The day had dragged on like so many others at the Muzo warehouse, a sprawling fortress of concrete and steel perched on the edge of Buenaventura's restless bay. Alejandro clocked out at precisely 6:45 p.m., his muscles aching from hours of overseeing shipments of those glittering emerald crates—precious stones that could make or break fortunes. He swiped his access card one last time, nodding curtly to the armed guards stationed at the secure zone's exit. The card was nothing special, just a plain plastic rectangle with his photo and ID number, but it granted him entry to doors that held millions in value. Security was ironclad here, cameras in every corner, biometric locks that scanned retinas and fingerprints, and patrols that never missed a beat.
As he stepped into the parking lot, the evening air hit him like a warning. The weather was moody, lightning tearing through the sky like knives ripping apart the Earth's dark blanket. A chilly breeze whipped off the water, carrying the salty tang of the Pacific and the distant rumble of thunder. Tonight felt different, heavier, like a storm was brewing not just in the clouds but in the bones of the city itself. Buenaventura had always been a place of shadows, where the line between survival and desperation blurred under the cover of night.
Leaning against his battered Ford in the dim glow lights was Fred, Alejandro's buddy from the old days on the docks. Back then, they'd hustled small jobs together—loading crates, sharing smokes during breaks. Fred was the wild one, always chasing thrills, but Alejandro trusted him like a brother. There was a bond forged in those years that time couldn't erode.
"Hey, Alejandro!" Fred called out, his voice cutting through the wind. He straightened up, flashing a grin that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Rough day, huh?"
Alejandro sighed, rubbing the back of his neck as he approached. "Everyday's rough down here. What's up with you?"
Fred shrugged, his shoulders tense under his faded jacket. "My day's been a mess too. Mom dropped by unannounced with her maid, into my tiny apartment. I could hardly breathe in there."
Alejandro chuckled weakly, though exhaustion weighed on him.
" How about we grab a drink? Elena won't mind—just one to chill off with". Fred suggested
Alejandro hesitated for a second, glancing at his watch. Elena had been patient lately, but he knew the late nights might get her upset."Alright, just a bottle."
They got into the Ford and cruised along the waterfront, the air thick and humid, swaying palm trees like drunken sentinels guarding the shore. Buenaventura wasn't safe after dark; everyone knew that. Stories of bodies washing up on the beaches like forgotten driftwood were as common as the tide. The city pulsed with danger—cartels lurking in the alleys, desperate souls willing to kill for a scrap of power.
They pulled up to a dive bar overlooking the bay. Inside, the place was a haze of smoke and dim lighting, speakers thumping out cheap rhythms that vibrated through the worn wooden floors. Dockworkers huddled at the bar, holding on to their beers like trophies won from a brutal day's battle. The air smelled of stale sweat, spilled liquor, and the faint salt of the sea.
Alejandro ordered a rum, the burn of it promising to dull the effect of his fatigue. Fred grabbed a whiskey, raising his glass with a dramatic chorus. "To getting out of this shithole someday! Cheers, everyone!"
A ragged chorus of "Cheers!" erupted from the crowd, glasses clinking in a moment. For a brief instant, the bar felt alive, united against the grind of life.
Alejandro took a sip, the warmth spreading through him. "Hey, man, you never told me your mom's still alive."
Fred leaned in, his voice dropping. "You got me wrong. She's my stepmom. She bore my dad no kids."
Then, with a sly grin, Fred leaned closer, his eyes gleaming with something dark and unspoken. "Guess what? My stepmom's got this maid—early twenties, real looker. A few nights ago, something got over me."
Alejandro raised an eyebrow. Fred's stories were always wild, but this one carried an intensity that made the air feel thicker.
"I got home late," Fred continued, his voice low and conspiratorial. "In my room, the maid was lying half-naked on my bed, snoring heavily. Maybe she forgot she wasn't in her own place. I tried to ignore her, play it cool. But after a minute, I couldn't take it anymore. I reached out, grabbed her breast—they were so soft and warm."
