I Masturbated While Spying in the Workshop at Night

My name is Lara, and I’ve been working for a car dealership for more than a decade. By now there’s hardly a corner of those buildings I don’t know, nor a smell of new upholstery that doesn’t stir something in me. During the day, everything is noise—phones, mechanics, customers, bosses giving orders. At night, though, the place changes completely.

That night I had to stay after closing to check an overdue inventory. It was the height of summer, and I preferred to do the count once the heat had eased and the building was empty. I took the folder, the laptop, and a coffee that had already gone lukewarm, then crossed alone to the warehouse at the back, where we kept vehicles awaiting delivery and a few high-end models.

My heels sounded sharp against the polished floor. I had always liked that echo. There was something intimate about walking alone between rows of gleaming cars, with the white ceiling lights bouncing off the bodywork and silence hanging as high as the beams.

I pushed open the door to the adjoining building and went in. There, the floor was partly covered by strips of black rubber that swallowed the noise. I left the folder on the hood of a newly arrived sedan, opened the door, and sat behind the wheel for a moment, just for the pleasure of it. The leather embraced my hips, and I sighed without realizing it.

One minute and I’ll get started, I thought.

From inside the car I could see several more rows ahead. There was enough light to make out silhouettes, though the tinted windows hid me quite well. I was deciding which section to start with when I noticed movement a few yards away.

First I saw a woman in a cleaning uniform. Dark-haired, slim, with her hair tied back and that quick way of moving people have when they’re used to no one paying them much attention. I recognized her from seeing her around administration on some days. I didn’t think anything of it at first. I assumed she was finishing her rounds.

Then a man appeared. He was wearing a uniform too. Taller, broader in the shoulders, with a confident, almost bossy stance. He approached her unhurriedly and leaned against the hood of another car. They began talking so close together that I immediately understood this had nothing to do with work.

I should have left, coughed, made some noise—anything. Instead, I sank a little farther into the seat. I didn’t want them to see me. I didn’t want to interrupt them. And above all, I wanted to keep watching.

He brushed her arm. Then her waist. After that he squeezed one of her tits through her smock with a confidence that left no doubt. She didn’t pull away. On the contrary, she pressed closer, lifted her chin, and whispered something in his ear that I couldn’t hear.

I got wet just watching.

I saw him bend down and kiss her. It wasn’t an awkward or restrained kiss, but one of those kisses where the mouth opens from the very first second. She slipped her hands beneath the collar of his uniform, he grabbed her ass with both hands, and he sat her half-sideways on the hood. The shine of the bodywork reflected her legs spread a few inches apart, just enough for him to position himself between them.

I remained motionless, breathing more shallowly than usual. I felt guilty, yes, but it was a hot, useless guilt, incapable of making me look away.

She lowered her head to his neck first and then moved downward. She kissed his chest through the fabric, undid his work trousers, and knelt in front of him. The sight of that woman kneeling in the middle of the warehouse, among cars worth hundreds of thousands and beneath cold fluorescent lights, shot through my belly like an electric charge.

She pulled out his cock and held it in one hand while running her tongue over the tip. He looked around, keeping watch, and for a second I thought he might come toward my car. Instead, he placed one hand on the roof of the vehicle and the other on her head.

The girl began sucking him slowly, as if she wanted to make it last. Tongue first. Then lips. After that she took him deeper, pulling him out and taking him back in with a rhythm that grew more determined by the second. From where I was, I could see the movement of her neck, the tension in her jaw, his hand gripping her hair. I watched her lean farther over him and accept his thrust until she nearly swallowed him whole.

My mouth went dry and my pussy suddenly grew wet.

I shifted slightly in the seat, trying not to make a sound. I felt my skirt rubbing against my thighs, and that only made things worse. It wasn’t the first time I’d seen someone getting a blowjob, but it was the first time I’d spied like this, hidden away, knowing that one stroke of bad luck would be enough for them to discover me with my face flushed and my legs pressed together.

“That’s it, fuck... that’s it,” I heard him say in a low, hoarse voice.

She obeyed without stopping. She sped up. She jerked him off at the base while her mouth moved up and down. At one point she pulled away just long enough to spit on the tip, then took him back into her mouth with a wet sound that rang out clearly in the silent warehouse.

I felt a tug between my legs.

