The Afternoon Lucía Read Me My Most Intimate Story

Lucía and I hadn’t seen each other in years. She’d heard from a mutual friend that I had written a book of erotic stories, and that was excuse enough to write to me. She wanted to have a drink, catch up, and buy a copy from me in person, not online. I found the gesture amusing. Almost no one buys a book wanting the author to sign it right in front of them.

I didn’t care where we met, but she insisted that I come to her place. She said we’d be more comfortable there and could talk about the contents without other people listening in. So, one Saturday at five in the afternoon, I found myself ringing her doorbell with the book inside my purse.

—Carla, how wonderful! —she said, opening the door with a huge smile.

We kissed each other twice on the cheeks and shared a hug that lasted a second longer than it should have. I went inside, closed the door, and was greeted by the scent of her air freshener, soft music playing in the background, and the warm glow of a salt lamp on the table in the entryway.

—What a beautiful apartment you have —I said, peeking into the living room. Everything was minimalist, but arranged with careful judgment, not a single object out of place.

—Thanks. By the way, it looks like we coordinated our outfits —she said, looking me up and down.

Before leaving home, I’d chosen red leggings, white sneakers, and a dark-gray short-sleeved T-shirt. The funny thing was that she was wearing practically the same thing: the same red leggings, the same sneakers, with only the color of the T-shirt different—in her case, it was white.

—I’m surprised we’re dressed almost alike, but I like it. You look great —I told her.

She was dark-haired, with wavy hair tied up in a high ponytail that afternoon. Taller than me, with curves her tight shirt did nothing to hide. Her big tits showed beneath the thin fabric, braless, her nipples poking out every time she moved. I surprised myself by paying so much attention to her figure, and especially to the way the red leggings clung to her pussy and outlined the crack of her ass whenever she turned around.

—Coming from the lady in leggings, I’ll take that as a compliment —she replied—. Though I did find it funny that we even matched colors.

—Keep my identity a secret —I said, winking at her.

—Don’t worry. I don’t completely understand it, but I respect it. Coffee? —she asked, already switching on the coffee maker and taking out two glasses, two spoons, and some sugar packets.

We sat on the sofa with our steaming cups. I took the opportunity to pull the book from my purse and place it in her hands.

—Wow, a real book —she said, running her fingers over the cover—. I’ve always been fascinated by this kind of writing, but I never imagined the author of one would be a friend.

—I started slowly, almost as a game. People seemed to like it, so I got encouraged, and before I knew it I couldn’t stop until I’d finished it.

—I’m dying to read it. And, as you say in the title, to enjoy it alone.

—I think you’ll like it. Honestly, I feel lucky about the comments I get from people who read it.

—Do they tell you they like it, or do they give you details? —she asked, raising an eyebrow.

—A bit of everything. Some people have taken the trouble to explain how they masturbated while reading it. Men have written to tell me they came in streams all over the pages, and women have explained which finger they rubbed their clitoris with while reading one scene or another.

—Fuck. And you like that? I mean, do you always talk about these things so naturally?

—Yes, I like it. I’ve written more than three hundred pages of erotic stories. To me, sex, fucking, sucking cocks, eating pussy, coming screaming—all of that is perfectly normal. I don’t have any hang-ups about it.

—And what do you think about paid sex? —she blurted out, looking at me over the rim of her cup.

—I’m fine with it. Everyone does whatever they want with their body. I never get involved in those debates; I don’t think I have anything to contribute.

—But do you really think it’s okay?

—Yes —I replied tersely, because I didn’t know where she was trying to take the conversation.

—Come on, I want to show you something.

***

She stood up, took my hand, and pulled me toward the hallway. We passed a closed door, and she opened the one opposite it, switching on the light.

—I haven’t shown you the apartment yet. This is my bedroom. The bathroom’s through that door, if you need it. And I have three other rooms: a guest room, a dressing room, and…

—You have a double bed —I remarked—. I never asked whether you had a partner.

—I did. Now I’m free. But a big bed always comes in handy —she said, without letting go of my hand.

—I love the way you decorate. Everything has its place.

—And the fourth room… —she left the sentence unfinished.

With a certain air of mystery, she opened the only door that was still closed. When she turned on the light, I saw a single bed, a large tripod with a ring light, a white chest of drawers, a clothes rack, and a chair.

—This is where I broadcast.

—You broadcast? Are you…? —she didn’t let me finish.

—An erotic model. A few months ago I started livestreaming, recording videos, and selling content. I spread my legs in front of the camera, finger myself, fuck myself with huge dildos, and come for whoever pays. And I don’t complain. I have my audience, they treat me well, and it’s how I make the extra money my regular job doesn’t provide.

—This confirms that you have no hang-ups —I said with a laugh when I saw a thong hanging from the clothes rack.

