Claudia Wrote to Me: Her Husband Was Working a Double Shift Again

I was checking the new inventory when the phone rang. I saw the name on the screen and knew, before answering, exactly what was coming.

It was Claudia.

We had seen each other twice in the last month. The first time was at the shopping mall, where we ran into each other by accident and ended up eating together while her friend Verónica called her every half hour asking where she was. The second time was at her house, on a Tuesday when her husband worked a double shift and her daughters spent the whole afternoon at their grandmother’s. Rodrigo worked as a security officer for the municipality in the north, and his shifts could be extended without warning. Claudia knew early enough to send me a message.

That second time was the first time between us.

After that, we had agreed not to seek each other out until she considered it convenient. It was her decision, and I respected it, although I thought about her more than I cared to admit.

“Hello,” I said.

“Hi. How have you been?”

Her voice had that slow, measured tone she used when she didn’t want anyone around her to notice what she was talking about. I had heard it before, on the public transit line we both took, when her hand first brushed mine beneath the newspaper we were both pretending to read and neither of us pulled away.

“Busy with the business. It isn’t doing as well as I’d like.”

“That’s too bad. What if we have lunch today?”

“I can’t today,” she said. “Rodrigo gets home early. But thanks.”

There was a short silence. Then:

“It’s better if we go back to how we started. By chat—it’s more discreet for me.”

“That works for me. Give me an hour; I’ll finish putting a few things away here.”

“I’ll be there.”

***

When I opened the chat, she had already been waiting for a few minutes. We spent almost two hours messaging each other.

She told me I was the second man in her life. She didn’t say it dramatically or guiltily, but as a fact she thought it was important for me to know. She also told me she had liked everything from the beginning: the gradual approach on the transit line, how long it had taken me to make my interest clear, the discretion around Verónica and her daughters when we ran into each other that first day.

And then, as the conversation grew more intimate, she told me things I hadn’t asked about but that she needed to say. Rodrigo was a man of routine. He came home from his shift, ate dinner, turned on the television, and was asleep by eleven. In bed, he followed the same order every time: four caresses over her nightgown, he climbed on top of her, penetrated her for ten minutes without changing position or rhythm, came inside her without warning, then turned over and fell asleep without saying a word. He had never watched her fuck. He had never gone down on her breasts or her pussy. If he worked a double shift, fifteen days or more could pass without them touching each other, and sometimes she put two fingers inside herself in the shower because she couldn’t take it anymore.

“I’m not complaining,” she wrote. “He’s a good father. But there are things you need, and you can’t ask them of someone who doesn’t understand them.”

That could have meant many things. I decided not to ask which ones.

That was how the days continued. We messaged each afternoon when Rodrigo was at work and the girls were doing their homework. The conversations began generally and gradually shifted, without either of us forcing it, toward something much more specific. She told me how she touched herself when she thought about me, two fingers in her pussy and her thumb on her clitoris, biting the pillow so she wouldn’t make any noise. I told her how hard I got reading her messages, and that I grabbed my cock in the store bathroom while thinking about her mouth.

On the Friday of that week, while I was serving a customer, my phone chimed with a message:

Rodrigo is working a double today. The girls will be with Verónica from nine o’clock. I can stay all day.

I waited for the customer to leave, closed the register, and replied: I’ll pick you up at ten. Wait for me on the corner by the bus depot.

Three dots blinked on the screen. Then: I’ll be there. I’m already wet just thinking about it.

***

I arrived five minutes early. I saw her coming from halfway down the block.

She was wearing a fitted navy-blue dress, with enough cleavage to invite questions without answering them. Matching stockings, black low heels, and a small purse hanging from her shoulder. She walked with that particular mixture of confidence and nervousness I already knew: her back straight, her steps firm, but her fingers gripping the purse strap.

She got into the car and, before I could say anything, asked:

“Where are we going?”

“Somewhere I know. Downtown. Private.”

“Make sure it’s far away,” she said, placing her hand on my knee. Then she slowly moved it higher and squeezed my cock through my trousers. “It’s hard already.”

