My Canceled Date Ended Up in a Parking Lot at Midnight

I’m 32 years old, and a long time ago I stopped being surprised by the way people look at me. That’s not vanity; it’s just a fact I got used to. I’m tall, slim, with curves that show under my clothes. Firm tits, neither big nor small, with nipples that show at the slightest change in temperature. Round, high ass, the kind that fills out a skirt from behind. Dark brown hair with waves, which I usually wear pinned up in a bun when I’m working. Hazel eyes that change with the light. A small mole above my left eyebrow. Oval face, full lips that don’t usually smile easily, but when they want to, they don’t need to smile to get what they’re after.

I’m telling you this because what follows has to do with all of that. With knowing how my body works on other people, and with the night that knowledge took me somewhere I never thought I’d go.

I’d spent weeks in a state I can only describe as hunger. I don’t know if it’s the most precise word, but it’s the most honest. Hunger for a hard cock, hunger for someone to fuck me until I was out of breath, hunger to come with something inside me and not with my own fingers in bed at three in the morning. Things had happened in my life that had taken all my energy, all my attention, and in that process I had completely neglected that part of me that also needs taking care of. It’s not something you can ignore indefinitely. Your cunt reminds you every day, at any hour, with the rub of a trouser seam, with the vibration of a subway seat, with any stupid little thing.

One Tuesday afternoon Marcos wrote to me.

I’ve known him for two years. He’s married; I’ve known that from the start, and under other circumstances that would be a complication I wouldn’t accept. But Marcos is direct. His messages have no decoration or drama; they go straight to the point. And that Tuesday they came exactly when I needed them most.

—Lunch tomorrow? —he wrote.

That was all. But both of us knew there was another question behind it: whether I was going to let him fuck me afterward. And both of us knew the answer was yes.

We met the next day. I came straight from work: dark gray pencil skirt, fitted blouse, low heels that can hold up all day. I hadn’t thought about preparing anything special because I hadn’t expected this. But lunch at the restaurant got heated enough for the air to have its own temperature. We talked about things that didn’t matter, we looked at each other in the way that did matter, and at some point, when his knee touched mine under the table and didn’t move away, I could feel my panties getting wet. By the end of lunch I already knew we needed a better place than that.

I asked for a few minutes. I went to the bathroom with my work backpack and made the decision that seemed logical at the time: I took off my skirt and blouse, folded them as best I could, and put them in the backpack. I also took off my panties and tucked them into the inner pocket. I came out wearing only my long coat, bra, stockings, and heels. Nothing else underneath. My naked cunt under the lining of the coat, feeling every step.

I walked toward him along the sidewalk. Halfway down the block I opened my coat for a second.

That was enough for him to know exactly what was waiting for him. I saw him swallow from ten meters away.

Once in the car, with the heater on and the atmosphere that had been building during lunch still hanging in the air, the afternoon looked exactly the way I wanted it to. His hand came up the inside of my thigh over the stocking, and when it reached the end and found the bare skin and the soft hair and then the already soaked lips, he let out a low, hoarse groan, the kind a guy makes when he’s just been given the best news of the day. He slid one finger between my lips, up and down, unhurried, and then pushed it inside. I arched on the seat. A second finger. He pulled his shiny fingers out to the wrist and took them to his mouth without taking his eyes off me. We had a motel a quarter of an hour away.

Then his phone rang.

He saw the screen, froze, and answered. It took only one syllable from his voice for me to understand who was calling: his wife. In a matter of seconds the man with his hand between my legs turned into someone completely different. He shrank in on himself. His face changed. He jerked his hand away as if it had burned him. The call lasted less than two minutes, and when he hung up he couldn’t even finish the apology he tried to form.

I didn’t say anything. I grabbed my backpack. I asked him to drop me near my neighborhood.

The drive was silent. He opened his mouth a couple of times. I looked out the window, with my cunt throbbing from anger and desire mixed together, feeling it dripping down the inside of my thigh to the edge of my stocking.

He dropped me off four blocks from home. By the time I closed the car door I already knew I wasn’t going to be able to stay still that night. Not with what had been left unfinished. Not with my mouth already tasting what was supposed to happen and nothing inside me to calm it down.

***

It took me a while to realize I was walking down the street with almost nothing on.

