The Married Woman Who Initiated Me That Afternoon

Many years have passed since that afternoon, but I remember it with a clarity that still surprises me. It was the summer I turned 18, a time when everything seemed possible and yet out of reach. I was studying, wore a suit for practical classes, and had had a beard since I was 17, which made me look older than I was. It was around that time that I met Carolina.

We met at a bus stop on a Monday afternoon. I was coming out of university, tired, briefcase in hand and tie loosened. She was already sitting there when I arrived, looking out toward the street with the expression of someone who’d had a hard day. I sat down on her right without paying her much attention, though that’s a lie: I noticed her from the very first second.

She was white, of average height, with dark copper-dyed hair that fell to her shoulders. She wore very tight blue jeans, a long-sleeved white blouse with a V-neck that revealed a generous cleavage. Her eyes were a light honey color, and when she smiled — I found out later — two dimples formed that disarmed anyone. She was 26, though I didn’t know that yet.

When the bus appeared at the end of the street and we both stood up, that was when I noticed it. The stain was visible on her clothes, small but unmistakable. I stepped closer and spoke before thinking too much about it.

“Miss, excuse me for interrupting you...”

She cut me off before I could finish the sentence.

“Look, I’m not interested in making friends on the street. I just want to get home in peace.”

Her tone was cold and her gaze direct. She’d had a bad day, that was clear. But I insisted, because there was no other option.

“I just wanted to let you know you had an accident.”

The change in her face was immediate. The coldness dissolved and in its place came the contained panic of someone who has just understood what that means in public. She looked toward her bag, calculated that it wouldn’t cover it, and looked at me.

I took off my jacket without saying a word and offered it to her. She accepted it, tied it around her waist, and we got on the bus together. By the time she got off, we were almost friends. I walked her to her building. We exchanged numbers.

***

What neither of us said that day: I hid from her that I was 18. She hid from me that she was married.

We saw each other on Mondays, Fridays, and some Saturdays. We walked, went to the movies, ate in quiet places. It was easy to be with her. She had that ability to make any conversation feel important, and when she laughed she did it with her whole body.

Sometimes, when we talked on the phone at night and I heard her breathing hard, I thought she was exercising. Weeks later I understood that wasn’t the case: she was fingering her cunt while she listened to me, sliding her fingers in slowly, and I, idiot that I was, told her stories from university without catching on to a thing.

The tension grew naturally, without either of us naming it. One day, after a movie, we kissed in the cinema corridor while people were leaving all around us. She was the one who initiated it, with a calm I didn’t have. When we pulled apart, she noticed my state without needing to look: I was hard against the zipper, and she knew it.

“We can be friends with benefits,” she told me, bluntly. “But nothing more than that, understood? I’ll let you fuck me whenever you want, but don’t fall in love, little one.”

I nodded with more enthusiasm than I should have shown. In my head, the answer was only one thing: tell me when and where.

“Next week,” she added, “if you still want to.”

I did.

***

That week was the longest of my life. Every time we talked and I heard her with that ragged breathing on the other end of the phone, I found it hard to concentrate on anything else. I jerked off two, three times a day imagining her spread open for me. I bought condoms at a pharmacy in the neighborhood. The woman who sold them to me smiled in a way that made me blush. It was obvious I didn’t know what I was doing.

We arranged to meet the following Saturday after midday, in a park near the center. I arrived ten minutes early and sat on a bench trying to look calm. When I saw her turn the corner, I forgot how to do that.

She had her hair down, falling over her shoulders. A black short-sleeved blouse, no neckline, but so tight it left no doubt about the tits underneath, the nipples showing through the fabric. Blue jeans, black leather boots up to the knee. When she came up and kissed me hello, the world kept spinning, but I didn’t notice.

“Ready?” she asked.

“Ready,” I lied.

We walked to the hotel two blocks from the park. It was a discreet place, the kind that doesn’t ask questions. While we waited at reception, I stared at the floor convinced that everyone in the lobby knew exactly what we were going to do. Carolina, on the other hand, was perfectly calm.

When we closed the room door, she went in first. I hugged her from behind before she could move away, feeling her waist in my hands, her neck close to my mouth. I kissed her there, slowly, slid my hands up and squeezed her tits over the blouse. I heard her breathing change rhythm, heard a short gasp escape her when I pinched her nipples through the bra.

