He Touched Himself in the Car Thinking About His Assistant

Damián said goodbye to Nico with a curt gesture from the driver’s seat and waited until he saw him cross through the entrance before pulling away. As soon as the building door closed, he let out the breath he’d been holding for half an hour. He accelerated again, but barely made it three blocks before turning the car into a side street, between two badly parked vans, and switching off the lights. The pressure in his trousers was becoming unbearable.

He’d been like this for weeks. Ever since the guy had joined the studio as a junior designer—twenty-seven, with a calm gaze and that way of listening without interrupting—every afternoon at the agency had seemed endless. That night, after dinner with the clients, Nico had climbed into his car laughing about something the art director had said, and Damián had spent the last twenty minutes gripping the steering wheel with both hands so he wouldn’t stare at the guy’s thighs beneath the little dashboard table.

Now that he was alone, there was no reason to keep holding back.

He closed his eyes and ran his hand over the bulge outlined in the dark fabric. He was already hard just remembering the guy’s cologne. He squeezed slowly, dragging his palm upward and forcing himself to breathe deeply. Not yet. He wanted it to last.

He undid the button, lowered the zipper with two fingers, and slipped his hand inside. The coolness of his fingers against his hot cock made him hiss through his teeth. He pulled it out, warmed his palms by rubbing them against his thighs, and grabbed it again, this time wrapping his whole hand around it. He began moving his fist slowly, up and down, unhurriedly, more like a caress than a proper jerk-off.

His thoughts went straight to the guy.

He imagined him as he’d been that rainy morning when he’d walked into the agency soaked through, his white shirt clinging to his chest and his skinny jeans darkened by the water. His abs showing beneath the wet fabric. His dark brown hair tousled from trying to shake it dry with his hands. And that skin so pale, that good-boy skin on which Damián wanted to leave the marks of his teeth for hours.

That alone made his cock grow harder between his fingers, and a drop of pre-cum gleamed on the tip.

His other hand moved to the side, instinctively searching for a head that wasn’t there. The gesture brought him back to the empty car for a second. He laughed to himself, rested the back of his head against the headrest, and closed his eyes again.

This time the guy was on his knees on the floor of the car, between Damián’s spread legs. Still dressed, in the same skinny jeans and the same soaked shirt from the previous fantasy. He’d taken off the thin sweatshirt he’d been wearing over it, the one that gave him the good-boy air that drove Damián crazy. His lips were glossy from biting them.

Damián took his face in both hands and caressed his jaw with his thumbs.

—Lie down there and be quiet —he whispered softly, enjoying the sound of his own voice giving the order.

The Nico in his head said nothing. He merely swallowed and bent lower, until his cheek brushed the cock his boss was slowly jerking off. Damián ran the head over his lips, smearing them with pre-cum, without letting him open his mouth yet. He wanted to see the expression he made when Damián made him beg.

—Open it —he ordered.

The guy opened his mouth, stuck out his tongue, and waited with his eyes fixed on Damián’s. Damián let him rest the tip there for a second before pushing, not roughly, allowing the head of his cock to enter the wet heat of that mouth for the first time. He heard the moan only inside the car, his hand sliding up the shaft at the same rhythm as the guy’s mouth descended in his fantasy.

—Fuck… —he muttered through his teeth—. That’s it, slowly, keep going like that.

In his head, Nico obeyed. He took Damián’s cock little by little, helping himself with his tongue, wrapping his fist around the underside and jerking him off at the same time as he sucked him. Every time he reached halfway, he gagged a little and pulled back to breathe, leaving a thick strand of saliva between his lips and the glans that broke as he lowered himself again. And Damián let him pull away only enough to ask for more.

—Don’t go away —he whispered—. Put it back in.

The guy lowered his eyes and looked up at him from beneath those thick lashes, and Damián nearly came from that image alone. He squeezed the base of his cock with two fingers and waited for the wave to subside. In the fantasy, Nico bent down again, this time licking the whole thing before taking it in, savoring him from the tip to the balls, sucking them one at a time with his eyes closed and an expression of pleasure that disrupted Damián’s breathing.

