Three Strangers and a Vibrator That Set Everything Off

The music at El Faro that night was far too good to stay still for. Clara knew it the moment she walked in, in her tight blue dress and with that secret beneath the fabric that only Marcos and she knew about: a small silicone egg tucked deep inside her cunt, pressed against her wet walls, connected to her husband’s phone, waiting for a command.

Marcos chose a table at the back of the place, far from the dance floor but with a direct line of sight. He had ordered two beers he didn’t intend to finish. What he wanted to see was priceless.

Clara moved toward the speakers as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Cumbia, salsa, the rhythms blended together and she took them into her body. The men noticed her. They always did. Marcos lifted his beer and waited.

Then Bruno arrived.

Marcos had known him for weeks. He had seen him at the bar the first time they went together, followed him on social media, and one afternoon had sat down with him for coffee. The conversation had gone straight to the point.

—My wife and I have an arrangement —Marcos told him, looking him straight in the eye—. She likes being devoured with the eyes and with everything else. I like watching someone else fuck her. Tonight I want you to take her dancing, show her you want her, and if she agrees to go on, we all keep going at home together: you with your cock inside her, me watching.

Bruno was tall, broad-shouldered, with short dark hair and a jaw that looked carved out of stone. The kind of guy Clara would notice from the other side of the dance floor. Marcos had mentally filed him as a candidate from the start.

—Tell me more —Bruno had said, and Marcos knew the night would go well.

Now Bruno had Clara by the waist with that confidence of his, moving behind her to the beat of a merengue that was speeding up. Marcos took out his phone. Medium vibration. Clara arched forward a centimeter, her lower lip between her teeth, eyes half-lidded. Bruno noticed the tremor in her back and pulled her a little tighter, his pelvis pressed to her ass, and Clara felt perfectly the hard bulge that was digging between her cheeks through the fabric of the dress.

—You’re so hot tonight —he whispered in her ear—. Your cunt’s wet, isn’t it? You can tell by the way you move.

Clara didn’t answer with words. She just turned her head, smiled sideways, and lowered a hand to squeeze his cock over his pants, as if to say look who’s talking. Bruno let out a rough laugh against her neck.

Marcos turned the vibrator up for a few seconds. From his table he saw Clara’s knees give way for a moment, saw her lean on Bruno so she wouldn’t trip, saw her nipple hardening against the blue dress. The guy reacted well: he held her, didn’t ask, kept dancing, taking the moment to slide a hand up her thigh beneath the hem of the dress. Discreet. That was what Marcos was after.

They danced three more songs. Marcos alternated between low vibration and short pulses of high intensity, calibrating Clara’s response from afar, relearning her body from that strange and exciting angle of watching her while no one knew she was his. On one turn he saw Bruno bite her earlobe and say something, and Clara nod with her eyes closed, her mouth parted.

After the fourth song, Marcos sent a message in the three-way chat: “We’re leaving. Ten minutes.”

***

The apartment was silent when they arrived. Clara turned on only the lamp in the corner. Marcos opened a bottle of wine no one was going to drink and sat in the armchair facing the sofa, as if he were about to watch a movie.

—Make her wait a little —he told Bruno in a low voice—. Get her desperate before you put your cock in her.

Bruno looked at her. Clara was standing in the middle of the living room, still wearing the blue dress, her arms crossed with that mix of nerves and anticipation Marcos knew by heart. Bruno came closer slowly. He moved her hair away from her neck with one finger and kissed her there, softly, while his other hand slid up her hip until he found a breast over the fabric and squeezed it without hurry.

They had her.

He lowered the zipper of the dress centimeter by centimeter, kissing each part of her back as it was exposed. Clara was breathing with her mouth open. When the dress fell to the floor, Bruno turned her and looked her up and down without rushing: tits out, nipples hard as stones, the only garment left on her was a black thong soaked from so much vibrating egg and so much grinding on the dance floor.

—Your husband’s right —he murmured—. Hard not to look at you. And even harder not to fuck you right here.

He hooked his thumbs into the thong and pulled it down her legs to her ankles. The egg fell to the floor with a wet sound. Clara stood naked in the middle of the living room, her shaved cunt shining under the lamp, her thighs slick. Bruno dropped to his knees without saying a word and spread her legs with his hands.

The first lick was long and flat, from her perineum to her clit. Clara let out a short cry and dug her nails into his hair. Bruno laughed against her cunt and licked again, this time slower, teasing the tongue around her swollen clit, then slipping it deep inside her. Marcos settled into the armchair without taking his eyes off them. He was already hard against the fly of his pants.

—There, there, don’t stop —Clara gasped, her legs trembling—. Lick me, lick me good.

Bruno slid two fingers into her cunt while still sucking her clit, and Clara started moving against his face, riding his mouth standing up in the living room, hair tousled, tits bouncing. When she was about to come, Bruno pulled away abruptly and stood up. Clara whimpered in frustration.

—To the bed —he said, and lifted her into his arms.

