What We Did at the Lookout While Someone Watched

We had gone almost three weeks without fucking. He had been buried in the final project for his degree, and I had been on a work trip that ran longer than planned. Three weeks in which the late-night messages grew more direct, more obscene, more urgent. He sent me audio messages at dawn describing what he was going to do to me, how hard he got thinking about my mouth around his cock, how good he was going to fuck me when he had me again. I replied with photos of my wet cunt, of my tits on the hotel bed, of my fingers stuffed deep inside me trying to hold out. There comes a point when written words stop being enough and the body starts collecting on its debt.

That afternoon, the plan was simple: meet up for a while, have a drink somewhere in the center and then he would leave for his work shift. We had even talked about it the night before. Easy, uncomplicated, adult, reasonable.

But from the moment I saw him come down the stairs of his building with that way he had of moving, I knew we were never making it to any bar. The only thing that was going anywhere was his cock into my mouth, and the sooner the better.

Some people have that. A presence that switches something on in you before they even touch you. Marcos had it from the beginning, from the first time we met at a mutual friend’s place and he looked at me across the table with that unsettling calm of his. He greeted me that evening with a kiss on the cheek that lasted a second longer than necessary, and when he got into the car and shut the door, the air between us changed texture. I could feel my panties soaking through just from catching the scent of his cologne at his neck.

—Where are we going? —he asked, though his tone already held the answer.

—Somewhere —I said, and started the car.

I knew that dynamic well enough not to be surprised when, a few minutes into the drive, I felt his hand on my thigh. First over the fabric of my pants, tracing slow circles. Then, after we’d been moving for a bit, his fingers found their way inward, brushing the edge of the underwear. He slid his hand up without asking, opened the button of my pants in one movement, and shoved his fingers straight under my panties. When he reached my cunt and felt how wet I was, he let out a low laugh, almost a growl of approval.

—Fuck, you’re dripping —he said, sliding one finger between my folds without pushing it all the way in—. You’ve been thinking about my cock the whole way here, haven’t you?

I didn’t answer him. I clenched my knees together and tried to focus on the road. I almost managed it, because then he shoved his middle finger all the way in and started moving it slowly, feeling how everything tightened around it. I had to slow down so I wouldn’t veer off the road.

I parked in a place I vaguely knew, a wooded area on the outskirts where people usually went running or walked their dogs. At that hour in the late afternoon, with the light already falling long and orange between the trunks, it was practically empty. The only sound was the birds and, far off, the murmur of the reservoir.

When I got out of the car he took my hand without saying anything and we started down a dirt path between the trees. I could feel the wetness between my legs with every step, my panties sticking to me, my cunt still throbbing, wanting what he had promised and then taken away. I saw the lookout before we reached it: a wooden platform with two long benches, surrounded by young pines, with an open view over the water. The reservoir gleamed at that hour like old silver.

He sat down and pulled me toward him.

I straddled his lap, my knees on the bench on either side of his, and went to kiss him. I could feel his hard cock under me, pressing through the fabric of his pants, right where my cunt settled. I started moving barely at all, rubbing myself over him while trying to reach his mouth. But every time I got close, he would turn his face slightly and dodge me with a smile. He let me brush his lips and then pulled back a millimeter, just enough for me not to get there. He did it on purpose. He knew it, I knew it, and both of us knew it only made me want him more, made me grind harder against his cock, made me soak even more.

—Stop it —I told him.

—Stop what? —he answered, with that expression of his, like he had no idea what I was talking about.

—Kiss me already, for fuck’s sake.

—Ask nicely.

I grabbed his face with both hands and kissed him myself, not giving him a chance to dodge me this time, shoving my tongue all the way in. A moment later he was inside the kiss too, biting my lower lip, his hands sliding up under my T-shirt, yanking my bra up hard to free my tits. He cupped them from below, weighing them in his palms, pinching my nipples between his fingers until they twisted softly. I let out a whimper against his mouth.

