The Mature Customer at the Bakery in My Neighborhood

There are routines you repeat without thinking, until one day something goes awry and nothing is ever the same again. Mine was going down on Saturday mornings to the bakery three blocks from my house, the one that had been there forever and made the puff pastries that drove me wild. At twenty-five, I already considered myself a woman of habits: coffee, the newspaper I never read, and my bag of hot pastries on the way home.

As a regular customer, you end up getting to know everyone. The owner, the two girls behind the counter, and the usual patrons who happened to come in at the same time as me. Marcos was one of them.

Marcos was a mature man, around forty-eight, though I found out his exact age much later. He had a receding hairline, a few gray hairs showing through his short, well-kept beard, and a small belly that suited him perfectly. He was the kind of man who grew older with confidence, without fighting time. Always friendly, always with something pleasant to say.

“Good morning, Carla. How’s your week going?” he would say every time, and he stayed to listen to the answer as if he genuinely cared.

For months, that was all it was. A cordial greeting, a two-minute chat in the line, a comment about the heat or how good the oven smelled. Nothing more. I had filed him away as the nice man from the bakery, and that was it.

The change began one Saturday in late spring, one of those silly days when you don’t know whether you’re going to be cold or hot. The muggy heat was already pressing down in the mornings, so I went down wearing whatever I had on: a tank top and shorts. Nothing out of the ordinary, just cool clothes for going there and back without overheating.

***

I arrived to find a line. The owner had gone into the back room to fetch an order, and there was only an elderly woman ahead of me. Marcos arrived behind me, wearing his usual smile.

“Carla, you’re always so punctual,” he joked.

We started talking about anything and everything, as we had so many times before. But that morning I noticed something different. While we talked, his gaze occasionally slipped toward my cleavage. It didn’t bother me; I think that’s perfectly natural as long as a person doesn’t stand there staring. What changed my expression was something else.

Along one side of the shop were glass-fronted refrigerators filled with soft drinks and a few cakes. If you looked closely, the glass reflected half the store. And when I glanced sideways, I realized that whenever I turned toward the counter, Marcos couldn’t take his eyes off my ass.

So that was it.

I’m not going to lie: I liked it. Knowing that this mature, calm man—the one who greeted me so politely—was silently devouring me put me in a strange mood. A mischievous one. Something lit up inside me, a sort of game I decided to play without warning him. I felt my nipples harden beneath the tank top, braless and shamelessly outlined, and I knew he was seeing it too.

I started moving a little more than necessary. I bent slowly toward the lower shelves, exaggerating the motion, giving him a privileged view of my cleavage and the curve of my back down to the top of my ass, where my shorts wedged between my buttocks. I turned to talk to him, gesturing close to my breasts, and spoke in a softer voice than usual. You should have seen how flushed he became. If there hadn’t been other people around, I could swear that man would have tried something right there.

My turn came, so I placed my order—the blessed puff pastries—and when I picked them up, I couldn’t resist taking a quick look at his crotch. An interesting bulge was beginning to show beneath his trousers, a cock that looked thick and already half-hard, pressed against the fabric. He noticed that I had seen it. I smiled at him with all the mischief I could muster, licked my lips without trying to hide it, and left without saying a word, feeling his gaze fixed on my ass all the way to the door.

***

From that day on, our encounters changed tone. Every Saturday there were looks that lasted a little longer, double entendres, laughter that dragged on. I flirted, he responded, and the tension rose week by week, like someone slowly turning up the volume.

Until one morning the bakery was packed. Too many people, too much heat inside. Marcos and I, without discussing it, decided to wait outside on the sidewalk until the rush died down. And there, without the audience at the counter, our flirting got out of hand.

First, his hand landed on my shoulder, as if by accident. Then came a brush against my arm. Then he moved close enough for me to feel, against my hip, the hard cock I had been imagining for weeks. I’m not made of stone. Mature men had always caught my attention, and having one like that, so confident and so hot, with that cock pressing against me, was driving me crazy. I could feel my pussy already wet beneath my shorts, throbbing.

In a burst of boldness I hadn’t expected even from myself, I made a gesture. It was anything but subtle, to be honest: I pushed my tongue against the inside of my cheek, imitating the bulge of a cock in my mouth, and made it perfectly clear what I was thinking. Marcos’s eyes went wide. He leaned toward my ear as his hand slowly slid down my back.

“Are you serious?” he whispered. “That gesture… do you really want to suck it?”

I confess that, out of sheer innocence, I expected him to react like the guys my age. The kind who stare at you, dazed, when you provoke them, biting their lips, and at most the bravest one dares to try something. Not Marcos. Marcos went straight to the point, and the question, put that way, without any filter, caught me completely off guard. It turned me on even more. A quiet moan escaped me.

