I Ended Up in My Best Friend’s Father’s Bed

I had been unemployed for three months, and my savings were running out. At twenty-six, being out of work felt like carrying a stone on your chest: you get depressed, stop going out, and end up believing the world owes you something it’s never going to pay. So when Renata told me her father needed someone trustworthy to handle the register and inventory at his business, I didn’t think twice.

—My dad’s kind of grumpy at work, but he pays on time and he’s known you forever —she told me over coffee—. Go for it, Carla.

I’d known Marcos since high school, from the afternoons when I went to study at Renata’s house. He was the typical serious older man who greeted us with a “hello, girls” and disappeared into his study without another word. To me, he had always been just that: my friend’s father, a distant and respectable figure. Nothing more.

On the Monday of the interview, I arrived early at the materials distributor. The smell of sealant and cement hit me in the face as soon as I stepped through the door. Marcos had his back to me, arranging buckets of waterproofing compound as if they were empty cans. He was around six foot one, with a back that looked like a wall. When he turned around and saw me, I felt a hollow in my stomach that had nothing to do with hunger.

—Carla? —he asked, lowering his glasses and looking me up and down. His gaze lingered a second too long on my hips—. Look how you’ve grown. The last time I saw you, you were a skinny little thing.

I blushed immediately. He let out a rough laugh and wiped his hands on a rag. His T-shirt fit tightly around his arms, and a hint of dark chest hair showed at the collar.

—Come into the office —he ordered, pointing toward the cubicle at the back—. I’ll explain how things work before the loaders arrive.

I walked ahead of him and felt his eyes fixed on my back the whole way. I sat across from his desk; he remained standing, with the air of a man who knew exactly which pieces to move. He’s Renata’s father. Get a grip, I repeated to myself. But the more I told myself that, the more I noticed his large hands, his prominent knuckles, the way the fabric tightened across his chest whenever he moved.

—Nobody comes here to play, Carla. I need order —he said, planting his hands on the desk and leaning toward me—. And I’m very demanding about what belongs to me.

A shiver ran down my back, and without meaning to, I felt my panties grow wet when I heard that word in his mouth: mine. At that moment I knew accepting that job was going to be the biggest problem of my life.

***

The first month was all about getting acquainted with the job. I walked on eggshells, determined to be the perfect employee so I wouldn’t let Renata down. Marcos was pure authority: short orders and confinement in his office. But after two weeks he began coming out to the counter on any pretext, checking things that were already fine. I caught him staring at my tits and hips with such shamelessness that it made me drop whatever I was holding.

By the second month, we were playing games. I learned that he liked being challenged a little.

—If you keep buying this shade of blue, it’s going to sit in the warehouse forever —I told him one day, crossing my arms.

He came closer until his chest almost brushed mine.

—You take care of selling it. With that smile, you can convince anyone —he said, just inches from my face.

It was the first time I didn’t look away. I stayed there, feeling tiny beneath his shadow and, at the same time, more desired than ever.

By the third month, every day had become torture. I chose my clothes with him in mind—shorter skirts, tighter blouses, new thongs just in case; he stopped wearing button-down shirts because of the heat and walked around in T-shirts that revealed his broad shoulders. When the loaders went out to eat and we were left alone, the silence in the shop weighed tons, and I felt my pussy swollen without even having touched it.

The worst part was Renata. She came by sometimes to say hello, and I felt like the worst person in the world, because while she talked to me about her boyfriend, I couldn’t stop imagining her father’s chest and wondering how thick his cock was beneath his denim pants.

One afternoon I went to the back warehouse for a sample book. The aisle was narrow, with metal shelves reaching all the way to the ceiling. I was stretching on tiptoe to reach a folder when I felt someone blocking the light at the entrance.

—It’s all the way up there. You won’t reach it even on tiptoe —Marcos said in that rough voice, mocking my height.

He pressed against my back to reach the folder. I felt his whole body pinning me against the shelf, his arms encircling my waist to reach higher and, between my buttocks, the thick, hard bulge of his cock pressing against me through his pants. I lost my breath. He took advantage of it and pushed his hips a little farther, rubbing that hardness against my ass very slowly, as though it were nothing.

—Here it is —he whispered against my neck. But he didn’t move. I felt his free hand slide down to my waist and squeeze me, pulling me against his bulge—. Be careful what you provoke, skinny.

—Is anyone there?! Dad! Carla! —Renata’s voice fell over us like a bucket of cold water.

