Irresistible and Cursed

Ricardo Almada was twenty-five years old and the kind of beauty that didn’t go unnoticed. Golden skin like summer, unruly brown hair, and eyes of an impossible green that seemed to whisper secrets with every blink. But what made him truly dangerous wasn’t just the billboard-model face, nor the Olympic-athlete body—it was the magnetism, a truly incredible gift. A carnal charisma, a scent of sin that hung in the air whenever he entered any room. And the worst part: he didn’t do anything. He didn’t need to.

While other men sweated to get a phone number, Ricardo sweated not to be dragged into bathrooms, locker rooms, or meeting rooms. It was as if women—and not rarely some men—sensed something ancestral in him, something wild. And then they wanted. Always.

What would be, for almost everyone, a divine blessing, for him was a curse. He never finished high school. He was expelled from three schools. In the last one, the scandal was so absurd it became a joke among the teachers.

It all started when he was caught fucking a classmate’s mother in the art room. While the students were taking a mock exam, Ricardo was teaching practical anatomy—from behind, facing the blackboard. When the principal decided to suspend him, he went to the office to pick up the paperwork. It took a while. A long while. The principal decided to look for him personally, annoyed by the delay, and found him with the school secretary, skirt hiked up, on the desk, moaning with her head against the stamps.

By then, no one wanted him in schools anymore.

In adulthood, the pattern repeated. Job interviews felt like blind dates. Admission tests turned into flirting sessions. His last job had been at a newly opened shopping mall. Ricardo was hired as a stock assistant at a large clothing store. He arrived early on the first day, before the mall even opened. The cleaning ladies were already there, of course. A lively forty-something and a nineteen-year-old girl in a tight uniform with a curious look.

Ricardo just smiled and said, “Good morning.” Fifteen minutes later, he had his pants down and the two on their knees in front of him, between the basement aisles. The firing came before lunch. The manager walked him to the exit without even looking him in the eye.

Ricardo walked home that day with his hands in his pockets and a confused feeling in his chest. He didn’t know whether to laugh at his own fate or cry over another closed door. All he wanted was a normal life. But with that gift—or curse—normality always seemed to slip away, at the same speed that panties dropped around him.

“This time there’s no mistake, Mom,” said Ricardo, explaining what his new job would be like, starting that day. “It’s an auto shop. I went there; only men work there. I’ll ask to stay in the back, away from the public.”

“For God’s sake, Ricardo,” said his mother, Rute, without taking her hands off the dish towel, “keep that dick inside your pants.”

To avoid problems right on the first day, Ricardo took precautions. Unlike normal people, who dress to impress, he did everything to go unnoticed. An extra layer of clothing to hide the enviable physique, a hooded jacket to conceal the face. He wanted to disappear. Be just another guy.

Just in case, he called an Uber. The first to accept—by bad luck or pure fate’s mischief—was a female driver. Ricardo canceled immediately. A male driver was the safe route between home and the shop.

Elias Motors was on a busy avenue. It dealt with luxury cars. It wasn’t one of those dirty shops with mud and oil dripping on the floor. It was a clean, controlled, almost clinical environment. And most importantly: the customer had no direct contact with the mechanics.

Ideal for Ricardo.

He had done a test a few days earlier. He met his future colleagues. His beauty always impressed, of course, but nothing happened. There, Ricardo felt he might be safe. Just go in, do the work, leave. Normal life. Anonymous life.

Ricardo checked his watch; it was 7:34 as soon as he arrived at the shop.

“Good morning, Ricardo,” said Mr. Elias, the shop owner, upon receiving him. “Are you cold, kid? Why all those clothes?”

“I usually feel colder than normal, Mr. Elias. Don’t mind me.”

“Before we start, let’s go to the office. You need to fill out some paperwork.”

Ricardo felt that chill down his spine. “All I need is a secretary here that I didn’t map out…”

The office was in the back, and you had to go through some hallways to get there. Ricardo walked tense, eyes alert.

“Here are the locker rooms, Ricardo,” said Elias, pointing to a door next to the office. “There you guys can shower after hours.”

“Men’s locker room?”

Elias found the question strange.

“Yes. Unfortunately, we don’t have female employees. Yet.”

To his relief, it was Mr. Elias himself who handled the paperwork. No secretary. No perfume in the air. Thank God.

“Ricardo, here are the procedure manuals. Read them carefully. Take as much time as you need. I’ll be out front helping customers.”

Elias left with heavy steps. Ricardo breathed deeply. He saw there was coffee. He looked around, checked that there was really no risk, and sneaked over to the pot. He poured himself a cup. Two sips. Warmth. Comfort.

He went back to the desk, sat, and exhaled.

“Just read these manuals, then go to work. Normal life. Normal life.”

For the first time in years, Ricardo felt he could breathe. Maybe, finally, he had found a place where his body wasn’t a threat. A safe place.

