My Former Boss Was Waiting for Me at a Bar That Night

I’d moved three months earlier and still hadn’t gotten used to the silence. The new city had its avenues, its new job, its different traffic, but none of that replaced what I’d left behind. What I’d left behind had a name, and it was Mariana.

Mariana had been my boss for almost two years. A woman in her forties, with long hands and a low voice, who called me into her office one ordinary Tuesday and, before I could quite understand how, ended up kissing me against the closed door, with her hand under my skirt and two fingers parting my panties to check how wet I’d gotten in three minutes of conversation. From that Tuesday on, nothing was ordinary again. With her I learned everything I knew about another woman’s body—how to eat her cunt until she screamed with her forearm over her mouth, how to finger her ass while I masturbated her with my other hand, how to swallow every drop of her cum as if it were part of my salary—and I also learned that desire, when it’s real, doesn’t look like anything the books talk about.

When they offered me the chance to move for family reasons, she got angry. I understood that. I would have been angry too. I told her it wasn’t goodbye, that we’d see each other, that three hours on the road was nothing. She smiled with that half-smile of hers, the one she uses when she doesn’t want to argue and keeps the anger for later.

The first few months were all messages. Long messages at night, voice notes I listened to in the bathroom with the door locked while I slid two fingers in deep listening to her say, “my little slut, come for me thinking about my tongue,” photos I deleted five minutes after receiving them because they made me lose my mind at the new office—photos of her cunt spread open with two fingers, of her ass in the mirror, of her mouth full of saliva after she’d sucked her own finger while thinking of me. I learned to answer in a professional tone while her voice was in my headphones telling me she wanted me with her tongue buried all the way in my cunt and her fingers prying open my asshole.

Then routine arrived, and routine saved me and condemned me at the same time. It saved me because I stopped thinking about her every hour. It condemned me because, when I started thinking about her again, I did it hungrier than before, with a hunger that woke me at three in the morning with my hand already inside my panties and her name bitten between my teeth.

That morning she texted early. A blunt message, almost worklike: “I’m coming to your city for a meeting. I’ll wait for you at ten at the bar on the corner of Pasaje Norte.” Nothing else. No emojis, no terms of endearment. Mariana knew that kind of coldness left me worse off than any obscenity.

I left work at seven and didn’t go home. I wouldn’t have been able to. I stopped in a shop, bought new underwear, her favorite kind, black lace, changed in the bathroom of a café, and walked to the bar taking detours so I wouldn’t arrive early. My hands were cold, my face hot, and my panties were already wet from just imagining her.

I saw her at the back, against a brick wall, a glass of red wine in her hand and a dark dress I’d never seen before. When she looked up and recognized me, she didn’t stand. She just lifted two fingers in my direction, like someone calling a waitress. I sat down across from her without knowing what to say.

—Three months —she said, looking at me over the rim of her glass.

—Three months —I repeated.

—You look different.

—So do you.

I wasn’t different. She was the same. The same smile, the same long hands, the same way of crossing her legs under the table so I was forced to look.

We ordered another drink, then a third. We talked about nonsense: my new job, her daughter starting university, a movie we’d both seen without the other and had promised to discuss. Under the conversation, her feet looked for mine. They didn’t always find them. She did it without urgency, like someone who knows she has all night.

After an hour and a half, she slid a folded note across the table to me. I opened it in my lap, under the tablecloth. It was a short message, written in her block letters.

“Go to the bathroom. In your coat pocket I left something. Put it in and come back. I want to know you like that tonight.”

I looked up. She was looking somewhere else, toward the bar, as if the note didn’t exist.

I stood and went to the bathroom. In my coat pocket there was a black cloth pouch. Inside it was a small silicone toy, with a discreet remote. I understood without needing her to explain. I locked myself in the back stall, took off my stockings, pulled my panties down to my knees, and stared at the toy for a second. I was so wet it slid inside with no resistance, just resting it at the entrance of my cunt. I felt it settle against the front wall, right where she knew how to press with the pad of her finger when she wanted to make me scream. I pulled my soaked panties back up, breathed twice, and went back to the table with my legs tightly crossed.

When I sat down, she looked at me for the first time all night with the face I remembered. The office-face, the locked-door-face, the closed-office-door face.

—Good girl —she said softly.

I felt a brief vibration, just two seconds. I looked up. She was holding the remote in her hand, under the table.

—You’ve only just started the night —she said.

***

We stayed another half hour at the bar. It wasn’t a normal half hour. Every four or five minutes I’d get a vibration, different each time, now short, now long, now in pulses, now held against the exact point where the toy was scraping inside me. Mariana talked calmly about anything at all, the weather, the wine, the guy at the next table, while I tried not to squeeze the glass too hard or move my shoulders too much. Once she made me laugh in the middle of a word and I got stuck with the word half-finished. Another time she made me close my eyes a second too long, and I felt my panties soak another finger’s worth, until they clung to my thighs. Every time it happened, her smile widened by a millimeter.

