What My Boss Offered Me That Afternoon Changed Everything

We lost the house the winter Esteban got into the wrong business. A big loan, a partner who turned out to be a con man, and, from one day to the next, the bank shutting the door on us while we were left with our clothes in suitcases on the curb. We sold what we could, gave away what we couldn’t, and got on a bus bound for Tarapoto. Not to the center, but to the outskirts, to a plot of cassava and plantains where his father had lived for decades.

Starting from zero at thirty-two, with a six-year-old daughter and a silent husband, was not easy. Esteban left at first light and came back when you could no longer see. I stayed in the wooden house, washing, cooking, playing with my daughter, thinking about everything we had lost. I had the device removed months earlier, when we still dreamed of having another child. After the bankruptcy, that dream was shelved, but the device never went back in.

I met Yolanda at the market, buying rice in bulk. She was a neighbor from the chacra next door and worked at Mr. Damián’s house, a landowner in the area who had crews of laborers cutting coffee on his own hectare. Yolanda did the cleaning, cooked lunch for the workers, and took it to the field. When she was diagnosed with a hernia and had to travel to the capital for surgery, she offered me the job.

—It pays well —she told me—. And don Damián doesn’t bother anybody.

The last part wasn’t entirely true, but I found that out later.

I spoke with Esteban that night while he was taking off his boots in the yard. It took him a while to say yes. He didn’t like the idea of me working in someone else’s house, but the numbers didn’t add up. My daughter would stay with her grandmother during the day, and she would take her to preschool. I started the following Monday.

***

Don Damián was forty-eight years old and had the body of a man who still carried sacks. He was tall, with flecked gray in his beard and big hands, hands that spoke of the field and the shovel. He lived alone in a two-story house with polished wooden floors, high on a hill from which the river could be seen. He treated me with respect, paid me on time, and on Fridays he gave me an envelope with an extra bit “for the effort.”

But he looked.

I could tell the way his eyes would drift when I bent down to clean the low table in the sitting room, when I crouched to dust under the furniture, when I went up the stairs ahead of him with the laundry basket. It’s not vanity: I have a body people look at. Good hips, a good ass, firm tits, and at thirty-two still holding up well. Damián looked the way men look when they’ve gone a long time without fucking a woman, with that gaze that gets between your cheeks and pries them open from two meters away.

The first time I thought about doing something was one afternoon in March. He was showering in the back bathroom and had left the door half open, I don’t know whether on purpose or by accident. I passed by with the mop and, through the crack, I saw his cock under the stream. It wasn’t enormous, but it was hard, thick, with a fat red head, the vein standing out along the shaft, heavy balls hanging between his thighs. He had it in his hand and was stroking it slowly, using his thumb to circle the glans, as if he were thinking about something or someone. I stayed glued to the doorframe longer than I should have, mouth open and my cunt starting to get wet under my skirt. When I came to my senses, I walked on, went to the kitchen, and sat on the bench to catch my breath with my panties soaked through.

And I remembered Esteban’s uncle, that summer, that affair I never confessed. I had promised myself it would never happen again. But the body has memory, and memory has a will of its own.

For a week I carried the idea like a stone in my pocket. I touched it in silence, let it be. At night, with Esteban asleep beside me, I slipped two fingers between my thighs thinking of that cock under the stream, of that big hand stroking it without hurry, and I came biting my arm so I wouldn’t wake anybody. Until one Thursday, knowing Damián would be back around bath time, I decided to shower myself. In his shower. With the door ajar.

I washed myself slowly, angling my body toward the crack, letting my hips draw the shape I knew they drew. I ran the sponge over my tits, underneath them, lifting my nipples so they’d stand up hard and dark. I parted my ass cheeks with both hands, pretending to soap my ass, and lowered one hand to my cunt, sliding two fingers along my swollen lips. I heard him come into the house, set down his hat, climb the stairs. His steps stopped in the hallway. I pretended to be distracted. In the reflection of the tiles I saw his silhouette leaning in the doorway and saw the bulge of his cock pressing at his pants.

I shut off the tap and wrapped myself in the towel, leaving half my tits exposed. He knocked on the wood with his knuckles.

—Can I come in? —he asked, in that low voice that never rose.

—Wait —I said, and let another second pass before opening.

He came in. He closed the door behind him. I clutched the towel with both hands, pretending to be scared, and he took two steps forward.

—Five hundred soles —he said, without preamble—. For one afternoon.

I stayed silent. Not out of dignity, but because the amount was double what I made in a week.

—My husband can’t find out.

—He won’t.

