A Secret Affair That Began in the Rain

Sofía Villanueva had been married to Don Ernesto for ten years, and for three of them she had been learning to live without hope.

The house was large, built of dark stone, overlooking the vineyard that descended down the hillside to the river. Everything smelled of order and absence. Don Ernesto traveled every week to Logroño or as far as Pamplona on business that was never fully explained. When he was home, he presided over everything: the table, the conversation, the silence.

He was fifty-two and had the voice of a man who never needed to raise it because no one dared contradict him. With Sofía he was proper. Cold and proper. On Fridays, if he had not been away, he performed as one fulfills a chore: the light off, her nightgown pushed up to her waist, three dry thrusts with his half-hard cock, and a silent ejaculation inside her that did not wet her or draw a sigh from her. Then he turned over and went to sleep, leaving her with her legs open, his semen trickling between her thighs and an emptiness between her hips that she had grown used to filling herself with two fingers whenever she heard him snore.

Sofía was thirty-three. Her body was still firm and full, her tits large and still high, her big, dark nipples hardening at the mere thought of something, the thick, hairy pussy that had spent years asking for what no one gave her, her dark eyes accustomed to looking without anyone looking back at them.

Three years earlier, she had discovered something about her husband, one afternoon when she returned earlier than expected from an errand in town. The study door was ajar. Don Ernesto had Remedios, the girl who came to clean on Thursdays, bent over the desk with her skirt hiked up to her waist, her panties around her ankles, and her white, round ass already marked red. Sitting in his armchair, he was scolding her in a low voice while marking her buttocks with a wooden ruler, with a calmness more disturbing than any shout. Between strokes, he pushed two thick fingers into her pussy and brought them to his mouth. Remedios was crying but did not move, and her thighs were shining from how wet he had made her.

Sofía closed the door without making a sound and never said anything. Not to him or anyone else. That same night, in her bed, she slipped her hand between her legs for the first time in years and came thinking of Remedios’s face, the ruler, her husband’s calm, anything that was not herself.

From then on she understood why he was always so brief with her: Don Ernesto was looking for something else. Fear, surrender, tears, a pussy soaked with humiliation. With a woman of his own station that was impossible. With her, he was a piece of furniture. With Remedios, or whoever it might be, he was himself.

***

Marcos arrived in April, hired as a day laborer for the spring work in the vineyard.

He was twenty-six, broad-backed, with large, hardened hands belonging to someone who had worked with his body since he was sixteen. He was from a village on the other side of the mountain range. He spoke little but watched a lot, and when he looked at Sofía he did so straight on, without the calculated deference the other employees used with the lady of the house. He looked at her tits when she bent over, looked at her ass when she turned around, and made no effort to hide it.

At first there were greetings in passing. Then brief conversations in the courtyard while he put away the tools at dusk. Then laughter, sometimes, when he told some story from his village in his direct, unadorned way.

Sofía noticed when she began seeking him out with her eyes every morning from the kitchen window. She also noticed when he began waiting for that moment without trying too hard to hide it. And above all, she noticed the night she slipped her hand between her legs thinking of Marcos’s large hands and came biting the pillow so the servants would not hear her.

***

During the last week of May, Don Ernesto left for Logroño for four days for a winemakers’ meeting.

The morning of the second day dawned clear, with that clean spring sunlight that warmed without yet burning. Sofía found Marcos in the courtyard before the other day laborers arrived.

—Have you seen the fields toward the river? —she asked—. I’ve been wanting to walk to the elms for weeks.

—If you want company, ma’am, I can carry the basket.

—You can stop calling me “ma’am” when no one else is around —she said.

He smiled. It was the first time she had seen him smile for real.

They loaded the basket with bread, Manchego cheese, some olives, two pears, and a wineskin of the previous year’s harvest. Sofía put on a light-blue cotton dress with buttons up to the neck, which that morning she decided not to fasten all the way. She did not put on a bra. She told herself so quietly in the mirror before leaving, as though acknowledging a decision that had already been made.

They walked along the path between the vines, then across open country to the elms by the river. They spread a blanket in the shade. They ate slowly, talking about unimportant things: his village, winters in the mountains, the nature of the soil in different parts of the vineyard. Sofía cut the bread and he poured the wine. Their hands brushed as they passed things, and neither of them did anything to avoid it.

At one point, he pulled up a long blade of grass and slowly ran it over the back of her wrist. Sofía did not withdraw her arm.

—What are you doing? —she asked, knowing perfectly well what he was doing.

—Nothing —he said, and continued. The blade of grass traveled up her forearm, slipped inside her sleeve, and brushed the place where her tit began. Sofía felt her nipple harden instantly against the thin fabric of the dress.

Then he wove a clumsy necklace from linked blades of grass and placed it around her neck. His fingers brushed the nape of her neck for a second longer than necessary. Sofía felt heat bloom in her belly and travel straight down to her pussy, which grew wet with a heavy slowness she had not felt in years.

—It won’t last ten minutes —she said of the necklace.

—I don’t need any longer —he replied.

