What We Let Them See on the Way to Seville

I’ll pick you up at four in the morning. I wrote it to you two weeks earlier, almost as a joke, without expecting an answer: «If you’re up for it, let’s go to Seville for a few days.» We work for the same company, in different departments, and had never exchanged more than long glances by the coffee machine. So when I received your email at midnight saying, «I accept—I’ve been waiting months for you to say it,» I had to read it three times.

We live in a village in the interior of Murcia, far from everywhere, and at that hour the car thermometer shows sixteen degrees on the display. A luxury, considering what’s to come. You come out of your building in a light, floaty dress, one of those the air moves as if it had a life of its own. You get in, leave your bag in the back, and glance at me from the corner of your eye. I start the engine without saying a word.

We drive for almost an hour along empty roads before joining the main motorway. Everything changes there: trucks appear, lights, people getting up early to arrive on time. We hadn’t turned on the air conditioning to save fuel, so a couple of mosquitoes have slipped in through the window. You roll it up, I finally switch on the air, and the trapped bugs turn on you. I’m driving, so I laugh to myself.

—Stop it already—you say, swatting at them—. This is your fault.

—You chose the passenger seat—I answer without taking my eyes off the road.

And then, from the corner of my eye, I see the strap of your dress fall. First one shoulder, then the other. The fabric slides down to your waist and reveals your tits, round, neither huge nor small, their dark areolas and nipples taut with the cold. I had imagined them so many times that seeing them for real takes my breath away for a second.

—Do you want to touch them?—you ask, staring at me—. I’m not going anywhere.

I reach out without turning my head. I have to keep my eye on the asphalt. I caress them slowly, kneading carefully, pinching your nipples between my thumb and forefinger until they grow so hard they look ready to burst. You close your eyes and let the air escape through your nose, arching your back against the seat. I move my hand lower, push your dress up to your waist, and discover that you’re wearing the tiniest panties, already soaked. I move the fabric aside with two fingers and plunge them straight into your wet cunt without warning. A hoarse moan escapes you.

—Fuck—you whisper—, like that, deeper.

I move them inside you at the pace I can maintain without drifting out of my lane, curling them to brush that spot that makes you squeeze your thighs against my wrist. With my thumb I seek out your swollen clitoris and rub it in circles. Your breathing turns into ragged panting, and you begin moving your hips against my hand, fucking yourself on my fingers without shame.

***

What you didn’t expect was what happens outside. A truck overtakes us and the driver honks. Then another, which stays alongside us longer than necessary, making no attempt to hide what he’s doing. I see a third driver talking on hands-free, gesturing, and I imagine the conversation between them, the radio switched on, one warning the others.

—They’re watching us—you murmur, and you don’t cover yourself. Quite the opposite.

Knowing that you’re being watched turns you on in a way I’ve never seen before. I encourage you to take the dress off completely, and you do it without thinking, tearing off your panties as well and throwing them onto the dashboard. I discover then that you’re completely naked beside me, your skin shining with sweat, nipples erect, your cunt spread open over the leather seat. You open your legs toward your window, offering anyone who passes a view that, to you, is a game and, to me, a privilege: I’m the only one who gets to touch you.

And that’s what I do. I trace your lips, which swell with every caress, increasingly visible to anyone looking down from a high cab. I part them with two fingers so everything can be seen, the glistening pink inside, your clitoris peeking out, the thread of fluid running down to your ass. I plunge two fingers into your soaked cunt and you writhe in the seat, gripping the overhead handle with both hands. I add a third and start pumping quickly, listening to the wet sound each thrust of my hand makes. When I pull them out, dripping, I bring them to your mouth and you suck them while looking at me, licking yourself with your whole tongue without letting go of my wrist.

—You taste like me—you say—. Your turn.

You undo my zipper, easing the tension in my nerves. You give me no chance to say anything: you have my cock in your hand before I can react, yanking it out of my boxers. It’s so hard that every vein stands out. You spit into your palm and start jerking me off slowly, closing your fist firmly, sliding up to the head and down to the base, twisting your wrist when you reach the top. A grunt escapes me, and I squeeze the steering wheel until my knuckles turn white.

—Look straight ahead—you murmur—. I’ll take care of it.

You pick up the pace, your hand flying over my cock, while with the other you caress my balls, squeezing them just enough. Then you lean over my lap, and I feel your hot mouth swallow me whole in one go. Your tongue circles the tip, you press it against your palate, and you start sucking me with a perfect rhythm, bobbing your head up and down while your hand takes care of what your mouth can’t reach. A trucker passes alongside us and honks twice, long and loud, and I know he can see the back of your head rising and falling between my thighs. You know it too: you suck harder, pulling my cock out for a moment to lick me from base to tip as if it were an ice cream, glancing upward to make sure the man is watching.

