What Happened in My Car with a Stranger from the Chat

The first time we saw each other was that morning, inside my car, with the rain pounding against the windows as if it wanted to get in.

For several weeks, I had been spending my free time on a chat about strange journeys, the kind nobody ever took. It kept my mind occupied, far from the problems that were circling around my home. The days passed in a borrowed calm, and I clung to it as best I could.

Every night, after work, I set aside a moment to shut myself away inside my own mind and escape to impossible places. It was my way of getting away: time became a surprise whenever I let myself dream of other lives, other maps, other versions of myself I would never become.

One of those nights, when exhaustion already weighed on my eyelids and my eyes were begging to close, Adrián appeared.

His arrival did not go unnoticed. In a way I still can’t explain, the connection was almost immediate.

He was a young man, careful and polite with his words, talking about a journey with contagious enthusiasm. And it turned out to be, without exaggeration, the trip of my dreams. His account of traveling through the Greek islands, hopping from port to port, was enough to capture me completely. I stopped thinking about anything but him, and almost without realizing it, I plucked up the courage to write to him privately.

—Did you really take that trip? —I asked him, with a curiosity I could barely disguise.

Adrián was an interesting man, one of the few still left. Cultured, attentive, humble. Rare qualities in a place like that, which seduced me from his very first message and swept me into a conversation as fluid as it was unexpected.

From the way he expressed himself, I knew right away that he had traveled halfway around the world. He handled references, names, and hidden corners known only to someone who had truly traveled. And yet, what disarmed me most was the contrast with his humility: he never bragged, never imposed anything. He told things as someone sharing them, not displaying them.

For weeks we talked day and night. Conversations that stretched into the early hours, without sleep managing to extinguish our interest. Day after day, never missing a single one.

The list of places was endless: old destinations, unexpected corners, places neither of us had imagined until the other named them. It became an enriching exchange, practical and fascinating in equal measure.

Soon it was a daily habit, the kind that turns into a necessity.

Everything flowed from the very first moment. Closeness grew on its own, until the chemistry became obvious, almost tangible. Maps no longer moved us. Other reasons did—deeper, more intimate, more difficult to confess even to myself. By then I was climbing into bed with my phone and touching myself while thinking of him, two fingers buried in my pussy as I read his messages, imagining it was his mouth licking me and not my own hand making me come all over the sheets.

One Thursday morning, the opportunity arose.

We had decided to meet. Have breakfast together, spend the morning talking over the aroma of coffee, perhaps take a walk afterward if we felt like it.

At nine o’clock sharp, I was already in the parking lot of some ordinary shopping center, one of those soulless places good for everything.

I had spent the night awake, restless at the thought of meeting him. It would be the first time we shared something more than words. We would look each other in the eyes for real, brush against each other for the first time, and even thinking about it made me so nervous I couldn’t control myself. I had put on a short dress with a thin black thong, no bra, because deep down I knew perfectly well what I wanted to happen.

The morning dawned broken by rain. We had gone months without any, on the verge of restrictions, with summer bearing down on us, and that very day the sky decided to collapse. A heavy storm poured without respite over the city.

It had been a long time since it had rained like that. Driving had become a trial: little streams crossed the asphalt, the windshield wipers couldn’t keep up, and the whole world seemed to vanish behind the water.

I parked in an open-air section, far from the entrance, almost hidden away.

We had continued messaging during the drive, and agreed that whoever arrived first would wait inside the car. That time, it was me.

Fifteen minutes later, a dark-blue Volvo appeared and parked directly in front of mine.

Adrián got out in the rain. He covered his head with the hood of a jacket, trying not to get soaked, and crossed the few yards between us at a quick pace.

Two soft taps on the window made the nerves I had kept under control until then flare up all at once.

When I opened the door, he removed his jacket with an agile movement and, without waiting for an invitation, settled inside.

—Good morning —he said, with a smile that said everything.

Adrián was an ordinary man. You could tell he took care of himself, that he kept in shape, but his greatest appeal lay in that sweet, easy smile, capable of disarming anyone who encountered it.

Sitting face-to-face, we smiled at each other without saying anything else.

For a moment, time seemed to stop, suspended in a tiny space where there were only the two of us and the patter of water. When his eyes left mine and dropped to my lips, I knew this was no longer just a casual meeting.

The rhythm changed. What I felt was no longer curiosity. Something deeper, more urgent, was beginning to push its way through me. My thong was already wet, clinging to my pussy, and we hadn’t even been there for two minutes.

Unable to stop myself, I leaned in to give him two kisses. Deep down, I hoped that clumsy gesture would lead to something more, and I wasn’t wrong. Instead of the expected kisses, I received a hungry, almost impatient bite on my lower lip.

I stayed still, absorbing the moment, surprised by a promise that suddenly opened a new scenario beside him.

This wasn’t part of my plans.

