I Spied on My Girlfriend with Her Best Friend That Early Morning

My name is Martín, and for months I’ve been carrying around an obsession that I find hard to confess even here, where nobody knows me. I’m telling it because I can’t keep it inside anymore, and because I need to know whether there’s anyone else on the other side of the screen who feels the same way I do when he presses his forehead against a closed door and listens to his woman being fucked by another man.

My girlfriend’s name is Lucía. We’ve been together for almost four years, we live in a small apartment right downtown, and for quite some time now she’s maintained a very particular friendship with Tomás, a former coworker. Particular because it isn’t just a friendship: they’re still fucking like lovers, and I know it. I accepted it a long time ago, and, stranger still, it started turning me on in a way I never expected.

It all began with a threesome the three of us had once, an experience I’ve already written about elsewhere. After that night, Tomás and Lucía grew close, too close, and instead of putting a stop to it, I gradually accepted the little rituals: she told me where they’d met, what they’d done, what it had been like. I listened in silence, pretending to be neutral, while inside my cock grew hard in my pants.

—I went out for a drink with Tomi today —she’d say any given Tuesday, while stirring a pot in the kitchen—. We ended up at his place.

—And? —I’d ask without looking at her.

—And nothing. The usual.

“The usual” was the code we used so we wouldn’t have to name things. Sometimes it meant she’d sucked his cock for half an hour on his couch, until she’d left it hard as a steel bar. Other times it meant he’d fucked her against the marble counter while she held herself up with both hands and he drove his cock into her from behind, all the way to the balls. I teased out the details with a string of stupid questions that made her laugh.

—Do you like his cock more than mine?

—It’s different —she’d answer, lowering her eyes, and that half-sentence destroyed me and brought me back to life in the same second—. It’s thicker. It fills me differently.

The crude truth was that Tomás had a much bigger cock than I did. I’m not exaggerating out of modesty: it must have been about five centimeters longer, and considerably thicker. Lucía never put it that way, but one day I saw a picture he’d sent her, and the difference was obvious. A dark, veiny cock, with a swollen, glistening head, almost as long as my forearm. Knowing that he satisfied her better than I did, that he opened her pussy in a way I couldn’t, should have ruined me. Instead, it raised goosebumps on my skin every time I thought about it.

***

The first time I dared investigate was one afternoon when I came home early from work. I climbed the three flights of stairs because the elevator was occupied, unlocked the door without making a sound, and immediately knew something had happened. The air in our bedroom smelled different. The sheets, still warm, held a mixed scent: sweat, men’s cologne, and that unmistakable smell of semen and wet pussy left behind by bodies that have just finished fucking. I lifted the sheet and found an oval stain, barely dry, right on the side where she slept. In the bathroom trash, a knotted condom, half full of thick, milky fluid. I stared at it for a long time, my mouth dry.

That night, while Lucía removed her makeup in front of the mirror, I asked her point-blank. She looked at me in the reflection, gave me a sideways smile, and told me everything. She told me Tomás had put her on all fours in our own bed, that first he’d spread her buttocks with his hands and run his entire tongue from her asshole to her clitoris, over and over, until she was dripping onto the sheets. She told me he’d then plunged his cock into her with a single thrust, without pausing, and that she’d screamed into the pillow because he’d gone all the way in. She told me he’d grabbed her wrists from behind and pounded her hard, his balls smacking against her clitoris with every thrust, until she begged him to stop because she was going to come too quickly. She told me he hadn’t stopped. That he’d made her come three times in a row, the last time with her mouth open against the mattress, biting the fabric so she wouldn’t wake the neighbors, and that afterward he’d turned her over, grabbed her tits with both hands, and finished inside the condom with a roar, looking her in the eyes.

I listened, leaning against the bathroom doorframe, my hands in my pants pockets to hide the erection already deforming the fabric. Lucía noticed. She walked slowly over to me, looked me in the eyes, and slid one hand slowly over the bulge.

—It turns you on when I tell you —she said, not asking. She pressed her palm against the tip of my cock and smiled when she noticed the stain of pre-cum already soaking through the fabric—. You’re wet, baby. Look at you.

I didn’t answer. She got down on her knees right there in the hallway, yanked down my pants and boxers, and took my cock into her mouth without preamble. She licked it with the same mouth that had kissed Tomás a few hours earlier. She sucked me slowly, looking up at me, and when she had me on the edge, she pulled away and spoke in a hoarse voice:

—Come on, fuck me. Fuck me like he fucked me.

I lifted her into my arms, threw her onto the bed that still carried the other man’s scent, spread her legs, and plunged into her. She was soaked, burning hot, still slightly open from the other man’s bigger cock. I entered her easily and felt, with a mixture of shame and brutal arousal, that my cock was swimming inside her. We fucked like we hadn’t in months. I bit one of her nipples, squeezed her neck with one hand, and while I was inside her, whispered in her ear to tell me again how he’d had her from behind.