—I’m going to come—I manage to say.

—Come in my mouth—you reply, and take me all the way down again.

I hold out as long as I can, clenching my teeth, but in the end I explode inside your mouth with a release that shakes my spine. You don’t let go; you keep sucking and swallowing every spurt of semen, milking me for the last drop with your hand. When you finally release me, you sit up, smile at me with your glistening lips, and open your mouth to show me your clean tongue. You swallowed it all.

We have ten minutes until the station. I stop in a dark alley, we straighten our clothes between laughs, and continue. The idea was to arrive with plenty of time to spare. After a show like that, we’re cutting it close.

***

The AVE leaves Alicante at eight in the morning on the first of August. We requested assistance for passengers with reduced mobility, because since the accident I’ve been getting around in a wheelchair, which means being there two hours early. They meet us beside the platform, board me via the lift, and I roll comfortably to my reserved seat. Inside, we’re welcomed by blessed air conditioning: outside, the temperature is already pushing twenty-eight degrees, and in Seville they’re promising us forty-something.

We have all four seats in the group to ourselves. For now. We set off and, for the first hour, everything is peace and dry landscape rushing past the window. Then, as expected, the heat starts to make itself felt even in here, the air conditioning becomes less effective, and your dress starts doing what it did before. The straps fall. Your tits appear, heaving, nipples pointing toward the carriage ceiling.

You begin touching yourself, slowly, watching me from the side. You pull your dress up to your waist, spread your legs, and insert two fingers into your cunt in front of me without breaking eye contact. You pull them out gleaming and suck your fingers one by one. I can’t take it: I lunge at you, move your hand aside, and replace it with mine, penetrating you with three fingers at once while I bite one of your nipples. You impatiently undo the button of my trousers. The waistband of my boxers barely gives because I’m hard again. You pull out my cock and squeeze it in your fist.

—We have almost five hours—you say, panting—. There’s no rush.

I answer you in kind, fucking you slowly with my fingers, until a single look is enough for us to understand each other. At the next stop, we slip away to the bathroom. You sit on the edge of the sink, spread your legs wide, and I drive into you in one thrust, all the way to the bottom. A cry escapes you, muffled against my shoulder as you bite my T-shirt. I start fucking you hard, pulling almost all the way out and plunging back in to the balls, every blow making the mirror tremble. Your tits bounce with every thrust, and the sink creaks beneath your ass. What we didn’t count on was the train stopping for twenty-five minutes at that station, and not everyone waiting on the platform getting on.

Some of them are still there outside, right beside the bathroom window. They watch us.

—They can see us—I whisper against your ear without stopping my thrusts.

—I know—you reply, and instead of stopping, you climb down from the sink and turn toward the glass.

You press your flattened tits against the window, arch your back, and offer me your ass. I grab your hips with both hands and push into you from behind in one thrust. You’re so wet that I slide all the way to the bottom. I start fucking you at a brutal pace, my balls striking your clitoris with every thrust, your legs seeking to tangle with mine so you don’t lose your balance. The splashing of my cock entering and leaving your cunt can be heard, along with the slap of my hips against your buttocks and your moans, which you no longer try to contain. More than one person on the platform suddenly disappears without waiting for the doors to close. I tell you, and you laugh, deliberately squeezing your cunt around my cock.

—Do you know where they’re going?—I ask, giving you a slap on the ass that rings out.

—To jerk off thinking about us—you answer breathlessly—. Keep going, don’t stop, give it to me harder.

I grab your hair and pull you backward while I thrust into you mercilessly. I slide a finger wet with your own fluids into your tight ass, and you come at once, screaming against the glass, your whole body trembling around my cock. I hold out for two more thrusts, then empty myself inside you with a groan, gripping your hips hard enough to leave marks. You feel me fill you with hot spurts of semen, and when I pull out, it all runs down your thighs.

We wash up as best we can and return to our seats. This time we sit opposite each other, my fly open, you with nothing beneath your dress and my come still dripping between your legs. We get back to it without touching each other with our hands, only with our feet, sex against sex, playing at making no noise while the carriage sleeps around us. You slip your bare foot between my legs and rub my sleeping cock until you wake it again. I return the favor: I separate your thighs with my foot and press your clitoris with my big toe. When you’re close, you slip two fingers into your cunt and hold them out for me to taste, dripping. I suck them clean, leaving no trace. Then, at last, we surrender to sleep until Seville.

