We Were Only Going to Watch at That Swingers Club

They say that when you want something too badly, you run the risk of getting it. And then what? Are you ready to live with the consequences? It’s easy to play with fire when only you get burned. The real question comes when the person you love most steps into that game with you.

Andrés and Camila were not so different from any other young couple. They had been together for three years, since university, and had gone through everything people go through at that age: arguments, jealousy, midnight makeups, promises that don’t hold. For him, she had not been the first, but she was the only one who left a mark. For her, he had been everything. The first kiss, the first shiver, the first cock that opened her, the first time she came with a tongue between her legs.

The problem was not a fight or a betrayal. It was something quieter. Routine slipped in between them like a leak, and little by little it killed the fire. They no longer sought each other with the same urgency. The desire that once pushed them to tear off each other’s clothes in the hallway, to fuck standing up against the door before it was even closed, now arrived late, or not at all.

For Camila it was just a phase. Love was still there, she thought, even if the lust had lowered the blinds. Andrés didn’t see it that way. He had tasted hunger and did not know how to settle for tepid calm.

***

The crack appeared on an ordinary afternoon, inside the car, disguised as an innocent question.

—Camila… do you ever fantasize about other people? —he blurted out, looking straight ahead.

—What? —she frowned—. I don’t follow.

—It’s simple. Have you ever imagined yourself with someone else… like that? Fucking, sucking him off, letting yourself be taken.

—Are you serious?

—Not because you’re lacking anything. But we all do it at some point, don’t we?

—Well, I don’t. I’m with you. Why would I think about anyone else?

—I’m with you too, and I love you —he clarified—. But sometimes other images cross my mind. It doesn’t mean anything.

She looked at him with a mix of disbelief and disappointment.

—If I love you, I don’t desire anyone else.

—I don’t believe you —Andrés said, not reproachfully, but with a conviction that hurt—. I’m sure you hide some fantasy.

—And if I do, it’ll stay mine. Not everything gets told.

Shut the fuck up already, he thought. And he didn’t shut up.

—I’d like to try. —As soon as he said it, he knew he had struck a lit match without knowing where it would land.

Camila looked at him in silence for one eternal second.

—Are you telling me you’d like to fuck other women?

—When you put it like that, it sounds bad.

—And how do you want me to say it? —her voice trembled, and he would have sworn her eyes filled with something about to break—. The only thing I understand is that you don’t want me anymore. Or worse, that you don’t love me anymore.

—That’s not it. It has nothing to do with that.

—Of course it does. If you want other women, it’s because I’m not enough anymore.

She slammed the car door and took much more than a conversation with her. She left behind a handful of unanswered questions.

***

During the following weeks he tried everything: messages, calls, voice notes that went unheard. Sometimes he saw her in the street and she crossed to the other sidewalk, as if he were already part of the urban furniture. Only when he thought he had lost her completely did he understand how much he had held in his hands.

Almost four weeks passed. And then, one afternoon, coming out of the library, he saw her. There she was, standing there in a white blouse and with an expression that said neither yes nor no. He froze in place. She took the first step.

There were no reproaches or “why.” Only a raw, necessary, urgent embrace. The body before reason, skin before answers. They ended up at his place without saying a word, stumbling down the hallway, biting each other’s lips as if they wanted to draw blood. Andrés yanked her blouse off; the buttons flew and rolled across the parquet. Camila dug her nails into his shoulders, slid his jeans down while he was already unfastening her bra, and within seconds they were both naked, skin burning, breath ragged.

He shoved her against the wall, spread her legs, and lowered his mouth to her already soaked pussy. He licked her lips with the flat of his tongue, slowly, savoring every fold, then attacked her clit with the tip, tracing circles, sucking it whole as if he meant to devour it. Camila clung to his hair, arched her hips against his face, and panted his name in broken gasps. He slipped two fingers inside her, searching for that spot he knew by heart, curling them upward while still sucking on her little button. She came within minutes, trembling, her legs giving out, with a hoarse cry that filled the whole apartment.

