What My Tenant Did to Me on My Birthday Night

All my customers know me as Doña Lore. I’m blonde, short, with long hair, and since my divorce I’ve been living off home-delivered food sales. Anyone who dealt with me during the day would have sworn I was a modest, conservative woman, the kind who only lets herself go in private. I believed it myself. Until that dawn.

I had rented an apartment that I didn’t use for sleeping: I lived with my daughter at my mother’s house, and the apartment served me to cook the orders in the mornings and, from time to time, for some get-together with friends or with Aníbal, my boyfriend at the time. We’d been together about a year. He was jealous, but at first I liked that.

Out of necessity, I had rented the spare room to Damián, a tall, dark-skinned taxi driver with a shaved head. He wasn’t handsome and sometimes seemed a little rough to me, but he always treated me with respect and even took orders for me in his taxi when I was in a hurry. That’s why I never distrusted him. When we happened to cross paths in the mornings, I made sure to be without makeup and wearing loose clothes; he left for work just as I arrived to cook. Aníbal, on the other hand, became jealous the day he found out a man lived under the same roof, even if it was in another room.

***

On my birthday night I went out dancing with Aníbal. I had put on a white dress, short and low-cut, pantyhose, and platform sandals with transparent straps that I bought for the occasion. I wanted a special night. After several drinks, however, we started arguing again about Damián. And to make matters worse, right in the middle of the fight, my phone rang.

—Good evening, I just wanted to let you know I won’t be back at the apartment today. If you need anything, I’m at your service —it was him.

—Who is it? The bald cab driver? —Aníbal almost shouted.

I thanked Damián and hung up quickly, but it was too late. Aníbal stood up, threw some bills on the table, and left the place without me. I was left alone, dizzy and furious, in a dress meant for a night that had been ruined.

I didn’t know the taxi drivers in that area and I didn’t feel safe getting into a car with a stranger at that hour. So, feeling more scared than I wanted to admit, I dialed the only safe number I had.

—Mr. Damián, can you pick me up? I’ll send you the location by text.

—Of course. Did something happen?

—Nothing, I’ll tell you later.

Luckily I was wearing a long coat. That way he won’t see how I’m dressed, I thought, because until that night modesty had kept me from showing myself in front of my tenant. When he arrived, I asked him to take me first to the apartment so I could change and then to my mother’s house, which was a few blocks away. During the whole ride I noticed he never took his eyes off my legs; when I sat down, the coat had opened and didn’t cover them completely. He asked me about Aníbal and I answered curtly, hoping any intention he had would fade.

***

In the parking lot he hurried to open the door for me and help me out, claiming I looked a little drunk. Now I think he did it so he could look at me better. To get upstairs, we had to take the stairs.

—You go first, don’t slip —he said, staying behind.

Upstairs, while he went into the bathroom, I took out a bottle of wine and poured myself a glass. I sat in a dining chair without taking off my coat and lit a cigarette. I wasn’t thinking about anything, I just wanted the anger to wear off.

—Are you feeling okay? —he asked when he came out.

—Yes, I just felt like a glass. As soon as I finish it, I’ll change and we’ll go.

—Do you mind if I pour myself one to keep you company?

—Not at all. Help yourself from the bar.

He poured himself some vodka and sat facing me. He asked me for a cigarette, I gave him one, and after a while, without asking, he refilled my glass.

—I want us to toast to the birthday of a woman as beautiful as you —he said.

—Thank you —I replied, surprised and embarrassed by the compliment.

We drank it down in one go. Between the alcohol and the smoke I got even more dizzy. He noticed and, without giving me time, turned on the stereo and put on a bachata record that was on the bookshelf. He turned up the volume and suggested we dance so the effect would wear off. I don’t know if it was because of the anger I still felt toward Aníbal or because of the drinks, but I agreed. After all, it’s just a dance, and he’ll never know. Damián quickly took off my coat.

I felt his gaze run all over me. I wanted to pull back, but he had already taken me in his arms, and within a few beats he was spinning me to the rhythm of the music.

—You dance very well —he said, lowering his voice—. And your feet look so pretty following the rhythm.

Despite the platforms, my head barely reached his chin. When the song ended I pulled away.

—I’m going to change. I hope you still want to take me to my mother’s.

—Of course. But how about one last glass of wine, sitting in the living room?

—All right, though it’s late and you have work tomorrow.

—Don’t worry, I’m used to it.

