The Confession in a Catholic Woman’s Car

I met her on some ordinary early morning, one of those nights when you start talking to strangers without expecting anything serious and end up running into someone who scrambles your mind. Her name was Elvira, though that wasn’t her real name, and from the very first message she made it clear that she wasn’t like the women I usually went out with. She was reserved, well-mannered, with that tone of a woman accustomed to controlling what she says and what she shows.

For several days we talked about everything. Work, books, families too involved in other people’s lives, and relationships that had gone wrong. She was just over thirty, elegant, and so strictly brought up that you could tell even through the chat. She came from a conservative, Catholic background, the kind where desire is hidden behind a proper smile and an immaculate skirt.

The first time we met, we only had a few beers. It was a quiet date, without any major surprises, except for the way she looked at me whenever I made some dirty joke. She wasn’t scandalized, but she didn’t play along either. She smiled, lowered her eyes, and changed the subject, as if she wanted to protect one part of herself.

Then the late-night messages began. That was when she wasn’t so restrained anymore. She started telling me what she thought about sex, desire, the body, and the idea of arriving “intact” at a relationship she considered important. It sounded contradictory to me, because in the same conversation in which she defended that boundary, she also asked me how I kissed, where I liked to touch, and how long it took a woman to come with me.

—I don’t want to sleep with just anyone —she wrote to me one night—. But I’m not made of stone either.

—I’d already figured that out —I replied.

She took a few seconds to answer.

—Don’t make fun of me.

—I’m not. I’m just saying I’d love to find out how far your self-control goes.

Her response was a long silence, followed by a sentence that left me smiling at the screen.

—Maybe not as far as you think.

We saw each other again a few days later. I picked her up at dusk and we went for a drink at a discreet place on the other side of town. She was wearing a light-colored blouse, a dark skirt, and that clean perfume that didn’t need to announce itself to linger in your nose. She talked calmly through dinner, but under the table she brushed my leg twice with hers. It wasn’t accidental.

When we left, she told me she still didn’t want to go home. I drove to a quiet street beside an almost-empty park and switched off the engine. For a few seconds neither of us did anything. We simply looked at each other, with the tension built up through all those messages hanging in the car’s close air.

—If I kiss you, don’t start preaching afterward —I said.

—If you kiss me, don’t make me talk —she replied, turning her face slightly toward mine.

I kissed her slowly at first. Her lips were tense, as if she still had doubts, but as soon as I bit her lower lip she grabbed me by the nape and kissed me back hungrily. Her tongue came out quick and hot, and immediately she stopped seeming like a prudent woman. She began breathing harder, pressing her breasts against mine, letting out little moans against my mouth.

I slipped my hand along her thigh and felt her tremble. She didn’t pull away. On the contrary, she spread her legs a little farther in the seat and rested her forehead on my shoulder.

—In the back —she murmured—. Let’s go in the back.

We climbed into the back seat clumsily and hurriedly. As soon as she closed the door, she unbuttoned her blouse and left her tits bare. They were firm and round, with nipples stiff from arousal and the slight chill of the night. It was obvious she didn’t do this often, but also that she had wanted it for far too long.

I sucked one of her nipples while she tore my shirt open. She pressed my head against her chest and arched her back, letting out a longer moan, already without that initial restraint. I pushed her skirt up to her waist and pulled down her panties. She was almost completely shaved, leaving only a narrow strip of hair that gave her an intensely filthy appeal.

I ran a finger between her lips and pulled it out wet. Much wetter than she herself would have admitted.

—So this was the woman who was going to wait —I whispered against her neck.

—Shut up and keep going —she said, panting.

I knelt as best I could between her legs and opened her pussy with my fingers. The first lick made her whole body tremble. The second left her hands buried in my hair. She tasted clean and hot, and her hoarse moan grew dirtier each time my tongue brushed her clitoris.

I licked her without hurrying, tracing her whole slit with my tongue, pushing it inside, coming back up to press her clitoris with the tip and then with my whole mouth. She writhed on the seat, throwing her head back, heels knocking against the door. Every time she tried to pull away from the intensity, I held her thighs and buried my face between her legs again.