Andrés straightened up with his mouth shining with her wetness, lifted her in his arms and slammed her against the wall. Camila looped her legs around his waist and dropped a hand to grab his cock, hard and throbbing, guiding it to her entrance. He drove into her in one thrust, all the way to the hilt, and they both moaned at once. He started fucking her right there, standing up, with hard thrusts that made the framed picture by the entrance bang against the wall. He bit her neck, sucked her nipples, held her ass with both hands and lifted her up and down on his cock as if she weighed nothing.

—Harder, harder… —she begged in his ear—. Don’t stop, asshole, don’t stop.

He laid her on the hallway floor, on the rug, and climbed on top of her. He entered her again, this time slowly, pulling almost all the way out and driving back in to the hilt, enjoying the sight of her biting her lip and digging her heels into his back. He hooked one leg over his shoulder and sped up, hip against hip, feeling how Camila’s pussy tightened with every thrust. She came a second time, mouth open, silent, eyes rolling back.

Andrés turned her face down, set her on her knees, arched her back by pulling her hair, and took her from behind again, now brutally, the wet sound of her ass slapping against his belly filling the hallway. He gave her a slap, then another, watching the skin turn red. When he felt he was about to come, he yanked out, flipped her over again, and spilled in thick spurts over her belly, her tits, her chin. Camila, breathing raggedly, brought a finger to her chest and put a drop of semen in her mouth, staring straight at him. After that they held each other on the floor, sweaty, sticky, and never spoke of it again. Andrés kept quiet out of fear. He kept quiet because he had come close to losing the one thing he could not replace, and he chose to forget desire in order to stay with her.

***

It was Friday night. Exams were finally over and the idea was to celebrate with dinner downtown, with another couple of friends. But the plan fell apart at the last minute: the friends canceled and they ended up alone, wandering aimlessly through the busiest streets of the neighborhood, among neon lights and a crowd that seemed to float.

Andrés was absorbed in his phone, trying to navigate with the map, when Camila stopped dead. A girl dressed in a tight flight attendant uniform, much shorter and more provocative than usual, had approached her. She must have been around twenty-five, with a naughty expression, the practiced manner of someone who has repeated the same script a hundred times. Camila was smiling, surprised, with that gleam that appears in your eyes when something breaks the routine.

—What are you up to, you little idiot? —Andrés asked as he came closer, half amused, half wary.

Noticing his presence, the girl took a step back with a polite smile and disappeared as easily as she had appeared.

—They invited us to a place… different —Camila said, not quite managing to hide her nerves.

—What kind of place?

—I think the kind you like… —she laughed, like a girl who has just pulled a prank and still hasn’t decided whether to confess.

—Me? —he pretended to be surprised, though the lights at the entrance were already giving him a clue.

—Yes, you. Don’t play dumb. She invited us to a swinger club.

—She must have thought you’d be interested.

—She definitely saw the horny face you’re making and had no doubt left —she teased.

At another time, that comment would have put him on guard. But Camila’s tone was different. There was no reproach or sarcasm, more like an inside joke, a new game they still didn’t know whether they’d play.

—You know I don’t want anything that makes you uncomfortable —he replied, choosing every word.

—And did you ask me whether it makes me uncomfortable?

—I don’t need to. I know the answer.

—If you didn’t ask me, how can you know it? —she looked at him sideways, amused.

—You spent almost a month not speaking to me over a conversation like this —Andrés said, testing the edge.

—Maybe that month helped me think. Sometimes people change their minds.

He couldn’t tell whether she was sincere or testing him.

—Would you like to go in? —he asked at last, not wanting to pressure her.

She looked at him with a half smile.

—Just to watch… —she whispered, and in her voice there was something between complicity and vertigo.

Something inside him ignited at once, like a cable that had been tense for months.

—I don’t want you to do it for me.

—I’m not doing it for you. I’m curious. I want to know what these places are like.

