My Wife and the Couple Who Watched Us on the Beach

That weekend in Málaga fell out of the sky. A supplier for the company I worked for back then gave us two nights in a hotel of our choice, and my wife and I picked the coast because we’d been cooped up in Seville for months. The building was old, with tall balconies and dark wood, but the room had a view of the sea. The first thing I did was lean out the window.

I gauged distances, looked at the buildings opposite, searched for lights on. Nothing. We were too high up and the nearest block was across a street. We weren’t going to be able to do balcony kink.

—This time we have to be boring —I said, pretending to be disappointed.

—We’ll see —she replied, laughing from the bed.

We had dinner in the hotel restaurant, ate quickly because the trip had left us drained, and trudged upstairs. But as soon as I closed the room door, she turned and kissed me as if she’d been holding it in all night. We fucked slowly at first, then in a hurry. We fell asleep without ever letting go.

In the morning she woke up affectionate. She searched for me under the sheets, tangled herself up with me, and wouldn’t let me get away until we realized we were going to miss breakfast. We went down to the buffet with trembling legs and sparkling eyes. After that we went back up to the room to shower, played a little under the water, dressed, and got the car to head to the beach.

We’d barely parked when she grabbed my thigh.

—Iván, let’s go back to the hotel —she said. —I’m burning up. I need to fuck.

I didn’t argue. I put the key back in the ignition and drove the ten minutes back faster than I should have. We stripped off as soon as we crossed the door, nearly tearing our clothes off each other, and fell onto the bed. Her cunt was soaked like I’d rarely seen it. We fucked, licked each other, looked each other in the eye, and fucked again until the clock warned us the dining room would close in half an hour.

While she got dressed to go down for lunch, she looked at me in the mirror.

—I’m not wearing panties. Or a bra. I want to be loose.

I felt the turn-on crawl up my back. Beneath the short skirt, her cunt was out in the open. Beneath the blouse, her small breasts were outlined with every movement.

—You’re going to get yourself in trouble —I said, already hoarse.

—So are you —she replied.

They seated us at a table in the corner, next to a window. We ordered the set menu and, as soon as the waiter —a man in his mid-forties, tall, with slender hands and very calm manners— walked off toward the kitchen, she grabbed my hand and took it to her lap.

—Look.

She lifted her skirt. Her pussy was right there, with no fabric protecting it at all, shining under the white light of the dining room. She guided my hand to it. It was wet. I caressed it without losing control, glancing toward the kitchen over her shoulder.

—I don’t know what’s wrong with me today, Iván. I’m beside myself.

The waiter appeared with the starters. I pulled my hand away. She straightened her skirt in a second and put on the most innocent face I’d ever seen on her. He set down the plates, wished us buen provecho, and left. Not even a blink.

She was disappointed.

—He didn’t see me.

—He’s focused on the service. Unbutton your blouse a couple of buttons. When he bends down to clear the plates, he’ll see everything from above.

She did it without thinking. Looking at her head-on, I couldn’t see anything odd. But when I stood up and positioned myself where he’d be a few seconds later, the gap in the fabric showed the whole curve of her breasts, her nipples standing up from the air in the room. I went back to my chair with my heart pounding.

I stroked her cunt every time he turned his back. When he came back for the empty plates, she didn’t pull her skirt down anymore. She stayed with her pussy out under the table, her legs slightly apart. He brushed the little crumbs away with the tiny brush. My side was almost untouched. Hers he left looking like a display window. He bent down. He lingered. His eyes could not have failed to see the soft hair between my wife’s thighs and the outline of her nipples beneath the half-open blouse. But he said nothing. Didn’t move a muscle in his face. Professional.

—Finish quickly —she whispered while they served dessert. —Take me upstairs.

We passed the waiter and I left him a tip he wasn’t expecting. We rode the elevator almost without touching, holding ourselves back, and as soon as the room door closed, she dropped to her knees and pulled my trousers down.

—This is wrong, Iván. I’m hotter than I’ve ever been in my life.

I took her clothes off, put her up on the bed, and made love to her with the calm of a man who knows the afternoon is long. While I fucked her slowly, I spoke into her ear.

—The waiter will be thinking about you now. He saw you. He looked at your cunt from above.

—Yes…

—He’ll be in some room touching himself, remembering what he saw.

—Yes, yes…

—You’re a tease. You drove him crazy and didn’t even say a word to him.

—You should have told him to come up —she murmured, eyes shut, her nails in my back.

—Do you want me to call? Want a blowjob with him here?

—Yes…

—And if he wants to fuck you?

—Yes. Let him fuck me. I want…

She pulled away from me, propped herself up on her elbows, and looked at me with glassy eyes.

