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Racing Into the Night Chapter 2 - When She Wasn't Looking
Racing Into the Night Chapter 2 - When She Wasn't Looking
Rachael and I sat across from each other in this café, this moment separate from time, for what felt like hours. I had ordered for us, and now we waited on our coffees, and there was nothing being said between us. I wish I could say we were looking at each other, searching each other's eyes for something that resembled...understanding. But we weren't. She was staring at the divorce papers, yet to be signed, and I, the tiles on the café floor.
Bits of conversations tried to bubble up out of me, and died as easily as they came whenever I caught Rachael's withering stare. I offered a weak smile, only perfunctorily. Rachael's eyes milled about the interior of the café; I'd never been here before and neither had she. It meant nothing to us.
Before terribly long, I heard her clear her throat. "Jonathan," she said. I looked up--er, down, rather--at her. "I know it'll just...fucking kill me to ask, but my curiosity is getting the better of me. You and--and Aaron. When we caught you...that wasn't the only time, was it?"
I swallowed hard. I was hoping she would've never asked. "Well...what good would it do to know?"
She shrugged, and a scowl danced on her lips. "My therapist suggested exposure therapy to the things I fear." She spread her hands as if nonchalantly. "You know; heights, the ocean, my husband cheating on me. Those kinds of things. So." She tented her fingers and looked right at me. "Tell me, Jonathan. What did you do with that man when I wasn't looking?"
As it turned out, I wouldn't see Mr. Rodriguez again for around three months.
Our hookup at that December party felt all but forgotten when the months rolled by and I realised he had no way to contact me directly. Sure, he could've gotten my number or something, from Rachael, but maybe he had more sense than that. It was wrong to keep coming back to it, and I knew that. It was wrong of me to keep returning to that night in December in my most illicit memories; to keep using the phantom sensation of Mr. Rodriguez's mouth around my cock as jack-off fuel to help put myself to sleep.
But god, was it good. Even when I was fucking Rachael in our bed, in our shared bedroom, Mr. Rodriguez's face haunted me. His languorous, wolfish grin. The way his lips fit neatly around my cock. His eyes, so much like Rachael's, that it all blurred in my vision whenever I took Rachael for my own. Staring, panting, groaning in her face while I fucked her. I became a desperate animal, and Rachael responded in kind, matching her movements to mine.
She took it like a champion when my pace picked up and I was close to losing my umpteenth load in her guts. I lost my words. I lost control. But thankfully, I never called out Mr. Rodriguez's name when the moment came that I was blowing a load in my wife. My orgasm rocked me as it spilled out of my cock and into Rachael's battered hole. I was barely aware of her own orgasm, making her hips flail about. She kissed me as I came down from my high, but I couldn't reciprocate.
Rachael chalked it up to my tiredness, having sapped my strength while I bred her like a dangerous creature. I just couldn't look her in the eye, for in that moment of orgasm, Mr. Rodriguez's face floated up to my imagination, and I was powerless to stop it.
I wanted to fuck him. I wanted to break him. I wanted him to be full with my load, in the ass this time. And it made me feel sick.
Life returned to normal in the coming months, but I did not. Sometimes the need to jack off to Mr. Rodriguez's ghostly image would overtake me, and I'd resort to jacking off in the car before returning home. Thankfully, I worked the late shift at the restaurant, so I could always find a dark spot to be alone. I could shed my uniform down to the jockstrap and, bathed in shadows, I could become that animal. I could become that version of myself I wanted so badly to hide away.
On one particularly late night, when I had already messaged Rachael that I was going to be coming home late, I pulled into an unused open area in the shadow of a building under construction downtown. A common sight in Ottawa.
Shivering with anticipation and cold, I loosened my cook's uniform top just a bit. I could've been in early if I'd returned home like a good husband. But with the extra time I had bought, I decided to enjoy myself. Slowly, I undid the first three buttons of my smock, just enough so I could peel off my grey shirt underneath. It was damp, rich with my musk from a long, long day of work.