It was her tone, calm and steady, that made him decide. If anything went wrong in there, he knew the wound wouldn’t be his. But he also understood that he couldn’t protect her from everything. Sometimes, watching is also crossing a line.

***

Andrés approached the girl in uniform and, almost in a whisper, said:

—We just want to come in and see what it’s like.

—No problem —she replied with a sidelong smile—. As long as you come as a couple, you’re welcome.

They followed her down a carpeted corridor, with bluish lights that seemed to float over the walls. The inside was not as sordid as Andrés had imagined. More intimate than provocative, more elegant than vulgar. At the bar they ordered something: Camila a white wine, he a drink he would not remember later. The girl appeared again and, with a subtle gesture, invited them to follow her.

—If you like to watch, come with me.

—And if we don’t want to do anything? —Camila asked, more curious than uncomfortable.

—That’s fine. Some people like to watch, others to be watched, others to get their dick sucked while the world falls apart. Nobody forces anyone here —the girl explained, and before opening the door she reminded them of the rules: respect, consent, freedom. Her voice was so sweet it created an odd calm.

Camila felt her pulse racing, as if someone were pounding on her chest from the inside. Her palms were sweating, her knees trembling. Just before crossing the threshold, Andrés took her hand and interlaced their fingers, like someone seeking an anchor before jumping into the water.

The room was not large. It was like the living room of a modern apartment, with that same bluish light bathing everything, as if they were inside an aquarium. The ceiling was almost entirely a huge mirror reflecting the bodies. Black sofas surrounded the room, with red cushions that provided the only warmth in the scene. There were three couples spread around like pieces on a board, drinks in hand, eyes attentive. When they entered, all the gazes turned toward them. None were blatant, but all had something of an examination to them.

Camila chose the farthest sofa, as if she wanted to put meters between herself and a hidden danger. Andrés sat beside her and took a long sip, looking for in alcohol an audacity he still couldn’t find inside himself.

—Don’t worry, I’ll be right back —said the girl in uniform before winking at them and disappearing.

They were left alone, huddled in on themselves, pretending a naturalness their bodies denied. The stiffness, the restrained gestures, the averted eyes: everything betrayed what they were, two beginners who had crossed a door larger than they believed.

—Good evening, kids. First time? —asked a man with a deep voice and a kind tone.

—Yes… good evening —Andrés replied, aware that lying made no sense.

***

The first to come over was a man in his mid-thirties, hair tied back in a high ponytail and the calm confidence of someone who knows the rules. Beside him, a brunette woman drank in silence. Camila couldn’t help noticing her breasts, large and firm, barely contained by a fitted blazer that seemed made to leave no one indifferent. Her nipples showed through the fabric, dark, thick, begging for a mouth.

Camila took Andrés’s hand and placed it on her own chest.

—I think my heart is going to burst —she whispered.

—Relax —he smiled, without letting go of her—. We’re only going to watch.

But neither of them believed that phrase anymore.

The couple on the left began, without bothering to hide it, to kiss and undress each other, as if a silent signal had given them the go-ahead. The guy, lean and defined, stood up and went to sit right in front of them, his cock already erect and pointing at the ceiling, long, thin, veins standing out. The girl followed: a petite blonde with very pale skin and small breasts, in a denim miniskirt and knee-high boots. Andrés couldn’t help comparing her with the brunette with the generous cleavage. Two opposing bodies, one full and one fragile, displayed a handspan from his face.

—We’re only going to watch —he repeated softly. He didn’t know whether he was saying it for her or to calm himself.

The man with the ponytail leaned back with lazy ease, unzipped himself, and pulled out a thick, dark cock, its head already shiny with fluid. The brunette knelt in front of him, wrapped it with her hand, and licked it from top to bottom, slowly, pausing at the glans to suck it whole before taking it halfway down her throat. Her lips moved up and down with a wet, obscene sound, and she enjoyed knowing she was being watched. As she did, her gaze met Andrés’s and did not look away: she took the cock out of her mouth, spat gently on it, tapped it against her lips, and swallowed it again, without blinking. On the other side, the blonde was doing the same to her partner, with a slow, almost hypnotic rhythm, closing her eyes every time the tip touched her uvula. Camila covered her face again, this time smiling, her cheeks burning.

