My First Time Was with a Client of the Firm

My name is Renata, I’m twenty-four years old, and it had only been a month since I received my accounting degree. All my life I’d been the chubby one in the group: wide hips, thick thighs, a soft belly, and, above all, enormous, natural tits that seemed to have no end. I’d been so self-conscious about them since adolescence that I learned to hide beneath blazers two sizes too large, serious high-necked blouses, and dark pants that didn’t show a thing.

No low necklines, no skirts, no fashion. I felt invisible and, at the same time, far too exposed for being “the fat one.” I’d never had a boyfriend, never had a real kiss, never had sex. My friends would tell stories about their weekend adventures, and I’d simply smile and change the subject before they could ask about mine.

At the firm where I’d just started, I was assigned to accompany an important client to a long meeting. It wasn’t anything major: taking notes for the minutes and, above all, explaining in simple words what everyone else took for granted. The man had asked for “someone patient enough to teach me.” That someone turned out to be me.

He offered to pick me up. When I saw him get out of the car, I lost my breath. Don Matteo, Italian, fifty-three years old, tall, with wavy gray hair, a neatly trimmed beard, impossibly green eyes, and a kindly smile that disarmed you in the first second. He wore an immaculate gray suit, but no tie, as if the day didn’t deserve quite so much formality.

—Bellissima accountant! —he said, opening the door for me—. Grazie for accompanying this poor old man, eh.

I blushed to my ears and barely managed to murmur a “you’re welcome.” For someone like him to call me beautiful, even out of politeness, was already more than I expected from that day.

The meeting lasted from nine in the morning until after three in the afternoon. Exhausting. When we left, he looked at me with that warmth of his.

—You must be starving, piccola. There’s a trattoria nearby just like the ones in my village. The owner has been a friend of mine all my life. Come on, my treat, and I won’t accept no for an answer.

The place was small and cozy, smelling of garlic, tomato, and fresh basil. The owner came out of the kitchen shouting “Don Matteo! Che piacere!” and hugged him like a brother. They seated us at a table in the back, half-hidden, lit only by a candle stuck into an empty wine bottle.

—Today I’m behaving because I came with my accountant —Matteo joked—. Don’t make me look bad, Gianni.

But when he looked at me, his eyes dropped for a second toward my cleavage hidden beneath the blazer, then rose again with a different kind of smile. One that made my cheeks burn and made me grip my fork without knowing why.

***

That very night, I received the first message. Then, every day. Photos of the food he cooked, terrible memes, silly advice, long voice messages in which he mixed Spanish with Italian whenever he got excited. Without realizing it, Matteo had become my friend. The only person I dared to talk to about things I’d never told anyone.

One gray afternoon, after a horrible day, I wrote to him without thinking: “Sometimes I feel like no one will ever like me.” He replied instantly.

—Come to my office later. I’ll buy you a glass of wine and we’ll talk about it. Just talking, eh. I promise.

I arrived with my stomach tied in knots. His secretary let me in without looking up, as if she’d been expecting me. The office was enormous: floor-to-ceiling windows, a mahogany desk that smelled of varnish, and a black leather sofa so large it seemed to swallow the wall. Matteo greeted me with two glasses of red wine and that same smile. We sat on the sofa, much too close.

—Tell me, piccola. What’s wrong?

And I told him everything. That I was twenty-four and still a virgin. That the boys never looked at me. That my friends had partners and I felt ugly, fat, invisible. The words came out between tears, without a filter, as if they’d been waiting for years.

He listened seriously, but with a tenderness that undid me.

—Everyone moves at their own pace, Renata. What matters is knowing what you truly want.

—I want people to see me… but I’m ugly.

—Madonna! How can you say something like that? —he exclaimed, almost offended—. You’re not ugly. You hide yourself, which is very different. Take off that blazer. Let me see what’s beneath all that fabric.

I hesitated. My heart pounded in my throat. But I obeyed. I took off the oversized blazer and left it over the arm of the sofa. The white blouse stretched across my chest, the buttons fighting not to pop open.

—Now undo that blouse, bella.

I undid two buttons with clumsy fingers. He moved closer, and his large, warm hands brushed my skin.

—Allow me.

He undid the third, the fourth, and continued until he had opened it completely. He slowly lowered the fabric from my shoulders. I was left in a black bra, my enormous tits barely contained by the cups, white flesh spilling over the sides. I turned as red as a tomato and crossed my arms instinctively.

