The Confession I Kept from That Week in the Office

To understand what happened that Sunday, you have to understand the week that came before it.

We had been working on the same floor for five days, on shifts that overlapped just enough for us to cross paths several times a day but not enough to hold a full conversation. Lucía had joined the logistics department three months earlier. She was one of those people you see walking down the corridor and know, without being able to explain exactly how, that at some point you’re going to end up talking. Or something more.

On Tuesday we bumped into each other at the coffee machine. She ordered a cortado; I asked for a long Americano. While we waited, she told me Mondays were hard for her and I told her Mondays didn’t exist, that they were just a social convention. We laughed. When she picked up her cup, she brushed my hand by accident, or maybe not by accident, and didn’t pull away right away.

On Wednesday we crossed paths in the empty meeting room. There wasn’t any meeting scheduled. We were both looking for the same silence, I suppose. We talked for ten minutes about nothing important. When she left, she turned in the doorway and gave me a smile that was anything but professional. It was a slow smile, lips parted, the kind of smile that leaves you the rest of the afternoon with your cock half-hard for no apparent reason.

Thursday was worse. Every time she passed near me I felt that physical unease of someone who knows something is about to happen and doesn’t know when. A constant pressure in my chest that wasn’t exactly unpleasant, but didn’t exactly let me breathe properly either. At one point during the shift she bent down to pick up a delivery note in front of me and I ended up staring at her ass under the tight skirt for longer than would have been decent. When she looked up, she knew perfectly well where I’d been looking. She said nothing. She just ran her tongue over her lower lip before turning her back on me.

Friday afternoon, as the shift was nearing its end, it was already almost unbearable. Every time I heard her laugh on the other side of the floor, blood rushed to my face and to other places. I thought several times about going into the bathroom to jerk off just so I could focus on something. I didn’t, and that built-up pressure would end up bursting out later.

***

I gathered my things, went down the stairs to the parking lot with the rest of the coworkers, and headed toward my car without looking at her. At some point on Thursday, I had decided the wisest thing was to do nothing. Not complicate things. Not cross that line that exists in workplaces and that, once crossed, has no way back.

Then I heard her.

—Hey, Marcos! —Lucía’s voice rang out loud and clear, pitched toward the group still coming out through the door—. Didn’t you say you’d give me a ride home? A warning light came on in my car when I got here this afternoon. I’m going to pick it up tomorrow with a tow truck.

I’m a mediocre actor. But in that moment something in me understood perfectly well what had to be done.

—Of course, you’re right. I don’t know where my head is lately —I said, and the words came out with a naturalness that surprised me.

The coworkers exchanged the last comments of the shift and drifted off toward their cars. Lucía and I reached mine alone.

***

She fastened her seatbelt as soon as she sat down. I put the key in the ignition without starting the car yet.

—Find a road, a vacant lot, whatever you can find. I can’t go home like this —she said, and even as she spoke she was unbuttoning her pants and sliding a hand under the waistband.

She didn’t do it discreetly. She did it with the same determination with which she had shouted my name in front of everyone. She closed her eyes, rested her head against the seatback, and spread her knees as much as the cabin allowed. I watched the fabric move, watched two of her fingers start working slowly inside there. A broken breath escaped her.

—If you’re going to stop by a truck, let me know —she murmured, her voice already rough—. I’ve been soaked since noon. I can’t wait until I get home.

I started the car. My cock had gone rock-hard all at once, pressing painfully against my fly.

On Friday afternoons the country road is almost deserted. The outskirts have that strange quality of suspended time: traffic lights on green with no cars, businesses with their shutters down, empty lots full of light. I drove with no fixed destination for several minutes, eyes on the road and my mind on her, on the sound of her breathing growing more irregular as we went, on the wet sloshing sound coming from between her legs every time her fingers went deeper.