—Why don’t you sit here? —said the ponytailed man then, indicating the space between the two couples—. Better view.

—We’re fine here, thanks —Andrés answered.

—We don’t bite… unless you want us to —the man added, with a smile that did not ask permission.

Camila shook her head, laughing, as if that small laugh were her only defense against vertigo. But the ponytailed man, not used to hearing “no,” stood up with his hard cock marking his stride, shiny with saliva, took her hand with disconcerting gentleness, and led her to the empty space. He set her there like an honored guest. Andrés didn’t think it over: he followed her and sat close beside her. Now they were too close to everything. The temperature had risen, and not because of the thermostat.

***

The two women stopped moving at the same time and, without needing any signal, began to suck their men’s cocks like a rehearsed choreography, never taking their eyes off the new couple, knowing that it unsettled them. They sucked slowly, tongues out, offering each cock as if it were a show dedicated exclusively to Camila. She covered her mouth; nervous laughter had become her only escape valve. She pressed herself against Andrés, looking for a safe zone that no longer existed.

—Just watching, remember? —he whispered in her ear.

The brunette with the cleavage changed position, laid herself back on the sofa with an actress’s ease, hiked her skirt up to her waist, and spread her legs wide. She wore no underwear. Her shaved pussy, already shining with wetness, was exposed to everyone. Her partner knelt and buried his face between her thighs, his tongue slipping between the pink folds, sucking her clit with hunger while two fingers went in and out at a steady pace. The brunette moaned without shame, pushing his head deeper. And then, with studied insolence, she stretched out her free hand and let it fall on Andrés’s crotch, squeezing the bulge he could no longer hide. He jerked. He tried to pull away, but without real conviction, as if his body still hadn’t agreed with his head.

On the neighboring sofa, the wiry guy straightened up and brought his wet, hard cock dangerously close to Camila’s face. The tip brushed her cheek, leaving a damp trail. She turned her head toward Andrés looking for comfort, and that was when she saw the brunette’s hand already inside her boyfriend’s pants, pulling out his cock, stroking it with her open palm in full view of everyone. They looked at each other for a moment, enough for discomfort to become flesh. And right then she felt another unexpected caress moving up her chest: the blonde, brazen, had slipped a hand under her blouse and was pinching a nipple between thumb and forefinger. Camila reacted as if stung and jerked the hand away at once, scandalized.

Without quite knowing when, everything was spilling over. And the worst part was not the chaos around them, but that neither of them seemed able to stop it. Desire had broken in like a wave and was about to wash over them.

—Touch it, you’ll like it —purred the blonde, guiding Camila’s hand to her guy’s erect cock and closing her fingers around it—. Squeeze. Up and down. Like this.

—No… just to watch —she replied in a thin voice, but her hand had already closed around the hot shaft, was already awkwardly stroking it, already feeling it harden even more between her fingers. No one seemed inclined to listen to her.

Meanwhile, the brunette with the cleavage had fully freed Andrés’s cock and leaned over it. One long, slow lick, from base to tip. Then she closed her lips around the glans and started sucking, one hand circling the base, sliding up and down in the same rhythm her mouth was swallowing him. Andrés closed his eyes, giving himself over to that forbidden sensation, no longer sure whether to resist or enjoy it. He felt the stranger’s tongue winding around the crown, saliva dripping over his balls, and he was unable to stop.

***

Suddenly the girl in uniform reappeared, as if nothing had happened. She came up to Andrés, took off his T-shirt with a fluid movement, pulled his pants down to his ankles, and then went after Camila, but Camila, still having strength left, held onto her top and stopped her. The ponytailed man, aware of his role in the scene, stood up and sat down right between the two of them. Without asking permission. Like the wolf separating the most vulnerable member from the pack, he left Camila without her last refuge. He on her right, Andrés on her left, isolated.