She turned around, shoved her tongue deep into my mouth, and we backed up together until we fell onto the bed. The room was lit by a dim red light that made everything more intimate, stranger, more real.

She sat up, made me stand in front of the bed, and looked up at me with a calm I didn’t know how to imitate. She ran her hand over my pants, squeezing my cock through the fabric, measuring it with her fingers.

“It’s my first time,” I said, because it felt like I had to say it.

She smiled without surprise.

“I know, love. I’m going to teach you everything.”

She said it without mockery. It was a fact she had already figured out long before I had.

She took off her blouse while I knelt down and pressed my lips to her stomach. She was wearing a black lace bra that barely covered her nipples, two dark points visible against the sheer fabric. She smelled warm and sweet, a perfume mixed with something deeper I couldn’t identify then, though later I understood it was the smell of her wet cunt through her underwear. I took off her boots, unbuttoned her jeans. When she stood up to slip them off, I stared at her as if I didn’t know what to do with so much information at once.

She was wearing a matching black thong, so wet the fabric clung to the lips of her cunt and showed the crease beneath. I leaned in and kissed her over the fabric, inhaling her scent, feeling the damp heat against my mouth. I slid my fingers under the waistband and pulled them back out with her wetness; I brought them to my mouth without thinking and sucked her taste off them. She let out a low moan and put a hand on my head, not pressing, just resting it there.

“Slowly, little one,” she whispered. “We’ve got all afternoon.”

She stopped me gently, stood me up, and started undressing me at her own pace. She took off my T-shirt, ran her hands over my chest, squeezed my pecs. Her nails moved slowly down my abdomen, looking me in the eyes while she did it. She unbuckled my belt, opened the button on my pants, and told me to take them off.

When she saw my boxer briefs — the ones with a ridiculous logo and a double-meaning phrase I had once thought was very funny — we both laughed. It was a good moment. I relaxed a little. Underneath, my cock was making an obscene tent in the cotton, and the briefs already had a dark precum stain at the tip.

Then she knelt in front of me and kissed me over the fabric. I felt her hot mouth through the cotton, her tongue moving up and down the whole length, her warm breath on the head. She pulled my briefs down slowly, never taking her eyes off mine, and my cock sprang free in front of her face, hard and throbbing. She took my cock in her right hand, held it firmly from the base, and stuck out her tongue.

She ran the tip of her tongue over the head very calmly, tasting the drop of precum hanging from the tip, and I threw my head back without being able to stop myself. Then she opened her mouth and took it all the way in, as far as she could, closing her lips around the shaft. She started moving with a steady cadence, up and down, sucking hard on the way up, letting saliva run from the corner of her mouth. With her left hand she caressed my chest, gently pinching my nipples; with her right she was jerking me off on the part that didn’t fit in her mouth, in perfect sync. I alternated between looking at her and looking at her reflection in the room’s side mirror, not knowing which of the two versions was more unreal: seeing her mouth stretched around my cock, or seeing her from above, with her tits hanging inside the lace bra.

Every so often she took my cock out of her mouth and rubbed it across my face, knocked her lips against it, licked it along the side from the balls to the tip like it was an ice cream. She took my balls into her mouth, one by one, sucking them calmly while continuing to jerk me off up top. When she took me back in whole, I felt the tip hit the back of her throat, and she didn’t pull away: she stayed there, eyes watering and nose pressed against my pubis.

When I felt I wasn’t going to last much longer, that I was two sucks away from coming in her mouth, I gently pulled her away.

“Stop,” I said, almost out of breath. “I don’t want to come yet.”

She looked up. Her lips were wet, a strand of saliva mixed with precum running down her chin, eyes shining, and she looked at me in a way that made me feel like I was the one in control, even though that wasn’t true.

“All right,” she said, wiping herself with the back of her hand. “Now you. I want to see if you know how to use that tongue.”

***

She lay down on the bed, opened her arms, and guided me down with her hands on my shoulders. I yanked her thong off her hips and threw it on the floor. She spread her legs in front of me shamelessly: the pink pussy, shiny with wetness, with swollen lips and the clit peeking between them like a hard pearl. I stared at it for a second, memorizing the image.

I started with her thighs, kissing my way inward, feeling her skin rise beneath my mouth, biting the inside of her leg until she let out a short moan. When I got to where she wanted me, I didn’t dive in right away: I ran my tongue flat over her slit from bottom to top, very slowly, gathering the wetness spilling out of her. She arched her hips against my mouth.