My hand rose on its own to the neckline of my blouse. I undid two buttons and slipped my fingers inside my bra. My nipples were hard, sensitive, almost sore. I squeezed them slowly while I kept watching, and had to bite my lip to keep from moaning.

He made her stand up. He turned her around and laid her on her back across the hood. He opened her work smock and left her tits bare, heavy and round, shuddering with every ragged breath. He leaned over them and began sucking her nipples with obscene hunger. He wasn’t trying to seduce her; he was eating her.

She arched her back and spread her legs wider. He pushed up her uniform skirt, yanked her panties down to mid-thigh, and slipped a hand between her legs. Her reaction was immediate. I watched her shake her head, close her eyes, and search for the edge of the car with her hands while he rubbed her pussy.

I stayed pressed against the backrest, my other hand already moving down my belly. I slid my fingers over my stocking until I reached between my thighs. I was soaked. So wet that when I touched myself through my panties, I immediately felt the damp heat.

He kept caressing her with his hand buried between her legs. From my angle I couldn’t see everything, but I could see the insistent movement of his wrist and the trembling of her thighs. Then I heard her moan more clearly.

“Don’t stop... don’t stop, you bastard...”

That breathless insult turned me on even more.

I slipped my hand inside my panties. I ran two fingers over my lips and had to close my eyes for a moment. I was touching myself at my workplace, hidden inside a car, watching other people fuck a few yards away. The kink was so intense it hurt in my body.

When I opened my eyes, he was kneeling between her legs. He had spread her thighs wide and buried his face in her pussy. I saw the movement of his head, the firm back-and-forth, the way she held his hair and writhed against the metal. He was eating her hungrily, without delicacy, licking her from bottom to top and returning again and again to her clitoris until he drew spasms from her.

I began rubbing myself in the same rhythm.

My middle finger slid over my clitoris while my ring finger opened me a little wider. I was so wet that there was barely any resistance. I caressed myself slowly at first, savoring the danger. Then harder. Every muffled moan from that woman pushed me a little farther.

I had a fleeting memory of other times, of the first time I came with someone else’s hand between my legs, of the raw pleasure of feeling a tongue on my nipples and fingers searching for the exact spot. But the memory didn’t carry me away. What I was watching was much stronger than any nostalgia.

He stood up, pulled out his cock again, and showed it to her as if he had run out of patience. She raised her head, looked at it, and smiled with a brazen, grown-up, hungry expression. She turned on the hood, bracing herself on her chest against the bodywork, with her ass raised toward him. Her skirt was still gathered at her waist. Her panties hung from one ankle.

“Put it in me already,” she told him.

There was no romance and no pause. He positioned himself behind her, grabbed her hip with one hand, and guided his cock to her entrance with the other. Then he thrust in all at once. She let out a short, sharp cry, and he stayed inside her for a second, buried to the hilt.

I felt that penetration in my own body.

He began fucking her with firm strokes, growing faster and faster. The sound of their bodies colliding mixed with the faint creaking of the metal beneath her weight. He held her tightly by the waist. Sometimes he grabbed one of her tits from behind. Sometimes he pulled her hair to force her head to one side and kiss her neck.

The girl was moaning openly now. I could hear her asking for more, telling him not to slow down, insulting him in that broken voice that only comes when the body has surrendered completely. He answered with filthy words through his teeth while he kept thrusting into her until he made her tremble.

My hand between my legs grew clumsier and more desperate. I pulled my panties wide open and slid two fingers inside my pussy. They went in easily, drenched. I pulled them out, rubbed my clitoris with the wetness, then pushed them back inside. I wanted to reproduce what I was seeing. I wanted to match that rhythm.

I did.

I penetrated myself with two fingers while pressing my clitoris with my thumb. The leather seat creaked beneath my movements. I had to tense my stomach to keep from moaning. Outside, he kept fucking her from behind, each thrust harder than the last, while I masturbated a few yards away, transformed, with no excuses left, into a hot and uninhibited voyeur.

She reached one hand behind her and grabbed his ass to pull him closer. He answered by smacking one of her buttocks sharply. The red mark appeared almost immediately beneath the white light. Another slap. Then another. And between each blow he never stopped thrusting into her.

“You like it like that, don’t you?” he growled.

“Yes... yes, fuck... fuck me like that...”

