What Happened When the Fruit Seller Knocked on My Door

Hello again, dear readers. In the previous story I told you about the first time don Ramiro, the neighborhood fruit seller, made me his in between crates of mangoes and papayas in the back room of his shop. After that message, requests poured in for me to tell you about the other times, and the truth is there were quite a few. But there is one I remember with a special shiver, because it was the first time he dared come looking for me at my own house.

Before I begin, let me remind you what I’m like. I’m thirty-two, very fair-skinned, with wide hips and firm buttocks. I inherited my breasts from my mother: round, natural, still high. I’ve never had children, so my cunt is still tight, almost like a young girl’s. When I look at myself in the mirror in my underwear, I understand why don Ramiro chose me.

A whole week went by after that afternoon in the fruit shop. Seven days in which I couldn’t think about anything else. I replayed every scene in my head while hanging up laundry, while cooking, while smiling at my husband. I remembered how don Ramiro shoved me against the scales, how he put that cucumber between my legs, how his tongue ran over me until I trembled.

My husband, Andrés, kept making love to me with the same tenderness as always, but something had broken inside. Every time he penetrated me, I thought of something else, of another cock, of another mouth that tasted of cheap tobacco and ripe fruit. Afterwards I felt guilty for hours. And then, after a while, I would get myself hot all over again.

I never set foot in his shop again. I was ashamed, I was scared, I had the feeling that anyone who looked me in the eye would know what I had done. But I also had heat between my legs all day long. What I didn’t imagine was that don Ramiro would be able to smell that heat from three streets away.

That Tuesday morning dawned mild. I made Andrés his coffee with milk and two avocado toast slices, as I did every day. We talked about the electricity bill, about an outing with his brothers on Saturday, about things I can’t even remember now. At half past eight I kissed him on the forehead and he left for the workshop.

I was left alone with the whole house to myself. Since it was a little warm and I wasn’t expecting visitors, I decided not to get dressed. I was wearing a black lace set Andrés had given me for Valentine’s Day: a bra that lifted my breasts and a very thin thong that barely covered me. I tied my hair up in a loose bun, poured myself a coffee, and started on the chores. I loaded the washing machine, swept the kitchen, and started peeling carrots for the stew.

I was bent over the counter when the doorbell rang.

I immediately thought of Andrés. Sometimes he forgot his phone or his wallet and came back midmorning. Without thinking much about it, with the silly idea of teasing him a little and dragging him to the bedroom before he left again, I walked to the door and opened it.

The man on the other side was not my husband.

Don Ramiro looked me up and down with that crooked smile he wore when something pleased him. He was wearing his white fruit-shop shirt, his gabardine trousers, and a brown paper bag hanging from his left hand. I felt all the blood drain to my feet. I wanted to slam the door shut, but he stuck his foot and hand in at the same time.

—Good morning, Lorena —he said calmly—. Is that how you receive me?

—It’s not what it looks like —I stammered, crossing my arms over my chest—. I thought you were my husband.

—I see I’m not the only one you receive in your underwear.

—You have to leave. This was a mistake. That time was a mistake and I don’t want you coming to look for me again. Not here, not at the fruit shop, not anywhere.

Don Ramiro nodded as if he agreed with me, but he didn’t move. He set the bag on the floor, took something out of it, and held it out to me. It was a plantain, big, still green at the ends, wrapped in a condom. A crude joke, almost obscene, that made my pulse pound in my neck.

—I brought you a little gift. I figured you might need it —he said.

—Are you crazy? Get out now.

I made a move to close the door, and that was when he came in, without asking permission, and shut it behind him. In two steps he was pressed up against me. His big hands grabbed my ass beneath the thong and crushed me against him. I felt his rock-hard bulge through his trousers.

—A little slut like you doesn’t want to be left unfucked —he whispered in my ear—. Especially not the way I fuck you.

I didn’t manage to answer. He kissed me. A long, wet kiss, with his tongue in my mouth as if he owned it. I tried to resist for two seconds. Just two. After that I melted. I felt my legs trembling and my thong was already soaked through.

—Not here —I begged through clenched teeth—. Not here, let’s go to the bedroom.

If Andrés comes back, I’ll hear him come in and we’ll have time to get dressed, I thought. And if we don’t have time, that’s his problem for not warning us.

I walked ahead with my skin prickling. Don Ramiro followed me down the hallway giving me soft, loud little spanks on the butt and whispering in my ear about what he was going to do to me. That this time there was no one who could walk into the back room and interrupt us. That this time he was going to give me all the time in the world. That his cock could no longer stand being trapped in his trousers.

We reached the bedroom. The bed was still unmade; the white sheets, rumpled, still smelled of Andrés. Don Ramiro gently pushed me onto the mattress and lay on top of me.