The man wrapped an arm around Camila’s back and unclasped her bra with deft fingers. The lace fell to the floor with a whisper, discreet as the shiver already running across her skin. Her small, pale breasts, nipples now hard and erect, were exposed. The ponytailed man lowered his mouth without haste and took one nipple, sucking it slowly, nibbling it, tugging it with his teeth until Camila let out a low moan. Shame reached her in the form of broken breathing. And yet she did not get up. Did not flee. She stayed there, as if her body no longer belonged to her.

—Are you okay? —Andrés stretched out a hand and brushed her arm.

But the ponytailed man turned and, with a sharp gesture, kept him where he was.

—You mind your own business. The brunette’s waiting for that cock.

In a matter of seconds, Camila’s skirt and panties joined the bra on the table, laid there like hunting trophies. She closed her legs, shrinking in on herself, skin prickling, emotions overflowing, trapped in a wet dream she could no longer control. Less than a meter away, Andrés tried to catch her gaze while the brunette, kneeling between his knees, kept sucking his cock hungrily, now licking his balls one by one, taking them whole into her mouth. He wanted to know whether it was still her, whether he should step in, whether he could still save her… or whether he should simply let himself be carried along.

—We only came to watch… —he said, one last time.

—She’s having a good time. She’s soaking wet, look at her. You relax too —whispered the girl in uniform, with a voice made of honey and anesthetic.

***

The ponytailed man opened Camila’s legs like the pages of a book and laid his fingers on her pussy. The folds were already soaked, shining, giving her away. He slid two fingers between them, up and down, playing with the swollen clit, then pushed them inside. At the invasion, she closed her eyes and shuddered with an almost imperceptible jolt. His fingers went in and out, curling inside, drawing a wet sound from her each time. Something inside broke, or ignited. Or both at once.

—Look how wet yours is —the man told Andrés, showing him his shiny fingers before putting them in Camila’s mouth for her to taste herself—. Suck it, slut. Eat your own juice.

She closed her lips around the stranger’s fingers and sucked them, cheeks burning, never taking her eyes off her boyfriend. Andrés could not stop looking at her. In truth, everyone was looking at her. It was she, with her touching shyness and fragile resistance, who was the exact center of all desire. And then he felt jealousy. A sharp, absurd stab, as if he had woken up inside a scene he himself had allowed and which now had become painful. He wanted to reach for her hand once more, but the ponytailed man cut him off with authority.

—You, stay in your place. Let them eat you well.

The brunette swallowed his cock again and the petite blonde joined in, two mouths taking turns on the same member, licking from both sides at once, meeting with their tongues over the glans. Andrés clenched his teeth not to come right there.

The wiry guy climbed onto the sofa and brought his wet cock toward Camila’s mouth, gently tapping her lips with the tip. She resisted for a moment, shaking her head in small gestures, a shy laugh slipping between her lips. But at last she gave in, stuck out her tongue and accepted it, first just the tip, savoring it. Then she opened her mouth wider and slowly took it in, swallowing half, choking a little before pulling it out and breathing. The petite blonde licked one of her breasts with near-ritual devotion, sucking the nipple until it was red and hard, nibbling it with her teeth. The ponytailed man, meanwhile, lifted Camila’s chin, forcing her to let go of the cock in her mouth.

—I want you to look at me.

She opened her eyes. In them there was fear, tenderness, and something else she didn’t even know how to name. He laid her carefully back on the red cushions, spread her legs wide, and positioned himself between them. He took out his cock, thick and veined, and ran it over the lips of her soaked pussy, up and down, coating himself in her wetness. He rubbed the tip against her clit until she moaned, and only then, when she was already pushing her hips toward him, did he sink into her without fanfare. Camila took him in with a long gasp: her face flushed, she bit her lip and a nearly muffled moan escaped her mouth when she felt that unknown cock making its way all the way in. Meanwhile, her hand gripped Andrés’s tightly, and he watched with a sting sinking deeper with every thrust.