Adrián was a calm man. He loved excitement, but not recklessness. He didn’t rush, didn’t get worked up. A serene, balanced man. The kind of man you would call a good man without hesitation.

And yet, this time he went for it.

That bite awakened a desire in me that had been asleep for far too long. A silent hunger to taste everything he had not yet given me.

He soon erased the distance separating us. His restless, curious hands sought my breast with restrained determination. He slipped his fingers into my neckline, moved the fabric aside, and pulled one of my tits out right there in the car seat, without asking. When he realized I wasn’t wearing a bra, a low, almost animal growl escaped him, and he whispered against my neck:

—You slut… you came prepared, huh?

—Yes —I admitted, breathless—. I came so you could fuck me.

The mist from our breathing began to quicken, fogging the windows and sealing the car in a conspiratorial half-darkness. I never would have imagined that gray, rainy day would end up becoming our ally. And yet it did.

Firm pressure on my nipples kept them alert, provoking an excitement that grew out of control. He enjoyed pinching and twisting them between his thumb and forefinger until a moan escaped me, brushing them with his fingertips until they trembled, and it sent shivers through my entire body. He bent down and took one into his mouth, sucking it hard, tugging it with his teeth until the nipple shot from between his lips, red, hard, and glistening with saliva.

The teasing was having its effect. Discreetly, I moved my hips against the seat, seeking the friction of the fabric to soothe, as much as I could, the need growing between my legs. My thong was completely soaked, stuck to the lips of my pussy, and every time I shifted, the seam pushed inside me and made me shudder.

The friction only half-satisfied me. And he knew it.

The urgency beginning to burn drove me to act.

Without thinking, on pure impulse, I laced my fingers through his free hand. Squeezing hard, I released some of the tension running through me that way. His other hand remained firm on my breast, drawing moans from me that I couldn’t contain. The need became imperative, and I stopped thinking: I grabbed his wrist, yanked my skirt up, and guided his hand to my pussy, pressing it against the wet fabric of my thong so he could feel exactly what he did to me.

—Fuck… —he murmured when he felt the moisture—. You’re soaked. You’re dripping, Mariana.

—Touch me —I begged, almost pleading—. Put them in me already.

I closed my eyes.

And, taking possession of every sensation his hand gave me, I surrendered without reservation to the pleasure.

He moved my thong aside with two fingers and caressed me directly against the skin, without barriers. He slowly explored the line of my swollen lips, parted them, and slid an entire finger inside me, all the way in. Skillfully, he searched for the exact spot, that spongy place behind the pubic bone that makes me see stars, and began rubbing while his thumb circled my clitoris. There, the cold his fingertips had brought in from outside slowly began to fade. The contrast lit me up from within, drawing an involuntary movement from me, as if my body responded before my mind.

The rocking of my hips slid over his fingers, impaling myself against his hand, and I wasn’t the only one enjoying it. In the half-darkness I could feel the bulge straining his trousers, a hard cock begging to get out, and I couldn’t resist. I lowered my hand and squeezed it through the fabric: it was thick, long, throbbing beneath my fingers.

—Take it out —I asked him—. I want to see it.

He unfastened his belt with one hand while continuing to finger me with the other. When he finally pulled down his underwear, his cock sprang free, hard as a rock, red at the tip, with a drop of precum hanging from the head. I grabbed it. It was hot, heavy, thicker than I had imagined. I began stroking him slowly, pushing the foreskin down, watching the head swell even more each time I brought my fist all the way up.

His thirsty mouth sought refuge in my breast.

The brush of his teeth outlined the tips of my nipples, hardened by the cold and charged with almost unbearable sensitivity. Wet and exposed, his fingers tugged at them with a firmness that bordered on pain without quite becoming it.

He was testing my endurance. Enduring the sweet teasing of his fingers had become a game, and I had agreed to play.

I leaned over the gearshift, uncomfortable, not giving a fuck about the position, and put his cock in my mouth. Thick, hard, with a salty taste at the tip that made me moan. I sucked him all the way, down to the end, until I felt him hit my throat. I pulled away to breathe and went back down, coating him well with saliva, letting a thread of it run over his balls. I sucked his shaft from top to bottom, licked his balls one by one, and swallowed him again.

—Fuck, you suck so good… —he panted, grabbing my hair—. Keep going, don’t stop…

He guided my head with his hand, setting the pace, fucking my mouth with short thrusts. I could feel him swelling even more, his stomach beginning to tremble, and I eased up before he came. Not yet. I didn’t want it to end yet.

I sat up again. With my skirt around my waist and my thong bunched between my thighs, I pulled it off in one tug and threw it onto the dashboard. I climbed as best I could over the gearshift, the roof of the car pressed against the back of my neck, and straddled him. His cock, wet with my saliva, was caught between my open pussy and his belly, and I began rubbing myself, letting it slide between my lips without entering yet.

