I Risked Being Seen in That Dark Car

To understand what I did that night, you have to know one thing about me: I was never as turned on by sex itself as I was by the idea that someone, without meaning to, might be watching me. My name is Romina, I’m twenty-three, and I still live with my parents in a northern city I’d rather not name. A good daughter by day, something very different when the house lights go out.

For months I’d been carrying a fantasy that wouldn’t leave me alone. It wasn’t the simple act of sleeping with a stranger; I’d already done that. It was something more concrete, dirtier, and I was embarrassed to admit it even to myself. I wanted a man to pay me. Not because I needed it—my parents gave me everything I asked for—but for the feeling. For feeling that I was worth exactly what he put in my hand.

I had imagined myself a thousand times standing on a corner, but that was too dangerous and, honestly, I didn’t even know where to start. So I thought of something more controlled. Something I could handle on my terms.

The idea came to me one dawn, awake in bed with my phone in my hand and two fingers buried between my legs, playing with my soaked cunt slowly enough to make me bite my lip. Men wrote to me constantly on my social media: married guys, boys my age, men I didn’t know at all. And if I pick one, I thought, pressing my clit with my fingertip. One who doesn’t know my real name, or where I live, or my number. A total stranger who pays me to touch his cock.

It took me two nights to choose. I settled on a quiet guy, one of those silent types who collect anime figures and work in computers or something like that. He was twenty-five, according to his profile, and had a kind face that wasn’t scary. I wrote to him without beating around the bush, before I could talk myself out of it.

—I’ll propose something —I typed—. Eight hundred, and I’ll give you a hand job. Nothing more. Up for it?

It took him less than a minute to answer yes. I laughed to myself, covering my mouth so I wouldn’t wake anyone. It had been so easy.

Since he had a car, I arranged to meet him a few blocks from my house, in a little poorly lit park where hardly anyone passed at night. I told him eleven-thirty. By then my parents would already be asleep and I could leave without anyone noticing.

***

The plan was perfect in my head. I’d arrive first, wait standing under a tree like one of the girls who offer themselves on the street, and when he pulled up I’d go over slowly. That part, the waiting, was almost what turned me on most.

I dressed carefully. A tight, short black sleeveless dress, one of those that show too much the moment you make a sudden move. It was chilly, so I added a denim jacket. I was going to wear heels, but in the end I chose white sneakers: they made less noise and, above all, gave me a different air. Less like a street girl and more like a naughty little girl. I figured that would appeal more to a guy like him.

Underneath I wore a black lace thong, one that barely covers anything and leaves half your ass exposed. I put my hair in two pigtails, looked at myself in the mirror, and almost laughed at how well I played the part. I slipped my hand under the dress and checked that my thong was already wet just from thinking about what I was going to do. And to top it off, I took a lollipop from the candy jar in the kitchen. The idea of walking around sucking on it, with those two pigtails, seemed like the exact touch between innocent and perverse. I was going to suck it the same way I planned to suck the tip of his cock later.

I waited until I was sure everyone was snoring and left in silence, barefoot to the door, holding my breath on every stair. Once outside, the cold air hit my bare legs and I felt that rush that runs up from my stomach every time I do something crazy.

A couple of blocks from the park I started getting into character. I pulled out the lollipop, put it in my mouth, and walked on tiptoe, letting the skirt ride up just a little with every step. I did it on purpose, timing the movement to show my ass for a second and then hide it again in the thong. There was nobody around, but that didn’t matter; what mattered was the possibility that someone might be. I could feel the lace getting wetter and wetter against the lips of my cunt, sticking to me, marking me. I was leaving a warm trail inside my thigh and I didn’t care.

***

Then I saw the car. It was parked early, with the lights on, right where I was planning to wait for him. It made me irrationally annoyed. He got here first, he ruined my entrance. But I wasn’t going to slow down. If it was him, fine. If it was someone else, they’d still get a great view.

I approached along the sidewalk, sucking the lollipop, looking around with an innocent face. When I got beside the car, a voice stopped me.

—Romina?

It was him. The car matched the description, so I relaxed. I stopped, rested my forearms on the window, and leaned my head in a little, tipping forward. I did it knowing perfectly well what it provoked: in that position, my dress rode up in back and the cold air brushed my bare ass, with the thong wedged between my cheeks like a string. The way his eyes widened told me he was seeing exactly what I wanted him to see, and also the wet spot on the lace.

—Hi —I said slowly, not quite taking the lollipop out of my mouth, letting a strand of saliva hang from my lower lip on purpose.