—Call.

I picked up the phone on the nightstand. Dialed reception. At the last moment, instead of asking for the waiter, I ordered a bottle of cava with two glasses. Hung up. Went back between her legs and slid into her slowly, whispering in her ear that we were going to have company. She clamped down around me in a spasm, moaning yes, yes, yes.

Less than five minutes later there was a knock at the door. I put on my boxers, told her to stay exactly as she was —naked, open, breasts bare— and opened it. But it wasn’t him. It was a very young guy, no more than twenty-one, hotel uniform, tray in one hand. He froze when he saw what was behind me. He almost dropped everything.

—Come in —I said, as naturally as I could. —Leave it on the table.

He set down the tray. I took the glasses. My wife sat up without hiding herself, legs slightly crossed, nipples hard, and held out hers. He poured, trembling. He closed the bottle in the ice bucket. He muttered “enjoy” and bolted, his face tomato-red.

She laughed.

—It wasn’t him.

—No. Good luck for the kid, bad luck for you.

—Well, I would have fucked this one too.

—And the other one?

—Iván, today I don’t care. I want another cock. Any cock.

She stood on the bed, yanked down my boxers, and spilled cava over my cock. Then she leaned down and started drinking it from the source. Her tongue, her soft teeth, the cold against the heat. When I couldn’t take any more, she lay back and offered me the same. I poured cava over her cunt and went down. I licked her clit with my tongue while I sucked the glass dry. She came writhing, grabbing my head with both hands.

—Keep going, keep going.

I went up licking her belly, her navel, her small hard breasts, her neck. I penetrated her. Then she asked me to let her be on top, and she climbed onto me. While she rode me, she looked down at me from above.

—Iván, do you remember the blowjob for the voyeur that afternoon?

—How could I forget.

—Today I wanted to suck the waiter in the dining room. And have him fuck me. I wanted it.

—Suck him, sure, but fucking without a condom, no. You know that.

She leaned toward her bag and came back with a silver square between her fingers.

—This time I did bring one. So we don’t get what happened last summer.

That was a direct hit. I grabbed her by the waist and hoisted her up and down on me harder, while I spoke to her.

—So you would have fucked the cava boy?

—I almost touched his package when he was serving. But I was scared he’d get spooked.

—He definitely wouldn’t have said no.

She came again, with a long moan. She collapsed beside me, took me in her hand, and started jerking me off.

—I’m different today, Iván. It even scares me.

—Don’t hold back. Today we do whatever you want.

She leaned down and took me into her mouth. It didn’t take long. I pulled out just in time and the first burst hit her in the face, near her lip. Usually I had to ask for that. That time, she wanted it that way.

—Iván, I want to taste another cock. I’ve only had yours.

—I want to see you with another man too.

—I’ve only given two blowjobs in my life.

—Three. The one in the cinema counts too.

—That was half a second.

We laughed. I asked if we were going to the beach or staying in. She wanted to swim. We showered, got dressed again —she with her bikini under the sarong, with nothing else underneath— and took the car.

—Iván, look.

—Fuck. Do you think about anything else today?

—Not today.

***

The beach was half empty. It was late and the sun was slowly going down. We spread our towels a few meters from the water. To our left, a family with children and two married couples. To the right, three or four meters away, a young couple. Early twenties, both of them. She in a white bikini, he in black trunks. They’d been watching us from the start.

My wife lay face down and I unclasped the back of her bikini top so she could catch what little sun was left. The couple kept watching. I saw how he, with a catlike smile, unclasped his girlfriend’s bra top and let one nipple peek out into the air. She covered it laughing, not very convincingly, never taking her eyes off us.

The couples with children started packing up. In ten minutes there was no one nearby except the other couple and us. My wife sat up, fastened her top, and turned over to tan her front. I asked her to take the top off and she said no, that she hadn’t seen anyone topless.

—There’s no one here now.

—Doesn’t matter.

I kept watching the couple. He yanked at the strap of her top again, and this time she didn’t cover herself completely. Then he went for her bikini bottoms. The girl protested through laughter, holding one thing with one hand and another with the other, flashing me glimpses of her pussy and nipples as she struggled. But she didn’t move. Didn’t cover up. She was looking straight into my eyes.

She ended up naked. Sitting cross-legged on the towel. Small breasts, pronounced collarbones, trimmed hair. He pulled his cock out through one side of his trunks, hard and straight, and lay down beside her. She took it in her hand and started stroking it slowly, never taking her eyes off me.

I couldn’t stop looking at them. I wasn’t looking at my wife. Until suddenly I felt her face pressed against mine.