***

We sat on the sofa. While pouring, he spilled wine on my thighs and, before I could complain, he took a napkin and started wiping me off. I felt his hands trembling on my skin.

—Don’t worry, I can wash the tights later —I said.

He filled our glasses again and proposed a new toast. When he lifted his glass, he spilled again, this time on my feet, over the sandals. The pantyhose turned red. He crouched down with another napkin and, this time, when his rough hands wrapped around my feet, a shiver went up my legs. Suddenly he lifted them and rested them on the couch.

—Sorry, it’s easier for me to dry them this way —his face was reddening as he stroked the wet lycra—. You have such beautiful feet. They look gorgeous like that, with the tights wet and your toenails painted red.

His hands squeezed, unwilling to let go. I laughed nervously, partly because it tickled.

—Oh, Mr. Damián, it’s not necessary, really. Better let’s smoke a cigarette.

I took advantage of the fact that he got up for the pack to lower my legs. But he kept looking at me, and when another, livelier bachata started, he invited me to the “last one.” Drunk and, I confess, aroused by what his hands had made me feel, I didn’t refuse.

This time Damián didn’t hide his desire. He caressed me over the dress, took me by the hips, and when he praised my dancing again I, without thinking, gave him a kiss on the cheek. He answered by kissing me on the mouth. His hands slowly slid down my back and then loosened the straps of the neckline. The cold and the situation had my nipples hard. I tried to pull my dress up, but he brought my hands to his neck without stopping kissing me.

—Mr. Damián, it’s cold, my tights are stained, and my boyfriend could show up. He’s very jealous. Let’s go.

He ignored me. His mouth traveled down my neck to my breasts while he guided me back to the sofa. He sat me down, bent over me, and started sucking my nipples, already hardened by something that was no longer the cold.

—What pretty freckles you have on your shoulders. And that perfume smells so good —his voice was pure lust.

—Oh, not so hard. What are you doing? I have a boyfriend, please.

—Don’t you like how I kiss your breasts?

—Let go of me, what if Aníbal arrives —I kept repeating, even though I knew no one was coming.

***

He knelt on the carpet and opened my legs. I tried to resist and cover myself with my dress, but when I felt his hands holding my thighs I ended up giving in. That night I was wearing a tiny thong over the pantyhose. He put his mouth over the fabric, already damp, and his tongue pushed until it moved aside.

—The ones who don’t wear thongs are the horniest —he said, sliding it down my thighs.

—No, please, don’t take it off.

The thong fell onto the carpet. He put my legs over his shoulders and went back to squeezing my nipples with one hand while his mouth worked over the lycra that barely separated his tongue from my clit.

—You look so sexy, barely covered by the seam of the tights.

I kept moaning, trying, with less and less strength each time, to push his hands away. That seemed to turn him on more. He caressed my legs from hip to feet, and my toes stretched and curled inside the sandals to the rhythm of his tongue.

Then he stood up, pulled down his pants, and brought his member to my sex, trying to rub against me over the fabric.

—You’re going to tear my tights, they’re a gift from my boyfriend —I protested.

—You’re right, better we do it without anything in the way.

—Don’t take them off. Let’s go, it’s late, my mother is waiting for me.

—All right, I won’t take them off.

And he kept his word in his own way: with his hands he made a hole in the lycra to leave me exposed. Between moans I asked him not to, but by then his mouth was back on me, his tongue going in and out, rubbing and gently biting. My body trembled. After several minutes, without lowering my legs, he brought his member close and, taking advantage of a moment when I raised my hands to push his head away, he thrust. I felt him go in all at once.

—Ah, ah, pull it out, it’s too big —I gasped. I had never felt anything like it.

He was so thick that he got stuck each time he went in and out, and you could hear the slap of his hips against my ass. He squeezed one nipple with one hand and rubbed my clit with the other. I wanted to push them away and couldn’t. Then he took my ankles, which disappeared between his huge fingers, and kissed them.

—I never imagined Doña Lore would be so horny. What a body you have.

—I only wanted you to take me to my mother’s —I replied, without conviction.

—And I will. But first I’m going to enjoy my landlady’s legs.

***

He wanted to finish inside, and when he saw I kept repeating “I have a boyfriend,” he seemed to get even more excited. In one twist he bent me over the dining table, spread my ass cheeks, and slid his fingers first over my sex and then, slowly, to the other side. I clung to the edge, biting my lips so I wouldn’t scream.

