The Last Friday of the Workshop with My Lover

The last day of the workshop had arrived the way inevitable things do: all at once, even though you’d known for weeks that they were coming.

We’d been in that building every Friday for two months. Two months of shared coffees during the breaks, of always sitting in the same arrangement, of messages that said little and promised a lot. We’d nearly crossed the line several times, but there was always something: time, distance, the commitments we each had at home and that neither of us mentioned directly.

But that Friday was the last one.

I sat in my usual spot, two rows behind him, and for the final three hours I tried to focus on the screen and not on Rodrigo’s neck, on the way he leaned forward when he took notes, on the curve of his shoulders under his light blue shirt. I had learned every one of his gestures over those two months. It was the only thing I’d learned well in that damn workshop.

When the instructor said, “That’s it for us,” something tightened in my chest. A mix of relief and panic, because what had worked in that building, at that hour, under that pretext, wasn’t going to have any pretext anymore.

I gathered my things slowly. Slower than necessary. I’d had my cunt wet for an hour, and I didn’t want to get up until I’d figured out exactly how to walk without it showing.

***

The parking lot smelled of hot asphalt. Rodrigo was already by his car when I came out, keys in hand and that sideways smile I already knew far too well. The smile of a man who has made a decision but prefers to let you take the first step.

“Want a ride?” he said.

“Yes,” I said.

We got in. He started the engine and took the usual route, the one that went along the main avenue and took twice as long as the shorter way. Neither of us mentioned it. The silence was heavy and comfortable at the same time, the kind of silence built over weeks of half-finished conversations.

I was the one who broke it.

“Tell me you didn’t let her know the workshop ended.”

Rodrigo turned his head toward me for a second. That smile again.

“I didn’t let anyone know anything,” he said, and turned his eyes back to the road.

Friday traffic was brutal. The avenue was a frozen river of cars and noise, and the midday heat came in through the windows in heavy waves. I watched the traffic lights and thought that every minute we were delayed was a minute in which he could change his mind.

He can’t change his mind now.

I leaned against him. I put a hand on his thigh, just barely, with the pretended innocence of someone only looking for support. I felt him tense under my palm. I moved my hand a little higher, traced the inside of his leg, got close enough to his crotch that he’d know exactly what I was doing. I pushed with my fingers and felt it there, already hard, marking itself through the fabric of his pants. I squeezed his cock over his clothes, ran my hand along it, gauging with my palm how much it had swollen.

“You’re playing with fire,” he said, without taking his eyes off the road.

“I’ve been playing with fire for two months,” I replied. And I pulled his zipper down.

I slid my hand inside his boxer briefs and took him out. He was hot, thick, with a clear drop already showing at the tip. I spat down from above—a thread of saliva that fell exactly where it needed to—and started pumping him slowly, squeezing near the glans every time I came back up.

“Fuck,” he said through clenched teeth, gripping the steering wheel.

“Shut up and drive,” I said.

I leaned over the gearshift and took him into my mouth. There, with traffic stopped all around us, with the cars beside us barely a meter from the tinted windows. I sucked him all the way down until I felt the tip against the back of my throat and my eyes filled with tears. I went up and down several times, leaving saliva everywhere, hearing him breathe like it hurt. I licked the frenulum with the tip of my tongue, took him all the way in again, and he let one hand off the wheel and put it on the back of my neck, not squeezing, just resting there, like asking permission for what was already happening.

The light changed. I pulled back sharply, wiped the saliva off his cock with my hand, and shoved him back inside his pants as best I could.

He accelerated so hard I was thrown against the seatback.

***

The hotel was three blocks from the avenue. Small, discreet, the kind that doesn’t ask questions. The receptionist handed us a key card without looking at us. We rode up in the elevator in silence, with that tension that makes the air feel denser, that makes every second last three times as long. In the reflection of the metal wall I saw him adjust his cock inside his pants, trying to hide the bulge I’d left him with.

Rodrigo opened the room door.

And before I could even look around, his arms came around me from behind.

I felt his lips on my neck, a slow kiss that started just below the ear and slid down, unhurried, to my shoulder. His hands settled on my hips and he guided me toward the bed without haste, as if we had all the time in the world, as if nobody was waiting for us anywhere. He pressed my ass back against his crotch and rubbed himself there, hard, so I’d have no doubt what shape I’d left him in on the drive.

