I couldn't believe what was happening. I was fucking my husband, his penis still inside me, while my body still ached from what I had experienced with Raúl hours before. I felt a mixture of thrill, pleasure, and power. I was telling Juan, without filters or taboos, what had happened with Raúl. I looked him in the eyes and said, with fierce sincerity, that another man, with a bigger cock, had wrecked my pussy. I confessed, somewhat embarrassed, that Raúl was still very present in my mind, his smell, his perfect body, the way he touched me.
Juan's reaction surprised me; he got harder than ever before. His breathing quickened, his body vibrated as if he were living the scene with me, eager for details. I knew then that it was liberating for him too. Every movement of my body caused a shudder in his. I squeezed my buttocks against him, bumping against his balls, looking at him firmly, with total control of the situation. I felt dominant, in charge of the scene. I whispered, "Last night, I got fucked like never before."
Juan wasn't used to those kinds of confessions... and I don't even know why I said it. It came from my soul. He couldn't resist it. He grabbed my ass tightly and came with a stifled moan, his body trembling uncontrollably. It was an instant that marked a before and after in our relationship.
I didn't orgasm, but I didn't need to. The pleasure I felt was different, deeper. I stayed with him inside, embraced like magnets, prolonging that eternal moment until his flaccid cock slid out of me.
Heated, we looked at each other. There was no need for words. We both knew we had just experienced something as intense as it was unique. Juan hugged me, and we succumbed to sleep, intertwined, until the next morning.
Upon waking, the scene was still playing in my mind. Juan was still sleeping soundly. I didn't want to disturb him and went down to the kitchen to make myself a coffee. While it was heating up, I noticed several notifications on my phone. One was from Raúl. I felt a wave of emotion and desire. The message was private, not in the group we shared with Juan. An unexpected guilt washed over me. For the first time, I was in contact with a man alone, without my partner. I opened it.
Raúl said it had been one of his best experiences and that, if Juan and I agreed, he would love to repeat it. The message was direct. I hesitated. Should I consult Juan first? But my nerves got the better of me, and I replied for both of us that it had also been very positive for us and that we would be delighted to repeat it. I chose my words carefully so as not to sound vulgar.
Raúl read the message but didn't reply. I admit, I was left wanting more. The excitement returned, so I thought about waking Juan up with a good morning fuck. Besides, we didn't have much time before the children and their mother arrived.
With a mischievous smile and biting my finger, I climbed on top of him, who was already half-awake.
"Good morning, love. Did you sleep well? I hope so, because I need you to fuck me hard… I'm so horny."
Juan's expression changed instantly, like a lion spotting its prey. He turned me around forcefully and began kissing me with overwhelming passion. He pushed my panties to the side and entered me in a single thrust. My pussy still ached from the night before, and I confessed it to him with a hint of shame. His reaction was immediate—his cock grew even harder and he started moving with wild intensity.
My mind drifted to the hotel, to Raúl. His body, his scent, the thickness of his cock—I could still feel it inside me. I couldn’t help it, I got so turned on I came hard, moaning loudly, unable to hide it. I was in a trance. My body was with Juan, but my mind was reliving every second with Raúl.
Juan kept thrusting, his hands gripping my hips, setting the rhythm. In the middle of all the pleasure, without even realizing it, I moaned Raúl’s name. Shame flooded me instantly. How could I have done that? I was fucking my husband… and I had said another man’s name. I didn’t even dare to look at him.
But when Juan heard it, he shuddered. His hands gripped me even tighter. He came with a choked sigh, his face showing a kind of modesty he couldn't quite hide.
It was strange. We had just enjoyed one of our most intense moments ever, but it was now tainted by a new discomfort. Juan got up, nervous, murmuring that he was going to shower. I nodded with a shy smile and stayed in bed, trying to process everything.
What a whirlwind of emotions. There he was—the father of my children—showering after cumming, thinking about how another man had fucked me. A bizarre scene, even for me, someone who has always considered herself open-minded. And yet, I felt incredibly turned on.
