The Mechanic Paid Back the Scam Between My Legs

Damián came home for the third time that week with the same beaten-dog look on his face, telling me the mechanic had found another problem with the car. Another estimate, another fortune, another deadline going straight to hell. My husband is a good man, but he’s so naive that anyone with a couple of well-chosen phrases can empty his wallet. And that Iván had already taken more money from him than the damn car was worth.

That night, while Damián snored on his back after two beers, I decided that the next day I was going to settle the accounts myself. Not by yelling. My way.

I’m thirty-eight, with curves that don’t ask permission and a mirror that still gives me back my smile. I chose a tight red dress, no bra, no panties. I painted my lips an almost violent red and let my hair down. When I passed the garage at four in the afternoon, Iván was alone, drying his hands with a black rag.

—I’m here to talk about the scam —I said right off the bat, crossing my arms beneath my tits so he’d look at them. And he did.

Iván was big. Broad shoulders, a jaw dark with two days’ worth of beard, a well-carried forty-something. He chuckled softly and nodded toward the office in the back.

—Come in, ma’am. Let’s discuss it.

The office was a little room with an oil-stained desk and a crooked calendar hanging on the wall. He closed the door behind me. He didn’t lock it, but he closed it.

—Your husband signed everything —he said, leaning against the desk with his arms crossed—. There’s no scam. There’s a cuckold who doesn’t know anything about cars.

The word «cuckold» hit me below the navel before I could think about why. I moved closer. I placed one hand on his chest and felt the heat through his gray T-shirt. I lowered my gaze to the bulge already showing in his work pants.

—Ah, I see we understand the problem —I said—. You robbed the idiot who married me, and I’m here to collect.

I unfastened his belt without asking permission. Iván didn’t move; he just watched me with a slow smile, the look of a man who already knew how the movie ended. I yanked down his pants and underwear, and out sprang a thick, curved cock, bigger and harder than Damián’s on his best day. My mouth watered before I could help it.

I knelt on the concrete floor without caring about the dress. I gripped his cock with both hands and licked it from the base upward, slowly, watching him. Iván groaned through his nose.

—Holy shit, ma’am —he murmured.

—Don’t call me ma’am when you’ve got your cock in my face —I shot back, and shoved the whole thing into my mouth at once.

I sucked him angrily. I ran my tongue over his swollen glans, sucked his hairy balls, then took him back in until he hit my throat and made my makeup run with tears. He grabbed my hair with both hands and began moving on his own, fucking my mouth at his pace. I let him. Every gag he forced out of me made my pussy wetter.

—That’s it, suck me like your husband doesn’t exist —he panted.

I pulled him from my mouth, a strand of saliva hanging between my lips and his glans.

—My husband doesn’t exist in here. You exist, and what you owe me.

He hauled me up by the hair. He turned me around and threw me against the desk. My dress rode up on its own when I spread my legs against the edge. I felt the cool air against my soaked pussy.

—You’re not wearing panties —he said, his voice thick with surprise and mockery.

—I came to collect. Not play the maiden.

He shoved two fingers all the way inside me without warning. I let out a broken moan I didn’t even try to hide. He moved them quickly, searching inside me, splashing around in how wet I was. He talked into my ear while opening my ass with his other hand.

—You’re dripping, slut. All this just for coming here to give me shit for a while?

—All this because I came to make you give back what you stole from him, you son of a bitch. Stick your cock in already, or I’m leaving and reporting you.

He didn’t need me to repeat myself. He pulled out his fingers, positioned himself, and slammed into me with one brutal thrust. It knocked the breath out of me. The desk shook against the wall. He grabbed my hips and started fucking me as if he’d been holding a grudge against me for months, driving into me so hard that the wrenches hanging on the pegboard jingled in rhythm.

—That’s it, that’s it, give me more —I begged, my face pressed against the garage papers—. This pays the first installment.

He fucked me standing up first, then turned me around, sat me on the desk with one leg raised, and shoved himself into me from the front again so I could see everything. He sucked my nipples through my lowered dress, bit my neck, spat into my mouth, and made me swallow. I insulted him between thrusts.