I pulled away from him as if he were burning me. Marcos, on the other hand, didn’t even flinch: he lowered the folder with a calm that made me envious and left the warehouse as if nothing had happened, adjusting his bulge beneath his pants before turning down the aisle. I stayed there for a second, trying to keep my heart from leaping out of my mouth, my soaked panties stuck to my pussy.

***

After that, Marcos stopped beating around the bush. One Tuesday, near closing time, he came up behind me while I was writing down orders and planted his hands on the counter, surrounding me without quite touching me.

—You work too hard, Carla —he whispered almost in my ear. His two-day stubble brushed my cheek—. You should relax.

Before I could answer, I felt his lips on my neck, a slow, firm kiss right where the shoulder began, followed by the tip of his tongue tracing my skin up to my earlobe. He bit me slowly, and I squeezed my thighs together so I wouldn’t moan. It wasn’t an accident. He gripped my shoulders with his large hands, slid one beneath my blouse until it brushed the base of my tit over my bra, and then withdrew to his office with that maddening calm, leaving me there with my nipples outlined beneath the fabric.

The following days were a war of nerves, until Friday arrived. The loaders left as soon as six o’clock struck. Marcos lowered the shop’s metal shutter, and the roar of it sounded like the beginning of something forbidden.

He took off his shirt and remained in a white undershirt that revealed everything. He approached without hurry, with the confidence of someone who already knew he had won.

—You’ve been avoiding my eyes for days —he said, trapping me against the counter.

He put his hands on my waist and squeezed. When his lips brushed mine, I was the one who closed the distance. The kiss was hungry, desperate; I felt his tongue seek mine while his hands slid down to my buttocks and squeezed so hard that he lifted me onto my toes. He thrust his entire tongue into my mouth, sucking mine as if he wanted to eat it, and one of his hands slipped beneath my skirt until it found the soaked fabric of my thong. He ran two fingers over my pussy, feeling how wet I was, and grunted into my mouth.

—You’re dripping, skinny —he murmured against my lips—. If you keep this up, I’ll fuck you right here on the counter.

And then panic won. I tore myself away and ran from the shop all the way home, my heart pounding against my ribs and my pussy throbbing between my thighs.

I spent the weekend avoiding Renata’s messages, turning over what I had done. I felt guilty, but my body tingled whenever I remembered the strength of his hands and the hard bulge of his cock against my stomach. I masturbated three times that night thinking about him, with two fingers buried deep inside me and the pillow between my teeth so I wouldn’t scream.

***

On Monday I returned, determined to set boundaries. It did no good. Marcos became an expert at cornering me gently: a quick kiss when I went in for a seal, a firm hand on my lower back while I served a customer, a whispered “you smell delicious, stop fighting me so much” between the aisles.

One midday, when the loaders went out to deliver an order, I entered his office with a report and he blocked my way. This time there was no warning. He sat me on the edge of his desk, among papers and invoices, and pulled my legs open. He raised my skirt to my waist, hooked his fingers into the waistband of my thong, and dragged it down to my ankles.

—Well, well, look what I have here —he said, staring at my shaved pussy with a hungry smile—. You’ve been showing it to me all day beneath that little skirt, you bitch.

He knelt between my legs, seized my thighs with both hands, and spread them as far as they would go. He began slowly: first a long kiss right on my mound, then his flat tongue climbed the entire slit of my pussy, lapping up my wetness as if it were a prize. When he reached my clitoris, he enclosed it between his lips and began to suck, with the same steady rhythm he used for everything. I had to bite my fist to keep from screaming. He thrust two thick fingers inside me and curled them, touching a spot that made me arch my back against the catalogs.

—That’s it, baby girl, come in my mouth —he whispered without stopping his tongue—. I spent all day thinking about tasting you.

He used his tongue with an expert’s patience, making me arch my back and bury my fingers in his hair. I was about to come apart, my thighs trembling around his head, when a sharp knock at the door froze us.

—Don Marcos! Do we lower the shutter or wait for the truck? —It was Toño, one of the loaders.

Panic swept through me. Marcos, on the other hand, took a deep breath, wiped the back of his hand across his beard, wet with me, and answered in his commanding voice, without a tremor:

—I’ll be right out, Toño! I’m checking invoices.

I pulled my clothes up with trembling hands. He helped me with my zipper, put his two wet fingers into his mouth, and sucked them slowly while looking me in the eyes. He gave me a short, possessive kiss and let me taste myself on his tongue.

