My Married Boss Summoned Me Alone to Her Office

After that night with Nuria and Carmen, I decided to keep my distance. It wasn’t a flight, but a calculated retreat. Some of their demands had annoyed me, and I needed them to understand, without my saying a word, that the roles we had divided up were immovable: I gave the orders, and they obeyed. I didn’t want relationship drama or to become the regular lover of two married coworkers. Deep down, it was a punishment for them, even if it was one for me too. Forced abstinence. A nuisance.

My perennial weakness has always been buying trousers online. They never fit me, which was why I ended up making an appointment at my neighbor Lorena’s house. She did tailoring work from home. She was a spectacle in miniature: five feet two inches of pure provocation, honey-colored eyes that promised sin, a brown mane practically begging to be grabbed, and a small, round ass, perfect as a peach. Her husband, Tomás, was her exact opposite: a human ball, funny and completely without a filter.

While Lorena measured my waist, her clumsiness was as obvious as my growing erection. She wanted to ask me something and didn’t know how. It was Tomás, with his crude charm, who blurted it out from the sofa:

—Which way does your thing hang?

When he saw my bewildered expression, he clarified without the slightest embarrassment. Lorena turned red as a tomato.

—Tomás! I’ve told you, not one vulgar word in this house, especially in front of me.

The thing was, between measurements and brushes against me, her hand “accidentally” came up against my bulge several times. I watched her flush, felt myself harden at her touch, and saw that she had no idea what to do. We agreed that she would let me know when the fitting was ready, but I had already made a decision: no complications with neighbors. I wanted my apartment to be a refuge, not a battlefield with husbands involved.

Fate, however, has a perverse sense of humor.

***

At work, I was moved up to the management floor for an urgent project. The regional director, Beatriz, gathered us all together. She was the kind of woman who entered a room as if she owned the place: five feet nine inches of authority, a red mane that seemed to burn, and a sculpted body for her forty-seven years. Slim, with an assertive chest and a firm ass beneath immaculate suits. Always dressed to kill, with heels that made her even more imposing.

That day, the office turned into a circus. Suddenly everyone was singing “Happy Birthday,” because she was turning no less than half a century old. Her husband came in, a man of about sixty with a bouquet of roses and the presence of a piece of furniture. The management team gave her a necklace with a pendant that fell right at the beginning of her cleavage: a dragonfly, or perhaps a butterfly. Beatriz was wearing a violet suit, nothing beneath the jacket, which she kept closed to display a generous cleavage. She caught me gaping at her and came over to give me two kisses that felt like a direct caress.

Later, when everyone was leaving, her secretary told me Beatriz wanted to see me. I went into her office. The atmosphere had changed. She was serious.

—Mateo, it isn’t proper, either as a subordinate or as a man, to stare so blatantly at a woman’s breasts. And you can’t deny it.

—Then I’ll have to deny it —I replied calmly—. If I was looking at that area, it was out of curiosity. I wanted to know whether the pendant was a dragonfly or a butterfly.

Her expression changed. Seriousness gave way to something else, something almost animal. She perched her ass on the edge of the desk and, in a movement that took my breath away, opened her jacket. She was wearing a matching violet bra.

—Now you can stop wondering —she said in a husky voice.

I moved closer, thinking of a thousand things I could do to that woman. But when I was about to touch her, she stopped me with one hand.

—Wait. You might not get a good look otherwise.

Then she released the bra’s front clasp. Her breasts came free, heavy, with small, pink nipples hard as stones. Her expression was no longer that of a director or a respectable woman. It was the expression of someone tired of pretending.

The silence in the office was absolute, broken only by the sound of my own breathing. The air grew thick. The facade of the boss had shattered.

—Now you see —she whispered—. But what I really want to know is whether everything they say about you is true.

She looked me up and down, stopping shamelessly at my crotch.