And then, a female voice cut through the air like a blade:

“Dad, did you see my bag?”

Ricardo froze. The coffee, still hot in his hand, stopped mid-air. The voice was young, sweet, and carried that unmistakable vibration that his body hated to recognize: the approach of trouble.

His heart sped up in the same automatic rhythm as always. A heat rose up his neck. He closed his eyes for a second. “No. It can’t be. Not here.”

Through the half-open door, he heard light footsteps. Flip-flops slapping against the waxed floor. Then the soft sound of an elastic being pulled—like someone tying their hair into a bun.

He quickly grabbed his jacket, put on the hood to hide, sat at the desk, and tried to read the manuals when he heard her enter the room.

“Good morning!” she said.

“Good morning!” Ricardo replied, looking at the manual, without looking at her. Just hearing her walk around the office, searching for the bag.

“Clara, my daughter!” he heard Elias shouting from the shop. “Your bag is down here.”

Ricardo heard the footsteps leaving the office. She was gone. Thank God. He knew women didn’t work there, but he hadn’t counted on Mr. Elias having a daughter, and that she frequented the place. He lowered the hood slightly, looking around, trying to detect Clara’s presence. She had really left, or seemed to.

“No, Dad, that’s not the bag. It must be in your office.”

There was no time.

Into the room walked Clara.

She had something innocent and something dangerous at the same time. She wore a loose denim jacket that hid the body only as far as the gaze insisted. The tight white blouse underneath revealed, more than it covered, the curve of her young, firm breasts. Her brown hair was tied in a messy bun, one of those that seem improvised but carry the beauty of perfect carelessness. Her skin was fair, clean, like someone who never got dirty with grease—but her eyes had the same thick oil tone that drips from the expensive cars in the shop: dark, shiny, dense.

Clara Elias seemed out of place in that masculine environment, like a sigh inside a gear. And that’s exactly what made her dangerous.

Ricardo didn’t look at her directly. He couldn’t. But he felt her. The air seemed to get hotter, slower, as if time had taken a wrong step.

She passed by him without hurry. She searched for the bag with the calm of someone at home. And she was. But Ricardo wasn’t. Ricardo was in a war zone.

“Found it!” she said, with a smile he didn’t see but felt on his back.

She turned, took three steps to the door, stopped, and looked at him.

“Are you the new mechanic?”

Ricardo swallowed hard. Still with the hood down, he answered without raising his eyes:

“Mechanic’s assistant.”

“Ah. Welcome.”

And she left.

Ricardo let out the air slowly. She was gone. “It’s okay.”

But he knew it was already starting.

Seconds later, she entered through the door again.

“What’s your name?”

Ricardo took a deep breath. No more hiding or running.

“Ricardo, and you?”

“Clara. My dad is the owner, Elias,” she smiled, already flirting. “Do you work here long?”

“No, actually, I’ve been here for under ten minutes.”

“Yeah, I haven’t seen you here before.”

Ricardo fell silent. Maybe if he just stayed quiet, she would leave.

“There’s an employee of my dad’s, a mechanic, Alfredo. He won’t leave me alone. That’s why I usually hang around here.”

“Are you going to stay here all day?”

“Actually, just about fifteen minutes. I’m on my way to work; my dad will give me a ride. But thinking better, I think I’d like to talk to you. I like you.”

“Just talk, right?”

“Yeah!” she said, laughing, as if it were the most innocent thing in the world. “You’re hot!”

“I have a girlfriend.”

“Poor girl.”

“Poor?!”

“You certainly don’t stay with just one woman, even if you wanted to.”

Clara approached the desk, already leaning in for a kiss.

“Look, Clara, right? Here’s the thing. I thought you were a cutie, really beautiful. But it’s my first day at work here; I’ve been here not even fifteen minutes, actually. I can’t. Let’s do this: I’ll get your phone number, we talk, in about fifteen days, you know, like normal people do.”

Clara ignored every word; every syllable spoken only increased her desire even more. She rubbed against Ricardo’s arms, making it clear she wasn’t leaving. No way. She looked back, let her hair down from the bun, letting the straight strands free. She took off her blouse and shirt, staying only in her bra.

“Girl, no, no, no, don’t do that.”

She took off her bra, showing her medium, firm breasts.

“Alfredo would kill to see this,” she said, teasing.

“Girl, for God’s sake, I’ll be fired without even starting.”

“Clara!” Elias was coming through the door, entering the office.

“Hide, girl,” Ricardo begged. “For God’s sake, hide.”

Ricardo pulled Clara under the desk milliseconds before her father entered through the door.

She fell to her knees between his legs, giggling softly like someone taking a risk.

“Did you see my daughter around?” asked Elias, in a casual but suspicious tone.

“Yeah, she was here, looking for the bag, but I think she already went out front,” Ricardo answered, trying to keep his voice steady despite the chaos under the desk.