The heady scent mixed with my desperate breath and filled my car, clouding the windshield. There was no going back now, as I toyed with my perpetually puffy, dark nipples. I squeezed my soft man tits, rolling them around like I was kneading dough, and the sensation travelled down to my toes. Electric.
I had no idea how long I'd been toying with myself for, but it was at least long enough to have taken my cock out from my jockstrap. The smell of my cock, my musk, after a tiring day was making me drunk, yet hyper focused.
All that to say my soul jumped out of my body when I heard the knock on my window.
"Police. Open up."
Fuck. Fuck! Fuck me fuck. I tucked my cock away but figured I had no time to put my shirt back on before the cop knocked again. Fuck. What a fucking predicament. I steeled myself for the awkward dialogue I was about to enter, and opened the door.
...only to find, not a cop, but the cross-armed form of Mr. Rodriguez standing less than a metre from my door. Again with that bastard grin. At first I breathed out relief...and then I realised, I was once again exposed to Aaron Rodriguez.
"Hey, Mr. Aguinaldo," he said, an attractive laugh coming into his voice. "Nice seeing you here."
"Mr. Rodriguez," I said breathlessly. "How...why?"
I looked around the parking lot, and sure enough, it was the same as before. No streetlights to expose my location. There had been nobody here but me...and now, him, I guess. He shrugged, and in his casual clothes, I could better see his body. He was toned, wiry, and looked like he was once an athlete. I hated how badly I wanted to run my hands over him.
"I recognised your car," he said as though it was the simplest of explanations. "Now imagine me seeing your car, at this hour of night, disappear into the parking lot of the construction site right across from my living room window. I call that serendipity, Mr. Aguinaldo. Destiny."
My face flushed with heat. His living room window...that meant he lived just a few blocks from where I worked. Fuck! The amount of times I could've already run into him without knowing.
"I...that stuff doesn't exist," I mumbled. Mr. Rodriguez just laughed, just stood there in a faded Toronto Blue Jays shirt and a pair of sweat shorts that hid so very little. Even in the minuscule light of this parking lot, he was already filling out. I could see a stain forming where his bulbous cock head must've rested.
He put his hands on his hips. "So. What are you up to?" The question felt so fucking stupid; like he didn't already know. I gestured around me, the words failing to come forth. All approaches at subtlety gone, he squeezed his cock through his pants. It must've been six inches, hard, and as he squeezed, I could see a fat pair of nuts at its base, too. I salivated, despite myself.
Here he stood before me, offering a choice unspoken. All of my attempts at pushing him and our encounter out of my mind for the last three months now lay shattered before me. I hated myself, hated how I couldn't resist him. Wordlessly, I hit the unlock button on my car, and the sound of the passenger doors unlocking was reverberant in the silence.
Mr. Rodriguez smiled, raised an eyebrow, and took the hint. He came around the hood of the car, easing himself into my passenger side. When I closed the door again and the lights shut off, there was nothing but the two of us...and my cock. His cock. I was going insane.
"Mr. Rodriguez..." I still had the fucking gall to mumble out; "what happened that night...it...it was a mistake." A mistake. I heard my own voice in my head cackling back at me. "A lapse in judgement. It shouldn't...." Happen again.
But here he sat. In my car. With his dick hard as a rock and leaking a stain into his pants.
"Forgive me for that night, Mr. Aguinaldo," he said, and it actually sounded...serious? "No, that was kinda...well, really uncool of me. I barely thought. I barely asked you. I was just so unbelievably horny, I...." He exhaled. "When I saw you for the first time, you were like...it was like...you'd stepped out of a dream."
His words rocked me to my core. He kept on going, certainly taking in my surprise. "I got drunk. I was so horny for you, that I tried to rope in my wife." A scoffing sigh escaped his throat. "Nitya...she was a freak when we first started dating, but now, ten years, two kids later, shit's tough. Like asking a rock to cry. Then you were there...." He shook his head. "Forgive me, man. I should've properly asked you. But fuck...the sight of you. You're fucking...god!"