“There,” she whispered. “Suck it, little one.”

I let her guide me. She told me what to do with little presses of her hands on the back of my neck, with the movement of her hips. I closed my lips around the clit and sucked it the way she had sucked my cock, with a steady rhythm, stopping now and then to run my tongue inside her lips, to bury it in the hole and bring it back out coated in her taste. I slid two fingers into her and curled them, searching for that spot I’d read existed; I knew I’d found it when she let out a muffled “there, there, there” and pressed my head hard against her cunt.

I obeyed and watched at the same time: I learned how she reacted to each thing, what made her clutch the sheets, what made her blow out a short, sharp gasp. When I sucked the clit hard, her thighs tensed; when I pushed my tongue inside, she moaned lower, deeper.

When she arched her back and grabbed my head with her thighs, crushing my face against her cunt, I understood I’d done it. I felt her contracting around my fingers, felt an extra spurt of hot wetness flood my mouth. I stayed there, still, working her clit more gently with my tongue, letting the orgasm pass all the way through.

I didn’t stop. I kept exploring, went a little lower and ran my tongue over her ass, over the tight hole between her cheeks. She shuddered all over, surprised, and squeezed my head between her legs.

“Dirty boy,” she murmured, but she didn’t pull me away.

I heard the sound of her breathing change again. I went back up to her cunt, slid three fingers into her while I sucked her clit, moving them fast inside her, listening to the wet sound they made going in and out. The second orgasm came faster than the first, and this time it was more violent: she squeezed my fingers with the walls of her cunt until it hurt, and a short cry escaped her that she tried to cover with her hand. She laughed when it was over, with an instinctive, free laugh that surprised me.

“I wasn’t expecting that,” she said, still laughing, her voice trembling. “But it was incredible. You’re a sick fuck, little one, look at what you did to me.”

She showed me the shiny hand she’d used to cover her mouth, wet with her own fluids that had splashed there. I moved up toward her. We kissed sitting on the bed, with the taste of both of us mixed in our mouths. She sucked my lips and chin clean, tasting herself off me.

***

What came after was 69, which she proposed with a naturalness I didn’t have. I lay on my back and she settled on top of me, facing the opposite direction, and planted her cunt in my mouth without ceremony. I felt the weight of her hips on my face, the concentrated scent of female sex, and I stuck my tongue out to lick her from below again. At the same time, she swallowed my cock again, now with her hands free to explore more: she grabbed my balls, pressed a finger behind me, at the perineum, searching for something I didn’t even know people searched for.

It was too much at once. Sensations in every direction. She moved on top of me, riding my face, rubbing her cunt against my tongue while she gave me a deep blowjob. I had to concentrate not to lose track of what I was supposed to do. I pushed my tongue in as far as I could, pulled it out and went back to the clit, shoved my thumb inside her cunt while I licked her ass again, now without mercy.

She came again like that, face buried in my cock, clinging to my thighs with her nails, moaning with her mouth full. I felt the contractions of her cunt against my tongue, the hot liquid sliding down my chin, my neck. She rose up and looked down at me, still catching her breath, her mouth red and swollen.

“Do you have condoms?”

I took one out of my pants pocket. She took it, opened it with her teeth, and put it on with a skill that made me feel clumsy by comparison: she pinched the tip with two fingers and rolled it down the whole length of my cock in one smooth pull.

She climbed on top of me slowly, held my cock upright with one hand, and sat down on it, guiding me to her hole. I felt the tip part her wet lips and slide into her, felt the hot, tight cunt envelop me centimeter by centimeter until her ass rested against my thighs. The sensation of entering her was something no preparation could ever have readied me for. I stayed still for a moment, not speaking, not moving, feeling the inner walls squeezing my cock with little spasms.

“Still,” she gasped. “Let me do it.”

She started moving. Slowly at first, rising almost to the tip and dropping down at once, with a hip rhythm that made it look easy. My hands were on her waist, feeling the muscles of her abdomen tighten with every movement. I looked at her face, then at the tits bouncing to the rhythm of her hips, then back at her face. I fumbled with her bra unclasping it; her breasts fell free, round, with dark, erect nipples. I put my hands on them, squeezing them, rolling her nipples between my fingers. She pressed my hands against her tits with her own.