—I always leave details like that so they’ll ask me about them during the livestream —she replied with a mischievous smile—. That one’s clean, but since they don’t know that, I tell them it’s been worn, that it’s soaked with my juices, and they pay me to smell it in front of the camera.

—You’ll have to tell me how to watch you —slipped out of my mouth.

—That reminds me of something I wanted to ask you.

—Of course, go ahead —and then I realized we still hadn’t let go of each other’s hands.

—You have no problem talking about sex, and neither do I. So I’ll get straight to the point: are you bisexual?

—That’s a perfectly normal question. Yes, I am. I’ve had plenty of relationships with women. I love eating pussy, and I love having it eaten. Why do you ask?

—Because… you’re very beautiful. And because I’ve spent half the afternoon wondering what you taste like.

The chemistry between us had always been there, latent, ever since the days when we had barely brushed against it. Now it was taking shape, much clearer, without masks or secrets to hide.

If she’s invited me to her house, put on the same leggings as me, and spent half the afternoon circling around the subject, it’s because she wants something to happen. And I liked her. So I decided the best thing was to keep quiet and stop talking.

I moved closer slowly but decisively, without looking away from her eyes. I brought my body against hers, my lips to hers, and kissed her.

Our hands were still intertwined. With her free hand she wrapped it around my waist and moved down to my ass, massaging it and pulling me against her as she returned a long, deep kiss with tongue, which we enjoyed in absolute silence. Her tongue tangled with mine, moving in and out of my mouth, and I felt her breathing quicken against my face. When she lowered her hand and squeezed one of my cheeks hard, a moan escaped me, letting her know I was just as wet as she was.

—I really like your stories, Carla. They’re very original —she murmured when we parted, both her hands now spread over my ass—. I’d like to have something with you, something just as original. What do you suggest?

—Keep kissing me while I think about it —I told her, caressing her too, letting my fingers slide now and then toward her thighs, until I brushed her crotch over the leggings and felt that the fabric was already hot and damp with pussy.

***

I came up with an idea I was sure she’d like. It was something I’d done once, a long time ago, with another girl. It was risky because I hadn’t brought a change of clothes, but deep down I didn’t care about that at all.

—Come on —I said, interrupting the kiss and leading her back toward her bedroom. I picked up the book on the way and left it on the nightstand.

Lucía looked at me curiously, eager to let herself go. Her eyes openly traveled over my body, pausing on my tits pressed tight against my T-shirt before dropping to the bulge the leggings outlined between my legs.

I positioned myself in front of her and began taking off her T-shirt. I pulled it slowly over her head, enjoying the way her big tits were freed as soon as I unclasped her bra and let it fall down her arms. I bit them, first one and then the other, and couldn’t resist sucking each nipple, taking it completely into my mouth and playing with the tip of my tongue until they hardened like stones. She sighed, tipping her head back. Finally, I lowered her leggings, sliding them down her thighs, and discovered with a smile that she was wearing nothing underneath. A shaved pussy, swollen lips shining with moisture, a thin strand of wetness hanging from her slit. She was one of my kind.

—You got me naked so quickly. Now it’s my turn —she said, tossing the leggings into a corner.

—Just take off my T-shirt and bra —I instructed while she was already doing it—. But don’t touch my leggings.

—Why not? —she asked, watching as I sat on the bed and arranged several cushions behind my back. Before letting me settle, she bent down and slowly sucked both my nipples, one after the other, leaving them soaked with saliva, hard and taut.

—You’ll see —I took her hand gently and asked her to sit on top of me.

She settled with her back to me, resting her shoulders against my chest. She moved her hair to one side so it wouldn’t cover my face and left the book within reach. I closed my legs and stretched them out; she did the opposite, opening hers and placing one on either side of mine, her pussy spread wide open, offered up, glistening, pointing toward the ceiling.

—Find chapter fifteen —I whispered in her ear.

—“The Pretty Girl” —she read, amused, turning the pages—. “Red Leggings”? That’s really the title?

—Yes —I laughed—. Now read it to me slowly, out loud.

—And what are you going to do while I read?

—I’m going slowly too —I replied, as my fingers moved down her belly, slipped between her open thighs, and began tracing the lips of her pussy, spreading them and immediately getting wet with her juices. I had her dripping. It took only one pass along her slit for my fingers to be soaked in thick, clear, slippery fluid.

—Wow. I love it. Are you going to masturbate me while I read?

—Yes, but I’m not trying to make you come. That’s why I’ll go slowly. Though if you do get there, stop reading and enjoy it.

She began reading with her legs spread wide, letting me touch her in silence. At first I worked her with two fingers all along her slit, up and down, spreading her juices from her pussy to her clitoris and back down again. Sometimes I opened her lips with two fingers in a V, leaving her pussy exposed, and with the pad of my middle finger I traced slow circles over her bud, which swelled until it emerged completely, pink and shining, throbbing beneath my finger.