I glanced at her at a red light. She had pulled her pants down to mid-thigh. Her black panties had been pushed aside and two fingers were buried in a cunt that gleamed wet under the dashboard light. With her other hand she was pinching a nipple through her shirt, squeezing hard, so hard the strain showed on her face.

—Take it out —she said without opening her eyes—. I want to see it while I touch myself.

I unzipped and freed it. It was so hard it hurt. She extended her left hand, never stopping her work on her cunt with her right, and gripped it firmly. She squeezed it from top to bottom, measuring it, gauging it. With her thumb she smeared the bead that had escaped from the tip.

—Fuck —she whispered—. Good thing you got moving fast.

Private access roads to estates are scattered all along the secondary highway. I took one at random, a narrow lane flanked by low brush, and stopped the car when the metal fence at the end blocked our way. It was a perfect dead end: no houses in sight, no streetlights, no noise besides the crickets.

I turned off the engine. Darkness lasted a moment, until our eyes adjusted to the moonlight, which that night was almost full and silvered everything with an odd, even clarity.

We opened the doors at the same time.

***

We met on the hood. There was no beating around the bush: after a whole week of built-up tension, beating around the bush was the last thing we needed. The kisses were quick and direct, hands already searching under the clothes. I took off my T-shirt and let it fall onto the still-warm metal. She unclasped her bra without taking her lips off mine and tossed it onto the seat through the open window.

Her tits were even prettier than I had imagined all week. Round, firm, with dark nipples already hardened by the air and by whatever she had been doing to herself in the car. I lowered my mouth and took one nipple between my lips. I sucked it until she let out a short moan. I switched to the other and gave it the same treatment, nibbling it carefully.

She slipped her hand into my underwear, pulling my cock out again into the moonlight.

—I want it in my mouth first —she said—. Just a little. I’ve been thinking all week about how big you are.

She dropped to her knees on the gravel, not caring about the ground, and took it all the way in. She didn’t do the little show of licking it slowly or circling it with her tongue: she swallowed me in one go until the tip hit the back of her throat, and from there she started sucking me with a steady rhythm, saliva dribbling down her chin, her hand at the base helping with what wouldn’t fit. I grabbed her hair, not to push, just to have something to hold onto.

She pulled off for a second to catch her breath and spat me out with a long strand of saliva before taking me back into her mouth.

—Enough —I managed to say—. Keep that up and it’ll be over before it even starts.

She stood up, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. Pants, panties, boxer briefs: everything fell away in no particular order until it was all bunched around our ankles.

She braced herself on the hood with both hands stretched forward, arched her back, and spread her feet wide. Her ass lifted toward me in the moonlight, and between her cheeks her cunt was visible, open, shining, dripping in two streams down the insides of her thighs.

—Put it in already —she said through her teeth—. Put it in all at once.

I ran the head of my cock over the lips of her cunt, up and down, soaking it with what she had been dripping out all along the drive. I went in slowly at first, just to feel the temperature inside. It was so hot and so wet that I had to bite my lip not to come on the first thrust. Then I shoved hard and sank all the way in. She let out a short, guttural sound that was lost in the open field. There was no resistance: she had spent the entire drive preparing, and the result was that I was entering a place that had already been waiting for me, everything ready.

I pushed again. And again. My hips hit hers with a dry rhythm that echoed off the hood and mixed with the chirping of the crickets. Each thrust sounded wet, obscene, and she pushed back to take my cock all the way in. Her head was bent forward, hair falling over her face, hands gripping the edge of the metal.

—Harder —she panted—. Tear my cunt open, fuck, don’t go easy on me.

I grabbed her hips with both hands and started fucking her without mercy. The sound of my pelvis against her ass filled the whole vacant lot. She was enjoying herself: you could tell by the way she breathed, by the guttural moans that slipped out every time I drove in deep, by the way she pushed her ass back asking for more.

I put one hand on the back of her neck and pushed her face downward, flattening her chest against the warm hood. I used the other to land a sharp slap on her right cheek. She shuddered all over and I felt her cunt tighten around my cock in response.

