That Afternoon in the Countryside Stopped Being Just a Trip

We’d been on the road for hours with no fixed plan. That was what we liked most about those getaways: setting off with nowhere particular to go, letting the signs guide us, always choosing the secondary road over the highway. Rodrigo drove with one hand on the wheel and the other resting on my knee, and I watched the wheat fields drift by, the villages with their stone towers, the cows that barely lifted their heads when we passed in front of them.

The car we had prepared the week before. It wasn’t anything special: we lined the rear windows with dark fabric, folded down the back seats, and placed a custom-cut foam mattress on top. The two of us fit without any squeeze, with room to stretch out and to read if sleep took its time arriving. We carried a bag with clothes, a small cooler, and more excitement than luggage.

—Should we stop here? —Rodrigo asked, pointing to a dirt track that opened between two centuries-old olive trees.

—A little farther —I said—. I want to see if there’s a view from up there.

I had that habit of looking for the perfect spot until it was almost nightfall. He knew it and never complained. He also knew that when we found the place, everything else was worth it.

We found it twenty minutes later: an open clearing on the edge of a hill, with a rusted marker indicating the boundary of some forgotten estate. From there you could see three villages, a reservoir in the distance, and the sun dropping dead center behind the mountain range. Rodrigo switched off the engine and sat staring without saying a word.

—This is it —I said.

—This is it —he repeated, softly.

We opened the trunk, which lifted upward to reveal the mattress and the folded blankets. We sat on the edge with our feet hanging down and took two beers out of the cooler. The air smelled of rosemary and warm earth. In the distance some bird I couldn’t identify was calling. The sky was shifting to apricot, then burnt orange, then something that has no exact name but that one recognizes as one of the most beautiful things in the world.

I don’t know how long we’d been there when Rodrigo spoke.

—Hey.

—What? —I answered, not taking my eyes off the horizon.

—Want to fuck?

I laughed. I couldn’t help it. He said it like that, with the same tone he might have used to ask if there was any beer left.

—That’s how you ask me? —I replied.

—How do you want me to ask? —He turned toward me with that half smile I knew so well—. We’ve got the place to ourselves, sunset in the background, the mattress two steps away. Nobody for miles. I’m dying to fuck you.

—You’re very sure of yourself.

—I’ve been sure for half an hour —he said, and put his hand on my knee, sliding slowly, unhurriedly, slipping up inside my thigh until it brushed over my jeans, right where I could already feel the fabric was warm and slightly damp—. And so are you, even if you don’t say it.

The truth is I’d been thinking about it for a while too.

That morning I’d put on a burgundy lingerie set I’d bought without any apparent reason on a Tuesday afternoon. Sometimes that happens: you go in looking for something mundane and come out with lace you know you’ll want to debut somewhere that deserves it. This place deserved it more than enough.

I set the beer on the edge of the trunk and turned toward him. I knelt on the mattress, with the trunk edge at chest height. Rodrigo settled onto that edge with his legs dangling outside and looked at me with that calm of his that had always seemed more provocative to me than any urgency.

I unbuttoned his pants without hurrying. I lowered the zipper slowly, aware of every centimeter. He said nothing: he only rested his hand on the metal edge and kept watching, though it was no longer the landscape he was looking at.

I pulled his jeans and boxers down together to his knees, and his cock sprang out hard, swollen, the head already shining and a marked vein running down the whole shaft. I took it at the base and held it firmly, looking at it for a second as if I’d just discovered it, even though I knew it by heart.

—Look at how hard you are —I said—. I’ve barely even touched you.

—I’ve been like this since you said “this is it” —he answered.

I started at the base, with my tongue, licking him slowly from bottom to top, flat and deliberate, pressing my tongue against the vein until I reached the tip and circled it before going back down the other side. I coated him from top to bottom with saliva, glossy, and only then did I take him into my mouth. First the tip, making little circles with my tongue just under the head, right where I knew his legs would go weak. They were going weak now too: I felt his thigh tighten against my shoulder.