We fell onto the mattress together.

I stared at the ceiling for a moment, his weight on top of me, feeling his breath on my cheek. Then he lifted his head and looked at me, and in that look were the whole two months: the glances in class, the messages we deleted as soon as we read them, the times our arms brushed on the worktable and neither of us pulled away.

“Hi,” he said.

I laughed. I couldn’t help it.

“Hi,” I said back.

And then we kissed for real, without the distance people are supposed to keep when they shouldn’t be kissing each other. Tongue, biting each other’s lips, breathing each other’s air from mouth to mouth.

***

His hands started moving slowly. They found the edge of my blouse, lifted it, and his palms slid up my back while the kiss went on. When they reached my bra, he opened it with one hand and took it off without ceremony, with the calm certainty of someone who knows what he wants and doesn’t need to prove it.

His fingers circled my tits. He squeezed them carefully, exploring, learning which pressure made me close my eyes and which made me arch. He lowered his mouth to one of my nipples and took it between his lips. First gently. Then with more pressure. Then with his teeth, just barely. He sucked hard until a moan tore out of me, and moved to the other nipple without letting go of the first one with his fingers. He pinched both at once, tugged them a little, and I felt a jolt go straight down to my cunt.

There. Exactly there.

While his mouth kept working, his hand went lower. It passed over my stomach, over the waistband of my pants, over the fabric of my underwear. His fingers paused over the cloth for a moment, as if measuring, and by then I was completely focused on that spot. He pressed my panties against my cunt with an open palm and felt how soaked they were.

“You’re dripping,” he said against my nipple.

“I know.”

He moved the fabric aside. He ran two fingers through my slit, from bottom to top, and brought them up slick to my clit. He moved them in circles there, sliding in my own wetness while I opened my legs wider without realizing it. Then he went down again and pushed in with two fingers, slowly, searching for the exact angle. When he found it—that front wall, that upward pressure—I let out a moan I hadn’t planned.

“Like that,” I said.

And he kept doing it like that. Fingers in and out, curling inside, and his thumb circling over my clit with a steadiness that was almost cruel.

He did it with a calm that drove me a little crazy, unhurried, looking up at my face every once in a while to see what effect each movement had. I liked it when he looked at me like that. It made me feel like I was the only thing that existed in that room.

He lowered his mouth. He opened my legs with his shoulders and buried his face in my cunt without warning. His tongue ran the whole length of my slit, bottom to top, and stayed on my clit, sucking with his lips pressed tight. His fingers were still inside. Everything at once.

I grabbed his hair with both hands and pulled him against me. I fucked his face. He didn’t even complain: he sped up his tongue, sped up his fingers, and a few seconds later I was lifting my hips off the mattress, looking for more.

The orgasm hit before I even realized it was coming. A wave that started in the center and spread outward, and I was left with my mouth open and my hand clamped around his arm until it passed. I felt the walls of my cunt tightening around his fingers, throbbing against them several times in a row.

He lifted his face with a shiny chin and an idiotic smile.

“We doing okay?” he asked.

“Shut up,” I said, still catching my breath.

He laughed.

Then I sat up and unbuckled his belt.

***

I pulled his pants and boxers off together. I took a moment to look at him, because I like that: looking, getting used to it. His cock slapped against his belly when I freed it, thick, veins pronounced, still wet from my saliva in the car. I started with his thighs. I massaged them with open palms, working upward little by little, unhurried. I licked his groin. I ran my tongue over his balls, one and then the other, took them in my mouth one at a time and sucked them slowly while my hand pumped his cock in the same rhythm.

When I brought my mouth down to the glans, I did it slowly. I traced it with my tongue first, without committing, exploring. I ran the tip over the frenulum, circled the corona. Then I opened my mouth and swallowed him all the way down until I felt him hit the back. I went up and down with my whole mouth full, letting saliva spill down the sides so he could watch it run down his shaft, to his balls.

I loved hearing his breathing change, feeling his hands search for my hair and gently move it out of my face. I sucked him like that for a good while, mouth wide open, taking him out only to lick his balls and take him back in until the base.

