The Migrant Who Knocked on My Door That Rainy Afternoon

For those reading me for the first time, my name is Renata, though for years I’ve signed as Astarté, in honor of the goddess who in ancient times represented love and desire. I’m forty-nine, tall, with long legs and a firm belly, and I usually draw more than one look when I walk into a place. I was born in Colombia, but I live in a huge, chaotic city in the center of the continent, where my husband and I have built our life.

I almost always wear short, tight dresses, the kind that outline the figure without needing to show too much. I like feeling eyes on me, I confess. At my age I’m no longer embarrassed to say I enjoy awakening desire, in men and, why not, in women too. What I’m going to tell you really happened a few months ago, and I still have trouble believing I was capable of it.

It was a rainy Saturday. My husband had gone off to work and my daughters had each gone their own way with their partners. I was alone at home, restless, with that warm, uneasy feeling that won’t leave me alone when too many days go by without anyone touching me. I took a long shower, slid two fingers into my cunt under the stream of hot water until my legs trembled, and even so I came out of the bathroom with my tits hard and my nipples erect, as if the orgasm had only tickled me.

I put on a pale blue dress, plain and short, the kind that hints at more than it shows. Stockings that reached mid-thigh, open heels, and nothing under the dress except a very thin thong that disappeared between the lips of my cunt with every step. I decided not to wear a bra; I don’t like when the garment shows, and the truth is that that afternoon I wanted to feel free. I looked at myself in the mirror and smiled. You’re asking for trouble, Renata.

Over the past year, my city had filled up with people coming from very far away in search of a better life. Migrants from everywhere, many of them from Haiti, knocked on doors offering to do any kind of work in exchange for a few pesos or a hot meal. My husband and I, who also arrived in this country as foreigners, always tried to lend a hand when we could. And that afternoon, as if fate had read my thoughts, I had a pile of pending tasks that my daughters had refused to do.

The doorbell rang a little after four.

I opened the door and found a very tall young man with a shaved head and a hard, worked body, soaked through by the rain. I figured he was about twenty-six. He wore a tank top clinging to his chest and athletic pants that didn’t leave much to the imagination: a thick bulge hung low over his thigh, and I, who’m no saint, looked at it before I looked at his face.

“Good afternoon, ma’am,” he said with a sweet accent, meeting my eyes. “Don’t you have any work? I’ll do anything. I don’t want anyone’s handout, just a chance.”

Something in his voice, in that stubborn dignity, softened me. And something lower, in my belly, woke up when I saw how the wet fabric clung to his shoulders.

“Listen, sweetheart,” I told him, leaning on the frame, “I can’t pay you much, but I’ve got plenty of food and work too. Come in, leave your things at the entrance.”

“Do you live alone?” he asked, curious, as he looked around the house.

“No, I live with my husband and my daughters. They all went out today.” I smiled. “Today I’m alone.”

“Your house is very beautiful,” he murmured, and I noticed he was getting a little nervous.

I took him to the back patio, where I had overgrown shrubs and a couple of trees that were begging to be pruned. I explained where to start and sat at the garden table, with a direct view of him. The rain had stopped and the sun was beginning to warm the afternoon.

Watching him work was a pleasure in itself. After a while he took off his shirt so he wouldn’t soak it with sweat, and I drank in every drop running down his broad back and firm chest. Dear God, control yourself. But I didn’t want to control myself. Heat rose everywhere, inside me and out. Sitting in the garden chair, I crossed and uncrossed my legs until my thong grew wet on its own, and when he had his back turned I slipped a hand under the dress and rubbed my clit with two fingers, biting my lip so I wouldn’t moan.

I poured him a lemonade and took it to him myself instead of asking him to come get it. I leaned a little more than necessary when I set the glass on the bench, and I saw his eyes drop to my cleavage and then dart away, like he’d been caught stealing. I liked that shyness. I liked knowing I was making him nervous. I liked even more seeing, with no attempt to hide it, how the bulge in his pants gradually thickened against his thigh.

“Take your time, there’s no rush,” I told him, standing beside him and pretending to inspect the shrubs he’d just pruned. “You’re doing very well. You can tell you’re not afraid of work.”

“In my country I learned that laziness doesn’t fill your stomach, ma’am,” he replied, wiping his forehead with his forearm.

That seriousness of his, that maturity in such a young body, stirred something inside me I hadn’t expected. It wasn’t just desire. It was tenderness mixed with an old hunger that had been asleep for months, and a very concrete urge to have his cock inside me.

“What’s your name, sweetheart?” I asked when he came over to ask for water.

“Frantz,” he replied, drinking from the glass thirstily.

“And did you study there, before coming?”

“Yes, I finished high school with honors,” he said with shy pride.

“That says very good things about you.” I leaned in a little, letting my gaze fall where it needed to fall. “And tell me, a handsome boy like you must have left some girlfriend waiting for you.”

“No, ma’am,” he lowered his eyes, embarrassed. “The truth is… I’ve never been with a woman.”

