The veteran cornered me in the camera room

The first Sunday of February 2020, I was on the morning shift in security control. I’d arrived at six, had downed a coffee that was far too strong, and by eleven I was still alone in front of the monitors, watching over a building that, on a Sunday at that hour, was practically empty. My partner, Mateo, had spent the night fighting with a molar and had taken some Nolotil at dawn. I told him to lie down for a bit on the couch in the telematics room, and there he still was, sprawled out, while I finished the last slice of toast with olive oil from breakfast.

Eladio came in through the street door at eleven oh two. I know because I’ve got that clock burned into my memory. I hadn’t seen him since the beginning of December, since he decided to treat me like something he could move aside, like a piece of furniture he no longer needed.

—You alone? —he asked, without even saying hello.

—Yeah. Mateo’s doing a round —I lied.

—Will he be long?

—A good while. Want me to call him?

—No. If he comes back, can you see him from here?

—On the cameras. Of course.

He’d been talking to me over the console, standing on the other side of the glass. He walked around the counter slowly and stood behind me. He smelled of cheap cologne and stale tobacco. He was sixty-one, had months left before retirement, and had been pulled off operational duty for some reason nobody wanted to tell me. I didn’t care. Clearly, he didn’t either.

—I’ve missed you, faggot —he said, resting his hand on the back of my chair.

—You treated me like shit and didn’t give a damn about me.

—Well, well, my faggot’s pissed because I haven’t given him his ration.

—Fuck off, Eladio. You haven’t looked at me in two months.

It was true. Since October he hadn’t come near me. In that time I’d been with two guys I met in the parking lot of the industrial estate, two quick fucks in cars with fogged-up windows, no names. Neither of them had left my body the way he did.

—Listen, you fucking faggot —he said, bending down until his mouth brushed my ear—. I fuck you whenever I feel like it. Got it?

—Don’t call me a faggot.

He held out his hand. I took it almost without thinking, and he made me stand. Before I could say anything, he grabbed the back of my neck, pulled me to him, and kissed me. At first I kept my lips shut. I even clenched my teeth, more out of pride than anything else. But his tongue kept pushing, and after a few seconds I gave in, opened my mouth, and let him in.

He kissed me savagely. He bit my lower lip until I let out a moan, and took the chance to shove his tongue in as far as it could go. All the while he was unbuttoning my uniform shirt without looking, with the ease of someone who’d done it before in that very room.

—God, I love your chest —he murmured.

He pulled my shirt off my shoulders and lowered his mouth to my left nipple. He licked it slowly at first, then clamped down with his teeth until I arched my back. With his other hand he kneaded my other pec, sinking his fingers into the flesh. I tried to speak twice, and both times all that came out was a stupid whisper.

—Eladio, please… Mateo…

—Didn’t you say he’d be a while? Then we’ve got time.

—Please…

He didn’t listen to me. And the truth is I wasn’t really listening to myself either. Part of me was looking at the monitor showing the first-floor elevator, calculating how many seconds Mateo would take to appear if he woke up right then. The other part was waiting, desperate, for Eladio to pull my trousers down.

I put my hands on my belt, but he pushed them away.

—Take this off —he ordered.

He undid it himself. The button, the zipper, and my trousers fell to the floor, dragged down by the weight of the cuffs and the regulation holster. I bent down, slipped off my shoes, got out of the trousers, and pulled my briefs down. I was naked from the waist down, with my uniform open and hanging off my shoulders, at my own post, at quarter past eleven on a Sunday morning.

Eladio grabbed my balls and squeezed.

—Ow!

—You’re half hard, you little slut. Spread your legs.

I spread them. I braced one hand on the edge of the console and felt his fingers searching for my asshole. He moved them in circles, slowly, with the patience of someone who knows the way. He tried to slip one in and the muscle didn’t give. I was too dry. He tried again and it really hurt.

—Eladio, it hurts. I’m too dry.

—A finger hurts you? Come on…

—I swear it does.

He looked up, glanced over the console, and saw what I’d left there at breakfast: the olive oil bottle. Half a bottle. He gave a short laugh, grabbed it, wet his fingers, and pressed them back against my ass. This time it went in. One finger, slowly, all the way.

—Ooooh…

—That’s it, whore. That’s it.

He started moving it inside me while licking my neck. Twisting it, pulling it halfway out, then driving it back in. When the second finger went in, it didn’t hurt anymore. I grabbed the edge of the console with both hands and let my head fall forward.

—Ah… you bastard, the way you’ve got me…

—You’re my faggot. You knew that already.

He moved both fingers in a rhythm that felt a lot like fucking, in and out, faster and faster each time. I begged him to stop, to put his cock in me, whatever he wanted, but to stop doing that because I wasn’t going to last much longer.

—Fuck me, Eladio. Please.

—Yeah?

—Fuck me now, you son of a bitch.

He pulled his fingers out and made me turn around. I leaned over the console table, the monitors buzzing a hand’s breadth from my face, and offered him my ass. I heard him unbuckle his belt. When I turned my head for a second, I saw him: trousers down to his knees, briefs around his ankles, his cock standing straight up, and that blurred tattoo he had on the inside of his thigh, a swallow that over the years no longer looked like a swallow. He took the oil bottle and smeared the whole length of his cock.

