I Pulled Over onto the Shoulder So They Could Watch Me

Marcos called me at noon, while my hands were still stained with ink and my mind was somewhere else. He wanted us to meet that afternoon on the terrace of a café halfway between his office and my house because—as he put it—two of his colleagues were dying to meet his fiancée.

His fiancée?

I sat there with the phone pressed to my ear without saying a word. We had only been together a few months, in a lukewarm sort of way, without any promises of any kind, and suddenly he was talking about me as though there were a ring involved. He insisted that he had spoken about me to those girls so much, and so well, that they were intensely interested. I found it stranger than flattering, but I said nothing. I was already getting to know him well enough not to argue over the phone.

I agreed. When I reached the terrace, they were already seated, side by side, with two soft drinks sweating on the metal table. Marcos ordered a mixed drink as soon as he sat down.

“You must be Elena,” said the taller one, holding out her hand. “I’m Lucía, and this is Marina. We work with him.”

They were two ordinary women, a little younger than me, recent tourism graduates. Pretty without being showy, dressed with the simplicity of people who don’t need to attract attention. The conversation flowed immediately: where we were from, what we had studied, what our families were like. Nothing outside the predictable, and yet I felt comfortable with them in a way I hadn’t felt with Marcos for weeks.

At one point, Marina set down her glass and looked at me with an open smile.

“Hey, tomorrow we have to go check out a new route. It’s a day trip we want to put together, going up some mountains. We only know the final destination; everything else has to be measured out on the ground. Why don’t you come along? With your profession, you’re bound to notice things we’d miss.”

Something tightened in Marcos’s face. He didn’t look remotely enthusiastic about the idea, but they insisted, and the more they insisted, the quieter he became. I had no plans for the next day and, honestly, I felt like going. We arranged to have breakfast together at the same café and leave directly from there.

***

A little before the agreed time, Marcos showed up at my house. He had barely crossed the threshold when he put a hand to his forehead.

“I left something switched on in the car. I’m going down to turn it off while you finish getting ready.”

I gave him my house keys so he wouldn’t have to wait outside, thinking he’d be gone two minutes. He took much longer. By the time he came back up, sweaty and offering some feeble excuse about the car being parked farther away than he remembered, he was already getting on my nerves before we had even left.

Lucía and Marina were waiting for us with a company car. We ate breakfast quickly, went over the map on the table, and set off. The destination was an hour and a half away, according to the navigator, most of it along a two-lane highway that wound through fields at first and mountains afterward.

Marina was driving. Lucía was in the passenger seat, turned halfway around most of the time so she could chat with me. Marcos, beside me in the back seat, gazed out the window with the expression of a man doing us an enormous favor.

Halfway there, we ran into a real traffic jam. A truck had broken down across the road, blocking both directions. We were stopped for nearly forty minutes, engine off and windows down, watching the heat from the asphalt shiver in the distance. I drank some water. Then I drank a little more. That was a mistake.

When they finally cleared the truck and we started moving again, I could already feel that familiar, uncomfortable pressure. I held out as long as I could. A quarter of an hour from our destination, I couldn’t take it anymore.

“Pull over for a moment,” I told Marina. “I need to pee.”

“Can’t you hold it for another fifteen minutes, for fuck’s sake?” Marcos snapped before she could answer.

“Either you stop now, or I’ll do it right here,” I replied, looking him in the eye.

The truth was, I could have held it. I could have gritted my teeth and waited until we arrived. But as soon as Marina turned onto the shoulder and stopped the car in a gravel pull-off, I felt something different from simple urgency. I felt that old tingle, the one that had accompanied me for years and that I had never spoken about to anyone: the desire to be watched. A specific, physical desire, my cunt already throbbing before I got out.

I climbed out of the car. Traffic was still moving slowly because of the earlier jam, a caravan of cars creeping past without hurry, with plenty of time to look. I walked to the side of the vehicle, yanked my jeans and panties down to my ankles, and squatted with the car door ajar, as though I were covering myself out of modesty.

But I wasn’t covering myself. I knew perfectly well that the half-open door hid nothing from the road. I had calculated it in a second. Anyone passing in the opposite lane, reduced to a crawl, could see me whole: the curve of my back, my hips, my ass thrust toward the approaching headlights, my open, glistening cunt between my thighs, my swollen lips showing beneath my trimmed pubic hair.

