I Climbed Up to the Mine Cars and Didn’t Come Down the Same

For you to understand what I’m about to tell, I first have to say where I come from. I was born in a Colla hamlet up there, where the altiplano wind slips between the hills and cuts like a blade. My name is Nayra, I’m twenty-four years old, with brown skin weathered by sun and cold, and a body the men in the village look at when I walk past the square.

Here, the women wear long polleras, those heavy wool skirts that reach the ankles. We almost never wear anything underneath: only at festivals, when we dance, do we put on a white cotton pair of panties so we don’t scandalize the gossiping grandmothers. The rest of the days we go bare, and the brush of the fabric against my thighs used to heat me up from early on.

The miner was named Mauro. A huge man, around forty-something, hands calloused from so much hacking at rock and a thick beard. I had seen him in the square unloading sacks of ore, his tight pants showing a bulge that made me wet just looking at him. That man has to be a beast, I thought as I adjusted my red pollera, feeling the cold licking between my legs.

I climbed the dusty path that led to the old railcars, the remains of a railway that once crossed the altiplano loaded with people and goods. Now they were little shacks with rusted roofs and creaking doors, where the company let the miners sleep after endless shifts. The sun was falling orange over the hills and the air smelled of wet earth and men’s sweat.

I knocked on Mauro’s railcar door with my fist. He opened it, his bare chest shining with sweat.

—Nayra, what are you doing here? —he said in that hoarse voice, his eyes dropping to my neckline.

—I came for you to fuck me —I blurted out, direct, the way people talk in these hills—. I’ve heard about you. I want to find out for myself.

He smiled, grabbed my arm, and pulled me inside. The railcar was a mess: a filthy mattress on the floor, empty pisco bottles, the smell of male sweat soaked into the walls. He shoved me against the cold metal and, without a word, lifted my skirt.

—Look at you, you’re already wet —he murmured, his rough fingers parting my lips—. You want me to shove it in, huh?

—Put it all the way in —I moaned, arching my back.

He yanked down his pants and there it was: the biggest cock I had ever seen, thick, veined, hard as a mine pick. I knelt on the dirty floor, dust sticking to my knees, and took it with both hands. I opened my mouth and put it in, feeling it fill my throat, the salty taste of shift sweat. He grabbed my braid and started thrusting, fucking my mouth slowly at first, then mercilessly.

—Suck, Nayra. Suck that cock good —he growled, while I drooled and tears ran down my face from the effort.

He hauled me up suddenly and threw me onto the mattress. My skirt bunched up to my waist. He spat into his hand, rubbed it on, and pressed the head against my entrance.

—I’m going to split you open —he said, and pushed.

He went in halfway at once and I screamed, a mix of pain and pleasure that ran through me entirely. He drove deeper, burying himself all the way until I felt his balls slap against me. He started pounding wildly, the railcar creaking with every hit, my breasts bouncing free beneath my open blouse.

—Harder —I begged him, my nails digging into his sweaty back—. All the way in.

He flipped me over and put me on all fours, my ass stuck up. A dry slap left a red mark on my brown skin. He grabbed my hips and entered me again from behind, deep, while I pushed back toward him wanting more.

Then we heard voices outside: other miners coming back from shift. Mauro didn’t stop. On the contrary, he sped up.

—Let them hear how I fuck you —he said—. Let them know you’re mine.

I moaned louder, imagining eyes peering through the metal cracks. When he finished the first time, he wiped himself with a rag and knocked on the wall.

—Lucho —he called—. Come here, the little chola wants a party.

Another miner came in, thinner, younger, with hungry eyes. He saw my skirt hiked up and unbuckled his pants without saying a word. They put me on my knees again: one in front, one behind. Mauro filled my mouth while Lucho licked me from behind, his rough tongue slipping between my folds.

—What a delicious cunt —Lucho murmured before driving into me with one thrust.

They fucked me at the same rhythm, one in my mouth, one below, the railcar smelling of sweat and sex. Then they laid me on the mattress: Lucho underneath, inside me, and Mauro behind, slowly opening my ass with saliva.

—They’re splitting me in two! —I screamed, but I kept moving, feeling the two cocks rubbing inside me, separated only by a thin wall of flesh.

The orgasms came one after another, waves leaving me shaking. They came almost at the same time, one in each hole, and left me there, exhausted, my skirt stained, my body marked with hickeys and slaps.

—Come back whenever you want more —Mauro said, closing the door.