—Fuck... not like that... I’m not going to last like this —she said.

—That’s the idea.

I pushed two fingers inside her slowly, curling them inside while I kept sucking her. I felt her pussy close around my hand. She began moving her hips on her own, fucking herself on my fingers, pressing her clitoris against my tongue like a desperate woman. There was no trace left of guilt or propriety. Only years of pent-up horniness.

—Don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t stop —she repeated, her voice broken.

I obeyed. I barely bit her clitoris, licked it again, and felt her come in a sudden spasm, clamping my head between her thighs. She came moaning loudly, unable to keep quiet, wetting my mouth and fingers. She spent a few seconds breathing in ragged gasps before looking at me with a mixture of embarrassment and arousal.

I came up to kiss her, and she let me make her taste herself from my mouth. She didn’t make that gesture of pulling away that some women do. On the contrary, she kissed me more filthily, as if that detail had finally broken the little resistance she had left.

My cock was already out of my trousers, hard and tense. She looked at it for a second, swallowed, and settled in front of me on the seat. She held the base with one hand and slowly stroked me with the other.

—Don’t look at me like that —she said—. You make me even more nervous.

—You’ve got a cock in front of you. Do something with those nerves.

She let out a short laugh, leaned down, and ran her tongue over the tip. Slowly. As if she wanted to memorize the taste before swallowing me. Then she opened her mouth wider and began sucking me at a slow rhythm, letting saliva run down the shaft. She stuck out her tongue to circle it, took it back in, tightened her lips, and looked up at me with an expression that had nothing innocent about it.

I brushed her hair away from her face and guided her with my hand. She understood immediately. She lowered herself farther, taking me halfway, then a little deeper, letting air out through her nose. I could tell she wanted to do it well, to surrender completely to the blowjob, and that made me even harder.

—Deeper —I told her.

She didn’t argue. She swallowed me as far as she could, with a soft gag that didn’t make her retreat. She did it again, this time holding my hips to set the pace herself. My hand on the back of her head squeezed a little harder, and she answered with a muffled moan around my cock. The vibration ran through my whole body.

She wasn’t sucking timidly anymore. She sucked me eagerly, moving her mouth up and down, playing with her tongue on the tip whenever she needed to breathe and then sinking back down to the base. The corners of her lips were full of saliva and her eyes were wet. That sight alone would have driven anyone crazy.

—You have a great mouth —I murmured.

She looked at me without stopping her handjob, her hand wet with her own saliva, and then swallowed me whole again. That drew a growl from me. I held out as long as I could, but she was taking me to the edge with obscene precision.

When I felt myself coming, I warned her too late. She didn’t pull her head away. She kept sucking me as I came, swallowing some of it and letting the rest fall onto her hand and chest. She withdrew slowly, breathing through her mouth, and spat the last of it out through the half-open car door.

—I didn’t think I’d do that —she said, wiping herself with her fingers.

—I did.

We stayed silent for a few seconds. She straightened her blouse, pulled up her panties, and returned to the front seat with her face still red. I drove her home. Before she got out, she kissed me quickly and whispered in my ear:

—Don’t think that changes my boundaries.

—No —I told her—. It only makes them more interesting.

***

We kept seeing each other for a while. Always with that absurd tension between what she claimed to stand for and what she ended up doing whenever she was alone with me. There were more nights in the car, more long blowjobs, more fingers under her skirt, and more half-swallowed cum, accompanied by an expression of surprise I no longer believed.

But the night that truly undid her was when she agreed to come to my apartment.

I picked her up on a Friday. We went out to dinner, drank wine, and talked as if we were a respectable couple. She was wearing a tight black dress, open at one side of the thigh, and a light-colored coat that she took off when she came inside. I poured her a drink and we sat on the sofa. It took less than ten minutes for her to set the glass on the table and look at me with that mixture of nerves and determination I already knew.

—I’m not staying long —she said.

—Perfect. Then we’d better not waste time.