When he came out, we shared a tender kiss. A silent passing of the baton.
The morning flew by. The kids and Juan’s mother arrived, and we didn’t have a chance to talk about what had happened. But we both knew that conversation was inevitable.
The rest of the morning was filled with coffee, cartoons, and children’s laughter. But inside, something pulsed. Every accidental touch with Juan, every glance, was soaked with what we had lived through just hours earlier. We hadn’t spoken a single word about the morning fuck, or the name I moaned between gasps… but the silence said it all.
After lunch, when we finally got the kids entertained with grandma, Juan and I slipped into our room under the pretense of taking a nap. We closed the door. We looked at each other. The air thickened instantly.
"Does thinking about Raúl turn you on?" he asked in a low, almost hoarse voice.
I didn’t answer. I stepped closer and slid my hand over his pants. He was hard. Incredibly hard. I knelt down without a word, pulled his pants down, and let his cock spring free—stiff, hot, throbbing. I took it in my mouth without waiting for instructions, savoring every inch like it was the first time. He collapsed onto the bed, panting.
"Is this how you sucked Raúl’s cock?" he asked with his eyes closed, enjoying every second.
I looked up at him. My wet lips slid along his shaft, my tongue teasing the tip.
"No…" I said between sucks. "With Raúl, I gently bit his balls while I stroked him with my mouth. He loved it."
Juan moaned. I couldn’t tell if it was jealousy, desire, or pure madness. He grabbed my head with both hands and started thrusting, fucking my mouth mercilessly. It made me gag, but I didn’t stop. I loved feeling his surrender. I wanted him to give me everything.
When I felt he was about to come, I pulled away. I pushed him back onto the mattress, slid off my panties, and climbed on top of him, guiding his cock inside me slowly but firmly. It hurt. Yes. I still felt sore. But that only made it even more arousing.
"Can you feel how sore I am?" I moaned. "It’s because of Raúl… my pussy still hurts from how he fucked me."
Juan let out a guttural growl. He grabbed my hips and started thrusting up into me, hard, with fury. I rode him without pause, feeling how full I was, how he hit all the right spots. I was soaked. The pain was turning into pleasure with every thrust.
"Do you like knowing that? Do you like knowing Raúl fucked me like an animal?" I teased.
He bit my nipple hard, without answering, then lifted me as if I weighed nothing. He flipped me around and put me on all fours. He shoved himself back inside me—this time with no hesitation—slamming into me, deep. You could feel he needed to claim his territory, to reassert himself. And that only made me crazier.
"Tell me I’m better than Raúl," he demanded in my ear as he pounded into me. "Tell me now."
I didn’t. Instead, I laughed and arched my back more so he could go deeper.
"I can’t lie to you…" I whispered, breathless.
That pushed him over the edge. He fucked me with a ferocity that bordered on primal. My body shook with every thrust of his hips. He held me tightly—by the waist, the arms, the neck. He wanted to possess me, to claim me, but also to indulge in the burning jealousy inside him.
When I felt he was close, I clenched my pussy tight, as if trying to squeeze his cock.
"Come inside me… I want to feel you," I whispered—and it was like lighting a fire he couldn’t contain.
With a ragged moan, he came deep inside me, spilling everything, trembling, panting over my back.
I collapsed face down, his cum dripping between my thighs, gasping for breath. He fell beside me, saying nothing, eyes lost on the ceiling.
For minutes, we didn’t move. The room smelled of sex, sweat, fulfilled desire. In that moment, there was nothing more real than our exhausted bodies.
I turned to him, tracing his chest lightly with my fingertips.
"Does what we’re doing scare you?" I asked softly.
He shook his head.
"No… but it’s changing me. It stirs something deep inside. I like it, and it scares me at the same time."
We stayed like that, tangled up. And for the first time, I understood that sex was only the gateway to something much deeper. We were exploring a new dimension as a couple—one where desire, jealousy, power, and love mixed into an explosive combination.
