What Happened with My Father’s Girlfriend at That Detour

We left the notary’s office with the contract signed and the uneasy feeling of having spent two hours in a room that was far too small. Carla took off her jacket as soon as we got into the car and folded it onto the back seat. Her light blue blouse fit her a little tighter than I remembered.

—We still have almost two hundred kilometers to the estate —I said, looking at the navigator.

—Then let’s go —she replied, and fastened her seat belt without looking at me.

My father’s partner was thirty-seven, eight years younger than him and eight years older than me. They had been living together for four summers. My wife, Lucía, had been waiting for me all weekend at the country house with our two children and my father. Carla and I had stayed in the city only to sign some papers that required her presence as attorney-in-fact. Two days. One hotel room each. Up to that point, perfectly reasonable.

We had been driving in silence for forty minutes when she asked me to stop for something to eat. I found a rest area between two barley fields, off the motorway, where there was only a rusted sign and a concrete table. I took out the bag with the sandwiches the hotel porter had prepared for us. We ate sitting on the hood of the car, staring at a sky loaded with low clouds.

Carla finished hers and brushed the crumbs off her blouse. Some slid down to her short, tight black skirt. The white of her knees contrasted with the fabric as if someone had drawn two moons against an inky background. She stood up with a twist that was all hips.

—Bloody crumbs —she muttered, running a flat hand over the fabric—. I want to arrive looking presentable.

—You’re fine, don’t worry —I said, and I don’t know whether my voice sounded as flat as I intended.

She straightened and looked me squarely in the eye. Her platinum-blonde hair, held back with a loose clip, fell in stray strands over her blouse.

—You think?

She smiled in a way I’d seen before at Sunday dinners, when she realized I was looking at her a second too long. She spread her arms and turned in place, running her hands over her hips. Then she looked straight at me again and laughed.

—I need to pee. Don’t you?

—I can hold it —I lied.

I took a look around. To the right of the table there was a row of brambles and tall scrub. From the motorway no one could see us. No houses, not a single person for kilometers.

—Go over there —I said—. I’ll wait here.

She went into the plants and I stayed standing, my back against the car, trying to think of anything other than Carla pulling down her underwear behind a bush. I heard her come back a few minutes later, light on her feet.

—That’s better —she said, drying her hands on her skirt—. And you? Sure you don’t need to go?

Then I felt my bladder tighten. The afternoon was cooling down.

—I’ll be right back.

I walked a good distance to a dry ditch, lowered my zipper a little and started to piss. All I could hear was my own stream, the murmur of the distant motorway and, at some point, a branch cracking behind me. I didn’t turn around. I thought it was the wind.

When I finished and shook myself twice, a voice a meter and a half away said:

—You needed to go too. And you’re fine, by the color. You’re a whole man.

I spun around. Carla was standing still among the bushes, looking at me with the same easy calm with which one looks at a road map. I covered myself with my hand.

—Carla, sorry, I…

—It’s fine. I came to find this. —She pointed to her blouse: the second button was missing, and through the gap you could see the inner curve of one of her breasts, bare under the bra—. It fell off earlier, when I was getting out of the car.

I lowered my gaze for an instant, just enough to confirm what I had already seen, and when I looked back up at her eyes she was closer.

—There’s nobody here —she said softly.

It wasn’t an invitation. It was a statement of fact, the way someone says it has stopped raining. She took another step, moved my hand aside and pulled my zipper all the way down. She reached into my briefs without ceremony, took my cock out into the cool afternoon air and weighed it in her palm, like someone calibrating a tool they plan to use hard.

—Look at that nice cock you’ve got hidden away —she murmured, bringing it up level with her face to inspect it closely—. Thick, with the veins standing out. And it’s not even fully hard yet.

—Do you want me to shake it well so you don’t get wet inside? —she asked, her voice halfway between mockery and calm.

She grabbed me before I could answer and started stroking me with her fist clenched tight, squeezing me hard from the base to the glans and back down again. Her fingers were warm and firm. I lowered my head and watched her dark red nails around my cock, sliding with deliberate slowness down and then up, pulling back my foreskin and exposing the head, which was swelling more and more. With her thumb she gathered a drop of pre-cum that was beading at the tip and brought it to her mouth.

—Salty —she said, smiling—. You’re already leaking.

—We can’t —I said, though I didn’t even bother to move.

—Can’t what? —Her left hand came up, found my balls and weighed them like someone deciding the price of something, squeezing my testicles with a firmness that made my knees bend—. We’re adults. Nobody can see us. I want you to fuck me, and your cock is getting stone hard. Don’t lie.