I kept going until his hips started moving almost without him being able to stop them, pushing me down, fucking my mouth slowly.

“Come here,” he said.

It wasn’t a request. It was something between a plea and an order. I liked it both ways.

I came up to his mouth. I kissed him while my legs opened over him—so he could taste my cunt on my tongue, so he could taste himself on mine. I felt him search for the entrance with the tip, find it, rest the glans right there. Then I moved down and felt it all go in at once, all the way to the hilt. We both moaned at the same time.

I stayed still for a second with his whole cock buried inside me, feeling it throb, feeling my cunt open around it.

Then I started moving.

He took my hips in both hands and set the rhythm. I tried to follow him and sometimes lost it and sometimes anticipated it, and somewhere between those two moments I stopped thinking about the rhythm and started just feeling. The pressure, the motion, his weight, the heat of that small room with the blinds half closed. He watched my tits bounce and licked his lips. He brought his hands up and pinched my nipples with both hands at once, and I pushed harder against him, impaling myself all the way and dropping down hard.

“Like that, ride me,” he said. “Like that, don’t stop.”

“Shut up and fuck me,” I shot back.

He grabbed my hair, pulled me back so I’d arch and drove his hips into me from below, three, four hard thrusts that knocked the breath out of me.

I don’t know exactly when the position changed. All I know is that suddenly I was on my back, with his arms under my legs, my knees pushed against his shoulders and him looking down at me, moving with a force that left me speechless. His cock went in all the way, slammed into the back, came almost all the way out, and drove in again. The noise was obscene: wet, rhythmic, with the slap of his balls against my ass every time.

I could only moan and ask him not to stop, and he didn’t stop.

“Harder,” I told him. “Harder, fuck.”

He leaned in with more weight, pinned my hands down beside my head, and sped up. The bed started hitting the wall. I dug my nails into his back.

“I’m gonna come,” he said through clenched teeth.

“Outside,” I managed. “Outside, on my tits.”

He pulled out in time. He straddled my chest and grabbed himself with his hand, and after three pulls he came in jets over my tits and neck, hot, in several thick spurts that reached my chin. I stuck out my tongue and caught what fell near my mouth. He looked down at me with narrowed eyes, still pumping himself slowly, squeezing out the last drops.

When he finished, he collapsed to one side, propped on one elbow, his forehead tilted toward mine. His breathing was as ragged as mine. He ran two fingers through the cleavage of my breasts, gathering his own semen, and put them to my lips. I sucked them clean without taking my eyes off him.

***

We ordered something to eat. Sandwiches from the hallway vending machine and a strawberry yogurt he’d brought in his backpack, the kind that looks like it’s for kids but you buy it anyway.

We sat on the bed eating, in our underwear or less, the conversation becoming possible again now that the first tension had passed. We talked about anything: the workshop instructor, a classmate who never handed in the assignments, whether there’d be a second edition of the course next year.

It was strange and perfectly normal at the same time.

He opened the yogurt. He dipped a finger in it and put it on my nipple, very slowly, with a completely serious face.

I looked at him.

He looked at me.

“Seriously?” I said.

“What?” he replied, innocent.

He leaned down and cleaned it off with his mouth. Very. Slowly. He sucked my whole nipple, yogurt and all, and then went on to the other one without putting anything on it, just in case. Then he dipped his finger into the cup again, pulled my panties aside, and smeared a cold line between the lips of my cunt. He bent down and cleaned it with his tongue, with the same seriousness, barely holding back a laugh.

Of course seriously.

What came after was different from the first round. Calmer, slower, more drawn out. We took the time we hadn’t taken before. He stopped on every part he found interesting, and I did the same. I sucked his cock again, calm now, looking at him, tasting him, taking it out to lick the whole length like it was an ice cream. I had him hard again in minutes. He put his tongue in my cunt, sucked my clit, fingered me, and at some point we reached the second round without exactly deciding to, the way you arrive at things when the body gets there first.

I was sitting on top of him—his cock inside me again, moving slowly back and forth—when I said:

“On all fours.”

I turned over without another explanation. He understood. I knelt at the edge of the bed, my ass lifted, and felt his hands open my cheeks and his tongue there all of a sudden, going from my clit to my hole and back, coating everything with saliva. Then the tip of his cock pressed there, and one long thrust slid it back into me to the hilt.