—You fucking scammer, your cock tastes better than the moron I married, you know that?

—I figured, ma’am —he laughed without slowing down—. It was obvious at the door.

I came before I realized it. It was a long, filthy orgasm that shook my legs and made me squeeze him inside like a vise. Iván held out for a few more seconds, then pulled out, turned me around, and sprayed his whole load over my tits, my neck, and even my mouth. I stuck out my tongue without him having to ask.

—Good girl —he said, wiping his hands with the black rag.

—You still owe me money —I replied, swallowing.

He pulled a wad of cash from a desk drawer without arguing. He left it on my belly. I tucked it into my cleavage without counting it.

—The next installment when I come back. And I will come back.

***

I came back the following Tuesday. And the next one. And the next.

I made up a story for Damián, telling him I’d complained and that the mechanic had agreed to return the money in installments «because he was afraid I’d report him». My husband hugged me gratefully and told me I was the smartest woman he knew. That night I covered my mouth when I felt him climb on top of me with his usual anxiety and finish in two minutes, while I thought about Iván’s curved cock pressing me against the desk.

Iván learned my body better than Damián had in ten years. He learned that if he licked my clitoris in circles, I came in under two minutes, and that if he licked it in a straight line, I could hold out for half an hour, riding his face while I pulled his hair. He learned that I liked him to call me a slut, but not a whore: I couldn’t explain why, and he didn’t care. He learned that if he shoved two fingers into my pussy while fucking my ass, I came screaming and clawing his back.

We did it on cars with their engines still hot. In the back seat of Damián’s car, the time Iván had it at the garage «for an engine inspection». In a roadside motel where the counter smelled like bleach. Against the wall of my own kitchen, one Monday at noon, sunlight splitting his back while he held me in the air by my shoulders.

—Does he still call you a cuckold? —I asked one day, my mouth full of him.

—He still signs estimates without reading them —he answered, pushing my head farther down.

***

The afternoon Damián told me, trembling with indignation, that the mechanic had drawn up another estimate and that he wanted to go «beat his face in», I couldn’t stop laughing inside. I hugged him, stroked the back of his neck, and promised I’d go with him to talk. And that very night, while Damián slept snoring again, I sent Iván a nude photo of myself sprawled on the marital bed, with the message: «The idiot wants to go argue about the estimate. Come tomorrow to collect the next installment».

Iván arrived at eleven, when Damián was already at work. He fucked me on the same mattress where my husband snored every night. First with my back against the headboard, my legs spread toward the ceiling while he held my knees and drove his cock into me with slow thrusts, looking me in the eyes. Then facedown, my face crushed against Damián’s pillow and Iván’s hands pulling my hair backward.

—I can smell the cuckold’s cologne on you —he panted, laughing, his mouth pressed to my ear—. And I’m sticking it into you on top of his sweat.

—Shut up and keep going —I begged, biting the pillowcase.

Then he pulled me on top. I rode him, my tits bouncing against his face as I dug my nails into his thighs, while he pinched my nipples until I howled. He filled me twice without pulling out: once in my pussy and another, twenty minutes later, in my ass, after spitting between my cheeks and slowly opening me with his fingers. I came twice more between the two, biting his shoulder so I wouldn’t scream too loudly in case a neighbor heard.

When he finished, he lay back, lit a cigarette with the ashtray resting on Damián’s bedside table, and stroked my hair while I licked his soft, still-sticky cock.

—One day you’re going to have to tell him —he said, staring at the ceiling.

—One day —I replied without stopping my licking.

That day still hasn’t come. Damián keeps signing estimates he doesn’t understand, keeps believing the mechanic is returning the money «in installments», keeps falling asleep as soon as he finishes, and still hasn’t realized that the cock that makes me scream isn’t his. Iván still collects the debt from me afternoon after afternoon, on the oil-stained desk, against the garage door, on the hood of whatever car he happens to have nearby.

I still have to give my husband back every peso that son of a bitch took from him. I still haven’t done it. And every time Iván pushes me against the wall and whispers in my ear, «Another installment, ma’am?», I spread my legs without thinking and pay him with the only capital I still feel like investing.