—Again —she begged—. Harder.

I gave it to her, this time on the left. The red mark was left perfectly drawn under the moonlight. She slipped one hand between her own legs and started rubbing her clit in the same rhythm I was fucking in and out of her. I could feel her fingers brushing my cock underneath every time I buried myself to the hilt.

—I’m coming —she said suddenly, her voice tight—. Don’t stop. I’m coming.

I sped up. I fucked her faster, deeper, crashing into her until the hood trembled under our weight. We both knew this wasn’t going to last long: it couldn’t last, after everything we had been holding back all week.

She came with a long cry that shattered the silence of the vacant lot. I felt her cunt clamp down around my cock in rhythmic spasms, squeezing me and letting go, milking me with no way out. I held onto her hips with both hands so I wouldn’t fall and hit my limit with one last effort that bent me over her.

—Inside —she panted—. Come inside me, I’m on the pill, inside.

I let go. I emptied the whole week into her in three deep thrusts, feeling my load gush out in hot spurts inside her. She kept squeezing me while I finished, wringing out the last drop. When I pulled my cock out, semen started running down the inside of her thigh mixed with her own juices.

We stayed like that for a moment. Both of us panting, with the smell of dry earth, sex, and summer grass filling everything. My legs were trembling slightly. The car hood was still warm beneath my palms.

She sat up, took a pack of wipes out of her purse as if she had prepared it in advance, and handed me one without saying a word. She wiped what was dripping down her thighs with two efficient passes, pulled her panties and pants back up, and glanced at me while I tucked myself away, still half-wet.

—I needed that —she said simply.

We straightened our clothes in silence and went back to our seats.

***

I started the engine. Lucía’s phone rang before I could get back onto the road.

—Yes, darling, don’t worry. The afternoon got complicated. I’m leaving right now. —A pause—. Yes. See you soon. —She hung up and put the phone back in her purse—. It was my daughter.

—Everything okay?

—Yes. —She didn’t add anything else.

I drove the ten minutes to her building in silence. It was a comfortable silence, with no need to fill it with anything. She looked out the window with her head resting against the glass. I focused on the road.

When we got to her building, she got out of the car in a hurry. But before closing the door she turned back for a moment.

—Tomorrow I’ll take a taxi to pick up the car. Don’t bother. And how much longer until your apartment is ready?

She didn’t wait for an answer. She shut the door and went inside the building. I stayed there for a moment watching her disappear behind the glass, then I drove off to my friend’s place.

***

I arrived when he was already asleep. I went into the shower without dinner, stood under the hot water for a good while with my head against the tiles, and slept straight through until nine in the morning.

The first message was from the contractor: in two days I could move back into my apartment. The work was finished and a cleaning company would come by to leave everything in order. I smiled.

The second message came as a call before I could put the phone on the nightstand.

—Good morning. Did you sleep well? —It was Lucía’s voice. More relaxed than the night before.

—Honestly, yeah. I was out cold as soon as I lay down. The contractor just called me: in a couple of days I’ll have the apartment back.

—Have you had breakfast?

—I barely even know what time it is.

—It’s nine. I went to get the car from the office and stopped by the bakery. The little girl is at her grandparents’ until this afternoon. I made up an excuse to have her there this morning. —A short pause—. I’m alone. Are you coming?

She hung up without waiting for an answer.

Ten seconds later the phone vibrated with a notification. It was a short video. Lucía was standing in what looked like her bedroom, wearing a thin spaghetti-strap nightgown. She slowly slid the straps down, first one and then the other, until the fabric fell from her body on its own. I caught a glimpse of her tits bare and one hand sliding down her stomach before the screen went black.

I brushed my teeth in thirty seconds and rushed down the stairs.

***

She opened the door wearing that same nightgown. It was on, but it was obvious it wouldn’t last long. We kissed in the doorway and the clothes started becoming unnecessary before we even reached the living room. I closed the door with my foot while I slipped a hand under the fabric and found her cunt already wet, with no panties underneath.