—People whisper in the corridors, Mateo. They say you’re an animal. I’ve been watching you come in and out of this office for months with that air of someone who has everything to spare, and I’ve touched myself at this very desk more times than I’d ever admit. Are you going to be as good as they say, or are you going to be another disappointment?

She got down from the desk and approached me defiantly. Her nipples brushed against my shirt.

—I’ll tell you plainly, as a director. I’ve been horny since you walked in today. I want you to fuck me right here. Leave me voiceless, breathless, unable to walk tomorrow.

Her hand moved down my chest until it stopped over the hardness showing through my trousers. She squeezed it, measuring it.

—Fuck, yes. There’s something here worth having. Don’t keep me waiting.

It was no longer an order, but a plea. The word was the trigger. I grabbed her by the neck, not to choke her, but with the rough authority of someone marking his prey. Her breath caught and her eyes flew wide, filled with a fear that instantly changed into desire.

—Do you really want it? —I hissed in her face.

She nodded, unable to speak. I spun her around with a shove and crushed her against the cold glass of the office window, her palms spread against the surface. Below us stretched her kingdom, her offices, now the backdrop to her surrender.

With one hand I unbuttoned her trousers and pulled them down. She wasn’t wearing underwear. She was wet, gleaming beneath the office lights. I freed myself, hard as iron, and guided it along her slit, rubbing her swollen clitoris and torturing her with the wait.

—Put it in me now, don’t torture me —she moaned, pounding the glass.

I plunged into her with one thrust, all the way to the hilt. Her body arched tight, and a cry of pleasure made the window vibrate. There was no measured rhythm, no tenderness. Every thrust was a hard, deep blow that lifted her onto her toes. I held her by the hips, my fingers digging into her flesh.

—Is this how you dreamed I’d fuck you? —I growled.

—Yes, harder. More.

She turned to look at me over her shoulder, her face contorted, her makeup smeared with sweat.

—Come inside me. I want to feel it.

I pulled her away from the glass and threw her onto the desk. Papers, pens, and the damned dragonfly necklace went flying. I laid her on her back, grabbed her ankles, and spread her legs. I penetrated her again, looking into her eyes.

—Look at me while I fill you. I’m the one who fucks you.

—Yes. Fuck, don’t stop.

Her body began convulsing in a brutal orgasm that shook her like a doll. I felt her walls contracting around me, squeezing me, and it was too much. With one final roar, I emptied myself inside her. We stayed that way, panting, amid the remains of her professional afternoon. When she finally spoke, her voice was a defeated thread.

—Fuck, Mateo. They didn’t lie to me.

I kissed her. It wasn’t a kiss of love, but of conquest. While we put ourselves back together, she told me she was in a hurry, that her husband was waiting for her in the car.

—You look a little flushed —I remarked mockingly—. Aren’t you worried he’ll notice?

—My very young Mateo —she laughed—, my husband is my confidant, my ally.

I wasn’t entirely sure how to interpret those words. It had been a brief encounter, a quick but intense fuck, and I wondered whether it would be an isolated release or something more. As for the comment about the corridors, it could only have come from Nuria. Carmen didn’t look at me favorably; it showed.

***

That same day, when I got home, I found Lorena and her husband in the building entrance. She didn’t waste any time. Her voice was a warm whisper.

—If it suits you, come by my workshop. A client let me down, and the opening is yours.

I nodded, but my mind was already in the shower. My skin smelled of sex, sweat, and another woman, and I didn’t want to carry that trace into her home. As I soaped myself, I repeated the same thing as always: nothing with neighbors; my building had to remain neutral ground.

An hour later I was at her door. Tomás opened it, dressed in the same tracksuit he’d worn outside, a garment that seemed like a mockery on someone for whom exercise caused hives. Lorena, by contrast, had transformed. A loose, high-necked dress made her look even smaller and more fragile. But her chest stole the eye: on such a tiny body, those curves were a declaration of intent impossible to ignore.

