What Rodrigo Gave Me to Wear at the Office

I’ve been working in Rodrigo’s architecture studio for six years. I met him at university; we were in the same year, although back then I never imagined I’d end up sitting outside his office asking him for a job. He hired me without hesitation, and from that very first interview I understood that between us it wasn’t going to be just a professional relationship.

We’re both married. We both know it. And precisely for that reason, without talking about it too much, we set up the rules that let us keep being what we are without everything collapsing: never in our homes, never with a phone on nearby, never where someone might connect the dots. Inside the studio, in the upstairs bathroom, in his car parked three blocks away when everyone’s already left, there the rules are different. There he fucks me however he wants, and I let him.

Rodrigo has that thing certain men have who know exactly what they want: they don’t say everything, but what they do say, they mean. From the first month he told me how to dress. He framed it as a matter of the studio’s image, but we both knew that wasn’t it. Skirts above the knee, always. Heels. Structured blouses, fitted. Stockings when it was cold. He looks at me in a particular way when I walk in the door in the mornings: a look that starts at my shoes and ends in my eyes, slow, appraising, the look of someone who already knows how my nipples get when he sucks my neck.

I like it when he looks at me like that. More than I should.

Our dynamic has its own rhythm. There are days when everything is perfectly professional, meetings and blueprints and coffee at the desk, and there are days when the morning starts another way. We both know how to tell when it’s one or the other. A look held a second too long. The hand that brushes my shoulder as he passes. The door closing with too much calm.

***

In March he came in with a gift.

It was a Tuesday. I had a meeting at ten and was going over materials when he walked into the studio. He had his usual coffee in his left hand and something else in his right: a small gold bag, the kind they give you in certain stores when you buy something you don’t want anyone to know you bought. He set it on my desk without saying a word. He just brushed my shoulder with his fingers as he passed and kept going to his office.

—Valeria, when you can.

“When you can” in Rodrigo’s language always means now.

I stood up, straightened my skirt, and went in, closing the door behind me. He was looking at something on the screen with his arms crossed, but when he heard me come in he turned and nodded toward the bag.

—Open it.

Inside, wrapped in plum-colored cellophane, was a rectangular package. I unwrapped it slowly. When I saw what it was, I didn’t know what to say.

It was an anal plug. Black silicone, solid, considerably large. In the base there was a receiver and a transmitter, and in a separate little bag, a compact remote with several buttons. I stared at it for a moment without speaking, feeling its weight in my hand.

—What is this for? —I asked, though the question was redundant.

Rodrigo leaned against the edge of the desk with his arms crossed. He had that calm expression he wears when he’s already made a decision and is just waiting for the other person to catch up.

—It’s for you —he said—. To put in your ass, here. Only here. If you take it home and Germán finds it, you’ll have to make something up and you won’t be able to. No one here knows it exists.

—And the remote?

—I keep the remote. You decide when to put it in. I decide how much I make your cunt vibrate while you’re wearing it.

There was a silence. Not an awkward one, but the kind where the body starts processing something before the mind finishes thinking it through. I felt heat in my neck. In my stomach, something that wasn’t exactly nerves. I felt my panties wet themselves, without permission.

—What if I’m in a meeting with clients? —I said.

—Then you’ll have to hold back your urge to come with a perfectly composed face.

I didn’t smile. But I wanted to.

Rodrigo pushed off from the desk and came toward me slowly. He stopped right in front of me, close enough that I could smell his cologne. He looked at me without hurry, in that way of his that always feels like a second longer than is allowed.

—If you don’t want it, you don’t use it —he said—. But you’re going to want to use it. You’re a whore, Valeria. My whore.

He kissed me before I could answer. It was one of those kisses with no easy way out: slow, insistent, with his hands on my waist, not pushing me but not letting me move either. He shoved his tongue deep into my mouth and I sucked it slowly, like I’d been wanting to do something else to him for half an hour. I put my palms on his chest. I didn’t push him away.

His hands slid down the sides of my thighs, tracing the skirt upward. When they reached the top of my stockings, they paused for a moment. He slipped his fingers inside my panties and touched me directly. I was soaked.

—Look at you —he murmured against my mouth—. All wet from reading “anal plug.”

—Shut up.

