The Night My Wife Dressed Me as a Woman

The night began like many others: four friends seated around a poker table, cold beers, and the sound of the city slowly fading away on the other side of the window. We started at nine, and by the time the other two left, it was already past two in the morning.

Rodrigo looked at his phone and let out a long sigh.

—I missed the last bus. Do you mind if I wait a while?

—Stay the night —I told him—. There’s room on the sofa.

My wife, Alma, had been reading in the bedroom while we played. When she came down to get some water and found the two of us still awake, she shrugged and sat down with us. She brought a bottle of rum, cut up limes, and we turned on the TV without much of a plan.

By chance —or maybe it wasn’t by chance— Alma ended up with the remote. She flipped channels slowly, unhurriedly, until she stopped on one where a couple was fucking doggy-style on the white sheets of a hotel bed. On the screen the guy was pounding his cock all the way into a blonde who was moaning with her face smashed into the pillow. Alma put the remote on the coffee table.

—Oh, how embarrassing —she said, without moving a single inch.

Rodrigo and I looked at each other. Alma kept watching the screen with a calm that was not entirely innocent. On the TV the blonde now had the guy’s cock in her mouth, sucking it to the base, while the camera focused on the thread of saliva hanging from her chin.

The minutes passed. The rum helped. I could feel something in the air: an electricity you can’t tell is attraction or discomfort, and which in any case you don’t like. Especially when I realized Rodrigo had been staring at Alma for quite a while. He wasn’t looking at the screen. He was looking at her. And under the fabric of his pants, a bulge had become visible that there was no way to hide.

I got up to fetch more ice. When I came back, his hand was resting on her thigh. Just resting, nothing more, but it was there. Alma didn’t move it away. More than that: Rodrigo’s fingers had started slowly sliding up the inside of her thigh, seeking the edge of her skirt, and Alma opened her legs a centimeter. Just a centimeter. Enough.

I sat down. I kept drinking without saying anything.

When she turned her head toward him and smiled that smile of hers that I thought was mine alone, I got up and told Alma we were going to bed.

***

In the bedroom, she was in a mood that wasn’t her usual one.

—Did you see how hard he was? —she asked while taking off her earrings—. His whole cock was showing through his jeans. I would’ve pulled it out right there.

—I didn’t see anything —I lied.

—Yes, you did. And it made you nervous. —She laughed with that low laugh she has when she’s got the upper hand—. Why?

I didn’t answer. I sat on the edge of the bed and she stood in front of me, between my knees, with her hands on my shoulders.

—I want to play a game —she said.

She went to the wardrobe. She took out a flat cardboard box I hadn’t seen before —or maybe she had always kept it in the back so I wouldn’t see it— and set it on the bed. Inside was a black lingerie set: satin panties, a lace bra, fishnet stockings, and a matching garter belt.

—Put it on —she said.

I laughed. I thought it was a joke.

—Alma, seriously...

—Put it on. I want to see you.

There was something in the way she said it —without raising her voice, with no room for negotiation— that made me shut up. I looked at the clothes on the bed. The satin had a soft sheen under the bedside lamp.

—What if it doesn’t fit?

—It’ll fit. I know it will.

I didn’t know whether it was the rum, the hour, or the way she was looking at me. The thing is, I took off my T-shirt. Then my pants. When I put on the panties and felt the fabric slide over my skin, something happened: it wasn’t discomfort. It was something else that still had no name. My cock was pressed tight against the satin, already half hard, making the bulge under the black fabric stand out.

I put on the stockings clumsily. Alma helped me with the garter belt without saying anything, with a patience I hadn’t expected from her at that moment. Her fingers brushed the skin of my thighs as she adjusted the straps, and each touch made me press my cock harder against the satin. Then she fastened the bra behind my back and stuffed the cups with folded paper.

—Look at yourself —she said, turning me toward the wardrobe mirror.

I looked at myself.

I recognized my body, but I didn’t recognize the image. The fishnet stockings ran up my legs, the satin panties shaped my hips differently —and the hard cock pointing upward, pushing against the fabric— and the stuffed bra completely changed the silhouette of my torso. Alma stood behind me and wrapped her arms around me from behind. Her hand went down and squeezed my cock over the satin, palm open.

—Look how hard you are —she whispered against my ear—. You got hard just from dressing up like a little whore.

My breath trembled. We stared at ourselves in the mirror for a good while without speaking.

—You’re gorgeous —she said, using the feminine form, slowly, as if she were testing how the word sounded aimed at me.

I didn’t know what I expected to feel. I didn’t know what I was feeling.

—Now go get the drinks —she said.

—What?

—Rodrigo’s still out there. You go. —She smiled—. Let’s see if you dare.

***

I stepped out into the hallway slowly, hugging the wall. The living room light spilled in from under the kitchen door. I told myself I’d grab the bottle and the glasses and come back in thirty seconds without him seeing me. It was late; he was probably half asleep.

I pushed open the kitchen door. Opened the fridge. Took out the ice.

