The Work Trip I Shouldn’t Have Told Anyone About

Ernesto and I had been business partners for nine years. We’d built the company from scratch — first with a borrowed van, then with road maintenance contracts we kept expanding province by province — and when we closed the deal to buy the industrial plots in Villaseca del Valle, we celebrated properly: lobsters, albariño, and twenty-year-old whisky in a restaurant overlooking a little cove that the notary recommended.

It was almost four when we went out for a walk along the harbor so the food could go down. Ernesto was like that: tall, broad-shouldered, salt-and-pepper goatee, crooked nose from when someone headbutted him playing indoor soccer at thirty-two. I’m different. Thin, with the baldness already accepted by the time I was in my mid-forties, a face that looks unfriendly when you don’t know me. Both of us with wedding rings on, though neither of us had ever mentioned it.

We saw them from far away.

They were sitting on the low wall of the promenade, beside the boat ramp. She had red hair, short, with a straight fringe that covered her eyebrows. She wore a white tank top — no bra, that was obvious, her hard nipples were pressing against the thin fabric — and a denim miniskirt that didn’t even reach halfway down her thigh. Freckles on her shoulders, her collarbone, her cleavage. He was slimmer than her, with dark hair tied back in a ponytail and earrings in both ears. Both of them had tattoos on their forearms and backpacks on the ground beside them.

They had a portable speaker. She was dancing with hardly any movement at all, with that ease some people have for occupying space without asking permission.

“Look at that,” Ernesto said quietly.

We walked over. The guy changed the song when he saw us coming. She stopped dancing and looked at us with a direct smile.

“Got a light?” she asked.

Ernesto took out his lighter. While he lit their cigarette, I looked at the guy’s tattoos: something that looked like a world map on his left forearm and a bird on the right. Black-painted nails, a bit chipped. They were around twenty.

“On vacation?” I asked.

“We came here to work,” she said. “A bar near here, but the season’s over now. We’re going to Casar de los Molinos, about eighty kilometers away. The problem is today’s bus already left, and our budget’s not exactly great this week.”

Ernesto looked at me. I nodded without saying anything.

“Get in,” he said.

***

Their names were Nuria and Diego. We introduced ourselves as Paco and Alberto, which was what we always did in situations like that, even though at that point there wasn’t really a situation yet. Just an SUV with tinted windows and two hundred kilometers to go home.

Diego rode with me in the back. Nuria got in the passenger seat and plugged her phone into the stereo. Reggaeton, lots of bass, the kind of song you feel in your sternum before you understand the lyrics. Ernesto drove without saying much, with that habit of his of resting his wrist on the wheel and staring at the road as if it belonged to him.

“Got anything to roll with?” Ernesto asked twenty minutes later.

Diego took a little bag out of the side pocket of his backpack.

“Good stuff,” Ernesto said when he smelled it.

“Of course,” Diego said with a smile that wasn’t cocky, just the smile of someone who knows what he has. “We’re not beginners.”

We stopped on a back road among holm oaks. Ernesto and Nuria got out to stretch their legs. Diego and I stayed in the back seat rolling one. The smoke filled the cabin within minutes and the music kept playing from Nuria’s phone.

Diego was calm, the sort who watches before speaking. He had dark eyes and a way of carrying himself that didn’t quite match his twenty years. Or maybe it did, and I just no longer remembered what that felt like.

“What do you two do?” he asked as he passed me the joint.

“Subcontracting,” I said. “Infrastructure maintenance. Nothing interesting.”

“Looks like business is good.”

“Can’t complain.”

Diego’s knee was close to mine. It had been like that since we’d pulled over. I hadn’t moved mine either.

“How long have you and her been together?” I asked.

“Since we were sixteen. We broke up for a year when we turned eighteen, to live a little. ” He paused. “You know.”

“I know.”

Through the window I could see Ernesto and Nuria leaning against the hood, talking. Nuria was laughing at something. Ernesto was looking at her the way he looked at things that interested him: slowly, without hiding it.

Diego put out the joint in the ashtray on the door and turned toward me. He didn’t say anything. He just kept looking at me with that calm that had caught my attention from the start. He was the one who moved first.

***

I’m not going to pretend I wasn’t expecting it. I’d been noticing for a while how the tension was building in that enclosed space, between the smoke and the music and the too-close knees. When Diego put his hand on my thigh, I didn’t pull away.

He started without rushing. His hand moved slowly up over my pants, pressing the fabric until it found the bulge that had already been growing for a while. He squeezed my cock through the jeans with his whole palm, measuring it, taking stock of it, and let out a low sound in his throat that wasn’t a word but approval.

