The Date in the Car Before Dinner with My Friends
I’m telling this now because I’ve had it tucked away for a long time and I never told anyone. Not the girls, either, who that same night were waiting for me to have dinner and had no idea why I was late. We had planned an entire day for ourselves: each of us doing our own thing in the afternoon and all of us together by dinner time. The funny thing is that it was me, the one who is always late, who ended up being free first.
It was barely six and I didn’t know what to do with those dead hours. Go down to the beach? Go back to the apartment? My phone was overflowing with messages, so I decided to answer one in particular and ended up having a drink with a guy I’d met on an app. His name was Bruno, he was from Asturias, and he was passing through the coast for a few days. And what a guy.
I’d put on a short gray dress with a subtle shimmer that only showed when I moved. Heels and cleavage. The cleavage was non-negotiable. I looked myself over before leaving and liked what I saw: no one would have guessed that this same woman was planning to spend the night eating salad and telling silly anecdotes with her friends. Under the dress I wore a tiny black thong, one of those that disappear between your ass cheeks at the first step, and no bra. When I looked in the mirror, my nipples were clearly outlined through the fabric and I laughed to myself. There was some intention there, even if at that hour I still wouldn’t admit it to myself.
We sat on the terrace of a small bar, one of those that put candles on the tables when the sun starts to go down. We ordered a couple of drinks. We talked about nothing and everything, with that pleasant tension of when you both know why you’re there but neither of you says it. He had a way of looking at me that was direct, unapologetic. Every time I crossed my legs, his eyes followed the movement and then came back to mine without any hurry.
“You’ve got a dangerous smile,” he said at some point.
“Dangerous for whom?”
“For the one who’s late to where he has to be.”
And he was right. If it had been up to me, that drink would have ended at his place, with him fucking me against the hallway wall and not giving me time even to take off my heels. But then the phone rang. It was the girls. They’d reserved a table at a place near the beach and were already there, asking where the hell I’d disappeared to. I looked at the time and let out a snort.
“I have to go,” I said, with less conviction than I meant to have.
“I’ll take you.”
I accepted too quickly. Come to think of it, if Bruno hadn’t had a car, nothing would have happened. I would have gone walking, arrived a little late, and that would have been that. But he had a car. And he offered. And I said yes while looking him in the eye a second longer than necessary.
***
The restaurant was less than five minutes away. What I hadn’t expected was that, just before getting there, he’d turn the car onto a dirt track and stop in a vacant lot. There was only a large, dark property between us and the restaurant, fifty meters of scrub and silence. He cut the engine but left the dashboard lights on, that bluish dimness that made everything feel a little unreal.
“Aren’t you taking me to the door?” I asked, knowing the answer perfectly well.
“First I want to kiss you.”
He was blunt with his words and even more so with his mouth. I didn’t have time to answer. He was already kissing me, one hand on the back of my neck and the other unclipping my seatbelt with a skill that didn’t seem improvised. His tongue searched for mine and I gave it to him without fighting, sucking it slowly, biting his lower lip until he let out a low groan. The hand at my nape slid down slowly, brushing my neck, my collarbone, until it settled over the fabric of the dress, right above my breast. He squeezed one whole breast in his palm and felt that I wasn’t wearing a bra. He pulled back for a second to look at me.
“Slut,” he whispered, half smiling. “You came prepared.”
“You’re moving too fast…” I murmured against his mouth, even as I was already slipping my hand under the dress so he’d pinch my nipple.
He pinched it. Hard. Hard enough for a short moan to escape me and for my thong to be soaking wet in a second. He yanked the neckline down and pulled one breast out completely, then took the nipple in his mouth, sucking it hungrily, nibbling it, leaving it hard and glossy with saliva before moving to the other one. I grabbed his hair with one hand and with the other I squeezed the bulge in his pants, already rock hard, measuring it with my fingers through the fabric.