—Put it in me —I pleaded in his ear—. Put it in me now, please.

He gripped it at the base, aimed it, and I lowered myself slowly. The head entered with a small push that drew a long moan from me, and then the rest forced its way in through gravity, inch by inch, until I felt it buried to the hilt, pressing against that spot only a good size can reach. I stayed still for a few seconds, impaled, feeling it throb inside me.

—Ahh… fuck… so full…

***

I began moving with rhythm, with intention, rising and falling on his cock, sliding over him in search of that extra something I knew would come. I rested my hands on his shoulders and rode him slowly at first, watching his cock appear and disappear between my legs, shining with my juices and growing slicker by the moment.

Adrián was enjoying all of it. He grabbed my hips and began thrusting up into me, synchronizing his strokes with my downward movements, slamming against my ass with a wet sound that filled the car. In perfect synchronization between his mouth and hands, he devoured my breasts as if they were the air he needed to stay alive, sucking my nipples while he fucked me, biting them each time I sank all the way down. And every time the intensity grew, I wanted more than ever to be part of him, to melt into him, to stop knowing where my body ended and his began.

—That’s it, slut… ride that cock for me —he growled in my ear—. Open up properly, because I’m going to put it all the way into your soul.

His words turned me on even more. I quickened the pace, making short, deep hops, feeling every thrust strike the depths of my pussy. The windows were now completely fogged, raindrops pattering outside, and inside there was only the sloshing of my soaked pussy swallowing his cock and my muffled moans against his neck.

When my clitoris began to receive constant friction against his pubic bone, my body gave in. His mouth left my breasts and rose to my lips, kissing me avidly, pushing his tongue down my throat, while his other hand closed around my neck, firm and in control.

The panting broken by the lack of air. A bold, defiant tongue. And a cock crossing, without asking permission, every boundary I thought I had.

That was all we needed to fall together into perdition. A willing surrender to pleasure, to the forbidden desire neither of us had named aloud during those weeks.

He pulled me off him with a sharp movement, laid me sideways across both seats, spread my legs, and got between them as best he could. He drove into me again with a single thrust, this time on top, setting the pace, fucking me against the seatback with long, deep strokes that made my skin squeak against the leather. With one hand he squeezed my neck; with the other he held one of my legs open against the roof of the car, leaving me exposed, offered, at his mercy.

—Come —he ordered, without stopping his thrusts—. Come on my cock, Mariana. Now.

The hand around my neck tightened a little more, possessive, while his hips sped up, determined, until I was breathless and panting, at the mercy of whatever he wanted to do to me. Each blow tore a sharper, more uncontrolled moan from me. I felt my pussy beginning to squeeze him, suck him inward, and tremble around his cock.

—Hmm… —the muffled, almost obedient moan escaped my throat—. Yes… yes… I’m coming, I’m coming…

I felt my body abandon itself to an orgasm I could no longer stop, an explosion that overwhelmed all reason and dragged me toward a sweet, conscious abyss. I arched my whole body, dripping over his cock, soaking his belly and thighs, the walls of my pussy convulsing around him, squeezing him, biting him from within. I screamed against his mouth, not caring whether anyone could hear me in the empty parking lot, and he kept thrusting into me without stopping, prolonging my orgasm until it began to hurt.

—I’m going to come… —he growled—. Where do you want me to shoot?

—In my mouth —I told him, my voice broken—. Give it to me in my mouth.

He pulled out of me, knelt as best he could in the little space available, and I lowered my head and took him all the way in, still shining with my juices. I sucked him avidly, my hand wrapped around the base, feeling him swell one last time. He came with a hoarse growl, a hot, thick stream filling my mouth, then another that reached my lips and trickled down my chin. I swallowed what I could without stopping, squeezing his glans with my tongue, savoring him to the last drop, until a spasm escaped him and he gently pulled me away because he couldn’t take any more.

When my breathing finally settled, slow and deep, I looked up and found his face. He was smiling with a heavy, almost proud calm, like someone contemplating something that belonged to him and that he revered at the same time. There was a dark, silent, almost solemn tenderness in his eyes. He ran his thumb along the corner of my mouth, collected a white drop that had remained there, and slipped it between my lips. I sucked it.

He said nothing. He wrapped me in his arms with a firm, protective gesture, stroking me slowly as if he feared breaking me. He shielded me from the cold beginning to invade me after the fall from ecstasy, holding me against his chest, claiming for himself that vulnerable moment that followed my surrender.

—Good morning, beautiful —he murmured, and I felt each word vibrate against his chest.

Outside, it was still raining. Inside, the fogged windows hid us from the world, and for a moment I wished the storm would never stop.

This is what happened. I haven’t embellished it or made it up. I’ve only finally told it, exactly as I experienced it.

Mariana.