—You’re about to come —she told me, without raising her voice, while she stirred the wine in her glass.

—Not here.

—Here, if I say so.

She turned the intensity up three quick notches in a row. I had to bite the inside of my cheek and brace both hands against the table. A low moan slipped out of me and I disguised it as a cough. She cut it off just before, just before, leaving me trembling with my underwear turned into a puddle.

—We’re paying —she said at last.

I paid. It was an old habit of ours, one of the few she accepted that we reversed. We went out into the street. It was cold. She put an arm around my waist like a friend, and no one on the sidewalk would have said otherwise.

My apartment was a ten-minute walk away. We walked in silence. Twice she squeezed the remote in her coat pocket and twice I had to hold onto her arm so I wouldn’t lose the rhythm. The second time, nearly at the building entrance, she glanced at me sideways and gave a low laugh.

—You’re holding out well.

—Not that well.

—We’ll see inside.

We went up in the elevator. She didn’t kiss me. She was waiting. I was waiting too. In the elevator mirror I saw my face: lips parted, mascara just a little smudged, the line of my new bra showing at the neckline. She looked at me in the reflection and clicked the remote once more, short, sharp, a lash that made me press my forehead to the glass. I opened the apartment door with a slightly trembling key, not from the cold.

As soon as I closed it, she grabbed the back of my neck and kissed me like no one had kissed me in three months. It wasn’t a reunion kiss. It was a kiss demanding something owed. My mouth against hers, her tongue inside, her hand on my throat and the other already between my legs over my skirt, squeezing my cunt with her open palm, feeling the toy still inside and the wet fabric against her fingers.

—Look at you —she murmured against my mouth—. You’re dripping, slut.

—It’s your fault.

—It’s your achievement.

She yanked my skirt up to my waist. She slid two fingers in from the side of my panties, beside the toy, so deep my knees buckled. She pulled them out gleaming, with strands of my own slick hanging between them, and ran them across my lips before pushing them into my mouth up to the knuckles. I sucked her fingers with my eyes closed, tasting myself, while she watched me hard and smiled like a fucking bitch.

—Did you miss me? —she asked, pulling back two centimeters.

—You know I did.

—Say it.

—I missed you. I missed you like crazy. I missed your tongue, your fingers, your fucking mouth.

—That’s how I like it.

She shoved me onto the living room sofa. She took off my coat, ripped my shirt open—two buttons snapped off and she didn’t care—took off my new bra without saying a word about the lace. Then she pulled her own dress over her head and stayed in black underwear, the same as always, the one I’d learned to desire from afar. Her breasts were firm, her nipples dark and already hard, an old tan line at her hip. Every detail was right where I’d kept it in my memory.

—Take off your panties. Slowly. I want to watch.

I slid them down slowly, to my ankles, and let them fall. The toy was still inside, glistening. She licked her lips without even trying to hide it.

—Come here —she said, and sat in the armchair with her legs open, shifting her panties to the side with two fingers. Her cunt was swollen, wet, the pink lips parting on their own, her clit poking out hard. My mouth watered just looking at it.

I knelt between her legs. I kissed the insides of her thighs, kissed them hard, leaving marks. I licked her groin, the fold where the skin gets softer, and slowly moved up her belly to her navel. I bit her ribs, sucked one nipple until it turned purple, then the other. She held my head with one hand and with the other, every so often, activated the remote without warning so I wouldn’t forget the toy was still inside and that every time it vibrated I clenched all over against her knee.

—Take it out —she said suddenly—. I want you empty for what I’m going to do to you.

I took it out. It was soaked, with shining threads hanging from it. She set it on the side table like someone setting down a set of keys, and pushed me back until I fell onto the rug.

This time it was her who went down. She opened my legs calmly, without urgency, as if she had to relearn the route. First she blew lightly on me, a warm breath over my clit that made me lift my hips looking for her mouth. Then she ran her whole tongue, flat, from my asshole all the way up, one long slow lick that drew a deep moan from me. She went down again. She put her tongue inside me, pulled it out, sucked each lip one by one, opened me with two fingers for better access, and started sucking my clit with the same patience she used with a glass of wine. Sucking, releasing, circling with the tip of her tongue, sucking again. When I understood she meant it, I closed my eyes and gave myself over.

She slid two fingers in. She moved them slowly, searching for the spot inside while she sucked my clit up top. She found both at once and started pumping, curling her fingers forward, never stopping sucking. I clung to the edge of the chair because otherwise I would’ve gone. I felt it rise through my legs, my belly, my chest. I tried to hold back. She noticed.

—Come —she said with her mouth pressed to my cunt—. Come on my face, slut, come now.