—Don’t cover yourself —he said softly—. Stand up. We’re going to take off the pants too. I want to see what you’re hiding beneath all that armor.

—No… I can’t —I whispered.

—I only want to help you regain your confidence. No one is going to come in. But if you’ll feel calmer, go and lock the door yourself.

I went, trembling, and turned the key. The click of the lock sounded like thunder in the silence. There’s no going back, I thought, and a part of me, one I hadn’t known existed, smiled inside.

When I returned, he was looking at me with hungry yet gentle eyes.

—Now, in front of me. Without the pants.

I lowered them slowly, leaving my thick thighs bare and my soft belly exposed. I was left in panties and a bra in the middle of that enormous office, with the afternoon light coming through the windows and a man devouring me with his eyes.

He stood and looked me up and down, unhurriedly.

—I see a beautiful woman. Sexy. With a body that drives anyone crazy.

—You’re saying that to make me feel good because you’re my friend…

***

Then he took my hand and placed it over his crotch. I felt his hard, thick cock throbbing beneath the fabric of his pants, so large that my palm couldn’t encompass it. I pulled my hand away reflexively, but he held it there and forced me to squeeze it, to stroke it up and down over his pants.

—Believe me, friendship doesn’t cause this —he said in a hoarse voice—. Look what you do to a man without even touching yourself. I’m about to burst for you, piccola.

I was electrified. My body began responding on its own: my nipples hardened against the fabric of the bra, and I felt hot wetness soaking my panties; my breathing became short and uneven. In twenty-four years, I had never wanted anything so badly.

—Will you let me see more? —he asked—. Please.

I nodded faintly.

He came up behind me and, with a skill that surprised me, unclasped my bra in a single movement. My tits fell, heavy and free, my large, dark nipples hard as stones, pointing toward him. I heard his breath catch behind me and felt his hands move up my ribs until they caught each breast from underneath, weighing them as if measuring how much he could fit into each palm. His thumbs scraped over my nipples, and I bit my lip to keep from moaning.

—Madonna santa… I’ve never seen tits like these —he murmured against my nape—. Natural, heavy, made for a man to lose himself in.

Then he knelt and slowly lowered my panties, brushing his knuckles against the insides of my thighs. The fabric came away soaked, with a shining thread stretching and snapping against my pussy. He saw it and smiled.

—Look at you, bella. Dripping. And I haven’t even done anything to you yet.

I was completely naked, exposed as I had never been before anyone, my legs parting instinctively and my pussy throbbing in the open air.

—Let me touch you —he murmured against my belly—. Let me taste you, please.

I moved my head to say yes, unable to utter a word.

He took one of my tits in both hands and lifted it toward his mouth, his hot tongue circling the nipple before closing around it between his lips and sucking hard, hungrily, as if he wanted to tear it off. Then he released it and moved to the other, nibbling it slowly, pulling with his teeth until I moaned loudly. His other hand traveled down my belly, patiently, until it made its way between my legs and found my swollen, wet pussy.

His fingers parted my lips and found my clitoris without hesitation. He began rubbing it in slow circles, sliding through all my wetness, while he sucked my tits with an intensity that took my breath away. I arched against his hand, lost, panting things I didn’t even understand, pressing his head against my nipples.

—Say it, Renata. Tell me what you want.

—I don’t know… I don’t know —I stammered—. More… harder, please…

—Here? —he whispered, squeezing my clitoris between two fingers.

—Yes… there… oh God…

When he slid a finger inside me, I felt a brief, unfamiliar sting and let out a sharp cry. He curled his finger upward, searching for something deep inside, and tore a guttural moan from me that I didn’t recognize as my own. He added a second finger carefully, stretching me slowly, and began pumping them to the rhythm of the circles his thumb traced over my clitoris.

—So tight —he whispered against my ear, sucking my earlobe—. So closed, piccola. A truly virgin pussy. You’re soaking my whole hand.

Hearing those dirty words come from that elegant mouth was what finally broke me. The first orgasm of my life hit me like a wave without warning. My entire body trembled, my moans came out loud and shameless, and I clung to his shoulders as if I were about to fall off a cliff. I felt my pussy squeezing his fingers in spasms, wetness streaming down my thighs, and he kept rubbing me through every last tremor. I had never felt anything like it. Not even close.

