What Happened That Saturday in the Empty Office

I still remember it. Years have passed and sometimes, when I walk past an office building on a weekend and see the lights turned off, I go back to that Saturday with you and feel heat rise to my face. And to my cock, to be honest.

We had been flirting for months over the internal chat. Daniela—that was your name in my head, and that’s what I still call you whenever the memory comes over me. I’d write you something dirty between two of the director’s emails; a minute later you’d reply with something even bolder, and we’d both keep typing as if nothing were happening, our eyes glued to the screen and a smile we couldn’t hide. Ramón from accounting sometimes watched you out of the corner of his eye. I think he suspected something. But he never asked.

What began as a game got out of hand within a matter of weeks. I’d tell you that one day I was going to lock the office door and fuck you against the wall until you forgot your name. You’d laugh and tell me I wouldn’t dare, that I was all mouth and no balls. And yet, one Thursday afternoon, while everyone else was putting on their coats to leave, I came over to your desk under the pretext of a report and whispered it to you.

“No one comes into the office on Saturday. I have the keys. Come.”

You stared at me for a few seconds. You didn’t say yes. You didn’t say no. You just squeezed my hand when I handed you the folder, and I knew you would come.

***

I arrived half an hour before the agreed time. Not because I was nervous, or so I told myself. Out of habit, to check everything, to leave it all in darkness. The truth was that I was a nervous wreck and needed to keep moving. I climbed the three flights without turning on the stairwell lights, opened the office door, and left the key in the lock on the inside. I didn’t want to have to look for it if everything went as I hoped.

And then the waiting began. Five minutes. Ten. Fifteen. I thought you weren’t coming, that you’d changed your mind, that you’d never really intended to show up and that the game would remain in the chat, where it belonged. I was about to write to you when I heard footsteps on the landing, followed by a soft knock on the door.

I opened it. It was you. You were wearing a long coat and a scarf pulled up to your nose, as if you were hiding from the whole neighborhood. You slipped inside without saying a word, and I carefully closed the door.

“I thought you weren’t coming.”

“I thought the same thing,” you said.

I didn’t give you time to say anything else. I took your face in both hands and kissed you as if I’d been drowning for months and you were the only thing capable of giving me air again. It took you half a second to respond. Half a second. Then your hands sought mine, my neck, the nape of my neck, and the scarf and coat fell onto the carpet without either of us picking them up. I thrust my tongue deep into your mouth and you sucked it as if your life depended on it, and I felt myself grow hard all at once against your belly. You noticed. You certainly noticed. You lowered your hand and squeezed my bulge through my trousers, without the slightest shame, as if you’d been wanting to check it for months.

***

The light coming through the half-open blinds drew yellow stripes across your sweater. I didn’t turn on a single lamp. There was no need. I pushed you slowly against the filing cabinet in the hallway and began unbuttoning your blouse, one button at a time, looking into your eyes as I did. Your hands were trembling. Not with fear. With impatience.

When I moved the fabric aside and saw the black bra, I stood still for a moment. I laughed inwardly. You had chosen underwear for this. You had prepared yourself. Knowing that made me even hotter than the bra itself.

“I was thinking about you when I put it on this morning,” you whispered, as if you could read my face, “and about what you were going to do to me.”

“And what was I going to do to you, according to you?”

“Fuck me the way you’ve been telling me for months you were going to fuck me.”

A low, almost animal growl escaped me. I kissed your neck, your collarbone, the top of your breasts. I pushed the cups down with my fingers without undoing anything, and my mouth found your left nipple before your right hand found my belt. I bit it very gently and heard the first moan of the morning, the sound we hadn’t been able to allow ourselves in the chat. I kept it forever. I moved to your right nipple, sucked it, nibbled it, tugged it with my lips until a long gasp escaped you. They were hard as rocks, goose-pimpled from the cold hallway, and every time I touched them your knees bent a little.

Your hand slipped beneath my trousers, pushed aside the elastic of my boxers, and grabbed my cock directly, skin against skin, with a decisiveness I hadn’t expected from someone who had been trembling half a minute earlier. I closed my eyes. You began masturbating me slowly, using your whole hand, squeezing at the base and loosening at the tip, and I felt your fingers grow wet with the first drop that escaped me. If you kept that up, we weren’t even going to make it to the desk.