—Get in —he replied, almost nervously, as if he was worried someone might see me like that outside.

I opened the door and sat down, leaving my leg exposed more than enough. As I settled in, I opened my knees just enough for him, if he looked down, to see the black lace soaked between my legs. He didn’t pretend not to look: his eyes went to my thigh, then to my crotch, and I loved that. There were a few awkward seconds of conversation, the kind that serves to pretend you’re not there for exactly what you’re there for. I kept the lollipop, licking it calmly, rolling it on my tongue, sucking the tip with my mouth closed and pulling it out with a pop, looking him in the eyes every so often.

—Should I do it, or would you rather do it yourself? —I asked.

—You do it —he answered in a low voice, already hoarse.

I didn’t make him ask twice. With the lollipop back in my mouth, I unbuttoned his pants with both hands and pulled down the zipper while he stayed still, silent. I slid my hand into his underwear, felt the warm bulge, and pulled his cock out into the air. It was already half hard, not fully firm yet, but clearly ready, and it fit perfectly in my fist.

—Well, look at you, all excited —I said with a sideways smile, squeezing the base a little to watch it swell even more.

—That’s how I got when I saw you walking up.

I smiled again, this time holding his gaze, and started playing with him with one hand—sliding the foreskin up and down slowly, leaving the head exposed and covering it again—while with the other I took the lollipop out to lick it slowly in front of him and then tuck it back in. I wanted him to get turned on watching me do both things: lick the candy and masturbate him. His breathing told me it was working. His cock turned rock-hard in seconds, throbbing in my palm.

I put the lollipop back in my mouth once more, sucked it until it was dripping wet, and with the sticky candy saliva I moistened his whole cock, making my fist slide more easily. The head turned purple, glossy, and a clear drop welled at the tip. Without thinking, I leaned in and licked it, just a brush of my tongue over the glans. He let out a strangled gasp.

***

And here comes the part I don’t fully understand myself. I had gone there to give him a hand job. That was the deal. But at some point, while I was stroking him and remembering an old story about an ex who used to make me kneel in front of him, I leaned in without thinking and took the whole cock into my mouth. It wasn’t a decision; it was like waking up and realizing I was already doing it, moving my head up and down, feeling the head bump against the roof of my mouth.

Romina, what are you doing? I told myself. This wasn’t what we came here to do. You’re sucking the cock of a stranger in a car.

But I was already there, and the truth is I was enjoying it too much to stop. It was a normal size, neither thick nor thin, and I sucked it as if it were the tastiest thing in the world, with a smile I couldn’t hide every time it slipped out of my mouth. I moved my head slowly, taking him in until the tip hit the back of my throat, holding it there for a few seconds, then coming back up and leaving a trail of saliva all over the shaft. I massaged the base with my hand at the same time, twisting my wrist every time I came up, careful not to make any noise with my mouth. I licked his balls too, one by one, taking them between my lips, and then went back to attacking his glans with a flat tongue, in circles. I had him soaked in my saliva, dripping down the shaft and onto my hand, when I heard something that froze my blood.

Footsteps.

I went still, with the whole cock still in my mouth, the tip pressed against my palate, not moving a millimeter. I wasn’t leaning toward the window, so my ass couldn’t be seen from outside, but I felt how my dress had ridden up and the air was touching my skin, and how my thong had shifted, leaving one lip of my cunt exposed. I held my breath. In the mirror I could make out two silhouettes walking toward us, talking to each other, unaware of what was happening inside the dark car just a few meters away.

Two people. About to pass right by.

And then, instead of getting scared, the usual thing happened to me: my heart shot up, but not from fear. The idea that at any second they might turn their heads and discover me there, bent over a stranger’s lap with my mouth full of cock, lit me up like few things ever had. I adore that adrenaline. That exact edge between danger and nothing happening. I’m fascinated by the possibility of strange eyes falling on me at the worst possible moment. Without thinking I lowered my free hand and slid two fingers into my cunt; I was so wet they went in without resistance to the knuckles. I started moving them slowly, still with my mouth occupied, fucking myself while the voices drew closer.

It was an eternal forty seconds. The voices grew louder, passed by the car, and kept going without noticing a thing. Forty seconds with the cock choking me in the mouth and my own fingers sliding in and out of my cunt, pressing the walls against them so I wouldn’t moan. Forty seconds that left me far hotter than I already was, with my clit throbbing against my fingertip, on the verge of coming before he did.

