What My Wife Did at the Hardware Store at Noon

For those who didn’t read the previous story, I’ll repeat the most important detail: my wife, Mariana, is the walking fantasy anyone would sign in blood for. Brunette, wide hips, an ass that doesn’t fit into any reasonable miniskirt size, and a taste for exhibitionism that ruins me and saves me in equal measure. It’s not just me she gets hard. She gets anyone who crosses her path hard, and that’s exactly the problem and the fun.

It was her birthday. The perfect excuse to go to the shopping center on Independence Avenue and get her the gift she’d been asking me for months: a thick vibrator, one of those that don’t fit easily inside a pussy, and two or three new skirts to add to the drawer of forbidden ones.

That morning she put on the denim mini I like best. I’d cut the hem a few centimeters higher myself the week before, so now it fit right against her ass. If she bent down to pick something up, there was no mystery worth preserving: you could see her pussy lips and the dark asshole between her cheeks. Up top, a tight tank top that held her tits up without needing a bra, her nipples showing through the fabric. Pastel-pink heels. No underwear. That last part was my decision, and she accepted it with that half-smile she wears when she knows the plan is already underway.

“Are you sure we’re going out like this?” she asked in front of the hall mirror.

“Absolutely,” I told her, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear.

The taxi driver who took us to the shopping center didn’t blink for fifteen minutes. Every time he turned a corner, he found a way to glance into the rearview mirror. Mariana crossed her legs twice during the ride, and both times she looked right at him, letting him see her naked pussy for half a second before covering it again. When we got out, the man handed me the change with trembling hands and told her “happy birthday,” even though no one had told him it was her birthday.

Inside the shopping center, it was the usual spectacle. People walking, salespeople trying to attract attention, display windows with mannequins dressed in things no one would wear in real life. Mariana walked one step ahead of me, not by accident. She knew they were looking. Heads turned in entire groups. One mother covered her son’s eyes. An elderly man nearly tripped over his cart. A security guard pretended to speak into his radio and followed her with his eyes until she disappeared.

We went through several stores, with her trying on dresses that were shorter and thinner each time. Until we entered Verena, an expensive designer boutique with white lighting on the upper floor. That’s where I found the dress. Wine-red, short sleeves, a skirt reaching halfway down her thighs, a seemingly modest neckline. I took it off the rack and held it up for her to see.

“It’s pretty,” she said. “But that fabric is see-through. I’ll have to wear underwear the same color or I can’t go out in public.”

“Try it on and we’ll see.”

At the fitting-room entrance there was a thin, attentive young man with a name badge hanging around his neck. He pointed out the empty cubicle and stood beside the curtain, as any employee would. I sat on the little bench outside and waited.

When she came out, I nearly fell off the bench.

The wine-red dress was obscenely transparent. Without a bra and with nothing underneath, you could see absolutely everything. Her nipples were outlined, the full curve of her ass, the dark shadow of her pubis against the fabric, and even the slit of her pussy could be made out when she passed in front of the light. It was as if she were wearing a thin gauze robe over a naked body. But she’d forgotten the underwear detail while modeling it for me. She realized it when she took two steps toward the store’s central mirror and saw her own reflection backlit.

“Fuck…” she began.

She didn’t have time to retreat. A man in a gray uniform appeared along the fitting-room corridor, a broom in one hand and a dustpan in the other. Cleaning staff. He came face-to-face with her from a meter and a half away. He looked her up and down without hiding it for even half a second, then stood rooted to the spot as if he’d been welded to the floor. Mariana froze. From the other side of the mirror I couldn’t see the man’s face, but I could see his tense back and a hard bulge showing through the gray pants of his uniform.

The man said something in a low voice. Mariana spun on her heels and hurried back into the cubicle. The young man with the badge acted as if nothing had happened, but he kept his eyes glued to her ass until the curtain completely hid her.

She came out again, changed back into her miniskirt and blouse. We paid for the dress, and while we stood in line at the register, I asked her what the guy with the broom had said.

“He called me a slut three times,” she whispered back. “And asked me if I was for hire. Then he asked how much I charged to let him put his cock in me.”

“Did it bother you?”

She fell silent for a couple of seconds. Then she shook her head.

“Not as much as it should have. That’s what bothers me. My pussy has been soaking wet since he looked at me.”

We left the shopping center with the dress packaged up and my cock pressing against my trouser zipper, so hard it hurt. We stopped at a sex shop two blocks away, where she chose a thick, long vibrator, a black one with raised veins and a suction base, and then we went straight home.

As soon as we walked in, I grabbed her by the hair before she could put the bags down. I pulled her head back and bit her neck, then slipped my hand beneath her denim mini. Her pussy was so wet that two of my fingers slid inside without any effort, all the way in, while she moaned with her back pressed against the door.