“Uh-huh…” I replied, biting my lip. “All of it. Can we go to your place?”

“Mmm… of course. Right now.”

As we walked away from the bakery, his hand finally reached my ass and squeezed it hard, his fingers sinking into the flesh through my shorts, before he pulled it away quickly in case anyone was watching. He lived nearby, just a couple of doors down. My heart felt ready to burst, and my panties were already soaked.

***

He made me climb the stairs ahead of him, probably so he could keep enjoying the view, and every so often he ran his open hand over my ass, no longer bothering to hide it, squeezing one cheek at each landing. Once inside the apartment, there was no offer of a glass of water or any preliminaries. He slammed the door shut, grabbed me by the nape, and kissed me for the first time—a dirty kiss, with tongue from the very first second—while his other hand slipped beneath my shirt and pinched one of my nipples until I moaned into his mouth.

“I’ve wanted to do this for months,” he murmured against my lips. “Months watching you parade that ass around the bakery and holding myself back from ripping your shorts off.”

He took me into the living room, shoved me down onto the sofa, and pulled his trousers down without any further detours. His cock sprang free, hard and thick, its tip already glistening with fluid. He wasn’t wearing anything underneath, which was why it showed so clearly. It was bigger than I had imagined, much thicker than the ones belonging to guys my age, with a prominent vein running along the underside and heavy balls hanging swollen beneath it.

When I saw that everything was going to happen so directly, I simply opened my mouth, took hold of it with one hand, and shoved it in. He was my first mature man, and the thought of being there, kneeling on the floor in front of that gentleman who had greeted me so politely for months, with his cock filling my mouth, had me completely surrendered. I began slowly, sucking the tip, running my tongue over the glans, savoring the salty taste of pre-cum. Then I began swallowing it whole, inch by inch, until I felt his balls bumping against my chin.

“Mmm, fuck, you suck it so well,” he panted. “I never imagined you were such a little slut, Carla. With that good-girl face, and look at you swallowing it.”

I answered with a muffled moan around his cock, letting the vibration run all the way along it. I began moving my head up and down at a steady pace, helping myself with one hand at the base, twisting my wrist, while my other hand caressed his balls. A long growl escaped him. Then he placed one hand behind my neck and set the rhythm himself, deeper than I had been going, fucking my mouth as he pleased. I gagged slightly when he pushed it all the way down my throat, and a thread of saliva began falling from my chin onto my tits.

I was stunned: the kind, quiet man from the line had transformed completely. Now he was the one in charge, the one sliding in and out of my mouth faster and faster, while I braced my hands on his hips and let him use me, my eyes watering and my mascara running down my cheeks.

“To be honest,” he said hoarsely, pulling it out for a moment and rubbing it over my face, “I’ve been jerking off for weeks thinking about your mouth. And look at you now, on your knees, with my cock covered in your spit. You’re begging to be fucked until you break, gorgeous.”

He shoved it back into my mouth and grabbed me by my pigtails to fuck my throat harder. I breathed through my nose as best I could, my face burning, letting him use me, enjoying being like that like a bitch. Sometimes a tear sprang to my eye when he pushed too hard, but as soon as he noticed, he eased up for a moment, attentive, and then continued.

Without taking his cock from my mouth, he crouched down and ripped my shirt over my head. My tits sprang free, and he let out a gasp when he saw them. He bent over, squeezed one in his hand, took the nipple into his mouth, and sucked it hard, biting just enough to make me moan. Then, without warning, he slipped his hand inside my shorts and went straight for my pussy. He found my panties soaked through.

“Fuck, Carla, you’re dripping,” he said with a crooked smile. “Your pussy got this wet just from sucking me, didn’t it? Stand up.”

He threw me onto my back on the sofa and ripped off my shorts and panties in one pull. He spread my legs wide and stared at my shaved pussy, gleaming with wetness, before burying his face between my thighs. He licked me from bottom to top in one movement, and I screamed. Guys my age didn’t eat pussy like that. Marcos knew what he was doing. He curled his tongue around my clitoris, drove it into my entrance, sucked my lips, then returned to my clitoris and stayed there, tapping it rapidly with the tip of his tongue while he pushed two thick fingers inside me.

“Oh God, Marcos, like that, don’t stop, fuck, don’t stop…” I moaned, grabbing his head and pushing him against my pussy.

His fingers slid in and out with an obscene, wet sound, and he stuck out his tongue to speak to me without stopping.

“Do you like having this little girl pussy eaten, huh? Look how you’re dripping all over the sofa, slut.”

