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 an escape, but a calculated retreat. Some of their demands had annoyed me, and I needed them to understand, without me saying a word, that the roles we had assigned ourselves were set in stone: I gave the orders, and they obeyed. I didn’t want couple drama, and I didn’t want to become the fixed lover of two married coworkers. Deep down it was a punishment for them, though it was one for me too. Forced abstinence, a pain in the ass.

My old weak spot has always been buying pants online. They never fit me, and that’s how I ended up making an appointment at my neighbor Lorena’s place, since she did sewing at home. She was a tiny spectacle: five foot two of pure provocation, honey-colored eyes that promised sin, chestnut hair that begged to be grabbed, and a small, round ass, perfect as a peach. Her husband, Tomás, was her exact opposite: a barrel of a man, funny and completely uncensored.

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

—Which way does the thing hang?

When he saw my bewildered face, he clarified it without a shred of shame. Lorena turned tomato red.

—Tomás! I’ve told you that in this house, and in front of me, not one dirty word.

Anyway, between the measurements and the brushing up against me, her hand “accidentally” bumped into my bulge several times. I saw her blush, felt how hard I got under her touch, and she didn’t know what to do. We agreed she’d call me when the fitting was ready, but I had already made a decision: no messes with neighbors. I wanted my apartment to be a refuge, not a battleground with husbands involved.

Fate, however, has a wicked sense of humor.

***

At work they moved me 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 it: five foot seven of authority, a red mane that seemed to be on fire, and a sculptural body for a forty-seven-year-old. Slender, with a defiant chest and a firm ass beneath impeccable suits. Always dressed to kill, in heels that made her even more imposing.

That day the circus was set up in the office. Suddenly everyone was singing happy birthday, because she was turning fifty, no less. In walked her husband, 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 start of her cleavage: a dragonfly, or maybe a butterfly. Beatriz was wearing a violet suit, nothing underneath the jacket, which was buttoned to show off a generous neckline. She caught me with my mouth open, staring 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 that 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 brazenly at a woman’s breasts. And you can’t deny it to me.

—Well, I have to deny it to you —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 completely. The seriousness gave way to something else, something almost animal. She perched her ass on the edge of the desk and, in a move that cut my breath short, opened her jacket. She was wearing a matching violet bra.

—Now you can clear up your doubts —she said in a hoarse voice.

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

—Wait, maybe you can’t see it properly.

And then she let the front clasp of the bra go. Her breasts were freed, heavy, with small nipples, pink and hard as stones. Her expression was no longer that of a director or a respectable woman. It was the face 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 boss façade had shattered to pieces.

—There you go —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 things in the hallways, Mateo. They say you’re an animal. I’ve been seeing you come and go from this office for months with that air like you have everything under control, and I’ve touched myself at this very desk more times than I’d admit. Are you going to be as good as they say, or are you going to be another disappointment?

She climbed down from the desk and came closer, defiant. Her nipples brushed against my shirt.

—I’m telling you this plainly, no boss talk. I’ve been hot since you walked in today. I want you to fuck me right here. To leave me without a voice, without breath, unable to walk tomorrow.

Her hand slid down my chest and stopped over the hardness showing through my pants. She squeezed it, gauging it.

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

It was no longer an order; it was a plea. The word was the trigger. I grabbed her by the neck, not to choke her, but with the raw authority of someone marking his prey. Her breathing hitched and her eyes flew wide open, full of fear that instantly shifted into desire.

—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 her office window, palms flat on the pane. Down below stretched her kingdom, her offices, now the backdrop to her surrender.

With one hand I unbuttoned her pants and pulled them down. She wasn’t wearing any underwear. She was wet, glistening under the office light. I freed myself, hard as iron, and guided myself to her slit, rubbing her swollen clit, torturing her with the wait.

—Put it in already, don’t torture me —she moaned, knocking against the glass.

I drove into her in one thrust, all the way to the hilt. Her body arched tight, and a cry of pleasure made the window tremble. There was no measured rhythm, no tenderness. Every thrust was a dry, deep удар 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 twisted, makeup smeared by 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 damn dragonfly necklace flew through the air. I laid her on her back, grabbed her by the ankles, and spread her legs. I entered her again, looking her in the eyes.

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

—Yes. Fuck, don’t stop.

Her body began to convulse in a brutal orgasm that shook her like a doll. I felt her walls clench, milking me, and it was too much. With one final roar I emptied myself inside her. We stayed like that, panting, over the ruins of her professional afternoon. When she finally spoke, her voice was a thread, spent.

—Fuck, Mateo. They didn’t lie to me.

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

—You look a little overheated —I said with a smirk—. Aren’t you worried he’ll notice?

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

I didn’t fully know how to interpret those words. It had been a short encounter, a fleeting but intense fuck, and I wondered whether it was a one-off release or something more. As for the hallway comment, it could only have come from Nuria. Carmen didn’t look at her kindly; that much was obvious.

***

That same day, when I got home, I found Lorena and her husband in the building lobby. She wasted no time. Her voice was a warm whisper.

—If it works for you, stop by my studio. A client canceled, and the slot 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 bring that trail to her house. While I soaped myself, I kept repeating the same thing as always: nothing with neighbors, my building had to be neutral ground.

An hour later I was at her door. He opened it, Tomás, stuffed into the same tracksuit he wore in the street, a garment that looked like a joke on someone for whom exercise caused hives. She, on the other hand, had transformed. A loose dress with a high neckline made her seem even smaller and more fragile. But her chest stole the eye: in such a tiny body, those curves were an impossible-to-ignore declaration of intent.