Elias walked to the coffee maker, glanced at the open manuals on the desk, and poured himself a coffee.

Clara, crouched between Ricardo’s legs, was having fun. Her eyes were lit, challenging. She placed her hands on his thighs as if supporting herself to stand, but didn’t get up.

“Hmm, okay, okay. If she shows up, tell her to call me,” said Elias, bringing the coffee to his mouth. “Ah, Ricardo, I liked you. Seriously. Stay in your lane, work right, and here you’ll go far.”

“Yes sir, you can count on it.”

“We need reliable people,” Elias continued. “Lately, only bums looking for trouble have been coming.”

“Yeah, I imagine.”

Clara, under the desk, slid her fingertip along Ricardo’s zipper. He closed his eyes for a second. The whole hell seemed concentrated in that point of the universe. She pulled Ricardo’s dick out and started massaging until it was rock hard. Ricardo’s big, hard dick immediately reacted, the body already so used to sex. And he felt that tasty, soft mouth swallowing his member.

“How’s the manual reading going?” asked Elias, casually, stirring the coffee. “In a bit we’ll go to the shop, hands-on. You won’t stay in this boredom all day.”

Ricardo breathed deeply, trying not to moan.

“It’s wonderful, Mr. Elias.”

“Good to hear,” said Elias, taking a sip. “This afternoon a Ferrari 458 is coming in. Fine work. I want to see if you’re really good with your hands.”

Clara plunged her head between his legs with decisive movements, alternating deep sucks with soft licks on the glans. She was having fun. It was evident. She made noise on purpose. And Ricardo trembled, his whole body pulsing, trying to keep composure.

“You’re sweating there, kid. Everything okay?”

“Yeah, it’s just a bit hot in here, right?”

“Hot? With this air conditioning?” Elias laughed. “You must be the type who sweats over anything.”

“Yeah, always have been.”

The sound of the chair creaking, the spoon hitting the cup rim, the coffee smell—everything was real. But for Ricardo, everything seemed distant. What existed, for real, was Clara’s mouth, her tongue circling the head of his dick, the precise rhythm, the growing impulse.

“Well, I’ll leave you in peace a bit more. Enjoy this time. In a bit I’ll call you. And if you see my daughter around, tell her to stop disappearing. This girl seems to sniff out trouble.”

“You can count on it.”

Elias left.

The door closed with a soft click.

Ricardo moaned softly, bending slightly over the desk.

Clara didn’t stop.

On the contrary—she sped up. She was focused, almost methodical. She sucked with gusto, holding the base with one hand while the other climbed up Ricardo’s thighs, pressing the tense muscles.

“Fuck, Clara,” he whispered through his teeth. “I’ll be fired.”

Clara swallowed everything. Without hesitation. Ricardo writhed between arousal and dread.

The door opened with a soft snap.

“Ricardo, let me introduce you to someone. This is my wife, Marissa.”

Ricardo froze. The blood drained from his face. Clara didn’t move—just lightly squeezed his thighs, as if saying: act natural.

Marissa entered like a bored goddess.

She wore a black blazer casually draped over her shoulders, a tight white blouse underneath that molded her mature bust with elegance. The pants were dark tailored, impeccable, and the heels highlighted her long, shapely legs. Her hair—brown with golden highlights—fell in natural waves to the middle of her back, as if each strand had been combed by the right wind.

But what caught the most attention was her posture.

Marissa didn’t ask for space: she occupied it.

She had that calm, direct gaze of someone who had seen everything, been desired by everyone, and learned to choose whom to return the gaze to.

“So you’re the famous Ricardo,” she said, looking at him with almost clinical eyes. “The new mechanic’s assistant.”

Ricardo tried to smile, but his jaw locked.

“Yes, pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Marissa.”

“‘Mrs.’ makes me sound old.” She laughed. “You can just call me Marissa. I’m Elias’s wife and Clara’s mother.”

Hearing that, Ricardo held his breath. Clara, under the desk, laughed silently and sucked harder, as if it were a personal challenge.

“Marissa helps with the finances, comes here once in a while,” explained Elias, oblivious to the hell under his feet. “But I handle the shop day-to-day. She prefers more sophisticated things.”

“And you, Ricardo, what do you prefer?” asked Marissa, without taking her eyes off him. The question seemed innocent, but the tone was sharp as a razor.

Ricardo swallowed hard.

“I prefer to stay in my lane. Work. Do what needs to be done.”

“Hm,” she murmured, still looking deep. “Good answer.”

She turned to her husband, leaning lightly on the edge of the desk—centimeters from where Clara was hidden, mouth full.

“Honey, I’m going to stop by the market before going home. Want anything?”

“No, no, I’m good. I’ll stop by later.”

“Okay. See you later, Ricardo.” She gave another up-and-down look. “I’ll see you around.”

And she left.

As soon as the door closed, Ricardo arched his body, face pressed against his hands.