My coat reached halfway down my thighs, just enough not to show the start of my stockings, though anyone paying attention would have noticed. It was cold. That dry autumn cold that gets in through the neck and runs down your arms. But I didn’t feel it as cold. I felt it as one more layer of everything I was already carrying: the tension built up over weeks, the heat of lunch, the frustration of the afternoon, Marcos’s fingers still marked inside me. The cold was part of all that.

I got home. I sat on the sofa. I got up. I paced up and down the hallway. I looked at myself in the bathroom mirror without taking off my coat. I still felt exactly the same as when I’d gotten out of Marcos’s car: cunt soaked and empty, the skin on my tits still tight, legs pressed together searching for any friction at all. I slid my hand under the coat, two fingers, and touched myself standing up against the sink. I came in less than two minutes, trembling and biting my lip, and when I was done and pulled my shiny fingers out I still felt exactly the same. Coming alone wasn’t what I needed. I needed a cock. I needed a mouth. I needed hands that weren’t mine.

In the kitchen I remembered something a guy I’d been with a couple of times had told me a while back. He’d talked to me about a place on the outskirts, a parking lot near an industrial area that had a different use at night. He explained the code: how to get there, what signals to give, how to indicate you were available. Park in a corner, interior light on, window lowered a little. He told me the men went there alone, mostly married, looking for exactly the same thing. Back then I’d listened with curiosity, with no real intention. I filed the information away in some corner of my head and never thought about it again.

Until that night.

I made up my mind in less time than it took me to open the drawer and grab my keys. I took off my coat, stripped completely naked, washed quickly between my legs with cold water, touched up my makeup in the bathroom mirror, put on the reddest lipstick I had, slipped on my coat and my heels. No panties. Nothing. I went down to the garage.

***

The parking lot was west of the city, about twenty minutes by car. I found it easily: a large open space between two closed industrial warehouses, with streetlights turned up to half power, just enough to see without being seen completely. There were four cars scattered around. No one was outside.

I parked in a slightly secluded corner, but with enough visibility from the rest. I turned the heater all the way up. I switched on the interior dome light. I lowered the window two fingers’ width. And I took off my coat.

Sitting there, with the cold slipping in through the crack and the light shining down on me from above, completely naked except for my stockings and heels, with my nipples already hard as stones and my legs slightly open against the leather seat, I had a very clear moment of awareness about what I was doing. It lasted about ten seconds. Then I stopped thinking. I put one hand to my chest and pinched a nipple, slowly. The other went down between my legs, forced its way between the already swollen lips, and I started rubbing my clit with two fingers in slow circles while staring fixedly at the other cars in the lot.

It didn’t take long. A man approached from the opposite end of the parking lot. He must have been in his forties, work clothes, looking like he’d had a long day. He wasn’t someone I would have looked at twice under other circumstances. But when he stopped in front of my window and I saw the way he looked at me, the way his gaze fixed first on my tits and then dropped to my fingers busy between my legs, when I saw him adjust the bulge over his pants while watching me without looking away, judgment stopped mattering.

We looked at each other for several seconds without saying anything. I didn’t stop touching myself. On the contrary, I opened my legs wider against the seat so he could see exactly what I was doing, and I pushed two fingers in to the knuckles. I pulled them out shining and ran them over my nipple, leaving it wet.

He unzipped his fly. Slowly. Without taking his eyes off me for a second. He pulled out a thick cock, not very long but wide, already completely hard, the head shining. He started jerking off thirty centimeters from my face, with a tight fist, moving the skin up and down with the slowness of someone who has been waiting a long time for this moment.

I lowered the window all the way.

The cold rushed in and made me shiver from head to toe, and paradoxically that shiver was the first thing that had relieved me all afternoon. As if my body had needed exactly that to let something go. His hands were big, rough, cold. He put them on my tits without asking and started squeezing them, weighing them, pinching my nipples between thumb and forefinger until I gasped. He worked over every inch with completely unexpected care. No rush. As if there were nowhere else he’d rather be. He bent down, put his face through the window, and licked one nipple, then the other, then bit down carefully just enough to make me arch my back against the seat.

I slid my own hand between my legs. What I found confirmed what I already knew: I was soaked, dripping, with swollen lips throbbing.