—Fuck —he muttered under his breath, almost to himself.

I lowered my mouth slowly, swallowing his cock centimeter by centimeter, letting it go all the way back until I felt the tip brush my throat. I stayed there for a moment, holding him inside, then came back up just as slowly, sucking hard, hollowing my cheeks around him. He let out a long groan that escaped between his teeth.

—Like that, baby, like that… —he said, and his hand settled on my head, not squeezing, just following the motion.

I started setting the rhythm. Up and down, my hand going along with what my mouth couldn’t take in, twisting my wrist on every upward stroke so my tongue hit the frenulum. I slipped my other hand between his legs and took his balls carefully, weighing them, squeezing very gently. They were already tight, drawn up against his body. Everything was climbing on him.

I looked up without letting him out of my mouth. His eyes were half-lidded, his jaw slightly open. The last light of day hit his face from an angle that made him look like he belonged in a movie that doesn’t exist but should.

—That face makes you suck me better —he threw at me, looking at me with a cheeky half grin.

I answered by letting his cock fall all at once, dropping it against his stomach, and taking it back in to the hilt in one stroke. A “fuck” slipped out of him, half swallowed.

I liked seeing him like that. I liked knowing I had him there, exactly there.

I pulled his cock out and lowered my mouth to his balls, sucking them one by one, taking them in whole while my hand kept jerking him above, tight, sliding with the saliva. I ran my tongue over his perineum, pushing upward, and he arched his back against the trunk.

—If you keep going down there this is over in two minutes —he warned, voice rough.

—Then hold yourself back —I answered, and went back up to his cock.

I increased the pace. I pumped with my hand fast at the base while my mouth worked him from halfway up, my tongue dancing on the tip every time I pulled off. Saliva was dripping from my chin, running down his shaft, and I used it to glide better. His hips started moving slightly forward, almost without him noticing, seeking me out without asking, pushing against my face.

—I’m close —he said, voice scraped raw—. I’m close, fuck.

—Come —I told him, pulling off for a second to speak against the tip, my lips brushing the head—. Come in my mouth. And whatever’s left, you put on top of me.

I swallowed him again and squeezed him at the base with my hand, going up and down with a firm suction, not breaking rhythm. I felt him come: first the pulse in my palm, then the contraction along the whole shaft, then the first hot spurt hitting my palate. I swallowed it. A second one came, longer, sliding down my throat too. On the third I pulled off and let it spill over his lips, over his chin, until the last drop fell onto my chest and splattered the burgundy lace of the bra, staining it with bright white.

I ran my tongue over the tip once more, cleaning the last trembling drop he had left, and he jerked all over.

I stuck my tongue out, now with his semen still on my lips.

—You got me a little messy —I said with all the irony in the world.

—Yeah —he said, still catching his breath—. And I don’t regret it one bit.

We both laughed. I liked that too: that after that kind of thing we could still laugh.

***

It took him as long as it took to recover. I knew him: he needed five minutes, a sip of cold beer, and a little silence. While I waited, I took off my jeans and T-shirt and stayed in the lingerie set. I ran my finger over my chest, gathered up the rest of the semen that had clung to the lace, and brought it to my mouth. He watched me from the trunk edge without taking his eyes off me.

The evening air wasn’t cold yet, but it was cool enough to be felt over bare skin, and my nipples stood hard against the fabric. It was a pleasant feeling, that mix of coolness and my own heat.

—Come —he said.

He didn’t say it softly. He said it like an instruction, with that calm certainty that got to me more than I cared to admit. He pointed to his lap with a brief gesture.

—You’re hard again —I observed, looking at his cock, which was indeed half-hard again, swelling by the second.

—Seeing you like that helps —he replied.

Before climbing on, I ran my hand over him, slowly, up and down, helping him finish getting fully hard. I worked him for a minute, looking at him, until he was rigid again against his stomach.