And they passed. Four or five cars, maybe more. I felt their gazes the way you feel sunlight on your skin, a warm, shameless caress. One driver slowed a little more than necessary, his mouth open against the glass; I held his gaze while the hot stream poured from between my legs and splashed onto the gravel, and I watched his hand move openly to the bulge in his trousers. Another pretended not to look and looked twice, almost crashing into the car ahead. I took my time. Far more time than I needed. When I finished pissing, I stayed squatting and ran two fingers over my cunt under the pretense of drying myself, very slowly, up and down, feeling myself grow slippery not only with piss. I paused for a second on my swollen clitoris and pressed, a stab of pleasure making me clench my teeth. Let them look, I thought, let them get properly hard, let them enjoy the view as much as I enjoy knowing they’re watching.

I pulled my panties and jeans up slowly, with a calm that was anything but accidental, swaying my ass as I fastened the button, and returned to the car with my cheeks flushed—not from embarrassment—and my panties already soaked. I leaned my head in through the passenger window.

“Are you two getting out to stretch your legs?” I asked the girls.

Marina and Lucía looked at each other, and Lucía gestured with her hand, indicating the cool mountain air.

“With it this fresh, if we get out, we won’t be able to hold it either,” she said with a laugh.

It seemed to me that something passed between us without needing to be said.

***

The last fifteen minutes were unbearable, but not because of the road. Marcos wouldn’t stop talking.

“Take an example from your colleagues,” he said, pointing at them with his chin. “Look at how composed they are. What a difference. After everything I’d told them about you, now they see you doing this. What are they going to think?”

Lucía and Marina sat up front, silent and uncomfortable, exchanging glances in the rearview mirror that Marcos didn’t know how to read. He kept going, trying to humiliate me, convinced I was going to shrink into my seat. I didn’t shrink. I looked out the window at the mountain landscape and let him talk to himself, my crotch still sticky and my tits hard against my bra.

At last we reached the exact destination. There was nothing there: a dirt clearing serving as a parking area, without a hut, a restroom, or a scrap of shade. Marcos was the first to get out, and before he had even closed the door he was relieving himself against a bush with a desperate sigh of relief. When he turned around, zipping himself up, he announced solemnly:

“Well, now we have to find a bathroom for the girls.”

“What?” the two of them said at once.

Marina slammed the car door shut.

“If you want to go find us a toilet, go now,” she said. “But we’re going to piss right here, because we’ve needed to go for half an hour. So decide: either you go find a restroom, or turn around, walk away, and leave us alone.”

Marcos opened his mouth, closed it again, and, for once that day, couldn’t find anything to say. He walked a few yards away, his back turned, hands in his pockets and his dignity in pieces.

I didn’t walk away. I stayed leaning against the hood, playing the part of someone keeping her distance out of discretion, while they looked for a corner behind the car. And, just as with the cars on the road, I didn’t look away. I watched both of them squat, jeans and panties halfway down their legs, the pale curve of their asses against the green mountain, their cunts showing between their spread thighs. Marina had a gorgeous ass, round and firm, with two dimples at the base of her back and her dark asshole visible when she spread herself a little farther to avoid splashing; Lucía was no less beautiful, her tits hanging inside her T-shirt as she leaned forward, and a shaved cunt from which a golden stream fell, gleaming in the sun. I didn’t pretend not to look. What would have been the point? My mouth watered, and I realized, with an inward laugh, that I was getting wet again.

“You have a beautiful ass,” I told Marina as she stood up, saying it as naturally as if I were commenting on the weather.

She laughed without blushing, pulling up her panties unhurriedly and letting me look down her loose neckline at her breasts as she bent over.

“You’re not exactly lacking yourself. We saw it earlier, from the car. What a pretty little cunt you have, gorgeous. And those hands—how you were touching yourself.”

Lucía laughed behind her hand and added, lowering her voice so Marcos wouldn’t hear from his place of exile:

“I almost came right there in my seat watching you. I had to squeeze my thighs together.”

And for a moment, between the three of us, there was something electric and playful that didn’t need to go anywhere in order to exist. Just the pleasure of knowing we were being watched and looking without guilt, with three sets of nipples showing beneath three T-shirts at once.

***

They took their measurements, made their notes, and photographed the parking area and the access routes. On the way back, we dropped Marcos at his house—he got out muttering something about how tired he was—and the three of us continued until we left the company car near my neighborhood.

When we stopped, Lucía turned all the way around in her seat.

“Have you two been together long?” she asked me. “Because yesterday on the terrace, we thought you didn’t even fit together as friends.”

Marina switched off the engine and joined in.

