Every Night He Waited for Her to Close the Bar

The bar was called El Almacén, and it had stood on the same corner since before any of its regulars had been born. Yellow plastic curtains, a Formica counter chipped in two places, and a television hanging in the corner that Don Horacio never turned off because he said silence made the regulars nervous. It opened Monday through Sunday at seven in the morning and closed whenever he felt like closing, which was always after midnight and before the most stubborn ones started nodding off on their stools.

Sofía had been behind that bar for almost two years. Tall, with firm shoulders and long hands that knew exactly how to set a glass down on the Formica without making a sound. Her dark hair fell loose over her shoulders, and she always wore a sleeveless T-shirt that the heat of the bar and her constant movement clung to her torso, outlining her small, firm tits, with her nipples showing through the fabric every time the fan’s draft brushed her skin. Her figure was slight but defined: broad hips, a narrow waist, and under the black pants she wore every night, if you looked without the usual distance, you could make out the discreet bulge of the cock that set her apart from the other women in the neighborhood.

Most of her customers had known for months and no longer cared. Newcomers took a while to figure it out, and when they did, they either asked for the check or ordered another drink and stayed. The neighborhood was small, but not as closed as people from outside like to think.

“Sofía, pour me another one, today was a shit day,” Ernesto said from his usual corner, the carpenter from around the block who always spoke louder than necessary and never noticed.

She took the pitcher, filled it without rushing, and set it down in front of him with her palm out.

“That’ll be one-eighty. The comment doesn’t count as a tip.”

Scattered laughter. Don Aurelio, who was over sixty and had the kind of way of watching things that only comes from a long life, shook his head with a smile.

“Let her work, Ernesto. This girl’s worth more than all of you put together.”

Sofía winked at him without stopping drying the glasses.

***

Marcos had arrived in the neighborhood three months earlier. He worked the night shift at the distribution warehouse on the avenue, and when he finished he stopped by El Almacén before going to sleep. He always took the same seat: the end of the bar, near the side door, his back against the wall and his beer in front of him.

He wasn’t a difficult customer. He didn’t shout, didn’t crack jokes, didn’t try to wedge himself into conversations that weren’t his. But he watched. Not with that inventory eye some men have when they size up a woman, that quick top-to-bottom glance that classifies and moves on. He did it differently: with the attention of someone listening to something important and not wanting to lose the thread.

Sofía had noticed it from the first week. She noticed it now, while she wiped the bar with a damp rag and felt his eyes following her from one end to the other without any urgency.

“Want another?” she asked, stopping in front of him.

“No, thanks. I’m leaving soon.”

But he didn’t move. It was the fourth night that week he’d said he was leaving and still sat on the same stool.

Sofía braced her elbows on the bar and leaned her torso forward. The T-shirt opened a little at the neckline, and Marcos didn’t look away, but he didn’t pretend not to see it either.

“Every night you stay until I close, and every night you say you’re leaving. You scared to go home or what?”

Marcos smiled. A calm smile, without the rush some men get when they feel caught.

“I’m not scared. I just want to stay here.”

She held his gaze one second longer than necessary, then straightened.

“Last round in ten minutes,” she called out. “Anyone who owes, start thinking about it.”

***

At 4:15 the bar was empty except for the two of them. Ernesto had left cursing because he had to get up early. Don Aurelio and his usual companion said goodbye from the doorway with a wave. The TV was still on with some late-night program nobody was watching.

Sofía turned it off, closed the till, and started stacking the chairs on top of the tables. Marcos was still at the bar with his empty glass and his eyes following her.

“I can help,” he said.

“I know you can. The question is whether you really want to.”

“Ask it that way and the answer’s always yes.”

She left one chair half-done and looked straight at him.

“Do you know what you’re doing, Marcos?”

“Yes.”

“Do you know who I am?”

“Yes.”

“Do you know I’ve got a cock between my legs?”

“Yes.”

The answer was short and without the extra weight some men added when they wanted to seem brave. Just yes, clean, as if the question needed nothing more than that.

Sofía nodded slowly and went back to the chairs. Marcos stood and took the ones on the opposite side.

They cleaned together. He wiped the tables, she rinsed the glasses in the sink. The bar gradually fell silent, with only the refrigerator’s hum and the soft sound of water. When they finished, Sofía turned off the last light in the back and they were left with only the low kitchen lamp on.

“Do you always come for the same thing?” she asked, leaning against the bar with her arms crossed.

“Why are you asking that?”

“Because there are men who come to bars like this when they want something they don’t know how to ask anyone else for. And then, once they get it, they regret it. And there are others who come looking for something very specific: a chick with a cock to fuck or to suck it on the sly, and the next week they switch bars because they can’t stand seeing themselves in the mirror.”

Marcos came closer. Not suddenly, not with that clumsy urgency desire has when it tries to force itself on someone before it’s invited. He did it slowly, like everything he did, and stopped a meter away from her with his hands in his pockets.

“I’ve been coming here for three months. If I only wanted that, I would’ve handled it some other way by now.”

Sofía felt something loosen in her chest. Not her body yet. Something else, higher up.