***

At the station we request an adapted taxi. You sit beside me, and the driver, with a slyness he doesn’t bother to hide, adjusts the rearview mirror so he can see you in full. You notice immediately. And instead of closing yourself off, you open your legs just enough for him to see your naked cunt, without panties, still glistening from earlier, while you slip your hand into my trousers and grab my cock without pulling it out, just to feel it grow in your fist.

The man gets so distracted that we nearly kiss the bumper of the car in front.

—Watch the road and stop spying on us!—I shout.

He obeys without protest. He straightens the mirror and drives the rest of the way with red ears.

***

We arrive at the hotel. He lowers me down the rear ramp, you get out, take out the suitcases, and pay him. Once we’re moving away, the taxi driver gives you a loud slap on the ass and takes off before you can react.

While you check in, because I can’t reach the damn counter from my wheelchair, I take the opportunity to caress one of your buttocks beneath your dress. I slip my fingers lower and find that you’re still soaked, sliding two knuckles inside you while you speak to the receptionist without his voice wavering. Your small shifts in posture give you away: you’re enjoying it. In the reflection of the glass, I see that the receptionist has noticed too. He’s also, coincidentally, the one who takes our luggage upstairs.

—I know what you were doing down there—he says in the elevator, with a smug smile.

—And we know you couldn’t take your eyes off us—you reply, brushing against the bulge in his trousers as you pass—. Though for someone who boasts so much, you’re not that impressive.

The man remains speechless all the way to the top floor.

***

The room has a terrace. We go outside thinking there’ll be some cool air up there, but the breeze is hot and heavy. It doesn’t matter. We start kissing, and at the same pace, our clothes begin to become superfluous. I pull your dress over your head, leaving you naked against the railing, your skin gilded by the fading sun. I lower my trousers to my ankles and remain with my cock exposed, already hard again just from seeing you like that.

You kneel in front of my chair without being asked. You take my cock in both hands and put it in your mouth all the way, until the tip reaches your throat. You start sucking me slowly, savoring me, pulling me out to lick my balls one by one, sucking them completely into your mouth. Then you go back up and swallow me again, this time faster, with a wet sound every time you pull me out. You spit onto the tip and use the saliva to jerk me off while looking up at me with those eyes I already know.

—Come here—I tell you, and with effort I climb onto the broad terrace wall and lie down.

You lean over, bringing me to your mouth with a slowness that is almost cruel, sucking only the tip, playing with your tongue around the head until you make me beg. When I turn my head, I discover a couple on the opposite terrace watching us in silence, wineglasses in hand, without moving. He has one hand inside his trousers. She is biting her lip.

I don’t tell you. Or perhaps you already know. You sit up, climb onto the wall with me, straddle me, and guide me with your own hand to your cunt. You lower yourself slowly, impaling yourself centimeter by centimeter, until I’m completely inside you and you let out a long moan that can be heard all the way down in the street. You begin with a gentle rocking motion, adjusting to the position, the heat, the weight of the watching eyes. Your tits are right in front of my face, and I take them into my mouth, sucking your nipples one after the other, nibbling them until you shudder.

Then you pick up the pace, as if someone had challenged us to something, as if what’s at stake were seeing who can last longer beneath the orange light of the Andalusian sunset. You bounce on my cock with your hands braced against my chest, your ass striking my thighs, your tits jumping with every downward movement. I grip your hips and help you move harder, thrusting up into you each time you come down. Everything can be heard: the wet slapping, your moans that you no longer hide, the «fuck, fuck» escaping your mouth uncontrollably.

—I’m coming—you pant—, I’m coming with you inside me.

You squeeze your cunt around my cock like a fist, and that squeeze drags me along. I empty myself inside you for the second time that day, feeling each spurt fill you while you tremble above me, biting your knuckles so you won’t scream too loudly. When you finally get off, my semen runs down your thighs and falls onto the terrace floor. The couple opposite is still there, unmoving. She applauds once, slowly. He raises his glass.

The receptionist—who knows? The truckers from this morning, the people on the platform, the red-eared taxi driver: they’re all part of this trip now without knowing it. They all saw a piece of what now belongs entirely to us.

—Shall we continue tomorrow?—you ask, exhausted, resting your forehead against my shoulder.

—Only if you let them keep watching us—I reply.

And I know, from the way you smile, that the answer is yes.