His knee gently pushed against mine and my legs opened almost on their own. I felt his hand slide up the inside of my thigh, without asking permission but without any roughness, as if he knew I wasn’t going to stop him. And I didn’t stop him. I turned my face away for a second to look out the window: we were completely alone, not a streetlamp, not a car, just the distant murmur of the sea on the other side of the property.
When I looked down again, his hand had already found the edge of my thong and pushed it aside. His fingers brushed my cunt and he gave a little laugh when he realized how wet I was.
“Fuck, you’re dripping,” he said against my neck. “And you’re wearing the smallest underwear I’ve ever seen in my life.”
“Shut up and keep going,” I answered.
He kissed my neck while he opened my lips with two fingers, playing with how wet I was, smearing it over my clit before rubbing it in slow circles. Slow at first, attentive to my breathing, adjusting the rhythm to each of my sighs. Then he slid one finger inside, all the way, and curled it, searching for that spot deep inside me that made my back arch against the seat. He added a second. He was fucking me with his fingers while his thumb kept circling my clit, and I spread my legs wider, lifting one knee against the dashboard to give him more room.
I grabbed the headrest of his seat and let my head fall back. I was close and he noticed. That’s why he stopped for a second, pulled out his dripping fingers, and ran them over my lips before putting them in my mouth.
“Suck them,” he said, and I obeyed. I licked his fingers with my eyes closed, tasting myself, and he gave a low moan before lowering his hand again and thrusting three fingers into me all at once.
“Look at me,” he whispered.
I looked at him. And that was my undoing. Keeping my eyes open, holding his gaze while his fingers went in and out with that confidence, soaking me through to my panties and the seat, was what brought me to the edge faster than I wanted to admit. I squeezed my thighs against his forearm, held my breath for a whole second, and then let it out in a long, filthy moan that filled the whole car. I came on his fingers, soaking them, rocking my hips against his hand without any shame, squeezing his arm between my thighs until it hurt.
“That’s it,” he said, never taking his eyes off me, not pulling his fingers out until I stopped trembling. “Exactly like that.”
***
I stayed still for a moment, catching my breath, with my forehead against his temple and my pussy still throbbing around his fingers. When he finally pulled them out, he took them to his mouth and licked them slowly, one by one, watching me. I could have left it there. I could have asked him to start the car, arrived at dinner with flushed cheeks and a smile no one would have known how to read. But I didn’t want to leave yet. I turned toward him and lowered my gaze to his lap, where the fabric of his pants no longer hid anything. His whole cock was outlined against the fly, thick, lifting upward.
“Do you want me to return the favor?” I asked.
He didn’t answer with words. He settled back in the seat, reclined it a little, and unfastened himself slowly, never taking his eyes off mine. He pulled his pants and boxers down to mid-thigh and his cock sprang free, hard, pointing up against his belly. It was thick, with visible veins and a swollen, glossy head. He took it by the base and offered it to me in silence. I barely touched it with the tips of my fingers and felt it hot, tense, a thick drop of pre-cum sliding from the tip to his knuckles. I took him in my hand and moved slowly, squeezing him, pulling the foreskin up and down, enjoying the way his breathing broke up, the man who until a minute ago had been in full control.
I ran my thumb over the head, spreading the pre-cum, wetting everything, and brought my hand down to the base to take his balls gently. They were tight, heavy. I weighed them while I kept jerking his cock with the other hand, slowly, squeezing hard.
“Fuck, like that,” he said, his voice a little broken.
I felt his hand return to the back of my neck. He didn’t push me. He just left it there, more invitation than order. But I already knew what I was going to do the moment he turned the car down that track. I leaned in, closed my eyes, and lowered my head.
I licked his cock from the base to the tip, very slowly, with my tongue flat, following the thick vein that ran up underneath it. I gave the head a wet kiss, then another, then wrapped my lips around it and took it in little by little, savoring the salty taste of pre-cum on my tongue.
“Fuck…” he let out.