***

He took me to his room and closed the curtain over the window. The bed was hard wood, with an off-white bedspread. He pulled the towel off me with one hand, slowly, and stood there looking at me naked in the middle of the room. He took me in the way someone sizes up an animal before buying it. He grabbed one of my tits with his right hand, weighed it in his palm, brought it to his mouth, and sucked my nipple, biting it just enough, tugging it outward with his teeth until I let out the first moan. Then he undressed himself, no theater, like a man taking off his clothes to step into the river. His cock sprang out of his underwear, hard, pointing at the ceiling, swollen, with a clear drop hanging from the tip.

—Get on your knees —he told me.

I knelt on the wooden floor. It was at face level. He took it in his hand and ran it across my lips, smearing my mouth with that drop. I opened up. He slid it in slowly at first, letting me taste the salty head, and then he pushed my head with his other hand until I felt his balls against my chin. I sucked his cock with delayed hunger, licking the head, covering the shaft in saliva, moving up to his balls to lick them one by one. He watched from above with his mouth slightly open, gripping my hair, setting my pace.

—That’s it, slut, that’s how you suck cock —he whispered—. I’ve spent my whole life waiting for a woman to suck me like that.

When he felt I was about to swallow his load in my mouth, he pulled his cock out with a wet sound and lifted me by the arms. He threw me on my back over the bedspread, opened my legs wide with his knees, and buried himself in one thrust all the way in. I let out a cry, not knowing whether it was pleasure or surprise. He was thicker than he looked and filled me up at once, driving me against the mattress. Damián fucked me like a man who had waited a long time. It wasn’t brutal, but it wasn’t gentle either. Every shove made me slide over the bedspread, and I clung to his arms so I wouldn’t lose myself, my tits bouncing every time he drove his cock in to the balls.

—What a delicious cunt —he panted into my neck—. What a tight cunt you’ve got, bitch.

—Ah, ah, ah —I couldn’t speak, only moan. My ass lifted off the bed with every thrust, my legs had climbed up around his waist on their own, my heels dug into his butt so he wouldn’t pull out.

I felt him get rock hard inside me and speed up, and before I could warn him he came inside me with three deep thrusts that made me feel every hot spurt splattering against my back wall. I pushed at his chest.

—I don’t use protection —I told him.

—Wash yourself afterward with lime and water —he answered, not moving, with his cock still buried and dripping semen inside me—. It all comes out.

I believed him because I wanted to believe him. He pulled out his cock, dripping with cum and my juices, turned me face down, lifted my hips, and put me on my knees. He spread my ass cheeks with both thumbs, spit on his hand and ran it over his cock to lube it again, and went back in through my cunt, gripping my hips as if I were something that had belonged to him forever. He shoved it all the way in and stayed inside grinding into me, making circles, pulling almost all the way out only to ram back in with a hard thrust that knocked the breath out of me.

—Look at your ass shaking —he told me—. Look how you tremble all over when I shove it all the way in.

My face was smashed into the bedspread, my tits pressed into the fabric, and his load was starting to run down my thigh mixed with my juices. At some point, without warning, he pulled his cock out of my cunt and set it against the other hole, against my asshole, and pushed. The pain split me in two. I felt that fat head opening my ass for the first time in my life, forcing its way through a ring that had never taken anyone. I screamed, slapped his thigh with my open palm, and fell face-first onto the bed, crying like a little girl, with his cock buried halfway up my ass.

—Take it out, take it out, take it out —I begged him—. You’re breaking me.

He stayed still, panting, and stroked my back until I stopped. Then, very slowly, he pulled his cock out and dropped beside me.

—You’re a brute —I said, face against the mattress.

—Forgive me —he said softly. But he didn’t get off the bed and slid his hand over my ass, rubbing my red asshole with the tip of his finger.

He turned me face up again and came back in from the front, slowly this time, and fucked me at a steady pace, looking me in the eyes, sucking my tits one after the other, biting my neck. He put two fingers in my mouth and I sucked them like they were another cock. I felt something gathering in my stomach, a heat rising and falling, and when he sped up again I came without warning, squeezing his cock with my cunt in spasms that pulled a curse out of him. He came inside me once more, biting my shoulder so he wouldn’t yell. I was left lying there, watery, breath coming in ragged pulls, legs still open and his load running out of both of my openings. He kissed the back of my neck and whispered in my ear.

—You’ve got a beautiful ass. I think I broke it.

—You’re mean —I answered, pretending to be angry, letting him understand what I wanted him to understand.

—It’s already broken —he said—. Next time I’ll go in gently.