I climbed onto the trunk and positioned myself over him, facing away, looking toward the horizon. I pulled the thong aside —burgundy too, matching the bra—and set him at my entrance. I was soaking wet. He slid on his own against my lips, up and down, until the tip found the opening, and I started taking him in, lowering myself very slowly, holding back every centimeter. A long moan escaped me when I felt him go all the way in, tightening inside me, filling me to the core.

—Fuck, you feel so good going in —I murmured.

—And you’re so tight.

The landscape was still there in front of us: the reservoir darkening with the sky, the three villages with their first lights coming on, the mountain range reduced to a black silhouette. How absurd and how perfect to be here like this, I thought, with Rodrigo’s cock buried to the hilt and the sunset beginning to fade.

I started moving. I rose and fell at a rhythm I controlled, letting him almost slip out before dropping down again all the way, feeling him sink back to the hilt. His hands climbed my sides until they reached my breasts, stripping them by tugging the bra downward until they were out, compressed underneath. He pinched my nipples between his fingers, rolling them, and a jolt shot straight from there to my cunt.

—Does it turn you on to fuck in the middle of the countryside? —he asked softly, his mouth at my neck, biting my earlobe.

—It turns me on that you fuck me —I replied—. The countryside is the least important part.

—Least important? —he repeated, squeezing my nipples harder and thrusting up suddenly when I came down, which tore an involuntary moan out of me that went rolling across the fields.

—Well… it helps —I admitted through my teeth.

—That’s what I thought.

One of his hands slid down my stomach and slipped between my legs, searching for my clit. He found it on the first try and started circling it with his middle finger, tight and precise, never stopping the upward drive beneath me. The combination was devastating: me riding him from above, him pushing into me from below, and his finger working me there the way he knew how.

I sped up. He was moaning in my ear, soft and restrained, like someone who knows there’s no one for miles but still keeps something for himself. I had no such restraints. I let out a long moan when I found the exact angle and stayed there, moving in slow circles, never losing him, his cock pressing against a spot that made me see lights.

—That’s it —he said—. Exactly like that. Move like that, don’t stop.

—You don’t stop touching me.

—Not a chance.

His hips started moving to the rhythm of mine, driving upward when I came down. The sensation multiplied in a way that has no logical explanation but that the body understands perfectly. I leaned forward, bracing my hands on his knees, arching my back, leaving my ass exposed against him, and shifted to a more direct motion, up and down, faster, letting his cock slide in and out of me almost all the way each time.

—Look at you riding me —he said, voice rough, watching me from behind—. Taking the whole cock down your throat.

—Shut up and keep touching me.

—Don’t stop.

—I’m not stopping.

We stayed like that for several minutes. The sun had completely disappeared behind the mountain range and the sky was now a dark blue with orange streaks unraveling along the horizon. I couldn’t see it clearly but I felt it: that soft, final light that comes when the day has already gone but night hasn’t fully settled in yet.

***

—Switch —I said, more as a warning than a question, when I felt I wanted something different, something more direct, something more brutal.

He didn’t answer with words. He only gave my thigh a soft pat, which was his way of saying yes, whatever I wanted.

—On all fours —he said—. And turn all the way around, I want to see everything.

I stood up, leaving his cock free —it gleamed all over, soaked with me—and knelt on the edge of the mattress, hips toward the outside of the trunk, supporting myself on my forearms. He dropped to the ground, stood behind me with his feet planted, at exactly the right height for everything to fit without effort. He pulled my thong down to my knees, left it there stretched tight, and spread my ass cheeks apart with both hands.

—Now that’s a view —he said, and it was obvious he wasn’t talking about the reservoir.

I felt the tip brushing me, sliding between my lips, soaking up what was mine. It went in just a little and came back out. Once. Again. Once more. A game I recognized instantly and that drove me crazy every time with the same efficiency. The tip went in two centimeters and out. Another two. Out.

—Stop —I told him, already impatient—. Put it in.

—How? —he asked, and there was amusement in his voice. He gave my cunt a sharp slap with his cock, flat, crushing it against my lips.

—Put it in already, fuck —I blurted—. Please.

—That’s how you ask.