While they offered me coffee, the doorbell rang. It was a friend of Tomás’s. From the way Lorena’s jaw tightened, I knew his presence was an affront.

—Well then, dear, off you go to your domains —he said with a false smile.

—We’re going to my studio —she ordered, and the slam of the door echoed throughout the house.

I didn’t see the friend, but I heard him: the television blaring, along with rough, unpleasant voices.

—I can’t stand him; he’s a dirty old man —she complained—. Come on, let’s get to business.

She handed me the half-finished trousers and turned around so I could try them on, warning me to be careful with the basting stitches. I put them on as if carrying out a ritual. The fabric hugged me tightly, outlining every muscle. Lorena began marking the seams with her three-colored chalk, her elegant fingers dancing over my body. And then I saw them: through her dress, her nipples were stiffening into two points that betrayed a chill that had nothing to do with the temperature.

It was as if someone had flipped a switch inside me. I imagined her in my arms, her small body pressed against mine. And it happened: one careless moment, a basting stitch that was too weak, and my underwear was exposed. Crouching down, she reacted instinctively to cover me, but to do so her hand had to slide inside the trousers. I felt her small, soft skin brush against my hardness.

She froze, her hand trapped between the fabric and my skin. The outside world disappeared. Without a word, I placed my hand gently on her head, a silent invitation, drawing her just slightly closer. Her cheek brushed the fabric. The wax statue melted.

—Fuck, what a cock you have —she whispered in a voice that didn’t belong to her—. I want to take all of it inside me.

The change was so brutal it went through me like an electric shock. She saw me grow even harder against the fabric and smiled like a predator that had just found its prey.

—Do you like this bitch talking dirty to you? —her voice rose an octave—. Because I’m going to suck you until you come in my mouth.

This was not the modest, ill-tempered Lorena from the doorway. She straightened, went to the door, and locked it. Every word she spoke was a lash.

—I’m going to be your whore this afternoon. Your submissive whore. But afterward, you’re going to be the one who leaves me satisfied.

With feline agility, she finished tearing off the fitting trousers. The cold air kissed my skin as she freed me, and she knelt down. Her mouth descended with a voracity that stole my breath. It wasn’t a kiss; it was possession. Her tongue traced slow circles, savoring me as if I were the first delicacy she’d tasted in years. A moan escaped my throat. I tangled my hand in her hair, not to guide her, but to anchor myself to reality.

She pulled away for a moment, a thread of saliva stretching between her lips and my tip.

—I’ve dreamed of this. Of having you here, hard, all to myself.

And she went back to work, this time without delicacy. She swallowed me whole, until her nose pressed against me. It was astonishing that such a small mouth could do it. Her free hand seized my testicles, massaging them along that fine border between pleasure and pain. When I felt myself getting close, she stopped abruptly.

—Not yet. You’re not going to come here. That’s for somewhere else.

She stood, crossed her hands over the hem of the dress, and pulled it off in one movement. She stood naked in front of me. Her brown skin seemed to glow in the workshop’s dimness. Her breasts, perfect on that petite body, and a flat stomach descending to lips already swollen with arousal.

—Your turn —she whispered, holding out her hand—. Show me what you can do.

She expected me to lay her on the worktable, but I had other plans. I took her by the waist, light as a sack of feathers, and positioned her with her back to me, her spine pressed against my chest. Then I bent her over, spread her thighs, and buried my mouth in her sex. The first contact was electric. My tongue found her wet lips, and her flavor flooded my senses. She shuddered as if a current had passed through her.

—No one’s ever done it to me like this, standing up —she moaned, her voice breaking—. Fuck, yes.

Her reaction was the fuel I needed. I found her clitoris, a hard button that I soaked with saliva before working it with quick, precise movements. Her body writhed against me, her legs trembling, until the orgasm hit her like a wave. I held her firmly while she came apart, completely surrendered.

—I’ve never come like that —she whispered when she caught her breath—. Ask me for anything you want. Anything.

