My boyfriend asked my permission to fuck another woman in front of me

The week after that party was a whirlwind of eloquent silences and loaded glances. Paul watched me as if he expected me to fall apart, to demand explanations, or to cry. But instead, something inside me had been reconfigured. The shame had transformed into a burning curiosity, and the fear into a strange sense of power. I had been the center of attention, the object of desire, and although it horrified me to admit it, a part of me had fed on it.

On Friday night, Paul prepared a special dinner. Candles, red wine, my favorite pasta. “We need to talk, Val,” he said, pouring me more wine. His tone was serious, but his eyes shone with that spark I now recognized as the prelude to something transgressive. I nodded, taking a sip. “About what?”

“About what happened. About what… could happen.” He took a deep breath. “There’s a woman. Her name is Sofía. I’ve known her for years, and… she wants to meet you. I want you to meet her.”

I froze. Another one? Already? But before panic could take hold of me, a wave of cold fury ran through me. “And who is she? Another one of your ‘colleagues’?” I asked with a serenity I didn’t even know I had.

Paul smiled, a slow, satisfied smile. “Let’s just say she’s family. A distant cousin. She’s coming to dinner tomorrow. Do you trust me?”

I didn’t. But something in his gaze challenged me to say yes.

The next day, Sofía arrived at eight on the dot. She looked nothing like Paul. Tall, slim, with black hair cut in a bob and green eyes that scrutinized me unabashedly from the doorway. She wore a simple black dress that clung to her curves obscenely. There were no familial kisses or hugs. Just a firm handshake and a smile that didn’t reach her eyes.

Dinner proceeded with an artificial normality. We talked about work, travel, trivialities. But under the table, Paul’s bare foot caressed my calf, and I noticed how Sofía’s gaze lingered on my cleavage, my lips, on Paul’s hands when he served me more water. It was obvious she wasn’t his cousin. She was an intruder, a guest invited to a game whose rules I didn’t yet master, but I was determined to learn.

When we finished dessert, Paul could no longer contain himself. He dropped his napkin on the table and stared at Sofía. “Enough pretending. Why don’t we tell Val why you’re really here?”

Sofía didn’t flinch. She looked directly at me. “Paul told me you were a secure woman. That maybe… you’d enjoy watching him have a good time with me.” Her words were a challenge, a gauntlet thrown in my face.

The blood pounded in my temples. But instead of screaming or throwing my wine at her, I leaned back in my chair, crossing my legs with deliberate slowness. All eyes were on me. I had control. I decided.

“Okay,” I said, and my voice sounded cold and clear, like crystal. “But I’m setting the rules.”

Paul held his breath, expectant.

“Rule one: you use a condom. Always. Rule two: you don’t kiss her on the mouth.” I paused, watching Sofía’s eyes widen slightly, surprised by my firmness. “Rule three: you only do what I allow or say. Is that clear?”

Paul nodded, with a devotion in his eyes I had never seen before. “Yes, my love. Whatever you say.”

I led them to the bedroom. There was no room for subtlety. “Undress her,” I ordered, pointing at Sofía. Paulobeyed, unbuttoning the black dress until she was exposed, her pale, slender body trembling before us. “Lay her on the bed and get her ready. But remember the rule: no kisses.”

Paul laid her down and began to explore her with his hands and mouth, from her neck to her thighs, deliberately avoiding her lips. Sofía moaned, arching her back, and her eyes fixed on me, defiant, challenging me to stop him. But I wouldn’t. I sat in the armchair facing the bed, like a queen on her throne. “Faster,” I ordered. “Spread her legs and eat her out. I want to hear her moan.”

Paul buried his face between her legs, and the sounds that followed were brutal, wet, animalistic. Sofía screamed, gripping the sheets tightly, and her defiant look transformed into pure submission. I felt a visceral, intoxicating power. “Now. Fuck her. From behind.”

Paul positioned himself behind her, and after putting on a condom with trembling hands, he penetrated her with a deep thrust that made them both cry out. I didn’t look away. “Harder,” I demanded, biting my lower lip as I watched his body slam against hers. “Leave marks on her. I want her to remember who you belong to.”

The room filled with the sound of skin on skin, of gasps, and of my cold, precise orders. I touched myself over my pants, aroused to a point I never thought possible. Watching my man, my Paul, submitting to my absolute will, fucking another woman but obeying me in every movement, was the most potent drug in the world.

When Paul finished, collapsing onto Sofía’s back with a hoarse groan, I stood up. “That’s enough. She can leave.” My tone brooked no argument.

Sofía dressed in silence, without looking at either of us, and left the room with her head down. The front door closed. And then, Paul turned to me. His eyes burned with an animalistic fury, a wild admiration. “I’ve never… never been so turned on by you,” he roared, and pounced on me.

It wasn’t making love. It was a reclamation, a brutal possession. He tore my clothes off in shreds and laid me down on the bed, still warm from the previous bodies. His mouth found mine with a violence that tasted like victory and wine. There was no condom, no rules. Just him and me, and the pent-up rage of weeks exploding with every thrust. “You’re mine, only mine,” he growled in my ear as he fucked me with a strength that made me scream in pleasure and pain. “Only you drive me this crazy.”

He brought me to three consecutive orgasms, each more intense than the last, until I was exhausted, trembling, marked by his teeth and nails. We fell asleep entangled, sweaty, and for the first time in weeks, there were no shadows in the doorway, no foreign gazes. Just us. And I knew, with a terrifying certainty, that this abyss united us more than it could ever separate us.