—Do you like what you see?

—Yes.

—Me too.

She kissed me. Her hand slipped into my trunks, pulled my cock out over the top, and lowered her head to take it into her mouth. I saw the couple realize it and react. The girl put the boyfriend’s cock in her mouth without taking her eyes off us. It was a silent competition.

My wife took my cock out for a second.

—Take off my bikini bottoms.

I pulled on the tie from one side and then the other. The bottoms fell. She went back to my cock, sucking me while I stroked her clit with two fingers. The other two crawled over the sand toward us until they were less than a meter away. He lying beside me, she on top of him, sucking him.

The girl took the boyfriend’s cock out and offered it toward my wife, holding it by the base. My wife shook her head, not letting go of mine. I whispered in her ear to suck it, that it was just that, but she shook her head again. The girl laughed and stuffed it back into her mouth.

Then my wife surprised me. She sat up, turned her back to me, lifted one leg, and asked me to fuck her. She ended up almost pressed against the boyfriend. He, without asking permission, stroked one breast with the tips of his fingers. My wife didn’t move away. The girl, on top of him, watched us fuck without stopping her own movements on her boyfriend’s cock. Her hand crossed over to my wife’s free breast. She didn’t reject that either.

—Want to swap? —she said.

—No —my wife answered quickly.

The girl wasn’t offended. She kept playing with my wife’s breast and then slid her hand down to her sex. She was touching my wife and, at the same time, grazing my cock every time it went in and out. She found her clit and stayed there, rubbing it. My wife came within half a minute, with a muffled cry, clinging to my thigh. After that she said enough. They both pulled their hands away.

I asked my wife to return the courtesy. Not very enthusiastically, while I kept fucking her, she reached out and touched the girl’s nipple. That was enough. They both came almost at the same time. I did a minute later.

The four of us lay there, looking at the sky, listening to the sea. When I sat up, she was already putting her bikini on. He smiled at me.

—Let’s see if we run into each other another day and play a little more.

—I hope so.

They collected their things and left. My wife stayed naked on the towel, breasts bare, sand stuck to her back.

—Let’s stay a little longer.

—If we do, we won’t have dinner.

—Then let it be pizza.

***

We got back to the car with the sun already low. On the way to the hotel I stopped at a neighborhood pizzeria. My wife stayed in the passenger seat, and when I got back in the car with the order on the way —fifteen minutes, the guy had said— she pulled down the sarong and showed me that she’d taken off her bikini bottoms at some point between the beach and the pizzeria. Her pussy glistened against the leather seat.

I looked at the sidewalk. People were passing. Quite a few. But the street was badly lit and the car’s headlights were off.

I slipped my hand between her legs discreetly. She was dripping. I masturbated her slowly, glancing at every pedestrian out of the corner of my eye. If anyone leaned in, if anyone looked down in the right direction, they’d see everything. Some people were passing a meter from the door.

—Are you still going? —she asked me, closing her eyes.

—I’m still going.

I stayed at it a long time. Her breathing rose and fell, her thighs trembled, her hips moved toward my hand. She was on the edge when I heard a voice right in my ear.

—You’ve got her done.

I whipped around. The pizza guy, a man in his early thirties, was leaning over the window with a look of complete disbelief at what he’d just seen. I took my hand away unhurriedly.

—I’m coming.

I got out of the car. I paid inside the pizzeria, while he watched me with a half-smile.

—Your girlfriend is very pretty.

—She’s not my girlfriend.

Before I could finish the sentence, he laughed.

—I’ve already noticed. She’s a little slut. How much does she charge?

—For me, free.

I took the box and left. When I started the car, my wife looked toward the pizzeria door. The guy was still there. She lifted her bikini top for a second, showed him her breasts, and mouthed, “your loss.” Then she closed it again, laughing.

—You’re incorrigible.

—Today, yes.

We got to the hotel. She got out of the car with the sarong half-tied and the white bikini showing through. In the hallway on the way to the room, she kept lifting the sarong higher. When we got to the door, I untied it and it fell to the floor. I left it there.

We ate the pizza almost without chewing and then ate each other. We went over everything again and again. The couple on the beach. The waiter. The cava boy. The pizza guy. Every step. Every look we didn’t answer and every one we did.

That night was the last one with that intensity. In the morning we went back to Seville. She already had our first child inside her, though we didn’t know it yet.

Then came the children, the routine, the years. A few flashes, but nothing like it. We tried to pick it back up later, when the kids were older, and it didn’t last long. We ended up divorced. But that afternoon in Málaga is still there, intact, every time someone asks me what the strangest day of my life was.