The rhythm gradually increased. She leaned forward, bracing her hands on my chest, and started riding me harder, giving little hops that made her ass slam against my thighs with a carnal sound. Her skin blushed from the neck down. Our mixed sweat made her shine under the room’s dim light. I reached for the bedside lamp switch and turned on the main light. I wanted to see her properly.

I saw her clearly. My cock going in and out of her cunt, the shiny base of her wetness, the lips stretched around the shaft. The pink marks of my hands on her hips. The way she closed her eyes at certain moments and opened them at others, when she wanted to find mine.

“You’re pounding me all the way to the hilt,” she gasped without holding back. “I love how you fill me up, little one.”

I felt her tighten around me, the cunt closing in rhythmic squeezes on my cock, her hands gripping mine hard. She leaned forward and I held her, kissed her neck while I kept moving from below, driving into her from bottom to top with all my hips. She moaned near my ear with a voice that had nothing to do with the cold woman who’d cut me off at the bus stop: she moaned “like that, like that, don’t stop,” bit my shoulder, dug her nails into my back.

After that I settled her on her back and put her legs over my shoulders. I knelt between them and fucked her again, this time from above, burying it in her with one thrust. From that angle everything was different: I was getting it in deeper, I could feel the tip hitting something at the back. Her nails in my forearms. Her voice asking for more without holding back, without shame. I bit her calves lightly, kissed her ankles, licked one of her toes without really knowing why.

“Harder,” she told me. “Don’t hold back. Break me, little one, give it to me hard.”

I didn’t hold back.

I braced myself on the bed with my arms beside her, pushed harder, fucking her with long, hard thrusts that shook her tits and made her let out a cut-off “ah” with every hit. I felt time running out. I squeezed her nipples with my thumbs, twisted them a little. I brought one hand down and rubbed her clit with my thumb while I kept ramming into her.

“I’m coming,” she moaned, eyes closed. “I’m coming again, don’t stop.”

She arched her back just when I couldn’t hold back any longer. I felt the cunt clamp around my cock in a brutal contraction, heard a long cry escape her, and I sank all the way in and came inside the condom in spasms that shook my whole spine, unloading shot after shot against the latex while the inner walls milked my cock.

We finished at the same time, or something very close to it. I collapsed on top of her, chest heaving, forehead resting on her shoulder, cock still inside and throbbing. We stayed like that a long while, without talking, listening to our breathing calm down. When I finally pulled out, the condom hung heavy and full; I took it off carefully, tied a knot in it, and threw it in the trash.

***

I fell asleep without realizing it. When I opened my eyes, she was still there, looking at the ceiling with a calm expression, naked, her legs still a little open and a red mark on the inside of her thigh left there by my mouth. The room’s light was colder now, and it no longer seemed unreal. It just looked like a room, with two people in it.

“How long have we been asleep?” I asked.

“A while,” she said. “It doesn’t matter.”

I turned toward her. I looked at her closely for the first time without the weight of anticipation on top of me.

“Sorry if I was rough at any point,” I said. “I don’t know if I did it right.”

She laughed in that spontaneous way I already recognized.

“You did very well,” she said. “Seriously. For your first time, you made me come four times, so you behaved.”

“It’s just that I’d seen a lot...” I started.

“I know,” she cut in, still laughing. “You can tell you’ve watched a lot of porn. But it was good. You owe me the romantic version next time.”

She ran her hand over my chest, down to my flaccid cock and gave it an affectionate squeeze.

“And this,” she added, “is going to have to work a lot more with me. We’re just getting started, little one.”

We dressed slowly, unhurried. Before leaving the room, I remembered the condoms I’d brought in my pocket. We had only used the one she’d opened. I kept the rest without saying anything.

Carolina had a husband. She told me a month later, with the same calm with which she said everything. His name was Roberto. She introduced me to him one Sunday afternoon in a neighborhood café. He was a quiet guy with an easy laugh who treated me from the start like I was an old friend.

Because, in his own way, I was.

Many years have passed since that bus stop. We still see each other from time to time, the three of us, or just her and me. She hasn’t changed much. She still takes care of herself, still has that way of laughing that disarms everything, and still spreads her legs for me in discreet hotel rooms when she can slip away for an afternoon. And I’m still, in part, the nervous kid who bought condoms at a neighborhood pharmacy and never used them.