I kissed her standing beside the sofa. This time there was no timid phase. She opened my mouth with her tongue, grabbed my ass, and rubbed her thigh between my legs. I pulled down the zipper of her dress, and the black fabric fell at her feet. Underneath, she was wearing black lingerie too, elegant and understated, like everything about her. A lace bra, tiny panties, and stockings held up by garters.

—Fuck —I said, looking at her—. For a woman who didn’t want to provoke anyone, you came far too prepared.

—Don’t confuse my principles with my tastes.

She took off her bra slowly, watching me. Her tits came free, perfect, their nipples already hard. Then she pulled her panties down to her ankles and knelt in front of me before I could say anything. She did it with a confidence that completely erased the image of the demure woman she had tried to sell me.

She pulled out my cock and began licking it from base to tip, as if she wanted to tease me before putting it in her mouth. I stroked her hair and watched her tongue work slowly, wetly, provocatively. When she finally closed her lips around me, she let out a quiet moan that made me squeeze her shoulder.

She moved her head up and down steadily, swallowing more each time, leaving my cock gleaming with saliva. At some moments she grabbed my balls and massaged them while she sucked. At others, she looked up at me with the face of a respectable woman doing something clearly indecent, and that made me twice as horny.

—That’s it... don’t stop —I told her.

She took me deeper, all the way to her throat, keeping up the rhythm without pulling me out completely. She was so wet that every thrust of her mouth sounded obscene in the living room. When she realized I was close, she sped up even more, as if she wanted to force me to come wherever she pleased.

I didn’t let her. I pulled her away just in time and masturbated over her tits. My cum landed hot on her chest and neck. She closed her eyes for a moment and then looked at herself, surprised by the amount.

—Go clean that up —I told her.

It hadn’t sounded like a deliberate order, but she received it as one. She stood, went to the bathroom, and came back a few minutes later wearing only her stockings, completely naked from the waist up and down. There was something even more exciting about that return than the blowjob. She no longer seemed torn between two versions of herself. She was simply horny.

She lay down on the bed and beckoned to me with one finger. I went to her and we kissed again, more calmly this time. I grabbed one of her tits, sucked a nipple, and moved slowly down her stomach. Her skin was goosefleshed. I opened her legs and found her pussy swollen and shiny, begging for attention.

I ran my tongue from bottom to top and she let out a sharp gasp. I repeated the motion several times, stopping at her clitoris to lick it with the tip and then suck it with my whole mouth. Her hands searched for the sheet, crumpling it, and then moved down to my head to set the pace.

I pushed in one finger, then two. I moved them slowly while my mouth kept working above. She spread her legs wider, offering herself, wet and moving her pelvis against my face. I heard her breathing breaking at times, turning into short moans and then half-formed phrases.

—There... fuck... right there again.

I obeyed. I pushed my tongue deeper, pulled out my fingers, put them inside her again, and then brought them to her mouth for her to suck. She did it without taking her eyes off me. Then she touched her clitoris with one hand while I buried my face between her legs again, and that gesture of participating, of getting dirty with me, transformed the scene into something much wilder.

I made her come a second time. This one was less loud than the one in the car, but deeper. Her thighs trembled, she squeezed her legs against my head, and she let out a long, hoarse moan while she wet my mouth. I kept sucking her for a few more seconds, knowing it drove her crazy.

When I came back up, my cock was hard again. I pressed it between the lips of her pussy and watched her tense.

—I want to put it in you —I told her.

She drew a deep breath.

—Just the tip... not too deep.

The sentence made me hot and at the same time made her limit clear. I didn’t insist. I spread her legs farther, held my cock in my hand, and slowly slid it against her wet entrance. The friction drew a moan from both of us. I pushed gently, and the tip went in. Her pussy was tight and hot, gripping me firmly.

—Like that —she said—. Slowly.

I began moving in short strokes, rubbing the tip and a little more, pulling out and sliding back in without going all the way. The pleasure was strange and brutal. I watched her bite her lip, grab her tits, push her hips a little, asking for more while holding herself back. I stroked her clitoris with my thumb while penetrating her along that limited path, and it made her more and more aroused.