“What the hell,” he whispered, panting. “This is going to kill me.”

Clara wiped her mouth, looked up, and said, with a malicious gleam in her eyes:

“My mom liked you. For real. I bet she comes back.”

And she came back, in less than thirty seconds. She strutted to the coffee, wanted to see better, and wanted to be seen.

“So now you’re going to work here?” said Marissa. “And we’ll see each other every day?”

Ricardo tried to keep the conversation flowing, even with Clara under the desk continuing to suck him masterfully.

“Yeah, Mr. Elias said that you only come once in a while.”

“Don’t call me ma’am. It’s really just cars and boring mechanics here, but now there’s something really interesting to do around here.”

Ricardo made a face of arousal, first because he was—Clara was doing a great job—second because Marissa was a really attractive woman.

“You liked me, huh?” said Marissa. “It’s written all over your face.”

Ricardo’s aroused expression encouraged Marissa to continue.

“Elias will be downstairs for a while; we can have some fun.”

Clara sped up the pace, just out of spite, while the mother undressed. Marissa had a spectacular body, natural big firm breasts, a round ass that she made sure to show off.

“No, ma’am, I’m so fucked.”

And while Ricardo felt the daughter’s lips torturing him underneath, he felt the mother’s lips in an intense kiss. She climbed on the desk and rubbed her tits in Ricardo’s face.

“I’m yours, stud. Enjoy, before my husband gets here.”

“Marissa,” Ricardo managed to murmur, turning his face for a second. “This isn’t a good idea.”

“Shh,” she whispered, biting his earlobe. “Relax, my dear. Elias won’t come up so soon. You’re exactly what I needed today,” said Marissa, climbing fully onto the desk, legs open around him. She pulled Ricardo’s head against her chest. “Let’s make this quick.”

Clara, under the desk, paused for a millisecond. Ricardo felt the pause—a moment of jealousy, perhaps, or pure challenge. But soon she returned, more aggressive, as if she wanted to prove she was better than her mother. The contrast was surreal: the daughter sucking with anger, the mother offering herself with mature confidence. And him, in the center, trying not to scream.

“Elias doesn’t control me,” she retorted, voice firm, almost a growl. “And you,” she laughed, sliding her hand down his chest, “you don’t seem to want to stop.”

At that moment, Clara did something Ricardo didn’t expect: with one hand, she squeezed the base of his dick hard, while her tongue circled the glans at a frantic pace. It was as if she wanted to force the climax now, before the mother took full control. Ricardo arched his back, a moan escaping against his will.

Marissa misinterpreted it. Thought it was for her.

“That’s it, stud,” she murmured, pulling her panties aside and positioning herself over him. “Come.”

Ricardo was seconds from collapsing when he heard the sound he feared most: heavy footsteps in the hallway. Elias.

“Marissa?” the shop owner’s voice echoed, getting closer. “You still up there?”

Marissa in a rush got off the desk, grabbed her own clothes, and went under the desk in the same second her husband entered through the office door.

“What the fuck are you doing here, Clara?” whispered Marissa, very softly, but in shock and angry.

“Apparently, the same thing as you,” answered the daughter, in a challenging tone.

“You should be at work.”

“And you shouldn’t be trying to fuck another guy in Dad’s shop.”

Ricardo sweated, trying to keep his sanity in the middle of it all. He still had some thread of hope that the day might end well.

“Here’s my boy. Kid, you okay? Sweaty?”

“I’m fine, yes. I feel a lot of heat, Mr. Elias.”

Under the desk, the discussion continued in whispers.

“When your dad leaves, you’re getting out of here. Flying!” said Marissa.

“No way. Look at this man! He’s so hot! And I got here first.”

“You’re crazy, girl!”

Clara responded, resuming sucking Ricardo intensely. He even jumped.

“Did you see Marissa?”

“Yes, she went to drop Clara at work, Mr. Elias,” answered Ricardo.

Still under the desk, Marissa seemed to accept the challenge, took Ricardo’s dick from her daughter’s mouth and started sucking it with gusto and intensity. Trying to show her daughter she knew how to do it better. Ricardo delighted and horrified himself with that mouth challenge.

“Anyone else I want you to meet?” said Elias.

Ricardo tried to stay firm. “For God’s sake, let it not be another woman.”

Elias smiled, patting Ricardo’s shoulder.

“One of our main customers, long-time partner. Ricardo, this is Dr. Fernando Valestri.”

Ricardo shook the man’s hand, a gray-haired guy, tall, smelling of money and French perfume. White linen shirt, expensive shoes, and a watch worth more than Elias’s car. Ricardo felt relieved, having only to deal with mother and daughter devouring his dick under the desk.

“Pleasure to meet you,” said Fernando, with a firm smile. “So, you’re the new reinforcement?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Hope you can keep up. Things get rough here.”