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

—Well then you know, darling, off you go to your own kingdom —he tossed out with a fake smile.

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

I didn’t see the friend, but I heard him: the TV at full volume, rough, unpleasant voices.

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

She handed me the half-finished pants and turned around so I could try them on, warning me to be careful with the basting stitches. I put them on like someone carrying out a ritual. The fabric hugged me, snug, outlining every muscle. Lorena began marking the seams with her three-color chalk, a dance of elegant fingers over my body. And then I saw them: through her dress, her nipples were standing up like two points betraying a chill that wasn’t there.

It was as if someone had flipped a switch inside me. I imagined her in my arms, her small body pressing against mine. And then it happened: one careless moment, a basting stitch too weak, and my underwear was exposed. She, bent down, reacted on instinct to cover me, but for that her hand had to slip inside the pants. I felt her small, soft skin brushing my hardness.

She froze, her hand trapped between the fabric and my skin. The outside world faded away. Without a word, I laid my hand gently on top of her head, a silent invitation, drawing her in just a little. Her cheek brushed the fabric. The wax statue melted.

—Fuck, what a cock you’ve got —she whispered in a voice that wasn’t hers—. I want to take the whole thing in.

The change was so brutal it shot through me like a jolt. She saw me harden even more against the cloth, and smiled like a predator that had just found its prey.

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

She was not the modest, grumpy Lorena from the doorway. She straightened, went to the door, and threw the bolt. Every word out of her was a lash.

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

With feline agility, she finished ripping off the fitting pants. Cold air kissed my skin when she set me free, and she knelt. Her mouth descended with a voracity that stole my breath. It wasn’t a kiss, it was possession. Her tongue traced slow circles, tasting me as if I were the first delicacy in years. A groan escaped my throat. I tangled my hand in her hair, not to guide her, but to anchor myself to reality.

She pulled back for an instant, a thread of saliva 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 buried itself against me. It was unbelievable that such a small mouth could. Her free hand seized my balls, massaging them on that thin border between pleasure and pain. When I felt myself close, she stopped abruptly.

—Not yet. You’re not coming here. That’s for somewhere else.

She stood up, crossed her hands at the hem of the dress, and in one motion took it off. She was naked in front of me. Her brown skin seemed to glow in the half-light of the studio. Her breasts, perfect on that small body, and a flat stomach that sloped down to lips already swollen with arousal.

—Your turn —she whispered, holding out her hand—. Show me what you’re made of.

I expected 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 forward, spread her thighs, and buried my mouth in her sex. The first contact was electric. My tongue found her wet lips and her taste flooded my senses. She shuddered as if struck by a current.

—No one had 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 clit, a hard little button that I soaked with saliva before battering it with quick, precise movements. Her body writhed against me, her legs trembling, until the orgasm hit her like a wave. I held her steady while she came apart, completely surrendered.

—I’ve never come like that before —she whispered when she caught her breath—. Ask me for whatever 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, sliding two in slowly, and then used that lubrication to prepare the other entrance carefully, massaging the ring as it tightened and relaxed.

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

—Only the idiot out there has gone in through there —she said, her voice thick—. But today you deserve to do whatever you want with me.

I started to enter her slowly, but without stopping, centimeter by centimeter into that tight heat. Her body opened for me and closed as I moved through it. Every thrust was deeper, and the image of how that small body took me all in was the best aphrodisiac.

—Like that, fuck, you’re doing me so well —she let go completely, a litany of obscenities that fed us both.

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

—Look at what you are. Here, with your husband in the living room, with his friend, not giving a shit about anything.

The rawness drove her to the edge. I found her clit with one hand and rubbed it with the same ferocity. Her body responded with a convulsion that forced her onto tiptoe.

—Do you like it when I touch you while I own you? —I slapped her ass, leaving a red mark.

—Yes. I love it. Use me —she shouted, not caring whether they could hear us from the living room.

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

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

—To hell with him and his friend. I just want you to come inside me. Give it all to me.

Her orgasm hit her like a wave, a guttural cry lost in the room. I felt her clenching violently around me, trying to milk me, and reached the point of no return. I exploded inside her in a long, deep release. I stayed there a few seconds, feeling my pulse beating inside her.

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

***

The calm lasted only an instant. Lorena straightened up with deliberate slowness, her legs still trembling but her eyes shining with victory. She took some wipes from her bag, knelt in front of me, and with a tenderness that contrasted with what had just happened, cleaned me.

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

She looked up and drew a wicked smile.

—Do you know what I’d give to see the faces of the neighborhood wives 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 I don’t regret a second of it.

She put the wipes away and straightened her clothes as best she could, though the messy hair and blush gave away the intensity of what had happened. She opened the window to air things out, we went out, and the doubt about whether this was the end or the beginning vanished as soon as we reached the living room.

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

—Done already? —he asked with complete casualness, with the faintest idea of what had just happened under his roof.

—Yes, darling, it’s done —she said, coming over to kiss him on the cheek—. But he has to leave now. And he has to come back very soon, okay?

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

—Absolutely. We have to keep working on that project. We have to keep at it until it’s perfect and it fits right.

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

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

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

—Of course, guys. Work comes first. Anything for a good job.

She walked me to the door. As she opened it, she turned and, in a double-entendre whisper her husband could never decipher, said to me:

—You’re taking too long to come back. I’m waiting for you to fine-tune those details. Don’t be late, because if I get cold it takes me a while to get started again.

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