“I’ve been like this since your message.”

At the traffic lights, we kissed. Not urgently, but with the focus of two people learning each other all over again. I tried to lift her skirt, and she calmly stopped me, moving my hand away without letting go of it, as if to say there was an order to things, and that order was hers. But her hand stayed on my fly, squeezing me with her thumb up and down, feeling me grow against the fabric.

Her sense of order interested me more than any alternative.

The motel was on a busy avenue, next to a gas station and a parking lot. No one looked at anyone in places like that. That was precisely what I wanted.

Claudia tensed a little when she got out of the car. I waited until she came to my side before walking toward the entrance.

“Relax. No one knows us here.”

“I know,” she said. “It’s just that I’ve never been to one of these before. With you, it’s only the second time in my life.”

She said it without drama, but we both knew the weight of it.

***

The room was spacious, with a side mirror, a minibar, and a large bed. It wasn’t elegant, but it was clean and quiet. I asked what she wanted to drink. She ordered vodka with juice. I also opened some nuts and a couple of chocolates from the basket.

We sat on the small sofa beside the window. We raised our glasses.

“To us,” I said. “Whatever this is.”

She smiled. She drank slowly. By the second glass, her shoulders had begun to loosen, that knot she carried between her shoulder blades and that I had been able to see ever since she got into the car.

I picked up a chocolate from the little plate and brought it to her mouth. She took it from my fingers without looking away.

“You said in the chat that you know how to give massages.”

“I brought oils. Rosemary and sandalwood.”

“I’m all tight,” she said, rolling her neck. “I’ve been like this for days.”

“Then that’s the first thing we’re going to do.”

***

I asked her to lie facedown on the bed. I took off my shirt, warmed the oil between my palms, and began with her trapezius muscles. The muscles in her neck were completely contracted, as if she had been carrying something for weeks that she couldn’t put down anywhere. At the first touch, she exhaled in relief.

I worked slowly. Her shoulders, upper back, and spine down to her waist. She began to close her eyes. Her breathing grew deeper and steadier.

When I reached her lower back, the dress got in the way. I asked with a gesture. She lifted her hips so I could pull it up.

Underneath, she wore a black garter belt, thigh-high stockings, and a lace thong that the moisture had already made almost transparent. The lips of her pussy showed through the fabric, swollen, and a dark stain in the center gave away what she had been holding in since the car. The oil smelled of wood and something harder to name, now mixed with her scent. I continued the massage, moving down over her ass and thighs, feeling each muscle yield beneath my hands. I spread her cheeks with my thumbs to work the crease underneath, and she moaned for the first time, briefly, through her teeth.

My thumbs moved along the insides of her thighs. She parted her legs by barely an inch, but it was enough. I moved the thong aside, and her pussy appeared, wet and glistening, her lips swollen and her clitoris already out of its hood. I slid my middle finger up and down, gathering her juices and soaking myself. I slowly ran it along her entire slit, not entering yet, pressing against her clitoris with every pass.

“Oh, fuck,” she murmured into the pillow.

“Like that?”

“Deeper. Please.”

I pushed my whole finger inside her, up to the knuckle. She was so wet that there was no resistance. I added my index finger and began moving them in a curve, searching for that spot above while my thumb worked her clitoris from the outside. She began moving her hips against my hand, fucking herself on my fingers, her face turned to the side and her mouth open against the sheet.

I turned her over. The straps of the dress fell down on their own. Her black demi-cup bra left her nipples exposed above the lace. They were hard and dark, pointing upward. I lowered my mouth and took one completely, sucking it with my flat tongue and softly grazing around it with my teeth. She arched her back. I switched to the other and did the same, while my fingers remained inside her, moving in and out with a wet sound that filled the room.

“Don’t stop,” she said. “Don’t stop, don’t stop.”