Ricardo laughed. Then he heard the tinkle of nails on the floor, like a small dog. And soon after, an even more threatening sound:

“Honey, you forgot my bag in the car. Again.”

The voice came from the entrance. Melodious, sweet, slightly bored.

“Ah, Ricardo, this is his wife, Abigail Valestri.”

She entered with a Yorkshire in her arms and a Chanel bag over her shoulder. She wore a tight sand-colored dress, sleeveless, that hugged the body like a second skin. High heels, perfectly blow-dried blonde hair, and light eyes that scanned the environment like an X-ray.

Ricardo held his breath.

Abigail Valestri wasn’t just a trophy wife. She was the trophy. And she knew it.

“This is the new mechanic,” said Elias.

She shook Ricardo’s hand, with a sideways little smile, already analyzing Ricardo up and down.

“Hm.” Abigail approached, with a catwalk stride. “He looks competent—especially with his hands.”

She passed so close that the perfume invaded Ricardo’s brain like a sweet poison. The Yorkshire stared at him, like a judge judging sins.

“Be careful with her,” whispered Elias himself, half jokingly. “She’s broken more marriages than no-fault divorce.”

Ricardo gave a wry smile. Because he already knew.

He was fucked. Again.

“Well, let’s go see the car,” said Elias, pulling Dr. Fernando, as if they were great friends. But Abigail stayed standing, staring at Ricardo. Didn’t move.

Ricardo closed his eyes; at that moment Clara was fervently licking his balls while her mother Marissa was sucking his dick. He just looked at Abigail, with arousal from the double blowjob, but with a look begging for mercy.

Abigail didn’t need words, set the little dog down on the floor, placed the bag on one of the chairs, and started undressing.

“No, no, no, no! Enough! No!” said Ricardo, suddenly standing up, showing his big dick dripping on the manuals on the desk.

Abigail stopped undressing, first in shock, then with admiration, and in shock again, upon seeing the two women coming out from under the desk.

“What madness is this? Who are you?” said Abigail.

“I’m the owner’s daughter.”

“I’m one of the owners.”

“Get out of here!” said Marissa and Clara, in unison.

“Damn, you’re fucking mother and daughter? In the guy’s office?” Abigail, trying to recover from the shock.

“This happens to me sometimes,” said Ricardo, trying to explain. “Not exactly in the office, I mean, mother and daughter, you get it.”

“How delicious,” said Abigail. “Let me join.”

“No, everyone out of here,” said Marissa, authoritative. “I’m the owner; he’s mine.”

“I got here and saw first,” said Clara.

“I’ll tell Elias everything then,” said Abigail.

“No, calm down, wait,” said Ricardo, trying to catch his breath. “I’ll fuck all three, no problem. But one at a time, calmly.”

“Who first?” asked Clara.

“Her, Abigail,” said Ricardo, decided.

“Why her?” said Marissa, feeling wronged.

“Alphabetical order,” explained Ricardo.

“But I got here,” said Clara.

“Or it’ll be my way, or it won’t be,” said Ricardo, blunt.

Ricardo, with one hand, pulled Abigail, with the dexterity of someone more than used to it, undressed her completely. Abigail had breast implants and a body shaped by daily hours of gym and running. She had plenty of time to take care of her body and appearance. With the dexterity of a god, Ricardo got naked and positioned Abigail, who, without questioning, started sitting on his dick.

“Fuck, how delicious!” said Abigail. “You’re like a god. What are you?”

“This isn’t fair,” said Clara, naked, arms crossed, but without looking away.

The little dog started barking. Marissa acted quickly, putting it outside and locking the office door for good. After that, she got to work, started kissing Ricardo while Abigail sat on his dick frantically, kissed him and rubbed her breasts in his face. Clara didn’t want to fall behind, pulled Ricardo to kiss her on the other side and showed off her young breasts with hard nipples for him to suck.

Abigail rode Ricardo with an intensity that made the desk creak, each thrust pulling hoarse moans from her. The sculpted body shone with a thin layer of sweat, the augmented breasts bouncing in a hypnotic rhythm. Ricardo, trapped in the eye of the hurricane, held her hips by pure instinct, trying to keep some control while Marissa and Clara fought over the rest of him like hungry lions.

Marissa, with the experience of someone who knows how to play dirty, pressed her big natural breasts against Ricardo’s face, the nipples brushing his lips between possessive kisses. She bit his neck, leaving red marks, and whispered provocations through her teeth.

“That’s it, stud. Show this blonde what you do with me later.”

Clara, on the other hand, wouldn’t accept second place. With the boldness of youth, she pulled Ricardo’s head to the opposite side, forcing him to suck her firm breasts, the pink nipples hard as pebbles. She moaned loud, almost performative, throwing challenging looks at her mother and Abigail.

“He likes me more, Mom,” provoked Clara, rubbing her body against Ricardo’s shoulder. “Look how he sucks.”

