The Night I Saw My Husband with My Best Friend

We’ve been playing with the idea for years that Andrés watches me while someone else touches me. It started almost by accident, on a trip with friends when someone turned off the wrong light and my husband realized that that turned him on too. Ever since then, we’ve sought out those situations carefully, with no names, no commitments, always by the same rule: he can’t miss a single detail.

I like to position myself so he can see me. If I’m on my knees with a cock filling my mouth, I turn my hip so he can look at my open ass. If I’m getting fucked, I lean in a way that lets him see the cock going in and out of me wet, how the semen runs down my thighs when they finish. Andrés loves seeing me like that, with my face soaked and my cunt dripping, repeated from every angle, and I melt knowing he’s on the other side of the room, eyes fixed on me and hand on his cock.

But a few months ago another idea got into my head, and it wouldn’t leave. I wanted to watch. I wanted to sit in the armchair and look at him with another woman. I wanted to see whether his face changed, whether he moaned differently, whether his body moved the same under other hands. Andrés is a calm man, quiet, restrained. I, on the other hand, am the kind who writhes and screams. I wanted to see a woman writhing on his cock the way I writhe.

When I first suggested it, he didn’t answer. He looked at me for a long while, finished his glass of wine, and asked me who I had in mind. That question alone told me he was going to say yes.

I already had a name. Camila, my lifelong friend. Camila and Andrés get along with that affectionate familiarity some people allow themselves and others don’t. They hug, they make jokes that border on dirty, she puts her hand on his thigh when they sit together for a drink, and it never bothered me. I know what Camila is like under a dress, because we grew up sharing a bed at birthdays and during endless nights, and I know she has the same hunger for cock that I do.

***

I called her on a Friday afternoon, when I knew she was alone in her apartment. I asked her to come over, poured her a drink, circled around the subject before I dared say it.

—I want to ask you something really weird —I said, feeling my face burn—. But first promise me that if it bothers you, we forget it and never speak of it again.

Camila laughed, set down her glass, crossed her legs. She’s known me too long to get scared.

—Tell me.

When I told her everything, bluntly— that I wanted to see her fucking my husband, sucking his cock, letting him mount her while I watched with my fingers in my cunt— she went silent. Then she bit her lip, looked at the floor, and looked back at me with a new smile.

—I’m going to confess something —she said slowly—. More than once I imagined it. I’ve touched myself thinking about him, about having him on top of me. And I always felt bad, because it’s you. I was never going to tell you.

—Well, now it’s said —I answered, and took her hand over the table—. So, are you in?

She nodded before I’d even finished the question. Then she let out the nervous laugh of girls who’ve just stolen something and still don’t know what they’re going to do with it.

I explained how things worked at home, what Andrés and I did, what he was going to expect from her, what I was going to expect. I didn’t lie to her: I told her this wasn’t the first encounter we’d arranged, but it was the first with someone we trusted, and that changed everything. Camila listened carefully, nodding sometimes, biting her lip at others. By the time we finished, we had a day, a time, and a plan.

***

The agreed day came and I couldn’t do a thing. I made myself a coffee I didn’t drink, left lunch half-finished, changed clothes three times, and in the end went back to my first choice. A very short black skirt, a tiny lace thong, a sheer blouse with no bra, and my high heels. The same bitch inside me slowly peeking out.

Camila called me about ten times that day. All nonsense, all excuses to hear my voice and make sure I hadn’t changed my mind. The last time she asked if she could wear “something bolder” and I told her to wear whatever she wanted, that the night was hers.

She arrived at nine, bundled up under a long coat. When she took it off in the living room, I understood she had taken the permission seriously. She was wearing a fitted dress, a deep neckline, much shorter than anything I’d ever seen her wear before. Her tits, a little bigger than mine, stood out in the fabric as two precise shadows, with her hard nipples pressing against the material. I gave a low whistle and we both laughed like teenagers.

—Andrés is going to be speechless —I said.

—That’s the idea.

We poured ourselves a drink to shake off the last tremor. We talked in low voices, almost whispers, going over what was about to happen as if it were a play. At some point we stopped talking and went quiet, looking at each other, waiting for the car engine.

We heard him arrive. We both stood at the same time and looked at each other in the hallway mirror. Me, sheer. Her, in black. The street, dark. Inside, both of us ready and both of us wet.