***

The ponytailed man withdrew almost all the way and slammed back in, drawing a cry from her. He repeated the motion, faster each time, deeper each time. He held her knees and pushed them forward, folding her in half until he almost touched her ears with them, gaining every possible inch of depth. Camila arched her back and began to pant to the rhythm of the thrusts, her tits bouncing with every hit.

—Ah, ah, ah… —every sound echoed in the room, thick and wet, mixed with the sticky slap of cock entering and leaving her drenched pussy.

—You’re so tight, fuck —the man growled—. Your boyfriend doesn’t fuck you right. It shows.

Andrés had stood up, and the brunette with the cleavage was taking him in with her mouth open, swallowing him to the hilt, her tongue undulating around him. She held his hip with one hand and with the other massaged his balls, squeezing them gently. Meanwhile, the blonde had gotten behind him, kneeling, and was spreading his ass cheeks with both hands to run her tongue over his perineum, slowly climbing, teasingly, to the very edge of his hole. Andrés shuddered all over. He grabbed the brunette’s head, took her hair in both hands, and started fucking her mouth at his own pace, thrusting into her throat, hearing her choke and drool all over his cock. He did not want to look at Camila; witnessing that was too painful. But like an addict who needs his dose, he could not tear his eyes away from her, trapped in the intensity of opposing feelings.

He saw the ponytailed man put her on all fours on the sofa, saw him stand behind her and drive back in with one thrust, gripping her hips and burying himself to the balls. He saw the man’s hand come down and land a hard slap on her ass cheek, leaving the red imprint of his fingers. He saw Camila arch her back and push her ass back, asking for more. And then, in the middle of the room, something sounded that was more command than plea.

—Harder! —Camila demanded, turning her head to look over her shoulder at the stranger, hair plastered to her forehead with sweat—. Harder, asshole, deeper!

She dug her nails into his ass and pulled him toward her. That sent them all hurtling toward the abyss. The thrusts intensified until they were brutal, the man’s muscles tensing each time he sank into her, and the sound of skin slapping skin filled the whole room. Camila could only close her eyes and surrender, mouth open, panting uncontrollably. The petite blonde came up beside her, climbed onto the sofa and put her pussy over Camila’s face, sitting on her mouth. Camila, without thinking, stuck out her tongue and started licking her, searching for the clit between the folds, sucking it with hungry clumsiness. The blonde moaned, clutching the man’s ponytail to keep her balance while grinding herself against the other woman’s tongue.

A deep groan tore through the air when the wiry guy reached climax in the brunette’s mouth, after she had abandoned Andrés’s cock to attend to him. The spurts of semen filled her tongue and she swallowed them with her mouth open, showing the fluid before smearing it over her face. The blonde, on top of Camila, started trembling all at once: she came out in muffled cries, pressing her face with her thighs, soaking Camila’s chin. Andrés, breathing in broken gasps, finished coming into the brunette’s hand, which squeezed his cock while the spurts fell over her fingers and splashed onto her own chest.

And, seconds later, the ponytailed man yanked out of Camila’s pussy, flipped her onto her back, lay on top of her and spilled thick jets over her belly, her breasts, her chin. He pressed his cock against her lips and emptied the last drops into her mouth, forcing her to suck the tip until it was clean. Camila, chest rising and falling, semen slipping between her tits and down her neck, lay there, marked like freshly claimed prey.

***

The magic of the night vanished in an instant. Everything that had seemed like an unreal dream was now a certainty. Camila would have given anything for it to have been a delicious lie she could tell herself. But the truth was that she had let another man fuck her, with a stranger’s mouth on her pussy and a stranger’s semen still sliding over her belly, and she had done it in front of the person she loved most. Was that really me?, she thought. Guilt began hammering at her chest.

Gathering her courage, she opened her eyes, determined to face Andrés’s gaze. But when she finally looked for him, he was already leaving through the door, half dressed, quickening his step. Before disappearing he turned his face, and their eyes met one last time. That was when she saw that he was crying, and she knew that something, that night, had broken between them forever.