips her hips and starts slowly, speeding up when he feels Mariana entering nirvana. Fast, deep, until he can’t hold back any longer and explodes, flooding the woman who is dissolving in pleasure with his semen.