He called me a bitch, and I decided to prove his wife right

I’ll start by being direct: I’m forty years old, I have a daughter in college, and a body I’ve spent sweat and discipline building for more than a decade of training. I don’t apologize for that. The broad hips, the firm legs, and the ass I carry are the result of years of effort, and if people look when I walk into a place, I’ve long since learned not to pay them any more attention than necessary.

I work as an administrative assistant at a midsize logistics company. My direct boss is named Rodrigo: forty-four years old, married, with two kids in school and a wife who watched him like the whole building was going to fuck him collectively. From the first day I was assigned to his area, she started showing up at the office with some excuse. A coffee she’d brought him. A document he needed to sign. Nothing that couldn’t have been handled by phone.

I didn’t bear her any grudge. I understood insecurity. But it wasn’t my problem either.

Rodrigo was respectful professionally, though not always in the details. He had that habit of coming a little closer than necessary when we were reviewing something together on a screen. Comments that brushed the limit but never openly crossed it. A look that lasted two seconds longer than it should when I stood up from my chair, fixed on my ass or my cleavage. Nothing I didn’t know how to ignore after years of practice.

And that’s how it would have gone on if Tuesday hadn’t happened.

Rodrigo had gone off to a meeting on another floor and left his phone on his desk because the charger was plugged into mine. When messages from his wife started coming in, I saw them on the lock screen without meaning to. One said his name. The next said mine.

I should have left it there.

I didn’t. I unlocked the screen—no password, he trusted too much—and read the whole conversation. His wife talked about me with brutal precision: bitch, whore, slut, whatever word came to her. That I was surely shaking my tits in his face. That I was a shitty cocktease. And Rodrigo didn’t contradict her. He answered with complicit emojis, with comments that confirmed every insult, with laughter he didn’t deserve.

I put the phone back where it was and kept working.

Outwardly, nothing changed. I finished the day’s reports. Answered emails. Signed the dispatch slips. But inside, something had shifted position, like when you move a heavy piece of furniture and the whole room seems different even though you haven’t touched anything else.

If they thought I was a bitch, they were going to get the full version. In every detail.

***

I waited for the office to empty out. It wasn’t hard: people leave early on Fridays, and I made sure anyone who wanted to stay found a reason to go. By seven in the evening, only Rodrigo and I were left.

He was still in front of the screen, finishing something that no longer mattered. I came up behind him without making a sound, leaned in to his ear, and spoke quietly.

—If your wife thinks I’m a bitch, today we’re going to prove her right together.

He froze. He didn’t say anything for a full three seconds. I could feel him processing what he’d heard, checking whether it was real or whether he’d imagined it. Then I slid my hand over his shoulder to his chest, down over his stomach, and squeezed the bulge in his pants without any preamble. He was already half-hard down there.

—You read the messages? —he asked, and there was no guilt in his voice, only something like relief.

—Yeah. And I decided she’s right. I’m going to behave like the whore she thinks I am.

I went around the chair until I was standing in front of him. I knelt slowly, without hurry, looking him in the eye as I unbuckled his belt, opened the button, and pulled the zipper down with my teeth. Rodrigo rested his hands on the armrests as if he needed to hold on to something.

—Has everyone left already? —he asked, his voice rough.

—I took care of that myself. Lift your ass.

He did. I yanked his pants and boxer briefs down to his knees in one pull. His cock sprang hard against his stomach, thick, the head already shiny with pre-cum. Bigger than I’d imagined in months of sideways glances. My mouth watered without permission.

He let out a sharp breath when I took him in my hand. He was already rock hard before I touched him. That told me more than any comment he’d made in months: he’d been thinking about this for a long time, holding back, building it up.

What a waste.

I jerked him off slowly, my hand closed firm around the shaft, working up to the tip and back down to the base. I ran my thumb over the glans, spreading the pre-cum across the head, and he arched his hips into my hand. Studying him, learning the rhythm that made him close his eyes. I licked his balls first, sucking them one by one while I kept stroking him. I ran my tongue along the whole length, from base to tip, leaving a trail of spit. When I judged he was about to ask me for something, I opened my mouth and took him all the way in, deep, until I felt the tip hit the back of my throat.

Rodrigo made a sound that wasn’t exactly a groan or exactly a word. He put a hand on my head, not to guide me but as if he needed to make sure I was real.

