The Night We Agreed to Lend Her to Two Strangers

It was Saturday, and the February heat was hitting hard even at eleven at night. The bar was packed: a mix of expensive perfume, sweat, and music blasting from the speakers at a volume that forced you to lean in to talk. We’d had two beers already and still hadn’t danced.

Camila was gorgeous. She was wearing a dark green dress with a crossover neckline and those thin-heeled sandals that make her legs seem endless. She’s thirty-eight, and with every year that passes she becomes more aware of what she has. More willing to use it.

—There are too many people —she said, looking at the packed dance floor.

—Good —I replied—. Harder to lose sight of you.

She smiled and took her bottle by the neck without taking her eyes off the people around us. I was looking at her too, though for different reasons.

The fantasy had been circling us for a while. Not always out loud: sometimes it was a passing question, a “what would you do if...?” in the middle of the night after I had her face-down with her cheeks pressed into the pillow and my cock buried to the hilt. We had never actually made it real, but over the last few months the conversations had gained weight. They had become more specific. More serious. We both knew that sooner or later we were going to cross that threshold; the question was when and where.

I don’t know at what point during my second drink I started imagining what would happen if I actually proposed it that night.

That’s when the guy at the bar happened.

Camila had gotten up to order another round because the waiter never showed. She had to make her way through the crowd, and I followed her with my eyes from the table, as always. I watched her reach the bar, lean to one side, order something. And then a guy standing to her left slid his hand over her hip, slowly, as if he’d done it by accident, as if it were an incidental brush he hadn’t noticed. The hand moved a centimeter lower, felt the curve of her ass over the fabric of the dress, and stayed there.

Camila turned to him.

She didn’t yell. She didn’t shove him away. She looked at him for two or three seconds, with an expression I know well, and then went back to asking the bartender for something. The guy didn’t remove his hand immediately either.

When Camila got back to the table with the beers, I stood up to help her. I leaned into her ear.

—I saw what happened at the bar.

She set the bottles down on the table without saying anything and sat.

—Did you like it? —I asked.

A long pause. Then:

—I didn’t dislike it.

—Did your cunt get wet? —I said, bluntly, in her ear.

She swallowed. Lowered her gaze for a second.

—A little.

I sat down. My heart was beating faster than it should have been. I handed her her beer and asked, in a very low voice, whether she wanted tonight to be one of those nights we’d talked about. That I wanted to see her with another cock in her mouth, with another man fucking her while I watched. She understood exactly what I meant.

—Depends how far you want to go —she said.

—Whatever you want. Getting eaten out, getting fucked, getting filled. Whatever you feel like.

Camila turned the bottle in her hands. Thoughtful. Then she looked me straight in the eyes.

—If at any point I want to stop, we stop without arguing.

—Of course.

—And you don’t move from the table while I’m on the dance floor.

I swallowed.

—Understood.

She stood up, straightened the dress with her hands, and walked toward the dance floor without looking at me.

***

I watched her for twenty minutes from the table, drinking slowly to keep my hands busy. Camila was dancing alone at first, moving with that ease she has when she knows she’s being watched. It didn’t take long. The same guy from the bar appeared behind her. He was tall, about thirty, with that confidence of someone used to approaching women in bars and who rarely gets turned down.

He said something in her ear and she laughed. They started moving together.

What I felt inside was hard to describe. It wasn’t jealousy exactly, or at least not only that. It was adrenaline mixed with something like fear, but without the unpleasant side. Like when you’re standing at the top of something very high and you can choose whether to jump or not.

The guy —who I later found out was called Bruno— wrapped his arms around her waist. Camila let her head fall back toward him and pressed her ass straight against his crotch. I could see her nodding to something he was saying in her ear, how she leaned more into him, how she rolled her hips, rubbing his fly against him with shameless slowness. At one point he pressed her against a column and his hands ran along her sides, from her hips to almost her breasts, with calculated slowness. His thumbs brushed the underside of her tits over the dress. Her eyes were half-closed and her mouth was open.

I finished my beer in one swallow.

Camila came back to the table with Bruno and another guy, younger, broad-shouldered and with a smile that made it clear he understood exactly what was going on. He introduced himself as Rodrigo. He was probably twenty-eight, maybe less.

—Do you mind if I buy you a drink? —Camila asked, with completely calculated innocence.

—Not at all —I said.

The four of us ordered beers. The conversation started off superficial and escalated without anyone forcing it. Bruno and Rodrigo told stories about trips, parties, nights that ended well. Camila laughed, touched her hair, put her hand on Bruno’s forearm when he said something funny. At one point she rested her hand on his thigh, close to the groin, and squeezed. Bruno didn’t even flinch. I watched her the whole time and they knew I was watching. Nobody said anything about it. It was one of those situations where everyone understands the rules without anyone mentioning them.

Then Camila announced she was going to the bathroom.

Before she stood up, I leaned toward her.

