The Receptionist Who Came Upstairs to Return My Card

Marina was the receptionist at an apartment complex set around a pool, right on the seafront. Ever since I discovered the place, whenever work forced me to travel along that coast I tried to book one of those apartments. They were spacious, with a huge two-hundred-by-two-hundred bed, a jacuzzi, and a view of the Mediterranean worth every euro.

Marina and I had the kind of familiarity that comes from crossing paths several times while booking at the same place. We spoke informally. She must have been about forty-seven, with a body honed in the gym and hair that always looked freshly done at the salon. Dark-haired, with long waves falling softly over her shoulders. And a perfume that lingered in reception after she passed through.

That afternoon I arrived a little tight on time. Marina finished her shift at seven, and there was less than half an hour left. You could tell she was eager to leave, and that shared sort of laziness was what led to a longer-than-usual conversation while she filled out the paperwork and offered me a machine coffee.

We talked about nonsense, about how hot that summer had been, about how empty the complex was during the week. She rested her elbows on the counter and leaned toward me whenever she asked something, as if the distance between us did not matter much to her. I nodded at everything without really listening, more focused on her mouth and the way she played with the pen between her fingers.

She wore tight Lycra jeans that clung to her long legs like a second skin, and a knitted top stuck to her body that showed a generous cleavage between her breasts. I could not help making a comment about her figure. She did not so much as flinch, and I felt like an idiot on the spot.

—Marina, with a deep sigh they’d slip right out of that top —I said, and laughed to myself, nervously.

Not a trace of reaction. I wanted to apologize, and the words would not come. The truth was that what I really wanted was to fuck her, and everything else was just roundaboutness.

I had been assigned an apartment a little apart from the rest. In the complex they usually walked you to the door as a courtesy, so you would not get lost and would know how to find it later. That time it was the same, and she was the one who accompanied me.

The apartment was on a first floor reached by a narrow staircase, single file. When we got to the bottom she let me pass, but I suggested she go ahead, since she knew the way. The real reason was another, and I told her bluntly: that way, from behind, I would get to enjoy her ass moving step by step. Again, no comment. I felt crude, but not truly remorseful, because desire had me and I had not meant to offend her at any point.

Upstairs she opened the door for me, checked that the air conditioning worked by switching it on, and said goodbye with a friendly smile, already on her way out to her own things.

***

Once alone, I unpacked my travel bag, tidied up a little in the bathroom, and started filling the jacuzzi. I felt like a bubble bath after so many hours on the road. The water rose slowly, steam fogged the mirror, and through the window the last sun of the afternoon came in, orange over the sea. I was thinking about her, about her cleavage, about how stupid I had been at reception, and I reproached myself for not having known how to shut up in time. Naked, with one foot almost inside the tub, someone knocked on the door.

Who could it be?

I thought someone must have mistaken my apartment for another and decided not to open. But they insisted, first with the bell and then with knuckles on the wood. I muttered a curse between my teeth, wrapped the towel around my waist, and went to see.

—You left your card downstairs, at reception —Marina said—. I brought it up in case you need it; otherwise you’d have had to come back down for it. I’ll leave it on the TV cabinet.

She came in without hesitation to leave the card. But when she turned to go out, I was blocking her way, and the door was already closed behind me. We stayed looking at each other for a moment, saying nothing, like two people who have been turning the same thing over in their minds for months.

I stroked her breasts. First slowly, over the fabric, and then with less pretense. She still did not speak. I kissed her, and felt her hand searching under the towel, still loose, and taking me fully in her palm. She must have felt how I grew and hardened in her hand, centimeter by centimeter, like something coming to life of its own accord. I sighed against her mouth.

The excitement throbbed in my lower belly with a force I did not remember. Her hand moved up and down with a slowness that felt like a thorough inspection, unhurried. I whispered things in her ear that I would now not even dare to write, and I buried myself in her breasts, already out of her top and bra, sucking her raised nipples.