***

I came back, of course I came back. That week it was already routine: hike up my skirt, spread my legs on the filthy mattress, and let Mauro split me open until I couldn’t take any more. That day he had me on all fours, holding my braids like reins, driving into me balls-deep with every thrust. The railcar creaked and I moaned shamelessly.

Suddenly the metal door flew open with a hard slam. The foreman, Don Saturnino, came in like a fighting bull. He was a man of about fifty, broad-shouldered, thick mustache, tattooed arms, and a heavy leather belt hanging from his waist. He looked at us for a second, black eyes fixed on my raised ass and on Mauro’s cock going in and out.

—What the hell is going on here? —he roared.

Mauro froze, but he didn’t pull out. I stayed still, panting, my skirt hiked up to my waist.

The foreman slammed the door shut. The railcar shuddered.

—You, little chola, you’re distracting half the crew with your moaning. And you, Mauro, are emptying yourself during mine hours. You’re both a disgrace —he walked slowly toward us, calmly unfastening his belt. The leather snapped as it came free of the loops. Mauro tried to pull out, but a hand on his shoulder stopped him—. Don’t take anything out. Keep going, but now under my orders.

He stared at me hard, then lowered his gaze to where Mauro was still buried.

—You’re the one to blame, Nayra. You come here to provoke while the men should be chipping rock. You’re the first one I’ll punish.

He folded the belt and gave me the first lash on the ass. The leather bit into my brown flesh with a dry sound, like a whip crack.

—Ah, fuck! —I yelled, but I didn’t move.

The burn shot up fast, hot, and I felt it tighten around Mauro’s cock.

—Keep pumping —he ordered the miner—. Don’t stop for anything.

Mauro obeyed, slower but deeper. Every thrust made me bounce, and Don Saturnino took the chance to whip me again, one cheek and then the other.

—This is for distracting the crew —he said with each blow.

My ass was burning, the skin red and crossed with stripes. But the more he hit me, the wetter I got. I deserve it for being so horny, I thought between the pain and a pleasure I didn’t understand.

He dropped the belt to the floor and unbuckled his pants. His cock sprang free, not as long as Mauro’s but thick as an arm, the head shiny. He grabbed my hair and forced my head to turn.

—Open your mouth. While Mauro fucks you, you distract me.

He shoved it in until I gagged. It smelled of earth and metal, of mine sweat. I drooled, tears streaming, pushing my tongue against the base while Mauro accelerated behind me.

After a few minutes, he pulled out of my mouth with a wet sound.

—Now we switch.

He signaled Mauro to lie down. I climbed on top, guiding him inside with my trembling hand, lowering myself slowly. Don Saturnino got behind me, spat into his palm, and rubbed it on.

—I’m going to break your other side while they fuck you in front. So you learn not to distract anyone.

He pressed the head against my ass and pushed slowly. Pure pain, burning, mixed with the pleasure of Mauro’s cock filling me from the front.

—It won’t go in, foreman! —I moaned.

—It will, or I’ll shove the belt in there —and he pushed until half of it was buried.

I screamed, my whole body shaking. Both started moving, one inside, one out, rubbing through that thin wall that drove me insane.

—They’re splitting me apart, fuck! —I stammered—. Both of you, like this, both of you!

Don Saturnino slapped my ass while he pumped, his big hands leaving new marks. Mauro sucked my tits from below, biting my nipples. I rode between them, pleasure rising like a fever, until the orgasm hit me brutally: my cunt clenching, my ass contracting, everything trembling at once.

—Now I’m filling you —the foreman growled, and after three more thrusts he came inside, hot.

Mauro wasn’t far behind. They left me there, shaking on the mattress, both depths leaking and my ass burning from the lashes.

Don Saturnino wiped himself on the hem of my pollera, pulled up his pants, and picked up the belt.

—From now on, when you come to the railcars, you report to my office first —he said, serious—. You distract me before the others. Otherwise, I’ll tie you up here and let everyone use you all shift long.

I stumbled out of the railcar, the sun hitting my face, my legs weak. My ass burned with every step, but between my legs the desire kept throbbing. Mauro put a few coins in my hand, very few, just enough to buy me a soda at the Mamani store and make it through the four kilometers back to the ranch where my mother was waiting for me.

I walked slowly, feeling the cool wind under my long skirt. I knew that the next day I’d be knocking on that office door again, kneeling, letting the foreman punish me once more. Because in this mine, cholas like me don’t just distract men: we also make the darkness they live in a little more bearable. And that, hard as it is for me to say, is the most honest confession I have.