He moved my hand away. Put his in place. Three fingers went in at once, without ceremony, all the way, and with his palm he pressed my clit every time he thrust. I let out my breath in a rush, almost beyond control. He fucked me with his fingers in a steady rhythm and every so often he pulled them out shining, brought them to his mouth, and sucked them while looking at me before pushing them back in.

I opened the car door for him.

***

He got in without needing me to say anything else. His mouth went straight to my tits, no protocol, no preamble. He sucked, bit, left red marks on the skin around my nipples. After a moment I pushed his head away, turned around on the seat, propped my knees on the edge, and got on my knees facing away from him, with my ass raised toward the open door, offering him my cunt and everything else without the slightest pretense.

What happened next wasn’t what I expected. Instead of the obvious, he lowered his head and buried his face between my ass cheeks. He started eating my pussy from behind, with his whole tongue, top to bottom, stopping on the clit with slow circles and coming back up to the other hole, not skipping it, with no hesitation. He did it with a dedication that was in complete contrast to everything else about him: his clothes, his appearance, the situation. He pushed his tongue in as deep as he could, pulled it out, sucked on each lip one by one, went back to my clit and worked it in tight circles with the tip. His hands spread my cheeks open for full access. He took his time. He didn’t hurry. After a while, two fingers went in while his tongue stayed on my clit, and there came a point where I completely lost control of the sounds I was making. I screamed against the headrest, legs trembling, and came in his mouth in a long, loud way that left his chin shining and my arms useless.

When he stopped, he put on the condom. I heard the wrapper tear, heard the latex snap as it rolled down. He pushed in all at once, all the way, without warning.

I grabbed the headrest with both hands. I screamed. He was thick, thicker than I’d calculated, and he went all the way in because I was so wet there was no resistance. He started fucking me with long thrusts, pulling almost all the way out before driving back in, and every push sent a shock up my spine to the nape of my neck. He grabbed my hips with both hands and pulled me against him so he could drive in deeper. I could hear the wet sound of my cunt every time he came out, the sound of his hips slapping against my ass, my own uncontrolled breathing.

We’d been at it a few minutes when, turning my head toward the open window, I saw him. A second man was standing a few meters away, still, watching. Younger than the first, tall, with his cock already out of his pants. He had his hand wrapped around it and was moving it in a way that left no doubt about what he was doing as he watched us. He was long and curved upward, and the head shone under the orange light of the streetlamps.

This would have been the moment to close the window. I beckoned him closer.

He did it without hesitation.

He came up to the window. He reached out and put his hand on my back, cold, and then slid it down to grab a breast from underneath, weighing it, pinching my nipple between his fingers. I asked the first man to stop for a moment. He pulled out abruptly, leaving my cunt open and empty, throbbing from the loss. I got out of the car.

***

Outside, it was much colder than I’d expected. I felt it in my feet, in my ankles, in the wind coming in under the coat I hadn’t even bothered to close, in the nipples that hardened even more at the air’s touch. But that cold was something else now. It was the contrast that made the warmth of the two bodies around me feel more intense, more real.

The first man didn’t move away. He stood behind me, held me by the hip, and drove back into my cunt in one thrust, picking up where we’d left off. I arched forward at the impact. The second stood in front of me. I slid my hand toward him, toward the bulge in his pants that was no longer a bulge but a whole cock pointing upward, and I could tell he’d been waiting for that for a long time.

I pulled it all the way out, took it in my hand, and started jerking him off slowly, feeling the weight, the thickness, the thick vein underneath. I moved my hand down to his balls and squeezed them gently, tugging them downward. He let out a grunt and grabbed the back of my neck. I kept working him with both hands while the first man pushed into me from behind. I was between the two of them, standing by the car, with one cock going in and out of my cunt and another asking for my mouth, feeling exactly the way I needed to feel: completely present in what was happening and nothing else.

After a few minutes I lowered my head and took him in my mouth. All of him. I took him to the back of my throat, until I felt him hit, and stuck my tongue out to lick his balls at the same time. He let out a long gasp. I started sucking his cock hungrily, bobbing my head in the rhythm set by the other man behind me, coating him in spit, leaving strings of saliva hanging when I pulled back to breathe. I spit on him and took him in again. I sucked the head with tight lips, creating suction, and then slid down the shaft licking all the way to the base.

