The Assistant His Wife Always Feared

I’m forty years old and I’ve been loyal to the gym for fifteen years. I don’t say that like I’m bragging; I say it because it’s relevant to understanding what happened with Rodrigo and his irritating wife. The body I have is no accident: it’s years of discipline, of getting up before the rest of the world, of taking the stairs when there’s an elevator. And yes, part of that effort shows especially in my legs and my ass, something that in the office had always sparked reactions I’d learned to ignore with almost athletic efficiency. I have the kind of ass that stretches pencil skirts to the point that the thong line shows underneath, and firm tits that no bra can fully hide. I know because the mirror tells me every morning and the looks confirm it every afternoon.

I joined the company two years ago as personal assistant to Rodrigo Aldana, supervisor of the commercial department. Married, two kids, expensive ties, and a smile he used more than the professional context required. From day one he made it clear that he struggled to keep his eyes in a neutral place when I walked by, but he always maintained a distance that, technically, could be called professional. Comments that hovered around inappropriate, the occasional look held longer than the situation required, nothing that can’t be ignored with enough practice.

I’d learned to handle it without confrontation and without encouraging him. It was an awkward but stable balance. What complicated that balance, however, wasn’t him.

It was his wife, Fernanda.

Fernanda showed up at the office for the first time on a Tuesday in February, with a smile too tight to be genuine and eyes that scanned everything at seventy-five miles an hour. She didn’t say anything directly to me. There was no need. The kind of watchfulness she had was the universal language of a woman who knows exactly what kind of problem someone like me represents, even if she’d rather not name it. I understood her. I’m a woman too, and I recognize that look because at another point in my life I’ve worn it myself.

From then on, she came twice a week. Always without warning. Always with that same steel smile. She’d walk through the office as if she were doing an inspection, exchange brief greetings with coworkers, glance at Rodrigo’s screen over his shoulder, and then give me a long look before leaving. Not hostile, exactly. Calculated. The look of someone constantly measuring the distance between what she fears and what she can prove.

I never did anything to feed that distrust. Not because I cared about her opinion of me, but because I simply wasn’t interested in getting tangled up with a man who had a wife, kids, and a mortgage in the suburbs. Rodrigo was a good boss professionally: punctual, organized, and he paid overtime without making a face. That was more than enough for me.

Until one Wednesday in October.

***

Rodrigo had gone out to a long meeting and left me access to his phone so I could answer pending emails while he was out. Routine stuff, one of those things that starts to seem normal when you’ve worked with someone long enough. I sorted the messages by importance, answering the urgent ones, flagging the ones that could wait until the next day. The afternoon was quiet. The department was almost empty. No one paid me any attention.

And then, without looking for it, with no intention whatsoever of snooping, the conversation thread with Fernanda appeared on the screen while I was looking for a client email.

I didn’t read the whole thing. I only saw enough.

My name appeared three times in the last four messages. Not as “Rodrigo’s assistant” or “your coworker.” It appeared as “that bitch,” “that office slut,” and, in the most recent one, sent that very morning: “if you don’t move her out of the department I’m going myself to tell her what I think of her.”

I set the phone down on the desk very carefully. Like someone placing a fine crystal glass on an unstable surface.

So that’s what she calls me.

I spent the next forty minutes doing my work with a calm that surprised even me. I answered emails, organized next week’s schedule, made two follow-up calls. Everything exactly like any other day, except that at some point during those forty minutes I made a very clear decision.

If Fernanda already had her verdict on me without my having done absolutely anything to earn it, the least I could do was deserve the sentence. It was a matter of efficiency, in a way. I was going to be her husband’s slut that very afternoon, and while I was at it I was going to find out firsthand exactly what it was Fernanda wasn’t giving him in bed.

***

Rodrigo came back from the meeting at 5:15. At 5:50 the last employee in the department closed the elevator door. It had taken me exactly sixteen minutes to make sure no one else was left on the floor, using the excuse of stopping by each office to collect the day’s reports.

I approached his desk from behind. He was looking at the screen with his tie already loosened and his jacket hanging over the back of his chair. He had that end-of-day posture, body slightly hunched over the keyboard, shoulders drooping. I leaned toward his ear without touching him yet.

—Your wife calls me a bitch in your messages —I said softly—. This afternoon I’m going to prove her right. I’m going to suck your cock and then you’re going to fuck me in the ass, which is where she doesn’t let you.

Rodrigo went completely still for three full seconds. Like someone not sure whether he’d heard what he thought he’d heard.

Before he could react, I slid my hand in front of him and laid it on his thigh. I felt him tense immediately. I ran my fingers slowly over the fabric of his trousers, gauging the reaction, until I felt the bulge already pressing hard against the cloth. It was hard. Very hard. I squeezed over the pants and Rodrigo let out the breath he’d been holding since I opened my mouth.

—Has everyone left already? —he asked. His voice had dropped half an octave.

—I made sure of that before I came over.

I started unbuckling his belt without hurry. I lowered the zipper tooth by tooth, listening to how that one vibration made him shift in the chair. Rodrigo rested his hands on the armrests with white knuckles, like someone who doesn’t want to help but also has no intention of stopping what’s happening.

