The Monday Adventure My Boyfriend Never Knew About

On Sunday night, Ramiro texted me to remind me he’d pick me up before ten. We’d gone weeks without seeing each other, ever since that party where we ended up dancing way too close and he whispered things in my ear he should never have told me. He was the man from my first time, years ago, and he had that knack for showing up at all the wrong moments.

We agreed he’d take me to the square to run a few errands and then we’d have breakfast together. Simple. No pretenses. That’s what I told myself that morning while I looked for what to wear.

I chose a short skirt, a light blouse, and my usual sneakers. For underwear I was practical: I was a few days away from my period, so I put on my big soft beige panties, the kind that don’t pinch and don’t judge. I wasn’t in the mood for anything sophisticated that morning.

At nine-thirty, the horn sounded outside my house.

Ramiro had the same old expression when he saw me get into the car: that up-and-down look he didn’t even try to hide. He greeted me with the nickname he’d given me back when we were kids, one nobody else used, and that was enough to make my cunt tighten without my permission.

He pulled off without saying much. At the first traffic light, I noticed he’d unbuttoned his pants. He drove with one hand while with the other he pulled his cock out of his briefs, slowly, with no hurry at all, staring ahead as if it were the most natural thing in the world. It was swollen, thick, with the purple, glossy head peeking between his fingers.

—Look how I woke up —he said, not even looking at it, giving himself a slow stroke with his fist.

—That’s your problem, not mine —I answered, but I didn’t look away from the windshield.

Lie. It was my problem too already.

The truth was I’d been in automatic mode with my boyfriend for weeks: the same routines, the same silences, the same warm bed with no surprises. Ramiro, on the other hand, had that annoying gift of setting fire to everything that should have stayed still, and he always showed up when I needed it most. Out of the corner of my eye I watched him work himself, watched the foreskin slide up and down revealing that thick head, and watched a drop of pre-cum glisten on the tip.

—Touch it —he said, not quite asking—. Just feel how hard it is.

I stretched out my hand without thinking. The cock filled my palm, hot and hard as iron wrapped in skin. I squeezed from the base to the tip, feeling it throb under my fingers, and he let out a breath through his nose like he’d been holding back for hours.

—Yeah, like that, bitch —he murmured—. Look how it remembers you.

I let go before he got worse. I wiped my sticky fingers on my skirt and looked out the window, pretending I wasn’t soaked to the knees.

At breakfast in the square, he didn’t stop. He talked softly, his mouth brushing my ear, describing with almost clinical precision what he’d do if we were alone: how he’d spread my legs, how he’d shove his tongue in me until he got me dripping, how he’d fuck me against the wall until I forgot my name. We ordered eggs and coffee. I barely tasted mine.

—Stop it already —I told him at one point, glancing toward the other tables.

—I can’t —he answered, completely calm—. Your legs in that skirt drive me crazy. I want to shove it in you up to the hilt.

Heat climbed up from the back of my neck. And lower too: my cunt was throbbing under my panties, and I could feel the fabric getting sticky from hearing him talk. I didn’t say that.

We made the payments at a second-floor window. He stayed behind me the whole time, with his hands on my hips when he thought nobody was looking, and in a careless moment he pressed his hard cock against my ass through my skirt, just once, rubbing it slowly. When we were done, instead of heading for the exit, he took my wrist and led me toward the underground parking garage.

—Where are we going? —I asked, even though my body already knew.

—I know a corner that’s always empty. I’m going to fuck you right there.

Level two of the parking garage smelled of damp concrete and dead engine. There was a corner in the back, far from the cameras, with a low ceiling and dim light. He parked and turned off the engine.

He asked me to take off my skirt. Just that, just so he could see me for a moment, he said. I looked around; nobody was there, so I agreed. I slid my skirt up to mid-thigh and settled sideways in the passenger seat, legs tightly closed.

—Not your legs, babe —he said, with that rough voice he got when he couldn’t take it anymore—. Open up.