I looked at him for a long time. The entire afternoon condensed into that sentence.

“Then we’ll have to do something about that,” I said softly.

“What did you say?” he asked, not understanding.

“Nothing, sweetheart. Come, help me with something.”

I walked slowly toward him. There were no more words. I kissed him, and he responded with a clumsiness that melted me, a mix of hunger and fear. I pushed my tongue all the way in, and after the first startled second he began to suck on it as if he’d never tasted anything so good. I ran my hands over his wet back while his, hesitant at first, slid down to my hips and then lower, until he grabbed my ass with a force that surprised me. I caught his wrist and guided one hand under the dress until his fingers brushed my soaked thong.

“Can you feel how wet I am?” I whispered against his mouth. “I’ve been like this since you opened the gate.”

He swallowed and nodded, unable to speak. I lowered his hand until one finger sank into the wet fabric, tracing the slit of my cunt through the cotton.

“That’s how I like it,” I said in his ear. “Don’t be afraid.”

He kissed my neck, sucked, bit, and I clung to his shoulders feeling his breathing speed up and the cock, hard as stone, press against my belly through his pants. Suddenly he lifted me off the ground as if I weighed nothing. I wrapped my legs around his waist, squeezing his cock between my panties and his pants, and I rubbed shamelessly against him while we kissed, deep and wet, on the way to the house.

***

He set me down on the edge of the bed. My hand went straight to his crotch, searching for what I could already guess beneath the fabric. He was hard, tight, and the garment showed a dark wet patch where the head was pushing. I yanked the waistband of his pants down and his cock sprang out, hard, heavy, bouncing against my palm. It was big, bigger than I expected, dark and firm, with thick veins marked along the shaft and a shiny tip slick with desire, already stringing out a thick drip of pre-cum.

“This isn’t the first one I’ve seen,” I told him, looking him in the eyes while I held it in my whole hand, “but with you I’m going to have to take my time.”

I spat from above, letting the strand of saliva fall slowly onto the head, and began to stroke him slowly, twisting my wrist on every upward motion, squeezing at the base as if I wanted to milk him. He let out a long, ragged gasp, and his knees gave way for a second. I smiled without stopping my pumping.

“Look at me,” I ordered. “I want you to watch me suck your cock.”

I stuck out my tongue and licked the head from bottom to top, circling the entire rim, gathering the pre-cum on the tip and tasting it with my eyes locked on his. Then I opened my mouth and took him in. First just the head, sucking with hollowed cheeks, playing with my tongue against the frenulum. Then I went deeper, and deeper, until I felt the head against the back of my throat. It drew a soft gag from me and my eyes filled with water, but I didn’t let him go. On the contrary, I swallowed him there for a few seconds, tightening my throat around him, until he gave a hoarse moan and grabbed my hair with both hands.

“Ay, ma’am…” he babbled, half in Spanish, half in his own language.

I started really sucking him, going in and out with a wet rhythm, letting strands of saliva drip onto his balls, which I took in my other hand to massage. He held my hair, not violently, but like someone clinging to something to keep his balance. When he pushed too much and I felt the head bump my uvula, I pulled away for a moment.

“Slowly,” I told him, my voice rough, a thread of spit hanging from my lip. “Don’t be in a hurry, the afternoon is long. If you come now, the party’s over.”

Frantz learned fast. He watched me as if I were teaching him the world. I licked his balls one by one, took them in my mouth little by little, and went back up the shaft sucking him from top to bottom like a popsicle. When I let him go, his cock was shining with saliva from tip to root and he looked at me with a mix of gratitude and urgency that made me feel powerful, almost divine.

He slipped the straps of my dress down my arms and my tits fell out, heavy, with nipples so hard they hurt. I moaned when I felt his warm mouth on them, his clumsy, eager lips sucking, tugging, nibbling little by little when he let go. I took his head and pressed it against my chest.

“Like that, bite them a little, I’m not going to break.”

He obeyed, and I felt the jolt shoot straight down to my cunt. He lowered his hands to the hem of my dress and pulled it up to my waist. He moved my thong aside with two fingers and stared at me for a second, as if asking permission, lips parted at the sight of my shaved cunt, swollen and glistening with so much juice.

“It’s all yours,” I told him, spreading my legs wide. “Eat me all the way.”

He knelt and kissed me between the legs with a devotion I hadn’t expected from someone inexperienced. He started out awkwardly, licking me without direction, and I guided his head with both hands.

“Right up here, sweetheart, see this little button? Suck it. Gently at first. Like that, like that… now flat tongue, long… lick me all over from bottom to top.”

He obeyed every instruction with an enthusiasm that left me breathless. He ran his tongue from the entrance of my cunt to my clit in long, greedy strokes, pausing at the top to suck my hood with his lips. When I felt him slide in one thick finger, then two, and curl them inside, searching for the right spot while he kept sucking my clit, I couldn’t take it anymore.