“Wait,” I told you in your ear. “Wait, fuck, I’m going to come right here.”

“I don’t want to wait. I want you inside me now.”

***

We didn’t wait. I hiked your skirt up to your waist, pulled your stockings down in one tug, and you took care of my trousers with an efficiency that made me think, for a second, that this wasn’t the first time you’d done something like this somewhere other than a bed. I slipped my hand between your legs over your panties and felt the fabric soaked through, stuck to your pussy, hot. I moved the elastic aside with two fingers and touched you directly. You were wet in a way I could hardly believe, slippery, open, ready. I slipped one finger inside and it went in without resistance. I added another and you drove yourself down onto my hand.

“My God, look at you,” I murmured against your neck.

“I’ve been like this all week, you idiot. Put it in.”

I pulled the side of your panties aside, took my cock in my hand, and ran it over the lips of your pussy, up and down, coating it in you. I rubbed it over your clitoris a couple of times and heard you mutter a curse through your teeth. Then I placed it at your entrance and thrust in with one motion, all the way to the hilt, pinning you against the filing cabinet, the dry sound of metal accompanying us every time I thrust. A hoarse, endlessly long moan escaped you, and the folders inside clinked.

“I’m protected,” you murmured without my asking, between gasps. “I take the pill. Come inside me.”

That sentence, spoken right into my ear, was my undoing. I began fucking you hard, without rhythm, without thought, driving you against the filing cabinet with my whole body, gripping one of your buttocks with one hand and the nape of your neck with the other. Your neck bent backward with every blow. One breast slipped out of your bra and bounced with every thrust. I could feel your pussy squeezing me, sucking me, swallowing me to the base, and the wet sound of flesh against flesh filled the entire hallway.

“Harder, fuck,” you begged. “Harder.”

I wasn’t going to last long, and I didn’t. I grabbed you by the waist, pulled you tight against me, and came inside you with my breathing ragged, trying not to make a sound even though there was no one there to disturb. I felt jet after jet pour out, filling you, my cock pulsing inside you with every discharge. Your nails dug into my shoulders and, from the moans that escaped you and the way your whole body trembled as you clenched around me inside, I knew I hadn’t been the only one to come.

We stayed still for a moment, both panting, my forehead against yours, your arms around my neck. Still inside you. I felt some of my own semen mixed with your juices trickling between our thighs, and it didn’t disgust or embarrass me. It made me want more. I thought I’d be ashamed of having lasted so little. But you laughed against my mouth, a small, satisfied laugh, and I understood we weren’t going to stop there.

***

I led you by the hand to the director’s office. It was the largest one, the one with that enormous oak desk where he signed contracts a couple of times a month. The thought of dirtying that surface seemed, at that moment, like the fairest thing in the world.

I swept the lamp aside, along with the picture frame containing a photograph of his wife and two folders that had been sitting there for weeks. I laid you on your back across the desk, spread your legs, and knelt between them. I pulled your panties all the way off, soaked and with a whitish stain in the middle, and held them in my hand for a moment before letting them fall to the floor. I brought them to my nose first. They smelled of you, of sex, of me inside you. My cock stirred again just from that.

I don’t want to rush what came next. I opened the lips of your pussy with my thumbs and saw you completely, red, swollen, shining with the mixture of everything. A white thread ran down toward your ass. I lowered my mouth and began there, cleaning you, licking you from bottom to top with my flat tongue, sucking without disgust at what I myself had left inside you. You let out a muffled cry and clutched the edge of the desk as if you were going to fall.

“Fuck, fuck, you’re such a filthy bastard,” you said between moans.

I kept licking you slowly, with my flat tongue at first, then in circles, alternating with my lips and with two fingers that went in and out to the rhythm you set with your pelvis. I sucked your clitoris between my lips and held it there, tugging very gently, while my fingers worked inside you, curled upward, searching for the exact spot. Your left hand clung to the edge of the desk. Your right sought my hair and pushed my head gently when I found the spot, and then it wouldn’t let me pull away.

You had an orgasm. You arched your whole body, your thighs went rigid against my ears, and I felt your pussy contract around my fingers like a fist. Then another, while I kept sucking you without letting you breathe, without moving my mouth even when you pushed my head away to make me stop. And a third that nearly pulled you off the desk, during which a hot little stream escaped you and wet my chin and neck. You covered your mouth with your forearm, and even so, cries escaped you and bounced off the empty walls of the building. I didn’t stop until you pushed me away with both hands, laughing and telling me you couldn’t take any more, that you were going to faint, that you’d piss yourself if I kept going.