—We can’t keep doing this here —he told me—. On Saturday my daughter is going to Puebla with her mother. You and I will meet at a hotel on the outskirts of town. Nobody knows us there.

I bit my lip. I knew it was the biggest cliché in the world, but coming from him, it sounded like heaven.

—All right —I replied—. But if someone sees us…

—Nobody’s going to see us. Saturday, eight at night. And come without panties, skinny. I don’t want to waste time.

***

On Saturday I arrived a bundle of nerves. I had put on a black outfit that made me feel powerful, and, following his orders, I had left my thong at home, along with the perfume I knew he liked. When I opened the room door, Marcos was already there, sitting on the edge of the bed in that white shirt that clung to his body. On the nightstand sat a bottle of wine and an ice bucket.

—You’re right on time —he said with half a smile—. Close the door.

The lock clicking shut made my stomach flip. He poured me wine, took it from my hand before I could taste it, and pulled me toward him. He slid his hand beneath my dress and, as soon as he confirmed I was naked underneath, he gave an approving growl and buried two fingers in my pussy in one motion.

—Good girl —he whispered in my ear as he fingered me with a slow rhythm—. You’re already wet for me. No more loaders, customers, or Renata. Just you and me, and tonight I’m going to fuck you until you can’t walk.

He carried me to the bed and began undressing me with a calm that drove me crazy. He pulled my dress over my head, unclasped my bra with one hand, and stared at my tits as if he had never seen a pair before. He bent down and took an entire nipple into his mouth, sucking hard while his other hand squeezed and pinched the other one. I felt his teeth lightly scrape me and arched my back toward him.

—All this sweetness hidden beneath your work shirt —he murmured, lowering his mouth down my stomach—. All of this is mine, do you hear me?

—Yes, yours —I moaned, grabbing his hair.

He settled between my legs and devoured me just as he had in the office, but now with all the time in the world. He spread my pussy with his fingers and began sucking my clitoris slowly, alternating long licks with firm pulls. When I felt I was about to explode, he stopped, blew on me, and started again. He kept me there for entire minutes, right on the edge, until I begged him to make me come. He thrust three fingers inside me and curled them, sucking hard, and I came screaming between his thighs, trembling from head to toe, soaking his face.

—That’s how I like you, dripping —he said, licking his lips.

When he stood up to remove the last of his clothes, I was speechless. He was a real man, solid, his chest covered in dark hair, his body not looking anything like a fifty-year-old’s. And his cock: thick, long, dark at the tip, pointing at me like a threat. He grabbed it and slowly stroked it, watching me, knowing perfectly well what he was doing.

—What’s wrong? Did the grumpy man scare you? —he asked, realizing I couldn’t stop staring at him.

—You’re incredible, Marcos —I managed to say, sitting on the edge of the bed.

I went to him and took his cock in both hands. It was hot and hard, its veins standing out. I ran my tongue over the tip, and he let out a hoarse gasp. I slowly put it in my mouth, savoring it, while he gripped my hair with one hand and set the pace. I sucked his entire cock, all the way down, until I felt the tip pressing against my throat and tears escaped me. He grunted and whispered, “That’s it, suck it all, skinny, very good.” I sucked his balls too, one at a time, then went back up the shaft to the tip, sucking the salty drop that welled there.

—Okay, stop, I’m going to come in your mouth and I don’t want to —he said, pulling my hair back.

He laid me on my back and settled over me, his presence completely surrounding me. He kissed me until I was breathless while his hands traveled over every curve. He took the condom from the nightstand and put it on with a skill that left me stunned, without pausing or fumbling. When he finally positioned himself between my legs, he did it slowly, looking into my eyes, without the clumsy haste of the boys I had been with before. He held his cock and ran it all along my slit, wetting it thoroughly, tapping my clitoris with the tip until I begged him.

—Put it in, please —I moaned—. Please, Marcos.

—Say it properly.

—Fuck me. Put it all the way in, please.

—That’s better.

He pushed firmly, and I felt him opening me inside, inch by inch. He was so thick I had to grip the sheets.

—Oh God… —I moaned when he was fully inside, digging my nails into his shoulders—. You fill me completely.

—That’s why you came, isn’t it? So I could fill this hungry little pussy.

