What We Did in the Back Room of the Store

It had been a long time since I’d opened this notebook. The routine, the unfinished business, the lack of anything worth telling… excuses, I know they’re excuses.

But today there is something. Today I’m writing a brief story, almost a sigh, though inside it sounds like a scream. A story about two coworkers who never should have touched each other.

Her, younger than me. Much younger.

Me, married, with a ring that weighs on me whenever I look at her.

She had never noticed anyone my age before. She said it laughing one Friday, unaware that it was already happening.

I had never cheated on my wife. I had never seriously thought about doing it. Until Camila appeared.

Have you ever had that coworker who walks through the door and changes your day without meaning to? I know you have. I know how you look at her when she leans over the counter. I know how you listen to her voice over the noise of the store. You don’t need to confess it; I’ll confess for both of us.

It’s time. Pour yourself a drink, loosen your clothes, leave your phone somewhere far away. This story is told slowly and felt the same way. If your body gets the better of you, touch yourself without shame: the protagonists aren’t going to judge you. They’ve got quite enough to deal with after what they did.

***

The store was packed that Friday afternoon. Customers asking about prices, the phone ringing nonstop, Andrés shouting orders from the back counter, the radio spitting out old songs nobody had asked for. The smell of the storeroom—fresh paper, damp cardboard, breakfast coffee—hit me every time I passed near the back room.

But there, amid the noise and the people, it was just her and me. As if the rest of the world were moving more slowly. As if the air between us had a different thickness.

Camila was wearing tight black pants I knew by heart. They didn’t reveal anything; they suggested. Just enough to drive me crazy without giving anyone else a reason. I was wearing soft fabric pants, easy to open, far too easy for what my body was beginning to demand. I’d been uncomfortable all morning, my cock hard and pushing against the fabric every time she passed beside me. The cloth pressed against the exact place where her gaze settled without disguising it, and she knew it: a smile escaped her every time she stared at the bulge, like a little girl discovering someone else’s secret.

We had been playing this game for weeks. We dreamed about it in silence, described it in messages we later deleted—I had written that I wanted to suck her tits until her nipples swelled, and she had replied that she wanted to feel my hot come in her mouth—we imagined it every time we happened to meet in the back kitchen to pour ourselves a coffee.

That afternoon, the game was ending.

We passed close to each other on purpose. A hand on her back as we crossed in the hallway, sliding down until it barely brushed the beginning of her ass. The back of my hand grazing her thigh when I reached for an invoice, and my fingers getting lost for an instant between her legs over the fabric. A whisper in her ear that sounded like a greeting and was anything but. A long look across the cash register that said, without words, what we had been swallowing for months.

—I can’t take it anymore—I told her, close to her ear, pretending to look over a paper on the counter—. I want to fuck you now. Follow me.

Camila smiled. A smile that wasn’t innocent, mixing desire and fear in equal parts. Her eyes shone as if she had only just awakened.

—My pussy’s already soaking wet—she answered softly, barely moving her lips—. Since you arrived.

I walked toward the back without looking at her. I knew she was coming behind me. I could feel her at the nape of my neck.

***

The back storeroom was empty. Andrés, who spent half his shift smoking between the shelves, had said that morning that he wasn’t coming in. The others were out front, serving customers, busy. I had calculated every step, every distance, every sound. I had spent days studying the geography of that corner without admitting it even to myself in the mirror.

One door. A thin wall barely separating the storeroom from the main room. Just enough that they couldn’t see us. Just enough that one scream too many would ruin us forever. Between stacked boxes, rolls of kraft paper, and coils of packing tape.

Camila came in behind me and closed the door carefully, without a click. I caught her by the waist before she had finished turning. I pressed her back against my chest, my chin over her shoulder, my arms crossed at the level of her stomach. I fitted my hard cock against her ass over her pants and felt her squeeze her thighs together.

If someone had opened the door at that second, they would have seen a man hugging a roll of paper. Perhaps tenderly. Perhaps with the affection of a tired office worker.

From the front, however, my fingers were already moving down the zipper of her pants. Slowly. Without any visible urgency. I was biting the urgency down inside. I undid the button, lowered the zipper tooth by tooth, and slipped my hand beneath her underwear. There it was: hot, swollen, slick all the way to her groin. I barely touched it and my fingers were already shining.