—What are you going to do to me? I’m already too wet.

I felt the tip of his member searching for a new place.

—Not there. I’m still a virgin there, no one has ever done that to me.

—Well, today you’re going to find out how good it feels.

I tried to sit up, but he was already entering, slowly, forcing his way in. My body trembled between pain and pleasure while his fingers stayed on my clit. I rose onto my toes, my toes curling, my hands nailed to the table. And even though I heard myself saying no, part of me didn’t want him to stop. He took the bottle, poured a stream of wine over my ass cheeks, and laughed.

—For being the first —he said.

Just then my cellphone rang. It was Aníbal.

—Wait, don’t let him notice —I asked him. Damián stopped, but without leaving my body.

—You’re the one who got mad —I told Aníbal over the phone—. I’m already at my mother’s, I’ve already changed, I’m not going out again.

While I argued, Damián started moving again, slowly, looking at me with a smile, perfectly aware of who I was talking to. I had to grit my teeth so my voice wouldn’t break.

—It’s your fault, I was already asleep and your call scared me. We’ll talk tomorrow.

I hung up. It rang again. Him again.

—Enough, let me sleep, I’ll call you tomorrow —I cut him off, almost out of breath.

At last he really hung up. I’m not going to lie: knowing Damián was inside me while I was talking to my boyfriend had me more aroused than I would ever admit out loud.

***

A slower bachata came on. He got me on my feet and we danced again, me trembling from cold and pleasure, his hands all over my body. Then the phone rang once more; now it was my mother, asking if I was still at the party.

—I already left, I’m stopping by the apartment to change and I’ll be there in a couple of hours —I said.

While I spoke, Damián held me from behind, kissing my neck. I felt him harden even more and, all of a sudden, spill, which tore a moan out of me that I had to disguise.

—Oh, ahhh, it’s nothing, Mom, I just jammed a finger in the door. Everything’s fine. I’ll be there later.

When I hung up, I told him I needed to shower before leaving. He agreed, but when he saw me pick up the dress from the sofa he hugged me again and came into the bathroom with me. I opened the shower and, while he locked the door, I sat down to take off my sandals.

—I’ll take them off for you —he said, resting my feet on his chest.

He took the chance to caress my legs, the lycra damp with sweat, and as he removed my sandals he started kissing and biting my feet. That was enough to make him hard again.

—You’re a greedy thing —I told him, laughing.

I got under the water and locked the glass door. The glass wasn’t completely transparent; my silhouette could only be made out. I pressed my mouth and breasts to the glass, playing.

—Will you let me in? —he asked.

—You can only look, not touch —I answered, pressing my ass against the glass with the tights still on, knowing that turned him on.

When I lowered one leg, my foot accidentally unlocked the latch. He opened it before I could put it back. He wrapped me from behind, squeezed my breasts, and bent me forward.

—I’m going to give you a spanking for being naughty.

He entered me from behind again. This time I hid nothing and moaned with everything I had. The water ran down my freckled back while he pulled my hair and spanked me.

—Oh, daddy, I love it. Will you give me a reward? —I said between moans.

He knelt in front of me and I took him in my mouth, licking him, rubbing him between my breasts. He moaned as he looked at me, my legs still covered by the wet lycra. Then he lifted me, kissed me deeply, carried me by the thighs, and pressed me against the wall. He found the hole in the tights and drove all the way into my sex.

—No one has ever fucked me like this, not even my boyfriend —I confessed without thinking.

—I’ve never had a woman this hot either. Your legs drive me crazy, especially with tights on.

—You know what? —I told him, burning with desire—. I’m going to wear them every day we’re together here.

I don’t know if it was because of that, but he emptied himself inside me again. I held him tight until he was done. When he finally relaxed, he lowered my legs and, without stopping kissing me, took off my pantyhose.

—Your legs are so pretty, even without tights —he said.

***

While we dried off, I gathered my courage.

—Can you keep it a secret? It’s just that I still love my boyfriend.

—All right. Although I wouldn’t like having to share you.

I smiled, wrapped myself in a towel, and each of us got dressed in our own room. After that he took me to my mother’s house. Before leaving, I left the pantyhose on top of the washing machine and asked him to keep them, once they were dry, as a souvenir of our first time. And, already at the door, I let out the last thing with a smile I didn’t even recognize in myself:

—Don’t forget to buy me another pair just like them. Otherwise my boyfriend will notice what happened between us.