What Began with a Look in the Mirror

I’m Sofía, I’m twenty-three, and I work in administration at a small company downtown. I say that because context matters: I’m a normal person, with normal hours and a fairly predictable life. Or I was until that Saturday.

It all started with Andrea.

Andrea and I have known each other since university. She always had that way of telling me about her adventures as if they were the most natural thing in the world, without any preamble and without asking for my opinion. One afternoon, while we were finishing a bottle of red wine in her apartment, she told me she had a habit I would never have imagined.

—When I order a ride through the app, sometimes I offer the driver another way to pay me —she said, with that smile of hers that says she already knows how the story ends.

I asked her what she meant. She explained it bluntly: she would send them a message offering to suck them off as payment. A well-done blowjob for the ride. Most of them canceled without answering. Some laughed, thinking it was a joke, and ended up taking her anyway. And a few—the ones who really believed it—would arrive at the destination with their cock still hard in their pants and a number saved in their phone.

—And you’ve never had a bad experience? —I asked her.

—Never —she answered—. You learn to read people. And trust me, once a guy feels your mouth around his dick, no more conversation is needed.

I couldn’t stop thinking about it the rest of the week. I imagined the scene over and over: getting into a stranger’s car, sucking him off, taking him to the end. I caught myself getting wet at the office thinking about it.

***

The following Saturday I decided to try it. Not for the money—the ride was very short and cheap—but because the idea of doing something like that in broad daylight, with the city spinning at its normal pace around me, created a tension in me I wanted to explore. I wanted to know if I was capable of it. I wanted to feel a stranger’s cock in my mouth and see what happened.

I got ready carefully. Long shower, complete shaving, dark hair loose down to my waist, lips painted dark red. I chose a soft black skirt that reached mid-thigh and moved with any breeze, a tight white spaghetti-strap blouse that left my breasts partly visible without a bra, and thin black lace panties that were already starting to dampen just from thinking about what I was going to do. Low wedge sandals. Simple, but calculated.

I sent Andrea a message before ordering the ride: “I’m going to try it now.” She replied with a popcorn sticker.

The first driver to accept was named Gabriel. I sent him the message offering the deal: a full blowjob for the ride. Forty seconds later he had canceled without saying a word. I remembered what Andrea had warned me about and waited, not discouraged.

Three minutes later Marcos appeared on the screen. Forty-two years old according to his profile, front-facing photo: a thin man, graying hair, a direct look that said nothing but didn’t rule anything out either. I sent him the same message.

He didn’t answer.

But he didn’t cancel either. The blue dot on the map kept moving toward me.

***

I waited for him on the sidewalk. It was mid-afternoon and the sun was still hot. When the silver car turned the corner and pulled up in front of me, I made a decision without thinking too much about it: I opened the front passenger door—not the back—and sat beside him. I’m not exactly sure why. It just seemed like the right position for what was about to happen.

—Sofía? —he said without taking his eyes off the road ahead.

—That’s me. You’re Marcos.

I gave him the verification code. He pulled off. During the first two minutes there was no conversation. The radio was playing very softly. The car smelled like wood air freshener.

That’s when I noticed he was looking in the rearview mirror.

At first it was just once, quickly, as if he were checking the traffic behind us. But then again. And again. Every time traffic slowed or there was a red light, his eyes went back to the mirror. The angle was completely revealing: he wasn’t looking at the cars behind us. He was looking at me. Mostly at my legs. At the line where the black skirt ended over my bare thigh. And, no longer trying to hide it, at the neckline of the blouse where my nipples were starting to press against the fabric.

I leaned back a little more in the seat, looking for a more comfortable position. The skirt rode up a couple of inches, exposing more of my thigh. I opened my legs slightly. I saw his fingers tighten more firmly around the steering wheel and a growing bulge strain in his pants.

—Did you read my message? —I asked, my voice calm and direct.

He waited until we crossed the light before answering.

—I read it —he said.

—And what do you think?

Three or four seconds of silence. His eyes went back to the mirror.

—I think this doesn’t usually happen to me.

I smiled without looking at him yet.

—Is that a problem?

—Not exactly.

I put my hand on his thigh, slowly, without pressure. Just resting there. He didn’t move, but his breathing changed. I noticed it in how his chest broadened and how he gripped the wheel a little tighter. I slid my hand a couple of inches toward his crotch and felt, under the fabric, the hardness growing.

—You’re hard —I said, without removing my hand—. Do you want me to suck your cock, Marcos?

He swallowed. I saw his Adam’s apple move.

—Yes —he said, barely.

—We can find a quiet place. Or we can keep driving and I’ll suck you off while you drive. You decide, but decide now.