We stayed like that for a good while, with the sound of the water in the distance and the wood creaking lightly under our weight, while I kept grinding against the bulge in his pants and he played with my nipples, until I felt his hands moving toward the button of my pants.

He opened my zipper with one hand while the other arm circled my shoulders. His fingers found the fabric of my underwear, pushed it aside and then, without any detour, two fingers went in all at once to the knuckles. He hissed when he felt everything clenching around them.

—You’re dripping, fuck —he murmured into my ear—. Wetter than in the car. You smell like a little whore.

He moved them in and out, the heel of his hand rubbing my clit with every thrust, at the angle only he seemed to know how to find. I rested my forehead on his shoulder and started moaning softly against the fabric of his shirt. He covered my mouth with the palm of his hand.

—Quiet —he said—. Anybody could walk by.

What followed was a mixture of concentration and overwhelm that’s hard to describe. His fingers moved with a precision I knew too well, knowing exactly when to press and when to pull back so I wouldn’t come yet. He pulled his two fingers out glistening with my juices, ran them over my clit in quick circles, and shoved them back in to the hilt. He had me right on the edge for several minutes when I felt him suddenly slow down.

I tried to move against his hand, to fuck his fingers myself. His arm stopped me.

I looked up and saw him: a middle-aged man walking along the same path we’d come by. He was wearing a brown jacket and walking slowly, hands in his pockets, looking at the ground. He didn’t look up at first. When he did, he glanced at us for a second and then turned his gaze back to the water with an indifference that could have been real or not.

Marcos’s fingers stayed still, but they were still inside me. I could feel every millimeter of them buried in my cunt without moving, and my walls tightening around them by pure instinct, trying to milk them.

The man kept walking without stopping, crossed the lookout and went on down the path that led toward the far end. The sound of his footsteps faded between the trees.

The second he disappeared, Marcos moved again. Harder this time, faster, without the earlier calm. He curled his fingers against that inner spot and drove his thumb into my clit.

—Come —he ordered in my ear—. Come now, in my hand, like the little slut you are.

I didn’t take long. The combination of the weeks of waiting, the setting out in the open, the risk that someone might appear at any moment, his filthy words in my ear, and the way he knew me made me come in a matter of seconds. I bit my lower lip hard to keep from making a sound, and still a muffled moan escaped against his hand. I felt the orgasm rise from deep inside like a jolt, my cunt clenching violently around his fingers, my legs trembling on either side of his. He pulled me tighter with his arm and kept moving his hand until I stopped shaking, taking his fingers out of my cunt slick with my juices.

It took me a moment to breathe normally again. He brought his fingers to my mouth and I sucked them one by one, slowly, tasting myself while he looked into my eyes.

—Good girl —he said.

Then I got off the bench, knelt on the wooden floor in front of him, and looked at him. I stroked the bulge over his pants. He was straining hard, his cock pressing against the fabric with a thickness that made my mouth water.

There was no need to say anything. That was part of our dynamic too: I asked without words, he decided. That afternoon he decided yes almost immediately, with a slight tilt of his head I had no trouble reading. I opened his button, pulled down his zipper, and tugged his briefs to his thighs.

When he took it out, he was already pretty worked up. His cock stood heavy against his stomach, the head swollen and red, a drop of precome already shining at the tip. I took my time with it for the first few seconds, running my tongue slowly from base to tip, collecting that drop with my tongue before taking the whole head into my mouth and sucking softly. I heard him let out a breath through his nose. I went back down, licking the whole length, wetting his balls with saliva and taking one into my mouth, then the other, while I held his cock in my hand and stroked it slowly. I came back up, tracing it all over as if I were seeing it for the first time, even though I wasn’t. I looked him in the eye while I did it. He liked that: that I didn’t look away while I sucked his cock.

I gradually increased the pace. I took him farther and farther in, until the tip hit the back of my throat and one eye started to water. I drew a ribbon of saliva with every lift and went back down, swallowing him as far as I could, lips tight around him. When I felt him starting to lose control, he put his hands in my hair and took over. Not abruptly, but adjusting the rhythm little by little, setting the pace himself with a firm pressure on the back of my neck that I didn’t resist. His hips shifted slightly forward every time I went down, fucking my mouth patiently.

