My Coworker Took Me Home While His Wife Watched Us Live

There are things I’ve been keeping to myself for months that I’m only now daring to write about. The most intense of all has to do with Andrés, a coworker I ended up developing a complicity with that I never could have imagined.

Andrés is thirty-one and has been married to Camila for five years. I knew that on my first day, when I was introduced to him and saw the photo on his phone’s lock screen: her smiling on a beach, with him embracing her from behind. What I didn’t immediately know was what was unusual about that couple.

We became friends quickly. The same schedules, the same habit of having coffee in the middle of the afternoon, the same slightly acid humor for surviving endless meetings. After three weeks, we were already having lunch together; by five, I had told him that I wrote stories for an erotica website; and by six, he had confessed that he and Camila had read every one of them one night before going to sleep.

I didn’t know whether it made me uncomfortable or flattered me.

“Camila says you write very well,” he told me one afternoon, without looking up from the menu. “She says she hopes something happens between you and me someday, so you’ll have new material. She’d love to read about my cock sliding inside you, in exquisite detail.”

I nearly choked on my coffee. I laughed because I didn’t know what else to do. But the sentence stuck with me all afternoon, and that night, in my bed, I ended up fingering myself while thinking about exactly that.

***

The project we started together ended up being bigger than expected. The bosses put us in charge, and between presentations, reports, and deadlines, our schedules became unpredictable. One Tuesday, we left at eleven-thirty at night. I still didn’t have a company car, and Andrés, without my asking, grabbed his keys and said he’d take me home.

The drive was about fifty minutes. The city was empty and the streets smelled of rain. We put on quiet music, talked about nothing in particular, and at some point, out of nowhere, I asked him whether Camila got angry when he came home so late.

“Quite the opposite,” he answered. “Today she texted me saying we should take advantage of it. That we should do something I could send her afterward.”

He showed me the chat. The message said exactly that: “Tonight is the night to do something crazy, so you can send me a picture. Will you tell Mariana? 😛💦”

“And what exactly are we supposed to do?” I asked, half nervous and half amused.

Andrés slowed down. He glanced at me, weighing it, and took the plunge.

“At the next parking lot, take off your bra. And pull your pants down a little. That’s all. Just enough to send her a picture of your tits and pussy.”

That night I was wearing a semitransparent white blouse, a beige bra with a little padding, gray dress pants, and underneath, black cotton panties with lace along the edge. Nothing planned for anything that happened afterward.

***

I said yes. I said yes, and I still don’t really understand why. Maybe because the way he suggested it didn’t have the urgency of a man trying to take advantage of me; it had the naturalness of someone indulging his wife’s whim.

We entered an empty underground parking garage, with that yellow fluorescent-tube lighting that made everything seem seedier and more intimate at the same time. Andrés turned off the engine but left the interior lights on for a second, just long enough to look at me.

I took off my blouse in one quick movement, before I could overthink it. I unfastened my bra and let it fall onto the gearshift. Andrés let out a low whistle, almost a sigh, and a “Goddamn” escaped him from deep in his stomach.

“You have beautiful tits,” he said, without a joking tone, devouring them with his eyes. “And those big, dark nipples. I’m getting hard just looking at them.”

Because of my nerves and the cool air-conditioning, they were hard, standing up, dark beneath the yellow light. Andrés reached out and ran his thumb over one, barely touching it, as though testing it. A moan escaped me. He pinched it between his forefinger and thumb, tugged it gently, and I felt the current run straight down to my pussy.

“Come on, take the fucking picture before I change my mind,” I told him, my voice rougher than I would have liked.

I put my blouse back on without my bra, and the fabric clung to my skin as if it were wet, my nipples pressing hard against the cotton. Then I unbuttoned my pants, lifted my hips against the seat, and pulled them down to mid-thigh. My black panties were exposed, with a small wet spot in the middle that was completely obvious.

“You’re wet,” he murmured, pointing his phone at me.

“Shut up and take the picture.”

***

We pulled back onto the street. Andrés drove with one hand and held his phone with the other to show me Camila’s replies. Every red light was an excuse to read them aloud.

“I’m so jealous. She has a gorgeous slut’s body.”

“She has beautiful tits. Tell her I want to suck them.”

“Send me another one. With more light, so I can see her nipples properly.”

I turned on the ceiling light and let him take the second picture. This time I was framed from the waist up, still wearing my blouse, but with it open and transparent, my nipples showing as two dark, hard points. He sent it. The reply came in under a minute.

“Ask her if you can touch them. And suck them if she lets you. But I want to see it on video.”

