The Mechanic’s Son Wouldn’t Let Me Leave That Afternoon

It happened a couple of years ago, but I still remember it as if it had been last week. I was nineteen, in my second year of college. It was the last week before our end-of-term trip; we had no classes, and at home there was that strange air of days that aren’t quite vacations. I got up early, went downstairs for breakfast, and my father stopped me in the kitchen with half a piece of toast still in my hand.

“I need you to do me a favor,” he said. “Take some money to Raúl, at the garage. He has to start on the car today, no matter what.”

Mom was away on a work trip in Mendoza, and he had to leave for Salta the next day for an important client. I asked if I could go at noon. He said that was fine, but that I shouldn’t forget. He left two envelopes on the table, fastened together with a rubber band, and went off to work.

It was hot. I chose a short skirt and a cotton tank top, nothing that clung to my body. I didn’t put on a bra. My nipples showed, but I liked the way the tank top lifted my breasts. They’re round and not too big, but with a little push they look bigger. I put on a cotton thong I’d bought the week before; my whole skin prickled when I felt it settle between my buttocks and pull tight against my pussy. Flats on my feet, a quick salad at noon, the packet of money in a snug backpack, and dark glasses. Done.

I went out and felt different. It wasn’t the clothes; it was me. I walked differently. I had a lot of money on me, I was running an errand on a weekday, and I felt like an adult, breaking a rule no one had ever imposed on me. I’d never been looked at so much. Behind me, men turned their heads. My hips took on a rhythm I hadn’t asked for; I smiled and arched my waist more, swaying as I walked. On a corner, the wind lifted my skirt. I pulled it down quickly, but someone in a car shouted, “What an ass, baby!” and I laughed with my head lowered. I felt a tickle between my legs from knowing I was being watched, and the thin fabric of my thong began to grow damp.

I recognized the garage from a distance. I hadn’t been there in years. When I went in, the darkness, heat, and smell of grease and metal hit me all at once. One of the mechanics, a young guy in coveralls tied around his waist, dropped his tool and walked toward me.

“Yes? How can I help you?”

“I’m looking for Raúl. I brought something my father gave me.”

“Raúl isn’t here,” he answered, looking at my legs. “But Damián is. His son. He’s upstairs.”

He went up a metal staircase leading to an office with a large window and Venetian blinds. While I waited downstairs, the other three mechanics stopped what they were doing to stare at me openly. Every so often a tool fell, and the crash made me jump. I took off my glasses and put them in my backpack. Upstairs, a silhouette appeared between the blinds, and then the guy came down like a little dog.

“He says you should go up.”

The staircase was high and made of grating; the steps formed diamonds through which the floor below was perfectly visible. I grabbed my skirt and pressed it against my ass with my free hand, but there was no way to cover everything. I climbed slowly, looking straight ahead, feeling four pairs of eyes trying to sneak between my legs to see my thong. When I reached the top, I knocked on the glass door.

“Come in,” said a voice, moving around.

When I entered, he was taking a poster down from the wall. I caught a glimpse of a blonde model’s face before he rolled it up.

“Heh, I’m taking it down so she doesn’t get jealous of you.”

I laughed out of politeness. Damián was much younger than his father, thin and tall, with a shirt rolled up to his elbows and a tribal tattoo running down his forearm. A white smile, full of teeth. His eyes gleamed in a way that made me uncomfortable and turned me on at the same time.

“I’m here on behalf of Darko Jurić,” I said, trying to pronounce my father’s surname properly.

“The Croatian. I know. So you’re a little Croatian girl, huh? You couldn’t be any whiter and blonder. Don’t you remember me?”

I remembered the garage from when I was ten or eleven. I didn’t remember him.

“You were really little. You used to come with your old man, and I’d bring you up here so you could draw. It was obvious you were going to be beautiful. Your hair got a little darker, but that porcelain skin is still the same. You were skinny. Now you’ve got more curves than the Suzuka circuit.”

“I don’t know Suzuka,” I laughed.

“Better that way. Leave your bag over there, on the couch.”

I set my backpack at the back of the office, and when I returned, he invited me to sit down. We chatted. I told him about the end-of-term trip, the bus we were taking, the days at the beach. He laughed. “The kind of trouble you’re going to get into,” he kept saying. He told me all the mechanics were going downstairs to eat and that he was going to order something, and asked whether I wanted to stay and eat with him; it was his treat. I hesitated for two seconds. Then I said yes.