—I’ve been like this since I hung up the phone —she whispered against my mouth—. Put them in.

I sank two fingers deep inside her. She leaned against the hallway wall and spread her legs to let me work. She was hot, slippery, and the inner walls of her pussy tightened around my fingers every time I curled them forward in search of that spot inside.

The morning was completely different from the night before. There was no urgency, no tension to discharge. The work of the week was done. What remained was something else: time, calm, and two people who had been measuring each other for days and could now take things at the pace they deserved.

We started on the sofa. She sat on top of me, still wearing the nightgown, bunched up to her waist. She grabbed my cock with her hand and lowered herself onto it slowly, millimeter by millimeter, looking me in the eyes while her cunt opened around it. When she had me all the way inside, she stayed still for a moment with her lips parted.

—Like this —she murmured—. Don’t move yet. Like this for a while.

We spent a good while with no more haste than we wanted to have. Her hands traced my back and mine found their way under the thin fabric of the nightgown, lifting it all the way up over her tits. I pulled it over her head and let it fall to the floor. She began moving on top of me in slow circles, squeezing my cock between the hot walls of her cunt, not wanting to get anywhere yet. I sucked her nipples, one and then the other, while she held onto my shoulders and breathed with her eyes closed.

—Here —she told me at one point, guiding my hand until she brought my thumb to her clit—. Rub here while I move. Slowly.

She said it with the same direct naturalness as always. No detours, no theatrics. I rubbed that spot with my wet thumb while she kept riding me slowly, and after a few minutes her whole body began to shake. She came on me without changing the pace, mouth open against my shoulder, and I felt her clench around my cock in long, hot waves.

From the sofa we moved to the living room rug. She lay on her back and I lay between her legs. I lowered my mouth down her stomach until I reached her cunt and stayed there a good while, eating her slowly, my tongue flat over her lips and the tip searching for her swollen clit. She tasted like both of us mixed together. She gripped my head with both hands and moved against my face with no shame at all until she came a second time, squeezing my thighs against my ears.

From the rug, to the bedroom. The bed was big and perfectly made when we got to it. When we left it, not so much. The morning sun came in slanted through the blinds and drew lines of light across the sheet.

I put her on all fours in the middle of the bed and fucked her from behind, this time slowly, savoring every inch. I ran my palm down her arched back, over the curve of her ass, over the nape of her neck. She pushed back with the same calm I was pushing forward with. We lasted like that for a long time, not looking for the end, until both our legs started trembling. When the time came, I pulled out at the last second and came over her ass and the small of her back, a long, thick stream that slid down in two trails toward her sides.

She collapsed face-down onto the mattress with a tired smile. I lay down beside her and ran a finger through what had landed on her, drawing absurd shapes on her skin.

There was time for everything that had been impossible the week before: caresses with nowhere to go, low-voiced conversations between one moment and the next, laughter over some stupid thing I no longer remember. We reclaimed all the space that shifts and corridors and glances had not allowed us.

At some point around midday we realized we were hungry.

***

We went down to the kitchen. The ensaimadas Lucía had bought that morning were still on the counter, but they were no longer ours: a perfectly organized line of ants had found them while we were busy with other things. We looked at them for a second and threw them straight into the trash.

—I should’ve saved the paper —she said, and burst out laughing, filling the whole kitchen.

I made coffee while she checked the fridge for anything salvageable. Outside, the midday sun warmed the balconies. Inside, the kitchen smelled of freshly brewed coffee and of a morning well spent.

The week had begun with five days of glances in the corridors. It had continued with a made-up breakdown in the parking lot and a dead-end road under the moon. It had ended with café con leche, ants in the ensaimadas, and the certainty that in two days I’d have my apartment ready.

Some weeks turn out like that. And when they do, they’re worth telling.