Feeling him fill me completely was madness. He began moving with a deep, steady rhythm, pulling almost all the way out before thrusting back to the bottom, his hips striking mine with a sharp smack. Each thrust made me slide up over the pillows. He whispered things in my ear that raised gooseflesh on my skin: “You’re so tight, skinny,” “That’s it, open for me,” “This pussy is mine now.” Then he grabbed both my legs behind the knees, spread them like a book, and drove his cock into me at another rhythm, faster and harder, until the wet slapping of our flesh could be heard throughout the room.

He turned me facedown, lifted my ass with one hand, and thrust his cock into me again in a single pull. With the other hand he pressed the back of my neck against the mattress while he fucked me on all fours. Every so often he slapped one cheek—not hard, just enough to make it sound, and to make me push my ass backward, asking for more. He slipped his saliva-wet thumb into my ass, and I came apart, coming again, squeezing his cock with spasms.

—That’s it, come, come hard —he growled without stopping his thrusts.

He turned me over again, spread my legs as wide as possible, and sank into me to the hilt, putting his entire weight behind it. What I will never forget was his face at the moment of climax: he clenched his jaw, the veins in his neck stood out, and for one second, that man who was always in command surrendered completely. He let out a rough grunt, thrust three more times, very deep, and emptied himself inside the condom, trembling. I felt his cock pulsing against my walls, and he collapsed onto me, breathing hard against my neck.

What I least expected was what happened afterward. He didn’t get up to dress. He lay down beside me, pulled me against his chest, and wrapped his arms around me. He stroked my hair with a gentleness I had never known in him and kissed my forehead from time to time.

—Are you all right, skinny? —he asked softly.

—Very much so —I replied, settling against him, my pussy still throbbing.

It was a seedy hotel, I was his daughter’s best friend, and he was my boss, but at that moment, wrapped in each other’s arms beneath the sheets, none of it mattered. Half an hour later, when I thought he was asleep, I felt his hand slide between my legs again and his cock harden against my hip. He mounted me from behind, entering me slowly with one of my legs raised, and fucked me very slowly until we both came again—this time he came inside me, without a condom, when we couldn’t hold back any longer.

***

From that night on, the shop became our private territory. We learned to live a double life with a facility that frightened me: in front of the loaders and Renata, we were the serious boss and the efficient employee; as soon as the metal shutter came down, everything changed.

I would enter his office “to have invoices signed” and end up on my knees before him, his cock buried in my throat and his hands pulling my hair. I learned to suck him the way he liked: slowly at first, savoring his balls, then swallowing him whole until spasms ran through his thighs. A couple of times he came in my mouth and made me show it to him before swallowing.

Other times, we had quick encounters against the warehouse shelves, his hands disappearing beneath my skirt, my thong pushed aside, and his cock entering with one thrust while he covered my mouth with his free hand so the loaders wouldn’t hear my moans. He fucked me standing up, with one leg raised over a paint bucket, driving my ass against the shelves until he came very quickly, and then we walked out as if nothing had happened.

But closing time was the most intense: he would sit me on his wooden desk, among the color catalogs, and take his time. He spread my legs over the invoices, licked my pussy until I wet the papers, and then slid inside me slowly, holding himself there and looking into my eyes. One night he laid me on my back across the desk, lifted both my legs over his shoulders, and drove his cock into me at a brutal pace, without care, until I came screaming his name and he came over my tits, marking me with semen from my neck to my navel.

Once he invented a trip “to see a supplier” outside the city. Marcos drove the pickup into the first motel we found, and that afternoon there was none of the tenderness of the hotel: it was pure accumulated desire. He shoved me into the room by the buttocks, literally tore off my panties, and bent me over the bed without even giving me time to take off my dress. He thrust into me from behind with a hard stroke and fucked me brutally, grabbing my hair, my neck, and my hips, driving into me until the bed legs squeaked. He made me come twice before coming himself, then laid me on my back, spread my legs, stood beside the mattress, and finished me with his mouth until a third orgasm left my legs trembling. Afterward I had to sit for an hour across from the real supplier, Don Ernesto, pretending to examine lacquer catalogs while Marcos’s semen dripped between my thighs and he brushed my knee beneath the desk.

—Are you feeling all right, young lady? You look a little flushed —Don Ernesto asked me.

—It’s the sun on the highway —I lied while Marcos held back his laughter beside me.

***

The bombshell came on a Thursday. Marcos had gone out to supervise a job, and Renata arrived with two sodas, sat beside me at the counter, and sighed so loudly it made my heart jump.