I told him no. He offered me five hundred more. I agreed before I even thought about it.

That second time, the same afternoon, I got on top of him to set the rhythm. I straddled his hips, hands braced on his chest, and drove his cock into myself all the way. My swollen cunt hurt, of course it hurt, but I exaggerated the whimper. I went up and down slowly, letting him see how the cock disappeared inside me and came back out shining with my juices. I grabbed my tits and offered them to his mouth, and he stretched his neck to catch them and suck them hard. I whimpered a little, dug my nails into his chest, put on a victim act while inside I was opening to something else. I squeezed my cunt rhythmically, milking his cock from within, and he gripped my hips and started thrusting from below, fucking up into me with all his strength.

—Come inside again —I asked without thinking, and regretted it and didn’t regret it at the same time—. Fill me up.

When he came again, thrusting upward with his hips and gripping my ass with both hands, I had already decided this was not going to be just one afternoon.

I ran to the bathroom, washed myself with the water and lime he brought me in a bucket, got dressed. Before I left, he tried to see “how I’d ended up.” I told him no, that I was late.

***

Esteban wasn’t home when I got there. He liked to stay and play soccer with the neighbors after work. He came back an hour later, shirt soaked, and complained about my delay. I told him work had run long. I hid the thousand soles inside an empty cookie tin on the top shelf. That night he wanted me. I told him no, that I was upset about the yelling, and I started crying to end the matter. He left me alone. Still, when he fell asleep, I put my hand between my thighs and finished thinking about Damián’s cock splitting my ass.

The routine settled in on its own. Every day, before leaving work, Damián and I were together. Sometimes in his room, with him fucking me from behind while I held onto the bed frame; sometimes on the kitchen table, on my back with my legs dangling, him standing between my thighs driving into me until the dishes trembled; once in the shed where he stored the coffee, leaning against the sacks, with my skirt hiked up to my waist and my panties hanging from one ankle, biting my hand so the laborers wouldn’t hear me. He paid me extra on top of my salary, always. I hid every bill and my little cookie tin started to fill up.

My ass opened up over time. The second time hurt less, the third time almost not at all. Damián would grease my asshole with cooking oil on two fingers, open me patiently, put one finger in first, then two, and when I was ready he’d slide his cock in slowly to the hilt and move it inside me in little circles that made me scream for a different reason. I learned to take him from behind too, pushing my ass toward him, swallowing all of his cock and clenching it with my asshole on purpose to make him come fast. I learned to suck his balls, to take both of them in my mouth at once, to lick his perineum while he stroked his cock. The official explanation between us was that he had “broke my ass,” so he had the right to use it. The truth was different: I had found something I had never felt before, not even with that uncle that summer, and I was not willing to let it go.

Until one midday she appeared.

His partner. I didn’t know he had one, or I chose not to know it. She came through the front door without warning, with a market bag in one hand and a little dog behind her. Damián and I were in the bedroom. I was face down with my ass up and he was buried in my asshole when we heard the door slam. We changed like two frightened children. I ran to the bathroom with his cum dripping down my thigh, got under the shower, and turned on the water to pretend I was cleaning the tile. She found my panties on the sheet before he could hide them. She came into the bathroom in a rage, pulled back the curtain, and shoved me against the tiles. Damián grabbed her from behind, pulled her away, defended me while shouting.

I left the house with my head down, my panties stuffed into a market bag he handed me at the door. I walked to the chacra without feeling my legs, my thighs still sticky with semen. At home that night, I gave myself to Esteban like never before. I grabbed his pants the moment he came in, pulled them down in the yard, knelt, and sucked his cock right there, taking it into my mouth until his eyes rolled back. Then I took him to bed, climbed on top, took his cock in me, and fucked myself by moving my ass in his face. I whispered in his ear every filthy thing I never told him. I asked him to turn me over and put it in from behind. He was surprised, but he didn’t ask questions. He put it in slowly and fucked my asshole, already trained by another man, without noticing a thing. He came shouting my name. Afterward, crying, I told him I had to leave the job, that Mr. Damián’s wife had shown up thinking I was fooling around with him, that she had almost hit me. Esteban held me. He told me not to worry, that he would work for both of us, that I was his great love.

The next day the woman went to the field and told my husband that her partner had me as his mistress. Esteban defended me, so he told me. He told the woman she was crazy, that his wife was a saint, and came home proud of having protected me.

***

We started being intimate again every night. I asked him for a child. I told him it was time, that life had given us a second chance here in Tarapoto. I got pregnant in less than a month. But when I went to the hospital, the dates didn’t line up with Esteban. They lined up with Damián.

