After Five Years, My Coworker Confessed Everything to Me

Andrés and I had shared an office for five years. A wall of windows separated us from the rest of the office, two desks facing each other and a plant in between that no one dared water because it always ended up withered. We worked at an advertising agency in Las Palmas. He handled the big accounts and I coordinated the design team. At first we treated each other with the lukewarm courtesy of people sharing an elevator, and little else.

He had lost his wife the year I started working there. I came from a divorce that had left a mark on my face and a teenage daughter I didn’t know how to look at without feeling guilty. We were both broken, and I think we recognized each other right away. One ordinary Wednesday, he asked me how things were going, and I told him the truth. A week later, he told me his. That’s how our friendship began, speaking softly in an office with the blind half lowered.

For years that was what we were: confidants. He helped me bear the guilt of being an absent mother when I had to travel. I listened to him repeat the same anecdotes about his wife until he learned to talk about her without his voice breaking. We had lunch together on Fridays and sometimes went down for a beer at the end of the workday. And nothing else. For five years, nothing else.

My daughter left to study in Valencia in September, and I walked into that house of mine, far too big, as if it were a closed museum. That week Andrés noticed I was off. One Thursday in November, after a presentation that had dragged on until nine at night, he suggested we have dinner together at a new place on the pier. I said yes without thinking.

“You seem far too alone lately,” he said as we ordered the second bottle.

“That’s because I am.”

It wasn’t the first time we’d had a conversation like that, but that night something was different. Maybe it was the wine, maybe the fact that I was wearing a black dress I’d chosen more carefully than usual, maybe that he had shaved especially before coming. When he ordered the third glass, I was already looking at his hands the way you look at a man’s hands when you’re thinking about touching him.

“Can I tell you something?” he said, stirring his wine. “Something I’ve never told anyone at work.”

“Tell me.”

He told me about his wife. He told me about the sex life they had shared, the clubs they used to go to when he was in his early thirties, the threesomes they had looked for together, the other women and occasional man they had invited into their bed. He told me how his wife used to come screaming when two men fucked her at once, how he loved seeing her with another cock stuffed in her mouth while he ate her from below, how the three of them would end up soaked in semen and sweat and fall asleep wrapped around each other without washing. He also told me about an earlier time, long before marriage, when he had slept with other men during his years in Bilbao, about the cocks he had sucked in dark rooms, about how he had been fucked for the first time at twenty-two against the wall of a bathroom. He told me all this without shame, slowly, as if he had spent years waiting for the chance to say it out loud.

I listened with my heart racing and my panties wet beneath my dress. Not from shock. For something else.

“Why are you telling me this now?” I asked.

“Because I don’t have anyone else to tell. And because I haven’t fucked in a long time. And because I don’t think you’ve fucked in a long time either.”

I held his gaze a second longer than was proper for a coworker. Then I looked down at my glass.

“I have something to tell you too,” I said.

I told him about my marriage, something I had never spoken about seriously with anyone. About the sexual boredom we had fallen into without realizing it, about the fantasies I had collected in silence while he, my ex-husband, snored beside me. I told him I used to finger myself thinking about being fucked by two men at once, that I dreamed of having a cunt and a cock in my mouth at the same time. I told him that after the divorce, during a strange stretch of time, I had had a fling with a friend from the gym that lasted three months, that I had licked her cunt until I couldn’t take any more and that she came in my mouth in a way I still remembered, and that it had ended because she got scared of herself, not me. I told him that since then I’d lived like a nun, with my vibrator as my only company, afraid of what might happen if I let myself go.

Andrés listened to me with the same intensity with which I had listened to him. When I finished, he reached his hand across the tablecloth and brushed my fingers.

“Do you want to ask for the check?” he asked.

“Yes.”

***

His place was a ten-minute walk away. We didn’t talk on the way there. I was looking at the ground and he had his hands in his pockets, and between us there was a silence that weighed like a decision already made. When we got up to the apartment and he closed the door, I still didn’t know exactly what I wanted to do. I only knew I wasn’t going home without him fucking me.

He offered me one last drink. We sat on the sofa, he at one end and I at the other, our bare feet on the cushions in the middle. We talked a while longer, this time about small things, about trips we still had pending, albums we wanted to remember. At some point I realized the space between us had shrunk without me deciding to move.

“Lucía,” he said softly.

“What?”

“If you want us to stop, we stop now. After that I’m not going to want to.”