***

I stood up and looked at you. You were lying across the director’s desk, your blouse open, your bra askew, your tits out and your legs still spread, your pussy open and dripping onto the oak. You smiled at me with an expression I had never seen on you at the office, a mixture of exhaustion and defiance, and I realized we still weren’t finished. I was hard again, pointing directly at you.

“Turn over,” I said.

You did. You propped yourself on your elbows on the wood, your ass at the edge of the desk, and left your whole body on display. I stroked your back, your buttocks, your thighs. I gave one cheek a gentle slap and saw the mark appear as you pushed your ass backward, asking for more. I gave you another, harder, and you moaned. I entered you from behind again with a single thrust and began moving slowly, looking down at you, my hands on your waist, watching my cock slide out shiny and whole and sink back into you to the balls.

I bent over your back, took your tits from underneath with both hands, and squeezed them while I thrust. You pushed your ass even farther back. A short, sharp gasp escaped you with every blow, and the desk began squeaking against the parquet floor.

And then, I don’t know when, my thumb began searching for you somewhere else, between your buttocks, wet with what was dripping from your pussy, and pressed gently against your other hole.

“No,” you said, without turning all the way around, in a tone that wasn’t entirely a no.

“Never?”

“Never.”

I stopped for a second. I leaned over your back and kissed the nape of your neck.

“I’ll be careful. If you want me to stop at any point, I’ll stop. But I want to fuck you in the ass, Daniela.”

You took a while to answer. I felt you draw two deep breaths, then three. After that you nodded, without a word. And then, in a very low voice, almost against the wood of the desk, you added:

“Slowly. Promise me.”

“Slowly.”

***

We did it slowly. As slowly as a body can bear when it has already been on the edge for an hour. I pulled out of your pussy and spent a moment looking at your ass, opened by the position, shining with everything running down from above. I made use of what my own body had left inside you: I slipped two fingers into your pussy, pulled them out thoroughly soaked, and brought them to your other hole. I opened you with one finger first, very slowly, pushing and easing off, letting you get used to it. You let out a strange moan, somewhere between discomfort and curiosity, and pressed your forehead against the wood.

“Breathe,” I told you. “Don’t clench.”

I inserted a second finger once the first was going in and out without resistance, thoroughly coating you inside with my own come. I moved my fingers in a scissoring motion, very slowly, opening you. With my other hand I reached down and began stroking your clitoris at the same time, in soft circles, so you would associate one sensation with the other. Little by little you stopped tightening. You began moving your ass yourself, just a little, almost without realizing it, seeking my fingers.

“Now,” you said. “Now, do it.”

I withdrew my fingers. I spat into my hand and coated my entire cock, then let a string of saliva fall onto your ass so everything would be thoroughly slippery. I placed the tip there and pushed a millimeter. Nothing more. One millimeter. I felt your whole body tense. I waited. I pushed a little farther. I waited again. I entered by centimeters, stopping at each one, until I felt you give way. Your face against the desk, my hand covering your mouth when a moan too close to a scream escaped you. I’m not going to sugarcoat it: there was pain at first. I know because your whole body trembled and because your fingers dug into the wrist of the hand covering your mouth. I know because I heard you say “wait, wait, wait” three times against my palm, and I waited each time.

But you didn’t ask me to stop.

And little by little, thrust by thrust, that trembling changed into something else. Into a rocking motion. Into cooperation. When I finally felt you open all the way around me, when my entire cock disappeared inside your ass to the base, I let my head fall onto your back and released a hoarse moan I didn’t know whether was mine or yours. You were incredibly tight. Every millimeter burned with pleasure.

I began moving very slowly, pulling almost all the way out and going back in inch by inch, watching your ass stretch and close around the base of my cock. My other hand lowered to your clitoris and I began touching you with two fingers while continuing to move behind you. After a few minutes I no longer had to cover your mouth: you moaned with your face pressed against the wood, unable to control yourself, pushing your ass backward so I would go deeper, faster.

“More,” you begged, incredulous, as if you didn’t recognize your own voice. “Harder.”