***

The door opened and Andrés stopped dead. He looked at Camila, then at me, then at the two of us together, and dropped his bag without noticing.

—Hi, love —I said, and went over to give him a long, slow kiss, biting his lip at the end—. Tonight you don’t decide anything. You let yourself go. You let them do whatever they want to you, and I’m going to watch. That’s why Camila came.

I felt the breath he took in. He didn’t answer, didn’t ask anything. He looked for Camila, and she was already there, close, with that smile I’d never seen her wear for him.

—Hi, Andrés —Camila said, and ran a hand over the back of his neck before kissing him.

She kissed him with strange calm. No rush, as if she’d spent weeks preparing for that kiss. She slipped her tongue in slowly, bit his lower lip, slid her other hand over the front of his pants looking for the bulge. And Andrés, who is restrained, who is quiet, answered her kiss with an intensity that cut off my breathing. He grabbed her face with both hands, pressed her against him, and I watched him get hard under the fabric while I moved away slowly to sit in the big armchair.

From there I watched.

I watched Camila lower his zipper with one hand while kissing him with the other. I watched her slip her fingers inside and pull his cock out whole, hard, thick, the one I know by heart, and how her mouth went wet at the sight of it. I watched him pull down the neckline of her dress and leave her tits bare, heavy, with swollen nipples, and bend his mouth down to them without letting go of her waist, sucking one and then the other. I saw Camila laugh softly when he bit a nipple, and then I saw her stop laughing and close her eyes when he slid his hand down her belly, moved her thong aside, and drove two fingers into her cunt in one thrust.

—You’re soaked —he said, and it was the first time that night I heard him speak.

—I’ve been like this for hours —she answered, her voice shaking.

Camila dropped to her knees without anyone asking her to. She pulled his pants down to his ankles, took his cock with both hands, and stuffed it into her mouth all at once. I heard the soft gag, the wet sound, and saw her pull back to take him in again, slower this time, looking up at him from below. She licked his balls, ran her tongue along the whole length, took him in again and this time started sucking at a steady rhythm, cheeks hollowed, saliva running down her chin and dripping between her tits. Andrés grabbed her hair, gathered it into a fist, and started setting the pace himself, shoving her down to the throat.

I was breathing badly. My legs were crossed and one hand was already between my thighs over the fabric. I still wasn’t taking it out, I didn’t want to finish too soon. I want to see everything, I thought.

—Take off your dress —he asked her in a low voice, pulling his cock out of her mouth with an obscene noise.

Camila took it off without drama, let it fall beside the armchair, and stood there in black panties and heels, heavy tits, skin a little flushed from the heat, the gusset darkened by how wet she was. Andrés stared at her for a full second, his cock pointing upward, shining with saliva, and then gently pushed her against the wall.

***

What came next I recorded with my eyes. I’m going to remember it for the rest of my life, so let me tell it carefully.

Andrés turned her against the wall, pulled her thong down to her ankles, spread her ass cheeks with both hands, and knelt behind her. Camila braced her hands on the wall and arched her waist, pushing her ass back, offering it to him. I saw my husband’s mouth between my friend’s thighs, saw his tongue working from bottom to top, going into her cunt and up to her ass hole and back down, saw him suck her swollen lips and slip his whole tongue inside, saw Camila open her eyes and look at me from there, without taking them off me, her mouth open in a silent O while Andrés did to her exactly what he does to me on Sunday mornings.

I brought my other hand to my mouth so I wouldn’t moan and ruin the moment. The one between my legs had already pushed under my thong and was rubbing my clit in slow circles. I was soaked. My fingers sank in on their own.

Camila started to tremble. I know her. I know when she’s close. I saw her bite her arm, saw her close her eyes, saw her let out a single muffled word—“there, there, there”—and I knew she had come against my husband’s mouth without warning, her legs shaking and her cunt contracting around his tongue. Andrés didn’t stop. He kept sucking until she pushed his head back, laughing and moaning at the same time, oversensitive.

Andrés stood up slowly, his face shining with her juices, licked his lips, took off his shirt, took off his pants completely. I saw him naked in my own living room, his cock hard and pointing at the ceiling, standing in front of my best friend, with that concentration of his I know by heart. Camila turned around, looked at him, went up to him and ran her tongue over her mouth, sucking her own juices, and nodded toward the other armchair, the leather one, across from mine, for him to sit down.

Andrés sat, cock up between his legs, pulsing.

