I Ran Into My Comadre’s Lover Again

A couple of years ago, I was walking around Las Lomas shopping center, window-shopping for a dress for a gathering we were going to have at my brother-in-law’s house. I was distracted, comparing prices, when I heard someone shouting my name over the noise of the crowd.

—Renata! Renata, wait!

I turned around, and I was so surprised I nearly dropped my purse. The person calling me was Damián, my comadre Lorena’s lover—the same man I had shared a night with years earlier, the three of us together, a night I thought I had locked away somewhere in a corner of my memory. Five years had passed, maybe a little more, and there he was, smiling at me as if time hadn’t passed at all.

—I can’t believe it—I said, and before I could think, I threw my arms around his neck in a hug far too long to be mere courtesy.—What are you doing around here?

—I came to show someone a house a few streets from here—he replied without quite letting go of me.—It got late, so I decided to come in and grab something to eat. And you? Look at you, you haven’t changed a bit.

Not true, I thought. More nervous, that was certain. And wetter too, because simply having him standing in front of me was already making my panties damp.

—I’m looking for a dress—I answered, smoothing my skirt for no reason.—I have a family luncheon this weekend.

He kept looking at me for a second too long, wearing that half smile I remembered perfectly. He smelled good, of a woody cologne that wasn’t the one he’d worn five years ago, but somehow it took me right back to the same place: his rumpled bed, Lorena between my legs, his cock sliding in and out of my cunt while I sucked my comadre’s tits.

—If you have time, come with me—he said.—I’ll buy you lunch and we can catch up. You don’t run into an old friend every day.

I should have said no. I had things to do, a dress to buy, an afternoon already planned. Instead, I took him by the arm and let him lead me toward the restaurant on the first floor, a grill with dark tablecloths and warm lighting that was half empty at that hour.

They seated us beside the window. We ordered meat, a glass of wine for him, mineral water for me, and began talking as if we had never stopped. At first it was all perfectly innocent: his work in real estate, my routine, the people we both knew. But some conversations have an undercurrent, and ours had one from the very first minute.

—Do you remember that night?—he suddenly asked, playing with the stem of his glass.

Of course I remembered. The question was rhetorical, and we both knew it. I felt the heat rise up my neck, and lower down too, a warm throb between my legs that I could no longer hide.

—I remember—I said softly.—And I remember the other time too.

The other time had been different. Without Lorena, just him and me, an afternoon stolen in a motel off the old highway, with the curtains drawn and him fucking me against the mirror until my knees were bruised purple. I had never told anyone. Saying it out loud after so long was like uncorking a bottle that had been building pressure for years.

—We shouldn’t talk about that—I murmured, even though I was the one who couldn’t stop smiling and squeezing my thighs beneath the table.

—You’re right—he replied, never taking his eyes off my mouth.—We shouldn’t.

We kept talking, but something had changed. I shifted in my chair, crossed and uncrossed my legs, laughed far too loudly at his jokes. His voice grew lower and lower, as though what we were saying were a secret the rest of the restaurant mustn’t hear. By the time the coffee arrived—a cream liqueur for me, brandy for him—I already had flushed cheeks, a soaked cunt, and a dangerous idea lodged in my head.

—You look beautiful when you get nervous—he said, brushing my hand on the table.

I didn’t pull it away. Neither of us had pulled away the other time, five years earlier.

***

We finished our coffee and went out for a walk through the plaza. Several times he put his arm around my waist, supposedly to show me something in a shop window or to lean closer and make some remark that made me laugh. But every time his hand squeezed my side, I felt the whole memory of that night come back like a tide: his tongue between my thighs, Lorena’s in my mouth, his fingers opening me while he licked my clitoris until I screamed.

—Where did you leave your car?—he asked when we reached the parking-ramp entrance.

—I didn’t bring it—I admitted.—I took a taxi.

—Then let me drive you home.

And without waiting for an answer, he slipped an arm around my waist and guided me toward his car, parked in a secluded corner of the top level, where there were almost no cars or people. I felt his firm hand pressing lightly against my hip, and the image from five years ago returned to my mind with such clarity that a shiver ran through me, straight to my cunt.

He opened the door for me like a perfect gentleman. As I got in, my hip brushed against him, and I noticed a firmness in his fly that left no room for doubt: he was hard, swollen, outlined beneath the fabric. I quickly settled into the seat, tugging down my short skirt, which suddenly seemed far too short.