He went back to sucking. He curled his fingers inside me, pressing against a spot that made me lift my hips off the sofa, and my mouth couldn’t keep up with my moans. I came with a scream, squeezing my thighs against his face, trembling all over, while he kept licking until the very last spasm.

“You can’t imagine how much it turns me on to watch you come,” he said, licking his glistening lips. “Come here. There’s something I’ve always wanted to try, and you seem willing.”

He lifted me from the sofa with a strength I hadn’t expected and took me against the wall, still dazed from the orgasm. He turned me around, pushed me against the wall, and forced me to arch my ass. I felt his cock rest for a moment against the entrance to my pussy, rubbing itself and coating itself in my juices, then he drove it in hard, all the way, without mercy.

A long cry escaped me. It was thick—very thick—and stretched me in a way I had never felt before. I was breathless for a second, my hands spread against the wall, while he stayed still, buried inside me, breathing against the nape of my neck.

“What a tight pussy you have, fuck,” he growled. “I’m going to fuck you until you can’t walk.”

And he began to move. Hard. His hips slammed against my ass, and the sound of flesh striking flesh echoed throughout the living room, mixed with my moans and his grunts. He grabbed my hair, pulling my head back to arch me farther, and with his other hand he squeezed one buttock, spreading it so he could watch himself slide in and out. I was floating, eyes half closed, feeling every thrust shake my tits against the cold wall.

“Tell me you like it,” he demanded. “Tell me what you like about having it inside you.”

“I love it, fuck, I love it, don’t stop, shove your cock all the way inside me…” I panted, barely able to speak.

He pressed his open palm against my upper back, pinning me completely against the wall, and kept going fearlessly, glancing at me whenever I turned my face toward him. All I could do was hold his gaze and watch him enjoy himself—not only from his expression, but from the way he moaned each time, mouth open, showing me his teeth.

He pulled his cock out abruptly, turned me around again, lifted one of my legs until my foot rested on the sofa, and pushed it back inside me, now facing me, face-to-face. He fucked me pressed close against my body, his tongue slipping into my mouth between thrusts, one hand squeezing a breast and the other beneath my ass, lifting me slightly to enter more deeply. I felt his cock strike the back of my pussy every time, that deep spot that made me clench my teeth.

“You drive me crazy, Carla. You’re going to kill me,” he panted against my neck. “You’re going to make me come already, fuck.”

“Yes, come, come wherever you want,” I moaned. “Everything. Give me everything.”

“Hold on, hold on a little longer, sweetheart…” he said through clenched teeth, quickening the pace.

He drove into me at a savage rhythm, giving me no respite. I felt another orgasm rising from my feet, and when it arrived I grabbed his shoulders and dug my nails into him while my pussy clenched in spasms around his cock. He felt it and let out a loud growl.

“Fuck, yes, squeeze it, squeeze it all…”

I felt it throb inside me and knew what was coming. I prepared myself for anything, but at the last moment he pulled out abruptly, pushed me down again onto my knees, and finished right in front of my face. The first streak of semen ran from my forehead to my chin. Three, four, five more spurts, abundant and thick, splashing onto my cheeks, lips, and the tongue I instinctively stuck out, even into my hair. He kept coming, hurriedly stroking himself in front of me, while I stayed still, mouth half open, letting him paint me all over.

I was left with my face burning, my chin smeared, my chest splattered, and an expression of ecstasy I couldn’t hide. I swallowed what had landed on my tongue, slowly, looking him in the eyes, and he gasped when he saw me. He gathered the cum running down my cheek with two fingers and brought it to my lips, slowly pushing it inside. I sucked it off without looking away.

“You really are beautiful, Carla,” he said with a crooked smile, breathless. “But like this, with my cum all over your face, you look incredible. You should come by more often so I can empty my balls into you, slut.”

He took a deep breath, let out a low laugh, and accompanied me to the bathroom so I could clean myself up. While I washed my face in front of the mirror, semen still trickling down my neck, his hands continued roaming wherever they pleased: one breast, my ass, between my legs, slipping in a lazy finger to feel that I was still open. By then I let him do whatever he wanted without the slightest resistance, pressing myself against him. If I’m being honest, I had been letting him do that long before.

***

We agreed to do it again, but that’s another story I’ll tell another day. What I learned that hot morning, among the smell of freshly baked bread and the revealing reflection of a refrigerator, is that the quietest people often hide the most intense appetites. And that sometimes all it takes is a stolen look at a woman’s ass to turn an entire routine upside down.

Marcos continued greeting me with the same politeness as always whenever we crossed paths in the line. “Good morning, Carla. How’s your week?” And I returned his smile, knowing this time exactly what kind of cock was hidden beneath all that courtesy.