I could feel my face flush with heat. "Rachael is the only one I know that likes big men."
Mr. Rodriguez grinned, and I wanted to melt. "Whoever says they don't like big men, like you, Mr. Aguinaldo, is missing a screw." We shared a laugh, and he put his hand on my forearm. He prodded me with a finger, stroking my exposed arm hairs. I was suddenly keenly aware of the fact that I was topless, and my smock was stripped down to my waist.
"But still..." he was saying, his voice dropping low, lower than before; "I should've asked for your permission before I sucked your fat, delicious brown cock." My breath escaped in a shudder. "I'll always ask for permission next time. Sound good?"
"Next time?" I baulked at him. "Mr. Rodriguez, forgive me--there won't be a next time."
His smile was sad...no...mischievous. "Mr. Aguinaldo...I'm sitting in your car. You let me in. I'm afraid I'm getting mixed signals here?"
My eyes had grown used to the darkness and I could see him closer now. His nipples poked through his shirt, distending the logo some. The wet spot on his grey sweatpants, no longer ignorable, was at least the size of his palm. 'Oh,' I thought absently; 'he leaks a lot too.'
He caught me staring. His grip on my forearm became more insistent. The windows clouded up again. Time froze to a standstill, and only he moved as he inched closer to me; his eyes trailed the soft peaks and valleys of my body.
"I won't do anything you don't approve of," he was whispering to me. "Mr. Aguinaldo...will you let me?" Let him...? I swallowed. Hard. My cock bounced in my fucking jock, wanting to be freed. He didn't miss it. "Mr. Aguinaldo, will you let me touch your cock? Please?"
And at that moment, I didn't have the power to say no. I don't know if I ever did. I pulled back on the seat lever, and as my seat angled back and me with it, I saw the hunger dance in his eyes. He feasted on my body. He was going to eat me.
And still, he lingered, though I was fully inclined back. He hummed and growled his contentment, but only wrung his hands together. I realised what I had to do next.
"Mr. Rodriguez?"
"Yes."
"...you can...touch me."
And from then on, there were no words left, no barriers to hide behind. He leaned over, his lithe form barely eclipsing mine, and I felt him tug at my jockstrap. My cock, no doubt by now drenched with precum, sprung free and hit his stubbled chin. I groaned loudly at the sensation.
"Fuck, you smell so fucking good...your jock, fuck. Amazing...." He muttered these words like a man deprived as he rooted around my cock and balls and even my taint. His stubble pricked me as he went along, and his saliva soothed the burn. I was going absolutely insane. He felt amazing. He was an expert around cock.
He took me into his mouth and I thought I was going to fall through the floor of the car. He sucked, hungry and desperate, wanting his second meal from my fat brown dick. I put my arms behind my head, and he wasted no time at all, reaching into my cleavage, kneading my tits. How did he know...? But it didn't matter. He was driving me insane, and he knew it.
Soon he was toying with my nipples, and it was almost too much to bear. I bucked in his mouth while he, with his other hand, kneaded my soft, sore nuts. Sometimes, he'd come up for air, and I felt the strings of saliva and cock juice stretch and extend from my cockhead to his lips. And he'd dive back down.
At some point he'd let go of me entirely, only to pull down his pants. And again, I heard that familiar, long-missing wet slap of him jacking off his own cock. Fuck. I needed to see it.... I put a hand on his back.
"Mr. Rodriguez, I...can I suck your dick too?"
He let out that addicting low, throaty laugh he did. "Thank you for asking." And then it was his turn to lean back in his seat. I could see now, his dick was just a touch bigger than I initially thought, but only because it had a wicked upward curve. It was the definition of a banana dick. And the smell that poured off of it was insane. Unshowered, but not offensive. The smell of a man. The cock I'd run away from, now here before me.