—When you come back, if you’ve decided you want to keep going tonight, come back without panties. And put them in my pocket when you sit down.

She opened her eyes for a moment. Then she narrowed them, bit her lower lip, and walked off without saying anything.

Bruno and Rodrigo pretended to be talking to each other. I drummed my fingers on the table, ordered another beer I didn’t need, and counted the seconds in my head.

She came back four minutes later.

She sat beside me, wrapped one arm around my neck and kissed me on the cheek. At the same time, with her other hand, she slid a warm wad of fabric into my pants pocket. The panties were wet. I got hard instantly. Then she took my hand and guided it under the table, over her dress, to the height of her thigh. I slid it upward slowly, slowly, controlling my breathing, until my fingers reached the bare skin of the inside of her thigh and from there the lips of her cunt. She was soaked. I sank two fingers in without resistance and she squeezed her thighs around my hand for a second, biting her lip so the gasp wouldn’t escape her.

She wasn’t wearing anything.

I turned to Bruno and said, with a calm I didn’t quite feel:

—I think we should ask for the check.

***

The four of us got in the car. Camila sat in the front with me at first, Bruno and Rodrigo in the back. I drove slowly with no destination, circling aimlessly while the tension in the cabin made the air thicker. Nobody talked much.

A few blocks later, Camila turned toward the back seat. She said something to Bruno in a very low voice, something I couldn’t make out. He answered with a single affirmative syllable.

—Can I move to the back? —she asked me.

I kept my eyes on the road. Shrugged.

—If that’s what you want.

Camila moved to the back seat before the next block. I kept my eyes on the road, though every so often I looked up at the rearview mirror. In the reflection I could see movement. I could see Camila kneeling on the seat between the two guys, her dress hiked up to her waist and her bare ass pointed at the window. I could see Rodrigo’s head buried between her tits, his mouth sucking one nipple while he grabbed the other with his hand. I could see Bruno with his fly open and his cock out, and I could see Camila lowering her head to take it into her mouth.

I could hear her sucking him off. That wet, dirty sound of a mouth working, the tongue moving back and forth, the small muffled moans when his cock hit the back of her throat. Bruno put a hand on the back of her neck and set the pace. Rodrigo had half-turned her and shoved two fingers into her cunt from behind and was moving them hard. I could hear how wet she was. I could hear her answering with a long, tight mmmm while she kept sucking.

I concentrated on getting home without crashing into anything.

***

As soon as we closed the apartment door, Bruno took Camila to the living room sofa. She let the straps of her dress fall without anyone asking her to, with a looseness that even surprised me. The dress fell to the floor. She stood there in front of the three of us, completely naked, with hard nipples and a shining trail of wetness running down the inside of her thigh. Rodrigo knelt in front of her and started kissing her thighs, moving upward, while Bruno grabbed her tits from behind and pinched her nipples.

I stayed standing by the wall, arms crossed.

Rodrigo parted her legs with his hands and pressed his mouth to her cunt. He started slowly, with a flat tongue, licking her from bottom to top, ending on the clit in a slow circle. Camila had her head thrown back, resting on Bruno’s shoulder, lips parted. Bruno whispered in her ear in a low voice I couldn’t make out from where I was, and she answered with small nods. Then he grabbed her jaw and turned her face and pushed his tongue into her mouth. He kissed her deeply, one hand at her neck, while the other kept groping her.

Rodrigo sped up below. He sucked her clit with pressed lips and shoved two fingers into her cunt at the same time, curling them upward. Camila started moving her hips against his face, gasping harder and harder.

At one point she looked for me with her eyes. They were shining, her breathing ragged.

—Are you okay? —she asked me.

—Yeah —I said. It was true.

—Come here —she asked—. Take it out. I want you to watch while they eat me out.

Bruno repositioned her on the sofa, pulling her back so she was propped against the backrest with her legs spread. Rodrigo stood in front of her with his cock out, thick, swollen, aimed at her face. Camila took him in her hand, slowly, as if testing him, spat on the tip and spread the saliva with her thumb. Then she took it in her mouth with a naturalness that made me forget to breathe for a couple of seconds. She swallowed it all the way until his cock hit the base of her nose against his stomach. He rested one hand on her head without forcing anything, just following the rhythm she set. She pulled it out, licked the tip, and took it back in to the hilt. Her eyes watered. A strand of saliva hung from her chin.

Bruno, meanwhile, had knelt between her legs and was opening her with his fingers, measuring her response with patience. He ran his tongue over the lips of her cunt, pushed it inside, pulled it out, went back up to the clit. Camila let out a muffled, long sound that vibrated in her throat, smothered by Rodrigo’s cock.

I moved to the sofa across from them. I sat. I opened my pants. I pulled out my cock, already rock hard, and started stroking it slowly, still trying to keep my head clear.

I couldn’t take my eyes off her.