“That’s a serious one you’ve got hiding there,” he murmured.

“Shut up and keep going.”

He licked his lips, came closer, and kissed me on the mouth. It wasn’t a shy kiss: he shoved his tongue in from the first second, tasting of weed and tobacco, while his hand kept squeezing over my clothes. I kissed him back, biting his lower lip, and he let out a short laugh against my mouth.

He unzipped me with disconcerting calm, like he’d been thinking about it for a while and had no doubt about the outcome. He slipped his hand under my boxer briefs and pulled my cock out into the smoke-filled cabin. It was hard, so hard it hurt. He grabbed it by the base, looked at it for a moment like someone appraising a tool, and jerked it twice with a loose wrist.

“Fuck,” he said. “That’s a good one.”

He crouched down between the seats, braced himself on my thigh with one hand, and lowered his mouth. First he licked the entire length from my balls to the head, very slowly, with a flat, wet tongue. He stopped at the top, at the tip, and caught the bead that had already appeared with his lips. I closed my eyes and leaned my head back against the headrest.

Then he took the whole thing in at once. All of it. I felt the tip bump his throat and he didn’t even flinch. He started sucking me with a slow, deep rhythm, moving up and down with his lips tight around the flesh, leaving a trail of saliva running down his chin. His ponytail bounced with every movement. When he eased off, he’d pull my cock all the way out, lick the sides with his broad tongue, suck my balls one by one, and take me back down to the root.

“That’s it, boy,” I said, my voice rough. “Suck me like that.”

I put my hand on the back of his neck, not squeezing, just to feel the rhythm. He picked up speed. He started blowing me harder, hungrier, making a wet sound every time he reached the base. He’d pull off for a second to breathe and then swallow me again, spitting on the head, spreading it with his tongue, and taking me back into his mouth until I hit the knot in my throat.

The clack of the front door opening made me look up. Ernesto leaned in through the half-open window. Diego didn’t stop. He didn’t lift his mouth. He kept sucking as if nobody had opened anything.

“I see you’re busy,” Ernesto said in that deep voice he used when he was trying not to laugh.

“Close the door,” I said.

He closed it.

Diego pulled away for a moment, his lips shiny and a thread of saliva hanging between his mouth and my head. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and smiled.

“Want to fuck me?” he asked, just like that, direct, without decoration.

“Lie down,” I said.

He ripped his pants off without ceremony. The black briefs came after them. He had thin, white legs, a small, perky ass that ended up at face level when he got on all fours on the seat, gripping the passenger headrest, his head turned toward me. His cock was hard too, hanging between his legs, smaller than mine and with a red tip.

I opened the glove compartment and took out the jar of gel. It had been there for months, for things like this and for nothing else. I put a generous amount on my fingers and another directly on my cock, spreading it well until it shone under the dome light.

I slid in one finger first. He was tight but opened without resistance, like someone who already knew what he was doing. I added a second finger, worked them in circles, looking for that spot inside. Diego let out a long gasp and arched his back.

“Just put it in already,” he said. “You don’t need to warm me up that much, I’m not a virgin.”

I knelt as best I could in the narrow back seat, grabbed his ass with both hands, and pressed the head of my cock against the open, slippery gel-slick hole. I pushed slowly. The head went in with a pop I felt more than heard. Diego held his breath for a second. Then he started pushing back against me himself, swallowing everything I gave him, centimeter by centimeter, until I was buried balls-deep.

“Fuck,” I groaned. “You’re tight.”

“Move,” he said, his voice muffled against the seat. “Move already.”

I started slowly, pulling almost all the way out and driving back in so he could get used to the thickness. Diego clenched and released his ass with every thrust, as if he knew exactly what he was doing. I sped up. The SUV’s seat creaked with every push. The music kept playing from Nuria’s phone and the bass mostly covered the sound of my balls slapping his ass.

I grabbed his ponytail and pulled back. His whole back arched and a moan slipped out of him that he hadn’t meant to let go.

“Yeah,” he said through his teeth. “Like that, do it like that, fuck me hard.”

I fucked him hard. I let go of his ponytail and grabbed his hips, digging my fingers into the flesh, and started pounding him to the hilt with hard thrusts that made his forehead hit the passenger seat back. Diego reached under himself and started jerking his own cock to the rhythm I was fucking him with, moaning louder and louder, not caring that Ernesto and Nuria were outside or that the windows weren’t fully closed.

“I’m gonna come,” he gasped after a few minutes. “I’m gonna come, don’t stop.”

I didn’t stop. I kept driving my cock into him with the same brutal rhythm while he worked his own shaft underneath himself, until he let out a long, broken moan and I felt his ass clench around me in spasms, over and over. His cum splattered the seat upholstery in two thick, hot streams.