I swallowed him down, gingerly at first because it was harder to navigate curved cocks, but I eventually found a good position. He seemed to think so too, because his body straightened out and shuddered as I sucked down most of the way to his nuts. His huge, fucking nuts, covered in wiry salt-and-pepper pubes. He smelled luxurious. My eyes rolled back in my head as I sucked him down.
He was going off in Spanish at me. I caught clippings of his desperation--"chupame, papi oso". Suck my cock, bear daddy. I was losing myself to him. Soon, we had switched positions, and it was me jacking off furiously while I sucked him off.
I could feel him become harder in my mouth; his cock giving errant, approaching-orgasm pulses. To my surprise, he pushed back on my shoulders. When I sat back upright, I could see bare desperation in his eyes, in the ragged way his chest heaved with his panting. "Why...?" I muttered.
"I'm so close to cumming," he muttered. "I wanna see you shoot, Mr. Aguinaldo. I wanna see you cum."
Soon, we were both leaning back in our seats, furiously pumping our own cocks as we stared at each other. My eyes roved from his cock, to my own, to his eyes. Hazy with lust. I looked down at my own cock, staring at how my heavy fist just barely closed around my girth, while I pumped up and down on my wet seven inches. Mr. Rodriguez handled his cock in a way I hadn't seen a man do to himself before, twisting his fingers like opening a bottle. The sight was mesmerising.
He tugged on his cock; the head angry and red, pouring out precum like it was the last thing it'd ever do. Like it was the last orgasm he would ever have. I stared at his cock for what felt like hours before I heard a whimper come from his throat.
"Mr. Aguinaldo," he squeaked out, desperate.
"Yeah?"
"I'm gonna cum."
"Y--yeah?"
"Please. Look at me. Look at me while I cum."
I obliged, finding his eyes. So much like Rachael.... I choked back the thought. I stopped thinking of my wife. Honestly, I'd never started. In this moment, in this car, it was me and Mr. Rodriguez, staring into each other's eyes as we worked our dicks to feverish orgasm. He looked at me, his mouth agape, his eyes straining, while he brought himself closer. While I brought myself closer.
"Mirame," he choked out. Look at me. "I'm gonna cum. I'm gonna fucking cum. I'm gonna fucking cum...." He repeated it over and over again, and the phrase reached into my brain and took hold. I was so close. I was right on the edge....
And when I heard him groan, almost cry, and saw the first of his hot white shots strike true against the roof, I lost it too. I felt a roar bubble up out of me as I burst, my thick spurts of cum shooting from my cock and onto my sweat-drenched body. It landed between my tits, onto my belly, tangled in my body hair. My voice was hoarse as I watched myself shoot, watched him shoot.
I felt like I was going insane.
Soon enough, when there was only our desperate, guilty panting filling the car, I let myself sit back upright. The windows were whited out with steam. Cum was quickly cooling on my body, and I could barely look at Mr. Rodriguez. I heard him pulling his pants up. His breath came in measured bursts. God, did it ever smell like sex in here.
"Mr. Aguinaldo--" he started to say.
"--please, Mr. Rodriguez, I think it's best if you went home," I was already saying at the same time. Guilt replaced lust in my brain, and I could think of a million places I wanted to be besides here.
"Ah...." I didn't look at him. All that came from him was a whispered, "Okay. Have a good night." And just as easily as he'd come in, he left. He shut the door. Through the haze, I watched him disappear, half-jogging, behind the tall fence.
I put my shirt back on, and it was cold, and damp, and terribly uncomfortable, and buttoned my smock back up. I turned my fans on, and as the fog receded, I sat there, face in my hands against the steering wheel. Mr. Rodriguez...why did you have this pull on me?
I loved Rachael, I did.
But I wanted to to fuck Aaron Rodriguez so hard he cried out my name while he came.
As I steeled myself to leave, my purpose slowly coming back to me, I became then aware of a small piece of paper that had been left on the passenger seat. I stared at it for a long minute before I finally touched it. As if it would burst into flame before me.
I turned it over. My stomach rolled in my gut.
Aaron Rodriguez, the note read; 613-XXX-XXXX.