The food arrived twenty minutes later. Salad with meat. He poured me cold water in a tall glass, and I drank it in one swallow, genuinely thirsty. A little escaped from the corner of my mouth, and I had to wipe it with my hand. He was on the other side of the glass desk, discreetly watching the edge of my skirt. When I had to cut the meat, I used both hands, and his gaze went straight between my thighs. I crossed my legs slowly. I didn’t care that my thong could be seen pulled tight against my pussy. I looked at his trousers and noticed the bulge, hard and pulling at the fabric, outlining the shape of his cock against his thigh. I felt heat climbing from my feet, up my calves and thighs, and it finished soaking my thong.

“It’s good, isn’t it?” he said, and without pausing: “How many boyfriends do you have?”

I choked. Laughing, he stood up and poured me more water. This time it spilled onto my skirt and a little onto my thigh. Without waiting, he grabbed a rag from the desk, knelt beside me, and began drying me. The rag had a little grease on it and left a dark mark above my knee. He huffed, apologized, and cleaned it with his fingers, slowly, moving gradually up the inside of my thigh, each stroke closer to the thong’s elastic. I felt my skin burning. I shifted my ass farther back into the chair and arched my back without realizing it, offering my tits against the tank top.

“It was just a question,” he said, and went back to his side of the desk.

“I don’t have a boyfriend.”

He raised his eyebrows without saying anything. His gaze slipped back to the triangle. The silence grew heavy.

“I’ll give you the money,” I said, to break it.

“Sure, whatever you want.”

I went to the couch. I bent down to open my backpack.

“Oh, no,” he said airily. “Stay like that forever.”

My skirt had ridden up, giving him a view of the top of my ass, with the white thong wedged between my buttocks. I didn’t move. Instead of lifting the bag, I opened it while it rested on the couch and, with my back to him, slowly took out the envelope. I heard footsteps, then his voice by my ear.

“That’s a lot of money. You smell so good.”

I turned around. We ended up face-to-face, with the envelope pressed between him and my breasts. He took it unhurriedly, his knuckles barely brushing my nipples through the tank top. They went hard instantly, standing out against the cotton like two buttons. I bit my lip without thinking. He laughed, dropped onto the couch, and opened the envelope. He took out the bundle, weighed it with his fingers, and asked me to hand him a paper from the desk. I realized he wanted to see me from behind. I went, picked it up, showed it to him from a distance, and he nodded. I walked back to the couch with the paper and placed it in his hand.

“He only sent half,” he said, looking at me.

A real tremor began in my knees.

“Can’t you start anyway?” I stammered.

“No. I can’t.”

“I’ll call my father and we’ll bring you the rest.”

“Forget it. The skinny guy’s coming in an hour with the replacement part, and he won’t leave it without the full amount. That’s how the country is now; everybody wants to be paid right away. We’ll start another week.”

“No. My father needs it done, no matter what. He’s leaving for Salta tomorrow.”

“Well, then. He shouldn’t go.”

“Don’t you have enough to front him? I’ll bring you the rest tomorrow, I swear.”

“I don’t know. I don’t think so.”

I started begging him. I don’t know whether it was the heat in the office, the food, the cold water, or his eyes. I dropped to my knees without thinking. I moved two steps on my knees and rested my elbows on his thighs. I looked at his fly. The fabric was stretched tight, the whole of his cock outlined, thick and throbbing beneath the jeans. I looked him in the eyes. I slid my hands slowly up his legs until I barely brushed his cock through his trousers. He cleared his throat and shifted on the couch, spreading his legs wider for me.

“Maybe I’ve got some money here,” he said in a rougher voice.

“Yeah?”

I tilted my head, rested my cheek on his knee, and looked at him with my eyes wide open. I brought my left hand to the swollen fabric and held it a millimeter away, without touching him. Only our heat touched. He snorted. He pushed my hand down with his, pressing it against his hard cock. With his other hand he opened my lips; I felt his thumb on my teeth and parted them like a door sliding open by itself. I welcomed his finger with the tip of my tongue, pointed like a spear, and began sucking it as though it were already his dick. I closed my eyes and sucked slowly up to the knuckle, hollowing my cheeks, pulling it out and swallowing saliva. When I withdrew it, a long strand hung from my lip to his fingertip.

“Fuck me,” he muttered.