—Always —he said, ignoring me as he slid a finger between my lips—. Always in stockings. And always like this, dripping.

He shoved two fingers into me at once. A short moan slipped out of me, and I muffled it against his shoulder. He moved them inside with that twisting motion of his, pressing the spot he knew how to find, while with his thumb he searched for my clit over the soaked fabric.

—Take them off —he said, referring to my underwear—. Take them off yourself.

I pulled my panties down under my skirt and let them fall to the floor. He picked them up with two fingers, brought them to his nose, closed his eyes for a second, and tossed them onto the desk as if he had just signed a contract.

I braced myself on his desk. He knelt in front of me slowly, yanked my skirt up to my waist, and opened my thighs with his hands. He buried his face between my legs over the nylon first, breathing hard against the fabric, letting his hot breath pass through my stockings. I closed my eyes. I put a hand on his head without thinking.

Then he slid my stockings down to mid-thigh, not a centimeter more, and spread my cunt open with his thumbs. He licked me from bottom to top, long strokes, pressing his tongue flat against my lips, sucking every fold like he was hungry. When he reached my clit he stayed there and started sucking it slowly, with short pulls, while two fingers went in and out of me in the same rhythm.

—Rodrigo…

—Quiet.

He sucked harder. He shoved his tongue inside, pulled it out, put it back in, while his thumb pressed my swollen clit. Both my hands were on the desk, my legs beginning to shake, biting my lip so I wouldn’t groan out loud. He knows my body with the precision years give you: he knows exactly what makes me come fast and what makes me beg. He was doing the second one.

When I was about to finish, he stopped.

He stood up and turned me gently. He made me bend over the desk with my hands spread flat on the wood, my skirt pulled up to my waist, my ass bare. I felt his mouth travel down my spine, stop at the small of my back, continue downward. He spread my cheeks with both hands and ran his tongue over my ass, slowly, soaking it all. I squeezed my eyes shut harder. A sound slipped out of me that I couldn’t even identify.

I heard the sound of the plug’s wrapper, the click of the lubricant. I turned my head just enough to look at him over my shoulder. He was focused, spreading lube over his hand, coating the black plug that gleamed in the light. Then he put a lubricated finger in my ass, all the way in, moving it in circles.

—Relax —he said.

He slid in a second finger. He spread them inside me, scissoring slowly, while with his other hand he stroked my cunt so nothing would close up. Then he pressed the tip of the plug against my sphincter.

The pressure was gradual, slow, unhurried. My body took it in. The cold silicone pushed inward, wide, wider, until the thickest part was right at the threshold. I moaned softly. He held there, not forcing it.

—Breathe.

I breathed. He pushed. When the widest part passed, my sphincter closed around the neck of the plug with a sharp tug and I let out the breath I’d been holding without realizing it. I felt full in a new way, plugged, blocked.

—Good? —he asked.

—Yes —I said, and my voice came out rougher than I wanted.

He switched on the remote. The vibration started softly, almost imperceptibly, and then suddenly intensified. I opened my eyes.

—How is it?

I didn’t answer right away. The vibration spread outward, passing through the wall separating my ass from my cunt, reaching my clit, traveling through the muscles of my abdomen in waves that had no precise name. It was uncomfortable and extraordinary at the same time, that kind of sensation the body doesn’t quite know whether to resist or surrender to. I felt a thread of my own wetness run down my thigh.

—Jesus —I said at last.

Rodrigo chuckled under his breath. He changed the pattern: short pulses, then continuous, then an alternation that left me no chance to anticipate what was coming next. I stayed bent over the desk with my arms extended, letting the vibration do what it wanted. My cunt throbbed empty. I needed something inside me. I needed him.

I looked at him over my shoulder. He had unbuttoned his pants. His cock was out, thick, hard, glistening at the tip, and in his other hand, the remote.

—Come here —I begged.

—How did you ask me?

—Please —I added, with no irony at all—. Please, Rodrigo, fuck me.

He came closer. His hands brushed my back before gripping my hips. He ran the head of his cock along the lips of my cunt, up and down, soaking himself in my wetness, brushing my clit with the swollen crown. I clenched the desk with white fingers, fighting the urge to pull back and take all of him in.