He carried her into the bedroom and threw her onto the mattress. Marcos dragged a chair to the doorway and sat down, unzipped his pants, took out his cock, and started jerking off slowly, setting the rhythm with what he was seeing. Bruno stripped standing up, unhurried, and when he dropped his boxer briefs Clara licked her lips without realizing it: he had it thick, long, curved upward, the veins standing out.

—Come here —she told him, sitting on the edge of the bed.

She grabbed his cock with both hands and took it into her mouth halfway. Bruno growled and put a hand on the back of her neck. Clara sucked hungrily, up and down, stuck her tongue out to lick his balls, took him in again until the tip hit the back of her throat and her eyes filled with tears. Marcos saw everything from the doorway, his cock in his hand, his heart pounding in his temples.

—Fuck her already —Marcos said hoarsely—. Don’t make her wait any longer.

Bruno pushed her back onto the bed, opened her legs with his knees, and placed the tip of his cock at the entrance to her cunt. He slid into her slowly, centimeter by centimeter, until he was all the way in. Clara arched her back and let out a long sound that was neither a moan nor a scream but something in between. The rhythm built itself: slow at first, deep, his hips turning to find the angle that made Clara’s eyes go blank toward the ceiling.

—Look at me —she asked Marcos at some point, without letting go of Bruno’s shoulders—. Watch him fuck me.

He watched her. He did nothing else. And he jerked off watching her, his cock shining with spit and pre-cum, seeing Bruno’s cock going in and out of his wife’s cunt, covered in her juices, thicker than his own.

They changed positions several times. Her on top, riding him with her hands on his chest, her tits bouncing with every drop, her ass slapping against Bruno’s thighs with a wet rhythmic sound. On her side, one leg lifted over his shoulder, the pace slower and steadier, each thrust reaching deep. On her back, with her head hanging off the edge of the bed while Bruno fucked her standing and she called his name through clenched teeth, her throat offered, her tits pointed at the ceiling.

—Face down —Bruno ordered at one point, and turned her himself.

He put her on all fours, grabbed her hair with one hand and her hips with the other, and started fucking her from behind hard, his pelvis slamming into her ass with a flesh-on-flesh sound that filled the room. Clara buried her face in the pillow and screamed into it, muffled, while Bruno landed a sharp slap on her ass, leaving the red mark of his hand.

—That’s it, that’s it, harder —Clara gasped with her mouth against the sheet—. Break me, fuck me like a whore.

Marcos came over when Clara reached for him with an outstretched hand, and gave her what she was asking for without a word. She grabbed his cock and took it into her mouth from that odd angle, sucking him while Bruno fucked her cunt from behind. Marcos held her head and started fucking her mouth with short thrusts, feeling her tongue, her palate, her throat when she relaxed it. He became part of the scene without interrupting it. They had talked about that too before.

Clara’s orgasm came without warning. A long, sustained spasm that made her clamp the sheets with both fists and curve her back inward. Her cunt tightened around Bruno’s cock and he let out a grunt, stopped moving for a second so he wouldn’t come yet, and then thrust again slower, holding out. Marcos felt Clara’s mouth vibrating in moans around his cock and nearly came right there.

Bruno finished shortly after. He pulled out of her cunt, grabbed her ass with both hands, and shot his load all over her lower back and the crack of her ass, thick hot ropes that slid down and gathered in the curve of her waist. Marcos held out a few seconds longer, took his cock out of Clara’s mouth, and shot his load onto her face: on her cheek, on her lips, on her chin. Clara stuck out her tongue and caught what reached her mouth, swallowing without taking her eyes off him.

The three of them stayed in bed in silence until their breathing returned to normal. Clara with semen running down her cheeks and back, smiling without opening her eyes.

—Next time —Clara said, looking at the ceiling— I want you to bring someone else. I want two cocks at once.

Marcos kissed her temple. Bruno gave a low laugh, the kind that comes from the chest.

—We’ll see —Marcos said, but he was already thinking about who to call.

***

Three weeks later, Bruno arrived at El Faro with Diego.

Marcos had met him by video call two days earlier. Diego was in his thirties, brown-skinned, the build of someone who never skips training sessions. Calm. Self-assured without needing to prove it. When Marcos explained the plan —that he was going to fuck his wife with Bruno at the same time, that one would go in her cunt and the other in her ass, that he would watch from the armchair— Diego didn’t ask awkward questions. He just nodded and asked when.

Clara didn’t know there would be two. That was part of the plan.

Marcos watched her walk into the bar in her red dress, the same ritual as always: her on the dance floor, him at the table, the phone in his hand. The vibrator was already in place, deep inside her cunt. Bruno and Diego arrived ten minutes later.

Bruno went first. Clara recognized him, relaxed, let herself be led. An easy merengue between the two of them, bodies pressed together, Bruno’s hand going straight to her ass with no pretense of hiding it. Marcos pulsed low vibration and watched her bite her lip, already familiar with the sensation, already knowing how to let herself get wet without losing her footing.