—I don’t understand what’s going on —he said.

—What’s going on —I replied, sliding my hand inside his briefs and yanking his cock out into the open with a clean pull— is that I’ve spent two years listening to your comments and putting up with your wife’s visits, and it turns out she already has an opinion about me anyway. So this afternoon I’m going to give her real reasons to have one.

He went silent. It was the first time since I’d known him that Rodrigo Aldana had nothing to say. I wrapped my hand around his cock and started jerking him slowly, squeezing at the base and drawing the foreskin back with my thumb until a thick drop beaded at the tip. I spread it over the head with the same thumb, in slow circles, and he let out a groan he couldn’t hold back.

I knelt in front of the chair. It was completely hard, thick, with a vein standing out along the side that made me wet too just from looking at it. I held it in my hand for a moment before starting. I wanted him to watch me do this. To remember it exactly like this, in that office, at that hour, with the light on and the door locked.

—Jesus Christ —he murmured.

—Not yet —I said, and took him into my mouth.

I started with the head, licking the tip with a flat tongue, tasting the semen that had risen and hadn’t quite come out. Then I worked down the whole length, soaking him in saliva, sucking and licking from the base to the tip as if I were eating fruit. Rodrigo clenched his fingers on the armrests and let out a rough moan. When I had his cock shining all the way from my mouth, I took him in one gulp to the back of my throat. I felt him hit my throat and stayed there for a second, breathing through my nose, feeling his pulse against my palate.

—Fuck, fuck —he whispered—. Fuck the way you suck it.

I started blowing him with rhythm. Taking him all the way in and pulling back slowly, letting my lips slide over the full length. With my free hand I grabbed his balls and kneaded them without stopping the sucking. Rodrigo had his mouth open, head thrown back, and was making sounds he probably hadn’t made in years. I looked up at him from below with his cock in my mouth and he shuddered all over when our eyes met.

—Slut —he said, and for the first time that afternoon the insult wasn’t Fernanda’s—. What a slut you are.

—Uh-huh —I answered without taking him out completely, letting the word vibrate over the head.

I took him right to the edge twice. The first time I felt it when his cock started swelling even more against my tongue and his thighs went rigid. I pulled away just in time and squeezed the base with two fingers until the orgasm backed off. Rodrigo let out a cry that sounded almost like a plea.

—Please —he said—, please don’t stop.

—Not yet —I repeated.

I took him back into my mouth. This time I worked him with my hand and tongue at once, my hand going up and down while my tongue coiled around the head. I sucked his balls too, one and then the other, while I kept jerking him. When I had him at the edge again, when I felt his hips start to move on their own looking for my mouth, I pulled away a second time and stood up.

—I want you to fuck me from behind —I said—. In the ass.

Rodrigo took a moment to process that. He looked up at me from below with a completely new expression. His cock twitched on its own when he heard the words.

—Fernanda’s never let me do that —he said, halfway through the sentence.

—I figured as much —I replied—. That’s why I’m here. I’m going to be the first ass you ever fuck in your life, Rodrigo. And I want you to remember, tomorrow when you’re having dinner with her, how tight I was.

I pulled my blouse over my head and unclasped my bra. My tits fell free and I saw his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed. I slid my skirt down, dragging the thong with it, and let everything fall to the floor beside the desk. I stood naked in front of him with my heels still on, and he stared at me like I’d given him something he hadn’t asked for but had wanted for years.

—Jesus, what a body you have —he said—. Jesus, what a body, look at you.

—Stop looking and get on your feet.

***

I leaned over the desk with my back to him, palms spread on the cold surface. I parted my legs, arched my back, and offered him my ass lifted high. Rodrigo was behind me in seconds.

He started well, which surprised me pleasantly. He took the time instead of going straight for what he wanted. He knelt behind me and spread my cheeks with both hands. I felt the office’s cold air against my ass and then something much hotter: his tongue. He licked me slowly, bottom to top, from my pussy to my asshole, and stayed there working with the tip of his tongue as if he were being paid to do it right.

—Fuck —I murmured into the desk—. Fuck, keep going.

He kept going. He ate my ass with a dedication I hadn’t expected from him. He alternated between licking and pushing his tongue in, between sucking my tight hole and moving down to lick my cunt, which by then was already dripping down my thighs. When he realized how soaked I was, he laughed against my skin.

—You’re like a fountain —he said—. Slut.

—Shut up and put your finger in me.

He put one in. Then two. He opened my ass patiently, going in and out slowly, while with the other hand he rubbed my clit. I clenched my teeth against my arm so I wouldn’t moan too loudly. I gave him one brief instruction when needed, just one: spit, don’t be stingy. He spit. After that nothing else was necessary.

When he felt I was ready he stood behind me. I felt the tip of his cock rest against my hole, hot, sliding in the mixed saliva and wetness. He pushed slowly. Very slowly. I felt the head forcing its way in, prying open the ring, and I let out a strangled gasp against the desk.

—Slow —I whispered—. Slow, asshole.