That night, we didn’t talk much more. The grandmother’s visit, the kids, dinner… everything seemed normal. But deep down, we both knew it wasn’t. Something had been triggered inside us. A fire we could no longer put out.
Juan fell asleep before I did. I stayed up with my phone in hand, under the sheets, in silence, waiting. Waiting for a notification. A reply.
And it came.
Raúl:
"Can I see you tomorrow, alone? I don’t want sex… I just want to see you. Have a coffee. Talk. But if something happens… I won’t stop it."
My stomach twisted. Not from fear. From desire. From nerves. From that heat between my legs that lit up just reading his name.
I replied without asking Juan.
"Tomorrow at 11. At the hotel."
I didn’t sleep much. The next morning, I came up with a simple excuse—a meeting with a friend. Juan looked at me in silence. He believed me. Or wanted to.
I got ready more than usual. New lingerie. A black lace bra. A tiny beige thong. A short, light dress, no bra. And no guilt.
When I arrived at the hotel, Raúl was already there. Leaning against the railing, coffee in hand, grey t-shirt hugging every muscle, and that look in his eyes… so damn confident, so damn his.
We didn’t even say hello. He took my face in his hands and kissed me. A slow, wet, deep kiss that soaked me completely. He walked me backward, into the room, never breaking the kiss. Closed the door with his foot.
“Are you sure?” he asked in a low voice, his lips brushing mine.
“Don’t start with that now,” I whispered, unzipping my dress.
I slipped it off in front of him. Slowly. I felt powerful. Naked in my heels, goosebumps on my skin, my nipples hard. Raúl looked at me like I was a feast. He gently pushed me toward the bed and sat me at the edge. Kneeling in front of me, he started kissing my belly, the inside of my thighs. He didn’t touch my pussy yet. He kept me on edge.
And then he did.
His tongue was slow, firm, deep. He played with every fold, every corner. He gripped my thighs tightly so I couldn’t move. I looked down and saw his eyes locked on mine while he ate my pussy like it was his drug. I lost it. I came so hard I screamed his name without shame.
My legs were trembling when I sat up. I threw myself at him, undressed him with hunger. His cock was already hard—thick as I remembered, steel-hard. I straddled him, wet, open, desperate.
“I’ve dreamed about you,” I whispered in his ear.
He fucked me from below, making every thrust count, every inch matter. He held my tits in both hands, bit them, kissed them. I moaned, gasped, gave in to him completely. And when he bent me over the bed, entering me from behind, pulling my hair, spanking me softly, I knew there was no turning back. I wanted him. I craved him. I needed him.
“You belong to Juan,” he said between thrusts, “but this pussy… this pussy is mine.”
“Yes… yes… it’s yours now,” I moaned, “fuck this pussy however you want.”
I came again. Then a third time, as he filled me, hot, deep, growling like an animal as he came. We stayed like that—sweaty, tangled, silent.
“And Juan?” he asked finally.
I said nothing.
“Juan knows why I came here,” I confessed after a minute. “And he didn’t stop me.”
Raúl looked at me seriously, stroking my hip.
“Then this… this isn’t over,” he said.
And he was right.
That night, after putting the kids to bed and saying goodbye to the grandma, the silence in the house grew heavy. Juan was on the couch, watching something on TV, pretending he wasn’t waiting for anything. But I knew him. His body spoke for him—tense back, crossed legs, clenched jaw. He hadn’t said a single word all day about my “meeting.”
And that turned me on.
I went to the bedroom. Showered. Perfumed myself. Put on the same lingerie I’d worn with Raúl. I wanted the scent to linger. I wanted Juan’s body to recognize it without knowing why. I looked at myself in the mirror. I felt powerful. Beautiful. Overflowing with desire.
I stepped out in a silk robe, open, with nothing underneath. Walked barefoot to the living room, without a word. Juan turned his head. He saw me.
And his expression changed completely.
“Come with me,” I said. No questions. No asking for permission.