I looked her in the eyes. Her mouth was half open and she was licking her lip. We walked the two steps separating us from the bed and she shoved me onto it. I fell onto my back, completely naked. Marina knelt, looked for a moment, and took me into her mouth. Her lips moved along the shaft, her tongue flattened the tip against the roof of her mouth. I felt her reach the back of her throat until she gagged, and then she pulled me out with a thread of thick saliva hanging from it, still joining us.

She swallowed me again, deeper, harder, until the gagging made her eyes water. She did not care. She spat on the tip, spread it with her tongue and fingers, went down to my testicles and came back up again. Wet sounds, suction, saliva everywhere. I put my fingers on her head, tangled in her dark hair, and pushed a little.

—Deeper —I told her.

She obeyed. Saliva spilled from her mouth, she could not control the gagging, she panted, and it all left me soaked.

—I love your cock —she murmured.

I could not help little thrusts from the bed, fucking her mouth slowly.

—I’m dripping wet —she said suddenly—. Come on.

***

Her jeans flew off and the thong came out tangled with them. She straddled me, pointed herself with her hand, and sank down in one go. It was not gentle: it was firm, determined, all the way to the hilt. She dug her nails into my chest hard enough to hurt.

—Fuck, that’s huge —she said through clenched teeth.

And she started rocking without restraint, without asking anything, her breasts bouncing in front of my face and her ass slapping down with every drop. The noise was obscene, a mix of wet skin and fluids. We started fucking out of control, her arched back driving me all the way in with each thrust.

—Harder… don’t stop… yes, like that —she panted.

I slapped her thigh.

—Yes —she moaned.

Again.

—Yes, again.

She did not care about anything, she just wanted more, harder, deeper. She writhed on top of me as if this was exactly what she had been looking for without even knowing it. I forced her off, holding her by the waist.

—What are you doing? —she protested.

—Turn around —I said, while I smacked her already reddening ass.

She got on her knees on the bed, her face buried in the sheets. I spat on my fingers and stroked her sex, letting my thumb slide toward her ass.

—Yes, put it in —she begged.

My thumb was already moving inside her. With the other hand I stroked her dripping sex.

—Put another one in, come on —she insisted.

Two fingers inside, moving, stretching, opening the way. Marina began to moan without restraint, pushing back against my hands. I pulled my fingers out, spat a couple more times, and pressed the tip against that already loosened hole. I pushed just a little, slowly. The head went in and she gave a short, sharp cry.

—Wait, wait —she panted.

Half the head inside. She breathed deep, fast, getting used to something too big for her.

—Keep going —she said, almost inaudibly—. Slowly, put it all the way in.

She moaned with every millimeter. It hurt her, it was real pain, and even so she did not want me to stop. I moved forward slowly. Her sex was dripping down the insides of her thighs. When I was all the way in, she stayed still for a moment.

—Fuck me —she said—. Fuck my ass.

I began to pull out and push in slowly, following the rhythm she herself was setting. Little by little the pain transformed into something else, a sensation throbbing through her whole lower belly. I started picking up the pace.

—Touch yourself —I told her.

Suddenly a violent spasm went through her and she let out a shameless cry. Her first orgasm came with my cock buried in her ass. Her contractions squeezed her thighs and trapped me inside her. I started thrusting fast, to the limit, while she came again and again.

Buried to the hilt, with a deep grunt, I emptied myself inside her. I felt her shudder at the heat filling her. I pulled out slowly. Marina stayed trembling on all fours, my semen sliding down the insides of her thighs, her skin reddened and her eyes glassy, but strangely at peace.

She ended up lying on her side, facing me. I was breathing hard, sweaty, exhausted. We smiled at each other without saying anything. After a while we had fallen asleep, side by side, with the sound of the jacuzzi filling up still in the background.

Something had been born between us that afternoon, though neither of us knew yet how to name it. All I know is that the next time I traveled to that coast, I booked the same apartment without thinking twice.