I started slowly, with my mouth and tongue, sucking only the tip, circling my tongue around the head before going down a few centimeters and coming back up. I covered his whole cock in saliva, left it shining, and used my hand to jerk him at the same time I sucked the head. Listening to how his breathing changed with every movement. I looked up once to see him: his head was thrown back and one hand was gripping the steering wheel, his knuckles white. The other hand was still on the back of my neck, now squeezing a little.
I liked that power. After he’d had me at his mercy a few minutes earlier, now I was the one setting the pace, the one deciding when to squeeze and when to let up, when to go deeper and when to leave him hanging on the edge. I took him all the way to my throat at once, held back the gagging, swallowed around him, and kept him there until he let out a groan and his hand on the wheel clenched even tighter.
“That’s it, exactly like that,” he murmured, repeating my own words from before in a broken voice. “Fuck, you suck it so well.”
I pulled him out of my mouth slowly, a thread of saliva hanging from it, and licked his balls, first one and then the other, sucking them gently while I kept jerking his wet cock. I went back up, took him all the way in, lowered my head in rhythm, sucking him faster now, feeling him swell even more against my palate.
I took him deeper, slowly, as far as I wanted, and then pulled back to catch my breath and start again. I played with him for a long while, alternating, reading him, feeling how harder and harder it was for him to stay still. His hips started seeking me out, little involuntary movements, pushing me toward his mouth, and I knew he was close.
“Wait, wait…” he said, trying to warn me, tugging a little at my hair. “I’m… I’m gonna come.”
I didn’t pull away. On the contrary, I took him even deeper, pressing my lips tighter, sucking him harder, my hand working the base. I felt the first throb of his cock against my tongue and then the first hot rope of cum hitting the roof of my mouth. I kept sucking, swallowing, and he filled my mouth with thick semen, shot after shot, his hand tangled in my hair and his whole body tense. I held on until he went completely still, emptied out, with broken breathing and one hand still tangled in my hair, now soft, almost grateful.
I sat up slowly, my mouth still full. I held his gaze, parted my lips just enough for him to see the semen inside, and then I swallowed. All of it. In one go. I ran my thumb along the corner of my mouth to collect the last drop and sucked that too.
“Fuck,” he whispered, looking at me like he couldn’t believe it.
I dug a tissue out of my bag, touched up my lipstick in the mirror of the sun visor, tucked my breast back into the dress, put my thong back where it belonged, and straightened my dress as if nothing had happened. He looked at me with a mixture of disbelief and respect that he didn’t bother hiding, his cock still out, soft now, shiny with saliva.
“You’re incredible,” he said.
“I’m punctual,” I answered, checking the time. “Or I was half an hour ago.”
***
He started the car and dropped me off at the restaurant door, this time for real. Before I got out he took my hand, kissed my knuckles like we were two strangers who had just met, and told me he hoped it wouldn’t be the last time. I smiled at him without promising anything and crossed the street toward the warm light of the place.
My friends were already at the table, halfway through the bread and with a bottle open.
“Finally!” Marta said, lifting her glass. “Can I know where you’ve been?”
“Traffic,” I lied, sitting down and placing my napkin over my legs, feeling the still-soaking-wet thong stuck to my pussy.
“Traffic? It’s right here,” Carla laughed, narrowing her eyes. “You’re flushed.”
“It’s the sea breeze.”
None of them fully believed it, but they didn’t push. We ordered, toasted, laughed at each other’s afternoon stories. I told a very shortened, very decent version of my date, enough not to arouse suspicion, leaving out everything that really mattered. And while they talked, I took small sips of my drink with that warm calm that stays in your body after you’ve had a really good orgasm, smiling to myself, still tasting his semen at the back of my throat every time I swallowed wine.
That’s the part I like best about confessions: that throughout dinner, while we shared dishes and told each other our usual secrets, I was keeping one that none of them could have imagined. A fifteen-minute detour, a vacant lot fifty meters away, and a stranger I would probably never see again.
Although, to be honest, I replied to his message that same night.