—You’re dripping, Camila—I whispered in her ear—. Slut.

—Because of you—she answered, gritting her teeth.

She closed her eyes and bit her lower lip. She didn’t make a sound. I felt her tremble, barely a shiver running down her back and sinking into me.

—Like that—she whispered—. More… but slowly.

I learned her body in those minutes. I learned where a brush made her breathe unevenly, where a little more pressure made her legs buckle, where my open hand on her belly aroused her as much as the hand between her thighs. I opened the lips of her pussy with two fingers and traced her clitoris with the tip of my ring finger, circle after circle, feeling it swell beneath my caress. I kept adding information like a patient cartographer, without hurrying, feeling how each discovery surrendered a little more of her to me.

I put one finger inside her. Then two. A moan escaped her, and I covered it with my palm over her mouth. I felt her close around my fingers, suck them inward, soaking them all the way to the knuckle. I pulled them out shining and ran them over her lips. She licked them as if it were the most delicious thing in the world.

—Do you like the way you taste?—I asked.

She nodded without opening her mouth, my fingers still inside it.

When I knew what I needed to know, I devoted myself to that exact place that turned her to water. Just a slow, steady circular caress. I held her back against my chest with my other arm crossed beneath her breasts. I had slipped my hand under her bra and pinched one nipple between my thumb and forefinger, tugging it slightly every time I pressed her clitoris. I could feel her breathing speed up, and yet she barely moved. Only her hips. Only the small movement of her hips, asking for more without speaking.

—Look at me—I asked when I knew she was about to come apart.

She turned her head slightly. Her eyes were no longer the same eyes that saw a coworker. They were different eyes, open and glassy, with that look that only appears when someone surrenders inside.

—Look at me—I repeated—. And come in my hand.

And she came. Without a single moan. Just a long tremor, a hot breath against my neck, her fingers digging into my forearm as if it were the only solid point in the world. I felt her pussy pulsing against my palm, the warm little stream wetting my wrist, the tremor running from her tits down to her knees. She went limp against my body, hanging from me, and for a second I thought she was going to fall.

—I already want you to put it in me—she murmured when she got her breath back—. Please. All of it.

It didn’t sound like a request. It sounded like an order disguised as a plea.

And I obeyed.

***

I lowered her pants to her ankles. I took off her underwear slowly, gathering it between my fingers like someone keeping a secret—the panties were black, tiny, with a dark wet stain in the middle that made me clench my teeth. I turned her around again, facing away from me, and took a moment to look at her.

Braced with both hands against a stack of boxes, her legs slightly apart, her back arched, her ass sticking out toward me. I saw her pussy open between her thighs, glistening and pink, its lips swollen from all the touching. That image was burned into me as if someone had branded it there.

I opened my pants with one hand. My hard cock sprang free, heavy and pulsing, the tip already wet. I gripped it at the base and ran the head along the crack of her ass, then over the lips of her pussy, coating it in her wetness. I felt her waiting. I felt her desire with her whole body, pushing back in search of me. When I entered her, I did it in one firm but restrained movement, measuring every inch as if I were afraid of breaking something.

She was so wet that I slid in effortlessly, sinking all the way to the bottom, until I felt my balls strike her clitoris. She let out her breath in one sharp burst, far too loud for the place we were in. I covered her mouth with my hand before any other sound could escape.

—Shhh.

She nodded against my palm. I felt her teeth pressing against my finger.

I stayed inside for a moment, still, feeling her body adjust to mine, feeling it close around me. The muscles of her pussy squeezed me at intervals, like little tugs swallowing my cock deeper. I held her tightly against my chest, my free arm crossing her stomach, my body bending her backward.

And I began to move.

Slowly. Barely. With a rhythm so controlled it almost hurt. Every thrust was a millimeter stolen from the silence. I withdrew almost to the tip and sank back in, inch by inch, feeling every fold of her pussy hugging my cock. We could hear only our breathing, mingled together, and the muffled noise of the room on the other side of the wall: someone asking the price of the reams of paper, someone else asking for an invoice, the radio insisting on its old songs.

Camila’s eyes were closed. I could see her reflected in the glass of a picture frame leaning against the wall. Her lips pressed tight, her cheeks flushed, her eyelashes trembling. I could also see her breasts spilling out of her unfastened bra, jiggling slightly in time with my thrusts.