Marcos glanced at the side mirrors. Then he looked at me straight on for the first time since he had picked me up. His eyes paused for a moment on my red-painted mouth.

—A quiet place —he said—. I won’t be able to drive with your mouth on me.

***

He found a side street bordering a tree-lined park about ten minutes from where he had picked me up. It was Saturday afternoon but that area was silent, with tall trees casting long shadows across the road. He parked next to some bushes, turned off the engine, and sat still for a moment with his hands still on the wheel, breathing as if he wanted to make sure this was really happening.

—Doesn’t this scare you? —he asked, looking at me.

—No —I answered—. Does it scare you?

A brief smile crossed his face. It was the first time I had seen him smile since he picked me up.

I knelt sideways on the seat, holding my hair back from my face with one hand. With the other I unfastened his seat belt, opened his pants button, and lowered the zipper slowly, without haste, listening to each tooth of the zipper give way. He didn’t help or interfere: he just watched me with that calm of his that was starting to turn me on. The way he looked without speaking made everything feel more intense than I expected.

I pulled down his pants and boxer briefs to his thighs. His cock sprang out, hard, straight, throbbing against his stomach. Longer than thick, with a reddened head and a drop of clear fluid shining at the tip. I wrapped my hand around it—I could barely fit my hand around it—and squeezed lightly. He let out air through his nose.

—Fuck —he muttered.

—I haven’t even done anything yet —I said, looking him in the eyes.

I lowered my head.

I started with my tongue. I ran it from the base to the tip, slow, flat, wetting the whole length. When I reached the top I licked the drop from the head, savoring it, lingering there while he watched me with his mouth slightly open. I went back down to his balls, sucked them one by one, taking them into my mouth carefully while my hand worked him with slow motions up the shaft. Every time I ran my tongue over the frenulum, Marcos let out a tight moan through his teeth.

Marcos rested a soft hand in my hair, without pressing. Just brushing it, as if he wanted to make sure all of this was still real.

—Take the whole cock into your mouth —he said in a hoarse voice—. Please.

I took it in.

Slowly at first, opening wide, letting the head brush my palate before pushing it deeper. I felt it fill me, slide down to the back of my throat, hit against it. I went down until my nose brushed his stomach. I held there a few seconds, feeling it throb inside me, and came back up slowly, drawing out long strings of saliva.

—Jesus —he gasped—. Jesus, you suck so well.

I started moving. Up and down, at a steady rhythm, deep. My saliva was beginning to drip down the sides, wetting his balls and shaft, staining the seat fabric. Every time I came up I circled my tongue around the head and sucked hard, pulling back with a little pop before taking him all the way in again. The closed car filled with the wet sounds of my mouth working his cock.

I sped up. I went deeper, faster, until my eyes filled with tears and my nose knocked against his stomach with every thrust. When I came back up, I gave him a few seconds to breathe and looked him in the eyes without taking him all the way out, with the head still resting on my tongue, my cheeks hollowed as I sucked as if I wanted to empty his soul through his dick.

He gripped the armrest with his free hand. His other hand had twisted my hair into a fist, and he began to guide me, setting the rhythm himself, pushing my head down every time I came up. Not violently. But eagerly. With that need men get when a woman is sucking them off well and they want more, more depth, harder.

Then he slipped his other hand under my skirt. His fingers traced my thighs until they found my panties, which by then were completely soaked. He touched me over the fabric first, pressing his thumb at the center. I moaned with a mouthful of cock and the sound vibrated around him, warm and wet.

—You’re dripping —he murmured, his voice tight—. You love sucking me off, don’t you, little slut?

The insult hit me like a crack between the legs. It made my panties even wetter.

His fingers pushed the fabric aside and touched me directly. First brushing my pussy lips, feeling how slippery they were from how wet I was, then making slow circles over my clit. My hips moved on their own against his hand, searching for more friction, more pressure.

He shoved two fingers into me in one stroke. I let out a muffled moan around his cock. He started moving them with a measured cadence, curled upward, right where I needed it most, while his thumb kept rubbing my clit in circles. Each movement brought me closer to the edge. My mouth moved faster, deeper, until his cock brushed the back of my throat and I had to breathe through my nose not to choke.

That was when he suddenly lifted his gaze toward the driver’s side window and went completely still.

—There’s someone there —he said very quietly.

I looked up without letting go of anything, with the cock still halfway in my mouth. Through the windshield I saw the silhouette of an older man walking a dog on the opposite sidewalk. He walked slowly, eyes fixed on the ground in front of his feet.

Marcos didn’t move. Neither did I. His fingers stayed inside me, still, filling me. His cock was still in my mouth, throbbing against my tongue.