It was at that exact moment that the first man changed the angle and came in in a way I hadn’t expected, deeper, hitting a spot that made me tremble from top to bottom, and I let out a sound that was anything but discreet, only partly muffled by what I had in my mouth.

The second man grabbed my hair with one hand. At first gently. Then less gently, pushing slightly toward him without letting me pull away completely, until he started fucking my mouth in the same rhythm the other man was fucking my cunt. The two of them synced up without saying a word. When one went in, the other came out. When one came out, the other went in. I was in the middle, pierced by two cocks at once, hands braced on the second man’s thigh so I wouldn’t lose my balance, saliva and juices dripping everywhere, eyes watering from the cock battering my throat.

I stayed like that, not wanting anything to change, until the first man pulled out abruptly and stepped away. I heard him take off the condom. A couple of grunts, a hot jet against the skin of my ass and lower back. He came over me without warning, in several thick spurts, and then left without saying anything, without looking back, zipping himself up as he walked away.

I straightened up, my back sticky and my cunt still open and throbbing. The second man was already putting on protection. I turned toward the car, braced my palms on the cold bodywork, arched my back, and spread my legs wide for him.

What followed had no gentleness in it. He grabbed my hip with one hand and my hair with the other, made me arch even more, and pushed. Hard. All the way in. His cock was longer than the first man’s and reached different places. He started fucking me at a pace that asked no permission and needed none, with hard thrusts that made my tits slap against the car’s cold metal with every push. Each thrust brought me closer to the metal, and that contrast between the heat of his body behind me and the cold of the hood in front was a sensation I hadn’t anticipated and that made me bend my knees slightly, sinking in even further, offering him my ass at a better angle.

He yanked my hair back. Forced my neck to arch. He told me in my ear how much of a slut I was, how wet my cunt was, how tight it squeezed him, and I nodded with my eyes closed because it was all true and because hearing it while they did that to me took me even farther. He brought his free hand around to the front and found my clit. He started rubbing it with two fingers at the same rhythm he was fucking me from behind, and in less than a minute I felt everything rising up from my feet. I came against the car, tightening around the cock inside me in spasms he kept driving through without slowing, screaming against the cold metal without caring who else might hear me in the parking lot.

I lost track of time. The sounds that escaped me were not planned. I came a second time, shorter, sharper, without ever stopping being pinned against the hood. At no point did I want him to stop.

When he finished, it was abrupt. He pulled out, tore off the condom, and with two quick tugs came against my ass, on top of what the other had already left there, with a low grunt. He tossed the condom to the ground and walked away without a word, putting himself away as he went.

I stayed leaning against the car. Hands still on the cold bodywork. The two men’s cum slowly dripping down the small of my back toward my ass cheeks. Several seconds passed before my legs felt like mine again.

***

I got into the car. I grabbed some tissues from the glove compartment and cleaned my back and ass as best I could, without any hurry, almost curious about what had happened. I closed the door. Rolled up the window. Only then did I really notice the cold: in my feet, in my thighs, in my palms that were still a little numb, in the open, sensitive cunt that kept throbbing even though it was empty now. I turned the heater all the way up and sat still, staring through the windshield until I stopped trembling.

I looked at myself in the rearview mirror. My hair was messed up, my makeup only slightly smudged, the red mark of a bite on my left breast. I looked exactly like I felt.

And what I felt, aside from the cold and the physical exhaustion, was something very close to calm. That part of me that had spent weeks in a state of constant urgency had finally gone quiet. Not in the way I would have planned, not with the person I would have chosen under other circumstances. But it had gone quiet.

I started the car. Put on music. Drove home not thinking about anything in particular, with my legs slightly apart because closing them still bothered me, feeling a little bit of wetness trickle inside my stockings.

That night I slept until ten in the morning, straight through, without waking up even once. It had been weeks since I’d slept like that.

I know it’s not a story everyone understands. I also know that doesn’t change anything about what I’m telling. That night I did what I needed to do, I did it completely consciously, and I don’t regret any of the decisions I made from the moment I closed Marcos’s car door until I opened my own front door.

Sometimes life gets simpler when you stop listening to what you should do and start listening to what you need.