The closed lot

The lot behind the old market locks at midnight and the guard knows my car and does not care what adults do if the gate is the one I have a right to. I am twenty-three. Carlo is thirty-one. He is not the guard and he is not the station. We had met at a late diner and I had said, over eggs, that I wanted his cock in my ass in my car and that I would probably squirt on the seat and mop it. He laughed the good laugh and said static if I needed the night to end. I made him say the word again beside the car so it would be fresh. He did. Before I left I stood in the flat by the window, black turtleneck, dark jeans, the bed made, a plain lamp behind me. That was the last dressed minute. Then I drove, and at the car I was in the same clothes, bob a little messy from the wind. I unlocked the back and told him to get in.

I knelt on the seat and shoved the jeans to my knees. The bottle was in the door. I slicked his cock myself, looking at it, thick and flushed, and I told him I was going to sit back on it. I lined his cock up with my ass and sank down. The stretch in the small space made me loud. I said fuck my ass. He held my hips and fucked up into my ass, the car rocking a little, windows fogging, no one in the lot but us. I braced a hand on the front seat and rubbed my cunt with the other. My cunt was so wet the sound was obvious. I told him I liked that sound. I told him to keep his cock deep in my ass while I worked my clit.

I felt it break. I squirted hard, a rush out of my cunt onto the seat and my wrist, and I shouted and did not apologize. Carlo groaned and kept fucking my ass because I had grabbed his thigh and said stay. I rode the aftershock, ass full of his cock, laughing once because the mess was exactly the mess I had promised him over eggs. I told him to pull out and come on my ass. He did, cock in his hand, cum striping my ass, his forehead against my shoulder. I liked the heat of it. I liked that he had waited for the instruction.

I wiped the seat and my skin with the towel from the trunk. Jeans up. We sat in the front for a minute with the windows cracked, ordinary, breathing. I did not ask him home. He did not pout. Static had not been needed. I drove myself to the flat, the seat clean enough, my cunt still humming, my ass a sweet ache I had ordered. The board could stay dark until tomorrow. I was already off the air.