Our breathing changed, but at different rhythms. He hurried to unbutton his pants. I stopped his hand. I shook my head. I spread his legs, moved fully between them, and I was the one who undid the button without stopping my gaze. I lowered the zipper tooth by tooth, listening to it. I slipped my hand inside his briefs. A collision of heat: I was warm, he was burning, the skin of his cock scorching. I pulled it out, forcing the fabric, using my other hand to free his balls as well. I saw it all for the first time: thick, veined, with a purple head pointing at my face and a drop of fluid shining on the tip. It fit exactly between my two hands, with a little left over above them. I began massaging it up and down, slowly, feeling the skin move over the hard shaft. With my other hand I massaged his balls, weighing them in my palm. I dribbled saliva from above, a long stream, brought my face closer, stuck out my tongue, and showed him how the saliva landed right on the head and ran down the sides to the base. He threw his head back for a second, moaning softly. I kissed him, first on the glans, then lowered the skin with my hand and licked his foreskin with the tip of my tongue. Then I licked him slowly in circles around the head, then from top to bottom along the entire length, tracing every vein with my tongue. I moved down to his balls and sucked them one at a time, taking each fully into my mouth and circling it with my tongue. He writhed on the couch. I went back up along the vein underneath, slowly, to the tip. Then I began taking him in little by little, looking him in the eyes. The head filled my mouth. I pushed farther, until it hit the back of my throat and my eyes watered. He grabbed my hair. I pulled his hand away without letting go of him with my mouth, shaking my head while continuing to suck his cock. I was in charge.

I began moving up and down, coating his whole cock with saliva, sucking him hungrily and noisily. Drool ran down my chin, my neck, and between my breasts, staining my tank top. When I pulled him completely out of my mouth, I spat on him from above and took him back in, sliding easily. I squeezed the base with one hand while sucking the tip, creating a vacuum. Then I pulled him out, stuck out my tongue, and slapped his cock gently against my cheek, my lips, and my tongue, laughing without taking my eyes off him.

“You can’t be such a slut,” he said, his voice breaking.

“See?” I answered with my mouth half full and a crooked smile.

I took him again, all the way in, and drove him to the back of my throat. My eyes watered, and I arched my throat backward. I held him there for several seconds, feeling him move against my palate, swallowing saliva around his cock. I held him until he grunted and caressed my head, and only then did I release him with an obscene sound, strands of drool still joining us. I licked the tip once more, sucking away the fluid that came out.

He stood up and lifted me off the floor by my armpits. He turned me around, grabbed my waist, and began kissing my neck, lightly biting the skin beneath my ear. His other hand went under my skirt and yanked my thong aside. His fingers traveled over my pussy lips, finding them soaked and slippery. Every so often he found my clitoris and rubbed it in quick circles, then lowered his hand and thrust two fingers in at once, up to the knuckles. My knees knocked together. I moaned aloud for the first time, obscenely.

“You’re dripping, little Croatian girl,” he whispered in my ear as he pulled his fingers out and put them in my mouth so I could taste myself. “You’re desperate for cock.”

“Yes. Yes, I’m desperate. Put it in me.”

Kissing my neck, he pushed me toward the desk. I placed my hands on the glass. I stuck my ass out, arching as my body demanded. He yanked my tank top down to my waist, and my breasts fell halfway out, heavy, my hard nipples striking the cold glass. He lifted my skirt to my waist, moved my thong aside, and crouched behind me. He licked me from the hollow of my back to my buttocks, then spread me open with his hands and buried his tongue between my pussy lips from behind. I felt his tongue collide with the wetness already there, sucking me from bottom to top, getting greedy, swallowing my juices. He pushed his tongue inside, in and out, then sucked my clitoris with his lips, tugging gently, then put his tongue inside me again. His fingers entered while he sucked me, two of them curled upward, searching for my spot. I clenched my whole pelvis. A moan louder than the others escaped me and bounced off the glass.

“Fuck me now,” I begged. “Put it in me, please, I can’t take it anymore.”

He stood up. He raised me, turned me around, and we kissed, all tongue. He bit my lower lip. I tasted myself in his mouth, mixed with his taste. He didn’t say anything clearly, but he murmured something brutal in my ear, something like, “I’m going to tear your pussy apart, slut.” I said yes with my eyes. He pulled my tank top all the way off, over my head, and I was naked from the waist up. He pressed my forehead against the cold glass of the desk and pushed my back so I arched properly, leaving my ass sticking up. There was a sharp little ripping sound when he tore my thong off completely, the elastic splitting in two.

“Oh, yes,” I prayed.

