What My Husband Asked Me to Do at the Old Gas Station

It was a Sunday in late April, one of those days when the sun still tastes like spring but already starts to burn your skin if you stand still too long. Andrés and I had gone out for a drive with no real destination, just to shake off the weekend laziness. He was driving. I was wearing a short dress with thin straps, printed with tiny flowers, no bra because he’d forbidden me from wearing one that morning in that voice that doesn’t admit arguments. My panties were a tiny black thong, almost a formality. I felt exposed, hot, a little afraid. Which was exactly what he wanted.

—You’re trembling —he told me, without taking his eyes off the road.

—I’m not trembling —I lied.

He smiled. That crooked smile I knew all too well. The smile he wore when something dirty occurred to him and he didn’t tell me until it was already too late to back out.

We left the village by a secondary road, one of those nobody uses anymore since the highway opened. Twenty minutes later we passed an abandoned gas station. Rusted pumps, peeling signs, the glass of the old bar smashed to pieces. And against the back wall, three men sitting on the ground around a plastic bag and a few empty cans.

Andrés braked. Backed up. Parked diagonally, about ten meters from them.

—What are you doing? —I asked, though I already knew the answer.

He turned off the engine. Looked me up and down, slowly, as if he were appraising merchandise.

—Roll down the window —he said—. And let them see what you’re wearing underneath.

My breath caught. I looked toward the three men. They had already seen us. The thinnest one, beard long and clothes in rags, had stood up. The stockiest one, in a T-shirt that showed a torso covered in bad tattoos and old scars, was wiping the back of his hand across his mouth, as if cleaning himself in advance. The third was the youngest, maybe early thirties, with greasy hair plastered to his forehead and a smile that was anything but friendly.

I rolled the window down.

The warm air rushed in, smelling of dust and old oil. I leaned toward the window, resting my elbows on the frame. The dress neckline fell open. The straps slipped a little. My breasts were almost completely visible, my nipples already hard, rubbing against the fabric.

—Good afternoon, boys —I said in a silly voice, pretending at innocence none of the three would believe for a second.

The big one spoke first. His voice was hoarse, rough, from years of bad cigarettes.

—Look what the afternoon brought us, Sebas.

The thin one —Sebas, I guessed— laughed. He took two steps closer. Even from the car, I could smell sweat, dried on, and cheap wine.

—That’s not real —he said—. I’m making that up myself.

Without Andrés saying a word, I lowered my left strap. My breast sprang into the air, free, round, the nipple pointing at them as if it had a mind of its own. I heard the big one let out a grunt.

Andrés put his hand on my thigh. He moved it aside calmly, unhurriedly, until my dress rode up over my waist. The black thong gleamed with wetness. It wasn’t fooling anyone anymore. Neither was I.

—My wife is hot this afternoon —Andrés said out loud, so all three could hear him well—. And from the looks of you, I think you are too.

The young one was laughing softly, nonstop, while he slipped his hand inside his pants. The thin one unzipped himself without asking permission. The cock he pulled out was long, thin, corded with dark veins, already half-hard and shining at the tip.

—If you want to try it, pretty thing —he said—, I don’t bite. Much.

I looked at Andrés. He didn’t say anything. He just nodded, once, very slowly.

I opened the car door.

The cracked asphalt scraped the soles of my feet the moment I got out. My dress had ridden up so high I was practically bare-assed. I walked over to the thin one, knelt down on the dirty gravel without thinking, and grabbed his cock with both hands. It was hot, throbbing. It smelled strong, like a man who hadn’t washed in days, like the street, like old sex. And instead of disgusting me, it made my thighs tighten.

I licked it from base to tip, slowly, leaving a glossy trail of saliva. He growled like a dog being scratched exactly where it itched. The big one and the young one were already coming closer, their cocks out. The big one’s was shorter but thick, with a large dark head. The young one’s was more average, but rock hard and dripping.

—I want all three of you inside me —I said, looking from one to the next, my voice shaking with pure heat—. I want you to use me. Today I’m yours.

Andrés got out of the car. He leaned against the hood, crossed his arms, and kept watching. He wasn’t going to touch me. He was going to see everything.

***

The thin one was first. He seized me by the hair with a rough hand and shoved my head toward his cock. He drove it down my throat in one single thrust. The gag reflex shook me, tears filled my eyes, but I didn’t turn away. I sucked noisily, drooling, letting saliva run down my chin and drip onto my breasts.

