What I Never Told About My Mechanic

My name is Carolina, and I’ve spent years living in balance. Not in happiness: in balance. They’re not the same thing, even if they look alike from the outside.

Family, schedules, dinner at the same time, automatic kisses before bed. Everything works, everything fits, as long as I don’t stop to look too closely inside myself. And above all, as long as I don’t stop to think how long it’s been since anyone fucked me the way I need to be fucked.

The garage was an excuse. It took me a while to admit it, but it was.

I was always the one who took the cars in. Always. My husband had a thousand reasons not to go, and I had one reason to go: him. Iván. The mechanic I had trusted with both our cars for the last year and a half.

We never talked about what vibrated between us, but it was there. I could feel it in the way he looked up as soon as he heard the door, as if something in his chest switched on before his thoughts did. And I felt it in me: a slow heat rising under my skin even before I looked at him, even before I parked. A tingle straight between my legs, forcing me to squeeze my thighs together inside the car before getting out.

We had ignored it for months. Too aware, both of us. Too afraid of what would happen if either of us dared to name it.

That afternoon I arrived just before closing. It wasn’t a coincidence. I had calculated the time while telling myself it was a coincidence. I had changed my underwear before leaving: thin black panties that were already getting in my way just from imagining him.

The metal shutter was halfway down and the air smelled of hot metal, oil, and dust. Iván was alone. His hair was slightly damp with sweat, and there was a dark patch at the neck of his T-shirt where the fabric clung to his skin. When he saw me, he froze. His fingers stopped moving over the tool in his hand.

But his body recognized me before his will did: his shoulders tightened, his breathing changed rhythm. And under his work overalls, it didn’t escape my eyes that something was starting to show.

—You’re late —he said. His voice came out rougher, lower.

—I know —I answered, and I didn’t apologize.

He pulled the shutter all the way down. The metallic crash vibrated through the garage walls and, in some way, it vibrated through me too. That sound closed off more than the entrance: it closed off the possibility of going on pretending.

For a few minutes he pretended to inspect the car, but his attention was on every movement I made. On the way I tucked my hair behind my ear. On how my fingers idly traced the edge of a workbench. Every tiny motion of mine went through his body like a spark he couldn’t quite let go of.

To keep from overflowing, I touched things. The cold hood of another car, the rough wall, the edge of a shelf full of boxes of screws. I needed to feel something solid under my fingertips. But my skin no longer responded to those surfaces: it responded to his gaze, following me without even trying to hide it from across the garage. And I could feel my panties getting wetter and wetter, clinging to a cunt that had gone weeks without anyone paying it real attention.

—You smell different —he said suddenly.

I turned slowly.

—Different from what?

His jaw tightened for a second, as if he were deciding how much he was willing to say.

—I don’t know. You smell good. Your scent gets my dick hard. I’ve been noticing it for months, and today I don’t feel like pretending anymore.

He came closer. Slowly, measuring every step, giving me all the time in the world to stop him. I didn’t stop him.

When he took my bag off my shoulder, his fingers brushed the inside of my arm and slid a little farther than necessary. It was a tiny gesture, almost nothing. But my skin reacted at once: a shiver that raised the hair on my arms and made me inhale sharply, unable to help it. He heard it. His eyes darkened another shade.

—Carolina… —he murmured—. Tell me it’s not just me. Tell me you’re wet too.

My silence was a yes. The most emphatic yes I’d given in a long time. And so he wouldn’t have any doubt, I took his hand, guided it under my skirt, and pressed it straight against my soaked panties.

A rough moan escaped him when he felt how wet I was. His fingers pressed the fabric against my cunt and I felt the moisture stain his fingertips.

—Fuck… —he whispered—. You’re soaked.

—I’ve been like this for months because of you —I answered, not recognizing my own voice.

He pressed me against the side of one of the cars, and the cold metal cut through the fabric of my blouse and tightened my whole body. He stood in front of me, blocking my way, and this time he really touched me. His hand slid back under my skirt, pushed my panties aside, and his fingers traced my cunt lips from top to bottom, slowly, soaking themselves.

—Open a little more for me —he asked in my ear.

I spread my legs and he sank two fingers inside. He pulled them out slick and slid them back in, deeper, searching for that spot only I knew. When he found it, a sharp cry slipped out of me and bounced off the metal walls of the garage.

—Shh… —he said, smiling with his mouth against my jaw—. We still have plenty left.

My hand dropped blindly and found the hard bulge inside the overalls. I squeezed it through the fabric and felt the thick, hot cock, throbbing against my palm. I pulled down the zipper on his coveralls and slipped my hand inside, with no underwear in between, and grabbed him directly. He was hard as stone and already wet at the tip.

—I want to suck your dick —I told him, unfiltered, not recognizing the woman who was speaking.

He didn’t kiss me right away. His lips brushed the corner of mine without quite meeting them, and that almost-kiss made me tremble more than any direct contact would have. When he finally kissed me, it was deep and slow, his tongue sliding all the way into my mouth, and I felt something inside me surrender without resistance.

—Come on… —he said against my lips.

***

He led me down a narrow corridor toward the back of the garage. There he held me against the wall, and the contact was firmer, more determined. His hand slid to the back of my neck and his fingers disappeared for a second into my hair. Then he tightened his grip, holding me by the hair with a firmness that tore another moan from me.