I slipped in a third finger for a moment, just to feel fuller, but had to go back to two because the trembling was overcoming me. I rubbed myself hard, up and down, until I felt that heat thickening in my belly. My nipples were still trapped beneath the fabric of my bra, and I pinched them with my free hand, desperate for more stimulation.

The scene changed again. He pulled out suddenly, and she turned around, dizzy with arousal. She sat on the edge of the hood, pulled him down by the nape, and kissed him brutally, mixing the taste of her own pussy in his mouth. Then he lifted her by the thighs, carrying her a few inches, and penetrated her face-to-face again. She was left half-suspended, clinging to his neck, her legs wrapped around his waist.

It was even more obscene that way.

I could see him raising and lowering her on his cock, how she took every thrust, digging her nails into his back. The hood of the car struck them from behind. He was sweating. Her smock was open, her tits bouncing, her head thrown back as she moaned without the slightest shame.

I was already on the edge.

My fingers moved in and out of my pussy rapidly, while my thumb rubbed my clitoris in circles that grew smaller and harder. I could feel my thighs tightening, my breathing breaking into choppy silences. I had to bring my other hand to my mouth and bite my knuckles.

He put her on her back against the car again and kept fucking her, now with a brutal, almost uncontrolled rhythm. She could barely speak. She only moaned, saying “yes,” “there,” “more,” and every word seemed to rise from the depths of her belly.

I came before she did.

It hit me all at once, like an electric shock that clenched my pussy around my fingers and made me arch in the seat. I squeezed my eyes shut and had to cover my entire mouth with my palm to keep from screaming. The orgasm shook me in several short waves, tightening my thighs, drawing in my belly, leaving me wet all the way to my wrist. I kept rubbing myself a little longer, making the most of the final pulses, until the pleasure became too sensitive.

When I opened my eyes, they were still going.

She was about to come too; I could see it in her entire body. He slipped one hand between them and began rubbing her clitoris while he penetrated her. I watched her break apart, open her mouth, and lose the strength in her legs. She screamed once, louder than before, and came trembling against him.

He didn’t take much longer. He held her by the waist, gave a few hard, deep thrusts, and came with his jaw and neck tense. He stayed still for a moment, pressed against her, breathing heavily. Then he pulled out his cock and lowered his head as if he needed to catch his breath.

I remained motionless inside the car, my panties wet, my chest heaving, and a mixture of shame and satisfaction making me dizzy.

They hurriedly put themselves back together. She pulled up her panties, closed her smock, and looked for her bra. He buttoned his trousers and gave her a brief, almost practical kiss. They didn’t look like lovers in a movie; they looked like two adults who had taken advantage of a corner, an hour, and some long-standing desire.

They left through the side aisle and disappeared among the rows of vehicles without suspecting a thing.

***

It took me several minutes to move. I felt as though I had done something dirty and, at the same time, had discovered a part of myself that had been asleep for far too long. I cleaned my hand with some tissues from the glove compartment, straightened my clothes, and buttoned my blouse with fingers that were still trembling.

At last I got out of the car and leaned against the door for a moment. The warehouse had returned to its silence, as if nothing had happened. Perfect rows of cars. Cold light. The smell of rubber, metal, and leather. And me in the middle of it, freshly come, my legs still weak.

I didn’t do the inventory that night. I gathered the folder, put away the laptop, and walked toward the exit with a strange pulse in my body. Every step reminded me of the wetness between my thighs. Every reflection in the bodywork returned the image of that woman spread open across the hood, of that cock moving in and out, of my hand buried in my panties.

I drove home in silence, but I wasn’t thinking about numbers or license plates. I was reliving everything. The blowjob. Her tits bare. Her pussy shining beneath the warehouse lights. The slaps. The way I had touched myself while watching them. I didn’t feel proud, but I didn’t regret it either.

I felt awake.

Since then I’ve continued walking through those buildings as usual. I greet people, inspect things, make notes, close files. No one would suspect anything by looking at me. No one would imagine that whenever I enter the warehouse at the back alone and smell the new leather, I remember exactly where that car was parked—the one I watched from when I discovered the pleasure of spying.

And sometimes, when I stay sitting behind the wheel of some newly arrived model for a few seconds longer than necessary, I slip my hand between my thighs, just enough to find out whether my body still responds the same way.

It does.