“Shut up, Clara,” retorted Marissa, voice cutting, but with a competitive gleam in her eyes. She slid a hand down Ricardo’s chest, down to where Abigail and he met, lightly brushing her fingers at the base of his dick, as if wanting to steal a piece of the action.

Abigail, oblivious to the mother-daughter fight, was in another world. Her moans rose in pitch, the pace accelerating as she dug her nails into Ricardo’s shoulders. The sand-colored dress, now a rag on the floor, was the only proof she had been the impeccable trophy wife minutes before. Now, she was pure instinct.

“Fuck, Ricardo,” she panted, voice breaking. “You’re a monster.”

Ricardo, on the edge between pleasure and panic, felt his body respond as it always did—trained by years of situations like this. He gripped Abigail’s hips, guiding her harder, the sound of bodies colliding echoing in the office. The desk shook, the manuals slid to the floor, and the cold coffee spilled, staining the carpet.

Clara, impatient, decided to raise the level. She leaned over the desk, next to Abigail, and started touching herself, moaning loud to get Ricardo’s attention. Her fingers worked fast, face flushed, eyes fixed on him as if saying: “Look what you’re missing.”

Marissa, seeing her daughter try to steal the scene, didn’t let it slide. She positioned herself on the other side, imitating Clara, but with more mature sensuality. She unbuttoned her tailored pants, letting them fall to her ankles, and started masturbating slowly, eyes locked on Ricardo. It was a silent challenge: I’m better.

Ricardo, with Abigail riding, Clara touching herself to the left and Marissa to the right, felt his brain melt. It was too much. The smell of perfume, sweat, and sex filled the air, the sound of moans mixing in a cacophony that drowned out the distant barking of the Yorkshire outside the locked door.

Abigail, feeling climax approaching, grabbed Ricardo’s hair, pulling hard. Her movements became erratic, body trembling as she threw her head back.

“I’m almost,” she moaned, voice failing. “Don’t stop, fuck.”

Ricardo, with a low grunt, intensified the rhythm, thigh muscles tense under her weight. He knew exactly what to do—years of forced practice had made him a reluctant master. With one hand, he held Abigail’s waist firm; with the other, he brushed his thumb on her clit, applying the right pressure, at the right moment.

“That’s it, that’s it,” Abigail panted, eyes rolling. “Holy fuck.”

The orgasm came like a wave, pulling a sharp scream from her. Her body convulsed, legs trembling as she leaned on Ricardo’s shoulders, nails leaving red marks. She came with an intensity that made even Clara and Marissa pause, eyes wide, half impressed, half envious.

Abigail collapsed against Ricardo’s chest, panting, blonde hair stuck to her forehead. For a second, the office was silent, except for her heavy breathing and the distant hum of the air conditioning.

“My God,” murmured Abigail, still trembling. “You’re unreal.”

Ricardo, exhausted but knowing hell was far from over, looked at Clara and Marissa. The two, still naked, stared at him with a mix of desire and impatience.

Clara quickly took the lead.

“Letter C here.”

Ricardo just wanted to fix the car, but the three had done so much that now the wild beast had awakened. With one movement, he set Abigail’s naked body, still in ecstasy, on the manuals, headed to Clara and, like a lion, lifted her inches off the ground, pinned her against the wall, and started fucking her like there was no tomorrow in that shop.

“Woooooowwwww!”

Clara screamed in pleasure, body suspended against the wall, legs wrapped around Ricardo’s waist as he possessed her with a ferocity that seemed to release years of frustration. Each thrust was deep, almost punitive, as if Ricardo had finally embraced the curse that pursued him. The office wall shook, and the sound of bodies colliding echoed louder than her moans. Clara dug her nails into his shoulders, eyes wide, mouth half-open in a mix of ecstasy and shock.

“Fuck, Ricardo,” she panted, voice failing with each impact. “This, this is fuck.”

Ricardo, face buried in her neck, didn’t respond. His body moved on autopilot, defined muscles shining with sweat as he held her easily, as if she were light as a feather. Clara’s denim jacket, now on the floor, was the only reminder of her innocent entrance minutes before. Now, she was pure desire, surrendered to the overwhelming force that was Ricardo.

Abigail, still catching her breath, slid off the desk where Ricardo had left her, the manuals stuck to her sweaty skin. She leaned on the chair, messy blonde hair, half-closed eyes as she watched the scene. There was a gleam of admiration in her gaze, but also a touch of competitiveness. She bit her lip, as if mentally taking notes.

“This guy doesn’t tire, huh?” murmured Abigail, voice hoarse, more to herself than the others. She crossed her legs, still naked, and started touching herself slowly, fingers sliding as she followed Clara being devastated. “Lucky girl. I want more.”

Marissa, on the other hand, was petrified. Sitting on the edge of the desk, she watched her own daughter being fucked by Ricardo with a mix of shock, envy, and an unspeakable desire. Her eyes alternated between Clara’s young body, writhing in pleasure, and Ricardo’s, which seemed sculpted for sin. She pressed her lips, hands clenched on her thighs, as if fighting the impulse to jump into the scene.