They looked at each other. Sofía was the first to lower her eyes, and as she did she saw the bulge already formed beneath Marcos’s work trousers. She did not look away immediately.

***

The sky changed in twenty minutes. Clouds came from the north, dark and fast, and before they could gather up the blanket, heavy rain was falling.

They ran across the fields.

—There —Marcos pointed—. That building beside the poplar.

It was an old stone barn at the edge of the woods, half abandoned, with its slate roof still intact. They went inside soaked and panting. The rain pounded outside furiously. Inside, it smelled of damp earth and old straw.

Sofía’s dress clung to her body like a second skin, transparent over her breasts, her large, dark nipples showing starkly beneath the wet fabric. Marcos’s shirt was transparent too, revealing the hair on his chest plastered to his skin. They were both shivering.

—We’re going to catch pneumonia like this —she said, and it was not entirely a joke.

The blanket was wet on the outside, but the center was dry. Marcos spread it over the packed-earth floor.

—We have to take our clothes off or we’ll never get warm —he said, his voice hoarse.

They turned their backs to each other. Sofía undid her dress with fingers clumsy from the cold, then the straps of her petticoats. Everything fell to the floor with the heavy sound of soaked fabric. She stood naked, her skin covered in gooseflesh, nipples stiff, her dark, hairy pussy between her pressed thighs. She heard him remove his shirt and trousers and could not stop herself from glancing over. She saw his broad back, his firm white ass, and when he turned for a moment to set down his clothes, she saw his cock: thick, already half-hard, hanging heavily between his legs. Her mouth went dry.

When they sat together on the blanket and he covered her with the dry part of the cloth, the warmth of their two bodies began to return.

Sofía felt his chest against her back, the rough hairs brushing her shoulder blades. His warm breath on her nape. She also felt Marcos’s cock against the cleft of her ass, no longer half-hard but fully erect, throbbing against her every time he took a deep breath.

She tried not to move. It did not last long.

Her stomach was churning from nerves and the sudden cold. She felt the pressure building in her belly and clenched as best she could, but the need returned stronger. Her face was burning before she opened her mouth.

—Marcos —she whispered, mortified—. I’m so sorry, but I can’t hold it anymore. I need to… I need to fart.

He did not move. When he spoke, it was close to her ear, with a calmness she had not expected.

—Do it. There’s no one here.

Sofía lifted the blanket a little and let it out: soft, prolonged, audible. The relief was immediate. The smell dissolved at once in the cold air of the barn.

She expected him to pull away. For the moment to break, as such things always broke.

But he held her tighter, reached around her from the front, and took hold of an entire tit, squeezing it without haste, then pressed his lips for a moment to her nape.

—It doesn’t matter —he murmured.

And his body did not lie: Marcos’s cock pressed even harder against her ass, pushing itself between Sofía’s buttocks as though looking for room.

That embrace was what brought everything crashing down.

Sofía turned toward him. She looked at him in the dimness of the barn, with the rain outside and the smell of earth and hot bodies. She kissed him. At first carefully, like someone checking whether something was real. Then without care, thrusting her whole tongue into his mouth, sucking his lip and biting it.

His hands traveled over her shoulders, her side, her tits: he grasped them whole, one in each hand, squeezing the soft flesh and pinching her hard nipples between his fingers until he drew a low moan from her. She grabbed him by the nape and pulled him closer. He lowered his mouth and sucked one nipple, then the other, first with his tongue, then with his teeth, with his whole mouth, while one hand slipped between her thighs.

—You’re soaked —he said against her chest, running two fingers up and down the cleft of her pussy—. Fuck, look at you.

—Shut up and touch me —she panted, spreading her legs wider.

Marcos’s fingers found her swollen clitoris and rubbed it in slow circles, and she arched against his hand, moaning without restraint. He lowered his head over her belly, past the dark hair, and opened her thighs with his large hands.

—Let me see —he said, and without waiting for an answer, opened her pussy lips with his thumbs.

The first lick was long and flat, from bottom to top, and a muffled cry escaped Sofía, scraping her throat. No one had ever done that to her. Not once in ten years. Marcos stayed there, slowly licking her pussy, pushing his tongue inside her, moving up to suck her clitoris between his lips, then going back down. He slipped his hands beneath her ass and lifted her hips, eating her out as if he had years of hunger to satisfy. She dug her fingers into his hair and pressed his face against her pussy, coming with her mouth open and voiceless, trembling from her feet to the crown of her head, still feeling his tongue buried inside her when the first wave passed.

—Come here —she begged in a broken voice—. Come up here, I want to taste you.

He rose, and she pushed his shoulders to lie him on his back on the blanket. She looked at his cock up close for the first time: thick, long, the tip gleaming with pre-cum, the foreskin already pulled all the way back. She took it in both hands and put it in her mouth as far as she could. Marcos groaned and placed one hand on the back of her head without squeezing. Sofía sucked eagerly, with saliva, moving up and down, pulling it out to run her tongue over his balls before taking it back into her mouth to the throat. She licked the tip, bit it gently, and drew growls from him like a beaten dog.

—Stop —he said after a while, gently tugging her hair—. Stop or I’ll come in your mouth, and I want to come inside you.