—He put it all in at once —Lucía gasped, eyes closed and fingernails digging into my back—. All of it, Martín. I felt him open me from the inside. He called me a slut, told me I was his slut, and I said yes. I said yes to everything.

I came inside her with a long shudder, gritting my teeth so I wouldn’t scream, imagining that the milky fluid I was leaving inside her was mixing with whatever the other man had left behind.

***

From then on, Tomás’s visits to our house became more frequent. He arrived with a bottle of wine, settled onto the living-room couch as if it were his own, and I learned to disappear into the bedroom with some excuse. “I have to get up early tomorrow. I’ll leave you two alone.” They would nod politely, and I’d close the door knowing that door was a useful lie.

The first night he stayed late, I couldn’t sleep. My pulse pounded in my neck, and although the bed invited me to lie still, my body wouldn’t obey. I got up barefoot, crossed the darkened room, and pressed my ear against the door. At first I heard only the television and low voices. Then, a long pause. And then that quickened breathing that doesn’t belong to a conversation. Small clicks of saliva, that unmistakable wet sound of a mouth occupied with swallowing a cock. The restrained groan of a man about to come.

I stayed there, paralyzed, feeling myself grow hard without even touching myself. I couldn’t see them, but my imagination filled in the gaps: her kneeling in front of him, hands on his thighs, her mouth full to the throat, her tongue circling the head. I heard Tomás let out a hoarse “That’s it, slut, just like that,” and Lucía answer with a muffled moan around the flesh between her lips. I pulled down my boxers right there against the door and began masturbating to the rhythm of the sounds coming from the other side. When the noises died away with his guttural groan, I came too, splattering the wood and my own hand, biting my lip so I wouldn’t make a sound. I went back to bed with trembling legs and cleaned myself in silence, my face buried in the pillow.

The next morning, at breakfast, Lucía asked me if I’d slept well. I said yes. Then, while I poured her coffee, I asked whether anything had happened between them the night before.

—I sucked his cock for quite a while —she replied without looking up from her phone—. He came in my mouth. I swallowed it all.

She looked up for a second, met my eyes with terrifying calm, and added:

—It was thick. He really wanted it.

“I swallowed it all” was confirmation of everything. And also the fuel for what came next.

***

That same week I suggested rearranging the living-room furniture. It wasn’t casual: I’d been thinking about it for days. I told her the current arrangement didn’t make the best use of the light, and that it would be more comfortable to move the couch against the opposite wall. Lucía looked at me with the half-smile she always gave me when she suspected ulterior motives, but she didn’t ask anything. We moved the furniture together one Saturday afternoon, and when we finished, I sat on the new couch to check what mattered to me.

From the lock of our bedroom door, I had a perfect view of almost the entire back of the couch and half the seat. The television was out of frame, but the bodies weren’t. If someone sat there, I would have him right in front of me, framed like a private screen.

Lucía wasn’t stupid. Several times before that night, I’d floated the idea of a threesome in which I would do nothing but watch another man fuck her. She would laugh and tell me, “You’re such a pervert, baby,” but she never said no. I suspect she guessed what I’d done with the furniture. I suspect, too, that she liked the idea of knowing she was being watched without having to accept it out loud.

***

The following Friday, Tomás arrived close to eleven at night. They had arranged to watch an old horror movie, one of those she loved and I could never sit through. I went to bed early, heard the first laughs muffled by the door, and fell into a strange sleep full of fragmented images.

I woke at three in the morning with a dry mouth. The television was still on; I heard that immediately. But the voices had gone quiet. I got up with obsessive care, placing one foot after the other as if the floor were a minefield. I reached the door, crouched down, and put my eye to the keyhole.

I saw him first. Tomás had his head thrown back against the couch, his eyes closed. His unbuttoned shirt hung open at his sides. His pants were spread wide, revealing his cock, shiny with saliva, as big as I remembered from the picture. One hand hung limp at his side. The other, however, was busy: buried in Lucía’s hair, holding her by the nape and setting the pace. She was kneeling on the rug between his legs, in profile to me, perfectly visible. She had taken off her shirt. Her tits hung free and heavy, her nipples dark and hard. She lowered and raised her head with a level of surrender I had never seen from her, her cheeks hollowing each time she sucked, a strand of saliva hanging from her chin to her chest.

I heard her make noises I had never managed to draw out of her in four years. That wet “glup, glup” every time the tip struck the back of her throat. Tomás squeezed her nape and forced her down to the base. Lucía gagged, made a guttural sound, and a tear rolled down her cheek, but she didn’t pull away. She stayed there with the entire cock inside her, breathing through her nose, until he released her and let her come back up coughing and smiling at the same time.