I came with my mouth closed so as not to wake the neighbor, but my whole body shook. I felt the hot gush of it coming out while she kept sucking, not moving away, swallowing what she could and letting the rest run down her chin. When I stopped trembling, she stood up with her face shining and showed me her tongue, still covered. She kissed me. Made me taste myself in her mouth. I had never felt so dirty and so much like mine.

—My turn —she said.

I took her to the bedroom. There it was my turn to rediscover her. I pushed her onto the bed and ripped off her panties, this time with a careless yank. I kissed her neck, the hollow of her collarbone, her breasts one by one, sucking them until she arched, biting her nipples just enough that the low growl escaped her—the one she only makes when it hurts just right. I licked her belly. I went down slowly. I knew her. I knew how fast she liked it, what pressure, when to lower the intensity to make her wait.

I spread her legs wide and stayed looking at her for a second. She was open, red, shining, her clit exposed and throbbing. I blew lightly and watched her contract. I ran my whole tongue over her once, and pulled away. She arched again looking for me. I smiled from down there.

—Idiot —she murmured.

—I learned from the best.

That night I made her wait longer than was fair. I sucked the insides of her thighs, bit the inner flesh, licked around her without touching where she wanted, until she started lifting her hips in desperation. Only then did I lower my tongue to her clit and stay there, fixed, with the rhythm she’d taught me. I put in one finger first, then two, then three, and when I felt her open, I curled my hand upward and pressed inside her as if I were calling someone. She grabbed my hair and pulled gently, not to hurry me, but so I’d understand she remembered everything.

—Like that, like that, don’t stop, don’t stop...

The first wave rolled over her and her whole belly trembled. I felt her cunt contract around my fingers, squeezing them until it hurt.

—You’re an idiot —she murmured when she could speak.

—I learned from the best.

After that first orgasm we didn’t stop. I turned her face down, lifted her hips, and ate her ass with my tongue while I finger-fucked her from the front with two fingers. I heard her moan into the pillow, biting the fabric. I took her from behind with my open hand on the back of her neck, working her cunt with three fingers until she came again over my hand, soaking me to the wrist. I turned her over. I looked at her. I licked my fingers in front of her so she could see how much I was making her come.

We found each other in every position we remembered and in some we tried for the first time, because three months is enough to invent things in your head. She grabbed the toy from the side table—the same one she’d made me wear at the bar—and slipped it into me without warning while she sucked my tits. She left it in there, vibrating, and climbed on top of my face. I grabbed her hips and pulled her onto my mouth. I felt her moving slowly over me, then not so slowly, rubbing her cunt against my tongue and my nose, while I tried to breathe between lick and lick. She came again with her legs closing around my head, and the toy inside me made me come at the same time, her body covering my mouth so no one would hear me scream.

There was a moment when we were face to face, one of my legs over hers, our hips together, our cunts pressed against each other, moving slowly at first and then not so slowly, rubbing clit against clit, fingers interlaced and mouths open watching each other. I could feel her wetness mixing with mine, sliding between us, and the wet sound of our sex hitting together. She watched me hard, never closing her eyes, and I didn’t close mine either. We came like that, almost at the same time, with the free hand of each of us squeezing the other’s breast and a twin moan rebounding off the wall. That was the closest thing to an ending we had that night. But it wasn’t the last.

There was still time for her to put me face down, spread my cheeks with both hands, and run her tongue over my asshole until I trembled in a new way, while she slid three fingers into my cunt from below. And there was also time for me, when she no longer had any strength left, to sit her on the edge of the bed and suck her clit slowly, with a loose mouth, until I made her come one last time with her eyes closed and a tear running down her temple.

When we finally collapsed on our backs, the sheet tangled at our feet, our legs still sticky together and the table lamp still on, she found my hand and interlaced her fingers with mine the way we used to in the beginning, when we weren’t this yet.

—Are you staying a few days? —I asked.

—Two. Then I go back.

—Two isn’t much.

—Two is what there is.

I kept staring at the ceiling. I could feel the pounding in my ears, the sweat drying on my shoulders, the smell of sex clinging to the sheets, her weight at my side. Three months had dissolved in four hours. Tomorrow I’d have dark circles and an aching cunt and no one would be able to explain why I was smiling in the new office.

—Sleep —I told her.

She closed her eyes. It took a minute.

I stayed awake a little longer, writing this on my phone so I wouldn’t forget it, looking at her profile against the pillow, with that small mark she has near her ear, the one only I know. Mariana was breathing softly. In a few hours she’d wake up and we’d start again, probably with her mouth already searching for me between my legs before I opened my eyes. Then she’d leave and we’d go back to the messages, the voice notes, to waiting for the next meeting that brought her to my city.

But tonight she was here. And no one needed to know it but the two of us.