I spread them slowly, biting my lip. He looked at my soaked panties and let out a low laugh.

—Look at that. You’re dripping, bitch. And you still act all proper.

He leaned over from his seat, bending toward me. He pulled my panties down without much ceremony, sliding them over my thighs until they were bunched around one knee. He buried his face between my legs before I could react and dragged his tongue from bottom to top, long and flat, licking my whole cunt, stopping at the clit to suck it with his lips. I arched against the seatback and let out a moan that echoed off the roof of the car.

—Shut up, they’ll hear us —he said, smiling against my sex, never stopping licking me.

He shoved two fingers in at once, to the knuckles, while sucking my clit with the saliva already there, and started to move them, curling upward, searching for that spot he knew by heart. I grabbed the dashboard, panting with my mouth open, feeling my cunt clench around his fingers and the wetness slide all the way to my ass. When he had me drenched and throbbing, he straightened up, pulled his cock out of his pants again—hard, swollen, ready—and shoved the thick tip against my entrance.

He drove it in in one thrust, spearing me all the way through, with no warning and no gentleness. The car creaked as he settled over me, pressing his hip to mine, and I felt him fill me all at once, stretching me inside with that mix of little pain and filthy pleasure that makes you stay still just to let him in better.

—Ah, you son of a bitch —I whimpered, gripping his shoulders—. Slower.

—Slower my ass —he huffed, pulling back until only the tip was left, then burying it in me again in one brutal shove—. This is what you wanted since the party, don’t play dumb.

It was short but thick. Every thrust was full and deep, and the head struck me in the back with a dull sound that pulled a little cry out of me each time. He grabbed my waist with tight fingers and moved with a rhythm that didn’t take long to break: the fucking went from measured and steady to brutal, the seat springs squealing, the windows fogging, my tits bouncing inside my blouse with every drive.

He growled against my neck.

—That’s it, bastard —he murmured, almost through his teeth, while he drove his cock to the hilt and barely came out before shoving it back in with obscene force—. That’s how you like it, isn’t it, little whore? Wide open, speared good and deep. Tell me you like it.

—I like it —I panted, not recognizing my own voice—. Fuck me, fuck me good.

—Harder, say it louder.

—Harder, fuck me harder.

I squeezed my thighs around his waist, feeling the tip slam into me again and again, brushing the most sensitive place inside me. The parking garage air felt too thin. Ramiro held me hard, like he wanted to leave his mark, and every time he sank all the way in he let out a rough gasp that vibrated against my nape. He bit my neck, sucked a nipple through my blouse until the fabric turned glossy with saliva, and drove into me again, his cock blowing me apart from the inside.

—I’m coming, babe —he growled—. I’m coming inside.

—No, not here —I managed to say, but it was too late and we both knew it.

I felt the heat inside before I fully understood what had happened: thick, abundant, staying there. His body went rigid in several short jolts, and his cock kept thrusting while he came, spilling semen in deep pulses that filled me completely. I felt each shot differently, hot, hitting the back of me, until there was nothing left and still he kept moving, grinding against me, smearing his cum all over the walls of my cunt.

I stayed there breathing through my mouth, feeling it leak inside me, warm and sticky, while he still moved a little more, as if making sure not a single drop was left outside. When he finally pulled out, a white trail ran down my crotch to the car seat.

—I came inside —he said, as if informing me, still holding me with one hand to squeeze the last drops into my cunt’s entrance.

—I noticed —I replied, still breathless—. Now you’re buying me what you owe me.

—Of course, of course —he said, already pulling himself together.

I grabbed my panties from my ankle and pulled them back on without cleaning myself. I could feel all the semen smearing into the fabric as soon as I had them on. I hadn’t come. That too I didn’t say.

We left the parking garage without talking much more. He dropped me off in front of the school entrance twenty minutes later, a few blocks from the neighborhood park. I walked toward the door feeling that warm weight between my legs, slowly soaking into the fabric of my panties, reminding me with every step of what had just happened.

