What My Lover Saw While I Was With Another Man

Rodrigo always said I had something about me that threw him off balance. A way of moving, of looking at him, of stopping just before doing what the two of us knew I was going to do. We’d been like that for four years, him with his orderly married life in Rosario and me with my completely disordered one in Buenos Aires, meeting whenever we could, which was less than we wanted and more than was sensible.

I was twenty-nine. He was fifty-two. The age difference was never the problem. The problem, if you could call it that, was that I liked pushing limits and he liked it just as much as I did, even if it took him longer to admit it.

That April night we were in my apartment, the two of us in bed, the ceiling fan turning slowly overhead and the sound of the street slipping in through the half-open window. He had one arm around my waist. I was staring at the ceiling, thinking about something I’d been wanting to tell him for weeks.

“Rodrigo.”

“Mmm.”

“I need to tell you something.”

He shifted. He knew me well enough to tell when what was coming mattered.

“I want to fuck another man,” I said, bluntly. “Not to leave you. It has nothing to do with us. I want to feel another cock inside me. A different body, hands I don’t know yet. I want someone else to make me come.”

The silence lasted exactly long enough for me to start regretting having said it.

Then he spoke.

“When?”

That wasn’t the answer I expected. I turned my head to see his face. His eyes had something lit in them, an expression I recognized but had only ever seen in other contexts until then.

“Doesn’t that bother you?” I asked.

“You’re asking me the wrong question,” he said. “The question is whether I want to watch.”

There it was.

I looked at him steadily for several seconds. He didn’t look away.

“I want to see you,” he went on, his voice very calm. “I want to know how you react with a cock that isn’t mine inside you. I want to see the look on your face when you come with another man. I want to hear you moan for him.”

I fell silent for a moment, feeling those words wet me between the legs before I’d even finished processing them.

“All right,” I said.

***

Mateo was thirty-seven and was a friend of a friend. I didn’t know him in person, but we’d spoken on the phone once and there was something in his tone that told me he would understand what this was about without needing long explanations. He was direct. He didn’t play hard to get.

We arranged to have dinner on a Thursday. An unpretentious restaurant in Palermo, small tables, dim light. He arrived before I did and stood up when he saw me walk in. He was taller than I’d imagined. Broad back, a way of standing that took up space without asking anyone’s permission.

We talked for two hours. About unimportant things: work, trips, movies. But the real conversation wasn’t that one. It was the one happening underneath, in the pauses, in the way he looked at my mouth when I spoke and in the way I crossed my legs under the table knowing he noticed.

When the coffees came, I took out my phone with apparent nonchalance and texted Rodrigo a short message: Tonight.

His reply came in less than a minute: Ready.

I put the phone back in my bag and looked at Mateo. He smiled without asking anything. He knew something had changed in the air at the table.

***

The hotel was simple and anonymous, three blocks from the restaurant. A room on the third floor with a window facing a dark inner courtyard. Mateo went in first. I went straight to the bathroom, took the phone out of my bag, and opened the video call with Rodrigo.

I saw him on the screen: he was in his room, the bedside lamp on, his face serious. He looked at me without saying anything for a second.

“Are you ready?” he asked in a very low voice.

“Yes,” I said.

“I want to see everything, Camila. Don’t turn anything off. And don’t cover your mouth when you come.”

I propped the phone against the back of the lamp, tilted toward the bed so it would have the angle it needed, and came out of the bathroom.

Mateo was sitting on the edge of the bed. He watched me come in without moving. I was wearing a dark skirt and a silk blouse that I knew looked good on me. I walked over slowly, unhurried. When I was one step away from him, he reached out and put his hand on my hip.

That was all.

Just the hand on my hip.

And yet I felt my cunt start to get wet.

I let myself be drawn toward him. His hands moved up my sides, slow, measuring. I turned my back to him, letting him surround me from behind, feeling the weight of his arms around my waist. His mouth lowered to my neck. At the same time, one of his hands slid under my blouse and squeezed one breast over my bra. The other went down over my stomach and pressed between my legs over the skirt, pressing hard, feeling the heat.

Rodrigo is watching.

The thought came clearly, without guilt, and instead of slowing me down it made me hotter. There was something strange and powerful about being seen like that, about knowing someone who knew me well was watching every movement from the other side of a screen, unable to intervene, unable to touch me.

I shifted back, pressing my ass against the hard bulge I could already feel in his pants. A deep groan escaped Mateo against my ear. His fingers slipped inside my bra, pinched the nipple, twisted it a little, and I let out a moan I didn’t try to hide. I knew perfectly well the phone’s microphone was picking up everything.