I couldn’t keep that pace up anymore. Neither could she. Her hips had begun seeking me out, meeting me halfway, demanding more. She dug her nails into my forearm, pushed her ass against my stomach, opened her legs wider to swallow me better.

—Harder—she asked through clenched teeth—. Fuck me harder, please.

I sped up.

The thrusts became deeper, more urgent, without stopping me from keeping the noise down. Like two animals devouring each other in silence. Like two bodies dancing on the edge of a precipice that excited them more than it frightened them. I grabbed her hair with the hand I had on her stomach, wound it around my fist, and pulled her head back so I could bite her neck while I kept thrusting into her.

Camila moaned through her teeth, against my hand. Every impact shook her body, every collision of my hips against her ass pushed her a little farther into the cloud that was covering her. The wet sound of my cock entering and leaving her soaked pussy seemed deafening to me, an informer, an announcement of everything we were doing on the other side of the wall.

—I’m coming—she said in a broken voice, almost breathless—. Seriously… I’m coming.

—Come—I whispered.

—I can’t hold it.

—Come now. Come on my cock, Camila.

It sounded almost like an order. I wrapped both hands around her stomach, pressed my body against her back, feeling her buttocks strike my abdomen, and pushed one last time, deep, slow, final.

She came with a cry my hand swallowed whole. I felt the tremor run along her spine, her legs go slack, her insides squeezing me until I had no choice. Her pussy closed around my cock in spasms, one after another, milking it, sucking me inward.

I followed two or three thrusts later. I buried my face in her neck, bit her shoulder through the fabric, smelled perfume mixed with sweat. And I spilled inside her with one final thrust that left me without strength. I felt every jet of my come burst out under pressure, filling the depths of her pussy, mixing with her wetness. She trembled again when she felt me finish, and squeezed me so tightly I could barely remain standing.

***

I pulled out slowly, carefully, as if I were afraid of waking her. I saw the white thread of my semen run down the inside of her thigh, shining beneath the yellow light of the storeroom. But Camila was already somewhere else. She turned, knelt before me on the concrete floor between the boxes, and took my sex into her mouth.

She took my entire cock in one motion, all the way down her throat, and I felt her choke for a second before swallowing me again. She cleaned it with her tongue, unhurried and without disgust, looking up at me with those new eyes that had appeared half an hour earlier. She ran the flat of her tongue over my glans, sucked the base, licked my balls one by one, then climbed back up to the tip to rescue the last drop of come still inside me. I stopped her by the hair when I began trembling too much. I almost had to push her away gently to make her stop, but she kept going, sucking, swallowing, licking every drop of the two juices we had mixed together as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

No one had ever done that to me. No one. Not even my wife in fifteen years of marriage.

When she finally pulled away, she wiped her lips with the back of her hand, swallowed one last time with a mischievous expression, and smiled at me. She stood up calmly and adjusted her underwear as if she were coming back from the bathroom—I saw her squeeze her thighs together to hold inside what was left of me—pulled up her pants, and straightened her blouse in front of the picture-frame glass. As if nothing had happened.

I still couldn’t breathe properly.

We looked at each other. Partners in crime. Allies. Defiant. Still aroused by what we had just done.

—Do you think anyone noticed?—I asked with a crooked smile, resting my back against a stack of boxes.

—Maybe that camera up there—she replied, pointing with her chin toward the upper corner of the storeroom—. But it doesn’t matter.

—It doesn’t?

—No. Fuck whoever’s watching. Let them learn.

She went out first. I waited a couple of long minutes, fixed my hair, washed my hands in the sink at the back, looked at myself in the stained mirror, and was surprised to find myself smiling, my mouth still tasting like her.

I returned to the main room as if nothing had happened. Camila was already serving a customer as if the last half hour had never existed. Andrés—the one who had been spared from being there that afternoon—had just arrived looking hungover and complaining about the heat.

—Where had you disappeared to?—someone asked me.

—Arranging the rolls—I replied.

Camila glanced up from the calculator for one second, just one second, and held my gaze. Then she went on as if nothing had happened.

We had just broken every rule. The store’s, my marriage’s, the ones I had sworn to myself a hundred times.

And worse still, I was already thinking about when we could do it again.