That was what finished me off. I grabbed him with both hands, drove my cock all the way in three more times, and came inside him with a grunt clenched between my teeth. I felt my release filling him up, how a little leaked out around the edges when I pulled out, still hard, shining with gel and semen.

Diego stayed still for a moment with his forehead against the seat, breathing. Then he straightened up and pulled his pants on with the same calm he’d shown in everything else. He ran two fingers between his cheeks, looked at them, and wiped them off without ceremony on the seat.

“Not bad for someone your age,” he said.

“Shut up,” I said. I laughed anyway.

***

Ernesto had taken Nuria to the other side of the SUV while we were inside. When I got out to smoke, I found them by the rear hood, her pressed against the hot metal and him with one hand under the miniskirt and the other kneading a breast under her T-shirt. They were devouring each other’s mouths.

Diego sat on the ground finishing what was left of the joint. Nuria looked at me with an expression that was hard to classify, somewhere between curiosity and something that was not exactly indifference.

“So now what?” she asked out loud, not addressing anyone in particular.

Ernesto took off his jacket and laid it on the hood. His intent was obvious before he said a word. Nuria held his gaze for a moment before pulling her shirt off in one motion. No bra, as we already knew. Freckles everywhere, small firm breasts, pink erect nipples, a tattoo on her sternum that looked like a bird with its wings spread. She stood still beside the vehicle while Ernesto looked at her with that voracious attention he had for everything he truly wanted.

“The rest too,” he said.

The miniskirt dropped to the dusty ground. The red thong lasted barely another second before she pulled that down too. She was shaved, with only a thin strip of reddish hair barely hinted at. Ernesto devoured her with his eyes from top to bottom.

“On your knees,” he told her.

Nuria knelt in the dirt without protest, without breaking eye contact with him. Ernesto loosened his belt, pulled his pants and briefs halfway down his thigh, and took out his cock. It was thick, more thick than long, with visible veins and the foreskin already pulled back. He put it in front of Nuria’s mouth without saying anything else.

She didn’t need instructions either. She grabbed his cock with one hand, jerked it twice, licked it from the balls to the tip, and took it into her mouth. She started sucking him with her eyes closed and her lips tight around the flesh, deep, with that wet sound that comes from a blowjob done with real hunger. Ernesto put a hand on the back of her neck and started setting the pace, pushing in a little deeper each time, until Nuria gave two slight gags and kept going without pulling away.

“That’s it, you filthy girl,” he murmured. “Suck me like that.”

He fucked her mouth mercilessly, holding her by her short red hair, until saliva ran down her chin and dripped in thick drops onto her breasts. When he pulled out, Nuria had teary eyes and an open mouth, trying to catch her breath.

“Stand up,” Ernesto said.

He pulled her up himself by the arm. He kissed her hard, mixing with his own saliva, turned her around, and set her with her hands stretched out on the SUV’s metal body. He stood behind her, opened her legs with a gentle knee to the inside of her thigh, and found his position. He slid two fingers between her legs to check, pulled them out shining, and showed them to her over her shoulder.

“You’re soaked, you little whore,” he said. “You haven’t been able to keep still for a minute.”

Nuria let out a short, muffled laugh and spread her legs a little wider.

That was when we heard the engine.

***

A green tractor came out from behind some bushes, following a dirt track we hadn’t seen when we parked. The man driving it looked to be in his mid-fifties: sun-weathered face, work cap, and a belly hanging over his leather belt. He shut off the engine about twelve meters from us.

He looked at us. He looked at Nuria, who hadn’t moved from where she was, naked, her perky ass raised and her hands braced on the metal. He looked at Ernesto, cock out and shiny with saliva.

“Can I help you with something?” he asked in the hoarse voice of someone who spends the day alone among the fields.

“We’re fine,” Ernesto said without turning around.

The man got down from the tractor calmly and stood beside the cab with his hands in his pockets. No one told him to leave. Ernesto didn’t seem to notice he was there either. He grabbed Nuria by the hips with both hands, pressed the head of his cock against the lips of her open cunt, and shoved all the way in with one stroke. Nuria let out a guttural moan that bounced off the SUV’s body.

Ernesto fucked with that methodical precision he had for everything he did well: steady rhythm, no urgency, as if time were a resource he had in abundance. He pulled almost all the way out and drove back in to the balls, with a wet smack every time their hips collided. Nuria had her fingers spread on the metal and her eyes closed. Every so often she let out a short, contained sound that the wind carried off toward the sunflower fields.

