We had talked about it for a long time before it happened. Three months, during which Markus and I lay in bed at night, the lamp half-dimmed, and told each other honestly what we imagined. Not abstractly, but concretely — names, settings, scenes. It had been my fantasy first, to sleep with another man while Markus watched. It became his when we understood that what attracted me excited him too. I had confessed to him that sometimes at night, when he was fast asleep, I would masturbate and imagine a stranger pushing my legs apart while Markus stood in the shadows and watched. Markus was silent at first, then he said quietly: “I want that too.” His cock was already hard, and I felt how wet I got when he said it.
Tomas was the third man we met. The first two hadn’t fit — one too hasty, the second too performative. Tomas was in his mid-forties, calm, a businessman from Salzburg, divorced, with a way of listening that I had appreciated in him from our first phone call. The three of us had met in Vienna, in the evening, at a café in the city center, and talked for three hours. About everything. Also about sex, very directly, because we knew exactly what we wanted and what we didn’t. Tomas asked me: “What do you like best?” and I answered without hesitation: “To be fucked. Hard, but not rough. And I want Markus to see me come.” Markus nodded slowly, his gaze wandering over my body as if he could already see me naked.
The rules we had agreed on:
Markus was in the room. Not hidden. Visible, in the armchair by the window, with a glass of wine. He could stand up and leave at any time — if it became too much for him, if he couldn’t take it, if he simply didn’t want to anymore. Tomas and I had a safeword. Markus did too. We had agreed that I wouldn’t come alone with Tomas — Markus should hear everything, see everything, every movement, every sound. I shouldn’t be quiet. I should scream when it happened.
We met on a Thursday, in a suite of a hotel on Bognergasse. We had chosen the hotel because our apartment would have felt too familiar. Tomas arrived at eight sharp.
We ate together. We drank a wine. We talked — for an hour — about something other than what was to come later. Tomas told us about a trip to Lisbon. Markus asked him questions. I sat between them and noticed how my hands got cold, not from fear, but from anticipation. Under the table, I pressed my thighs together because my cunt was already starting to get wet. I wasn’t wearing any panties — we had discussed that. Markus knew it. Tomas didn’t, not yet.
Around half past nine, Tomas placed his hand on mine. It wasn’t a brash gesture. It was a question.
“Klara.”
“Yes.”
“Shall we go over?”
Markus stood up slowly, walked to the armchair by the window. He poured himself a second glass of wine. He sat down. He looked at us. He nodded once, barely visible. But I saw how his hand trembled as he lifted the glass. He was nervous. That made me even hornier.
Tomas led me into the bedroom. He left the door open, as we had agreed. He turned me towards him, kissed me for the first time. His kiss was different from Markus’s — slower, softer, more questioning. His tongue glided over my lips, and I opened my mouth, let him in. He tasted of red wine and something smoky. I felt his hand slide over my back, open the zipper of my dress at the back, slowly, with one hand, while the other rested on my neck. His fingers were warm, and I trembled slightly.
The dress fell. It rustled to my feet, and I stood naked before him. I wore nothing underneath, we had discussed that too. Tomas looked at me — a woman in her early forties, who had borne two sons, whose body showed that. My breasts aren’t as firm as they were at twenty, but they are full, the nipples are dark and now hard because the air is cool and because I know Markus is watching us. My hips have become wider, my belly soft, but Tomas’s gaze wasn’t critical. He looked at me closely, and I saw that he liked it. His eyes lingered on my cunt, on the dark hair that I don’t shave, only trim. I saw his Adam’s apple move as he swallowed.
“You are beautiful.”
I looked at Markus. He sat in the armchair, the wine glass in his hand, and watched us. His face was calm. But I knew his face. I saw that he was aroused. His pants bulged, and he tried to hide it by holding the glass in front of him. I knew that in his mind he had his cock in his hand.
Tomas undressed, in front of me, without haste. He had a slender body, lightly hairy, a small surgical scar on his belly. He was already hard. His cock stood stiffly away from his body, the glistening wet tip, the foreskin retracted. He looked as if he had been looking forward to it — without hurry, but with a clear desire. I estimated him at seventeen centimeters, maybe more, and he was thick, thicker than Markus. I felt my pussy get wetter as I looked at him. A small drop ran down my thigh.
We went to bed. The sheet was cool under my back, and Tomas came over me, his body warming me. He took his time with me. He kissed me from the shoulder downwards, his lips leaving a moist trail on my skin. He kissed my breasts, nibbled very lightly on my nipples, and I bit my lip because it felt good. His tongue circled the hard tip, then he sucked gently, and I heard the sound Markus made from his armchair — a slow exhale that I knew. He was watching closely. I imagined his hand now on his cock, how he was stroking it.
Tomas moved lower. He kissed my belly, pushed my thighs apart, looked at me for a moment, then he began. His tongue was different from Markus’s — more precise, almost technical, in a constant rhythm on my clitoris. He spread my labia with his fingers and licked directly over my pearl, again and again, in a circle, then flat, then pointed. I grabbed the sheet. My hips rose, I pressed myself against his face. I tried to be quiet, but I gave it up quickly — we had said I shouldn’t be silent, so Markus could hear it.
“Ah… yes… right there…,” I panted. My voice sounded strange, hoarse with lust.
Tomas licked me until I came. It took longer than I had expected — maybe ten minutes. He changed rhythm, sometimes fast, sometimes slow, and I trembled all over. I saw the g
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