***

The design school was a building with high ceilings and fluorescent lights that made everything seem to last longer than necessary. I got there just in time for the first class and sat in the back, as always.

Sebastián was beside me. He’d been my closest classmate since first semester: tall, thin, with tortoiseshell glasses and the habit of speaking softly when he said something worth hearing. He was openly gay, everybody knew it, which gave him a kind of free pass the rest of us didn’t have.

In midafternoon, while we were finishing up adjusting a mannequin together, I told him what had happened. Not every detail, but enough: that a friend had taken me to the square, that we ended up in the parking garage, that he came inside me and I didn’t, and that I still had his cum smeared in my panties.

Sebastián set the pins on the table and looked at me over his glasses.

—Seriously? And you stayed like that all day? —he asked.

—Yep. Drenched.

He paused a little. Then he said, completely naturally:

—You know, I’ve been thinking all morning that I need someone to suck my cock. Someone who knows how to do it right.

I laughed. It was the kind of comment that could only come from him, with no trap and no hidden agenda.

—Are you seriously asking me to help you? —I said.

—I’m just saying if someone knew how, I’d appreciate it a lot. And I think you do know how.

Class was over. The hallway was empty. We locked the classroom door from the inside and I put the latch on.

I knelt in front of him on the cold tile. I slowly lowered his zipper and pulled his cock out of his briefs. What I found surprised me: long, thin, with a head disproportionately large compared to the rest, glossy and pronounced, pointing slightly downward under its own weight. It was a weird, beautiful cock, unlike any I’d ever had in my mouth.

I took it at the base and ran my tongue slowly from the balls to the tip, pausing at the frenulum, giving that huge head little licks before taking it all the way into my mouth. I started sucking carefully, testing the edges, taking it deeper when he let out a small sound that told me I was on the right track.

Sebastián rested a hand on my head gently, without pressing, but his fingers tightened in my hair every time I ran my tongue over the slit. He made little contained sounds, the kind someone makes when they don’t want to be heard from the hallway.

—Fuck, that feels so good —he murmured—. Look how you suck my cock. Don’t stop, please, don’t stop.

I sucked his cock slowly, then faster, swallowing it until the glossy head brushed the back of my throat and made me gag. Every time I felt it swell more, I pulled back to spit saliva on the tip and take it all back into my mouth. He let out short breaths, moving his hips barely at all, while I ran my tongue over the slit and coated the foreskin with saliva. I grabbed his balls with one hand and kneaded them softly while with the other I pumped the base in sync with my mouth.

His cock hardened even more between my lips and its weight filled my mouth with a salty, strong taste that made my thighs press together without meaning to. I could feel my panties getting soaked again, mixing the new with what I already had from Ramiro. I pulled his cock out for a moment to suck each ball one by one, taking them all the way into my mouth, and he let out a broken moan and pushed my head back to the tip.

Halfway through he stopped me and looked at me with half-lidded eyes, his glasses a little low on his nose.

—Give me more —he whispered—. I want to fuck you. Just for a moment, please.

—Not in the pussy —I said, still thick-voiced from saliva—. I’m all full already.

Sebastián looked at me for a second and licked his lips.

—Then from the other side.

I swallowed. I stood up. I turned around and bent over the worktable with my palms spread flat. He pulled my skirt and panties down in one slow motion, and let out a hiss when he saw how messy I was inside.

—Look at what they did to you —he murmured, almost to himself, and before I could say anything, I felt his mouth on a completely unexpected place: his tongue exploring the rim of my asshole with such concentrated care it was almost funny how methodical he was. He spread my ass cheeks with both hands and buried himself there, licking my hole with the tip of his tongue, circling it, pushing it in.

—Don’t do that —I said, but it came out softer than I wanted.