—I missed this little ass —he said.

A hard smack on my right cheek. It caught me off guard and I yelped, the sound bouncing off the control room walls.

—You like being punished.

—Ow!

Three more slaps, one after another. My skin burned and the console shook under me.

—You’ve got such a filthy mouth, faggot.

—Fuck you!

—That’s what I’m saying.

He spread my cheeks with both hands. He rested the head of his cock against my asshole and pushed. Not all at once. Slowly, with the nasty patience of someone who knows exactly what he’s doing. I felt the muscle opening for him, millimeter by millimeter, until I felt the heat of his balls against mine. He was all the way in.

—Aaah, God…

—This ass swallows so well. Fuck.

He yanked my shirt and jacket off my shoulders and let them fall to the floor. I was left completely naked, bent over the console, seeing on one of the screens the elevator stopped on the first floor. Empty. Mateo was still asleep. Or that’s what I wanted to believe.

Eladio left his cock still inside me. He didn’t move. He started stroking my back with his open hand, from my shoulders to my kidneys, over and over. He leaned over me and got his hands under my pecs, squeezing them, pinching my nipples until a louder moan slipped out of me than was wise.

—Move, fuck’s sake. Move.

—Sshhh.

—Please.

—I like having you like this. With my cock inside you and you wrapped around me.

—Eladio, come on.

—I haven’t come in a month, faggot. Once I start I won’t be able to stop.

He pulled his cock out almost all the way. He did it very slowly, letting me feel every inch. Then, with a sharp thrust of his hips, he slammed it back in to the hilt.

—Ah!

Another thrust. Another. Another. Within seconds a rhythm had set in that made the console and keyboards tremble. My cock, hard without anyone touching it, slapped against the edge of the cabinet with every lunge. A thread of clear fluid dripped from the tip, sticking to my thigh and the edge of the table.

—Fuck, faggot. The way your cunt grips my cock every time I pull it out.

—Ay, ay, ayy!

—This is mine. This is mine, you bastard.

I was sweating. He was sweating. The room heater had been cranked to maximum since first thing, and the whole room smelled of sex, sweat, hot oil. On one of the screens I saw the shot change automatically: the parking lot camera, the lobby camera, the telematics corridor. Mateo was still lying on the couch exactly as I’d left him. Face down, one arm hanging off.

—Eladio, my legs won’t hold me.

—Hang on.

—No, they won’t hold me…

He grabbed my hips harder, holding me almost in the air, and kept fucking me at a pace that was no longer human. My thighs slammed against the edge of the console with every thrust and I, with no support, with nothing, felt the orgasm start somewhere between my navel and my lower back.

—Ah! Eladio… I’m coming… I’m cooooming!

—Come, faggot. Come without touching yourself.

I came without anyone touching my cock. I came in jets against the cabinet, against the dark screen on the side, against my own thigh. My legs went completely weak and, if he hadn’t been holding me by the hips, I would have slid to the floor. Eladio accelerated even more when he felt my ass clenching around his cock.

—Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

—Ah…

—I’m gonna knock you up, slut.

The thrusts grew slower and deeper at the same time. The last one was so brutal it drove my hip against the console and nearly knocked the side monitor off. Then I felt something I’d never felt from him in six years of fucking: the contractions of his cock inside me, the hot load spilling into my gut, once, twice, three times. Actually feeling another man come inside you is something you don’t forget.

—Fuck, Sergio —he whispered.

He stayed still, wrapped around my back, for a long minute. He kissed my neck. He licked the sweat from between my shoulder blades. His cock was still inside, throbbing more and more slowly. When he finally pulled out, I felt a trickle of warm semen sliding down the inside of my thigh.

—Fuck, Eladio.

—Fuck, yes.

That was when the beep sounded. One of the cameras had detected movement. I jerked my head up and saw Mateo on the screen, calling the elevator on the first floor. I had, at most, a minute. I grabbed the trousers, briefs, shoes, shirt, jacket, and everything else I could scoop up in one armful from the floor, and ran to the toilets without looking at Eladio. When I came back, dressed, face wet and my ass still damp, Mateo was coming in through the door. Eladio, sitting calmly in the visitors’ chair, stood up, patted him on the shoulder, and left whistling, like someone who’d just stopped by to say hello to an old mate.

—What did he want? —Mateo asked.

—Nothing. He was just passing through the neighborhood.

Mateo sat down in front of the monitors with one hand on his jaw and started complaining about the tooth again. I wasn’t listening. I still felt, under the clean uniform, what that man had just left inside me.

***

After that Sunday, Eladio went back to ignoring me. We coincided on two shifts in February and he didn’t say a word to me. Then March came, and with March, lockdown. He was one of the first in the building to go down. They admitted him, he was in a bad way, he came out with his right lung and his head badly affected. He never went back to the job. He took early retirement and moved to Algeciras, where he had a widowed sister. I never heard from him again.

Sometimes, on a quiet night in front of the monitors, I look at the corner of the console where I came that morning and I remember. Not the fucking, exactly. I remember how he called me Sergio just as he came. It was the only time, in six years, that I heard my name in his mouth.