On all fours, my ass raised, I felt his cock pass over one buttock, then the other, and then begin opening my pussy lips. He rubbed it up and down my slit, wetting it with my juices, bumping my clitoris on every stroke. He made me wait. I pushed my ass backward, searching for it, desperate. When he finally placed the head at my entrance, he thrust once and drove it all the way in. I had to throw my head back and moan long and open-mouthed because he expanded me all at once. I felt every inch making its way inside, his cock filling my pussy to the bottom. He grabbed my hair with one hand, my shoulder with the other, and pulled me backward to drive himself even deeper.

“What a hot cunt you’ve got, little Croatian girl,” he said through clenched teeth. “It’s swallowing my cock whole.”

His hips began setting a faster and faster rhythm. I heard him going in and out with a wet, splashing sound, slap slap against my ass. My moans came out high and uncontrolled, synchronized with his thrusts. A drop of saliva fell from my mouth onto the glass, and, in time with the movement, he wiped it away with his thumb and put that same thumb in my mouth. I sucked it like a bitch. He pulled my torn thong down to my knees, and I helped by lifting my feet to take it off completely. He spread my legs farther with a little kick to my ankles. He fucked me harder, hammering me without mercy. The glass desk began hitting the wall with every thrust. My breasts dragged across the glass, leaving marks of sweat and saliva. I yelled for more, told him not to stop. He grabbed my hips with both hands and buried himself to the bottom, until I felt his balls strike my clitoris. Every thrust made a new sound in my throat.

He lifted me, turned me around, and sat me on the desk without pulling out. Well, he pulled out for a second to position me and put it back in as soon as I was settled. The cold glass touched my bare ass. He spat on his cock when he pulled it out, and I spread it with my hand, feeling it pulse hard between my fingers. He spat on my hand, and I ran it over my pussy, mixing his saliva with my wetness and rubbing my clitoris in the same motion. We kissed, our tongues fighting. When I opened his shirt, the hair on his chest scraped my erect nipples. It tasted of metal and sex, of my pussy and his sweat. When he put it back in, he expanded me all over again, more easily this time. I wrapped my arms around his neck, and we found an even rhythm. He rubbed my clitoris with his thumb while burying himself inside me. He lifted me, his cock still inside without slipping out; I wrapped my legs around his waist and didn’t want to let go. He carried me like that, impaled on him, to the desk chair and sat down, leaving me riding him.

I began bouncing. I planted my knees on either side of the chair and rode his cock with all my weight, feeling it deep inside me. He sucked my breasts, filling his mouth with them, biting my nipples and making me bounce harder. He put his hand in my mouth; I sucked his entire finger. He slapped my cheek gently, almost as a warning.

“Harder,” I said without thinking. “Harder, don’t be afraid of me.”

He hit me again, a little harder, and the sting in my cheek made me clench my pussy around his cock. He grabbed my hair with one hand, pulling my head back, and with the other kept hitting my face, gently, alternating cheeks while I continued bouncing. Everything was water, sweat, saliva, my pussy dripping down over his balls onto the chair. I heard his balls making a wet sound every time my ass came down on him. I began to scream a little because a tingling started in my pelvis, climbed through my belly, and pushed deep inside me. I realized I was going to come at any moment.

“I’m coming, I’m coming,” I told him in a trembling voice, gripping his shoulders with my nails.

“Come, slut, come all over my cock,” he answered, squeezing my buttocks with both hands and helping me bounce faster, thrusting up from below. “Ride me, come all over me.”

I came screaming with my face pressed against his neck, contracting all over. My cunt pulsed around his cock in wave after wave, so many that I lost count. I bit his shoulder so I wouldn’t scream louder and be heard downstairs. The orgasm shook my hips on their own, uncontrollably, against his pelvis. When I began to come down, he lifted me off him with his arms, almost throwing me aside, his cock still hard and shining with my orgasm. He shoved the chair back with his legs. He pulled me upright, turned me around, and pressed me against the desk again, this time with my breasts flattened against the cold, sweaty glass.

“No, wait,” I said, still trembling from the orgasm.

“Shut up.”

He knelt, spread my buttocks with both hands, and licked my ass. Violent, wet, necessary. His tongue entered my anus a little, moving in circles, coating my asshole with saliva. My legs trembled, and I almost fell off the desk. He spat on his hand and wet my pussy with two fingers, thrusting them in and out quickly to make me loosen up; then his cock entered my pussy again, hard and without warning. He drove into me deeply two, three, four times, until I was left panting with my cheek pressed to the glass. Then he pulled out abruptly and spat on my back; the stream ran down the crack of my ass. He carried the saliva lower with his fingers and began circling my anus, wetting it thoroughly, then pushed one finger in to the first joint. I tried to pull his hand away, tightening my ass reflexively, but he caught my hand and pulled it forward, forcing me to grip the edge of the desk with both hands.