He began to speed up his fist. He ran his thumb over the head every two or three strokes, spreading the sticky fluid along the entire shaft, imagining it was the guy’s tongue. The car windows were fogging up, and he didn’t give a damn. No one was passing outside. Inside, there was only the sound of his panting and the wet noise of his own hand.

The fantasy changed scenes. It was no longer Nico sucking him slowly. It was Nico offering himself to him, his cock still halfway down his throat, looking at Damián with his face flushed and breathless.

—Fuck my mouth —he said, his lips red, swollen, and shining, without releasing the shaft from his hand—. Don’t care if I cough or gag. Take it all the way down.

Damián let out a tight groan inside the car. His whole body trembled. He gripped his cock harder and began jerking off in earnest, his hand fast and firm, squeezing the head each time he came up, imagining the guy’s throat closing around his glans.

In the fantasy, he grabbed the back of his neck with both hands and pushed him down until the guy’s nose was pressed against the hair at Damián’s pubis. Nico choked, a thick gag escaping him, his entire throat tightening around Damián’s cock, and Damián stayed there for a couple more seconds, feeling the guy convulse around him before letting him breathe.

—Hold on —he told him when he plunged it back in—. Hold it, don’t pull it out.

He began fucking his mouth as if it weren’t a mouth but merely a hole. Deep thrusts, without restraint, listening as the guy choked with every push and drooled over his cock and balls. Saliva hung from his chin in thick strands, and that drove Damián crazy. He grabbed him by the hair and forced him to raise his chin so that his mouth lined up straight with his throat and Damián could get all the way in.

—That’s it. Open wider. Swallow me whole.

In the car, he was panting with his mouth open against the headrest. His hand moved up and down so fast that his wrist was beginning to hurt, and he didn’t care. With his other hand, he grabbed his balls, squeezed them for a second, and let them go again, imagining that it was the guy massaging them from below with those long, slender fingers of a draftsman.

Nico’s teeth grazed his cock now and then in the fantasy, and Damián groaned every time it happened. His skin prickled. A shiver ran down his spine and made his legs tremble. He was on the edge. He could feel his orgasm building in his balls, rising up his shaft, searching for release.

That was when the Nico in his head ran his tongue over his balls, sucked them clean, one first and then the other, without stopping his stroking with his free hand, then went back up his cock and took it into his mouth again at exactly the right moment.

Damián came with a tight grunt between his teeth. It was a long, violent orgasm that emptied his balls into the closed hand around his cock, staining his fingers, groin, and part of the fabric of his trousers. He kept jerking himself slowly as it all came out, imagining his cum filling the guy’s mouth, Nico trying to swallow it all but letting a stream escape from the corner of his mouth, then gathering it up with his finger and putting it back into his mouth without breaking eye contact.

—Fuck… —he whispered against the fogged glass—. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

He slumped back against the seat with his cock still in his hand, wet and sticky. The car smelled of sex, cologne, and sweat. The windows were fogged from the inside. No one was passing outside, and the silence of the street contrasted with the gallop still pounding in his chest.

He opened the glove compartment, took out some tissues, and calmly cleaned his fingers. He pulled up his briefs, zipped up, and fastened the button. He looked at himself in the rearview mirror. His cheeks were red, his hair stuck to his temples with sweat, and there was a dark damp stain on his trousers that he would have to explain if his wife was awake when he got home.

He took his phone from the inside pocket of his jacket and looked at the screen. A message from Nico. “Thanks for the ride, boss. See you tomorrow at the meeting.” He smiled slowly, ran his tongue over his dry lips, and replied with a simple “Rest up” before starting the car.

That fantasy hadn’t been the only place he could have come that night. But it was certainly going to remain, for now, the only one he dared to truly go to.