Everything felt different like that. Deeper, more direct. His hands ran over my back, gripped my hips, found different points of leverage. He grabbed my hair and pulled back, and I arched for him. At one point he put a hand on my neck, gentle but firm, and pushed me down. I rested my forehead on the mattress, offered my ass up high, and let myself go.

“Like this?” he asked, slapping my ass hard enough to echo.

“Like this,” I said. “Give me more.”

He slapped me again. And again. My skin burned and I loved it.

His movements grew faster, more forceful. His balls hit my clit with every thrust. The dull noise in the room—skin against skin, the bed creaking, my cunt sloshing around his cock—his quickening breath, my moans that I could no longer control: all of it mixed into something that left no room for thinking.

He bent over my back, bit my shoulder, and whispered in my ear while he kept thrusting:

“You’ve got such a delicious cunt. I’m gonna come inside you all the way.”

“Yeah,” I gasped. “Come inside. Fill me.”

Then he reached down between us and found my clit, pressing with his fingers in exactly the right rhythm, and that was the end. An orgasm that arrived announced and still hit me like something unexpected. I felt my cunt clench in spasms around his cock, throbbing hard, and he lasted two more thrusts before driving in to the hilt and staying there, growling in my ear, emptying himself inside me with his cock pulsing.

I stayed still for a moment, cheek on the mattress and lungs searching for air, with him still buried inside and his hot semen sliding down the inside of my thighs when he pulled out slowly.

“Welcome back,” he said.

“Shut your mouth,” I replied.

But I laughed.

***

The phone on the nightstand said it was late. He looked at it before I did, and though he didn’t say anything, I saw him look at it and understood what it meant.

“You showering?” I asked.

“Yeah, quick.”

I waited for him to go into the bathroom. I heard the water run. I stood looking at the room for a moment: the bed completely wrecked, the sandwich wrapper on the nightstand, my shoes in two different corners of the room, the dark stain where the yogurt had spilled. Then I got up.

The bathroom door wasn’t locked.

I went in.

He was standing with his back to me, water running down his shoulders. He saw me in the mirror of the tiles and turned just a little.

“Can I help?” I asked.

He let out a short laugh.

I knelt on the shower floor, warm water falling over my hair, and took his cock in my hand. It was still soft, tired, with traces of the second round. I washed it first with my hand, running soap over the shaft and balls calmly, feeling it start to react again under my palm. When it was rinsed, I took it into my mouth.

I sucked slowly, letting it grow inside my mouth, feeling the weight increase on my tongue. As soon as it was fully hard, I sealed my lips around it and started pumping with my whole mouth, with both hands, one on the shaft and one on the balls. I looked up at him from below. I started calmly, unhurried, knowing we had little time and wanting that little to last.

His hands brushed my wet hair aside with a tenderness that didn’t quite fit with what was happening. They encouraged me to stand up, but I kept looking up at him and going on. I licked his balls, sucked them, went back to the glans, swallowed him whole to the back while holding back the gag reflex.

“I’m gonna come,” he said.

I looked him dead in the eyes. Kept going. Sped up. I squeezed his balls with one hand and pressed my other thumb against his perineum, pushing.

When he came, I took it without letting go, my eyes locked on his until the end. I felt the first jets hit the back of my mouth, hot, thick. I stayed still with him inside, letting him finish, swallowing everything that came. When I let him go, I stuck out my tongue to show him there was nothing left, and then swallowed it all. I gave him one last kiss on the tip.

I straightened up. The water kept falling over both of us.

We finished showering together, with that strange ease that comes from showering with someone you haven’t known for long and yet somehow already know very well. He soaped my tits, ran his hands over my ass, put a finger in my cunt one last time, almost like a goodbye.

***

He dropped me off at our usual square, where I had my car. The sun was low, orange over the buildings, and people hurried past without looking at anyone. I started to get out and he put a hand on my arm.

“Hey.”

I turned.

“Thanks for the meal,” he said, with that smile that said everything. “I was starving.”

I got out laughing. I closed the door and walked to my car without looking back.

I knew that if I looked back, I’d want to stay.