The Supplier Who Taught Me to Obey in Silence

Here again, telling one of those moments I lived through with too much intensity and that I still struggle to get out from under my skin. Those who read me already know I like dressing well, feeling feminine, and that I almost never leave the house without pantyhose. It’s not just about aesthetics: there’s something in the way lycra hugs the legs, in that silkiness that brushes with every step, that puts me in a different state. I feel more like myself. More exposed and stronger at the same time.

I work in the administrative office of a supply distributor that my friend Marcos runs. He looks out for me, gives me steady work and, every so often, surprises me with some item of clothing he knows I’ll like. Thanks to that job, I met the man I want to talk to you about.

His name was Damián. He was a supplier: he’d come by every so often to drop off delivery slips, invoices and, almost always, a box of chocolates for us administrative girls, which we’d receive with the same old joy. He must have been around sixty, maybe a little older. Well put together, elegant even when he took off his jacket, with a neatly trimmed graying beard. But what was truly unsettling was his gaze. When he pinned you with those eyes, you felt he could see something you still hadn’t decided to reveal.

He always had a comment for me. That I was very feminine, that few women knew how to wear heels the way I did, that he liked fine stockings and well-put-together girls. I laughed, told him he was exaggerating, that I wasn’t a girl at all. But the truth is those compliments stayed with me all day, I repeated them to myself in front of the computer.

One afternoon my coworker Antonella had gone out on an errand and I was alone. I bent down in front of the photocopier to make copies of some quotes Damián needed. I had my back to him. And then I felt his hand.

It wasn’t rough. It was a slow caress over my ass, over my skirt, as if he had every right in the world to do it. I froze. I turned my head just enough to meet his smile and those eyes that didn’t move a millimeter. There was no nervousness in his face. There was certainty.

Tell him to stop. Say something.

I said nothing. I kept making copies while his hand slid up under my skirt and learned the shape of my thighs, the edge of my pantyhose, the curve of my ass. He didn’t hurry. When I finished, he withdrew his hand with the same calm with which he had put it there.

—Thanks for letting me —he said quietly, straightening his jacket—. I’d never do anything you didn’t allow. But I couldn’t resist. You’ve got a body that makes a man want to behave badly.

I handed him the copies with slightly trembling hands and he left as if nothing had happened. I spent the rest of the afternoon with my heart pounding in places that were not my chest.

***

It was a few weeks before he showed up again with that month’s invoices. This time he brought something else: a little box of sweets tied with a ribbon, and a handwritten card. I opened it while he was still watching me. It said: “For my sweet girl.”

I felt the heat rising to my face. He knows exactly what he’s doing.

That day I had dressed in a short-skirted blue jumper with ruffles, a white muslin blouse, matching lace underneath, and a pair of opaque tan pantyhose I loved because they made my legs look perfect. Heeled ankle boots. I had gotten ready thinking he might come. I didn’t want to admit it, but I had gotten ready for him.

Damián made no attempt to hide it. He looked me over from head to toe without the slightest hurry, and when he greeted me with a kiss on the cheek, he let his body rest against mine a second too long. His imported cologne wrapped around me and weakened my knees. I played the good girl, lowered my eyes, smiled at him.

Antonella was buried in a spreadsheet for a big project we were handling, so she asked me to take care of receiving the invoices from him. Marcos had left early to inspect that same job site. The boss’s office was empty.

—Come in, I’ll sign them inside —I told him, and my voice came out softer than I meant it to.

***

The moment he closed the door behind me, I knew what was going to happen. And I knew I wasn’t going to stop him.

His right hand slipped straight under my skirt, without preamble, and gripped my left butt cheek like someone claiming what belongs to him. I didn’t turn around. I kept walking toward Marcos’s desk with his hand kneading me, feeling the fabric of my stockings tighten against his palm. A hot current ran down the center of my body and left me wet before he had done anything else.

This is what I am when no one is looking.

—Look at how you’re getting yourself worked up —he whispered against my neck—. I hardly even had to touch you. You’re going to be an obedient girl for me, aren’t you?

My voice wouldn’t come. I nodded, already braced against the edge of the desk, my back to him. He understood silence as an answer. His fingers found their way between the lace and the stockings, and he started stroking me over them, slowly, drawing circles that made my back arch without my deciding it.

He kissed the back of my neck, nibbled my earlobe softly, and every so often he told me in my ear how well he was going to take care of me, how pretty I was, how well I behaved. My eyes were closed and my head tipped forward, biting my lip so I wouldn’t make a sound. Antonella was one wall away. That wall was all that separated me from screaming.

His fingers pushed the fabric aside and sank into me, still with the stockings in the way, as if the barrier excited him more than skin. I pushed my hips back, searching for him, wordlessly asking him to go deeper. He gave a quiet, satisfied laugh and gave me what I was asking for.

—That’s how I like it —he said—. Ask me with your body, because your mouth is going to be used for something else.

I reached back and found his hard bulge against his pants. I squeezed him through the fabric, felt his size, his heat, and something inside me finally gave in. I couldn’t hold out any longer. I turned around, knelt in front of him on the office carpet, and pulled down his zipper with clumsy, anxious fingers.

I took him out and paused for a second to look at him, breathing in the warm smell of an aroused man. I kissed him first, trailing my lips over him before taking him into my mouth. Damián put a hand on the back of my neck, not forcing me, only marking the rhythm he wanted. I looked up at him from below while I sucked him, and knowing he saw me like that, on my knees, dressed up and surrendered, turned me on more than anything else.

—Look at me —he ordered softly—. I want to see those eyes while you do it.

I didn’t take my eyes off his. I moved with a steady rhythm, helping myself with my hand, squeezing when he let the air out. I could feel my own panties soaked through, the stockings stuck to my skin, the heat throbbing between my legs without anyone touching me there. He started to tense, his breathing broke, the muscles in his legs hardened under my hands.

—Stay still —he panted—. Take it all, you’re my girl.

He came in my mouth, held by the back of my neck, and I stayed with him until the end, until his body stopped trembling and his hand went slack. Only then did I pull away, slowly, still looking up at him from below. He stroked my cheek with a tenderness that contrasted with everything before.

—You’re perfect —he told me.

***

We straightened our clothes in silence. He combed his hair in the window reflection, I touched up my lipstick with my heart still racing. He handed me the signed invoices, I placed them neatly on the desk, and we left the office as if we had only gone over a few numbers. Antonella didn’t even look up from the spreadsheet.

—See you next month —Damián told me from the doorway, with that smile I already knew.

I had other afternoons with him after that. In his warehouse, among shelves of merchandise, I learned things about myself I hadn’t known. He never broke the rule he had told me that first time: he never did anything I didn’t allow. It’s just that, with him, I allowed almost everything. That was the part I liked most and the part I found hardest to tell anyone.

A while ago he moved to Canada, near a daughter, and I’ll admit I miss him. I miss his voice giving me soft orders, his hand sliding up my stockings as if he had the right, that way he had of making me feel small and desired at the same time. I’ve got more stories of his tucked away, from that warehouse and from some hotel. If you want me to tell them, you know where to find me.