She pulled me to her mouth. We kissed with our tongues while I kept fingering her, faster now, and I felt her pussy beginning to close around my fingers. Her orgasm came with a tremor that began in her thighs and rose to her shoulders, her hands clutching the sheets and a long moan escaping between her clenched teeth. I kept working her clitoris with my thumb through the entire tremor, until she pushed my hand away because she couldn’t take it anymore.

***

I slowly pulled her thong down her legs, taking it over her stockings without removing the garter belt. She lifted her hips to help me and was left open, stockings still up, shoes still on, her naked pussy gleaming between her thighs.

I knelt at the foot of the bed and pulled her hips toward me until her ass was at the edge. I placed her legs over my shoulders. I looked at her for a second, my face a few inches from her pussy, and she looked down at me with her brows drawn together.

“No one has ever done it well,” she whispered. “Rodrigo says he doesn’t like it.”

“Shut up and hold my head.”

I buried myself in her. First I ran my flat tongue from bottom to top, covering her completely and savoring her. Then I spread her lips with my thumbs and searched for her clitoris with the tip of my tongue, small circles, without pressing yet. She made a sound she hadn’t made before, somewhere between a moan and a nervous laugh, and dug her hands into my hair.

I began sucking it. Softly at first, then closing my lips around it and drawing short pulses. I pushed two fingers inside her again, curled upward, and found the spot that made her jump. When I found it, I stayed there and didn’t change the rhythm: my tongue sucking her clitoris, two fingers striking that spot inside, everything moving in time.

She clamped her thighs against my ears with a strength that left no room for interpretation. She began trembling, saying things that weren’t words, pressing my head against her. I felt her pussy closing around my fingers, pulsing in waves, while a warm stream escaped toward my chin and neck.

“Oh God, oh God,” she repeated. “I didn’t know—I didn’t know it could feel like this.”

I didn’t let her go. I kept licking her as she came, slower now, until the trembling turned into little shudders that gradually faded. When she was finished, I gave her clitoris one last kiss and lifted my face.

She looked down at me with her eyes barely open, her mouth slack, her chest rising and falling.

“Now you,” she said.

She sat on the edge of the bed. I stood in front of her. She pulled down my trousers without hurrying, then my underwear, and my cock sprang free, swollen and taut, the tip already wet. She took me in both hands and looked at me for a moment, judging the weight. Then she ran her tongue over the tip, gathering the drop.

“Have you done this before?” I asked.

“Yes, but I never let him finish in my mouth. I didn’t like it.”

“And if you’ve never tried it all the way, how do you know you don’t like it?”

She smiled with the smile of someone losing an argument she hadn’t cared about winning. She opened her mouth and took me all the way in.

She began slowly. She pulled my cock out to the tip, calmly ran her tongue over the crown, then lowered herself again as far as she could. Whenever her tongue found a responsive spot, she stayed there a little longer, learning. She held me at the base with one hand while gripping my balls with the other, weighing them and squeezing them gently. The combination was devastating.

She grew more confident. She began sucking faster, more noisily, sealing her lips tightly around me and drawing out a strand of saliva that ran down her chin and wet her tits. She raised her eyes and looked at me with my cock inside her, while her tongue worked beneath it, and that image—the prim woman who had gotten into the car, now on her knees sucking with her mouth full—almost made me come right then.

I stopped her before she reached the limit. I grasped her jaw with two fingers and slowly pulled my cock out, leaving her with her mouth open, waiting, her tongue out.

“Not yet,” I said. “I want you inside.”

***

I pushed her against the mattress. I parted her thighs with my knees and looked at her before entering, just for a second, so we would both know this was a decision and not an accident. I gripped my cock and ran the tip up and down her slit, smearing myself with her juices, rubbing her clitoris with my glans every time I moved upward.

“Put it in already,” she moaned. “Don’t tease.”

I entered in one movement, all the way to the bottom, slowly but without stopping halfway. She exhaled hard and dug her fingers into my arms. I felt her pussy close around my cock, hot, tight, still pulsing from her earlier orgasms.

I stayed still for a few seconds. I let her get used to me. I licked her mouth without quite kissing her, and she sucked my tongue.