—Are you sure you don’t want more? —I asked in her ear.

—Don’t tease me... keep going like that.

I obeyed, but changed the angle so I could rub her better inside. Each short thrust was accompanied by my hand on her clitoris and my mouth on her neck, biting, sucking, breathing over her. She began moaning louder and grabbing my ass to pull me closer. Her hips were already seeking depth, even though her head said otherwise.

I held out as long as I could, but I knew I wasn’t going to come like that. I pulled out before losing control and lay on my back on the bed.

—Come here —I told her—. Climb on.

She looked at me uncertainly for a second, until she understood what I wanted. She positioned herself backward over me, leaving her pussy at my face and my cock level with her mouth. The sight aroused me immediately. I grabbed her thighs and began licking her slit again while she swallowed my cock almost angrily, as if she needed to release somewhere all she had been holding back.

The sixty-nine lasted quite a while. I buried my tongue in her pussy, alternating broad licks with direct sucking on her clitoris, and she answered by sucking me with brutal abandon, letting the tip hit her throat. The sound of her mouth, her moans around my cock, and the taste of her arousal filling everything created a filthy, perfect rhythm.

At one point she raised herself slightly, pulled her lips away from my cock, and said between gasps:

—If you make me come again, you’re going to come in my mouth.

—Deal.

I pressed harder on her clitoris with my tongue and pushed two fingers inside her at the same time. She answered by swallowing me whole and moving her head quickly, without delicacy. I felt her grow wetter, felt her pussy contract around my fingers, felt her thighs tremble. She came over my face with a muffled moan because my cock was still in her mouth. That finished me.

I grabbed her head and came inside her mouth. She endured my ejaculation without pulling away, swallowing part of it and letting another part escape from the corner of her lips. When she withdrew, her face was red, her hair disheveled, and she wore an expression of pure bewilderment at how much she had enjoyed everything.

We lay there for a few minutes, naked and breathing hard. I stroked her thigh while she played with her fingers over my chest, calmer now. There was something almost tender in that silence after the filth.

—I don’t know how this fits with the image I had of myself —she finally said.

—Maybe that image was incomplete.

She laughed under her breath.

—Maybe with you I just get too slutty.

—That fits better with what I just saw.

She gave me a soft smack on the shoulder and kissed me again. Then she dressed unhurriedly, picking up one by one the black garments she had left scattered across the floor. Before we went to sleep for a while, she asked me for water. I brought it to the bed, and she drank it sitting up, naked beneath the sheet, her hair still tousled by my hands.

***

The next morning she woke with a strange calm, as if the night had served to drain some very old tension from her. We showered separately, got dressed, and I invited her to have breakfast at a small churro shop on the way to her neighborhood. There, with coffee in front of her and her expression composed again, she seemed like a different woman from the one who had come twice on my face and swallowed my cock until she left me dry.

But I knew they were the same woman.

—Don’t look at me like that in public —she said when she noticed my smile.

—Like what?

—As if you knew exactly what I sound like when you eat my pussy.

I couldn’t help laughing. She lowered her eyes, shook her head, and ended up smiling too. Then she dipped a churro into the chocolate and added quietly:

—Next time, if we’re going in the car, bring water and towels. I’m not getting out of there again with my legs trembling like that.

—So there’ll be a next time.

She held my gaze for a couple of seconds and nodded, without drama, without promises of love or speeches about guilt. Just the acknowledgment of a simple truth: however wholesome and proper she wanted her idea of relationships to seem, when she was with me she ended up begging for tongue, mouth, and cock with a hunger that had nothing saintly about it.

I dropped her off at her house shortly afterward. Before getting out of the car, she grabbed me by the nape, kissed me hard, and whispered in my ear:

—I still believe in my boundaries.

—Of course —I told her—. And I still believe that beneath that proper woman there’s a delicious slut.

She bit her lip, looked at me with a gleam in her eyes, and got out of the car without answering. But the way she walked slowly toward her building, squeezing her thighs together as if she could still remember my tongue, was answer enough.