My Friend’s Wife Stripped in Front of Me

I spent half the afternoon thinking about how to ruin their game, but in the end I decided to play it myself. I would provoke Esteban and make sure Marcos didn’t take part or even find out the game had already begun.

The meal went by with a normality that almost made me laugh. When they said they were going for a walk in the hills, I said I’d rather stay behind, watch TV, and lie down for a bit, and that when they got back we’d go down to the village for dinner, depending on what time they returned.

I was glad they left me alone. I needed to think, to decide whether I was going to go on with my husband’s absurd fantasies or cut it off at the root and tell them both that the situation made me uncomfortable, that I wasn’t going to be used like a toy. They sold rubber dolls for that, dolls no one asked anything of.

But I wanted to be honest with myself. I went over the moments when Esteban had brushed against my body under the pretext of sunscreen by the pool, and what I had felt when I noticed his hands on me: the heat in my breasts when his fingers had squeezed my nipples pretending to be absent-minded, the shiver when he slid down my waist and lingered a second too long brushing the fold of my ass, the sharp desire I hadn’t expected and that had soaked my panties on the spot. I hadn’t cared whose hands they were. My body had reacted the same, and the naked, simple truth was that I’d liked it. That I’d spent half the afternoon with my cunt throbbing and my panties stuck to my flesh, imagining that cock I had felt hard against my ass while Esteban pretended innocence and tugged at my bikini strap.

So I made a decision. I would play along, take advantage of the situation and enjoy whatever I could, but without giving them the impression that I was on their side. The initiative would be mine. They would have to accept whatever I decided in this three-way game they had started without counting on me.

While I listened to their voices echoing among the crags, I chose what to wear that afternoon. I had come up with something wicked, and I was going to put it into practice that very night. Esteban and his obsession with looking at me would be the main event. But there would also be a victim: Marcos was going to regret having pushed me into such a dangerous game.

***

We didn’t speak again until we got back to the house, where the shower water could be heard running. Marcos held me in the living room; they had something to propose to me. The idea was to get dressed up and go down to the village for dinner, have a few drinks in the square when it cooled off. I nodded at everything, but I kept my eye on the hallway.

Then Carla came out of the bathroom wrapped in a towel and went into her bedroom, leaving the door open. I had moved to the room next door to look for a clean shirt, and from the doorway I could see her from behind, finishing drying her hair.

Marcos kept talking to me about bars and terraces, completely oblivious, his back to her while he explained where we could grab a bite. And at one point, Carla let the towel fall onto the bed and stood naked with her back to me, less than two meters away, looking for clothes in the bedside table drawer.

I wanted to leave. It felt violent, out of place. But I was hypnotized by her bronzed back, the groove of her spine running down to that round ass, two firm, tanned half-moons split by a dark crease that opened every time she bent over to rummage in the drawer. You could see everything. The flesh of her ass parting, the tight, dark hole, and lower still the smooth mound of her shaved cunt, with the lips showing between her thighs like a split fruit. Marcos wasn’t letting me go, and she couldn’t hear me; she must have supposed I was still outside, listening to her husband. My cock was hard as a stick inside my trousers, flattened against the fly, and I didn’t dare even move for fear of giving myself away.

It was one of the most erotic scenes of my life. Watching a woman get dressed. Observing how she covered her naked body with almost transparent panties, hinting at what had just been visible in the raw, with the naturalness of an everyday gesture, as if the room only held the two of them. She pulled the panties up slowly, sliding them over her thighs until the fabric bit into her cunt, marking the cleft in front and wedging itself between her buttocks in back. She turned for a second toward the mirror, looking for her reflection, and I saw her tits for the first time: two full breasts, with large dark nipples, crowning skin gilded by the morning sun.

I didn’t know whether Marcos was aware that his wife was showing herself like that, but I would almost have sworn he was, that it was part of his plan. When she fastened her bra, crossing her arms behind her back with that so-feminine ease, I decided I couldn’t endure that tension any longer, on pain of making a spectacle of myself inside my pants. I backed into my room and announced, as firmly as I could, that I was going to get dressed too. I shut myself in the bathroom, pulled my cock out of the fly, and was about to jerk it right there thinking of her. I barely held back. If I rubbed one out before going down to the village, I wouldn’t have any ammunition left for what was brewing, and I had a feeling the night was going to run long.

The three of us got out of the car, parked near the square, and when I opened the back door to help her down, I discovered the peculiar feature of that long skirt that had seemed excessive to me for a hot day: it had slits on both sides, almost up to the waist. As she stepped forward to get out, her whole thigh was naked to my eyes, and by a miracle her panties didn’t show.

