The Gray Audi Couple Came Back for Me That Night
What I’m about to tell you is the strangest and most exciting thing I’ve ever experienced since I started working in this line of work. I’ve spent six years as a room attendant in a love motel on the outskirts of the city. I had to give up my dentistry degree for financial reasons, I got married young, the kids came, and there was nothing to do but accept the first decent job that appeared in the paper.
During those first few years I used to hear my coworkers telling stories that seemed like pure bragging. That a female guest had called them for more than a sheet change, that a couple had invited them to stay and watch, that a tip had come with things you don’t say out loud. I nodded and laughed along with them, but inside I thought they were exaggerating. Until it happened to me.
My name is Esteban, I’m twenty-nine, and I’m one meter eighty-three. I’m not especially handsome: ordinary face, average body, hands too big for my taste. With women I’ve always had a hard time, and the few I got to know more intimately all agreed on one detail nature had given me as compensation: a long, thick cock, with a broad head that scares most women at first sight. Without that dick, maybe none of this would have happened.
It was a Saturday in December. I was covering the shift that starts at ten at night and ends at dawn. I had just gone down to the front desk to chat a while with Damián, my booth partner, when a pearl-gray Audi with tinted windows came up the ramp. The driver lowered the window to the level of the glass and asked for a room with a jacuzzi for the whole night.
From where we were, you could see perfectly into the car. The man, about forty, with his hair slicked back and a watch that was worth two of my paychecks, had his whole face visible. The passenger, on the other hand, we couldn’t see her face, but we could see two long, slightly parted legs that ended in something that looked like a very clear intention. Damián took longer than reasonable to make change. While he pretended to count the bills, she moved her knees with a slowness that couldn’t have been accidental. Every time she parted them a few centimeters, a white thong with an impossible opening revealed a shaved pussy, pink, with slightly swollen lips. In one of those openings I managed to see her run a finger over her clit, very slowly, without taking her eyes off the booth.
“Room twelve, second floor,” Damián finally said, his voice a little hoarser than usual.
I was the one who had to escort them. When I reached the car and opened the passenger door, the woman turned on the seat and swung one leg out. Her dress rode up above her waist. She wasn’t wearing anything under that ridiculous thong, just two strips of fabric framing a wet, shiny cunt. I held out my hand to help her down and, as she stepped out, she pretended to stumble. One of her hands landed on my shoulder; mine ended up on the inside of her thigh, two fingers away from a heat that wasn’t normal. It lasted three seconds. Long enough for her to thrust her hip forward and my knuckles to brush her wet lips. I still remember that sweet perfume mixed with the smell of warm sex rising from between her legs.
“Hot for the staff again, baby?” her husband said from the driver’s side, not angry, almost amused.
She laughed, kissed him long and deep on the mouth, tongue and all, while he slid his hand up under her dress without any attempt to hide it. We started toward the stairs. Behind me I could hear the rustle of fabric. Every so often I’d turn around under the pretense of guiding them, and I’d see him hiking her dress up over her ass, caressing her pussy shamelessly, sliding two fingers between her thighs until they disappeared completely. She laughed softly, offering no resistance, arching her back to give him better access. On the landing he pulled out his shiny fingers and offered them to her, and she sucked them one by one while staring straight at me, never stopping as she climbed the step. We got to twelve, I turned on the lights, checked the air conditioning, and left with a generous tip and an erection throbbing painfully inside my pants.
I went up to the service room ready to relieve myself when the radio crackled: request for room twelve. A bottle of red wine and two glasses. I nearly dropped the tray in the elevator. I knocked on the door.
“Come in,” he said.
I set the tray on the rolling table we always leave by the entrance so as not to intrude, but she opened the door without wrapping herself in anything. Just high heels and the same thong from the car, now soaked, with a dark stain in the crotch. Her breasts were out, big and firm, with two hardened pink nipples, so hard they looked like they were begging for a mouth.
“How much do we owe you, handsome?”
“Tell him to come in and I’ll pay him here,” came from the bed.
I went in. The husband was stretched out against the pillows, a towel at his waist and his torso bare. The bulge lifting the towel made it obvious he had a more than decent erection. On the nightstand, an open wallet with several bills sticking out.
“Baby, pay the man,” he said.