***

When they were far enough away, I pulled my fingers out—shiny, sticky—and without thinking I ran them across his lips so he could lick my own taste. He opened his mouth and licked them like an obedient dog. I went back to work, but with even more hunger. I took him all the way down, arching my tongue, making my throat a tight ring around the tip. So much so that the guy started letting out little moans that were going to attract attention. I looked up without taking him out of my mouth, hair falling over my face, and pinned him with a look that said “shut up” better than any words could. He got it and bit his lips, head thrown back and hands clenched into fists on his thighs.

I kept going calmly, reading his face. I ran my tongue underneath, following the thick vein along the shaft, went back up to the tip and took him into my mouth again in one push. When I came out, I spat a little on him and used that saliva to slide my fist faster, squeezing the base with two fingers like a ring. I closed my hand around his balls and squeezed them gently, tugging down just a little, and he let out a muffled whimper. His hips started moving on their own, pushing into my mouth, fucking it slowly.

When I recognized that expression, the one of someone about to finish—the clenched jaw, the thighs hard as wood, the stomach tense—I focused on the tip with my tongue while I worked him with my hand, jerking fast. I paid attention to the frenulum with the tip of my tongue, making little circles right where I knew he was going to blow. He grabbed me by the hair at the nape of my neck—almost everyone does that, I’ve never understood why—and pulled me against him just as he started coming in my mouth.

I felt the first spurt hit the roof of my mouth, hot and thick, and then another, and another. Four or five bursts in a row that filled my mouth with semen until it almost leaked from the corners. I liked it. I liked it the way I like candy, with that same silly satisfaction, feeling the salty taste mixing with the sweetness left from the lollipop. I didn’t want to waste a drop, so I took it all, swallowed twice—feeling it go down warm through my throat—and left his cock clean, sucking it to the last drop, squeezing from the base upward with my fingers in case anything was left. I gave the tip one last soft kiss, almost in thanks, and ran my tongue over his balls too before settling back into the seat.

I pulled my skirt down, which had ridden all the way up, and noticed my thong was soaked, stuck to my cunt as if I’d dunked it in water; I don’t even know whether I left anything marked on the seat. My clit was still throbbing; I’d been a step away from coming with my own fingers and now I felt that warm emptiness in my belly, that tingling that wanted more. He was still leaning back, exhausted, eyes closed, his cock still out, glossy with saliva, beginning to soften. I opened the door and, before getting out, blew him a kiss with my fingers without saying a single word. I like doing that: leaving in silence, letting him imagine why I won’t speak.

I walked home swaying my hips with every step, knowing the car lights were still on me. Let him take in the last scene: the perky ass under the short dress, the thong buried between my cheeks, my legs wet. I was walking with my cunt swollen, throbbing, leaking down the inside of my thigh, as always when the arousal is about being seen, about someone catching a glimpse of me without my making it fully clear.

***

I had only taken a few steps when the headlights lit me up fully. He had started the car and was moving slowly beside me. He rolled down the window.

—Romina!

Please, don’t be one of those clingy bastards, I thought.

—Romina! —he insisted.

I turned around with my best good-girl face, with traces of his semen still at the corner of my lip, which I wiped away with the back of my hand.

—Your money —he said, and held a folded bill out from inside the car.

I nearly died of embarrassment right there. I had forgotten. I, who had staged the whole show precisely to feel what it’s like to get paid, was already walking away without remembering the one detail that gave the whole night meaning. I’d become the worst at my own game.

I came closer looking stupid, leaned in a little through the window—letting the air brush my ass again, of course, and parting my legs just enough for him to see the soaked thong again—and took the bill. I smiled one more time and walked away without saying anything.

As I walked home, money in my backpack, still tasting semen and with my cunt throbbing so hard I could barely keep my thighs together, I thought that in the end everything had turned out differently than planned. I was going to give only a hand job and ended up sucking him dry to the last drop. I was going to get paid like the star of the show and almost walked off without the money. Two blocks from home, with my dress sticky and unable to hold out any longer, I slipped into a dark entryway, pressed my back against the wall, and shoved three fingers into my cunt at once, fucking myself standing up, biting my arm so I wouldn’t scream. I came in less than a minute, squeezing my fingers with my cunt like a fist, feeling the orgasm throb from my clit to my nipples, while I relived those forty seconds with a cock in my mouth and strangers passing by.

Those forty seconds were worth every nerve. That was what I had really gone looking for. The money was just the excuse, and the orgasm in the entryway, the dessert.

I don’t do this professionally, just so that’s clear. It was a fantasy and I fulfilled it. Though, if I’m honest, I wouldn’t rule out doing it again. Next time, though, I won’t forget to get paid. And maybe I’ll work up the nerve for a lot more than my mouth.