Spanish Bull For Real

I remembered Sarah calling Helga a slut, and guessed that she was showing that she could be just as much of a slut for me, if that was what I liked.

Back at our hotel we fucked again. I was impressed again with my wife's daring, this time at the club. While we fucked, I pictured her naked on the beach, bare breasted at the club, and the other image that was not from memory, but was my imagined reconstruction of what she had described, Sarah with the two guys who had fucked her just the night before.

As for whether it had really been both Franco and Carlos who had fucked my wife, the truth emerged, but unexpectly.

We were at the airport, waiting for our flight, when Sarah needed to use the toilet and left me with our hand-luggage in the departure lounge.

Her phone, from somewhere in her hand-bag, gave that same tone that said a text had just arrived, a little muffled by the soft leather of the bag.

I calculated rapidly. Sarah had just left me. Allowing for the time to get to the washrooms, to go inside, do what she needed to, and then get back, I had maybe two or three minutes. Maybe longer, but at least two minutes. Just enough time to risk it. I unzipped her bag.

"A nuestro pequeño coño delicioso, Franco," was what the text said. Then the photos started to download.

I knew that cono meant cunt. Delicioso, was obvious. The rest I guessed.

"To our delicious little cunt, Franco."

Short, and to the point.

To take the photos, he must have been holding his phone in his right hand, and back a bit, to get the angle. In the first, Sarah - and it had to be Sarah, since the black silk dress was rucked up around her waist - was on her hands and knees, her head right up against his groin, her nose pressed against his stomach. His other hand, not the one holding the phone, was at the back of her head. There was only one place where his cock could be, and since I had seen its size on the beach, the head had to be some way down her throat. I was impressed that she could do that.

The other guy was behind her. His face was not in shot, but I assumed that it was Carlos. His groin was pressed hard against her buttocks. His hands were at her waist. He was obviously pulling her to him, or pulling himself deeper into her. There were two places this guy's cock could be, but from the position he was in, it looked like it was her cunt that his cock was deep inside

The second photo, when it opened, had to be some time later. They were on a bed, white sheets rucked. She was facing away from the phone's camera, her back slender, her rib cage and spine defined beneath taut, tanned skin, blonde hair falling loose around her head and shoulders, nestling at what I assumed was Carlos' groin. I knew where Carlos' cock would be.

It was the foreground of the photo that made me look to see if Sarah was returning, and check my watch. I had maybe one more minute.

Rapidly, I forwarded the text to my number. Then I deleted the text and photos from Sarah's phone. I put her phone back in her hand-bag and zipped it closed. I turned to look again, this time more nonchalantly. Sarah came into view, smiling.

"Hi," she said, as she rejoined me.

We kissed.

I thought of the second photo, Francos' cock, or an inch of it, Sarah's cunt stretched around his shaft, the other six or seven inches of his cock inside her. No condom in sight. Just his cock deep in her cunt, skin on skin, the exposed inch of his shaft slick with secretions, and a globule of white something at one side, the semen that he had released inside my wife, or maybe Carlos' semen from already having come in her before Franco took his turn.

"Love you," I said.

"Love you, too," she answered.

I still look at those photos several times a day. It is an incredible turn on. I am looking at them as I am writing this, and I am hard. I am also still taking in what I guess was the inevitable consequence of that holiday, hoped for, but not with the added complications that those photos record for ever.

Eight months on, and seven months since the test showed blue, I still love my wife more than ever, especially her swollen belly. We still fuck as often as we can as well. With her belly the way it is, doggy has become essential, but I love fucking her like that, thinking about the life inside her, and what might, or might not be.

Franco might have told Sarah the truth about him, and Carlos, both having had vasectomies. Then again, Franco might have made it up. Or it might have been just him, not Carlos, or the other way around. If Franco lied, I guess the odds are five to one, that it was Spanish sperm that got there first, since that's how many times Sarah says they came in her.

I tell you it is one hell of a thought that your wife might have been inseminated by another guy, more so when it could be one of two other guys, both of whom you know for sure, fucked her, and fired their sperm inside her at the crucial time.

However the medics do it, they reckon it was at most one day either side of that night that Sarah's egg was fertilised.

Not that the medics know anything about Franco and Carlos, or ever will. Nobody gets to know about them. Not even in four week's time.

Of course, it helps that my hair is as black as any Spaniard's, and my complexion tans so naturally. If I were blond, like Sarah, there would be some explaining needed, for her and my parents, friends and family, if a dark haired baby were to arrive. As it is, no matter how dark the baby's hair, no one will suspect a thing.

"Do you mind?" Sarah had asked me. "I mean, not knowing for sure."

That was soon after the test was blue, and after she had accepted that Franco may not have told the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth.

You cannot change the past. But a paternity test will never happen. Who cares what the result might be?

My darling, daring, slut of a wife took a risk that no other wife would do, and I love that she let that happen. I love thinking about it while we are making love. I love those photos. I will love our child as if it were my own, which in any case, it may well be. No one will ever know what happened back in Spain that year, or whose sperm won the race.