I didn’t answer. I moved closer slowly, put my hand on the back of his neck and kissed him the way I’d wanted to kiss him for months without even knowing it. He tasted of wine and of a perfume I recognized from the office. His hands stayed still for a moment, as if he could hardly believe I’d made the first move, and then they slid down my waist with a certainty that loosened something inside me. I took his hand and put it directly between my legs, over the fabric of my dress, so there would be no doubt left about how wet I was.

“Fuck,” he murmured against my mouth. “You’re soaked.”

“I’ve been soaked since you told me about the threesomes in the restaurant.”

He laid me back on the sofa without stopping kissing me. He undid the buttons of my dress one by one, unhurriedly, looking me in the eyes between each button as if asking permission without words. When he opened the fabric and slid his hands over my bra, I was already gasping and I was searching for the bulge over his trousers. He was hard. Rock hard. I grabbed him through the fabric with an open hand and he let out a rough groan against my neck.

“Are you sure?” he whispered.

“Shut up and fuck me already.”

He laughed, and that laugh was the last tender sound of the night. He took my dress off completely and left me in my underwear, my back against the cold leather of the sofa and my legs spread without me having moved them on my own. He started kissing my neck, my collarbones, the swell of my breasts above my bra. Every kiss moved closer to the center, and every step made me dig my nails a little harder into his shoulder.

He took off my bra with a dexterity I hadn’t expected. He lingered on my tits far longer than anyone had in my entire adult life. He licked them all over, sucked my nipples until they were hard as stones, nipped them carefully and then tugged them with his teeth until I moaned. One hand squeezed a breast while his mouth worked on the other, and between nipples he kept lifting his gaze to watch my face. My eyes were closed and I was arching my back without realizing it, rubbing my soaked cunt against his thigh.

“Look at me,” he told me.

I opened my eyes. His forehead was sweaty and his lips were parted, shining with saliva. He kissed his way down my stomach, paused at my hipbone, bit the elastic of my panties gently and pulled them down with his teeth. When he got them off completely and spread my legs in one tug, he looked at my cunt in silence for a few seconds, with a face I had never seen on him before.

“What a beautiful cunt you’ve got, fuck.”

“Don’t talk. Eat it.”

And he did. He dropped to his knees on the floor, grabbed my thighs and dragged me to the edge of the sofa, and shoved his whole tongue into me with one lick that made me lift my ass off the leather. He started slowly, licking my lips from outside in, sucking my clit with closed lips as if he were kissing me down there. Then he pushed his whole tongue in and fucked me with it, in and out, while his thumb made circles on my clit.

“Put it in deeper,” I begged, and I didn’t even recognize my own voice. “Put it all the way in.”

He slid in two fingers. He curled them upward, searching for that spot only I knew how to find, and found it on the first try. He started moving them fast, with his whole hand, while he kept sucking my clit without stopping. One hand was in his hair, pulling him toward me, and the other was squeezing a breast, and at that point I no longer cared about anything. I rode his face without asking permission, grinding myself against his mouth, finding the angle, and he let me fuck his face without complaint, eyes half-closed and cheeks shining with my juices.

“I’m going to come, I’m going to come, don’t stop, don’t stop…”

I came the first time with my face pressed into the cushion so the neighbors wouldn’t hear me, crushing his head between my thighs until he was almost suffocating. I felt the orgasm run through me like a jolt, and when I opened my eyes he was still licking me, more slowly now, drinking in everything that had spilled into his mouth.

“Come here,” I said, gasping. “Get up here, I want to suck you.”

He climbed up. I undid his belt in a hurry and pulled down his trousers and boxers myself, and his cock sprang out, hard and dripping. It was harder than I expected for his age, thick, with a purple glans and a heavy bead of precome on the tip. I licked it first, from top to bottom, tasting him. I licked his balls one by one, took them into my mouth one at a time, and then went back to the tip and swallowed him in one go, all the way to the back of my throat.

“Fuck, Lucía, fuck…”

I sucked him as if I’d gone years without sucking one, which was exactly how long it had been. I took him all the way out, ran my tongue along the frenulum, spat on the tip and shoved him back in to the hilt. He held my head with both hands without forcing it, just setting the rhythm, looking at me with his mouth open as if he couldn’t believe it. I looked up at him with his cock in my mouth and he let out a groan that tightened my cunt just from hearing it.

“Stop, stop,” he said suddenly. “Stop or I’m going to come in your mouth and it’ll be over before it starts.”