But there was a heat in her tone that betrayed her thoughts. Marissa couldn’t look away. Each moan from Clara, each thrust from Ricardo, seemed to ignite something inside her. She slid a hesitant hand to her own sex, touching herself reluctantly, as if trying to deny what she felt. Her fingers moved slowly, but the pace increased as Clara’s screams grew more intense.

Clara, oblivious to her mother and Abigail, was lost in her own pleasure. Her firm breasts bounced with each movement, pink nipples hard, brushing against Ricardo’s chest. She pulled his hair, forcing him to look into her eyes as she moaned:

“Fuck me, Ricardo, fuck me harder,” she begged, voice almost desperate. “I want to cum now.”

Ricardo, with a primal grunt, obeyed. He pressed her even harder against the wall, one hand holding her ass firm while the other climbed to squeeze one of her breasts, thumb brushing the nipple with precision. He increased the pace, thrusts so fast the sound seemed continuous. The office, once a place of order, was now a stage of chaos: papers on the floor, spilled coffee, and the air heavy with the smell of sex.

Abigail, still touching herself, let out a low moan, eyes fixed on Ricardo. She seemed hypnotized by his almost supernatural energy.

Marissa, unable to hold back, let a moan escape too. Her hand now moved with more urgency, eyes locked on her daughter, but also on Ricardo. There was a visible internal battle on her face: the mother who wanted to yell at Clara to stop, and the woman who wanted to be her. She bit her lip hard, trying to muffle the sounds escaping against her will.

Clara, feeling climax approaching, grabbed Ricardo harder, legs trembling around him. Her moans turned into uncontrolled screams, whole body tense like a string about to snap.

“I’m cumming,” she screamed, voice echoing in the office. “Fuck, Ricardo, don’t stop.”

Ricardo, with one last impulse, penetrated her even deeper, keeping the rhythm as she fell apart in his arms. Clara’s orgasm came like an explosion, body convulsing, eyes rolling as she screamed his name. Her nails left scratches on his back, and her legs squeezed so tight Ricardo almost lost balance. She came with an intensity that made the following silence seem deafening.

Clara collapsed against Ricardo’s chest, panting, body limp as if she had run a marathon. He held her against the wall for a moment, both breathing heavily, before gently setting her back on the floor. She staggered, legs shaky, and leaned on the desk, face flushed and eyes shining with satisfaction.

“My God,” murmured Clara, still panting. “You’re from another planet.”

For a second, the four heard the little dog outside, barking, trying to get in.

“This dog is going to fuck everything up,” said Marissa. “I know.”

Marissa quickly unlocked the door, let the dog in.

“Everyone to the locker room, now!” she ordered; she didn’t want to lose her turn.

The four entered, leaving the poor little dog now inside the office, but locked out of the locker room.

Abigail had the idea to turn on the showers so their noise would muffle the sounds. The effect was even more delicious. Ricardo’s strong, athletic body looked even tastier wet. The water itself hitting the bodies increased the collective arousal even more. Abigail started rubbing against Ricardo, begging to be fucked again. Marissa, however, pulled her, first gently, then not so much.

“It’s my turn,” said Marissa, with a lascivious look.

Ricardo smiled. Since he was in hell, why not make it heaven? He put Marissa facing away from him and started fucking her pussy. He did it with pleasure and cruelty, entering slowly, but making her feel every entry, all of it. Clara and Abigail couldn’t avoid all that magnetism and rubbed their pussies on Ricardo’s legs, as if they wanted everything that man could offer. And so those four bodies rubbed, naked, in a celestial and demonic dance at the same time.

The hot water fell in cascades, enveloping the four naked bodies in a steam fog that intensified every touch, every breath. Ricardo, with his sculpted physique shining under the drops, was the center of gravity of that sensual chaos. Marissa, Clara, and Abigail, each with their own hunger, orbited around him, united by a desire that transcended rivalries.

Marissa, now with temporary control, was facing away from Ricardo, hands supported on the wall as he penetrated her with slow, deliberate movements. Each thrust was calculated, deep, pulling hoarse moans from her. Her big breasts bounced under the impact, water running down the hardened nipples, as she threw her head back, brown hair stuck to her back.

“That’s it, Ricardo,” she murmured, voice breaking. “Make me feel everything.”

Ricardo, with a predatory gleam in his green eyes, held her hips firmly, fingers dug into the soft flesh. He knew how to prolong pleasure, how to torture her with every inch. The hot water hitting their bodies amplified the sensation, the sound of the showers mixing with Marissa’s moans and the rhythmic slap of skin against skin.