She let go of me just long enough to open her blouse all the way down, where no buttons mattered anymore, and leave her bra hanging from her elbow. Her breasts came out into the open, big and white, with two nipples the color of pale wood, standing up from the cold and from something else.

—Touch them —she said—. Don’t be afraid of them. And then you’ll suck them. I want them red when I get back to the car.

***

I had been imagining that for months. I confess it here because I haven’t confessed it to anyone. At family meals I watched her laugh with my father and wondered if he touched her under the table the way I used to touch Lucía in the years when I still loved her that way. I thought about her hips when she got up to clear the plates. I had dreamed about her twice, and both times I woke up with the sheets stained. And now there she was, in the middle of nowhere, with her tits out and my cock between her fingers.

I took her breasts in both hands. They felt heavy, alive, the soft flesh spilling between my fingers. I pinched both nipples at once and she arched her back, pressing them even harder against my mouth. I bent down and ran my tongue over one, slowly, in circles, letting it warm against my palate. Then I caught it between my lips and pulled, sucking it into my mouth while I pinched the other between my index finger and thumb and twisted it a little. Carla let out a short sigh, almost the sound of confirmed satisfaction, like someone receiving exactly what she had been expecting.

—Like that —she murmured—. Harder. Bite them. Don’t hold back with me. Not with me, ever.

I bit. She let out a moan and sped up the motion of her fist around my cock, now jerking me with a loose wrist, fast, each time drawing a wet snap from the friction at my frenulum. I switched breasts and did the same to the other nipple, sucking it until it was drenched in saliva. When I felt the first stab warning me I was about to come, she squeezed the base of my cock with two fingers, cutting the ascent off cleanly.

—Not yet —she said—. Not yet you don’t come. I want it to last a little. I want you to fuck me first.

She loosened her grip. My whole body protested, my cock throbbed, a vein pulsing along its entire length. I pulled back for a moment to look at her. Her hair was disheveled, a dry leaf caught in one strand, her wet, heated nipples pointing at me. She was ridiculously beautiful, and that made her even more dangerous.

She knelt without taking her eyes off me and shoved my cock into her mouth all at once, down to the throat. I felt her palate arch against the glans, her tongue wrapping underneath, soaking me all over. She withdrew her head slowly, leaving a thread of saliva hanging from her lip, and took me back in to the hilt. Once, twice, three times. She sucked my balls one by one, took them into her mouth and rolled them with her tongue while she kept jerking my cock against her cheek. The tip left a bright trail on her skin.

—You’ve got a thick one —she said, looking up at me from below, her mouth still pressed to my glans—. It’s going to fit me just right. Even better.

She stood up and lifted her skirt over her hips. She was wearing black cotton panties, which she pulled down to her ankles in one single motion. She took them off completely, held them under her nose for an instant as if checking something, and stuffed them into my trouser pocket, soaked through. Then she turned around, placed her hands on the trunk of a young tree growing among the brush, and spread her legs. With her left hand she opened her cunt in front of me, showing me the pink lips, shiny with moisture, the swollen clit peeking out between them.

—Now —she said, without turning around—. Put it all the way in at once. I’ve been thinking about this for too long. Don’t ask me anything, don’t go slowly, shove your cock in to the hilt.

***

I grabbed her hips with both hands, pressed myself against her ass and drove in with one thrust. The flesh received me warm, willing, tightening immediately around me. I felt it swallow me centimeter by centimeter until her balls were bumping against her clit. She leaned back a little more and let out a sound that was almost a word half-formed, a muffled “fuck” against the bark of the tree. I held her waist. Her skirt ridden up, I could see the pale shape of her buttocks, the tan line from that summer still surviving in September, and in the middle the dark line where her cunt opened.

I wasn’t gentle. She wasn’t asking for gentle either. I drove into her hips with a rhythm I wasn’t thinking about, one that was simply happening, pulling all the way out to the tip and slamming back in. Each thrust drew a gasp from her and made her ass tremble against my belly. The slapping wet sound among the brush was louder than our breathing. Carla matched each stroke by leaning back, impaling herself on my cock. I heard her pant, swear through clenched teeth, call me by my first name for the first time in four years.

—Mateo —she said—. More. Harder. Break me.