I lifted my arms and wrapped them around his neck, pulling his head closer while I turned mine to reach his mouth. We kissed without softness, with tongue from the first second. He took control of the kiss while his right hand lifted my skirt, found my panties, and shoved them aside. His fingers found me soaked.

“You’re drenched,” he murmured against my mouth. “How long have you been like this?”

“Since the restaurant,” I said.

He shoved two fingers in at once and I screamed against his neck. He worked them inside firmly, searching for the spot, while his thumb pressed my clit in tight circles. I leaned all my weight into him so I wouldn’t fall. My skirt had ridden up to my waist and he was opening me with his fingers in front of the phone, legs parted, letting Rodrigo see every movement of another man’s hand inside me.

“Take everything off,” Mateo said softly.

I stepped away from him and stood in front of the bed, turning so the phone’s angle would catch me head-on. I unbuttoned my blouse one button at a time, unhurried. The bra fell next. I had already lost the skirt. I was left only with my soaked panties, and I pulled them down slowly to my ankles, looking at the screen as I did.

Mateo took off his clothes without rushing, his eyes fixed on me the whole time. When he pulled down his pants, his cock sprang out hard, thick, bigger than I’d expected. Something inside me clenched just looking at it. I knelt in front of him without being asked.

I took it in my hand, felt the weight, and slid it into my mouth as far as I could. Mateo let out a sharp breath and placed his hand on the back of my neck. He didn’t squeeze, but he kept it there, setting the pace. I started sucking him slowly, taking him all the way out to lick from base to tip, circling the head with my tongue, spitting on it so my hand would slide better.

“Like that,” he said. “Look at me.”

I raised my eyes and looked at him while I took him deep into my throat. I gagged once and didn’t care. I knew Rodrigo was seeing my eyes fill with tears, the saliva dripping from my chin, the way I moved my head back and forth with another man’s cock between my lips.

Mateo grabbed my hair and pulled his cock out of my mouth with a wet sound.

“To the bed,” he said. “On your back.”

I let myself fall backward onto the mattress, my legs still parted and hanging off the edge. He knelt on the floor, took me by the thighs, and pulled my cunt to his mouth. When his tongue touched me, I arched my whole back and screamed. My fingers closed first on his shoulders, then on his hair.

He ate me hungrily. None of those timid licks you sometimes have to endure. He sucked my clit all the way into his mouth, squeezed it with his lips, played with his tongue over and under it, while two fingers went in and out of me with a wet sound that filled the room. I grabbed his head with both hands and pressed him against me, moving my hips against his face, not letting him breathe.

“Don’t stop,” I said. “Don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t stop.”

It took me a while to remember Rodrigo was watching. And when I remembered, it was because I felt it in my stomach, a different kind of heat: the knowledge that he was there listening to me beg another man not to stop eating my cunt. That feeling wasn’t guilt.

It was the exact opposite.

The first orgasm hit me there, with Mateo’s mouth on me and his fingers inside me, and I didn’t stop it. I closed my thighs around his head and shook all over, feeling my cunt tighten around his fingers again and again. He took me farther than I expected.

***

I turned over without saying anything. I planted my palms on the mattress and lifted my hips, putting my ass up. I knew exactly where the phone camera was pointed. I knew Rodrigo was watching my swollen, shiny cunt, waiting.

Mateo positioned himself behind me, placed both hands on my hips, and didn’t wait for a signal. The head opened me and he pushed in in one stroke, all the way to the hilt.

The first thrust stole my breath. A rough cry slipped out of me and bounced off the room’s walls.

The rhythm started intense and stayed that way from the beginning. My body drove forward and back with every stroke. I felt his cock slamming inside me, hitting the back of me, each thrust a hard impact of his hips against my ass. He didn’t let up.

“What a gorgeous cunt you have,” he said through clenched teeth. “All wet like this, for me.”

He took my hair. He wound it around his hand and pulled back firmly, forcing me to lift my head, forcing my spine to arch more. The angle changed and his cock went even deeper. The sound that came out of my throat was beyond my control.

His hands came down on my ass, firm, keeping the beat. Every time. Hard slaps that left my skin hot and red. He sucked his other thumb and pressed it against my hole, working the ring, easing in little by little, all while he kept fucking my cunt without pause.

“Oh, God,” I moaned. “Oh God, oh God.”

