How I Became My Co-worker’s Mistress

I’m twenty-seven years old, I’ve worked in event services since I finished college, and until last year I had never mixed work with pleasure. Not for lack of opportunities, but because I always believed certain lines should stay where they were. It was one of those convictions that sound very noble right up until someone comes along who can destroy them with a single look.

I got the job at Salón Imperial almost by chance. A friend told me about the place: one of the largest event venues in the city, with room for two thousand people and a full schedule every weekend. The job was coordination and customer service, with a strict dress code. Skirts or tailored trousers, elegant blouses, heels always. I liked the idea. I’ve always found it easy to dress well, and getting to do it every day was a bonus none of my friends understood, but I appreciated.

I spent the first few weeks learning the rhythm of the place. The operations crew arrived before we did, set up the hall, moved tables, installed sound equipment and decorations. It was physical work, and you could see it in the bodies of the people doing it. That’s how I started noticing Marcos.

He had to be in his forties, though I never asked. Dark-skinned, lean, with a neatly trimmed salt-and-pepper beard that gave him the air of a man who had lived enough not to need to prove it. He wasn’t the tallest on the team, but he was the calmest. While everyone else moved with the nervous rush pressure imposes at an event, he worked with a composure that drew my eye. As if he had all the time in the world. That, combined with his arms, distracted me more than once when I should have been answering emails. Strong arms, not ridiculously muscular, just the kind you notice without meaning to and can’t stop noticing afterward. More than once I caught myself squeezing my thighs under my desk thinking about those hands of his, imagining how they would feel on my tits, on my ass, between my legs.

We had crossed paths in the hallways several times. We exchanged brief greetings, the occasional comment about work. Nothing more. Until Autumn Festival night.

***

It was a private event for a large company, with live music. The band scheduled to play had been one of my favorites for years, and when I found out they’d be performing in the hall that Friday, I asked my boss to let me stay on as support for the operations staff. Technically I had no business being there. But she did me the favor.

I arrived that night looking different from the way I usually did. Short skirt, a light blouse, and sneakers instead of heels, because I knew I’d be on my feet for hours and wanted to enjoy the concert without thinking about my feet. I found Marcos coordinating the stage setup and went over under the pretext of learning something about his work.

—You know anything about cables? —he asked without looking up from the floor.

—Nothing —I admitted.

He laughed. A short laugh, understated.

—Then walk behind me and don’t touch anything.

That’s how I spent the first two hours of the event: following him, watching him solve last-minute problems, listening to him give instructions in that tone of someone who doesn’t need to shout to be obeyed. He was good at what he did. Certain of every move. And I was looking at him too much for it to keep feeling innocent.

When the band took the stage and people started filling the dance floor, I stood beside Marcos against the back wall. He didn’t have much to do by then. I asked him in a low voice whether he thought I’d get in trouble for taking something from the bar. He glanced sideways at me.

—What do you want?

—A beer.

—Bring two.

We shared the first big mug leaning against that wall, the music thudding in our chests. Then I brought another. And after a while I brought one more just for me, because Marcos had said he didn’t want any more and I still wanted to keep feeling that heat slowly rising from my stomach, loosening something that had been tight for a long time.

By the time the band was halfway through the set, I was singing along under my breath and he was looking at me with that smile that wasn’t quite tenderness and wasn’t quite something else. Probably something else.

—You’re drunk —he said.

—A little —I admitted.

—Want to sit down?

I nodded. My head was pleasantly spinning, in that way where everything seems easier and the distance between people shrinks without anyone consciously deciding it.

***

He took me to the office reception, a large space with big, comfortable couches, away from the noise of the main hall. There were cameras in the corners, but Marcos knew them well: we sat on the only couch that had its back to the nearest one. To one side, a glass-fronted office with the blinds drawn cast shadows of people working inside. If anyone looked, it would seem like two employees were resting between shifts.

I sank into the couch with my head back and my eyes on the ceiling. The exhaustion from hours on my feet mixed with the effect of the beers and with something harder to name. A heat that had nothing to do with the temperature of the place, but with that wetness that had already started soaking my panties just from having him pressed against my side.

Marcos was pressed up against me. Not in an uncomfortable way. Just close. Very close.

It was gradual. So gradual I couldn’t say exactly when his hand landed on my leg. It started at the knee, tracing slow circles, and with each pass it moved a little higher. My skirt rode up almost on its own, centimeter by centimeter. I didn’t stop him. I kept my head tilted back, looking at the ceiling, letting him continue.

—You’ve got incredible legs —he murmured, almost to himself.