I sucked him off calmly and eagerly, not pretending anything. I took his cock into my mouth full, letting saliva run down my chin and drip onto his balls. I moved up and down in a slow, torturous rhythm, pressing my lips tight around the edge of the glans before swallowing him down whole again. With my other hand I fondled his balls, weighing them, feeling them tighten. I pulled him out with a wet pop to look him in the eye, a string of spit still connecting my mouth to his cock.

—Don’t come yet. I want more than that. I want you to fuck me everywhere.

—God —he said, and not as a blasphemy but as a statement of fact.

—Does your wife suck you like this?

He shook his head. I gave his cock a long lick from balls to tip.

—And in the ass? Has she ever let you put it in her ass?

He took a second, hypnotized, watching me play with his cock against my face.

—She’s never let me.

I smiled and kissed the tip, wet and messy.

—Then today’s your lucky day, Rodrigo. Today you’re going to wreck my ass on top of the conference table.

***

I stood up, took him by the hand, and led him to the back of the room, where there was a large conference table nobody used on Friday afternoons. I pulled my blouse off over my head. He just stared at my tits stuffed into the lace bra as if he didn’t know where to start.

—Don’t just stand there —I said.

That pulled him out of his trance. He came over, unclasped my bra with less clumsiness than I expected, and when my tits fell free he lowered his mouth to a nipple and started sucking it hungrily. He bit me, licked me, dragged his rough tongue over the areola while with the other hand he pinched my other nipple. I felt the tug go straight down to my pussy. His hands learned my body, squeezed my tits, pushed them together so he could suck both nipples at once. He wasn’t inexperienced. He was just contained, like someone who’s learned to move inside a small space and suddenly has a huge room opened up to him.

He took my skirt off by pulling it down. The black panties were exposed, soaked at the crotch, the dark stain marking how much I wanted him. He went still for a moment.

—I always knew it —he murmured, his open hand on my hip.

—Knew what?

—That under all that office clothes there was this bitch body.

—Say it again.

—Bitch body —he repeated, and ripped my panties off at the side with a hard yank that made me feel even hotter.

I didn’t answer. I gently pushed him toward the table so he’d sit on the edge and turned my back to him, putting my hands on the surface. I showed him my ass, arching my back, spreading my legs a little so he could see my pussy already glistening wet, dripping down the insides of my thighs. I heard him hold his breath.

—Eat me —I said, without any further explanation—. All of it. The pussy and the ass. All of it.

He took exactly zero seconds to understand.

He knelt behind me and opened my cheeks with both hands. I felt his hot tongue smack against my pussy in one long, wide lick from bottom to top, gathering all my juices. He repeated the movement three, four times, each time going a little higher, until his tongue stopped at the hole of my ass and started circling around it. I bit my lip to keep from screaming.

He buried it there, at my asshole, pushing with the tip to open me a little. Then he went back down to my clit and sucked it whole, drawing it between his lips, before going back up to my ass. He went from one side to the other, giving me no respite, while two of his fingers went in and out of my wet pussy with a wet, obscene sound that filled the empty room. He took his time, learning, responding to what I indicated without words. You could tell he’d built up a lot of desire and wasn’t going to waste the opportunity.

—Deeper, deeper —I told him when he reached the right place.

He obeyed. He slid a third finger into me and curved the three forward, searching for the spot that made me see lights. When he found it, a groan escaped me that I couldn’t hold back.

I was wet before he even started, but I wasn’t going to tell him that. Some details are better when they discover them on their own. By then I was dripping openly, my thighs sticky and the table stained beneath me.

—Now —I said when I couldn’t make myself wait anymore—. I want you to fuck me. In back. In the ass.

He straightened up, his mouth and chin shining with my juices.

—Are you sure?

—I wouldn’t ask if I wasn’t. Spit and put it in me.

He spat on his cock and coated it well from top to bottom, then spat again on my asshole and spread the saliva with his thumb, pushing it in and pulling it out to loosen me up. I took his other hand and guided it to my hip, showing him the rhythm, the pressure, the angle. Rodrigo followed the instructions with a concentration I found almost tender. When he set the thick tip against my hole and pushed, he did it slowly, attentive to my response. I felt the stretch, the burn, the instant the glans entered and the ring closed behind it.

—Like that —I told him through clenched teeth—. Now hold still. Just a second.

I breathed, loosened my muscles. I showed him with my hip that he could keep going.

He went a little farther. I spread my legs and lowered my back, giving him a better angle.