I looked at him. Andrés’s jaw was clenched, his knuckles were white on the steering wheel, and a huge bulge showed through his pants. He wasn’t pretending. I believed every one of his gestures.

“Do you want to?” he asked, his voice cracking slightly.

“Pull over,” I replied.

***

He turned onto a dark side street, one of those industrial areas with no one around at that hour. He parked beneath a tree that blocked the streetlamp. The silence of the neighborhood was almost another character.

He lifted his phone and, before I fully understood what was happening, he had already started a video call with Camila. The screen filled with her, reclining on her bed, bare from the waist up, an open bra hanging from her arm and one hand lost between her legs. Her hair was tied up in a messy bun, and her eyes were bright and dilated. It was obvious she had been touching herself for a while, waiting.

“Hi, Mariana,” she said, as if we’d known each other for years. “I hope you don’t mind. I’ve been so fucking turned on since I saw the first picture.”

I didn’t know how to answer. I just smiled and opened my blouse all the way, showing her my tits in full.

“You little bitch,” she murmured, and pushed two fingers all the way inside herself. She pulled them out glistening and held them up to the camera. “Look what you’re doing to me.”

Andrés placed his open hand over my left breast, carefully, almost asking permission. I nodded. He closed his fingers around my nipple, squeezed it gently, and let go. He did it again, harder. Then he lowered his head and took the whole thing into his mouth, sucking my nipple with a flat tongue and giving it little bites that made me arch my back against the seat.

“Harder,” Camila whispered. “Bite them. Make it hurt a little.”

Andrés obeyed. He tugged my other nipple with his fingers while devouring the first, and I closed my eyes and buried my hand in his hair, pushing his face against my breast. When I opened them, I saw that he had undone his pants and had one hand on his cock, already hard, thick, and dark amid his black hair. It wasn’t enormous, but it was thick, with a purple, veined head, the tip shining with a drop of fluid. I said nothing. I took his hand, moved it away, and wrapped it in mine. I began jerking him off slowly, feeling it pulse against my palm.

I put my feet up on the seat, spread my legs, and pushed my panties aside. My pussy was streaming. A little trickle ran down to my asshole.

“Me too,” I said, looking at Camila, and slid two fingers inside myself to the knuckles.

***

Camila set the phone on a stand and showed us her whole body. She was completely naked, thighs spread, masturbating with two fingers at a slow rhythm while her other hand squeezed one of her tits. Andrés let me jerk him off without looking at the street, without looking at anything except the screen and, from time to time, my fingers sliding in and out of my pussy.

“Suck him,” Camila suddenly said, her voice trembling. “Mariana, suck him for a while. I want to see you take him into your mouth.”

I looked at Andrés. Andrés looked at me. I didn’t even answer. I unbuckled my seat belt, leaned over the gearshift, and grabbed his cock with both hands. I gave it a long lick from his balls to the tip, collecting the drop that had appeared, and showed it to the camera before swallowing it. Then I took the whole thing into my mouth, as far as it would go, and started sucking him eagerly, squeezing his shaft with my fist while the head struck the back of my palate.

“Goddamn, goddamn,” he repeated, his hand on the back of my head, not pushing, only guiding.

“That’s it, beautiful, that’s it,” Camila moaned from the phone. “Suck him properly. You suck him better than I do.”

I sucked his cock for a long while, listening to him moan above me and feeling his whole body tense. I made his cock shine with strings of saliva, licked his balls, and swallowed him deep again. When I lifted my head to breathe, he was glistening, drenched, and red.

“Put it inside her,” Camila ordered. “Andrés, take off her panties and fuck her. I want to see you put it inside her.”

I ripped off my panties in one pull, so wet they clung to my skin. Andrés reclined the passenger seat all the way back, and I climbed on top of him, straddling him with my knees pressed against the backrest. I took his cock, positioned it against the entrance to my pussy, and lowered myself slowly, feeling myself open around him, feeling him fill me inch by inch until I was sitting all the way down, his balls crushed against my ass.

“Oh, fuck, you’ve got a thick one,” I moaned, throwing my head back.

I began moving, rising and lowering myself, bracing my hands on his shoulders. His cock slid in and out with a wet, obscene sound that filled the car. Andrés grabbed my tits with both hands and squeezed them on every downward stroke, biting his lip to keep from shouting. On the screen, Camila had the camera almost pressed against her pussy and was working it with three fingers.

“She’s shaved,” she murmured, looking at me. “You can see everything, his cock shining as it slides in and out of her. How beautiful, my God, how beautiful.”