And when I turned around, Rodrigo was in the doorway.

He didn’t say anything for several seconds. He looked me up and down without hurry, stopping on the stockings, the garter belt, the bulge marking my cock under the satin. I held the ice bowl with both hands as if it were a shield.

—If you look like her —he said in a low voice—. And your cock’s hard too.

—It’s a game —I replied. My voice came out higher than I intended.

—Yeah. —He leaned against the doorframe with his arms crossed. His cock was showing as much as before, if not more—. And does the game include the drinks?

—Yes.

—Then make me one.

I turned toward the counter. I heard his steps coming closer. I felt his hand —big, flat— settle on my ass over the satin, with no preamble, no hint: direct. His fingers squeezed one cheek, kneading it, then slid between them, pressing the satin against my asshole.

I froze.

His fingers slid toward the seam of the panties, following a line that knew exactly what it was doing. He pushed the satin inward with his thumb, searching for the hole. I dropped the glass. It hit the floor with a sharp crack.

—Stop —I said, turning.

But by the time I turned around he already had me by the waist. He pulled me against him. I felt his body. I felt what was under his pants, hard as a rock, against my hips wrapped in black satin. He rocked his hips once, twice, rubbing his cock against mine through our clothes. A groan escaped me that I didn’t recognize.

Alma came from the hallway, drawn by the noise. She looked at us without blinking. She smiled slowly.

—I thought you were taking too long —she said—. Now I see why.

***

What happened after that was like walking in a dream: every step felt inevitable and at the same time impossible to stop.

Alma brought the corset. Black, with boning and laces at the back. She put it on me right there, standing in the living room, in front of Rodrigo, who was watching us from the sofa with a glass in his hand and his fly open, already pulling his cock out over his underwear and stroking it slowly. Each tug on the laces left me with less air and more present in my body.

—There —she said, giving the final pull—. Now you’re complete.

Rodrigo stood up. He came over. He put a hand on my waist —over the corset— and with the other lifted my chin so I’d look him in the face. His cock was out, thick, the tip already shining with pre-cum.

—What’s your name? —he asked me.

—Don’t push it —I said.

—What’s your name tonight?

Alma answered for me from behind:

—Fina.

Rodrigo nodded slowly, as if the answer seemed completely reasonable to him.

—Fina —he repeated—. Get on your knees, Fina.

Alma gently pushed my shoulders down. I knelt. Rodrigo’s cock was at my face, so close I could feel its heat on my cheeks. Alma knelt beside me and took the base in her hand.

—Look at that beautiful cock, Fina —she told me, slowly moving it in front of my lips—. See how much he’s already leaking? It’s because he saw you dressed like this. Open your mouth.

—Alma, I...

—Open your mouth.

I opened my lips and she guided the tip against my tongue herself. The taste was salty, dense, with a metallic undertone. Rodrigo’s cock slid a couple of inches into my mouth and he let out a long gasp, closing his eyes.

—Fuck —he muttered—. Suck it, Fina. Suck it.

I sucked it. Awkwardly at first, my teeth brushing his glans by accident, until Alma whispered in my ear to close my lips properly over it and use my tongue. I was learning. I ran my tongue along the frenulum, along the underside, over the balls hanging tight beneath him. Alma held his cock against my mouth while I worked it with my tongue, and every so often she took it into her own lips too, and we alternated: I sucked him, she took his cock out of my mouth and took it into hers, then gave it back to me shining with saliva.

—Look at her, Rodrigo —said Alma with his cock resting against her cheek—. Look how fast your little whore learns.

—She’s good at it —he panted, hand in my hair—. She’s damn good at it.

He pushed deeper. I felt the tip pressing against the back of my palate and tears rose to my eyes from the reflex, but I didn’t pull away. Alma was watching me with an intensity I had never seen in her, with her hand inside her panties, touching her cunt without hiding it at all.

—Take it all, Fina. All of it.

I breathed through my nose and forced my throat to open. Rodrigo’s cock slid down to the base and he let out an animal groan. He stayed there for a few seconds, his balls pressed against my chin, before pulling out slowly. A thread of saliva and precum hung from my lips to the glans.

—Fuck, fuck, fuck —he kept repeating.

***

After that the three of us ended up on the sofa. Alma lay on her back and spread her legs for him. Rodrigo got on top and shoved his cock into her with one thrust, no foreplay, and she let out a long moan that almost turned into a scream. I watched from the side, sitting there with the stockings still on, my cock hard and pushing the satin of the panties, not knowing what to do with my hands.

—Come here —Alma said, holding out her hand—. Come here, Fina, don’t just stand there watching.

I moved closer. She grabbed the back of my neck and kissed me deeply, tongue and all, while Rodrigo kept driving his cock into her with slow, deep thrusts that made her belly tremble. I had never seen her like this with anyone. I had never seen her this wet: you could hear it, each time he went in and out, the slick noise of the cunt filling and emptying around his cock.

—Touch my tits while he fucks me —she asked between kisses.