He didn’t answer. He just stood up, obedient. I led him to the bedroom. Sat him at the edge of the bed. Stood between his legs. Looked down at him. Let the robe slide off my shoulders until it fell to the floor.
“Do you want to know what I did today?” I asked as I took his face in one hand.
He nodded. Swallowed hard. He was hard—I could feel it through his pants. His cock was already begging me.
“He ate my pussy in room 212,” I whispered in his ear. “He made me scream. He fucked me standing against the mirror, my face fogging up the glass. I rode him. I came more than once. And when he was done... I begged him for more.”
Juan closed his eyes. A low, guttural, animal sound escaped his throat.
“And now…” I whispered as I unbuckled his belt, “now I want you to feel it. I want you to feel what he left inside me. I want you to come inside my pussy, still warm from Raúl.”
I pulled down his pants. His cock sprang out, hard and throbbing. I took it into my mouth with hunger, with rage, with power. I held onto his thighs. He moaned, surrendered, unsure if he was in heaven or hell.
Then I pushed him back and climbed on top of him, straddling him, eyes locked on his. I sank his cock into me—slow, wet, still stretched from Raúl. Juan shut his eyes tight.
“Do you feel it?” I asked. “Do you feel how he left me? Do you feel how open I am?”
He couldn’t speak. He just nodded, breathing ragged, muscles tight, fingers gripping my hips.
I rode him hard. Turned his face to the side and licked his neck. Bit his ear. Talked dirty. Told him how Raúl filled my mouth, how he grabbed my neck while fucking me from behind. How his fingers dug into my ass with force.
Juan was out of his mind. I’d never seen him like that. Vulnerable. But not weak. Completely surrendered. Owned by me. By what we had created.
When I came, my legs shook. I clung to his chest. I felt him moan beneath me. He came inside me with a force that rocked him to the core. No words were needed.
I lay on top of him. Still panting. Still with his cock pulsing inside me. I ran my fingers through his hair. Kissed his lips—this time, tenderly.
“This is ours, Juan. No one else understands it. But we do.”
He held me tight. And that night, for the first time, we were three in one: him, me… and the shadow of Raúl.
Since that night, something changed between us. We didn’t talk about it. Didn’t make any agreements. But we both knew we had discovered a new way to turn each other on… and we started playing with it. Like a sweet poison. A dangerous game we didn’t want to leave.
I was the one who kept feeding the tension.
Every morning I dressed more provocatively. I wore dresses without underwear. I let him see my shaved pussy when I bent over on purpose. I whispered in his ear, “I’m still wet from yesterday.” And he… melted. Got hard without even being touched. Followed me around the house like an animal in heat.
One afternoon, while the kids were at their grandmother’s house, I proposed a game.
“I want you to touch me,” I said, “but don’t kiss me. Don’t speak. Only your hands.”
We locked ourselves in the bedroom. I lay naked on the sheets. Juan knelt beside me, his eyes full of restrained desire. He touched me like he couldn’t believe he had permission. His fingers traced my thighs, my belly, my hard nipples… but he didn’t kiss me. Not a single word.
I closed my eyes and started to speak.
“Raúl fucked me in this exact position. He licked my pussy so slowly I thought I’d go insane. He grabbed my wrists and wouldn’t let me touch him until I came.”
Juan let out a soft moan. His fingers slid down to my wet lips. He began to rub my clit gently, as if my words were guiding him.
“He had this way of biting my neck… like he wanted to leave a mark. He filled me so deep… I was dripping for hours after.”
I felt Juan trembling. He was breathing heavily, agitated. He didn’t look me in the eye. He was focused only on my moans.
“And when he was done… he said he wanted to do it with us. That he wanted to fuck me while you watched.”
That was too much.
Juan growled, threw himself on top of me, and thrust his cock into me in one hard motion. No more calm. No more rules. He fucked me like he wanted to own me, to mark his territory, to compete with a ghost.
“You like remembering him while you fuck me, don’t you?” I panted. “It turns you on knowing another man made me moan?”
“Yes,” he groaned, voice ragged. “It drives me crazy.”