He ignored me. He kept going patiently, unhurried, spearing his tongue into my ass and pulling it back out to lick me all over again, mixing saliva with what was dripping from my cunt. What I felt was a mix of shame and something harder to name, something that kept forcing its way in with every second that passed. I pressed against his face without meaning to and he let out a small, satisfied laugh before slipping in a finger lubricated with his own spit.

—Easy —he said, moving it slowly—. I’m going to open you up properly first.

He slid in a second finger and started circling them, opening me gradually, while with his other hand he pinched one nipple under my blouse. My ass burned and throbbed, and I bit my forearm so I wouldn’t moan too loudly. When he asked if he could, I was already in another state. I said yes without really thinking it through.

He spit, carefully slicked that huge head, coating it well, and spit again into his hand to smear it over everything. He pressed the tip against my hole and started to enter very slowly. I felt the moment resistance gave way: it hurt with that intensity that burns and surprises at the same time, but doesn’t make you ask him to stop. Every millimeter of that head forcing its way in was concrete and unmistakable, an enormous pressure splitting me in two.

—Oh, wait, wait —I moaned, clutching the table with my nails dug into the wood.

—Take it, babe, it’s almost all in —he panted, gripping my hips, pushing a little more with every exhale.

When he was all the way in, I stayed still for a moment, breathing, feeling that ridiculously long shaft planted deep in my ass. It was a sensation unlike any other: the burn mixed with a filthy fullness that made my legs shake.

Then he started moving. Deep. Slow at first, pulling almost all the way out before shoving back in, millimeter by millimeter, then with more determination. He held my hips and pushed me against the table, setting a heavy rhythm that made my legs tremble. His cock opened me from the inside with every sway, going in and out with a wet, dirty sound of flesh on flesh. My hands were buried in the wood and my face was burning, feeling myself filled to the back with that warm thickness.

—That’s it —he said, breathing hard—. Just like that, don’t move on me. I want to feel you nice and tight. God, what a delicious ass.

He brought his hand around to the front and slipped it between my legs, starting to rub my clit to the rhythm of the thrusts while he kept fucking me from behind. My cunt was still dripping someone else’s semen, and his fingers splashed in that wetness while he shoved his cock into the other hole. It was too much: two different sensations pulling in opposite directions, and I was stuck between them without being able to think of anything else.

When he got rougher, the slam of his hip pulled a moan out of me that I had to bite back. He kept going, burying himself to the hilt, releasing those restrained gasps that slipped through his teeth.

—I’m coming —he said suddenly, voice muffled—. I’m coming, babe, can I do it inside?

—Yes, go on, come —I panted, unable to form more than that.

He clamped my hips with his fingers and stayed there, spasming, emptying himself deep inside, deeper than anything I’d ever felt there before. I felt the hot load spread through me, thick and abundant, filling me from behind while his breathing turned ragged and his body tightened over mine. I felt each shot climb along that long cock until it released at the back, and he kept pushing slowly, moaning low against my nape, emptying himself into me all the way.

—Jesus —he murmured when he came out, his forehead pressed to my back. His cock came out coated in his own cum, and a white, sticky thread ran from my hole down my thigh.

He kissed the back of my neck gently. He gathered his clothes and I gathered mine. I cleaned myself as best I could with a rag I found on the table, but the feeling of having them both inside me wasn’t going away that easily. We said goodbye at the door without saying anything else, one down one hallway and me down the other, as if we’d just stayed late working.

I went out into the street with two different loads in my body and zero orgasms of my own. It was a statistic that seemed completely unfair to me.

***

The ride home was long. I took the metro to the interchange and then the bus. I got a seat, which was a relief. My body felt a particular way, that sensation of something not quite closing all the way, of space slowly giving in. Every jolt of the bus reminded me of what I had inside.

I got to my room before anyone saw my face clearly.

On the kitchen counter there was a cucumber that had been waiting for its proper use for days. It was thick, with an uneven surface that wasn’t exactly what a farmer imagines, but for what I needed that afternoon it was perfect.