“Dripping,” I whispered in her ear. “All because of some guy with a broom who called you a slut.”

“Shut up and fuck me.”

I took her to the bedroom, pushing her by the buttocks. I ripped her blouse over her head. I bit her tits, first one nipple and then the other, until they turned red and swollen. She pulled down my zipper and took my cock out with both hands, crouched down, and took it all into her mouth in one motion. I felt it strike her throat, heard her give a short gag, and she didn’t let go. She sucked my cock in her own way, looking up at me while she did it, saliva running down her chin to her tits, her tongue curling around the glans every time she came back up.

“Take it out of the package,” I told her. “I want to watch you put it inside yourself.”

She stood up, took the black vibrator out of its wrapping, and put batteries in it with hurried hands. She lay back on the bed, spread her legs, and ran the tip of the toy over her soaked pussy lips. I sat beside her, gripping my cock in my hand, and watched her.

“It’s thicker than you,” she murmured.

“Put the whole thing inside. I want to see.”

She pushed it in slowly. The first time, only half of it went in. She pulled it out and pushed again. On the third try, with a long moan, she swallowed it all the way to the base. Her pussy opened around the toy like a hungry mouth. She switched on the vibration and arched her back until her ass lifted off the mattress. I climbed on top of her and put my cock in her mouth at the same time she fucked herself with the vibrator. I held her gently by the throat, setting the rhythm, while the toy buzzed between her legs and she sucked me with pleasure-brimming eyes.

“I’m going to come,” she said with her mouth full, pulling my cock out for barely a second to breathe.

“Not yet. Get on all fours.”

She turned over. I lifted her ass with both hands and pushed her face into the mattress. The vibrator was still inside her, buzzing. I positioned myself behind her and put my cock in beside the toy. Her pussy squeezed both things at once, and she screamed into the pillow. I began to fuck her like that, taking her hard while the vibrator kept its own rhythm inside her. I grabbed her hair with one hand and bit her shoulder. Every thrust made the bed creak, and she moaned louder and louder.

“Slut, slut, slut,” I whispered in her ear, keeping time with her.

“Yours, yours, yours,” she answered.

She came first. I felt her pussy clench in spasms around my cock and the vibrator at the same time, and a hot gush soaked my groin and thighs. She spilled onto the sheets while still moving her ass against my cock, looking for more. I held out for another thirty seconds and filled her pussy with cum while she bit my arm. I pulled out and watched the semen drip between her legs beside the vibrator that was still buzzing inside her.

I switched off the toy, pulled it out slowly, and lay down beside her, breathing hard. That was when I asked her to promise me something.

“That you’ll wear that dress for the first time. Like today. With nothing underneath. Out in public.”

“I promise,” she said, licking the fingers she’d run through her pussy to taste her own come mixed with mine.

***

It took a week to put the plan together. I needed to go to a large hardware store on the other side of the city, one of those with enormous warehouses and fluorescent signs, to buy an interior door. The perfect excuse. A Saturday at noon, with the sun beating down, she would be the one choosing the model with me.

“I’m choosing your clothes today,” I announced when we were about to leave.

I took the wine-red dress from the closet and laid it on the bed. Beside it, the pink heels. Nothing else. She looked at the bed, then at me, and nearly collapsed onto the mattress.

“Are you serious?”

“As serious as you want me to be.”

She thought about it for a long while. Then she opened the drawer and took out three thongs in different colors.

“One piece only,” I told her. “You choose which: bra or thong. But only one.”

She considered both options. Then she took a lilac thong, a tiny one that covered practically nothing, and put it on.

“I’d rather they see my tits than see my pussy in the street,” she murmured. “At least this much.”

She looked at herself in the mirror. The wine-red dress showed her everything. The lilac thong showed through like a shadow against her skin and didn’t cover the dark pubic hair. Her tits were completely exposed through the fabric. Her nipples, dark and visible, looked like two buttons beneath the gauze.

“Are you sure you want to go out like that at one in the afternoon?” she asked me for the last time.

“Absolutely.”

“Just so we’re clear.”

***

As soon as we crossed the building’s entrance, the noise began. A construction worker on the scaffolding opposite us let out a long whistle. An old man at the newsstand remained frozen with his newspaper open halfway. A boy on a bicycle braked so hard he nearly fell. Three kids drinking beer in the square stood up from the bench to watch her pass. A woman murmured something to her partner and elbowed him. We walked a block and a half to the corner where the avenue curves and taxis usually wait.