“So what do you want?”

“I like you. I like the way you handle the customers, the way you answer them without getting all serious, the way you laugh for real when Ernesto says something stupid and you know exactly what to say back.” He paused briefly. “And I like all of you. Not despite anything. All of you. Everything you’ve got between your legs and everything you’ve got in your head.”

She looked at him for several seconds without saying anything. Then she took his hand and led him toward the back room.

***

The storeroom smelled like cardboard and machine oil. There were boxes stacked in one corner and a workbench with tools Don Horacio swore he used, though nobody had seen them move in years. Sofía switched on the only emergency bulb hanging from the ceiling: an orange light that cast everything in warm shadows.

Marcos closed the door. They looked at each other in silence for a moment.

“You’ve never done this,” she said. It wasn’t a question.

“Never with a woman like you,” he said.

They kissed slowly. It was an exploratory kiss, unhurried, with that quality first times have when they still don’t know where they’re going but trust the path exists. Marcos’s hands ran along her waist, her hips, the back that arched slightly toward him. He slipped his palms beneath her sleeveless T-shirt and pulled it off in one slow tug, leaving her tits bare, small and dark, with the nipples already hard, waiting for a mouth.

Marcos bent down and sucked one, then the other, biting them with his lips, tugging the nipple with his teeth until Sofía let out a deep gasp. He licked the hollow between her tits and bit her neck while pressing her hips against the table.

Sofía pulled away for a moment and looked at him.

“I’m going to need you to pay attention. It’s not complicated. You just have to want to be here. And not flinch at anything I ask for.”

“I’m here,” he said. “Ask me whatever you want.”

“Take everything off. I want to see you all first.”

Marcos unbuttoned his shirt without rushing and let it fall onto a box. Then the belt, the pants, the boxer briefs. His cock sprang hard against his stomach, thick, with a shiny head and a pronounced central vein. Sofía looked at it for a moment without saying anything, then put her hand over it. She cupped his balls with her palm, judged the weight, and ran her fingers along the shaft from top to bottom with the calm of someone evaluating merchandise.

“Looks good,” she said, half smiling. “You’re going to behave with this, or I’m going to get pissed.”

“I’m going to behave.”

She knelt on the concrete floor. Took his cock with both hands and ran her tongue from his balls to the tip, slowly, wetting him completely. Then she took him into her mouth all at once, all the way to the back, and Marcos braced one hand against the table so he wouldn’t lose his balance.

“Holy shit,” he whispered.

Sofía sucked his cock without hurry, with the skill of someone who knew exactly what she was doing. She moved up and down with her mouth full, lips tight around the shaft, while one hand stroked his balls and the other worked the base. Her tongue circled the head, sucking the glans like it was candy, then she swallowed him whole again with a wet sound that filled the little room. Saliva dripped from the sides of her mouth down to her chin, and every so often she pulled the cock out to breathe and spat on it before taking it back in.

“That’s how I’m going to leave your throat,” she said, her voice rough. “So you know how I do it.”

“Keep going. Don’t stop.”

She kept going, now more aggressive, squeezing his ass with her hands to drive him all the way in, choking on purpose, her eyes wet and her mouth overflowing. Marcos took her head with both hands and started moving himself, fucking her mouth with short, firm thrusts that Sofía accepted without pulling away.

“One more inch and you’re done,” she said when she pulled him out. “And not yet. You still haven’t had enough.”

They got themselves into position. Sofía braced herself against the workbench, leaning forward, her hands firm on the surface. Marcos knelt behind her and carefully pulled down her pants, then the black underwear that molded to her hips. Sofía’s cock sprang free too, hard, measured, slightly curved upward, pulsing against the edge of the table. Marcos took it from behind with his hand and jerked her off for a few seconds, feeling her vibrating between his fingers.

“Look at how hard you’ve got it,” he murmured in her ear. “Already leaking.”

“Shut up and take care of the ass first. The rest comes after.”

Marcos spread her cheeks with both hands and ran his tongue over her asshole. Sofía gave a short moan and pressed her forehead against the wood. He licked her ass patiently, in slow circles, pressing the tip of his tongue against the ring, barely entering, soaking it with saliva. He bit one cheek, then the other, and went back to licking harder, burying his face between her cheeks until Sofía started pushing her hips back, wanting more.

“There, like that, don’t stop,” she gasped. “Put it in more.”

“Got anything?” he asked without stopping licking.

“In the pocket of my pants. And that oil next to the box.”

“Good thinking.”

Marcos took his time. First his fingers, patiently, with the warm oil in his hand, with the care of someone who understands that the body doesn’t open all at once but gives in little by little, in layers, once it feels it can trust. Sofía gradually relaxed under his touch. The tension of the long night, the fatigue of hours on her feet and customers to manage, all of it loosened along with that other, more intimate tension, the one giving way to the rhythm of his fingers sinking into her ass.

“There,” she said. “Don’t stop.”

“I’m not stopping.”