He gripped my ass hard, pounded into me without mercy—with force, with rage, with pent-up desire. We came almost at the same time, breathless, sweaty, our bodies stuck together like we wanted to melt into one.
Afterward, in silence, he held me. But his hand didn’t leave my waist. His body didn’t relax. And his cock… slowly hardened again inside me.
The tension didn’t fade. The desire didn’t either.
It was Saturday night. The kids were asleep. The house was quiet. Juan was in the living room with a glass of wine, relaxed. I took a long shower, let the hot water open up my body, loosen my thoughts.
I stepped out of the bathroom with one thought in mind.
Fui hasta el salón con el móvil en la mano.
Juan levantó la mirada y se quedó helado.
—Ven —le dije—. Vamos al cuarto. Quiero que me ayudes con algo.
No preguntó. Se levantó como hipnotizado y me siguió.
Nos sentamos en la cama. Me puse sobre sus piernas, cara a cara. Lo besé despacio, con lengua, suave… pero no era un beso inocente. Era fuego contenido.
—Quiero mandarle una foto a Raúl.
Lo dije sin rodeos. Juan se quedó inmóvil. Sus ojos me buscaron. Tragó saliva.
—¿Ahora? —susurró.
—Sí. Pero no cualquier foto… una que tomes tú. Quiero que le muestres cómo me tienes. Quiero que vea lo que es tuyo.
Juan se quedó quieto, entre sorprendido y excitado. Lo vi. Su polla palpitaba bajo su pantalón. Le desabroché el botón sin dejar de mirarlo.
—Sácame una foto —le pedí, poniéndome de espaldas, a gatas sobre la cama—. Así, con el culo en alto… el tanga metido entre los labios. Quiero que vea lo mojada que estoy.
I heard the click of the phone. Then another. And another. Juan was trembling. He touched me with one hand while taking pictures with the other. He was out of control.
“Send it to him,” I said, looking at him over my shoulder. “But don’t say a word. Just let him see it.”
Juan swallowed hard. He sent the photo. Silence. Only the sound of our bodies, his breathing, my pussy pulsing.
“Do you think he’ll like it?” I asked, teasing.
“He’s going to want to fuck you right now,” he said, his voice broken.
I turned around, pushed him onto the bed, climbed on top. I slammed his cock inside me.
“Then let him know that tonight… it’s you who’s fucking me. But I’m thinking of him.”
Juan let out a groan from the depths of his chest.
I rode him slow. Steady. As if I was marking every movement. I stared into his eyes and talked dirty. I asked if he’d like Raúl to lick me while he fucked me. If he wanted to watch him touch himself while I came on his cock.
Juan squirmed beneath me. He didn’t know whether to come or beg.
“Don’t come yet,” I ordered, pressing my hand against his chest. “I want you to hold it. I want you to feel that this body is ours… but he’s already left his mark.”
We came together again. Screaming. Sweating. Fused into each other.
A few minutes later, still holding me, Juan checked his phone. Raúl had replied.
Just two words:
“Fuck, I want to.”
Juan showed it to me without a word.
I smiled at him.
“Soon, baby. Very soon.”
The days passed, and the desire kept growing. We didn’t need to talk much. The game was already in motion, and we both knew it.
Juan looked at me differently. As if he no longer knew which version of me he had in front of him—the woman who loved him, or the woman who had let another man fuck her. And what bothered him the most… was that both versions turned him on.
One afternoon, while he worked at the computer, I sat beside him with my phone in hand and a mischievous smile.
“Do you want to know what Raúl wrote to me today?”
Juan looked up, tense. He nodded without saying a word.
“He said he can’t stop thinking about how my legs trembled when he took me from behind. That he’d love to try me again in that position. That he dreamed about my ass bouncing while you watched.”
Juan stayed still. His jaw clenched. His breathing deepened.
I moved closer, ran my hand slowly along his thigh.
“I sent him a voice note this morning. Nothing explicit… just my voice, whispering that I remembered how he grabbed my neck while I came. Do you want to hear it?”