I felt the heat of his hand as if it were marking my skin, and between my legs a moisture was starting to build that had nothing to do with the heat of the hall. His fingers reached the edge of my panties and stayed there, playing with the elastic, barely brushing, testing how much I could take. I could take very little. When he ran one finger over the fabric, over my already soaked cunt, a sigh escaped me that I couldn’t hide.

—You’re drenched —he said softly, without removing his finger—. I can tell from here.

He pulled the fabric aside and slid one finger into me, slowly, all the way in. My whole body went taut. He started moving it slowly, pressing his thumb against my clit, glancing toward the office door out of the corner of his eye in case someone came out. He pushed in a second finger. I bit my lip and opened my legs wider without being able to stop myself, wanting more, wanting him not to stop. I turned slowly, giving him my back, leaning my side against him. His other hand found my hips and then my ass, and he squeezed with a certainty that stole my breath. He wasn’t rough. He was deliberate. Like someone who knows exactly what he wants and doesn’t need to ask permission twice.

—Come here —he said, pulling his fingers out and bringing them to his mouth without hurry, sucking them in front of me.

I hesitated for a second. I thought of the shadows behind the blinds, of the cameras, of the logic that told me this was a bad idea. But logic loses when someone speaks in your ear in that low voice and grips your hips like he already knows your body by heart.

I sat on his lap.

His hands ran over my thighs from top to bottom, slowly, unhurriedly. He slipped his hands under my blouse, yanked my bra up, and took my tits in his hands against my skin, pinching my nipples between his fingers until they stood hard as pebbles. My body responded before I could decide anything. I felt his erection through the fabric of his pants, firm, thick, pressing between my ass cheeks, and I moved my hips without thinking, rubbing myself against it, wanting more contact. He caught his breath. He started kissing my neck, slowly, following the line to my shoulder, biting the skin just behind my ear, and his hips answered mine with a gentle rhythm that made everything else disappear.

—You’re delicious —he whispered against my nape—. My cock’s getting rock hard from the way you’re moving.

He slipped his hand back under my skirt, shoved my panties aside, and sank two fingers into my cunt again. Now I was so wet it could be heard. Every time he went in and out there was a soft slapping sound, and I bit my hand to keep from moaning. He spoke in my ear without stopping, telling me things that made me curl around his fingers from the inside.

—You’re so tight. I’m gonna fuck you right here if you keep this up.

Let someone come out of the office. Let someone interrupt us and bring me back to my senses before it’s too late. No one came out.

***

After a long while of rubbing and whispering, Marcos took my hand and led me to the back of the corridor. There were service stairs that connected to the back of the building, an area nobody used at that hour and where there were no cameras. I knew because he knew, and because at that moment I cared very little.

He pinned me against the wall with a decisiveness that took my breath away. We ended up facing each other in the dimness, the muffled sound of the concert drifting from far away as if it belonged to another world. He yanked my panties down without ceremony. They fell to my ankles and I kicked them off. I didn’t protest. I was so ready that the cold wall against my back was the only thing that anchored me to reality for a moment.

He unzipped his pants and pulled his cock out without ceremony. It was big. Wide. Thick at the base, with a swollen tip and a vein running underneath. It surprised me so much I think it showed on my face, because he let out a low, controlled laugh.

—You want it? —he asked, gripping his cock in his hand and pressing the head against my thigh, leaving a wet trail on my skin.

Instead of answering, I knelt down. I don’t know where it came from. I just sank down and took him in my mouth in one go, as much as I could, until I was short of breath. He let out a low groan and put a hand on the back of my neck, not pushing, just holding me. My tongue circled the head, licked up and down, sucked him all the way while with my other hand I gripped the base and squeezed. He tasted like salt and clean skin. I pulled him out for a moment, looked at him wet with my spit shining in the dimness, and ran my tongue underneath, from top to bottom, while he let his head fall back against the hallway wall.

—Like that, like that —he murmured—. Suck it all.

I obeyed. I took him down my throat again, all the way to the back, until my eyes watered and I had to pull away for a second to breathe. A string of saliva hung from my lip. He wiped it away with his thumb and put it in my mouth. I sucked that too.

—Stand up —he asked hoarsely—. I need you inside.

He pulled me up by my arms and pressed me back against the wall. He kissed me. I kissed him the way I hadn’t kissed anyone in a long time: hungry, teeth bared, searching for his tongue, biting his lower lip until he matched me with the same intensity. His hands in my hair, mine on his chest, and outside the world carrying on without noticing a thing. He lifted one of my legs, hooked it around his hip, and with the other hand guided the tip to my soaked cunt. He rubbed the head up and down, between my lips, over my clit, without sliding in yet. I almost begged him.

—Put it in me already, please.