He entered all at once, to the hilt, in a single thrust that knocked the air out of my lungs.

The moan came out on its own, louder than I’d intended, and went rolling across the fields with nobody there to hear it. Rodrigo stayed still for a moment, buried all the way, pressed hard against me, and then withdrew almost completely and shoved back in to the hilt. And again. And again. A firm, steady rhythm that knew exactly what it was doing, his hips striking my ass with a wet slap that cut through the wind.

He gave me a spank. Open-handed, without warning. It cracked dry in the evening air.

—Fuck —I gasped.

—Good or bad?

—Good —I admitted—. But warn me next time.

The next one came with warning: his hand resting for a second on my skin before dropping. Then another, on the other cheek. The contrast between the dry impact and the heat that spread afterward made me focus on that area in a way that did absolutely nothing to help me think clearly, and that was exactly the point.

He grabbed my hair, wound it around his fist, and pulled back, arching my spine. Now the angle was different and his cock reached a different place, deeper, farther in. I moaned every time he drove in, unable and unwilling to hold it back.

—See how you’re moving? —he said in a low voice, still thrusting, with my hair still pulling me back—. How your ass moves every time I go in.

—I can’t see myself.

—I can. —One harder thrust, slamming into me completely—. Best thing I’ve seen all day.

—Better than sunset?

—Way better than sunset.

He let go of my hair and ran his thumb over my mouth. I sucked it without thinking, letting him push it all the way onto the back of my tongue. He pulled it out shining with saliva, and I felt that same thumb drop to my ass, pressing at my other hole, entering very slowly, to the first knuckle. It was all I needed for my orgasm to surge up suddenly. When he slid it all the way in, slow, with his cock working me from the front at the same rhythm, I was no longer capable of coordinating anything.

—Oh God —I moaned—. Oh God, don’t stop.

—Not a chance.

He sped up. I rested my forehead on my forearms and let myself be carried away, resisting nothing. The sensations piled up with that precision the body has when it knows it’s close, when every movement adds to the last without losing anything along the way. His cock filling me, his thumb in my ass, his free hand sliding forward and finding my clit again with two fingers. I felt it coming from deep inside, first as a sustained tension in my belly, then as something that expanded and took up all the available space.

—I’m going to come —I warned him, voice breaking.

—Do it —he said—. Come on my cock. I want to feel it.

And I felt it: that wave that starts from some point that has no exact name and occupies everything for a few seconds that seem longer than they are. I came with a long, sustained moan, fingers clenched in the mattress, the walls of my cunt tightening around his cock in wild waves, my hips pressed against him, and he let out a hoarse curse and sped up even more.

—I’m coming —he growled, driving in to the hilt—. I’m coming inside, fuck.

—Inside —I answered, out of breath—. Come inside.

I felt the first hot spurt explode deep inside, then the second, the third, with him buried to the hilt and his hands clenched on my hips as if he needed to hold on to something, while I was still trembling from mine. He stayed there for a long moment, pumping very slowly through the last spasms, emptying himself completely.

When he pulled out, very slowly, I felt him slide out together with a hot thread that ran down the inside of my thigh. I shuddered all over.

We stayed still for a long moment, not moving, listening to the silence of the countryside. Only the wind among the olive trees. Only our breathing, slowly returning to normal.

I collapsed forward onto the mattress. He lay down beside me a moment later.

The sky was now completely dark, with the first stars appearing one by one over the mountain range. The night chill was beginning to register on the skin, but inside the car there was still enough warmth not to move yet.

—Dinner? —he asked after a while.

—In a moment —I said—. Not yet.

—What are you doing?

—Remembering it before it slips away.

He didn’t say anything else. He just draped his arm over me and we stayed there looking at the stars from the open trunk, with the dark, silent field at our feet and the beer cooler off to one side, still cold enough to be worth it.

There are things you plan for weeks and they never quite work out. And then there are afternoons like this one, that weren’t on any plan, that had no name until they happened, and that stay with you long after the sun has gone.