The first taxi stopped. The driver was a gray-haired man of about fifty who let his jaw hang loose when Mariana leaned toward the window, her tits nearly spilling out of the neckline in full view of everyone.

“Hi, can you take us to the hardware store on Constitución?”

“Yes, yes, get in,” he stammered.

We got in. I sat on the rear right, she on the left. Throughout the whole trip, the driver managed to get lost three times in a city he knew by heart. Every couple of blocks he turned his head under the pretext of confirming the address. What he was really confirming was Mariana’s neckline and hard nipples, made even harder by the friction of the fabric every time the car hit a badly paved patch.

“Here is fine,” I said when we arrived.

The man took a while to give us our change. I think he didn’t want us to get out. When Mariana finally opened the door and turned her legs to step out, she deliberately parted them for half a second too long and showed the driver the wet lilac thong between her thighs. The man closed his eyes as if recording the image to masturbate to that night.

Inside the hardware store, it was another level of circus. There wasn’t a salesperson who didn’t attend to us. There wasn’t a customer who didn’t “accidentally” cross paths with us three times in different aisles. A father with his son stared at her a second too long, until his wife tugged him by the elbow. In the power-tools aisle, a supervisor offered to help her about five times, with a smile that was no longer professional and a bulge showing through his work pants. In the paint aisle, two retirees forgot what they’d come for and followed her with their eyes from one end to the other.

We found the door. A huge box, six feet by three, impossible to fit into any ordinary trunk.

“We won’t be able to take it in a taxi,” I said.

“Let’s try.”

Mariana stopped the first taxi on the street side. She leaned through the window, her neckline practically floating above the door frame, her tits hanging fully exposed to the driver. He said no, smiling, without taking his eyes off her. The second taxi did the same. The third as well. They all stopped because of her. None of them would take the box.

“We’ll have to take the bus,” I said after fifteen minutes.

We walked four blocks with the box between us to the bus stop. We boarded. The seated passengers turned their heads in unison. Mariana stood beside the box, one hand on the pole to steady herself and the other tugging at the hem of her dress so it wouldn’t ride up any farther. The bus braked sharply, and the fabric clung to her body even more tightly. A teenager sitting beside her was left with his mouth hanging open, unable even to react to the sudden stop, his hand inside his trouser pocket adjusting his cock without the slightest attempt at discretion.

We got off five blocks from home. And that’s when the final act began. A teenager on a bicycle had been following us since the stop. He would pass us, circle the block, and come by again. Each time he grew bolder. On the third pass he was smiling directly at her. I said nothing. Mariana pretended not to see him, but she walked more slowly, giving him time to reappear, and even bent down once under the pretext of adjusting her heel, offering the kid a full view of her ass and the lilac thong wedged between her cheeks.

***

That night, when we were both in bed and I had two fingers buried to the knuckles in her pussy, I whispered something in her ear.

“I want to see what the whole city saw today. Dress the same way. We’re going out at three in the morning.”

She lifted her head from the pillow.

“Are you crazy?”

“Not crazy. Horny. I’ve had the vibrator inside you for two hours, and you haven’t stopped wetting my hand for a single minute.”

She didn’t argue. She got up, went to the bathroom, and came out wearing the wine-red dress, the lilac thong underneath, and the pink heels in her hand. She sat on the edge of the bed and put them on. When she stood, I saw that the vibrator was still between her legs, its black base barely showing beneath the thong’s elastic. She’d kept it switched on at the lowest setting for who knew how long.

We went down the stairs so we wouldn’t run into anyone in the elevator. We stepped onto the avenue, that same avenue where people had whistled, braked cars, and shouted catcalls that afternoon. At three in the morning, the street was different. Hardly any cars passed, one every five minutes or so, and the streetlamps stained the sidewalk a dirty yellow.

I took a picture of her from behind. The lilac thong outlined the shape of her ass with a clarity no mirror had ever shown her. That was when I understood why the drivers had become so distracted they got lost.

I made her walk to the stone bench in front of the subway entrance. She sat down. She crossed her legs the way I’d taught her, slowly, letting the dress ride two fingers higher than decency allowed and reveal the wet thong.

“What now?” she asked.

“Take it off.”

She looked around. Halfway down the block, on a third floor, a light was on and the silhouette of a man smoking stood at the window. I didn’t know whether he was watching us or not. I nodded toward it.

“There’s someone at the window.”

“He’s far away,” she said. “And I already want you to take it off.”

She said it in a voice that wasn’t hers. It was the voice of the woman who had let half the city watch her that afternoon. She stood up and, with one movement of her arms, pulled the dress over her head. She stood on the avenue in a lilac thong, pink heels, and nothing else, her tits bare, her nipples so hard they pointed toward the streetlamp.