Bruno stood up, stripped his pants off completely, and positioned himself behind the sofa. He turned Camila around. She ended up kneeling on the cushions, gripping the backrest, her ass raised high. Rodrigo sat in front of her so she could keep sucking him. Bruno entered her slowly, carefully at first, testing. I watched his cock sink into her to the hilt, watched Camila’s cunt open around it, watched how shiny she was from how wet she was. She tensed for a moment and then relaxed, and started moving at the same rhythm he was setting.

Bruno picked up speed. He drove his hands into her hips and started fucking her hard, with thrusts that shoved her whole body forward and made her swallow Rodrigo’s cock to the hilt every time. You could hear the hard slap of Bruno’s hips against Camila’s ass, a constant plaf plaf plaf, and above it the sound of her lips sucking, choking, swallowing saliva.

—What a delicious cunt you’ve got —Bruno said, out loud this time, so I could hear—. You’re soaked, slut.

Camila pulled Rodrigo’s cock out of her mouth for a second, gasping.

—Harder —she begged—. Fuck me harder.

Bruno slapped her ass and sped up. Rodrigo grabbed her hair and shoved his cock back into her mouth. With Rodrigo in her mouth and Bruno coming in and out from behind, the only sound in the apartment was the three of them fucking and the sound of my own breathing, which still hadn’t fully returned to normal. I kept stroking myself slowly, not wanting to finish yet.

Camila came first. She started shaking, her arms gave out, she clung to the backrest and let out a long, hoarse moan that came from the bottom of her throat. Her cunt pulsed around Bruno’s cock. He didn’t stop. He kept fucking her at the same rhythm while she came, drawing the orgasm out.

At one point Bruno slowed everything down and looked directly at me.

—There’s one more thing I could do —he said—. But first I want one thing made clear.

Camila lifted her head. Looked at him.

—If this keeps going —Bruno continued—, there will be more nights. That’s not up for negotiation.

I looked at Camila. She didn’t take her eyes off me. It wasn’t exactly a question in her gaze; it was more of a check-in, a “you decide if you want to.” It took me three or four seconds to answer.

—As long as she wants it, fine.

Bruno nodded. He pulled his cock out of her cunt, spat on it in his hand to lubricate it more, and pressed the tip against Camila’s asshole. He pushed slowly. She gripped the sofa back with both hands, knuckles white, and let out a long, guttural sound I had never heard from her before, half scream, half moan. Bruno sank in centimeter by centimeter until he was all the way in. Her mouth was open, her eyes closed. When he was fully inside, Bruno stayed still for a moment, waiting for her.

Rodrigo took the opportunity to move to the front. He slipped underneath Camila, face up, and settled her cunt over his mouth while he kept her on all fours. He licked her from below while Bruno fucked her ass from behind. Then Rodrigo adjusted himself differently, got underneath her, grabbed her hips, and shoved his cock into her cunt at the same time Bruno was moving in her ass. She was filled on both sides.

Camila screamed. A cry of pleasure, high-pitched, long. The three of them synchronized. I was stroking myself faster and faster, watching two cocks going in and out of my wife at the same time, watching her twist between the two of them, watching her beg for more.

—Like that, like that, like that —Camila repeated, eyes closed—. Don’t stop. Don’t stop.

She came again, even harder than before, her whole body convulsing between the two men.

Rodrigo finished first, inside her cunt, with a short, restrained moan. I felt a stab of heat in my stomach when I saw it. He stayed still for a few seconds, his cock still inside, finishing emptying himself. When he pulled out, a white thread ran down Camila’s inner thigh.

Then it was Bruno. He pulled out of her ass, stood up, grabbed her by the hair, and made her open her mouth. He came on her tongue and face, streaming. Camila stayed still with her mouth open, taking everything, and then swallowed slowly, looking into my eyes. I finished almost at the same time, in my own hand, unable to hold off for another second.

The three of them collapsed onto the sofa, motionless.

I got up, went to the bathroom, came back.

***

Bruno and Rodrigo got dressed without hurrying, without that awkwardness one might expect. Rodrigo kissed Camila on the forehead before leaving, with a tenderness that caught me off guard. Bruno shook my hand firmly, looking me in the eyes.

—The deal still stands —he said.

—Yeah —I replied.

I closed the door and stood there for a moment with my hand on the wood, listening to their footsteps fade down the hall.

Camila was still sitting on the sofa, the green dress draped any old way over her shoulders. There was still semen drying at the corner of her mouth. I sat beside her. She rested her head on my shoulder without saying anything. I put my arm around her shoulders and didn’t say anything either. We stayed like that for a long while, in silence, while the city kept making noise outside.

Then she lifted her head and asked me:

—Was it good?

I took her hand.

—It was very good.

Camila smiled. A small smile, the kind she saves for when she’s completely relaxed. She closed her eyes and, in less than five minutes, fell asleep against my shoulder.

I stayed awake a little longer, staring at the ceiling, thinking about the deal we had just made and everything that would come after.