We went into a small office at the back, where the only light came from the street through a dirty window. The dimness made everything sharper. The sound of our breathing, the rustle of clothes, the slight trembling I could no longer hide.

I took his T-shirt off. The work overalls, already hanging around his waist, gave up easily to my hands. I pulled them down to his ankles and his cock sprang free, hard, thick, with visible veins and a shiny tip of precome. I stared at it for a second, without trying to hide it. I hadn’t seen one like that in years.

I knelt without thinking. The concrete floor was cold under my knees, but I didn’t care. I grabbed his cock at the base with one hand and ran my tongue along the whole length, from his balls to the tip, slowly, tasting him. He let out a low gasp and braced one hand against the wall.

—Fuck, Carolina…

I took him into my mouth as far as I could, until I felt him hit the back of my throat. I started sucking him hungrily, cheeks hollowed, using my hand at the base for what wouldn’t fit. Every time I pulled his cock out, I licked under it, over his balls, and took him back in to the hilt. A thread of saliva dripped down my chin and I didn’t give a damn.

He grabbed my hair, not hard, but enough to set the rhythm. I obeyed. I sucked his cock with my eyes closed, feeling it swell even more against my tongue, and inside I was so wet that my panties were useless.

—Stop… —he said, voice breaking— stop or I’m going to come in your mouth.

I stood up slowly, my lips swollen and shining. He turned me against the desk, hiked my skirt up to my waist, and tore my panties off to one side. I heard the fabric rip. I didn’t say a thing. I just spread my legs and pushed my ass back, offering it to him.

Before fucking me, he crouched down and ran his tongue over my cunt from behind, long, flat, all of it. I screamed against the desk. His hands opened my ass cheeks and his tongue sank inside, eating me like he’d been waiting for months. He licked, sucked, drove his tongue into my clit and then moved higher. I pressed my chest against the wood, my nipples so hard they hurt under my blouse.

—Fuck me already, please —I begged—. Put it in.

He stood up, gripped his cock, and ran it over my cunt lips, soaking it in me. When he finally shoved it in, all at once, in one single thrust, a moan escaped me that I couldn’t control. I felt him rise up into my stomach, thick, hot, filling me in a way I hadn’t felt filled in years.

—Like that —I told him, gripping the edge of the desk—. Hard. No care.

And he obeyed. He started fucking me with long, deep thrusts, holding my hips with both hands, pulling me back every time he pushed forward. The sound of his thighs hitting my ass filled the office, mixed with my moans and his, rough, broken.

He pulled out and turned me around. He sat me on the desk, spread my legs wide, and slid back into me from the front, looking me in the eyes, his cock coming in and out of me shining with wetness. With one hand he held a breast inside my bra, pinching my nipple between two fingers; with the other he held me by the back of the neck and forced me not to look away.

—Look at me while I fuck you —he ordered.

I looked at him. I watched his cock slide all the way into my cunt again and again, watched the vein standing out in his neck, his mouth slightly open, sweat running down his chest. And I felt something inside me, something that had been asleep for years, coming undone.

We changed positions again. He put me on all fours on the worn-out sofa in the corner, shoved my face into the cushion, and took me from behind with his cock buried to the hilt. With two fingers he found my clit while he kept thrusting into me, and that combination unraveled me. I started shaking uncontrollably, my orgasm rose from my feet, drove into my belly, and burst in waves that made me scream into the cushion.

He didn’t stop. He kept fucking me through my orgasm, stretching it out, until I was trembling, sensitive, unable to hold myself up on my own. Only then did he pull his cock out, turn my head, and bring it to my mouth. I opened without hesitation. He came in three long strokes, inside my mouth and over my lips, with a low, rough groan born deep in his chest. I swallowed what I could. The rest dripped down my chin and he caught it himself with his thumb, bringing it back to my mouth again.

We stayed like that, breathing hard, pressed together, feeling our bodies slowly return to a more human rhythm. But inside, everything had changed, and we both knew it.

***

I rested my forehead against his neck. His skin was hot, damp, alive under my lips. I would have stayed there for hours, in that half-light, far from my orderly life and his false balance.

—We have to go out… —I murmured, not moving.

—I know… —he answered, still not letting go of me.

It took us a while to separate. We got dressed in silence, glancing sideways at each other, with that shy awkwardness that comes afterward, when desire loosens and everything else remains. I had to put my torn panties in my bag; there was no other way. He gave me my bag back. He smiled faintly. I didn’t know what to say, so I said nothing either.

When I crossed the empty garage and stepped out into the night, the cold air hit my face, but my skin was still burning, as if it held the memory of every touch, every centimeter traveled. I could still feel his come at the corner of my lips and his cock between my legs, as if he were still inside me.

When I sat in the car, my hands trembling on the steering wheel, I finally understood the truth I had been avoiding for months.

It hadn’t been only desire. It hadn’t been a whim, or a slip, or a mistake I could file away and forget.

It had been the recognition of a hunger that had been asleep inside me for years, one my orderly life had learned not to listen to.

I started the engine and looked for a moment at the closed garage shutter. I knew I would come back. I knew I would invent another excuse, another strange noise in the engine, another inspection that wasn’t needed. I knew that next time I would ask him for things I hadn’t even dared to think about today.

And I knew that after that, nothing would ever be easy again. But nothing would ever be this intensely alive again, either.