Alejandro shifted uncomfortably, but Fred pressed on, the words tumbling out like a confession he couldn't hold back. "I grabbed my lube from the drawer. My dick was getting really hot and hard. I lost it completely. Applied some gel, made it as slimy as possible. Jerked off hard, my left fist moving in circles around her tits."
He paused, taking a swig of whiskey, his face flushed with the memory. "I let out a loud groan, like she cast a spell on me. Out of nowhere, I felt a second hand firmly gripping my helpless cock."
Alejandro's heart skipped, the story veering into territory that felt too raw, too intimate for the noisy bar. But Fred's eyes were locked on him, demanding he listen.
"My heart slammed against my ribs," Fred went on. "She started stroking, guiding her hands up and down as I moaned like an idiot. I exploded, letting out a large, whooshy spill down her stomach."
By morning, she was gone, probably slipping back to the other room with my stepmom. I barely make eye contact with her now."
The rum soured in Alejandro's mouth, but Fred wasn't done. "But last night, in the dark, someone crawled into my bed. I was still awake. Maybe she loved our last encounter, maybe she wants more. This time, I was going to be inside her—I didn't want to waste it on my hand."
Fred's voice dropped to a whisper, the storm outside mirroring the turmoil in his words. "I made the strokes hard, penetrating deeper. Clutching an old cloth with my hands, I pressed it against her mouth as she muttered unclearly until I was completely drained."
"Oh my God—that was the best I've ever had." She whispered
Then I noticed. "That was my stepmom's voice ringing in my head."
Fred took another gulp, watching Alejandro's eyes glaze slightly from the rum. The confession lingered like smoke, thick and unsettling. Alejandro felt a mix of disgust and pity swirl in his chest—Fred had always been reckless, but this crossed lines that couldn't be uncrossed.
"I don't even regret it," Fred continued, his tone defiant. "I've always admired her insane curvy body. I'd stab my dad a thousand and one times to keep her to myself."
He smiled to himself, a twisted expression that sent a chill down Alejandro's spine. Alejandro could barely hold his head up now, the alcohol hitting harder than expected.
"You still with me, man?" Fred tapped him.
"Yeah," Alejandro nodded, though the room spun slightly.
Fred shifted in his seat, leaning close. "I need to pee. I'll be right back."
He stood and headed toward the toilet behind the bar. Alejandro, feeling pressure in his bladder, followed shortly after. His steps were loose, half-drunk, the floor tilting beneath him. The toilet door flung open as a random man walked out. Alejandro swayed into the doorway, ready for his turn.
Right then, Fred emerged, nearly colliding chest to chest. "Oh, sorry," Alejandro laughed, catching himself on the doorframe. "I thought someone just left?"
"I couldn't wait," Fred replied, voice low.
"Alright, I'll join you shortly. Have to expel this before it spills all over my pants," Alejandro said, making his way in.
He stepped out of the dimly lit restroom, wiping his hands on his jeans. Back at the table, Fred stared into his glass like it held answers to unsolved mysteries. Alejandro stood there, catching his breath. It was 10:30 p.m.
"My head's spinning a little," he admitted. "I'll be heading home. I think I've hit my limit."
"Oh, come on," Fred protested. "We've barely spent enough time. Remember, Elena won't mind a few more gulps." He kept pouring, insistent.
Alejandro sipped slowly, knowing Elena would be furious. Now he felt himself floating, the world blurring at the edges.
"Alright, man, let's cut this short," Fred said calmly, supporting him to the car. He hooked Alejandro's arm over his shoulder, bearing most of his weight into the passenger seat.
Fred started the engine, wipers sweeping rain from the windshield. He flicked on the headlights and turned onto the empty streets. His house was on the outskirts, with a view of the bay.
In the distance–far across the city–the security system at Muzo warehouse registered a card swipe.
11:47p.m.
Access Granted.