He added more oil from the bottle he found beside the tools. Two fingers, then three, turning slowly, opening patiently that hot ring that clenched and surrendered at the same time. Sofía pushed her hips back in small involuntary motions, wanting more, fucking his fingers without shame. Marcos curled his fingers against her prostate and she went rigid all over with a low, long, dragged-out moan.

“There you go,” he said, smiling against her back. “Right there, huh?”

“Right there. Right there. Pull your fingers out and shove it in already.”

“I’m ready,” she repeated, almost angrily. “Come on. Break me.”

He put the condom on with his teeth, rolled it down in one pull, lubed his cock with the rest of the bottle, and pressed himself to her. When Marcos finally entered her, he did it carefully. A slow, steady push that Sofía took with a long, deep breath as her body split open inside to let the dick in. He stopped for a moment to let her adjust to the weight and thickness. Sofía exhaled slowly and nodded. He kept advancing until he was completely inside, his balls resting against her ass.

“Holy shit, you’re tight,” he murmured, his voice already a little broken.

“Move,” she said. “Fuck me right. Not afraid.”

They started moving together. The rhythm built itself, as happens when two people sync up without discussing it. His hips set the beat and her body followed. Marcos grabbed her hips with both hands, not roughly but firmly, like someone who knows what he has in his arms and doesn’t want to let go. He drove his cock all the way in and came almost all the way out before thrusting back in, each stroke deeper than the last.

“Like that,” she repeated, her voice lower now. “Exactly like that. Harder. More.”

The table creaked once. The refrigerator kept humming in the empty bar. The orange bulb didn’t flicker. The sound of Marcos’s hips slapping against Sofía’s ass mixed with his short gasps and her low moans, a wet rhythm bouncing off the storeroom walls.

The thrusts grew deeper and steadier. Marcos found the angle and held it without rushing, without losing his center. Sofía pressed her fingers against the edge of the table until they turned white. Pleasure rose through her body in slow waves, each one a little more intense than the last, building from the inside out, coming from the exact point where his cock brushed her prostate every time he drove all the way in.

“Don’t move from there,” she said. “Don’t change the angle. Fuck me from there every time.”

“I’m here. I’m not moving.”

Marcos slipped his hand beneath her. He found her turned on, her cock hard as stone and the tip dripping pre-cum onto the floor. He took it in his oil-slicked hand and started jerking her off at the same rhythm he was fucking her from behind. Sofía let out a sound she didn’t try to control, a guttural moan that burst from her chest.

“Both things at the same time,” she ordered, her voice cracking. “Don’t stop either one. You fuck my ass and jerk me off until I cum.”

“Cum whenever you want. I can take it.”

“Don’t last too long. Come with me.”

He sped up. He drove his cock into her with short, brutal thrusts that shook her whole body, while his left hand squeezed her ass cheek and his right jerked her cock with a firm fist. Sofía started trembling from the legs upward. She felt it rising, that heat growing at the base of her spine, that pressure gathering in her balls and in her ass at the same time, two points melting into one.

“Now,” she said. “Now. Now. Now.”

The orgasm hit without warning. Her whole body tightened around him in a deep, intense wave, the walls of her ass clenching hard around Marcos’s cock while her legs fought not to give way. Pleasure tore through her at the same time as she came in thick ropes over Marcos’s hand and over the edge of the table, her cock throbbing with each release, and she let out a long, animal groan that the small room couldn’t quite contain.

“Holy shit,” Marcos gasped. “Holy shit, you’re squeezing me.”

“Cum. Inside. Now.”

Marcos followed her a moment later. He drove his cock all the way in one last time, pressed himself to her, and stayed still while the pleasure emptied him inside, spurting out slowly, his mouth against the nape of her neck and his hands trembling on her hips. Sofía felt every pulse of his cock inside her, every release pressing against the latex, and she closed her eyes, enjoying that final emptying that was almost as good as the orgasm itself.

***

Afterward they stood there without separating yet. Sofía’s body was still warm, her breathing only just starting to settle back into rhythm. Marcos slid one arm around her waist from behind and held her close without saying anything, his cock still inside, softening slowly.

“You okay?” he asked at last.

“Better than okay.”

When he finally pulled out and removed the condom, Sofía turned and gave him a long kiss, her mouth still tasting like him. She ran a hand over his chest and pinched one nipple between her fingers, smiling.

“Would you let me come back tomorrow?”

Sofía smiled toward the brick wall in front of her.

“The bar opens at eight.”

“I’ll be here at eight p.m.”

“At eight p.m. I’ll take your order like any other customer.”

“And at four in the morning?”

“At four in the morning we’ll see if you deserve another round.”

“What if you suck me off now before we go?”

“Don’t push it. Save something for tomorrow.”

But when they parted and she went to the bathroom and Marcos waited for her seated at the bar with the lights off and the place silent, Sofía looked at herself in the cracked mirror above the sink and realized she was already calculating whether to show up ten minutes early tomorrow so everything would be in order when he arrived.

She had spent two years working in that bar, defending every inch of her space. Tonight, for the first time in a long time, she hadn’t had to defend anything. She had only had to want, and open up, and let herself be fucked without fear.

For her, that was enough. More than enough.