I didn’t answer with words. I guided her to the sewing table and bent her over it, offering me her arched back and that tiny, perfect ass. I explored her wetness with my fingers, slowly inserting two, then used that lubrication to carefully prepare the other route, massaging the ring as it tightened and relaxed.

She didn’t play dumb; she knew what was coming and wanted it.

—The only one who’s gone in there is the idiot outside —she said in a heated voice—. But today you deserve to do whatever you want with me.

I began penetrating her without hurry but without stopping, inch by inch into that tight heat. Her body opened for me and closed around me as I advanced. Each thrust went deeper, and the image of that petite body taking all of me was the best aphrodisiac.

—That’s it, fuck, you’re doing me so good —she let herself go completely, a litany of obscenities that fed us both.

I whispered in her ear, setting the rhythm of our transgression with every word.

—Look at you. Here, with your husband in the living room, with his friend, not caring about anything.

The crudeness pushed her to the edge. I sought out her clitoris with one hand and rubbed it just as fiercely. Her body reacted with a convulsion that forced her onto her toes.

—Do you like me touching you while I possess you? —I slapped her buttock, leaving a red mark.

—Yes. I love it. Use me —she shouted, not caring whether they heard her from the living room.

I grabbed her by the hair, forcing her to raise her head.

—What would your husband say if he saw you now?

—Fuck him and his friend. I only want you to come inside me. Give me all of it.

Her orgasm hit her like a wave, a guttural cry lost in the room. I felt her contract violently around me, trying to squeeze me dry, and I reached the point of no return. I exploded inside her in a long, deep release. I remained there for a few seconds, feeling my pulse throbbing inside her.

I withdrew slowly. She collapsed onto the table, trembling and exhausted. The air smelled of sex and vice. I had wrecked her, just as she’d asked, and from the satisfaction on her face I knew it wouldn’t be the last time.

***

The calm lasted barely an instant. Lorena slowly straightened, deliberately, her legs still trembling but her eyes bright with victory. She took some wet wipes from her purse, knelt in front of me, and, with a tenderness that contrasted with the violence before, cleaned me.

—I adore this —she murmured, almost to herself—. You’ve left me completely wrecked, in the best way.

She looked up and drew a wicked smile.

—Do you know what I’d give to see the faces of the women in the housing development if they knew what you just did to me? Thinking of all of them shut up with their boring husbands while I feel this… it turns me on so much that I don’t regret a second of it.

She put the wipes away and straightened her clothes as best she could, although her tousled hair and flushed cheeks gave away the intensity of what had happened. She opened the window to air the place out, we left, and the question of whether this was the end or the beginning disappeared as soon as we reached the living room.

Tomás was there on the sofa with his friend, absorbed in a soccer match. He looked at us with a good-natured smile, oblivious to everything.

—Are you finished? —he asked with complete naturalness, without the slightest idea what had just happened beneath his roof.

—Yes, darling, we’re finished —she said, approaching to kiss him on the cheek—. But he has to leave now. And he has to come back very soon, all right?

She said it while looking at me over her husband’s shoulder. I couldn’t help smiling.

—I completely agree. We have to keep working on that project. We have to keep at it until it’s perfect and fits properly.

Her eyes lit up with a new flame. She held back a laugh.

—That’s true, he’s right. It’s a very… intense job. You have to keep at it a lot.

Tomás, in his infinite innocence, nodded like a lapdog.

—Of course, guys. Work comes first. Whatever it takes for a good job.

She accompanied me to the door. As she opened it, she turned and, in a suggestive whisper her husband could never decipher, said:

—You’d better hurry back. I’ll be waiting for you to adjust those details. Don’t take too long, because if I cool down, it’s harder for me to get started.

It hadn’t been something I’d planned, but I didn’t regret it. As I went down the stairs, I promised myself: no more neighbors. None. Lorena and her magnificent ass would be the sole exception.