He sat behind the wheel but didn’t start the engine. He turned toward me, placed his hand on my bare thigh, and leaned in to kiss my cheek. His fingers moved up an inch, then another, until they brushed the edge of my panties.

—I like you so much, Renata—he whispered against my ear, lowering his lips to my neck.—I always have. I’ve always wanted to fuck you again.

My whole body shuddered. I squeezed his hand against my leg, as though trying to stop him and, at the same time, keep him from pulling away.

—Thank you, I…—I began, but I couldn’t finish.

His lips found mine. He kissed me, parting my mouth with his tongue, slowly seeking mine, and I sucked it like a hungry bitch, unable to stop myself. His hand was already sliding between my legs, pushing aside the wet fabric of my panties and finding the soaked flesh of my cunt.

—You’re dripping, baby—he panted against my mouth.—I can hear it.

—No, Damián, wait—I said, pressing my knees together over his hand, trapping it there.—Please.

—Let’s go somewhere we can be alone—he murmured, kissing my ear as two of his fingers sank all the way into my cunt.—I want you, baby. Like last time. I want to bury it in you to the balls.

—I can’t—I answered breathlessly, riding his fingers without realizing it.—My husband is about to get home. I have to be there before him.

—Don’t you want to be with me again?—he asked, his voice carrying that mixture of pleading and certainty that had always undone me. His fingers moved in and out, smeared with my own juices, making an obscene squelching sound that filled the car.

—I do—I confessed, the words escaping before I could weigh them.—But another time. Not now. It’s not possible.

—Look what you’ve done to me—he said, taking my hand and guiding it to his lap.

I felt him hard beneath the fabric of his trousers, straining to get out, a hot rod outlined from top to bottom. I swallowed. The sensible part of me kept repeating that I had to get out of the car, call a taxi, go home. The other part, the one that had been silent for five years, had already won. I squeezed his cock through his clothes, and he moaned softly in my ear.

I kissed him again, deeper this time, biting his lower lip. I looked from side to side: the parking garage was deserted, the lights dim, not a soul nearby. Without thinking any further, I unfastened his belt and lowered his zipper with clumsy, urgent fingers.

—Renata…—he said, surprised, but he didn’t stop me. On the contrary, he lifted his hips to help.

I leaned against his chest and began stroking him over his underwear. I ran my palm along his length, feeling how he responded to every caress, the boxer fabric stained at the tip by a little spurt of pre-cum. He shifted in the seat, sighing and keeping watch in the rearview mirror while his free hand hiked my skirt all the way up and pulled my panties aside to keep playing with my open cunt.

—I’ve been thinking about this for five years—he murmured, sinking a third finger into me.—About your cunt squeezing me.

—Shut up—I told him, slipping my hand beneath the fabric to touch him directly.

He was hot and firm, thicker than I remembered, and I felt the sticky moisture at his tip on my fingers. I yanked his boxers down, and his cock sprang free, hard against my palm, its red, swollen head dripping. I gripped him firmly at the base and began stroking him slowly, pulling his foreskin down to expose the glistening head.

—Look at my cock, see how hard you’ve made it—I whispered, barely recognizing my own voice, the whore in me speaking on its own.

He lifted his hips slightly to pull his trousers down to the middle of his thighs. I bent over his lap, breathing in his scent, that familiar masculine smell that carried me back to the first time, and began kissing the tip with my lips barely parted, leaving a trail of saliva and my own red lipstick around the glans.

—Open your mouth, baby—he panted.—Suck it all.

I stuck out my tongue and licked him from top to bottom, following the thick vein running along his shaft all the way to his balls. I kissed them one by one, sucking them into my mouth while my hand continued stroking him slowly. Then I went back up and took him all the way in, or almost, gagging when the tip touched the back of my throat.

I heard him hold his breath. His hand settled on the back of my neck, not pushing yet, simply guiding me as I began a slow, deliberate rhythm, pulling him out to the tip before sinking him back in to the hair. Saliva ran from the corner of my mouth and wet his balls, and he writhed in the seat every time my tongue circled his glans.

—Yes, exactly like that—he panted.—What a delicious blowjob you’re giving me, you slut.

The word shot through me like an electric current. I began sucking him faster, my hand matching every movement, twisting my wrist when I reached the crown. I ran my flat tongue along the underside, pressed the tip against his palate, and let saliva gather in the hair at his groin. Every time I came back up, I made a wet, filthy sound that mingled with his moans.