I took out my earbuds and put them in, but made sure he could see the screen. I hit play. My voice came through soft, intimate, like I was speaking from bed.
I saw Juan swallow hard. His cock was growing under his pants. He was getting hard from hearing me speak to another man.
“Does it bother you that I talk to him like that?” I asked, with sweet venom. “Or does it turn you on to imagine him jerking off to my voice, knowing I’m yours?”
He didn’t answer. He just stared at me. And that silence… said everything.
I stood up slowly, slid my panties down in front of him. Bent over slightly, letting him see everything. My skin glistening. Swollen. Ready to burst.
“You know what the best part is?” I said, not turning around. “That if I wanted to… I could text him right now and tell him to come over. That I’m alone. That I’m wet. And I know he would.”
Juan stood up abruptly. He grabbed my waist hard. Pushed me against the wall and thrust his cock inside me in one motion, without warning. He fucked me with rage. With jealousy. With possession.
“Say it,” he growled in my ear. “Tell him I fucked you against the wall, that you came screaming my name, not his.”
“I haven’t come yet,” I panted.
He thrust harder.
“Then you’re going to come screaming mine. Or should I call him and let him hear you while you’re on speaker?”
His words sent a shockwave through me. I came trembling, his cock slamming into me, while he held me like he wanted to leave marks on my skin.
We collapsed to the floor, tangled together. Breathing hard. Hotter than ever.
On the floor, still inside me, I caressed his face and whispered:
“What if one day… I do tell him to come?”
Juan looked at me intensely. His cock still hard, throbbing inside me.
“You wouldn’t dare, Ana.”
The idea was mine, of course. It wasn’t hard to convince Juan. I told him I wanted a calm night, the three of us talking naturally, no hiding. “A normal reunion, with clothes on,” I joked. But deep down, I had it all planned.
I prepared dinner with care. Red wine, low lights, a soft playlist. I picked a short black dress, no bra, and the tiniest panties I owned—the ones I knew drove Juan crazy. When he saw me dressed up, he looked me up and down and said nothing. But his jaw tightened.
Raúl arrived on time. Shirt slightly open, that scent I remembered perfectly. When he greeted me, his hand brushed my back. A subtle touch, like it was accidental. But it wasn’t. And Juan noticed.
The three of us sat down at the table. At first, it was cordial, almost boring. Juan talked about work, and Raúl played along. But I knew exactly what I was doing. Pouring him wine, slowly crossing my legs, leaning forward to serve the salad. Every gesture was a provocation.
Raúl looked at me. Directly. Shamelessly. Juan knew it. He felt it. But said nothing.
“To be honest, I’ve been thinking a lot about that night,” Raúl said suddenly, with a calm smile.
Juan looked up. So did I. The tension was thick enough to cut with a knife.
“Yeah?” I replied, biting my lip.
“Yeah. About how well we understood each other... without needing to say much. How smoothly everything went.”
Juan gripped his glass. He didn’t say a word.
“It was intense,” I added softly. “Very intense.”
I turned to Juan, touching his leg under the table.
“You’ve thought about it too, haven’t you, love?”
Juan nodded, but didn’t look at me. He was focused on Raúl. His cock was starting to show through his pants. I noticed.
Raúl reached for more wine, and as he did, his hand brushed my thigh. Just enough to seem ambiguous. Just enough not to go unnoticed.
“Actually,” he continued, “I’ve wanted to do it again. But of course… I didn’t want to come off as too forward.”
Juan let out a dry, sarcastic laugh.
“We’re the bold ones here,” he said. “If we’re having dinner together after what happened... there’s not much shame left, is there?”
Raúl raised his glass for a toast.
“Exactly. Here’s to well-handled desire.”
We all toasted. But the glasses were shaking. So were the urges.
I stood up to clear the plates. Walked to the kitchen, knowing they were both watching me. The dress rose with every step. I did it on purpose. I could feel Juan burning inside.