—Slow —he repeated, almost out of breath.

When he finally went all the way in, both of us stayed completely still for a full moment. I felt him throbbing inside me. Felt him trembling. Just the sound of the two of us breathing in the empty office, with the lights on and the computer screen illuminating the room in that cold blue office monitors have at the end of the day.

—Don’t move yet —I said.

He obeyed. Stayed buried to the hilt inside me, hands on my hips and breath cut short. I pushed first, rocking my hips back to take him all, to get used to the thickness. When the burn turned into something else, when I felt pleasure rising from very deep inside, I gave the order.

—Now fuck me.

When we started moving, we went slowly, but only for the first few thrusts. After that Rodrigo let go. He grabbed my hips with both hands and started fucking me with rhythm, pulling almost all the way out and driving back in to the base with every shove. The desk creaked once against the wall and neither of us commented on it. Rodrigo had his hands on my hips with a firmness I appreciated. I rested my cheek on the desk, looking toward the window, where the lights in the buildings across the way kept up their routine completely oblivious to what was happening on this side of the glass.

—Like this —he panted—. This is how I wanted to see you from day one.

—I knew it already —I answered between thrusts—. Fuck me harder.

He fucked me harder. With every shove my tits flattened against the wood and the desk knocked against my hip bone. I brought one hand to my pussy and started rubbing my clit while he kept drilling me from behind. Rodrigo noticed and brought his hand down to grab my hair, yanking my head back.

—Tell me you’re a slut —he growled near my ear, never stopping the thrusts.

—I’m a slut —I said.

—Whose slut.

—Yours. The office slut.

He let out a moan he couldn’t control. He fucked me with more fury, both hands back on my hips, digging his fingers in so hard I knew I’d have marks the next day.

Three times. She’d called me a bitch three times in four messages.

The rage from that afternoon had turned into something completely different. It didn’t have an exact name, but it felt good. Better than I expected. I felt full, open, fucked like I hadn’t been fucked in months, and with every thrust the pleasure rose from my ass to the nape of my neck in waves I couldn’t hide anymore.

Rodrigo started losing the rhythm. His hands gripped harder. The blows became erratic, deeper, more urgent. I clung to the edge of the desk and let whatever needed to happen happen. I rubbed my clit with two fingers until the orgasm hit me all at once, and I came with his cock buried to the hilt, squeezing it from the inside with every spasm.

—Fuck —he groaned—. Fuck, you’re squeezing me all over.

—Don’t stop —I said—. Come inside me.

He didn’t stop. One thrust, two, three more, and when he reached the limit he did it with his hands dug into my hips and a sound he made no attempt to control. I felt his cock swell inside me and then the hot spurts filling my ass from within, one after another, while he kept pushing more and more slowly until he was buried and trembling against me.

I had already come before. That too I didn’t fake.

***

We stayed a moment leaning over the desk without saying anything. Rodrigo caught his breath before I did, which was a small detail I noted mentally with some satisfaction. When he pulled out, slowly, I felt the semen trickle down the inside of my thigh. I didn’t bother to clean it right away. I stayed a few seconds like that, bent over the wood, feeling it drip down my leg.

He dressed first. Straightened his tie in the reflection of the computer screen, which was still on with the inbox open. I took my time, unhurried. I pulled a tissue from my bag, cleaned myself between the legs, and put my clothes back on piece by piece while he watched me out of the corner of his eye.

—I have to get to dinner —he said. Not as an apology. Just as a fact.

—I know —I answered, buttoning my blouse.

Rodrigo was looking at me from the other side of the desk with an expression I couldn’t quite read. Something between astonishment and the bewilderment of someone who doesn’t know exactly how to classify what just happened in his life.

—And now what? —he asked.

—Now you go to dinner with your wife —I said—, and I’m going to the gym. Tomorrow at nine I’ll be at my desk like any other day.

He nodded slowly. As if that were the most reasonable thing he’d heard all afternoon, which was probably true.

—Hey —he said once he had his jacket on—. About Fernanda’s messages, I wanted to explain…

—You don’t owe me any explanation —I cut him off—. Not about that, not about anything.

Rodrigo nodded again and picked up his briefcase. He stopped for a moment at the door with his hand on the frame, as if he were looking for something specific to say.

—That was incredible —he said softly.

—I know —I replied without looking at him.

I left the office three minutes after he did. The floor was deserted and the automatic hallway lights came on as I passed, with that dull sound they always make, that electric hum that kicks in when it detects movement and sounds louder at night than it should.

In the elevator I checked my phone. No messages. No missed calls. The day had been exactly like any other day, except for the last two hours.

I put on my headphones and selected my nighttime workout playlist while the elevator descended. I still felt the sting between my cheeks and a warm dampness I hadn’t quite cleaned off. I liked remembering it that way.

Fernanda was right to distrust me from the start. She only got the order of events wrong.

I stepped out onto the street. It was cold and smelled like recent rain. I walked toward the parking lot thinking that the next day was Thursday, that on Thursdays Fernanda usually showed up at the office midmorning, and that for the first time in two years I wouldn’t have any problem holding her gaze when she did.