“Ay, like that, Frantz, like that, don’t stop, don’t stop for anything in the world…”

I arched over the bed, dug my fingers into his shaved skull, and pressed his face to my cunt while the orgasm shook me from top to bottom. I let out a cry that was probably heard in the street, and felt everything inside me contracting around his fingers. He didn’t let up. He kept licking until I had to pull his head away, because my clit was throbbing so sensitively it already hurt.

“Now yes,” I panted, my voice rough and my legs still trembling. “Come here. Put it in me.”

***

I led him to the living room sofa, where the afternoon light came in through the window. I settled myself back on the cushions, one leg bent and the other hanging down, and guided him toward me. I grabbed his cock and rubbed it for a while between the lips of my cunt, soaking it completely, grinding the head against my clit until he let out a desperate whimper.

“Go in,” I told him. “Slowly.”

The first thrust was slow, careful, as if he were afraid of hurting me. I felt the thick head open me little by little, the whole shaft filling me centimeter by centimeter until it touched bottom. I let out a long, obscene moan and buried my heels in his back so he would stay there, all the way inside, for a second.

“God, you’re so big…” I murmured. “You fill me completely.”

I took his face between my hands.

“Don’t hold back,” I told him. “I want to really feel you. Ruin me, I won’t complain.”

Then he let go. He fucked me with a new force, deep, discovering with each movement what his body was capable of doing. Every thrust ripped a growl from me and made my tits bounce against my chest. He held my legs, lifted them onto his shoulders, and from that angle began to fuck me from top to bottom, driving his cock to the hilt on every downward stroke, with a wet, sticky sound filling the room.

“That’s it, that’s it, give it all to me, don’t hold anything back,” I moaned in his ear. “Fuck me, Frantz, fuck me hard.”

He learned every filthy word I taught him and gave it back to me in broken Spanish and in pieces of his mother tongue. I lost myself in that feeling of being completely open to a stranger who that same morning hadn’t known I existed, with a twenty-six-year-old’s cock buried all the way to the throat of my cunt.

“I liked you from the moment you opened the door,” he confessed between gasps, without stopping his thrusts.

“Well, here I am,” I replied, laughing against his neck. “Enjoy me. Ruin my cunt if you want.”

I pulled him out for a moment and turned around on the sofa, on my knees, ass lifted and hands braced on the backrest. I looked at him over my shoulder.

“Come on. Put it in me like this, from behind. And grab my hips.”

I felt his big hands squeeze my waist, and then his cock sinking back into me in one long stroke, all the way to the bottom. I screamed. He started fucking me doggy-style with an increasingly brutal rhythm, smacking my ass clumsily when I asked him to, pulling my hair when I showed him how. I could feel his balls slapping against my clit on every drive, and that friction carried me into a second orgasm that soaked the entire sofa, my mouth open against the cushions and my hands clutching the fabric.

We did it on the sofa, against the wall with my legs hanging from his arms, on the carpet with him lying on his back and me riding him, going up and down on his cock while he squeezed my tits and sucked my nipples. Frantz had the stamina of his age and I had the experience of mine, and between the two of us we made something that didn’t resemble anything I’d lived through in years. At some point my phone rang and I let it ring. Nothing in the world was going to pull me out of that afternoon.

When I felt him tense beneath me, breathing in broken gasps, I hopped off and knelt between his legs.

“In my mouth,” I ordered, grabbing it and jerking him off quickly with both hands, aiming him at my parted lips. “Come in my mouth, sweetheart. All of it.”

It only took a few more seconds. He let out a long roar and his cock jerked in my hands while the first stream of semen spilled hot onto my tongue, then another on my lips, another on my chin and tits. It was thick, a lot of it, more than I’d expected. I kept pumping him with my hand, milking him to the last drop, sucking the head so nothing would be left. Then I showed him my tongue full and swallowed, looking him in the eyes.

“Delicious,” I told him, licking my lips. “My compliments.”

We finished sweaty, tangled together, laughing like two conspirators, with his cum drying on my chest and his cock still hard, slowly softening between my fingers. He sat up to clean himself and I told him it wasn’t necessary, that we were already too mixed up to pretend to be shy. I kissed him one last time, slow, without hurry, letting him taste his own flavor in my mouth.

“Was it good?” he asked, still with that trace of shyness I’d loved.

“It was perfect,” I told him, stroking his cheek. “Never forget this afternoon.”

I fed him, packed a bag with provisions for him, and paid him much more than the pruning was worth. When he left, he stopped at the door and looked at me as if he wanted to say something. He didn’t. He only smiled and disappeared under the gray sky that threatened rain again.

I closed the door and stood there for a while leaning against it, my heart still racing and my cunt throbbing, sticky, between my legs. You’re shameless, Renata. Maybe. But at forty-nine I learned that desire doesn’t announce itself, that it comes when you least expect it and knocks on your door on a rainy afternoon. And I, who call myself the goddess of love, wasn’t willing to let it pass me by.

I like helping those in need. That afternoon, we both came out ahead. Until the next confession.