—Good girl —he told her softly, and she licked her lips and put it back in her mouth.

I felt my whole body tremble. It wasn’t just excitement. It was a brutal mixture: anger, shame, tenderness, desire, all at once. My heart hammered against my ribs so hard I thought they would hear it through the door. I lowered my hand to touch myself and found that I was already completely wet through the fabric of my boxers. I pulled them down to my knees and began jerking off right there, crouched down, my eye pressed to the keyhole.

Tomás lifted her by the hair, stood her up, and bent her over the back of the couch, facing me. Now I could see Lucía’s face from only a few yards away: her mouth half open, mascara running, eyes glazed. He yanked down her skirt, tore off her ruined panties, and spread her buttocks with both hands. I watched him spit on my girlfriend’s pussy and run the tip of his cock over her wet lips. I watched him bury it slowly, centimeter by centimeter, and watched Lucía’s mouth open in a silent moan as he advanced.

—Oh, Daddy, yes, just like that, all the way —she whispered when he had finished entering her, and I almost came just from hearing it.

He began fucking her from behind with long thrusts, pulling almost all the way out and then burying himself in her again in one blow. The couch creaked. Lucía’s tits bounced against the leather. She dug her nails into the backrest, clenched her teeth, and every so often opened her eyes and looked directly toward the door. Toward me. Without seeing me, but knowing. I’m sure she knew. At one point she smiled, mouth open, while the other man split her pussy, and that smile was for me.

—Tell me you like it —he ordered, grabbing her hair and pulling her head back—. Tell me.

—I love your cock, Tomi —she gasped—. I love it. You fill me completely.

—More than your boyfriend’s?

There was a long pause. I stopped breathing.

—More —she finally said, her voice breaking—. Much more.

I bit my hand to keep from moaning. I kept jerking off harder, my eyes fixed on the angle where his cock entered and withdrew from my wife’s pussy, shiny and dripping. For a moment I thought about opening the door. Not out of jealousy or to put an end to everything: to get inside, to be part of the scene, to ask her to look at me while the other man kept fucking her. But I didn’t move. I knew the secret was what held the fantasy together. If I opened the door, everything would collapse.

Tomás sped up. He gripped her waist with both hands and began pounding her with muffled violence, every blow driving her whole body against the backrest. Lucía began to cry out softly, short little “ah, ah, ah” sounds escaping with every thrust. I watched her thighs tense, her back arch, and knew she was coming. She came on his cock with a long, hoarse moan, biting the leather of the couch to muffle it.

I waited. I almost prayed for him to come all over her, and for me to be able to watch. That was exactly what happened. Tomás pulled out in one swift motion, gripped his cock in his hand, and aimed it at her face. He turned Lucía around by the shoulders, made her kneel, and shot two, three, four streams of thick cum into her open mouth, across her cheeks and tits. She swallowed as much as she could and wiped what ran down her chin with the back of her hand, then smiled at him as if she’d just done him a favor she needed just as much. I came at that exact instant, biting the sleeve of my shirt, splattering the door and the floor, with a shudder that lasted almost a minute.

This is what I am now, I thought, still crouched down, my hand full of my own cum, afraid to move in case the floorboards betrayed me.

***

I walked backward to bed on shaky knees after cleaning the floor with an old shirt. I lay down, pulled the covers up to my neck, and tried to pretend I was asleep. An hour later I heard the front door close softly and Lucía’s bare feet heading for the bathroom. When she lay down beside me, I slipped an arm around her waist and kissed the back of her neck. She smelled of him: semen, sweat, men’s cologne. I slid my hand between her legs and found her still open, warm, sticky. She said nothing. She spread her thighs a little farther and let me sink two fingers into the place where another man had just left his mark. I felt her tremble against my chest and realized she was smiling in the darkness.

I didn’t tell her what I’d seen. Not that night, at least. I suspect she senses it. There’s something in her eyes when Tomás is nearby, a testing spark, as if she’s offering me the game without naming it. And I play it. I moved the furniture. I learned to pretend to sleep. I learned to want my girlfriend to take another cock in her mouth in the next room.

That’s why I’m writing. I’m not looking for anyone to tell me whether it’s right or wrong: I’ve already decided that. What I want to know is whether there are others like me, men who get hard imagining their partner against another mouth, another cock, another pussy full of someone else’s cum. Whether any of you have ever pressed your forehead against a door and felt that same sick heat rise up your back while you jerked off listening to your woman moan.

If the answer is yes, tell me. If the answer is no, forgive me. Either way, here I am: moving furniture, adjusting angles, waiting for the next night when she opens the door to Tomás and takes him into her mouth again.