A soldier returns home to discover his wife with another man. What follows is an emotional journey of jealousy, gratitude, and sexual discovery, where the boundaries of love and desire blur.
He opens his eyes suddenly, disoriented, as if he's just woken from a deep sleep. But it's not a dream; it's a reality that hits him hard. He finds himself in the body of a young man, a man he doesn't recognize as himself, but whose life now belongs to him. He's a soldier returning home after months of military service, his heart pounding with anticipation at the thought of seeing his wife, of holding her, of feeling her warmth after so long.
The afternoon sun filters through the living room curtains, creating patterns of light and shadow on the floor. The house is quiet, too quiet for her liking. She drops her luggage by the door, the sound of wood tapping against the floor echoing in the stillness. "Honey, are you home?" she calls, her voice a little hoarse from disuse. There's no reply.
He heads for the kitchen—perhaps she's there, preparing something to eat to celebrate his return. But the kitchen is empty, only the ticking of the wall clock breaks the silence. A feeling of unease begins to grow in his chest. Something isn't right.
Suddenly, he hears a sound that paralyzes him. A moan, soft but unmistakable, coming from the bedroom. His heart races, his hands tremble slightly as he approaches the door, each step a struggle against the growing suspicion that consumes him.
With his hand on the doorknob, he pauses, as if he could stop time, avoid what he's about to discover. But curiosity, or perhaps fear, drives him to open it.
The scene before his eyes is like a punch in the stomach. His wife, his beautiful and beloved wife, is kneeling on the floor, her long brown hair falling over her shoulders as she dedicates herself to a task that leaves him breathless. In front of her, a man, a stranger, stands, his pants pulled down to his knees, his erect, throbbing member in her mouth.
The man holds her by the nape of the neck, guiding her movements, his face a mask of pleasure and concentration. She, her eyes closed, moves with devotion, her tongue tracing invisible patterns on his skin, her lips wrapped in a wet, passionate kiss.
The soldier feels the world shaking beneath his feet. He can't move, he can't speak, he can only stare, stunned, like a spectator in a movie he doesn't want to see.
Suddenly, she opens her eyes, her gaze meeting his in the mirror behind the man. A smile appears on her lips, a smile he can't interpret, unsure if it's apologetic, conspiratorial, or something more.
"Honey," she says, her voice slightly muffled by her position, "I didn't know you were coming today." She sits up slightly, enough to release his member from her mouth, and wipes her lips with the back of her hand. "Sorry for the splash," she adds, nodding toward a small bowl on the floor filled with a thick, white liquid.
The soldier feels his words stuck in his throat. He doesn't know what to say, what to do. He looks at the man, who is now staring at him with an expression he can't decipher. "Who...?" he begins to ask, but his voice fails him.
"I'm Lucas," the man says, extending a hand in her direction, as if they were in a completely normal situation. "I've been looking after your wife while you were away."
The soldier looks at the outstretched hand, then at the man, and finally at his wife, who has now stood up and is approaching him, her pregnant belly prominent under her loose dress. "Thank you," she finally says, her voice a whisper. "Thank you for taking care of her."
The following weeks are a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. The soldier, whose name is Javier, tries to adapt to this new reality, to this life that isn't what he expected. Lucas becomes a constant presence in the house, and although Javier can't help but feel a pang of jealousy every time he sees him with his wife, there's also a strange sense of gratitude.
Lucas is kind, attentive, and clearly adores Javier's wife, whom he calls María. He treats her with a respect and tenderness that Javier can't ignore, and little by little, he begins to see him not as a rival, but as an ally.
One afternoon, while María is in the bedroom, Javier hears her moans through the half-open door. Curiosity gnaws at him, and before he can stop himself, he finds himself peeking inside.
María is on top of Lucas, her hips moving in a steady, sensual rhythm. Her hair is disheveled, her face flushed with exertion and pleasure. Lucas is beneath her, his hands gripping her hips, guiding her movements.
Javier feels the blood pounding in his ears, his heart thudding in his chest. He shouldn't be watching, he knows, but he can't tear his gaze away. There's something about the scene that draws him in, something primal and powerful.
María leans forward, her hair falling over Lucas, and Javier watches as he holds her by the waist, his fingers digging into her skin. She moans, a deep, guttural sound, and Javier feels something awaken in him, a need he can't name.
Without thinking, he approaches the bed, his movements silent on the carpet. Lucas sees him, but says nothing, just nods slightly, as if inviting him to join him.
Javier kneels beside the bed, his gaze fixed on Lucas's body, on the way his muscles tense with each thrust. He reaches out, touches Lucas's leg, and then, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, moves his hand down to his crotch.
Lucas gasps, his head falling back, and Javier feels a surge of power, of excitement. With a swift movement, he leans forward, his mouth finding Lucas's warm, sweaty skin.
The room is filled with sounds: María's moans, Lucas's gasps, and now, the wet, dirty sounds Javier makes as he explores the man's body with his mouth. It's as if the outside world has ceased to exist, as if there is only this moment, this shared ecstasy.
Javier moves up, his tongue tracing a wet path over Lucas's torso until it reaches his ear. "You taste delicious," he whispers, his lips brushing against the sensitive skin. Lucas trembles, his body arching slightly, and Javier smiles, a smile that's part satisfaction, part something else he can't name.
With his hands, Javier grabs Lucas's pubic hairs, gently tugs, and then bites down, tasting the salty taste of his skin. Lucas moans, his voice a deep rumble, and María, above him, moves more urgently, her hips slamming against Lucas's in a frantic rhythm.
Javier moves down, his mouth finding Lucas's member, which is now hard and throbbing, ready to burst. He wraps his lips around it, his tongue exploring every inch, savoring Lucas's unique taste, a taste that is both strange and familiar.
María stops, her body tense around Lucas, and Javier looks up, sees the expression on her face, a mixture of surprise and pleasure. "Javier," she whispers, her voice a thread, "what are you...?"
But he doesn't finish the question, because at that moment, Lucas explodes, his body arching upward, his member pulsing in Javier's mouth as he releases his semen. Javier swallows it, every drop, tasting the bitter, salty flavor in his mouth, and then, with his tongue, he cleans Lucas's member, making sure not to leave a single drop behind.
María collapses on top of Lucas, her body trembling, and Javier sits up, looks at the two of them, and then at his wife. There's a strange calm in him, a sense of peace he can't explain. Is this humiliation or release? Pain or pleasure?
Her eyes meet Lucas's, and in that look, something inexplicable unites them. They aren't rivals, not at this moment. They're partners in crime, two men united by their desire for the woman they love.
The air is charged with a sweet tension, as if the world, for a moment, ceased to judge and simply existed. Javier feels a hand on his cheek—María's hand—and looks up at her, sees the expression on her face, a mixture of love and something else he can't name.
"Thank you," she whispers, and Javier can't tell if it's to him or Lucas, or maybe both. But in that moment, it doesn't matter. All that matters is this moment, this shared ecstasy, this strange and beautiful connection that unites the three of them.