I lifted her bra and grabbed her breasts with both hands. I pinched her nipples. She moaned and arched her back.

—Yes, like that, yes, like that, like that...

Rodrigo sped up. He braced himself on his knees and grabbed her hips, pounding harder. The sofa creaked. Alma squeezed my hand so hard her nails dug into me. She came with a rough, long gasp, clenching her legs around his waist.

Rodrigo pulled out of her with his cock shiny and dripping. He turned to me.

—Now you —he said—. Right here. Fuck her yourself.

I put her on all fours on the sofa. I lifted her ass. I pulled my cock out from the side of the panties —I didn’t even lower them, just moved them aside with two fingers— and placed it against Alma’s cunt. She was so wet and still full of his cum that my cock slid in at once, all the way to the base, with no resistance.

—Fuck, Alma —I groaned.

—Fuck me, Fina. Fuck me hard.

I started moving. I hammered into her with short, quick thrusts, feeling Rodrigo’s cum mixed with her juices, slipping over my glans each time I pulled out. I had never felt her like this. Never been so hot, so open, so slick.

Rodrigo didn’t leave. He stayed standing there watching. I felt his hand on my back, moving slowly downward. Over the satin of the panties. Between my cheeks. He pushed the satin inward with two fingers, searching for my hole, and pressed there, the pad of his finger against my ass, pushing but not entering yet.

Alma turned to look at me over her shoulder.

—Let him —she told me—. Same as when you do it to me.

—Alma...

—Let him. Let him fuck your ass while you fuck my pussy.

She knelt behind me. I felt cold saliva —he spat on my hole, spread it with his thumb, then spat again— and then his tip, thick and hard, pressed against the entrance. He didn’t push in all at once: he waited, hands on my hips, completely still, giving me time.

—Wait —I asked.

He stopped. Alma kissed my shoulder from the front.

—Relax —she whispered in my ear—. There. Push back yourself. Find it yourself.

I pushed my ass back. Rodrigo’s glans forced its way through the ring. It went in slowly. Painful at first, with a burning that wasn’t only physical, with the feeling that he was tearing me open inside. I rested my forehead on Alma’s neck and clenched my teeth. She took my hand and squeezed it.

—Hang in there, Fina —Rodrigo whispered behind me—. Hang in there a little. Almost there.

I felt him slide in centimeter by centimeter until I could feel his balls pressed against me and his hips against mine. His whole cock. All the way in.

When he was all the way in, the pain changed shape. It didn’t disappear, but it made room for something else: a pressure I had never felt before, a feeling of being completely full, with no possibility of retreating into thought. And in front, inside Alma, my own cock tight too, wrapped in heat.

Rodrigo moved slowly. Very slowly. He pulled out half his cock and pushed it back in all the way, and each thrust from behind pushed me deeper into Alma in front. I stayed inside her and the three of us found a clumsy rhythm that became more fluid, deeper, more animal. She moaned. I made a sound I didn’t recognize as mine, a broken, high-pitched, almost female moan.

—Like that —Alma kept saying—. Like that, like that. Look at the two of you fucking me. Look at the way you’re both fucking me.

Rodrigo sped up. He grabbed the corset by the laces and pulled back, driving me deeper on each thrust. His cock went in and out with a wet sound, and in front I slammed into Alma every time he shoved me forward. The three of us pressed together. The three of us panting. Alma came again —I felt it, her whole cunt contracting around my cock— and that squeeze made me come inside her, with a spasm that shot all the way up my spine.

Rodrigo held on a few seconds longer. Then he thrust three more times, hard, and came inside my ass with a long growl. I felt warmth inside, liquid, throbbing, and something in the chest I had been carrying tight all night finally let go.

He stayed inside for a moment before pulling out slowly. I felt the hot stream sliding down the inside of my thigh, soaking the fishnet stocking. I stayed still for a few seconds, arms limp, leaning against the back of the sofa. Alma ran her hand through my hair, gently messing it up.

—Are you okay? —she asked.

—I don’t know —I answered.

It was the most honest answer I had given all night.

***

We went to bed the three of us. Rodrigo fell asleep quickly, his arm over my waist and his soft cock pressed against my ass, still stained. Alma pressed herself against my back. I stared at the ceiling for a long while with the corset still on, because I didn’t have the strength to take it off and because, in some way I didn’t fully understand, I didn’t want to.

The next morning I woke up alone. On the nightstand there was a glass of water and an aspirin. No note.

Rodrigo was already gone when I went downstairs. Only his glass from the night before remained in the sink.

For several days I didn’t answer his messages. I didn’t know what to say to him. I didn’t know what to say to myself either. What had happened didn’t fit into any of the categories I used to sort things out, nor into the language I had for thinking about myself.

Alma never called me Fina again. But a few weeks later, on a Tuesday night with nothing special about it, she took the black set out of the wardrobe and left it folded on the bed without saying a word. She went into the bathroom. I stared at it for a long while before doing what I did.