Clara and Abigail, unable to stay on the sidelines, surrendered to their own lust. Clara, with youthful fire pulsing in every movement, rubbed her pussy on Ricardo’s muscular thigh, eyes half-closed as she touched herself frantically. Her firm breasts brushed against his arm, and she moaned loud, as if wanting to remind everyone she was still there, still a threat. With so much arousal in the air, there was no way; Clara and Abigail started rubbing against each other.

Marissa surrendered to the pleasure.

“Fuck me harder, stud,” she ordered, voice firm despite the tremor in her legs. “I want to cum before them.”

Ricardo, with a crooked smile, obeyed. He increased the rhythm, thrusts becoming faster, more brutal. Marissa screamed, moans echoing through the locker room, mixing with the water sound. Clara, not wanting to fall behind, pulled Abigail into an unexpected kiss, their tongues entwining as they continued rubbing against Ricardo. It was a chaotic dance, a total surrender to instinct.

But Marissa wanted more. She wanted something that would mark her, make her feel Ricardo in a way neither Clara nor Abigail could match. With a lascivious look over her shoulder, she whispered:

“Ricardo, in my ass, now.”

Ricardo hesitated for a millisecond, but the desire in Marissa’s eyes was undeniable. He slid out of her pussy, hard dick shining under the water. Carefully, he positioned the glans against Marissa’s tight little ass, pressing slowly. The hot water helped, but she was still incredibly tight. Marissa moaned, a sound of pleasure mixed with pain, as she pushed back against him, forcing him in.

“Slow,” she panted, but there was urgency in her voice. “Then fuck me with everything.”

Ricardo obeyed, entering little by little, feeling every inch swallowed by her intense heat. When he was finally all in, Marissa let out a muffled scream, hands slipping on the wall as she adjusted to the sensation. Clara and Abigail paused for a moment, hypnotized by the scene. It was raw, intimate, and absurdly exciting.

Marissa moaned even louder, body trembling under the double stimulus. Abigail, not wanting to be left out, slid her hand to Marissa’s pussy, rubbing the clit with quick movements as Ricardo started moving, fucking her ass with slow but deep thrusts.

“Fuck,” Marissa screamed, voice failing. “This, this is too much.”

Ricardo, now fully surrendered, increased the rhythm. Each thrust made Marissa writhe, her moans turning into uncontrolled screams. Clara and Abigail, as if an extension of the collective desire, continued stimulating every part of his body, kissing, licking, touching. It was a symphony of pleasure, each note higher than the last.

Marissa felt the orgasm approaching, an overwhelming wave promising to destroy her. She grabbed Clara’s hair, pulling her into a fierce kiss, while Abigail intensified the movements on her pussy. Ricardo, feeling her ass tighten even more, knew she was at the limit. With a grunt, he gave a particularly deep thrust, and Marissa exploded.

“I’m cumming!” she screamed, body convulsing as the orgasm hit her like lightning. Her ass pulsed around Ricardo’s dick, legs trembling so much she almost fell. Clara and Abigail held her, continuing to touch her body as she fell apart, the shower water mixing with sweat and fluids.

Ricardo, still hard, breathed heavy, his own climax approaching. He looked at Clara and Abigail, who stared at him with a mix of admiration and insatiable desire. That was when he himself came, deep in Marissa’s ass. He screamed, like a god, fully satisfied.

Then Ricardo felt a tickle on his feet. When he opened his eyes, he saw it was the little dog. Raising his head, he saw Elias, Dr. Fernando, and the mechanics, all looking at them, in complete shock.

**********************************

Ricardo was sitting in the office, still panting, the manuals open in front of him—sticky with Clara and Marissa’s hot saliva. On the other side of the desk, Mr. Elias stared at him in complete shock, trying to find words.

“Ricardo, I lost my best mechanic. Alfredo. I had him like a son. He was in love with Clara, sent flowers, wrote poems—for years he tried something. And you, in minutes?”

Ricardo tried to explain:

“I’m so sorry, Mr. Elias, really. It wasn’t my intention. She saw me and started. I swear.”

Elias lowered his eyes, then looked back at him.

“I also lost my main customer. Fernando. That man spends over a hundred thousand a month on that woman, and you, what did you do? What did you say to her?”

“I didn’t even say anything. I could barely talk; your wife and daughter were…”

He realized he was only making it worse.

“You ate my wife’s ass, Ricardo.”

Silence.

“Twenty years of marriage, and I never ate that ass. Twenty years!”

“I didn’t ask, Mr. Elias. It was her; she asked.”

“You’re fired. And please, stay as far away as possible from my shop. And my family.”

Ricardo left frustrated, head down. Once again, he had ruined everything. He looked at his watch. 8:34.

“Not even an hour. That must be a record.”

He called an Uber home, already thinking about how he would explain it all to Dona Rute. He only noticed the problem when he got in the car.

The driver was a woman.

Before he could react, the car jerked and climbed the curb at the corner. The driver had already dropped the wheel and jumped to the back seat.