Everything went back into place as soon as she stood up. The slits closed and the skirt looked like an ordinary skirt, with a sleeveless shirt fitted without being too tight and her tousled hair floating with the slightly hurried pace we were keeping.

There weren’t too many people at that hour. We had a quiet dinner in a pretty place full of flowers. I imagined her bare legs under the table, just as in the car, but I couldn’t see anything; only the occasional lowered glance from the waiter kept alive the tension that had not left me since I saw her getting dressed.

Afterward we sat at an open-air bar in the same square. I made a point of sitting beside her, where I could tell clearly whether the skirt would open again when we sat down. But nothing. I started to think it was all in my head, that my mind had me trapped in a body I had already seen naked and wanted to keep seeing. The skirt covered her legs to mid-calf and her posture was extremely modest. Not everyone was as dirty-minded as I was.

It was nice there. The breeze was gentle, the heat of the day had eased off, and we talked about almost everything: how Marcos and Carla had found that place so close to Seville and yet so unknown. We were cheerful, like almost everyone left on the terrace, until I noticed that people were looking at her more, and that the waiters were passing through our area more often than usual.

They had their reasons. When she shifted in her chair, the lower part of the skirt had fallen almost to the floor, the front of the fabric had slipped between her legs, and from the hip down you could see in full the golden, rounded thigh. Even a little of those almost transparent panties I had seen her put on. I thought she wasn’t aware.

But I noticed a smile when my eyes finally dropped to her legs. And I’m almost sure, because from that moment on she devoted herself to playing with the skirt: she covered it when someone came near, spread it apart so I could see more when no one was close, moved her legs outward so the view would be as complete as possible.

When she crossed one leg over the other, the sides fell away and the full length of her thighs appeared before me, shielded only by the handbag whenever she saw someone approaching. Slim legs, gaining volume and roundness toward the hip, smooth, soft flesh pressed flat against the seat. Still without showing the secret part higher up.

She stood up to go to the bathroom. The sun was already going down, the light was fading, and the atmosphere was becoming more intimate. There was only one waiter left for the three or four customers still hanging on, so when she came back I wasn’t surprised that she sat closer to me and that from the very first moment she let the skirt fall to the sides, showing me her legs again and, this time yes, the junction of her thighs barely covered by a light fabric that the darkness didn’t let me make out.

I had my eyes fixed on that shadowy triangle the weak light of the streetlamp couldn’t reach. She played, crossing and uncrossing her legs like in that famous film, until she took pity on me and opened them almost completely, not caring about the waiter clearing the neighboring table.

Marcos had gotten up to ask for the bill and the waiter pointed him toward the inside of the place, so he headed that way. Then she, with no witnesses left, opened her legs wider and I saw the flesh-colored panties covering her most intimate part, while she smiled, aware that I was hypnotized by that brazen scene.

But when she spread her knees a little more, almost at a right angle, I froze. It was just like the movie: she wasn’t wearing panties. The flesh color I had assumed was fabric was her own skin, showing itself to me, only to me, in a gesture that promised much more than a simple display. I saw her shaved cunt, the lips tight and shining under the yellowish light of the streetlamp, with a pink line splitting it down the middle. I saw her lick her lips and lower a finger, pretending not to, and part the lips for an instant so I could see everything inside: the red, wet flesh, the clit peeking out swollen. A sigh slipped from her when she closed her legs again, and my cock was stabbing the fly.

She made a movement with the skirt, as if to get some air, as if it were burning down there, and I shifted in the chair trying to make sure the effect in my fly wouldn’t be noticed. Marcos’s arrival brought me back some sanity, and she drew the fabric shut just a little.

She didn’t cover herself when she stood up; only once she was on her feet did she let the hem fall and everything was hidden. A few tables away, two men were staring fixedly in her direction, motionless, unblinking. The comments would come as soon as we were out of earshot.

Normal conversation during the drive back. Nothing had happened there. Only when Marcos parked the car in the garage did it seem to me that she was hiking her skirt up too much to climb the stairs, and I saw her bare ass cheeks peeking out beneath the hem, two round, firm globes moving with the rhythm of her steps. But by then I was already reading dirty intent into every gesture she made.

We went into the house and Carla went to her room. I sat down on the terrace, where it was wonderful and the distant city shone beneath a clear, starry sky, a spectacle that could only be enjoyed in that isolated corner of the hills. Marcos left out some bottles, glasses, and ice, said he had to answer a few emails, and invited me to help myself.