I pulled her hair, winding it around my fist and arching her head back. I bit her shoulder over the open blouse. I pressed her tits against the bark and she laughed, a low, guttural sound. I moistened my thumb with saliva from my own mouth and ran it along the line of her ass, testing the tight hole. She spread her legs a little wider.

—There too —she panted—. Another day. Fuck my cunt now. Fuck it properly.

I slid my hand down her stomach until I found her sex. She was soaked, the hot flesh slipping under my fingers, and the palm of my hand settled there while I kept moving inside her. I found her clit with the pad of my finger and rubbed it in circles, pressing hard, keeping time with the way she shoved herself against my cock. I felt her clench around me and, almost at once, shudder against my body in a series of long spasms that squeezed my cock from the inside like a wet fist. She let out a brief, contained cry, biting the forearm she had braced against the tree, like someone who knows they’re outdoors and hasn’t quite lost all sense of caution yet.

I held out until her contractions eased and then I let go. I pulled out at the very last second, gripped one buttock with my left hand, pumped my cock twice with my right and came over her ass and the small of her back in three long, dense, almost painful spurts. Semen slid down the crack of her ass, hung from one cheek, stained the raised edge of her skirt. When I finished I leaned against her back, my forehead between her shoulder blades, listening to her breathing settle.

—What a load —she murmured, wriggling, feeling the wetness on her skin—. What a man.

***

We stayed like that for a while, without speaking. When I came out, I did it slowly, feeling how reluctantly her cunt let me go. She straightened up, ran her fingers over her ass to collect my cum and brought them to her mouth without taking her eyes off me, sucking her index and middle fingers clean. She pulled her skirt back up, gathered her blouse. I wiped myself with a crumpled paper tissue I had in my pocket, the same pocket where she had stuffed her soaked panties. Neither of us looked the other in the face yet.

It was she who broke the silence. She bent down and took me in her hand again over my pants.

—Have you got any left? —she asked—. I want to make sure. I don’t want you getting home with anything left inside.

She pulled me out again, already soft and slick with both of us, and took me into her mouth with a calm that had nothing to do with the rush from a few minutes earlier. She cleaned it all with her tongue, sucking off the remnants, running the tip under the glans, lingering at the frenulum. I felt it slowly harden against her tongue, throb again. She began to suck me for real, with one hand at the base and her mouth sliding up and down, wetting me all the way to the balls with her spit. When she sensed I was relaxing, she took me all the way to the back of her throat and pressed my nose into her pubic mound. When she sensed I was about to finish, she eased off and just licked the tip with the flat of her tongue.

I didn’t push her head with my hands, I only held it as much as I needed to, brushed a strand of hair away from her forehead. I watched her suck my cock kneeling among the brush and thought there was no going back now. It took longer than I expected. When I finally felt the second orgasm building, I warned her by squeezing the back of her neck. She responded by speeding up, taking me all the way down her throat, squeezing my balls with her other hand. I came inside her mouth in two shorter spurts than the first, but thick ones. She swallowed it all without pulling away, and sucked the tip clean to the last drop, like someone cleaning a spoon.

She stood up, ran the back of her hand over her lips and gave me a smile that was new. Calmer, more complete.

—Done —she said—. Now we can keep going.

***

We went back to the car in silence. I had the feeling that anything I said would sound out of place. She, on the other hand, seemed to have fully regained control of the situation. She fastened her seat belt, took a small mirror out of her bag and touched up her lipstick.

—We need to think carefully about how we carry on —she said, without looking at me—. But don’t worry. I’ve almost got that part figured out.

—Almost?

—Your father’s going to Brussels for two weeks in November —she replied, as if reciting an agenda—. Lucía usually doesn’t come down to see us during the week. You work near my house. We’ll learn.

I started the engine. It sounded far too loud for my head, which was still racing at a thousand. I backed out onto the motorway. The kilometers left had become something else: they were no longer a stretch of road, they were a pact.

After a few minutes she opened the glove compartment, rummaged for a moment and took something out between her fingers. She held it up to my eyes. It was a small black button, shiny, with four holes and a thread still hanging from it.

—Look —she said, with that same smile—. I hadn’t lost it.

She put it back in the glove compartment and rested her hand on my thigh, just above the knee. She slowly moved it upward, millimeter by millimeter, until she found my drowsy cock again over my trousers. She left it there, pressing it with her palm, while the barley fields slid past the window like a curtain that went on too long.

That night, at the estate, I ate dinner facing my father, facing Lucía, facing the children, and I looked at her only once. She was pouring herself wine with her left hand. The right, I suppose, she had saved for me.