She walked to the nightstand, moving her hips with the calm of someone who knows she’s being watched. When she got there, he grabbed her by the ass, tore the thong off by one strap, and turned her toward me. He began kissing one breast, then the other, sucking her nipples hungrily, biting them just a little. He murmured something in her ear and she laughed. She pulled back slightly, bent forward without bending her knees, and with one hand moved the towel aside, took out a hard, thick, veiny cock, and shoved it into her mouth halfway. I heard very clearly the sound of saliva moving up and down the shaft. I was still standing by the table, tray forgotten, not knowing whether to leave or stay. Neither of them seemed to remember I was there. She moved her head in a slow, deep rhythm, letting him hold her hair, and every so often she’d lift her eyes to look at him with his cock inside her mouth and a drop of saliva hanging from her chin.
“Friend,” he said suddenly, looking at me for the first time since I’d come in. “Would you do me a favor?”
He held out the phone. He wanted me to film. I agreed with a nod, trying not to let my voice shake. I framed the scene awkwardly. From the angle I was standing at, I could see the woman in detail: her back bent, her hair falling over her face, her mouth opening around the cock, and lower down, a shaved pussy dripping clear moisture down the inner sides of her thighs, forming a shiny trail to her knee.
“Come closer,” he said, without taking his eyes off her. “You won’t show up on camera.”
I got so close I could smell the heat rising off her body: the sour-sweet smell of an aroused pussy, so strong it made my mouth water. He nodded with his chin. It took me a second to understand. Then I crouched behind her, spread her ass with my hands, and ran my tongue from her clit to her asshole in one long, flat lick, without a trace of shyness. She stopped for a moment with the cock in her mouth, jolted, and the husband murmured from above that she should let herself go. She went back to sucking without complaint, now more eagerly. I kept at it: I opened her lips with my thumbs, drove my tongue inside as deep as I could, pulled it out, sucked her clit in circles, and left it between my teeth very carefully. I could feel little spasms in her thighs whenever I hit the right spot, and she responded by clenching her mouth around her husband’s cock and letting out muffled moans that he celebrated by filming every tremor. I slipped two fingers in, then a third, while still sucking her clit, and felt how everything inside her tightened, how she started grinding her hips into my face.
The radio went off again. Reception was calling me urgently downstairs. I had to say goodbye, frustrated, my face wet and my fingers shiny, promising I’d be back as soon as I could. She let the cock slip out of her mouth just long enough to whisper in my ear:
“Come back. I want to know what you’ve got down there.”
I came back five minutes later under the excuse of checking the air conditioning. This time she opened the door, completely naked and barefoot. She grabbed me by the shirt, pulled me inside, and kissed me. She tasted like wine, saliva, and the semen she’d obviously just swallowed. The husband was filming from the bed, smiling calmly, like someone watching a game, his still-hard cock resting against his stomach.
While she kissed me, her hands were already searching over my pants. When she found the bulge, she pulled away from my mouth for a moment and looked at me, stunned.
“Baby, don’t you want to see it?” he said.
She smiled, knelt down, and unbuckled my belt with two sharp tugs. When she pulled down my pants and boxer briefs and my hard, long, broad-headed cock sprang free, she made a sound in her throat that wasn’t a word. She looked at her husband as if asking for confirmation.
“Touch it. If you want, take it in your mouth. You decide.”
She took it with both hands, and even then she couldn’t cover the whole shaft. She studied it with the curiosity of someone inspecting a new piece, measured it with her fingers, ran it across her cheek, her lips, her nipples. Then she brought it to her mouth carefully. The head barely fit all the way in. She tried twice, gagged, pulled back with watery eyes, and on the third motion, when she went down halfway up the shaft sucking hard, without warning anyone, not even myself, I came. It was a colossal embarrassment. The first waves she swallowed directly; the next ones exploded on her face, her forehead, her lashes, her breasts, thick white ropes that ran down to her navel, while she and her husband laughed, not mockingly but with surprise. I wanted the floor to open and swallow me whole. She stayed on her knees, mouth open, taking the last of it on her tongue without taking her eyes off me.
“Easy,” she said, running a finger across her cheek and sucking it clean. “It happens to anybody.”
“Don’t be mean,” he told her, amused. “Let him clean you out from the inside with his tongue.”