I liked being alone now and then. And I needed to sort out everything that had happened since I arrived that morning: Marcos’s confession, the invitation to try something with his wife, her sudden change, from the almost sulky coldness of midday to that exhibition in the bar. It all seemed so strange to me.

Maybe they had already talked it over. It seemed almost like a trap, or like I was a toy in their maneuvers. But I had wanted her for months, ever since I saw some photos of hers, provocative and natural at the same time, and that moment I had imagined so often was finally coming, perhaps too fast for what I had expected.

I decided to be myself, with no false moves, but to take advantage if she came on to me, without remorse now: after all, it had been her own husband who had offered her to me. I would respond as things came.

And they came. Carla appeared on the terrace shortly afterward, changed clothes, sat down at one side of the table, and poured herself a generous drink before staring, like me, at the dark, starry sky.

I was able to watch her calmly while she lost herself in the heights. A thin gauze shirt, unbuttoned and tied at the bottom, showed the base of her breasts, which rose and fell with her breathing. The nipple hinted at itself for only a second when she reached out to take her glass, and then disappeared again as she leaned back. Below, a short pair of shorts let her bare legs show, stretched down to the floor.

When Marcos came back, they stood up to go to bed and my reverie fell apart as I watched them walk away arm in arm toward their bedroom. Still carrying the images of her from the afternoon and the night, I undressed and lay down, wanting the next day so I could keep enjoying the sight of her body by the pool.

I couldn’t sleep. I could only think of her. My cock was hard against my belly, throbbing under the sheet, and I didn’t dare do anything because I had a feeling something was going to happen. I closed my eyes when I heard footsteps in the hallway. The footsteps stopped, the door opened, and a whisper beside my bed forced me to open them again.

—Are you asleep? —she asked.

—No, but almost. Something wrong?

Something wrong indeed. There she was, in front of me, with that same shirt open and without the shorts this time, only almost transparent lace panties through which the dark shadow of her shaved cunt showed, undoing the knot that closed the fabric as she leaned toward the bed. Her breasts a hand’s breadth from my eyes, two firm tits with the nipples already hard and pointing at me, her flat stomach brushing my hand, her eyes fixed on mine.

—I forgot to tell you that if you were cold, you should let me know. There’s a blanket up there. You can feel the mountains at night.

—I was a little cold —I answered—, but I hardly notice it anymore.

She laughed, a bright, genuine laugh, amused by my silliness or by the way I’d said it, and she made me smile too. I was covered only by the sheet to my waist, so when she brought her body close to give me a chaste kiss on the cheek, her breasts pressed against mine. I felt her warmth on my skin, her arms around my neck, and finally a light touch on the lips and a promise.

—I like you… —she murmured.

Her hardened nipples brushed my chest when she pulled her face away, with a smile that was both mischievous and surprised as she felt my hands cup the roundness of her hips, pulling her toward me without pressing, so as not to make her uncomfortable. I didn’t let her go when she tried to pull back. I lifted my eyes from her chest to hers.

—I like you too… —I said—. A lot.

I slid my hand down to her ass and squeezed it through the lace, feeling the firm flesh give under my fingers. She gave a low moan, pressed her hip a little against the edge of the bed, and her hand slipped under the sheet, searching for me. She found my hard, throbbing cock and let out a new laugh, rougher now, as she closed her fingers around it and slowly jerked me, measuring me.

—Wow… so just a little cold —she whispered in my ear, while she kept massaging me with her cool hand.

I squeezed one breast with my other hand, pinched the nipple between my fingers, pulled it toward me, and she arched her back and brought it closer to my mouth. I sucked on it hungrily, the hard nipple between my tongue and palate, biting it just a little, while still holding her by the ass. Her hand squeezed my cock, pulling the foreskin back and forth, her thumb smearing the moisture from the tip all over the glans.

I was going to pull her onto the bed. I was going to lay her down, strip off her panties, eat her pussy until she came twice and then fuck her until dawn. I didn’t care about Marcos anymore, or his emails, or his weird arrangements. I wanted her underneath me, panting, my cock buried to the hilt.

But she pulled away slowly, that strange look still fixed on me, taking her hand from under the sheet as if she had just remembered something. She licked my wet fluids from her fingers, smiled, tied her shirt back up, and, leaving the door open behind her, went back to her room.

I was left with my cock hard as a rock, the sheet lifted halfway, hearing the bedroom door next door open and close. The little bitch had left me hanging. And in the darkness, with my heart hammering against my ribs, I understood that that was exactly her plan: for Marcos to find out, sooner or later, that it had been she who came to my bed, not the other way around. That she was the one playing the game. That Marcos and I were the toys.