The big one got behind me. He yanked my thong off in one pull —I heard the elastic snap— and shoved two fingers into my cunt without warning. They went in without resistance, as if they’d been there all my life.

—Fuck —he growled—. She’s leaking. This one doesn’t even need spit.

He shoved me down onto the ground, on all fours, right there on the gravel littered with cigarette butts and crushed cans. The thin one kept driving his cock into my mouth. The big one spat into his hand, slicked his cock with it, and rammed into me in one hard thrust. I screamed around the cock in my mouth. It was thick, it split me open all at once, it hurt for a moment and then I went crazy. Crazy for real.

The young one knelt beside me. He stroked himself with one hand and pinched my nipples with the other. Not gently. He twisted them, tugged, squeezed until he tore a different sound out of me, sharp, almost a scream. I moaned around the thin one’s cock like an animal.

They changed positions without speaking, as if they’d rehearsed it. The young one grabbed my hips, hauled me up, and pressed me against the peeling wall of the gas station. The rough cement scratched my back through the dress. He spread my legs and fucked me standing up, holding me almost in the air. The big one came up behind me, spat between my ass cheeks, and shoved two fingers up my ass, while the thin one pulled down the other strap of my dress and spat in my face.

I looked toward Andrés.

He was still leaning against the hood. Not moving. Not touching himself. Not taking his eyes off me.

***

After that they laid me down on a filthy blanket in a corner, the remains of the shelter those men had set up between the rusted pumps. All three on top of me. One in my mouth. Another in my cunt. The third rubbing against my breasts, leaving my belly shiny with his wetness.

I came like that. Crushed between three dirty bodies, smelling of sour sweat, street, sex. I screamed so loud my own voice scared me. I felt the orgasm rising through my legs, shaking me all the way to my hair, killing me in one blow. And still they didn’t stop. Not for a second.

They put me on all fours again. The big one lay down underneath and made me sit on his thick cock. He speared me slowly, letting me feel every inch. The young one spread my ass cheeks with his fingers, spat, and shoved it in from behind without warning. Double. Both cocks at the same time, inside me, on the filthy blanket. The thin one stood in front of me, grabbed my face, and shoved his cock into my mouth again, giving me gentle slaps on the cheek as he did it.

—Tell your husband —the big one gasped beneath me—. Tell him what you’re doing.

I pulled my mouth off the thin one’s cock. My face was covered in spit, tears, and something I no longer knew if it was snot or cum.

—Andrés… —I panted, looking at him—. Andrés, all three of them are fucking me. Here. On the ground. And I don’t want them to stop…

He touched himself over his pants. Slowly. Smiled.

—Keep going —he said.

***

They finished almost at the same time, one after the other, like a short circuit.

The young one came first, deep in my ass, gritting his teeth. I felt the hot spurts filling me from inside, then spilling down my thighs.

The thin one pulled out of my mouth just in time and came on my face. Long, thick spurts, landing in my eyes, on my nose, on my open mouth. I swallowed what I could. The rest ran down my chin.

The big one held on a few seconds longer. He grabbed my hips with both hands, pinned me to the ground, shoved so hard I thought he was going to split me in half, and came inside my cunt with a roar that sounded like a wounded beast.

Then they moved away. No hugs, no thanks, nothing. They pulled their pants up and sat back against the wall, panting, smiling, watching me.

I lay there on the blanket. Dress hitched to my waist, legs open, semen dripping everywhere. Hair stuck to my forehead, makeup smeared, lips swollen.

Andrés came over slowly. He crouched beside me. He brushed a strand of hair from my face with the tips of his fingers. He kissed my soiled lips, slow, almost tender.

—Are you okay, my love?

I nodded. I was still trembling. I couldn’t speak.

—Then let’s go —he said—. The afternoon is still long.

He helped me to my feet. My legs could barely hold me up. The three men were still watching me from the wall, their cocks still half-soft, that fixed smile of men who know they’ve just taken home a prize.

I got back into the car with my dress stuck to my body from the sweat and everything else. My cunt burned. My ass burned. My face burned. I sat carefully, squeezing my legs together, as if I could keep it all inside a little longer.

Andrés started the engine. Turned us around. We left by the same dusty road we’d come in on.

A few minutes later he glanced at me out of the corner of his eye.

—Next time —he said, very slowly— we bring lube. And we invite them over.

I closed my eyes. Squeezed my thighs. I moaned, softly, almost without meaning to.

Because we both knew it was yes.

That next time would be even worse.

And even better.