While I was eating his cock, he moved my underwear completely aside and slid his fingers between my legs. I felt him find the exact spot, the one he remembered as well as I did, and a shiver traveled up my spine. Two fingers thrust into me at once while his thumb rubbed circles over my clitoris, tight circles that forced me to grind my hips against his hand.

—You’re so fucking wet—he murmured.—You’re dripping down my wrist.

I couldn’t answer. His cock filled my mouth, and I swallowed my moans around it, making it vibrate. He took the opportunity to position me better, pushing my head a little lower and setting a rhythm with the back of my neck. He wasn’t merely guiding me anymore: he was fucking my mouth, raising his hips to thrust down my throat, and tears spilled from my eyes with the effort, but I didn’t let go, because the fingers inside my cunt were opening a well of heat that I didn’t want him to stop.

We were both tangled together in that cramped space, his breathing growing faster, mine lost between his body and mine, the smell of sex filling the car and fogging the windows.

I felt my first orgasm coming. He noticed from the way I began squeezing his fingers and trembling against his hand. He quickened the pace, drove his fingers deeper, curling them, and I came with his cock in my mouth, moaning around it, my thighs closing around his wrist. A hot gush burst from me and soaked his hand all the way to his watch.

—That’s it, come on my fingers, slut—he panted, never stopping his hand.—Again. Come on, one more.

He gave me no respite. He kept moving his fingers inside me, now searching for a deeper spot, while I continued sucking him and shamelessly began riding his hand. A second orgasm rose through me just as the first ended, longer and deeper, making me squeeze my eyes shut and pull his cock from my mouth so I could scream against his neck.

—Damián, I’m coming again—I whimpered.—Don’t stop.

—Shut up and keep sucking—he ordered, grabbing me by the hair to lower my head again.

I obeyed. I took his cock all the way down, tightened my lips around it, and began moving up and down with my whole mouth, sucking with my cheeks hollowed, while he let out hoarse moans that told me he couldn’t hold out much longer. I fondled his balls with my free hand and squeezed them gently, and his whole body went rigid.

—I’m coming, baby, I’m coming—he panted.—Swallow it.

He held the back of my neck with both hands, released a hoarse moan from deep in his chest, and came in jets inside my mouth. I felt the first hot spurt strike my throat, then another, and another. I forced myself not to pull away, to swallow it all while his cock continued throbbing between my lips. When I thought he was finished, one last pulse still filled my tongue with thick, salty semen.

I stayed there for a moment with his cock in my mouth, sucking it slowly and drawing out the last drops, cleaning him with my tongue while his fingers remained inside me, working me until they wrung out one final shudder that left me crying silently against his chest.

We stayed still for a few seconds, catching our breath, the engine still off and the parking garage silent. The only sounds were our panting and the sticky drip of his fingers slipping out of my cunt.

***

I slowly sat up, the taste of his come still in my mouth. I tucked his cock back into his boxers carefully, giving the tip one last kiss before pulling up his zipper. I lowered my skirt and straightened my soaked panties, which had slipped to one side, then searched in my purse for a tissue and my lipstick. In the sun visor’s little mirror, I touched up my smeared lipstick with hands that were still trembling a little, trying to make sure nothing on my face revealed that I had just swallowed the come of a man who wasn’t my husband.

—Don’t look at me like that—I said, though inside I was laughing.

—Like what?—he replied, finally starting the engine with that smile I knew so well.

He dropped me off two blocks from my house, as we agreed without having to say so. Before I got out, he held my hand for a moment.

—I’ll call you—he promised.—This time, I really will. And next time I’m going to bury it all the way inside you.

—You’d better—I replied, squeezing his cock through his trousers before opening the door.

I walked the two blocks with my heart still racing, my cunt throbbing beneath my skirt, and a strange feeling—a mixture of guilt and something far too much like happiness. I got home minutes before my husband, took a quick shower, rubbing thoroughly between my legs to erase every trace, washed my mouth twice, and by the time he walked through the door I already had dinner on the table and my usual expression on my face.

—Did you buy the dress?—he asked as he kissed me.

—I didn’t find anything I liked—I said.—I’ll go back Saturday.

And as I said it, I thought that after five years, some embers never go out: they only wait for someone to shout your name in the middle of a crowd and set them alight again.