When I returned, I placed dessert on the table and leaned over Raúl. Just enough for him to see what was—or wasn’t—under my dress.
Juan saw. He felt it. Swallowed hard. Said nothing.
I sat between them. All our knees touching under the table. One hand on Juan’s thigh. The other playing with my glass.
“What if we played a game?” I asked. “Nothing physical. Just words. A kind of truth or dare... with spicy questions.”
Juan looked at me with a mix of desire and tension. Raúl nodded without hesitation.
“You start,” he said, his voice deep.
“Alright. For both of you.” I bit my lip. “Who’s jerked off thinking about that night?”
Juan looked at me, red. Raúl smiled.
“I have,” he said without hesitation.
Juan clenched his jaw. His cock throbbed.
“Me too,” he finally said.
I laughed slowly, then placed my napkin on the table and stood up.
“I love this game… but I’ve got something better. Let’s go to the living room. Sound good?”
The three of us moved. The air was pure fire.
We sat in the living room. Glasses in hand, the air heavy, the lights soft. The silence was more powerful than any word.
I was in the middle, between the two of them. Legs crossed, dress wrinkled at my thighs. There was no hiding the tension. And I had no intention of hiding anything.
“Shall we continue the game?” I asked, commanding. “But now... with one small change. I ask the questions. And you answer. No lies.”
Raúl nodded calmly. Juan hesitated… but agreed. He couldn’t help it. He was in. I had them both in the palm of my hand.
“First question.” I turned to Raúl. “How do you like fucking me more? From the front or the back?”
Juan swallowed hard. Raúl looked at me, shameless.
“From the back. Watching you arch your back, hearing you moan, seeing you lose control. That drives me insane.”
I looked at Juan. Saw him get harder. Saw his discomfort… but he didn’t look away from my lips.
“I wasn’t asking you, love,” I said coldly. “This round was for Raúl.”
Juan looked down for a second. But said nothing. His cock still pressed hard against his pants.
“Second question,” I said, sliding my hand slowly along Juan’s thigh. “Raúl… how do you think Juan felt knowing you fucked me harder than he ever has?”
Silence cut like a knife. Juan was breathing heavily. Raúl smiled, slowly.
“I think... he felt small. Jealous. But also turned on. Because deep down, he likes knowing his woman enjoys herself more with someone else.”
I leaned into Juan, whispering in his ear:
“Is that true, my love? Do you like knowing someone else makes me moan more than you do?”
Juan didn’t answer. I looked into his eyes. Ran my finger along his chin, dominant.
“Answer me. I’m not asking to be polite.”
“Yes... it turns me on. But it also fucks with me,” he said, his voice trembling.
I laughed slowly and took his glass. I drank, then kissed him hard. My tongue deep in his mouth like I was claiming him. Then I turned to Raúl, took his face, and kissed him too—soft, lustful.
Juan saw it all. His wife kissing another man in front of him… with more passion than she usually gave him.
“Stand up,” I said to Juan.
He obeyed.
“Take off your clothes.”
“Here?”
“Is anyone else in the house?”
He took off his shirt. Then his pants. Left in his underwear.
“Everything. Don’t be shy now.”
Juan stood completely naked. His erection trembling.
“Look at him, Raúl,” I said. “Do you think that’s enough to satisfy me?”
Raúl shrugged.
“It gets the job done… but it’s not the same.”
Juan looked down. Red. Humiliated. But still rock hard. His whole body trembling between desire and rage.
“Come here, love. On your knees.”
Juan knelt in front of me. I stroked his hair gently.
“Tonight, you’re going to watch. You’re going to learn. And you’re going to be grateful. Because when I let you inside me, I do it out of love. Not for size. Not for power. For love.”
Then I turned to Raúl.
“Don’t get undressed. Not yet. We’re going to keep playing. I want to see how long Juan can last without touching himself.”
Juan whimpered softly. Red. Harder than ever. But he didn’t dare do anything but watch.
And I was soaked. The absolute queen of that scene. Powerful, wicked, alive.
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