—Like that. All of it.

When I had him all the way inside, with his balls flattening my pussy from behind, I rested my cheek on the cold table and closed my eyes for a moment. The combination of sensations was exactly what I needed: pressure, fullness, the burn giving way to pleasure, the warmth of his hands gripping my hips.

How long it’s been since this.

He started moving and found a fast rhythm, faster than I would have expected from someone just starting out. He pulled almost all the way out and drove back in to the hilt, with a hard smack of his pelvis against my ass. You could tell he had imagined this many times. That he had a clear idea of how he wanted it to be. I slid one hand down to my pussy and started rubbing my clit while he fucked me from behind.

—How many times did you go into the bathroom to think about this? —I asked him, my voice calmer than I felt—. To jerk off thinking about fucking me in the ass?

He laughed, a low, shameless sound, without stopping fucking me.

—Too many. I lost count.

—No need today. Today you’re filling my ass with come.

—Whore —he growled, and slapped my ass hard enough to make me clamp down around his cock.

—That’s it. Tell me. Again.

—Fucking cocktease whore, I’ve got you right where I wanted you.

—Harder.

He sped up. He grabbed my hair, gathering it into a fist at the nape of my neck, and yanked my head back as he fucked me at a savage pace. I answered by moving into him, setting the rhythm I wanted, slamming my ass against his pelvis, not waiting for him to guess. My fingers on my clit worked in quick circles. The first orgasm came sooner than I’d calculated, shaking my thighs, clenching my ass around his cock, and Rodrigo felt it because he instinctively slowed when he felt the squeeze.

—Don’t stop —I said, my voice breaking—. Don’t you fucking dare stop.

He didn’t stop. On the contrary. He yanked his cock out of my ass with a wet pull, turned me in one movement, and laid me on my back on the table. He spread my legs wide open, lifted them onto his shoulders, and drove his cock into my pussy in one thrust to the hilt. I screamed. I couldn’t help it. My pussy was so swollen and sensitive that I came again almost instantly, biting my knuckle so I wouldn’t wake the building.

—Look at me —he ordered—. Look at my face while I fuck you.

I opened my eyes. Rodrigo was over me, shirt open, sweaty, fucking me with a fury I didn’t know him to have. He sucked one nipple, then the other, never stopping the pistoning. He put two fingers in my mouth and made me suck them while he drove into me.

The second one took longer, built in layers, with him sinking all the way in on each thrust and me biting my lip so I wouldn’t scream in an office that, even empty, had thin walls. He changed positions again: made me turn over on all fours on the table and went back to alternating, a while in the pussy, a while in the ass, two fingers in my asshole when he was in my pussy and his thumb on my pussy when he was in my ass. When the orgasm hit, it was long and deep, rising up from the soles of my feet; I rested my forehead on the table and breathed with my eyes closed while it finished moving through me, trembling all over.

Rodrigo came shortly after, clinging to my hips with white-knuckled fingers.

—Where? —he panted—. Where do you want me to dump it?

—In my ass. All of it. Fill me up.

He sank in all the way, and I felt the pulse of his cock unloading inside me, stream after stream, hot, while he let out his breath in a sound that was not exactly quiet. He filled me so much that when he finally pulled out, I felt a warm thread of semen run down the inside of my thigh. He stayed still for a moment before pulling away, watching his load drip from my open asshole.

—Fuck —he murmured.

—Hand me a tissue —I said, without turning around.

***

We got dressed without saying much. There wasn’t much to say that wouldn’t be redundant. I gathered my things, checked that the room was in order, and put on my coat. The ruined panties stayed in the inside pocket.

—This can’t happen again —he said, though not with conviction.

—I know.

I looked at him for a moment. His hair was slightly mussed, his shirt was badly buttoned, and he had an expression that mixed satisfaction with something that would take him days to process.

—Say hi to your wife for me —I said, and walked out without waiting for an answer.

In the elevator, alone, I let myself smile. I felt the rest of his come slowly leaking into my clothes and squeezed my thighs together. Not because I’d won anything or proved anything. But because I’d been in a complete dry spell for two months, I’d been ovulating for two days, and the body has its own reasons, more honest than any story we tell ourselves afterward.

Rodrigo greeted me the following Monday with such studied normality it was almost funny. I returned the greeting with the same neutrality and kept on with my reports.

His wife never showed up at the office again.

I don’t know if that was a coincidence. I didn’t care to find out.