The sound of the water, the smell of damp earth and pines, the cold wood under my knees, and his cock sliding in and out of my throat.

I was completely absorbed in what I was doing when I noticed it: something moved in my field of vision, to the left, between the trees. Just enough to catch my attention.

The same man. He was coming back the way he had gone.

I pulled away a couple of inches, with his cock still in my hand and saliva dripping down my chin. Marcos felt the movement and looked down toward where I was looking. He saw the man approaching along the path. Then he looked at me.

And he slowly pressed my head back down, putting me back where I belonged, shoving his cock into my mouth again to the hilt.

—Keep going —he said very softly—. Let him see how well you suck my cock.

The man was about twenty meters away when I continued. Fifteen when I started moving more rhythmically, going down until my nose bumped against his stomach. Ten when it was already hard for anyone looking from the path to pretend they didn’t see what was happening. The wet sound of my mouth sucking his cock mixed with the slap of my hand moving up and down the base.

I don’t know whether it was the thrill of knowing a stranger was watching us or just the desire that had built up over weeks, but something in me switched on and I gave more than I ever had before. I went down to lick his balls with my tongue flat, sucked them one by one like a pig, came back up, took him as far as I could stand without gagging, let him set the rhythm with his hands in my hair. I heard his breathing change, become shorter, more uneven. I felt his cock swell even more in my mouth, pulsing against my tongue.

The man passed almost right beside us. He said nothing. He didn’t stop. But he wasn’t looking at the ground this time either. Out of the corner of my eye I saw him discreetly slip a hand into his pocket and adjust the bulge without taking his eyes off us.

When he was far enough away, I felt Marcos’s tension reach its limit. He yanked his cock out of my mouth, grabbed my face with one hand, and started jerking off fast in front of me.

—Open your mouth —he ordered—. Stick out your tongue.

I obeyed. The first blast landed on my face, thick and hot, streaking across my cheek and upper lip. The second hit my tongue and chin. The third he shoved back into my mouth and kept pushing it down my throat as he emptied himself, letting out a low growl he tried to hold back. I stayed still while he finished calming down, his cock still hard and throbbing against my palate, swallowing what was left.

Then I gathered what was on my face with my fingers and brought it to my mouth slowly, never breaking eye contact, licking my fingers one by one until there wasn’t a drop left. He watched me do it with an expression that mixed exhaustion and desire in equal measure.

—Come here —he said, and lifted me off the ground.

He kissed me long and unhurriedly, not caring about whatever might still be in my mouth, licking my tongue, running it over my lips still sticky. That was something else I liked about him: he never minded tasting himself in my mouth.

***

We went back to the car hand in hand, in silence.

He opened the back door before I got there and pushed me inside with a hand on my back. I lay down on the seat while he shut the door and climbed on top of me. The roof was close. The space was just enough.

He took off my pants and panties efficiently, without unnecessary haste but without wasting time. I did the same with his while he kissed my neck, bit my earlobe, ran his tongue along the side of my throat. By the time he positioned himself between my legs, I had already been waiting for this for quite a while, my cunt open and soaked, still throbbing from before. He rubbed the head up and down between my lips, wetting it in my juices, without entering yet.

—Put it in already, fuck —I begged.

—Ask nicely.

—Please, fuck me already.

The first thrust went all the way in, without pause, and ripped an involuntary sound out of me that I tried to muffle against his shoulder. He started hard and never let up. The car rocked slightly with each hip he drove into me, and every thrust pulled a muffled whimper from me. Outside, the light kept falling through the pines.

I lifted my legs to wrap around his waist and press myself against him. He answered by going deeper, pushing in with a concentration that sent me completely out of control, slamming the back of my cunt with every shove. I grabbed his shoulders hard, dug my nails into his back, and closed my eyes. I could feel him fucking me open, feeling every centimeter of his cock moving inside me, his balls hitting my ass with a wet smack.