She sat on the edge of the bed, spread her legs wide, and motioned to me. I went down between her thighs and buried myself in her pussy with my mouth open. She was hot, swollen, soaked with her own excitement. I licked her without stopping, alternating flat tongue and tip, pushing it inside, going back up to the clit, then down again, while he whispered to her from behind the camera and narrated in detail what he was seeing. I slipped in three fingers and reached upward, toward the wall I knew was sensitive, and it took less than a minute for her to arch and pin my head there with her thighs. She came with a long moan, wetting my chin. When I pulled away, she kissed me on the lips, tasting herself, and said, with a smile I still remember:
“Next time, you hold it in.”
Next time.
***
I went down to the service room swearing it would never happen again. I questioned it for weeks. I told Damián an inflated version in which there was no embarrassment, only penetration. I think he believed half of it. New Year’s came, the anniversary of my wedding, the monotonous days of January. I’d almost managed to forget it when, one Sunday afternoon, we saw the pearl-gray Audi coming up the ramp.
Damián nudged me with his elbow.
“Go on, killer. This time don’t miss.”
I went down to collect the payment, pretending not to recognize them. She held my gaze for a second too long. This time she was wearing a very short denim miniskirt, with several front buttons undone, revealing she wasn’t wearing underwear either. As she leaned over the wheel to hand me the money, the skirt opened like a curtain and showed me everything: a shaved pussy, closed, tight, the lips pressed together. A black lycra top without a bra, two marked nipples, cowboy boots up to the knee.
“Please, could you bring us room service in fifteen minutes?” she said with a smile.
The husband held my gaze for one second longer.
“I hope this time you come with energy and time.”
I spent those fifteen minutes in the staff bathroom. I didn’t go to relieve myself; I went to calm down, to get rid of the urgency, to arrive at the room with my head screwed on and not between my legs. I washed my face with cold water twice. I squeezed the base of my cock hard until it almost hurt, to bring the sensitivity down. When I went up, Damián intercepted me in the hallway.
“Don’t be a jerk,” he told me. “That woman’s a long haul. If there’s room for two, let me know.”
I nodded without committing myself. I knocked on the door. The husband opened it wrapped in a towel. I went in. She was lying on her back on the bed, completely naked, shaved, with her legs open and one hand between them. She was stroking her clit with two fingers, very slowly, while watching me come in. Her moisture was already shining on her thighs and in the crease between her ass cheeks. They had already started without me.
“You come with time?” he asked.
I nodded. He gestured toward the bed.
“She likes it slow. Make it count.”
I knelt at the foot of the mattress and started as requested: no hurry, spreading tongue over the entire inner side of her thighs before touching the center. I gently bit the palest skin, the one right next to the pubis, left a pink mark, went up to kiss her belly, then back down. When I finally reached her cunt, I ran my whole tongue, flat and very slow, from her asshole to her clit, and she let out such a long moan that he laughed from above. I opened her lips with my thumbs, showed her all the pink inside, and spent a while playing only with the tip of my tongue at the entrance, going in and out, never giving her the clit fully.
He settled himself near her head and she turned onto her side to take him into her mouth. She sucked him with the same calm I was using to eat her out: no rush, tongue everywhere, pulling him out to lick his balls and then taking him back in all the way, throat open. By then, after months with me, she had a very clear idea of what she wanted me to do. I slid in three fingers, curling them upward, while I sucked her clit trapped between my lips, and I felt the first orgasm rise through her thighs and tighten her belly. A hot stream escaped and soaked my chin and the sheet. This time she wasn’t going to have any doubts.
We changed positions several times. She liked to direct us, to tell us what she wanted at every moment. She straddled her husband’s face, braced her hands against the wall, and ordered him to eat her hungrily. While her husband devoured her pussy from below, she called me over with one finger and asked for my cock in her mouth. I knelt on the mattress, at the level of her face. This time she grabbed it with both hands, took a breath, and slowly worked it into her mouth, millimeter by millimeter, until the head touched her throat. She gagged, pulled back with red eyes, spat on the shaft to lubricate it better, and went back for more. On the third try she swallowed me to the base, her nose pressed against my belly, and stayed there a few seconds, tightening her throat, before pulling back coughing, happy.
“Put it in me already,” she told her husband, turning around and getting on all fours. “I can’t take it anymore.”
He got behind her and drove into her in a single thrust. She let out a hoarse cry, arched her back, and trapped my cock in her mouth at the same time. The three of us coordinated quickly: when he pushed, she swallowed me whole. You could hear the smack of skin against skin, her muffled moans with her mouth full, his breathing getting faster. I heard her let go of me for a second to tell her husband, voice broken:
“Shut up and keep going, this man eats pussy well.”