My body responded on its own, following the rhythm without me having to think. The sounds came on their own too, and I didn’t bother to quiet them. The room filled with them, and with the splash of our bodies, and with the sound of Mateo’s hand hitting my ass, and with his heavy breathing behind me.

Rodrigo is listening.

That thought shot through me like an electric jolt. I pictured him on the other side of the phone, motionless, eyes fixed on the small screen, one hand on his own cock, watching what he had never seen before: my back arched, my hands dug into the sheet, Mateo behind me pounding into me without stopping, his thumb in my ass.

“Say it,” I told Mateo, turning my head just a little. “Say it loud for the phone.”

He understood instantly.

“I’m fucking you, Camila,” he said, loud, clear, while he slapped me. “I’m fucking you the way you need to be fucked. You’re so wet you’re begging for it.”

I heard a muffled sound from the phone. A low moan. Rodrigo was touching himself.

Everything became even more intense.

***

I stopped him with a hand on his chest. He stopped at once, his cock still inside me. He pulled it out slowly, with a tug that made me clench my teeth, and I turned around. I sat down on top of him with my back straight. I grabbed his cock with my hand, lined it up with my cunt, and drove it in with one movement, sinking down to the hilt.

We both moaned at the same time.

I put my open palms on his chest and started moving. Slowly at first, feeling every centimeter, adjusting to the new angle. I rose almost to the head and came down hard. His cock hit a spot inside me that made me squeeze my eyes shut.

I looked him in the eyes while I fucked myself on him. He looked back with an expression that hid nothing. His hands clutched my thighs first, then moved up to my breasts, squeezing them, tugging at my nipples. I sped up.

I rode him harder, bouncing on top of him with my hands braced on his chest, letting my tits fly free. I knew the phone camera was catching me from the side, that Rodrigo was seeing my perfect silhouette, the way I rose and fell on top of another man, the muscles in my legs tightening with every stroke.

“Touch my ass,” I told Mateo.

His hand went up and down again, he sucked two fingers and pressed them against my ass, easing in little by little in time with the rhythm my hips set. Double pressure, front and back, and I was losing my mind on top of him.

The orgasm hit without warning, as it always does when you stop chasing it. A tension that began somewhere deep and spread outward until the whole body clenched for a second and then let go all at once. I screamed loudly, not covering my mouth, feeling my cunt pulse around his cock in long spasms, feeling my ass clench around his fingers. I stayed still on top of him, hands on his chest and mouth open, unable to move or speak.

“Camila,” he said quietly.

It was the first time he’d used my name all night.

I let myself fall onto my side on the bed.

***

Mateo settled on top of me again. Faster now, more direct. He spread my legs with his knees and shoved back inside me in one thrust. My legs opened wider on their own, winding around his waist. I lifted my hips to meet him and closed my eyes.

He fucked hard, without any careful rhythm, after what was his. I dug my nails into his back and asked for more in his ear. His mouth sucked at my neck, leaving marks I’d have to cover the next day. His hips crashed into mine with a dull, repeated sound, faster and faster each time.

At that moment I thought of Rodrigo.

Not as guilt. As something added, another element in everything that already had me completely out of myself.

I pictured him there, in that dark room on the other side of the phone, one hand on his cock, watching me like this: completely given over to something he himself had asked for. Watching me unfiltered, without the performance you always maintain with the person who knows you well. Watching me take another man’s load.

With Mateo there was no story. Nothing to sustain. Just a cock inside me and a heavy body on top of me and the desire to come again.

And Rodrigo was seeing all of it.

That thought sank me even deeper into what I was feeling. Mateo sped up suddenly, growled near my ear, and I felt him swell inside me a second before filling me. Hot jets of semen climbed through me while he kept thrusting in short strokes, emptying himself completely. I came again with him inside me, my legs clamped around his waist, feeling the other man’s cum dribble down between my thighs when he finally pulled out.

Everything stopped.

***

Our bodies relaxed. The sound of the street kept going outside. The ceiling fan turned slowly in the silence.

I lay on my back for a moment, staring at the room’s white ceiling, my breathing still high and semen still slowly leaking out of me. Mateo was beside me, quiet, not speaking. No words were needed.

I turned my head toward the bedside lamp.

The phone was still there, tilted toward the bed. Its dim screen glowing in the half-dark.

Rodrigo on the other side.

Having seen everything.

I opened the chat and sent him a wordless message: just a dot, as a sign that it was over. Thirty seconds later he replied with a single image: a flame.

I smiled into the pillow.

I knew exactly what that meant for the next time we saw each other.