She crossed the street, her nipples hard, the vibrator still inside her emitting a low hum that sounded louder in the silence of the early morning than either of us expected. Halfway across the avenue, someone whistled. A long, distant, anonymous whistle. She turned her head, smiled toward the darkness without knowing whom she was smiling at, and kept walking as if the avenue were the runway for her own private fashion show.

We reached the corner bench where we usually sat smoking in the early morning when we couldn’t sleep. She sat on my lap, straddling me and facing me. The vibrator pressed against my thigh, and that was when I realized she’d spent the whole day with that toy inside her pussy. The whole day. From one in the afternoon until three in the morning.

“You’re a dirty girl,” I whispered in her ear.

“I’m what you made me,” she answered. “Now fuck me.”

She hurriedly opened my zipper with both hands. She pulled my rock-hard cock into the cold early-morning air. She crouched right there between my knees, kneeling on the frozen sidewalk with her pink heels bent backward, and took my cock deep into her mouth. She sucked me as if we were in the bedroom and not right in the middle of the avenue. Both hands around the base, her tongue curled around the glans, looking up at me with that slut’s face she got when she knew she could ask for anything. She coated my entire cock with saliva slowly, letting a long thread run from her chin to her naked tits. She sucked my balls one at a time. Then she came back up, swallowed my cock to her throat, and held it there for several seconds, eyes watering, without letting go.

“Someone could see us,” I whispered.

“Let them see me suck you. Let them see me swallow your cum. That’s what this whole fucking city wanted today.”

I lifted her by the armpits and sat her on the bench with her back to me, still straddling my lap. I pulled the lilac thong to one side. I yanked the vibrator out and tossed it onto the bench beside us. Her pussy was dripping, soaked after fourteen hours of constant vibration, so open and soft that my cock slid inside without any effort, all the way in, and she dropped her full weight onto it.

“Oh, you son of a bitch,” she moaned. “Yes, like that, all the way in.”

She began moving on her own, riding me backward, her hands braced on my knees for leverage. Her ass slapped against my belly with a smack that carried two blocks in the early-morning silence. I grabbed her tits with both hands and pinched her nipples. She rose and fell faster and faster, moaning without restraint, speaking loudly as if the avenue were our bedroom with the door shut.

“Let them hear that I’m yours. Let them hear that you let me go out like this. None of the men who looked at me today got to fuck me, but you did. You put it in me whenever you want. You fill my pussy with cum whenever you feel like it.”

I lifted her for a second, turned her around, and left her kneeling on the stone bench, hands braced against the backrest, ass raised for me. I thrust my cock into her again from behind. I gripped her waist with both hands and began fucking her hard, faster and faster, making her ass bounce against my thighs. The sound of flesh against flesh crashed against the empty walls of the avenue. She rested her forehead against the backrest and moaned open-mouthed against the stone.

“Put it in there too,” she said, pulling one cheek aside with one hand to show me her tight, shining asshole.

I pulled my cock from her pussy, soaked in her juices, and pressed it against her ass. I pushed slowly. She opened with a long moan and swallowed my cock all the way to the balls. She took the vibrator from the bench, switched it to maximum speed, and buried it in her pussy while I split her ass open from behind. The two rhythms crossed—the toy’s buzz and my thrusts—and she began to tremble from head to toe, gripping the backrest with both hands, her tits moving in time.

“I’m coming, I’m coming, I’m coming,” she repeated.

“Come, slut. Come where the whole avenue can see you.”

She came with a long scream that bounced off the block’s closed shutters. I felt her asshole clench and loosen around my cock in waves, and her pussy gush around the vibrator, a hot stream soaking her thighs and my balls. I held out for three more thrusts and emptied my cum into her ass, pushing all the way in and gripping her hips to press her against my pubic bone. I finished against her, breathing into her nape, both of our legs trembling, she still braced against the bench with the vibrator buzzing inside her and a smile that wouldn’t leave her even in sleep.

I pulled out slowly. Semen dripped from her ass down the back of her thigh, shining beneath the streetlamp. I took the vibrator from her pussy, and she shuddered once more.

We straightened our clothes as best we could. I slipped the lilac thong over her feet but told her not to pull it up yet, then put it in my back pocket, soaked through. We walked the two blocks home with our arms around each other, the wine-red dress once again over her sticky body, cum still dripping between her thighs with every step.

We went upstairs. I threw the keys onto the table. She collapsed onto the sofa and laughed to herself, staring at the ceiling, still wearing her pink heels, her legs spread, semen shining between them.

“Tomorrow we’ll wear it for the first time again,” she said.

I didn’t answer. I was already thinking about where.