That undid him. After only a few thrusts the husband let out a tight moan and came inside her, holding her by the hips. He collapsed to one side with a frustrated groan. She gave him a mock-angry look while a thick white thread started running down the inner side of her thigh.
“I told you to hold out all night, idiot.”
“You ask the other gentleman,” he replied, laughing.
She shoved me by the shoulders, made me lie back, and climbed on top. She grabbed my cock with one hand, rubbed the head along the lips of her cunt, dirtying herself with her husband’s semen and her own wetness, and started to lower herself. This time it didn’t go all the way in. She tried, made a pained face that ended in a smile, came back up, spat on the shaft, spread herself with two fingers, and lowered herself again. She settled as best she could, with three quarters inside, and started to move. She went at her own pace, setting the depth herself, bracing her hands on my chest, dropping her breasts onto my face so I could suck them. Every time she gained another centimeter she let me know with a new moan, deeper than the last. As she moved, she kept begging her husband to recover quickly, because he’d already missed the best part.
That was when I remembered Damián. I suggested out loud that maybe an extra room-service delivery would be a good idea. The husband caught on immediately. He picked up the phone, ordered ice, and two minutes later Damián was at the door. When he saw the scene—his coworker riding my cock with half a pussy full, and the husband watching from a chair with his cock hard again in his hand—his eyes went wide and he laughed, not quite knowing what to do with the tray.
“Leave that there,” she said. “And come closer, don’t stay far away.”
Damián didn’t need a second invitation. He unbuckled his belt as he walked closer, dropped his pants, and out sprang a cock shorter than mine but very thick, dark in color. She took it with her mouth open and her tongue out, swallowed it to the base without hesitation, with the ease my cock didn’t give her, all the while continuing to rock her hips on top of me. The husband settled into the chair with the phone in his hand, filming, happy, stroking himself with an almost paternal calm.
We changed positions several times. We put her between the two of us: Damián standing at the edge of the bed taking her in the mouth, me behind her spreading her ass and sinking in slowly, working my way to the back little by little. Then we turned her around: me lying on my back with her riding me, Damián behind trying to get into her asshole patiently, using saliva and the semen still dripping from him. She tensed, took a deep breath, pushed her hips against him, and let him in. The face she made when she felt both cocks inside for the first time I’ll never forget: mouth open, eyes squeezed shut, a long tremor running through her entire back. She stayed still for a moment, gasping, and when we started moving, coordinated, one inside while the other withdrew, she came almost immediately, screaming, biting my neck.
We changed again: she knelt between the two of us, sucking us in turns, going from one cock to the other, playing at putting both heads together and licking them at the same time. The husband, always from the chair, directing with short words, laughing under his breath, asking her to open wider, to show him the saliva, to touch herself while she did it.
When we started getting close to the end, she asked us to warn her so we could pull out. But when the moment came, she was the one who held us in. She clamped my ass with her heels when she felt me start, and made me empty myself to the very last drop inside her cunt. Damián, a few minutes later, she grabbed by the hips and yanked against her face just as he warned her, and he finished filling her mouth and tongue, splashing her cheeks and hair. Both times she decided, against what she had said two minutes earlier. After that she lay there with her eyes closed, breathing, smiling, thighs open and everything dripping, while we looked at each other not knowing what to say.
The four of us showered. Under the spray she took both of us in her mouth again, and her husband too, who had already recovered, and she jerked all three of us off at the same time, moving her mouth from one to another under the hot water. She made us come on her again, on her breasts, on her belly, and she spread it around with her hands, smearing it over her skin like cream. She distributed kisses without distinction, with the same calm she’d welcomed us with before. Before we said goodbye, I thanked her in a low voice. The husband smiled at me with the complicity of someone sharing something not easily understood.
“It was a pleasure, boss. You’ve got a wonderful woman.”
“She is a wonderful woman,” he replied. “And one man isn’t enough for her.”
The gray Audi went back down the ramp a little while later. Damián and I watched it leave from the booth, without talking, not quite knowing what to say to each other. Even now, when a car comes up that ramp at odd hours, I look at the passengers for a second longer than I should. Most of the time nothing happens. But sometimes, very once in a while, it does.