Then I began to move. Slowly at first, pulling almost all the way out and then driving back in to the bottom, looking for the angle she responded to best. Her hips began moving before I asked, meeting me each time, finding the rhythm on their own. Her breathing accelerated in exact proportion to mine, and her hands moved from my arms to my back, scratching me and searching for something to hold on to.

“Harder,” she said through her teeth. “Fuck me harder.”

I lifted her legs until her ankles were beside my ears. In that position, my cock went deeper, and every thrust drew a moan from her that she no longer tried to silence. The mattress creaked, her tits bounced with every stroke, and the wet sound of her pussy swallowing my cock filled the entire room.

“Like that, like that, like that,” she repeated. “Don’t stop, I’m going to come again.”

Her orgasms came one after another, before the previous one had completely ended. I felt her pussy squeeze me in waves, closing around my cock with a force that didn’t seem to match the woman who had nervously gotten into the car two hours earlier. Between one orgasm and the next, she dug her heels into my kidneys to keep me from slowing down.

I turned her over without pulling out. She ended up on all fours, her face against the pillow and her ass raised toward me. I gripped her hips with both hands and thrust into her from behind again, all at once. She screamed into the pillow.

I fucked her like that for a long while, watching my entire cock disappear inside her and come back out shining, watching her ass tremble with every collision. I ran my wet thumb over her anus without putting it in, just pressing there, and felt everything inside her tighten.

“Turn over,” I told her. “I want to see your face.”

I lay on my back and she climbed on top of me, her hands braced on my chest, looking directly at me as she slowly impaled herself, feeling my cock enter inch by inch. When she had taken me all the way inside, she went still and smiled.

“I love how it feels,” she said.

She began to move. At first, just her hips, making slow circles and biting her lip. Then she started rising and lowering her whole body, thighs spread, letting me watch my cock enter and leave her. In the side mirror I could see her back, the curves of her hips moving with deliberate slowness that gradually accelerated until it became frantic.

I grabbed her tits with both hands, pinching her nipples between my fingers. She threw her head back and raised her arms for a moment as if searching for balance. I brought one hand to her clitoris and rubbed it with my thumb while she kept moving, and in less than a minute she was coming again, her whole body trembling, squeezing my cock with pulses she could no longer hide.

“I’m going to come inside you,” I warned her.

“Yes, inside, inside, don’t pull out,” she panted, collapsing onto my chest so I could grip her hips and push her down while raising mine to meet her.

I came with three or four final thrusts, buried to the bottom, feeling myself empty everything inside her in spurts that wouldn’t stop. She squeezed herself against me, contracting around my cock as if she wanted to draw out the last drop, and whispered things in my ear that I couldn’t quite understand but that sounded like gratitude.

We stayed still for a long while, both of us lying on our backs afterward, staring at the ceiling, our hearts slowing at the same time. I felt the semen beginning to run down her thigh, warm, and she laughed softly.

“What a mess,” she said. “No one had ever filled me like that.”

***

After a while, she got up to go to the bathroom, her thighs still pressed together and one hand down there so she wouldn’t stain the carpet. I heard the water running and stayed there staring at the cracks in the ceiling.

I wasn’t thinking about Rodrigo. I was thinking about the following Tuesday.

Claudia came out with a towel and tossed it to me.

“We still have time,” she said. “But I have to pick up the girls at two.”

We showered together. Without urgency or drama, although beneath the water she knelt down again and slowly sucked me until I was hard, and I pressed her against the tiles and fingered her until she came, clamping her mouth against my shoulder so she wouldn’t scream. Then she adjusted her dress in front of the mirror and checked that there were no marks where there shouldn’t be any, before brushing her hair.

“When will we see each other?” she asked without looking at me, watching her reflection.

“Whenever you say.”

She nodded. She picked up her purse and took my hand as we left.

I dropped her off two blocks from Verónica’s house. Before getting out, she squeezed my fingers for a second, quickly, without saying anything.

I started the car. I didn’t look in the rearview mirror.