Other times I penetrated her, first with a single finger, feeling her pussy swallow it whole, squeezing me, her inner walls contracting, wet and hot. I moved in and out slowly, curling my finger upward, searching for that rough spot that made her jerk every time I brushed it. When I managed to find it properly, I added a second finger, then a third, and felt her pussy open to receive them, felt the wet slapping of my fingers moving in and out begin to sound over her voice.

—Keep reading —I whispered in her ear, biting her earlobe.

Lucía read my story, moaning from time to time, losing her place and picking it up again, stumbling over the words whenever I drove my fingers deeper. With my other hand I searched for her tits, squeezing them, pinching her hard nipples, gently twisting them until she arched against me. I bit her neck, licked the nape of it, while below my fingers never stopped working her pussy.

I pulled out my soaked fingers and brought them to my mouth. I sucked them slowly, one by one, savoring her. She was salty, rich, delicious. I lowered my hand again and buried three fingers deep inside her, this time without mercy, fucking her with my hand to the rhythm her hips set for me. With my thumb I pressed against her swollen clitoris without rubbing it, simply holding it down and letting her own movement do the rest.

I thought I’d manage to get her to finish without coming, but when she had only a couple of paragraphs left, her voice broke, she choked on the final sentence, and exploded.

Her whole body shuddered against mine. Her thighs closed around my hand, trapping it inside her pussy, while her belly convulsed and a wave of hot juices soaked my palm and ran down my wrist to her leggings. Her intense, loud moans helped her surrender; “Fuck, fuck, fuck, keep going, don’t stop, like that,” she repeated in a broken voice, while her pussy clenched in spasms around my fingers, squeezing them like a wet fist. Her breathing grew ragged, and a huge smile spread across her face.

—Fuck! I loved it.

—Finish reading it —I asked, without pulling my fingers out, leaving them inside so I could feel her pussy still throbbing, giving smaller spasms around my knuckles.

She did, now in a calmer voice, and closed the book, satisfied. She confessed that she really liked my way of writing and that buying it from me in person had been a brilliant decision. But she still had one last question.

—Carla, what now?

—Stand up —I smiled, knowing what was coming.

She stood and, when she turned around, saw it: a huge wet stain on my red leggings. From halfway up my thigh, the tight fabric clung to my skin, soaked through, darkened by her orgasm until the stain looked almost black against the red, gleaming and dripping down the inside of my thigh.

—This, beautiful —I told her, spreading my legs and running two fingers over the wet fabric—, is all yours. Your entire orgasm is here. And now I want you to clean it with your tongue.

Lucía burst out laughing, licked her lips, and dropped to her knees between my spread thighs. She grabbed my hips, buried her face against the soaked leggings, and began sucking the fabric, licking it from top to bottom, savoring her own juices mixed with mine. I felt her hot tongue pressing through the material, searching for my pussy beneath it, gently biting the seam that ran right between my lips. I grabbed her ponytail and pressed her face against my crotch, moving her head at the rhythm I wanted.

When that was no longer enough for her, she yanked the leggings down with a sharp gesture, pulled them off my ankles in one go, and left me naked from the waist down. She stared at my pussy for a moment, soaked, swollen, shining with arousal, and without saying a word lunged at it.

Her first lick tore a cry from me. She ran her entire tongue along my slit, from bottom to clitoris, flat and broad, then went back down. She repeated the movement again and again, faster each time, sucking my lips, gently nibbling them, slipping the tip of her tongue inside me and pulling it out wet with juices. She opened my pussy with two fingers and focused on my clitoris, sucking it with her lips as if it were candy, circling it with her tongue, pausing now and then to blow on my wet bud and make me writhe.

—Like that, Lucía, fuck, like that, don’t stop, eat me up —I begged, grabbing her hair with both hands and pushing her face against me.

She slipped two fingers into my pussy while continuing to suck my clitoris, quickly finding the same spot I’d found on her earlier. She rubbed it with her fingertips, curling her fingers upward, while her tongue didn’t leave me alone for a second. I began moving my hips against her face, fucking her mouth, gripping her ponytail harder and harder. I felt the orgasm rising, tightening my belly and tensing every muscle.

—I’m coming, I’m coming, fuck, don’t stop, give me more tongue…

And I came. I filled her mouth with my juices, soaking her chin and running down her neck. My clitoris convulsed against her lips while she kept hold of it, prolonging my orgasm with short, gentle licks, swallowing every drop and letting me empty myself against her face until there was nothing left.

She climbed onto the bed and collapsed on top of me, her lips shining with me, and kissed me on the mouth. She made me taste myself all over again on her tongue, mixed with her. I understood that Saturday afternoon was still far from over.