Camila walked to him in those heels, straddled him, took his cock in one hand, positioned it at the entrance to her cunt, and lowered herself all the way down in one movement without asking. I heard the sound they both made at once. His, guttural, low, the one I almost never hear. Hers, sharp, surprised, a little tearful, an “oh, fuck, so big” that came out of her raw. And I realized I had never seen Andrés from that angle. I’d felt him inside me a thousand times, I knew how he moved, I knew how he breathed, but seeing him from outside, seeing him fuck another woman, seeing his cock go in and out shining between Camila’s legs, was something else.

***

Camila moved on top of him the way I move. That caught my attention. She had the same way of looking for the angle, of rising slowly until only the tip was inside and then dropping down fast to the base, of leaning back with her hands on his knees when she wanted to feel him whole against the wall of her uterus. For a second I wondered whether all women looked alike in bed, or whether Camila had learned by watching me without realizing it.

Andrés gripped her ass with both hands, sank his fingers into her cheeks, and started guiding her. He lifted her a little, let her fall hard, lifted her again. He bit one tit, ran his tongue down her neck, said something in her ear that I couldn’t hear and that made her laugh and bite her lip and answer, “yes, whatever you want.” He ran a damp finger over her ass hole and she arched, moaning long and low. Then he suddenly turned her around, put her on her back, doggy-style over the back of the armchair, grabbed her hips and started fucking her that way, hammering her from behind with sharp thrusts that made her ass slam against his pelvis. I watched his cock go in and out soaked, watched Camila’s cunt lips wrap around it with each shove, watched her asshole open and close every time he sank into her all the way. I heard the wet smack, the impact of their bodies, Camila’s broken moan that she could no longer control.

I took off my thong. I didn’t care about anything. I pulled it down over my heels and threw it on the floor, dragged my skirt down to my ankles, spread my legs on the armchair until my thighs ached, and started touching myself while I watched them. I slid two fingers into my cunt, pulled them out dripping, rubbed my clit with that same wetness, pushed them back in. Camila saw me. Andrés saw me. And both of them kept going, looking at me as they moved, knowing perfectly well for whom the show was.

—Come here —Camila said to me in a thread of a voice, between moans—. Come give me a kiss. Come suck me when he’s done.

I shook my head without taking my fingers out.

—Tonight I watch —I answered, my voice broken—. Finish me like this, for me.

Andrés kept pounding into her. He grabbed her hair with one hand, wound it around his fist, yanked her head back and drove his cock all the way in, holding it inside while he looked her in the eyes over her shoulder. Then he let go, turned her around again, sat her back on him facing him, and said softly, “I want to see your face when you come.” Camila started moving fast, bouncing on his cock, her tits hitting his chest, her mouth open, her half-lidded eyes fixed on mine.

***

They came almost at the same time, both of them. Camila first, with a muffled scream that folded her over herself, her cunt visibly clenching around my husband’s cock, her legs shaking at his sides. Andrés after, gripping her waist so hard I was going to see the marks of his fingers later, pushing her down onto him, emptying himself inside with a long growl. I saw his neck tense, saw his jaw clench, saw his thighs tremble, and I knew exactly how many spurts he was pumping into my friend because I know that shudder. And I, three seconds later, with the image of the two of them branded in my head and my fingers working fast between my legs, came alone on the armchair without either of them touching me, with a long moan, my cunt spilling over the leather.

Camila lifted herself a little, and I saw Andrés’s semen trickle out of her and fall in thick drops over his still-hard cock and over his thighs. She sat back down slowly, pushing him back inside again, not wanting to lose him yet.

We stayed silent for a long while. Camila breathing on top of him, him with his eyes closed and his hands open on her hips, me with my legs still spread and shaking, my fingers shining up to the wrist. Then the three of us looked at each other and burst out laughing, that nervous laugh that comes when something huge has happened and nobody knows what to say.

Camila got up slowly, felt the stream of semen run down her thigh and laughed, fixed her hair, came over to the armchair where I was sitting, and kissed my forehead.

—Thank you —she said softly.

—No, thank you —I answered.

That night the three of us slept wrapped around each other, half-dressed, without touching again. I didn’t need anything more. I had what I had come for.

And as I fell asleep I thought that next time I wasn’t going to watch. Next time I was going to take part. I was going to lick Camila’s cunt while Andrés fucked me from behind. But that, that’s another story.