—Carla, I need to tell you something because I’m going crazy —she said, with those trusting eyes that made me feel miserable—. It’s my dad. He’s acting so strange. My mom says he barely pays attention to her anymore, that he spends all his time smiling at his phone by himself. You haven’t seen whether he has a mistress, have you?

I felt the blood drain from my feet.

—A mistress? I don’t think so, Renata. Your dad spends all day holed up here —I said, cold sweat sliding down my back as I remembered that a couple of hours earlier that same “dad” had held me against the warehouse wall with his cock buried to the hilt in my pussy.

—He even smells different. The other day he was wearing a woman’s perfume, not my mom’s —she grabbed my arm—. If you see anything strange, some customer who comes by too often, tell me, okay? Before he destroys my family.

I felt a sign reading “the other woman” shining on my forehead. Seeing her so distressed, asking me to help her discover the woman who was sleeping with her father in that very office, hit me with a brutal dose of reality.

—Of course… if I see anything, I’ll let you know —I managed to say.

***

Instead of slowing down, Marcos became a textbook cynic. In front of his daughter, he called his wife to tell her he loved her, sent her flowers, and showed off expensive dinners. And the better he behaved in public, the hungrier he was for me in the office.

—I’ve fulfilled my husband quota —he would tell me after hanging up with his wife—. Now come here and get on all fours on the desk.

And I would go, and he would lift my skirt, pull my thong down to my knees, and take me from behind while I bit into a cushion. Then he would force me to suck him clean with my tongue, as was his habit.

Fear and arousal became tangled together in a way I no longer recognized. The final straw came one afternoon when his wife showed up unexpectedly with a cake to “celebrate” a gold chain he had given her. I was in the office with my back to the door when we heard heels clicking and Renata’s voice: “Surprise, Dad!” Marcos let go of me as if I were burning him and sat down to open some random folder, still with his fly open and his half-inserted cock barely tucked beneath the desk.

His wife came in glowing, hugged me, and said, “Thank you for taking such good care of my husband. You can tell work has worn him out.” I felt the floor open beneath me. Seeing her there, such a good person, while I could still taste Marcos on my lips and my pussy was soaked beneath my skirt, broke something inside me.

***

From that day on, guilt began eating me alive. I lost weight, couldn’t sleep, and every noise at the shutter made me jump. I tried to distance myself, but whenever he looked at me with those hungry eyes and told me he missed me, I fell back into it. Until one morning, before the loaders arrived, I left my resignation letter on his desk.

—I’m quitting, Marcos —I told him, my voice trembling but firm—. I can’t keep looking Renata in the eyes. I can’t keep being the other woman in your daughter’s office.

He approached with that imposing figure and tried to caress my face, but I stepped aside.

—Don’t go. I need you here —he pleaded.

—I’m leaving because I love you, but I love myself more.

I closed the office door for the last time. He kept pursuing me for a while: calling at odd hours, asking me to meet him in motels, even promising he would leave his wife. My heart raced when I heard him say it, but I didn’t waver. I stopped answering his calls. At first my soul hurt; afterward, I felt only immense relief.

***

Years have passed. I now work at a design agency, and my hands no longer smell of sealant but of ink and new projects. I’ve dated guys my own age, and I would be lying if I said I didn’t compare them. Sometimes I remember the firmness of his hands, the way he opened my pussy with his fingers, that feeling of fullness when his cock entered all the way and he knew exactly what he was doing. I keep those moments as a secret that made me a woman, but they no longer hurt.

A week ago, fate played a joke on me. I was leaving a café when I saw his pickup. And there he was, getting out with the same presence as always, though he looked tired.

—Carla… —he whispered my name in that rough voice that used to dominate me.

—Hello, Marcos —I replied with a calm I hadn’t known I possessed.

—You look incredible. The office is a cemetery without you —he lowered his voice, searching my eyes for a crack through which he could get back in.

I stared straight at him. For a second I remembered the heat of his body, the weight of his cock in my mouth, and felt an echo of that desire. But then I remembered Renata’s face and his lies to his wife.

—I’m glad to see you’re doing well —I told him with a faint smile—. Say hello to Renata for me.

I turned and kept walking. I felt his gaze fixed on my back, heavy and hungry, as if he wanted to stop me. But my legs no longer trembled. I learned that I don’t deserve to be anyone’s hidden affair between invoices and lies.