“We’ll be honest with you. We suggested the trip because we don’t trust him one bit. He’s a sleazebag, always making inappropriate sexual comments, and one afternoon he cornered me in the archive and groped me under my skirt, touching my panties before I could push him away. A colleague left the company because she was sick of putting up with him, and we’re not willing to let it get that far. We wanted to see you up close, to see who he was involved with.”

“And we absolutely love you,” Lucía added. “That spontaneity of yours on the shoulder… If he hadn’t been there, we would have done the same without thinking. But with him around, we don’t give him so much as a smile. He disgusts us.”

I laughed, and there was relief in that laugh. And something else. Marina reached over the seatback and put her hand on my knee, then slowly moved it up the inside of my thigh toward my wet jeans.

“You’re soaked,” she murmured, squeezing me through the fabric. “It’s obvious from the seat.”

Lucía climbed into the back without a word, straddled my lap, and devoured my mouth with her tongue, hot and eager, searching all the way to the back. I grabbed her ass with both hands—that round ass I had seen proudly displayed against the mountain—and squeezed it hard. Marina stretched from the front seat, expertly undid my jeans with one hand, lowered the zipper, and slipped her hand inside my wet panties.

“Jesus, look at you,” she panted. “You’re dripping.”

Two of her fingers slid deep into my cunt without ceremony and began pumping while her thumb searched for my swollen clitoris. I spread my legs as far as the seat allowed, moaning into Lucía’s mouth. She leaned back for a second, pulled her tits out of her bra, and put a nipple in my mouth. I sucked it hungrily, tugging at it with my teeth, and she dug her nails into the nape of my neck with a growl.

“Wait, wait,” Marina whispered. “There isn’t room here. Home.”

The three of us stumbled up to my apartment, laughing like mad in the elevator, our hands already beneath one another’s shirts. As soon as I closed the door, Lucía pushed me against the entryway and tore off my jeans in two pulls, and we never made it to the bedroom. She knelt in front of me right there in the hallway, spread my legs, and planted her mouth on my cunt. Her tongue swept my lips from bottom to top, long and flat, then clung to my clitoris, sucking softly until I folded over her. I grabbed her head with both hands and fucked her mouth shamelessly, pressing her face against me.

“That’s it, that’s it, don’t stop, lick my cunt like that, you bitch.”

Marina had stripped beside me and was biting my neck while squeezing my tits with both hands, twisting my nipples until she pulled a sharp moan from me. Then she crouched down, got behind Lucía, and lifted her ass. I watched her spread Lucía’s buttocks with her thumbs and thrust her tongue between them without warning, licking her asshole and moving down to her cunt with a greed that made me press my thighs even harder against Lucía’s ears. Lucía screamed into my cunt, muffled, and came into Marina’s mouth, the first of the three of us to go, making me come a second later, with her tongue flattened against my throbbing clitoris and my legs shaking so badly I had to grab the entryway coat rack to keep from falling.

We dragged ourselves to the bedroom as best we could. I pushed Marina onto her back on the bed, spread her legs, and started eating her cunt with the same hunger Lucía had shown me. She tasted of salt and road sweat, and she was so wet my tongue slipped between her lips. I pushed in two fingers, then three, curling them upward to find the spot that made her jerk on the bed. Lucía had climbed astride Marina’s face, and from where I was I could see Marina licking Lucía’s cunt from below, her face soaked with her juices. I bit Marina’s clitoris between my lips and drove my fingers in to the knuckles, fucking her with my hand in time with the thrusts of Lucía’s hips against her mouth. Marina came, shaking all over and clamping my face between her thighs, dragging Lucía along with her; Lucía spilled over Marina’s face with a long moan that broke at the end.

We didn’t stop there. We rolled around on the bed for quite a while longer, changing positions, pressing our three soaked cunts against one another, sucking each other’s nipples in turn, fingering one another amid laughter and panting, until none of us could take any more. We ended up piled together and sweaty, breathing hard, with the sheets a complete mess.

From that very moment, I began seriously considering leaving Marcos. Not because of jealousy, nor because of the humiliation on the road, but because those two strangers had seen me more clearly in one morning than he had in months, and had fucked me better in one afternoon than he ever had.

We exchanged phone numbers right there, still hot in bed. We stayed friends. We see each other from time to time, and at some point during the evening one of us always brings up that roadside shoulder, or the entryway, and we laugh like three conspirators before ending up tangled together again.

I kept up an even more superficial relationship with Marcos for a few more weeks, more or less as before, but now I was on high alert, watching him the way he had never known how to watch me. It wasn’t long before I broke things off. It turned out that what I really liked wasn’t having him watch me, but choosing who did, who touched me, and whom I let between my legs.