That sentence finally melted me. It wasn’t that I felt flattered; I felt looked at in a way no one had ever looked at me before. I sped up, riding him faster and faster, with the seat creaking beneath me and the car windows beginning to fog. Andrés slapped my ass once, then again, and grabbed it with both hands, guiding me and driving me down onto him.

“I’m going to come,” he warned through clenched teeth. “Mariana, I’m going to come.”

“Not inside,” I panted. “Pull out and come on top of me.”

I jumped up, grabbed his cock, and began jerking him off quickly, aiming it at my tits. Andrés let out a dry moan, almost a whimper, and his cum shot out in thick, hot spurts, landing on my tits, my neck, and the hand I was still stroking him with. Some landed on the steering wheel and his pants too. He didn’t try to clean himself. He kept watching as it ran between my breasts, and I spread it around with my fingers, then sucked the tip of my finger.

Camila came seconds later, trembling so hard that her entire chest shook, letting out a long moan she tried to smother against the pillow. I sat back down on Andrés’s cock, still hard, and took him inside me again while pressing two fingers against my clitoris. Three or four strokes were enough. I closed my eyes and let myself go against the backrest, biting my free hand to keep from screaming, my pussy squeezing his cock in spasms, milking him. It was long and electric, like a cramp running from my pelvis to my heels, and when I finished, I felt that I had left a warm puddle over his thighs.

***

The three of us fell silent. The only sounds were the air-conditioning, the purr of the idling engine, and my ragged breathing.

“Don’t do anything else,” Camila finally said in a hoarse voice. “When you get home, it’ll be his turn to reward me. My pussy’s swollen from touching myself so much.”

The video call ended. Andrés and I looked at each other for a second and burst out laughing at the same time. It was the nervous laughter of teenagers who had just pulled off a major prank. I still had him inside me, still felt him softening inside me. I stood up carefully, and his cock slid out with a wet sound that made us laugh again. I found some tissues in the glove compartment and cleaned his cum off the steering wheel and his pants. I left mine where it was, smearing my tits beneath my blouse. I adjusted my soaked panties, pulled up my pants, and searched for the bra that had fallen between the seats. I left my blouse as it was: open, semitransparent, with nothing underneath, stuck to me with cum and sweat. There were only twenty minutes left to my house, and no one was going to see me.

The rest of the drive was strange. We talked about Camila, how they had met, and the things they had done as a couple. He told me about threesomes with her friends, a swap with another couple, whole nights spent improvising, and one time Camila had fucked two men while he watched and recorded. As he drove, without my asking, he rested his hand on my bare breast and kept it there, slowly playing with my nipple and pinching it now and then, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. I let him. His wife had given him permission. At one point I lowered his hand to my pussy and left it there too, over the wet fabric of my pants, and he rubbed me slowly until we reached the highway exit.

***

We arrived at twenty past one in the morning. Before getting out, I put my blazer over my open blouse, tidied my hair a little, and kissed him on the cheek. As if we had just returned from any ordinary business dinner. As if nothing had happened.

“Let me know when you get home,” I asked.

Before I closed the car door, he showed me one last message from Camila: “Tell her next time they’re inviting me. I’ll drive, and you two can do whatever you want in the back. Then both of you can eat me out.”

I laughed, told him yes, whenever they wanted, and went inside my house with my legs still weak, my pussy throbbing, and dried cum sticking my tits to my blouse. A few minutes later, I got a WhatsApp message from an unknown number. Camila had saved my contact without me noticing.

“Hi, gorgeous. I wanted to repeat what we did today. If you want, we can arrange something for the weekend, at my place this time. I want to eat your pussy until you beg me to stop. I’ll let you think about it. Good night.”

At one forty, I received another picture, one of those that can only be viewed once, in which I could make out her head bent over Andrés’s crotch, his cock buried deep in her mouth and a strand of drool running down her chin. “He made it,” she wrote beneath it. “We owe you a little of this. Next time we’ll both suck you off.”

I told them to let me sleep, that no one could compete with them at that hour, and set my phone facedown.

***

I turned off the light and lay there for a while staring at the ceiling, still hot, still unable to fully believe what had happened. I slipped my hand inside my panties and touched myself again, slowly, feeling sticky and open. I have to call Daniela and tell her, I thought. She’ll want to come next time. And knowing her, she might not just sit there and watch.

There will be more stories, I promise. There are things with a friend from the gym that I’ve had pending for weeks. And a bet with Daniela that ended in a way I never expected. But everything in its own time. Work is exhausting, and I don’t have much energy left for writing. In the meantime, know that Andrés and Camila have already added me to a group chat called “Three.”

For now, I’m not opening the notifications. For now.