He kissed me again, now more slowly, trailing over my neck, my collarbone, the swell of my breasts. With one hand he unclasped my bra and threw it on the floor. My tits popped free and he let out a rough little laugh before sucking them. First one, then the other. He took them whole into his mouth, pressed them against his teeth carefully, released them with a wet smack.

While he sucked me, his free hand slipped beneath the thong. He pulled the fabric aside and two of his fingers stroked over my lips.

—Look how wet you are —he said, lifting his head—. No need to put on so much of a show.

—Shut up —I gasped—. Shut up and put it in me.

—Not yet.

He yanked my thong off and moved down my body leaving a trail of kisses. When he reached between my legs, he spread my thighs with both hands and buried his face there. His tongue was long, rough, it knew exactly what it was doing. He licked me from bottom to top several times before stopping at my clit and playing with it with the tip. I clutched the sheets and arched my back. I didn’t want to cry out, I didn’t want any neighbor to hear me, but the sounds escaped me despite myself.

When I felt a first orgasm about to split me in two, I yanked his hair and told him to stop.

—Your turn —I said, sitting up—. Sit down.

Don Ramiro sat on the edge of the bed. I knelt on the rug between his legs. I unbuckled his belt, lowered his zipper, and pulled out his cock. It sprang free, hard, thick, with the veins standing out and the head glistening. I took it into my mouth as far as I could. It was too big to swallow whole, so with my left hand I took the base and with my right I stroked his balls while I sucked him from top to bottom.

—That’s it, Lorena, that’s it —he moaned, never taking his eyes off me.

I let go of his cock for a moment and kissed his balls, one by one, taking them into my mouth. Then I went back to the tip, played with my tongue around the glans, licked him slowly. He took my hair in his hand and began setting the pace, faster and faster.

—Wait, wait —he gasped suddenly—. I don’t want to finish in your mouth. I want to finish inside you.

He made me climb onto the bed again. He laid me on my back, spread one leg, and positioned himself between them. But before penetrating me, he grabbed his cock with his hand and used it as if it were a brush. He ran it over my clit in slow circles, the tip sliding through my own wetness. He did it for several minutes, until I felt something break inside me and an orgasm shook me from head to toe.

Right at that moment, while everything was still pulsing through me, he shoved it in with one hard thrust.

—Ahhh —I screamed into the pillow.

He filled me completely. I felt him opening me centimeter by centimeter, all the way to the bottom. Don Ramiro began moving hard, without pause, gripping my tits with both hands as he rammed into me. The bed creaked. My head bounced against the pillow. His balls slapped against my ass with every thrust.

After a few minutes he turned me over. He put me on all fours. He gave me two spanks that left a delicious burn, spread my ass cheeks with his thumbs, and gave my asshole a long, wet kiss. His tongue went down to my cunt and back up again. Meanwhile, his fingers were filling me from the front.

—Do you want me to put the plantain in you, little slut? Like I did with the cucumber the other time.

—Yes —I panted against the pillow—. Put it in me, now.

He stretched out his arm and grabbed the plantain off the floor, where he had dropped it when he came into the room. The condom was still in place. He put it in slowly at first, then with firm thrusts, while still kissing me and biting my ass. The sensation was new, different: a round, soft fullness that made me moan like a crazy woman.

He kept it up for a good while, until the plantain was no longer enough to feed his kink. He pulled it out, tossed it aside, and lay down on the bed on his back.

—Now you come. I want you to ride me.

I obeyed. I sat on him, grabbed his cock with one hand, and guided it myself. I lowered myself slowly until I felt all of him inside me. I put both hands on his chest and started moving. First gently, in circles. Then harder, going up and down, while he squeezed my breasts and told me filthy things I’m not daring to repeat here.

—That’s it, Lorena, that’s it, I’m coming —he growled after a few minutes.

I rode him faster. Until he let out a long, animal groan, and I felt something hot filling me from within. His cock swelled inside me and throbbed several times. I stayed sitting on top of him until the last wave passed, breathing hard, with my hair falling over my face.

***

After that we got dressed in silence. I put on a robe, and he straightened his shirt in front of the wardrobe mirror as if nothing had happened. I walked him to the door. Before leaving, he took my face in both hands and gave me a long kiss, tongue and all, unhurried.

—Come back to the fruit shop on Friday —he told me in a low voice—. I have another surprise for you.

I closed the door and leaned against it for a long while. Then I went back to the bedroom, picked up the condom, changed the sheets, washed his cologne mark off the pillow. I kept the plantain in the refrigerator. That night, when Andrés fell asleep, I ate it with chocolate while watching a movie in silence in the dining room.

To this day, every time I tell this story, I get hot again and end up with my hand between my legs.

Tell me in the comments what you thought. And tell me if you want to know what happened on Friday in don Ramiro’s back room.