I called him. We agreed to meet at a roadside motel. I showed him the ultrasound and told him what I knew.

—We’ll abort it —he said, white as a sheet.

—No. I’m having it, and you’ll pay me monthly support. Esteban won’t find out.

—Are you sure?

—Yes.

He agreed. He agreed because it was the only way to keep having me. That same afternoon we fucked in the motel bed with an intensity that made me understand this was going to last until one of us broke. He tore my clothes off with shaking hands, threw me onto the sunken motel mattress, and flung himself on top of me with his cock already hard against my thigh. He spread my legs with one rough shove and buried himself to the hilt without preamble, eyes closed and jaw clenched, as if he were fucking not just my cunt but the entire problem he had gotten himself into. He drove into me with rage, with fear, with desire, all mixed together.

—It’s mine, bastard —I told him in his ear, biting it—. The child is yours and the cunt is yours, and you’re going to pay me every month.

—Whore, whore —he panted—. My whore.

He turned me over, put me on my knees at the edge of the bed, and fucked me from behind, gripping my hair and yanking my head up. He slid his cock into my asshole as easily as walking into a familiar house. He pulled it out, shoved it back in, rubbed my clit with two fingers while he fucked my ass, and I came squeezing his cock with my asshole, howling into the pillow. He came inside my ass with three brutal thrusts and collapsed over my back, panting, with his cock still buried. He left money on the nightstand and left before I did.

The months passed. At eight months pregnant, on a hot afternoon, Damián called me to his house. His wife was no longer there; she had gone to the capital after that scandal. He wanted to have me on the big hammock he had set up in the covered patio. He said it was an old fantasy. I laughed, told him I was huge, with my belly almost at term, but I agreed.

He undressed me right there, in the patio, and looked at my round belly, my tits swollen and dark. He licked my nipples, which were already leaking little drops of colostrum, and sucked the stretched skin of my stomach like a man praying. He laid me on my back in the hammock, opened my legs, putting one on each side of the fabric, and knelt on the floor. He buried his face in my cunt and ate me slowly, sucking my lips, licking inside me, sucking my clit until I grabbed his head with both hands and pushed his mouth against me, moaning softly so as not to wake the dogs in the yard. I came like that, against his tongue, biting my lip.

Then he stood up, took off his pants, and arranged me face down in the hammock, supported on all fours. The hammock creaked with every movement. I asked him to be gentle. He tried, but the heat got the better of him. He grabbed my hips and drove his cock in from behind, this time in my cunt, feeling how the pregnancy had made me swollen and wet. He thrust once, twice, five times, and my belly felt heavy against the fabric each time he pushed. I felt a stab in my waist. I asked him to stop.

—Damián, stop, it hurts.

—Yeah, yeah, just a little more —he panted, cock buried, unable to pull out—. Almost there, my whore, almost there.

He didn’t hear me, or didn’t want to hear me. He sped up, squeezing my ass with both hands, pressing his thumbs into my skin. The hammock snapped like a whip and tore in the middle. We both fell onto the cement floor.

I started leaking fluid immediately.

Damián dressed with shaking hands, carried me to the pickup truck, and took me to the town hospital. He paid an acquaintance of a nurse to let me stay in the ward and take care of me, and left before anyone else arrived. They notified Esteban. He came in pale, still wearing work clothes, and asked me what had happened.

—I saw a man eating chocolates at the shop —I told him—. I had a terrible craving and the pain hit me.

He believed me. He believed me because he wanted to believe me and because the lie was so small it wasn’t worth doubting.

My mother came from Trujillo to look after me. After a few days she convinced me to go with her. Esteban stayed in the jungle working. I left with my daughter, my belly almost at term, with the promise that he would come up as soon as he could. Three months passed before he came.

My son was born in Trujillo, on a Friday at four in the morning, after twelve hours of labor. The moment I saw him I knew what I already knew. Damián’s eyes. Damián’s chin. The shape of the hands. Esteban carried him that same night and cried with joy. He told my mother he was identical to his paternal grandfather. My mother nodded without saying anything.

Sometimes I think I was a bitch. Other times I think life cornered me and I chose not to die inside. Both things are true. Esteban is a good father. Damián sends what he promised every month, to this day. My son goes to school in Trujillo and doesn’t look like anyone in the family, but nobody cares.

And I, when it rains hard and the house falls silent, still think about that afternoon in the shower. About the half-open door. About the figure said without preamble. About the first time that thick cock split my ass over the off-white bedspread. About everything that came after and everything that keeps on coming.