When he entered me, the air in my lungs came out in a rush. Full. Deep. He opened me gradually at first, pushing patiently, letting me feel every centimeter as it went in. When he reached the bottom he stayed there for a few seconds, still, breathing into my mouth, letting my cunt get used to him. Then he started moving with a force I hadn’t expected, without softening it, without asking if I was okay. As if he knew exactly what I needed. And he was right.

—Harder —I begged.

He didn’t need to be told twice. He drove in and out to the hilt, his hips slamming mine against the wall in a rhythm that slowly lifted me toward something I couldn’t control. Each thrust drove me halfway up the cement wall. I heard my own ass thumping against the wall, the wet sucking sound of my cunt swallowing his cock whole, Marcos’s heavy breathing against my neck. I started moaning and he covered my mouth with his palm, never stopping, looking into my eyes in the dark with that calm of his that felt like the perfect contradiction inside me.

—Shut up, babe —he said softly, still driving into me—. They’ll hear us. Hold on until you come.

That was enough. I came with a force that buckled my knees, biting his hand so I wouldn’t scream, feeling my pussy clamp around his cock in waves, squeezing him from the inside, sucking him in. He kept going, thrusting harder, taking advantage of the fact that I was still convulsing to bury himself all the way in again and again.

He turned me around. He planted both my hands against the wall, kicked my feet apart so I’d open my legs wider, and bent me a little at the waist, leaving my ass lifted. He pulled my skirt all the way up to my waist. I felt his hand spread my ass cheeks, and then the head searching for the entrance again. When he pushed into me from behind, in that position, it hit a different place. Deeper. A long moan escaped me, and he smothered it by covering my mouth again.

—What a nice pussy you’ve got —he told me in my ear, pushing his hips against my ass—. I’m gonna fuck it every time you let me.

His hands on my hips, my forehead against the cold wall, and him driving into me from behind with that same relentless insistence, without pause. I felt him deeper that way. Every thrust lifted me onto my toes. He covered my mouth again when he heard my muffled sounds against the cement. With his other hand he reached around in front of me, slipped his fingers between my lips, found my clit, and started rubbing it in circles at the same rhythm he was fucking me. I didn’t care. I wanted more of it.

—Come again —he told me—. Come on my cock.

I came again. This time my legs truly shook, so hard they gave out, and he had to hold me with one arm crossed in front of me so I wouldn’t fall to the floor. I pressed my mouth against his forearm, biting his shirt sleeve, while the orgasm shook me whole and soaked his cock again. He held out a few more seconds, clenching his teeth, and then I heard him groan low under his breath.

—I’m coming, I’m coming inside —he said in a strained voice, not pulling out, not hesitating.

I felt him swell inside me and then the heat of his load filling me, shot after shot, while he kept pushing slower and slower, milking himself dry, leaving it all inside. He finished with a low, restrained sound that was the most intimate thing in the whole night.

We stayed still for a moment. Him still inside, breathing into my neck, his hands on my hips holding me up. When he finally pulled out, I felt the semen dripping down the inside of my thigh, warm, slow. He bent down, picked up my panties from the floor, and handed them to me without saying a word. I pulled them on with my legs trembling, feeling the fabric absorb what he had just left inside me. Outside, the band was playing its last song.

We straightened our clothes in silence. He tucked his cock away, still wet and half-soft, and adjusted his belt. I pulled my skirt down, ran my fingers through my hair, took two deep breaths. We went back to the main corridor as if nothing had happened, with that strange calm that comes after something that should never have happened and yet feels entirely inevitable when you remember it.

***

It was late. The staff was starting to clear the hall, dismantle the stage, sweep confetti off the floor. Marcos had to stay to finish. I had to leave.

He walked me to the side door. Before I stepped out, he took my arm gently.

—Do you want to be my mistress? —he asked. No beating around the bush. Just like everything he did.

He was married. I’d known that for weeks. I had heard him mention his wife in hallway conversations, without details, in that way people mention a part of their life that exists but doesn’t sit at the center of any conversation. It wasn’t my problem or my responsibility. It was his decision and hers. Mine had already been made two hours earlier, when I didn’t stop him.

—With pleasure —I told him.

I stepped out into the night. The street was cold and the sound of traffic brought me back to reality all at once. I walked to my car still feeling the weight of his hands on my hips, the pressure of the wall against my forehead, the warm release still slowly leaking inside my panties, the heat that took several minutes to leave me completely.

I didn’t regret it that night. I didn’t regret it the following week, when we saw each other again between shifts with the same ease we’d had the first time. Or the next. There are things that begin with beer and a band playing in the background, and that you end up turning into a habit without ever noticing the exact moment you crossed the line.

This was one of those things. And I wouldn’t change it.