Then Bruno handed her off to Diego without saying anything, as if it were the most natural thing. Diego danced well, close to her, his hands firm on her waist, then sliding down to her hips, pressing her against his body so she could feel his hard cock against her belly. Clara looked him in the eyes and something in her expression changed: surprise, then curiosity, then something more. Marcos turned the intensity up. She rested one hand on Diego’s shoulder to steady herself, and he held her without asking, as if he knew exactly why her legs were giving out.

—Your husband’s watching you from that table —Diego whispered in her ear—. And tonight we’re both going to fuck you. Do you like the idea?

—I know —Clara replied, not taking her eyes off Diego’s, and felt her cunt tighten around the vibrating egg—. I love it.

The dance lasted an hour. Marcos alternated between the two men with the vibrator, learning when Clara needed more and when she needed to breathe. It was a game of three that she couldn’t quite control, and that was exactly what they both wanted.

When Marcos sent the message to leave, Clara was ready. In the taxi she sat between Bruno and Diego, the three of them silent, with that electric tension that didn’t need words to exist. Bruno slipped a hand beneath her dress and found her soaked cunt. Diego squeezed one of her tits over the fabric from the other side. Clara closed her eyes and let them do it, while the driver kept glancing at them in the rearview mirror and accelerating.

***

At home, Marcos returned to his armchair. This time he gave no instructions. Bruno and Diego knew what they were doing.

They undressed her slowly, one from behind and one from the front, without rushing. Bruno kissed her neck while Diego knelt in front of her, his hands tracing her thighs upward until he found her cunt and parted it with his thumbs. Clara had her eyes closed and was breathing through her mouth, arms at her sides, surrendered to their rhythm.

Diego started licking her clit standing up, his face buried between her legs, while Bruno squeezed her breasts from behind and bit her shoulder. Clara moaned loudly, threw her head back against Bruno’s chest, and grabbed Diego by the nape so he wouldn’t stop eating her cunt.

They took her to the bed.

Diego lay on his back and Clara climbed on top of him, grabbed his cock and drove it into her cunt in one single drop. She screamed when she felt it all the way inside. She started riding him with her hands on his chest, going up and down, her ass hitting his thighs. Bruno positioned himself behind her, kneeling on the bed, and spit on his fingers to start playing with her asshole, first one and then two, opening her patiently while Diego kept thrusting into her from below.

—You’ll take two, right? —Bruno whispered in her ear—. One in the cunt and mine in the ass.

—Yes —Clara gasped, leaning forward over Diego to leave her ass fully exposed—. Yes, do it, put it in me.

Marcos watched from the chair, cock in hand, not taking his eyes off them. He saw Bruno slick up his dick with lube, saw him place it at Clara’s asshole, saw him push in little by little. Clara buried her face in Diego’s neck and let out a long, guttural moan while Bruno penetrated her other hole centimeter by centimeter until he was all the way in.

The two of them stayed still for a second, inside her to the balls, letting her feel them. Then they started moving. Diego thrust from below, Bruno from behind, alternating the rhythm so they wouldn’t collide, finding a cadence that filled the room with moans and with that wet sound of two cocks working the same body.

—More —Clara said at some point, without specifying more of what exactly. They both understood.

They sped up. Bruno grabbed her hair with one hand and pushed her hip with the other, fucking her ass with harder and harder thrusts. Diego squeezed her tits and looked her in the face, watched her die between the two of them, smiling. Clara no longer controlled anything that came out of her mouth: moans, screams, loose words, thank yous, more, holy shit, don’t stop, fuck me, break me, more.

The sound in the room changed. The breaths became shorter, the movements more synchronized. Marcos gripped the armrests of the chair with both hands, his cock dripping pre-cum onto his pants, holding on so he wouldn’t come too soon.

Clara came first, an orgasm that bent her forward with her hands on Diego’s chest, trembling, repeating something under her breath that no one managed to understand clearly. Both holes clenched at the same time, and both men let out a nearly coordinated groan as they felt her squeeze them.

Bruno pulled out of her ass, stood by her face, and shot his load into her open mouth and on her tits. Diego kept fucking her cunt from below a few seconds longer, gripping her hips hard, until he pulled out and shot his on her belly and navel, thick ropes that mixed with Bruno’s.

Marcos stood up from the armchair in silence and walked to the bed. He took off his clothes. Clara, covered in other men’s semen, her legs still open, opened her arms to him and he slid inside. He sank into his wife’s cunt, still hot and slippery, and didn’t last more than a minute: he came inside her with his mouth pressed to hers, swallowing her moans.

—Was it good? —she asked against his neck afterward.

—It was perfect —Marcos said.

Bruno and Diego showered, dressed unhurriedly, and said goodbye at the door. No drama. No awkwardness. The night had been what it was supposed to be and nothing more.

Clara and Marcos stayed alone in bed, the sheets rumpled and stained, the quiet silence after. Outside, the city kept going on as before. Inside, something had shifted in a way neither of them could fully name, but which they both liked.

—Next time I choose the two of them —Clara said, already half asleep, Marcos’s hand between her legs.

Marcos smiled in the dark.

—Deal —he answered.