They lay down. He positioned himself between her legs, and she took his cock and guided it toward her soaked pussy. He entered slowly, inch by inch, stretching her, and Sofía closed her eyes and let out a long, hoarse sound that had been held for years in some place she no longer remembered. She felt him all the way inside, pressing against every part of her that her husband had never reached.

—Fuck me —she whispered in his ear—. Fuck me hard, please, fuck me.

And Marcos fucked her. They moved to the rhythm of the rain striking the slate roof, slowly at first, deep, pulling almost all the way out and driving back in to the hilt, then faster, harder, his balls slapping against her ass with every thrust. She dug her nails into his broad back, and he kissed her neck and her tits, biting her nipples without fear. He lifted her by the hips to drive into her from another angle, and a moan so sharp escaped Sofía that she covered her mouth with the back of her hand.

—Get on all fours —he asked, his voice broken.

She obeyed without thinking. She got onto her knees on the blanket, leaning on her hands, ass raised, pussy open. Marcos positioned himself behind her, ran his cock a couple of times along her soaked cleft, then thrust it back inside her all the way. Sofía cried out. He grabbed her hips with both hands, those big laborer’s hands, and began to fuck her in earnest, every thrust a dry slap of flesh against flesh, her tits swinging beneath her body, the entire barn filling with the sound of sex, her moans, and his hoarse panting against her nape.

—Like that —she panted—, like that, don’t stop, don’t stop.

He reached around her from the front, found her clitoris, and rubbed it in time with the cock entering and leaving her. Sofía felt her second orgasm rising from her feet, bigger than the first, and when it burst, her arms gave way and her face fell against the blanket, her ass still raised, squeezing his cock inside her with spasms he felt, finally shattering him. Marcos buried himself to the hilt, gripped her hips tightly, and came inside her with a long groan, filling her with hot spurts that she felt one by one, deep inside.

They collapsed together onto the blanket, panting, his cock still inside her, his semen beginning to trickle down her thighs.

Afterward they lay still, listening to the storm subside, his hand absently caressing one of her buttocks marked red.

***

The rain stopped as suddenly as it had begun. The sun emerged shyly, wet. They dressed in their still-damp clothes and walked back along the muddy path without saying much, but neither was there the tense silence of before. Sofía felt Marcos’s semen running down the inside of her thigh with every step, and she liked it.

When they reached the house, Sofía heated water in the kitchen boiler.

—The bathroom —she said simply, and he followed her.

They filled the large bathtub in the washroom. They undressed while looking at each other, without the modesty of the barn. Sofía knelt in front of him before getting into the water and sucked his cock again, slowly, looking into his eyes, sucking him until he was hard once more. They got in together. The steaming water, soap sliding over their skin. They washed each other slowly, learning with their hands what they still did not know about each other’s bodies. She soaped his hard cock with both hands, sliding her fist up and down. He soaped her tits and belly, pushed three soapy fingers into her pussy, and moved them inside her until he made her moan again, leaning against the edge of the tub.

He had a scar on his left hip from a fall during adolescence. She had a small mark beneath her right shoulder blade that no one but her mother had ever seen. He kissed it slowly.

The second encounter took place against the bathroom’s white tiles. He lifted her out of the water, put her back against the cold tiles, and raised her by the thighs. She wrapped her legs around his waist, and he drove his cock into her in a single thrust, holding her against the wall with all his weight. Water splashed out of the tub, the tiles struck her back with every thrust, and her wet tits bounced in front of his face as he bent to suck them between moans. More urgent than the first time, stripped of every doubt. She dug her heels into his ass, pushing him deeper with every blow, her nails in his shoulders, her mouth on his, biting him, sucking his tongue, panting in his face without any control.

—Come inside me again —she begged—. Again inside me, I want to feel you again.

And he came inside her again, his face buried in her neck, while Sofía came at the same time, squeezing his cock with her pussy in long spasms that drew every last drop from him. They both sank to the bottom of the tub, still joined, and stayed wrapped in each other’s arms in the warm water until the kitchen clock struck six.

***

At dusk, while he put on his nearly dry clothes, Sofía watched him from the bathroom doorway, still naked, his semen still running down her thighs.

—My husband comes back Thursday —she said.

—I know.

There was a long silence.

—This can’t go on —she murmured.

—I know —he repeated.

They kissed in the doorway of the house, a slow, unhurried kiss, the last of the day. He left along the vineyard path without looking back. Sofía watched him walk away from the kitchen window, the same window from which she had sought him every morning without confessing it to anyone, not even herself.

She thought of Don Ernesto. Of Remedios bent over the desk with her ass marked red. Of the wooden ruler and her own quiet rage, accumulated over years.

If only he had come now, she thought. If only he had opened that door and found us together. If only he had finally seen me fucked as he had never fucked me, with another man’s cock in my pussy, with a day laborer’s semen running down my legs. If only he had finally seen me.

But Don Ernesto was in Logroño, and there was no one to punish her for what she had done.

Only her, the large silent house, and the memory of the storm that changed everything that day.