“Stay still, slut,” he said slowly in my ear. “You asked for this. Loosen up.”

The finger went all the way in. It hurt, but I liked it. Then he put in two. He spread me open inside, scissoring me. Now or never, I thought for no reason, squeezing my eyes shut and loosening my ass as best I could. Then his cock. I felt it press against my asshole, wet with my own pussy and saliva. First slowly, very slowly. The head passed through, and I felt a burning pain inside me. I had to draw my knees together from the pain. I screamed against the glass, covering my mouth with my hand. He kept pushing, millimeter by millimeter, without hurrying, until he was completely inside, all the way to the balls, and I was left breathless.

“Loosen up, little Croatian girl,” he murmured, staying still and letting me get used to him. “Loosen up, breathe; it’ll pass.”

I breathed. I relaxed my ass around his cock. I got used to his size. He began moving very gently, sliding in and out only the first few inches. The pain mixed with the heat and became natural, then good, then necessary. I began moving my ass against him too, seeking him, pushing backward so he would drive deeper. He understood and increased the rhythm. The blunt slap of his pelvis against my ass set the beat, wet smacks with every thrust. He grabbed my hair and pulled my head back until my whole body arched.

“Look how much you like me fucking your ass,” he said in my ear, panting. “You’re a slut, little Croatian girl. A beautiful slut. With your ass tight—look how my cock is sucking it.”

I said yes to everything, voiceless. His hand reached around from the front and began rubbing my clitoris while he fucked my ass. Two orgasms rose at the same time, one from each side. My whole body shook from the waist down. I rested my cheek against the glass, drooling uncontrollably. I heard him galloping toward his own climax, his breathing accelerating, his groans growing shorter, his thrusts rougher. He pulled out of my ass suddenly, yanked my hair backward, and I understood immediately. He dragged me around, and I knelt before the chair with my mouth open and my tongue out, waiting. He stroked his cock in front of my face, quickly, his hand full of my saliva and my juices. The tip grew purpler, the veins in his shaft swelling. He moaned once, long, and finished all over me. The first jet struck my cheek and eyebrow, warm and thick. The second landed in my mouth, on my tongue, filling my palate with warm, salty milk. The third, weaker, ran over my chin to my neck and down between my breasts. He kept squeezing the base, milking out the last drops, which fell onto my tongue. I looked at him with my eyes full and my mouth still open, and smiled, showing him my tongue covered in his come. I swallowed it all at once, slowly closing my mouth, then licked the tip of his cock, sucking it until the last drop was gone.

***

We hugged for a second, tenderly. He handed me a hand towel. I slowly wiped my face, my cheeks, my chin, my neck.

“I guess I’m the one who made a mess,” he said.

Only then did I hear the noise of the garage below had returned. Metal against metal, the radio on, voices.

“Are they all down there?” I asked.

“Yeah. They’re eating in the office downstairs.”

I closed my eyes. I was dying of embarrassment. I searched for the thong on the floor, saw it torn, and stuffed it crumpled into my backpack. I ran my hand over my pussy and felt that I was still dripping. I pulled down my skirt, and it stuck damply to my thighs.

“I’m leaving. I’ll bring you the money tomorrow.”

“No. Don’t worry about it. It’s on me, for your end-of-term trip. Come back whenever you want.”

I gave him a quick kiss on the lips. I took out my phone to check the time and realized my father’s envelope was still in the backpack, with the broken rubber band inside.

“I’m not brave enough to go downstairs,” I said.

“They didn’t hear anything. Don’t worry.”

He sat down and began looking through a notebook as if nothing had happened. I took a deep breath and opened the door. When I put one foot on the stairs, all four mechanics looked up at the same time. One elbowed the man beside him and murmured something. I went down looking at the metal diamonds, and through the grating I saw one of them staring up at me from below, barely blinking, trying to look between my legs. Without my thong, I knew he could see all of me. I thought about covering my skirt with my hand. I didn’t. I smiled faintly and kept going down. My legs were trembling, tired and sore, my ass still burning inside, radiating a heat that wouldn’t go away.

I put on my dark glasses before stepping into the sun. The afternoon heat struck my face. I walked home with the envelope untouched in my backpack and a smile I couldn’t wipe off until nightfall.