“Come then. I’ll swallow it all.”

“No. I want to fuck you first. I’ll come inside you.”

He laid me down again. He took a condom from the wallet that was on the table — he had left it there before I arrived, I realized suddenly — and put it on with a calm that drove me crazy. I was rubbing my clit while I watched him, unable to wait. When he got on top of me, he spread my legs wide, grabbed his cock with his hand and ran it over the lips of my cunt from top to bottom, wetting it with me, before sliding in only the tip.

“Put it in already, please.”

He sank into me in one long thrust and we both let out the breath at the same time. He filled me completely. I felt him pulsing inside me as he stayed still for a second, settling in, and then he began moving slowly, hitting bottom with every shove.

It wasn’t a clumsy fuck. It was slow at first, focused, with his eyes open. He moved while looking at my face, changing the rhythm depending on how I reacted, whispering things in my ear that made me hotter and hotter.

“You’re so tight, fuck. Your cunt feels so good.”

“Harder. Fuck me harder.”

And he sped up. He grabbed my legs behind the knees and pulled them apart until they were pressed against my chest, and started driving into me all the way with thrusts that made me slide up the sofa. He watched my face while he fucked me, and every now and then he looked down to see himself going in and out of me, shining with my juices.

“Turn over,” he said. “Get on all fours.”

I turned without arguing. I got on all fours on the sofa, my ass toward him, and looked back over my shoulder. He grabbed his cock and shoved it back into me, taking my hip in one hand and delivering a smack to my ass with the other that made me squeeze around him.

“Fuck, like that, like that.”

“More, give me more.”

He gave me more. He fucked me from behind with a force I hadn’t expected from him, gripping my hair with his other hand, pulling my head back so my back arched. My mouth was open and I was panting uncontrollably, feeling him all the way to the base with every thrust. He slipped his saliva-wet thumb into my ass and that was where I lost control completely.

“I’m going to come again, fuck, don’t stop.”

“Come on my cock. Come.”

I came clinging to the arm of the sofa, biting down on the backrest, my whole body shaking and my cunt clamping on his cock in spasms. He held on a few seconds longer, changing the rhythm, and then he dug his fingers into my hips and drove into me to the hilt three or four times in a row.

“I’m coming, I’m coming inside, fuck…”

He let out a long, deep groan and I felt his cock throbbing inside me, unloading inside the condom while he kept thrusting into me slowly, until the very last drop. He stayed inside me for a while, breathing over my back, his forehead pressed between my shoulder blades. Then he pulled out slowly, and I felt the emptiness like he had torn something out of me.

***

We lay sprawled on the sofa, not talking, still breathing hard. He slipped his arm under my neck and I curled up against his chest, feeling his heart still pounding hard. Only then, after what we had just done, did I realize it was the first time in five years I’d seen his chest bare.

“And now what?” I asked.

“Now whatever you want. But I have to confess something else.”

“Don’t scare me.”

“Don’t be scared. It’s just that for a long time I’ve wanted to go back to the things I used to tell you. The club, sharing. Watching another cock go into the cunt of the woman I’m with. Licking it afterward, full of another man’s come. I don’t have anyone to do that with. And I thought maybe you…”

I sat up a little to look him in the eyes. He didn’t say anything else. He let me think. My heart was pounding as if someone had asked me to dance for the first time, and my cunt started tightening again just at the thought.

“Tell me everything,” I said. “Everything you want to try. And I’ll tell you mine. And maybe…”

“Maybe what.”

“Maybe two people who’ve been keeping quiet for five years have a lot to do together. I want to see another cock too. And I want to see another cunt. And I want to be fucked by two men while you watch.”

He smiled, and I felt his cock rise again against my thigh.

“Again,” I told him. “Before dawn. Again.”

He kissed me slowly this time, without rushing, the way you kiss someone with whom you’ve just signed a pact that doesn’t have a name yet. And he fucked me again right there, on the sofa, slower and dirtier, whispering in my ear everything he was going to do to me, everything we were going to look for together, the cocks I was going to suck while he fucked me, the women I was going to eat out while he watched. I came two more times before he finished inside me for the second time.

The next day I got to the office before him, my legs still weak and my cunt irritated from so much use. I waited for him in the office with the blind lowered, two coffees on my desk and that withered plant between the two desks. When he came in, he closed the door and looked at me without saying anything. I didn’t say anything either. We both knew we had just opened a door we were going to walk through many times.

That’s the first confession. There will be more.