“You’re tight,” he told her, thrusting. “You’re nice and tight, you fuck like a dream.”

“Harder,” she said through her teeth. “Fuck me harder, goddamn it.”

Ernesto gave her a sharp slap on the ass with his open hand, leaving a red mark on her white skin. Nuria let out a muffled cry. He slapped the other cheek and sped up.

The farmer had taken two steps toward us without anyone saying a word. His hand was in his pants pocket in a way that left no room for alternative interpretations. He was jerking himself through the fabric, watching everything, never taking his eyes off Nuria’s ass bouncing against Ernesto’s pelvis.

Diego was smoking on the ground, leaning against the rear wheel, staring at his phone as if what was happening in front of him had nothing to do with him. I lit a cigarette and leaned against the front hood.

Ernesto pulled out for a moment, grabbed Nuria by the waist, and turned her. He sat her on the edge of the hood and spread her legs wide apart. He crouched down, buried his face between her thighs, and started eating her cunt with the same dedication he brought to everything else. You could see his neck moving, Nuria’s arm reaching for his head to press him against her. The girl threw her head back and let out a long moan that made the farmer put his other hand in his pocket too.

“Oh, fuck,” Nuria said. “Oh, fuck, yes, don’t stop, eat me like that.”

Ernesto didn’t stop. He drove two fingers into her while licking her clit, circling them, until she started trembling and squeezing his head between her thighs. When he felt she was close, he stood up, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and thrust back inside her, this time face to face, with Nuria’s legs hanging over the hood and her ankles crossed behind his back.

Nuria’s gasps got shorter, more urgent. Ernesto picked up the pace. The SUV’s body was trembling almost imperceptibly. Nuria dug her nails into his shoulders through his shirt, her tits bouncing with every thrust. She lifted her head and let out a long sound that wasn’t exactly a scream but was close enough.

“Don’t stop,” she said tensely. “Don’t stop, I’m gonna come, I’m gonna come, fuck, I’m gonna come.”

Ernesto didn’t stop.

When she came, she did it with her whole body. Her back arched over the hood, her heels dug into his lower back, and she let out a string of broken curses against his mouth. Her hands slid on the metal and her knees gave way for a moment. Ernesto kept going for a few more seconds and then pulled out, turned her back against the hood, jerked himself twice, and finished over her back with a short bellow that was anything but discreet. The jets came thick and hot, splattering from her shoulder blades to the base of her ass, sliding down her freckled skin in white streams.

The farmer took his hand out of his pocket, wiped it on his trouser leg without hiding it, and climbed back onto the tractor without saying anything. Before driving off, he stuck his head out of the cab window.

“When you leave, don’t drive over the corn in the back,” he said, nodding toward the fields. “That’s enough work for me already.”

He started the engine and drove off the way he’d come.

***

Ernesto picked up Nuria’s thong from the ground to clean himself. He ran the red fabric over her back, gathering up the jets of semen, and then dropped it on the vehicle floor when he opened the door. She let him do it without protesting. Diego handed her the shirt and miniskirt from where he was sitting, without standing up. Nuria got dressed without putting on underwear, with semen still running down between her legs under the denim skirt.

We drove the last forty kilometers with the music turned down lower. The cabin smelled of tobacco and sex and something sweet, which was Diego’s deodorant. Nobody said much. We dropped Nuria and Diego at the entrance to Casar de los Molinos, in front of a gas station. She waved goodbye from the sidewalk. Diego didn’t turn around.

We didn’t exchange numbers.

Ernesto drove the remaining stretch to the city without turning on the radio. Halfway there he lit a cigarette and lowered the window three centimeters.

“Good trip,” he said.

“Yeah,” I said.

We didn’t speak again until we got there.

***

Two days later, Ernesto’s wife went to pick up the SUV from the cleaning and detailing shop where he’d left it before he got sick. A kidney stone, that’s what he’d told her. The lady arrived perfumed, wearing sunglasses and looking as if she had never had a bad night’s sleep in her life. The manager handed her the bill: two hundred and eighty euros.

“Isn’t that too much?” she asked.

The manager took a moment before answering.

“We had to treat the entire upholstery, ma’am. The dashboard too. Some stains wouldn’t come out with standard product.”

She nodded without fully understanding. She paid by card and took the keys.

“Ah, one more thing,” the manager said before she left. “We found this on the floor of the vehicle. We put it in a bag; we didn’t want to touch anything else.”

She waited until she got to her own car to open the bag. Inside was a red lace thong, folded carelessly, with stains that left no room for any alternative interpretation.

She folded it twice more, put it at the bottom of her handbag, and stood there for a moment staring at the windshield.

Then she drove off.

She never said a word.