The man kept walking. At some point he turned his head toward the car, for just a second—maybe a reflex, maybe curiosity—and kept going without stopping, but I noticed his pace slow. I saw it all from where I was, kneeling, lips stretched around a stranger’s cock, panties pushed aside and two fingers buried in my cunt.

What I felt in that moment was not shame or fear. It was something hot and urgent that rushed through me all at once, from the back of my neck to my thighs. The possibility that someone might see us. The idea of being on my knees in that seat with my skirt lifted, my breasts outlined against my blouse, and a cock filling my mouth, while the world kept turning two meters from the windshield as if nothing were happening. The certainty that maybe that man had seen the shadow of my head moving and had decided to keep walking slowly to see more.

That idea turned me on more than anything else.

I started moving again, but faster than before. Much faster. I took his cock all the way to the back of my throat, without pause, letting tears run down my cheeks and saliva drip from my chin onto my blouse.

—Fuck, like that —Marcos gasped—. Like that, don’t stop, suck it like a whore.

His hips lifted off the seat, pushing toward my mouth. His fingers moved inside me again with new urgency, faster, deeper, rubbing my clit with his thumb on every inward stroke. My legs were shaking. My muffled moans filled the car along with the wet sound of fingers going in and out of my soaked cunt.

—I’m going to come —he gasped—. Where do you want me to come?

I pulled his cock out of my mouth just enough to answer, my lips still pressed to the head.

—In my mouth. I want to swallow it all.

I took it back in. I sped up even more.

Everything happened almost at the same time.

My orgasm hit me hard: my legs tightening around his hand, my cunt contracting hard around his fingers, a long, vibrating moan coming out of my throat that I couldn’t control and that buzzed around his cock. I trembled for several seconds that felt much longer than they were, while the climax shook through my whole body and Marcos’s fingers kept rubbing inside me without stopping.

He came right after. I felt it in how his breathing changed, in how he stiffened, in how he grabbed my hair with both hands—the fingers still wet from my cunt sinking into my scalp—and pushed my head down. The first pulse of semen filled my mouth all at once, hot and thick. Then another. And another. I felt it throbbing between my lips as he emptied his cock inside me with a series of rough moans.

—Swallow it all —he gasped—. All of it.

I didn’t let a single drop fall. I swallowed it as it came, feeling it go down my throat hot. I kept moving softly until he let out a slow breath and his hips settled back into the seat, squeezing out every last drop with my tongue and lips.

I cleaned him with my tongue before letting him go. I opened my mouth to show him everything was already inside me and then swallowed what little remained. I sat back up, ran my thumb along the corner of my lips collecting a strand of saliva mixed with semen, fixed my hair, pulled my skirt down. His fingers came out of my cunt slowly and he brought them to his mouth without taking his eyes off me. He sucked them clean.

Marcos still had half-lidded eyes. He breathed with his mouth slightly open, leaning back in the seat as if he had just run ten kilometers. His cock, soft now and shiny with saliva, lay across his thigh.

—Do you still think it was a joke? —I asked.

He opened his eyes fully and looked at me. There was something different in his expression now: less seriousness, more something I couldn’t quite name.

—No —he said—. Definitely not.

***

He dropped me off at my destination ten minutes later, with his cock tucked away in his pants again and a comfortable silence between us. Before I got out, he stopped me with a phrase I hadn’t expected.

—Next time don’t look for such a hidden spot —he said, his voice still a little rough—. When that man walked by outside… it was different. I can’t explain it well, but something changed. You sucked me harder. You noticed it too.

I looked at him for a moment without saying anything, weighing whether to admit it.

—Me too —I said at last—. I came when I thought he’d seen us.

He let out a low laugh, almost a growl.

—I know. I felt you clench around my fingers right then.

I got out of the car and walked toward the entrance without looking back, though I knew perfectly well his eyes were still on me as I walked away. My panties were stuck to my still-wet cunt, the taste of his semen at the back of my throat, and a raw ache in my knees from having knelt on the seat.

Back home, I sent Andrea just one message: “It worked.” She replied with a fire sticker.

I closed my phone and lay staring at the ceiling, with that mix of satisfaction and something like astonishment. I could still feel Marcos’s cock in my mouth, his fingers in my cunt, the salty taste on my tongue.

I hadn’t expected the part about the man walking by to matter so much. I hadn’t expected the possibility of being seen—on my knees, mouth full of cock, with two strange fingers buried in my cunt—to turn me on that way, more than the act itself or the tension of the arrangement or anything else.

But that was how it was. And that changed something in how I thought about everything that might come after.

Maybe next time I ask for us to stay somewhere with a little more movement. Maybe next time I want to be seen for real.