I took off my skirt and panties, which by then had the whole story of the day stored in the fabric: a yellowish stain in back and another in front, mixed together. I lay down on the bed with my legs wide open and ran a finger over my cunt to see how soaked I still was. A warm strand of semen still came out of me every time I squeezed my thighs together.

I sucked my fingers clean —they tasted like Ramiro, salt, and something stronger— and grabbed the cucumber. I ran it through my own wetness first to lubricate it, rubbing it against my clit until a long sigh escaped me. Then I started slowly: I slid it into my cunt centimeter by centimeter, feeling how it opened me with that rough texture, different from a cock, but just as satisfying for being thick.

I worked it in and out carefully, looking for the angle that gave me that dirty, deep friction that made my back arch. The cucumber’s head hit the back of me with every push and I squeezed it with the walls of my cunt, feeling the wetness slide over my fingers and stain the sheet underneath. With my other hand I started touching my clit with two fingers, circling fast, pinching it now and then to feel that spark of pain that makes everything better.

Then I pulled it out, still dripping, and lowered it to my hole. It was open, warm, still a little slick from Sebastián’s cum. I rolled the tip around the rim and pushed in slowly, feeling that familiar burn return, that filthy sense of fullness. Once it was inside, I moved it calmly, pulling it almost all the way out before shoving it back in, while I kept circling my clit faster and faster.

With one hand I spread my ass cheeks wider and with the other I pressed the cucumber against me, feeling the wetness slide over my fingers. I bit my lip and kept going, faster, until my whole body started shaking. The pressure built in the center of me like a knot that suddenly snaps.

I thought of Ramiro driving me to that dark corner of the parking garage with his own calm certainty, of how he’d shoved his cock into me without warning and emptied himself inside without asking. I thought of Sebastián’s voice saying just for a moment, and how that moment was so much more, of his ridiculously long cock opening my ass against the workshop table. I thought of how neither of them had especially cared whether I came or not, of how they’d used me like a compliant little whore, and of how that, somehow I couldn’t justify, was part of what made it exciting.

What hadn’t come all day came in a matter of minutes. I clutched the pillow with my other hand, squeezing the cucumber deep in place while the orgasm shook me from the inside out. My cunt contracted in waves, my ass tightened around the cucumber, and both holes throbbed at the same time, pushing out what was left of the two men. I moaned into the sheet, softly, with the door closed and the afternoon collecting what it owed me.

I had a second orgasm almost right away, shorter but just as strong, when I imagined both of them there at once, one on each side, pounding me at the same time. I pulled the cucumber out carefully and left it on a napkin. I lay there for a while breathing, legs still open, feeling empty and satisfied for the first time all day.

After that I showered. The hot water was the most honest thing about the day. I watched everything go down the drain, all of them, all of me, mixed together and disappearing.

I put on pajamas: a long shirt and clean panties. I went downstairs for dinner.

***

My mother was setting the table when I came into the kitchen. My father was reading in the living room. My younger sister was staring at her phone in her usual chair.

—Honey, your face is very red —my mother said, looking at me with that motherly attention that never lets anything pass—. Did you get sunburned?

—I walked around a lot —I answered, pouring myself a glass of water—. It’s hot outside.

My father came in and sat down across from me. The four of us ate with the usual conversation: school, traffic, whether I’d eaten well. I answered in monosyllables. At some point I noticed my father looking at me straight on, without his phone, with a fixed stare that wasn’t his usual one. I covered myself a little and kept eating.

What a strange day it had been.

Nobody knew anything and that was the strangest part of all: that you could carry an entire day full of things that should never have happened, come home, sit at that same old table, and have everything seem completely the same.

My mother worrying about the sun. My sister on her phone. My father with that look I pretended not to see.

And me, right there in the middle of that table, with the whole day stored inside me like something that belonged only to me.

I finished dinner, said good night, and went upstairs to sleep.