I felt him position himself behind me, and in one single movement, deep and direct, he went in. All the way. The plug made everything tighter, fuller; I felt the silicone vibrating against his cock through the inner wall, and he must have felt the same thing because he went still for a second with a low growl.

—Holy fuck —he muttered—. You’re a tight little bitch.

—Stay still —he repeated after that, his hands firm on my hips.

I stayed still. He did too, for a few seconds, just letting the body adjust to what was inside: the plug’s vibration, his cock planted to the hilt, my cunt stretched around it. Then he started moving: slowly at first, with that twisting motion of his that finds the angles I don’t expect, pulling almost all the way out and driving back in with a precision that no longer surprises me but never stops affecting me.

The stockings at mid-thigh wouldn’t let me open too much. I didn’t ask him to pull them down all the way. I liked that little restriction: feeling that the space was limited, that there wasn’t much room to go, that he had me pinned there without needing to tie me up.

He increased the pace. He started fucking me hard, his hips slamming against my ass, my plugged asshole bouncing with every thrust. I stayed bent over the desk, focused on breathing without making noise, on keeping my arms steady, on not losing my balance in my heels. He shoved one hand between my shoulder blades and pressed me down against the wood, flattening my tits over my blouse against the desk.

—That’s how you like it —he said, almost through his teeth—. For me to fuck you like a whore in the office.

—Yes —I gasped—. Yes, like that.

—Say it.

—Fuck me like a whore.

Rodrigo didn’t seem to have any doubt about what he was doing: he worked with the same concentration he brings to everything, methodical and unhurried, as if he knew exactly how much time he had before someone knocked on the door. Every thrust went all the way in. Every withdrawal scraped my insides and made my plug clench involuntarily.

He changed the plug’s vibration exactly when he drove deeper. The combination was too much: his cock slamming into me from the front, the plug vibrating from behind, the friction of my clothes against my tits, the smell of sex mixed with cold coffee. I bit my lip until I tasted metal.

—Like that —he said softly, almost to himself—. Like that’s how I like it. Come for me. Come on my cock.

He slipped a hand around to the front and found my clit with two fingers. He pressed it, rolled it between his fingertips while he kept fucking me from behind and the vibration passed through me whole.

I came first. An orgasm that started in my abdomen and spread outward in waves, tightening everything inside me: his cock, the plug, his fingers on my clit. I stayed still with my fingers dug into the edge of the desk, breathing silently, feeling my cunt clench and open in spasms around him, milking him.

—Holy fuck —he said low, feeling me.

He held on for a few seconds longer before tensing too. He drove his hands into my hips, buried himself to the hilt, and I felt him finish inside me with a deep, restrained sound against the back of my neck, his cock pulsing between my contracted walls, filling me with hot cum in short waves.

We stayed like that for a moment. Not moving. Him inside, the plug inside, me crushed against the desk with my skirt up and my stockings low.

When he pulled out, he did it slowly. I felt a warm stream run down the inside of my thigh to the edge of my stocking. He looked at it. Said nothing. He just ran two fingers through it, gathered what was leaking out of me, and put it in my mouth. I sucked his clean fingers without looking away.

—Good girl.

***

I went to the bathroom to put myself back together. I pulled my stockings up slowly, straightened my skirt, touched up my lipstick in the mirror. No panties — he’d kept them, on the desk. The plug was still in place, tight, warm, a constant weight I had to sit down on carefully. Rodrigo hadn’t told me to take it out, and I didn’t ask him.

When I went back to his office, he was standing by the window with his coffee already cold in his hand.

—I keep the remote —he said without turning around—. You decide when to put it on. I decide what happens when you’re wearing it. Okay?

—And if I wear it to the ten o’clock meeting?

He turned. He looked at me with that expression.

—Then you’re going to have to stay very focused on the blueprints.

He kissed me once, quick, and opened the office door.

I went back to my desk. It was nine twenty-five. I had the meeting materials half reviewed and two emails unanswered. I could feel the plug planted in my ass with every movement, and between my legs I was still dripping what he’d left inside me. The plug stayed still all morning, until ten forty, while I was taking notes with a client seated across the table, when the vibration started without warning.

I didn’t look up from the papers. I kept writing. I squeezed my thighs together under the table and felt the wetness between my legs dirty my stockings even more.

But Rodrigo, from the far end of the table, couldn’t quite hide a smile.