—You fuck me so good —I whispered in his ear—. Don’t stop, fuck.

After a while he grabbed my ankles and lifted my legs onto his shoulders. The angle changed completely. He started thrusting more directly, deeper, fucking me with sharp blows that made our bodies slap together with a wet smack, and the sound inside the car changed register. I clutched the leather of the front seat with my hands, looking for something to hold on to. I could see his face set in concentration, his teeth clenched, sweat beading on his forehead.

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

I looked at him. He opened his mouth against mine without kissing me, letting us breathe the same air while he kept driving his cock into me to the hilt. I came without warning, clenching my teeth, feeling my cunt seize in spasms around his cock, milking it, trying to wrench a load out of him. A long, guttural moan tore out of me that I couldn’t hold back. He didn’t stop.

When the first orgasm was still coursing through me, he pulled out and turned me over. I ended up sitting on top of him, facing the back door, with my knees on either side of his hips. He grabbed my hips and yanked me down, spearing me all at once. I let out a muffled scream against the window. He was still underneath, his hands firm on my waist, setting the pace from below with a precision that left no room to breathe properly.

I grabbed the front seatback. I started moving on him, up and down, feeling him slide in and out with every motion. He slipped one hand underneath and started rubbing my clit at the same time he was fucking me from below.

—Ride me —he ordered—. Ride this cock like a whore.

What came after was hard to bear. He drove up from below with a force that made my thighs tremble, his balls slapping my ass with every thrust. I tried to keep my position but it got harder and harder. I could feel his cock hitting me in a different place than before, higher up, against the front wall of my cunt, and his finger on my clit made me lose my mind. The second orgasm lasted longer than the first, spreading in waves that overlapped one another, and I no longer controlled the sounds escaping my throat. I screamed against the window, my breath fogging the glass, as I came all over his cock.

I folded forward, almost lying on top of him, my legs shaking and my cunt still clenching.

He kept going, gripping my ass and driving upward without pause.

When he finally came, he did it with a contained groan and grabbed my hips to keep me still, burying his cock to the hilt. I felt the hot spurts emptying inside me, one after another, while he clenched his teeth and threw his head back. We stayed like that for a long minute, without speaking, breathing raggedly, the semen starting to trickle slowly between our bodies, the air inside the car thick and warm.

***

What came after felt different in tone.

He leaned back in the seat with his eyes closed, his cock still half hard and shining, and I knelt between his legs on the car floor. I took him slowly, with no particular goal, simply to have him in my mouth while we both caught our breath. I cleaned his own come and my juices off him with my tongue, slowly, unhurriedly, licking his balls and the base too. It was something we sometimes did: no urgency, no destination, just the quiet pleasure of being there, with his cock resting in my mouth as if that were its natural place.

He liked that. Having me like that, without pressure, as if it were the natural state of things, his cock comfortably between my lips. And I liked it too: the feeling of knowing him completely, of knowing exactly how to move so I could keep him in that state of pleased calm without taking him anywhere in particular. I did it slowly, attentively, licking him all over from time to time, sucking the tip softly, playing with my tongue around the head, enjoying the moment for what it was.

We stayed that way for quite a while. Him with his head thrown back and one hand in my hair, not guiding, just resting there. Me with my hands on his thighs, moving unhurriedly, feeling him swell in my mouth again little by little, learning once more something I already knew by heart.

It was a car coming up the road that interrupted us. The headlights swung toward where we were parked and we both reacted at the same time. I yanked his cock out of my mouth, we got dressed quickly, with half-suppressed laughter and clothes that couldn’t find their place, me still sticky-mouthed and with my thighs smeared, and when the other car drove past without stopping we looked at each other in the dim light with that mix of relief and amusement you only get in situations like that.

—I should go to work —he said, his hair still a mess.

—You should —I answered.

But it took us another ten minutes to get out of the car.