***

When I finally opened my eyes, he was smiling at me with a calmness that gave me peace and vertigo at the same time. He brought his soaked fingers to his mouth and sucked them without taking his eyes off me, savoring me as if I were something expensive.

—Delicious —he said—. Now I want to taste you at the source.

He helped me lie back on the cool leather of the sofa and spread my legs wide, not allowing me to close them even a little. He knelt between my thick thighs and looked closely at my pussy, opening it with his thumbs, examining it like someone discovering a treasure.

—Pink, swollen, glistening. All mine for a while, right, bella?

—All yours —I whispered, not recognizing myself.

He lowered his mouth and gave me the first long lick, from bottom to top, slowly, pressing his tongue against my clitoris at the end. I arched and let out a muffled scream. He smiled against my pussy and did it again, and again, and again, until he began circling his tongue rapidly over my clitoris while slipping two fingers inside me once more and moving them at a steady rhythm.

I grabbed his gray hair with both hands, not knowing whether to push him closer or pull him away, and he moaned against my flesh, a deep purr that vibrated through me. He sucked my entire clitoris, enclosing it between his lips and tugging gently, then returned to his tongue without giving me a moment’s respite. I writhed on the leather, my tits bouncing with every jolt, my mouth open as I panted obscenities I had never uttered.

—Yes… keep going… don’t stop, please, don’t stop…

The second orgasm hit me harder than the first, shaking my hips against his face, and he didn’t pull away: he stayed there, drinking up everything that came out of me, his beard soaked, until I stopped trembling.

He lifted his gaze, his lips glistening, his green eyes black with desire.

—You really are a virgin —he said—. So tight, so untouched. It would be a crime to rush this and break you here, on a sofa, with a phone ringing at any moment.

—Don’t stop… —I begged, surprised by my own voice.

He smiled and climbed on top of me. I felt the hard bulge of his cock pressing against my soaked pussy through his pants, and instinctively I thrust my hips upward, seeking it. He chuckled softly and kissed me on the lips for the first time, a deep kiss with tongue, my own taste in his mouth.

—Look how worked up you are, little slut. You don’t even want to wait anymore.

—I want to see it —I whispered, daring for the first time in my life—. Let me see it. Even if it isn’t today. Let me see it.

He sat up, undid his belt, and pulled down his pants and underwear in one motion. His cock sprang out hard, long, and thick, with a red tip and a shining drop on the glans. My mouth went dry. I had never seen a real one, only in the few videos I’d watched secretly, and in person it was something else: heavy, alive, throbbing in time with his pulse.

—Touch it —he said in a rough voice, taking my hand and guiding it there—. Don’t be afraid. Close your fingers around it.

I grasped it and felt its weight, its hot skin, the thick vein running beneath it. I moved my hand up and down clumsily, and he let out a deep moan that made me squeeze my thighs together.

—That’s it, piccola, that’s it. Now your mouth. Just taste it. No rush.

I sat up a little and stuck out my tongue. I licked the drop from the glans first, salty and unfamiliar, then parted my lips and put the tip into my mouth. He hissed through his teeth and stroked my hair, guiding me slowly without forcing me.

—That’s it, suck it gently. With your tongue. No teeth. Perfect, bella, perfect.

I sucked it for several long minutes, learning, closing my lips more firmly each time, while my hand moved up and down at the base. I felt the taste change, becoming denser, and he gently tugged my hair to pull it from my mouth.

—Enough, or I’ll come all over your face right now, and your first time isn’t going to happen here.

He brushed a lock of hair from my face with a tenderness that didn’t fit with his hard cock resting against my cheek.

—Do you want to stop being a virgin, Renata?

—Yes —I whispered without hesitation.

—Then let me prepare something worthy of you. It won’t be here, among papers and ringing phones. Your first time deserves something else. Come to my house on Saturday. Dinner, wine, candles. And afterward I’ll show you, slowly, everything a man can do to a woman like you. I’ll fuck you slowly, all the way, until you forget your own name.

I nodded, still trembling, my legs soaked and his taste still in my mouth, unable to fully believe that this naked, surrendered woman was me. As he helped me get dressed, buttoning me up one button at a time as if carefully dismantling what he himself had ignited, I knew that something inside me had broken forever. The armor I’d carried for years.

That Saturday, when I crossed the threshold of his house and smelled wine and candles, I knew my life had just changed. And that, for the first time, someone truly saw me.