I grabbed you by the waist with both hands and began fucking your ass in earnest, setting the pace, watching my cock go in and out coated in slickness, watching your tits move underneath with every blow. With two fingers of my right hand I penetrated your pussy at the same time, and through the thin wall I felt my own cock moving inside you. You came again, split between two sensations, your whole body convulsing, screaming openly against the director’s desk, neither of us caring about anything anymore. Your pussy closed around my fingers and your ass around my cock at the same time, and I came with you a few seconds later, buried to the balls, spilling jet after jet inside you with my face buried in your hair, not really knowing where my body ended and yours began.

***

Afterward came the silence. That strange stillness that settles over an empty office when the air-conditioning units haven’t yet switched on and the only sound is the distant hum of the break-room refrigerator. I pulled out of you very slowly, and still felt one last contraction around the tip before I finally separated from you. We remained wrapped in each other’s arms on the director’s desk for several minutes. We said nothing. There was no need.

When I sat up, I smiled with an expression you had never seen on me.

“I want to ask you for something,” I said.

You turned slowly, sat on the edge of the desk, and looked at me with one eyebrow raised. Your eyes dropped toward my cock, still half-hard, shiny and dirty.

“Wash it first,” you said before I opened my mouth. “There’s no way I’m putting that in my mouth like this.”

I laughed. I really laughed, for the first time all morning. I went to the bathroom in the hallway, washed myself with the office’s pink soap, the one that smelled like cheap chewing gum, soaped it up properly, rinsed it, dried it with paper, and came back. I found you standing, leaning against the desk, still half-dressed, your nipples peeking over your disordered bra.

You knelt without my saying anything. You took me in both hands and began slowly, your eyes fixed on mine, as if you wanted to memorize my face while you did it. You licked me first, from the base to the tip, very slowly, with your flat tongue. Then you licked my balls, one first and then the other, and took them both completely into your mouth. You went back up my shaft with little licks, and only then took me all the way in at once, to the back, until I felt the tip against your throat.

It wasn’t your first time. I knew immediately. Your mouth knew the exact movement, the angle, when to loosen and when to squeeze. You sucked while moving your head in a practiced rhythm, pulling me out to the tip and swallowing me whole again, helping yourself with one hand at the base and the other massaging my balls. Every so often you pulled me all the way out and gave me a long lick while looking at me, smiling, a string of saliva between your lip and my glans. And I didn’t care how many times you had done it before; in that moment you were mine alone, in that office, that Saturday.

I began grabbing your hair. Gently at first, setting the rhythm, and then harder, fucking your mouth directly, watching your eyes fill with tears without you pulling away a single inch. Saliva escaped from the corners of your mouth and ran down your chin to your tits. I pulled out just in time and jerked off over you a couple of times. I came across your chest, your throat, one nipple, your chin. You closed your eyes and smiled with your head tilted slightly back, your mouth open, your tongue out to catch the last drop, and I swear that image is what comes to mind, much more than any other, every time I remember that day.

You stayed like that for a moment, kneeling, looking at me, my semen running down your cleavage. Then you ran two fingers across your chest, gathered it up, and brought them to your mouth without taking your eyes off me. I almost got hard again just from that.

***

We dressed without hurrying. We put things back as best we could. I cleaned the director’s desk with some wipes, exactly where we had been, though I always wondered whether no trace had really been left behind. I put the director’s picture frame back on the desk, aligned as it had been. You replaced the folders, ran your fingers through your hair in front of the glass of his window, and pulled your scarf back up to your nose, just as when you arrived. I walked you to the landing, locked up, and we went down the stairs separately, just in case, even though there was no one around.

On the street we said goodbye with a short kiss, almost like coworkers, and each went his own way.

On Monday we greeted each other as if nothing had happened. Tuesday too. On Wednesday Ramón’s email arrived asking me for an urgent report and, without thinking, I wrote you a joke over the internal chat about how little time I was going to take to finish it. You replied with an emoticon and nothing else. And so, without either of us ever discussing it, we decided it wasn’t going to happen again.

I never asked you whether you liked it. And I never will, because I’m afraid of the answer, whatever it may be. If it was merely a yes, it will leave me wanting. If it was an enormous yes, it will hurt me that we didn’t try again. But what I do know, what I carry with me even after all these years, is that it was the best Saturday of my life, and that the director’s desk was never just a desk to me again.