The Lesbian Fantasy That Crossed an Ocean for Her

Estela reread the message for the fourth time before setting the phone down on the sheet. The amber light of the salt lamp fell across her décolletage, across the generous breasts spilling out of the black satin nightgown, and for an instant she felt foolish. She was fifty-nine years old. She was alone in her house in Valparaíso. And her eyes were wet from a message from a stranger who lived eleven thousand kilometers away, in some corner of Seville.

The text had no shame. It spoke of spankings that left marks, of firm hands squeezing her nape, of humiliating words whispered in her ear while she got soaked without mercy. The girl —her profile said her name was Iris, but who knew— wrote as if Estela had already undressed her a thousand times. As if those months of daily messages had been a prelude and at last someone had dared to say it.

“I want you to teach me,” the message ended. “I want to kneel and learn from you.”

Estela smiled with a mix of tenderness and vertigo. She had never considered herself dominant. Nor lesbian, if she was honest. She had been married for twenty-seven years to a kind man who now lived in another city and sent her birthday cards. But in this last year she had discovered something, reading, writing, talking with Iris through the screen: that desire did not ask about the forms one had filled out before.

She closed her eyes. The lamp was still on. Outside, the Pacific wind beat against the glass.

And what if I slid my hand a little lower, she thought.

She did it. She let the fantasy enter her like a new body.

***

In the fantasy she was not alone.

Estela was standing in her living room, barefoot on the rug, with the door ajar and two thick candles burning on the low table. The air smelled of burnt vanilla and of something more intimate, something she herself had left there by dint of imagining it. She wore a black corset that cinched her waist and lifted her breasts until her nipples almost brushed the lace. Underneath, nothing. Her sex already swollen, shiny, waiting.

Iris crossed the threshold in a short white gauze dress and bare feet. She was twenty-five years old and had the eyes of someone who had crossed an ocean for this. She stopped in the doorway, not daring to move forward.

—Is what you wrote to me true, girl? —Estela asked, her voice deeper than usual—. Have you never been touched by an older woman?

Iris nodded. Her cheeks were red and her lips parted as if she were short of air.

—Come closer —Estela ordered, pointing to the floor in front of the sofa—. On your knees.

The girl obeyed without asking. When she got within a handspan, Estela slowly spread her legs, letting the smell of her arousal cross the air between them. Iris lowered her gaze and swallowed.

—Smell first —said Estela—. I want you to know what you’re going to taste before you touch it.

Iris bent down. Her nose almost brushing the swollen flesh. She inhaled deeply and a moan escaped her without permission, a moan Estela had already heard in her head many nights.

—Good girl —she murmured—. Now lick. Slowly. Like it’s the first and the last time.

Iris’s tongue came out shyly, just a brush against the already protruding clit. Estela let out the air through her nose and grabbed a fistful of brown hair, guiding her, setting the rhythm.

—Deeper. Put your tongue all the way in. I want to feel how you fuck me with your mouth.

Iris obeyed. She licked with devotion, moving up and down the whole slit, pausing at the entrance to push the tip inside, then returning to the clit with small, precise circles. Estela began to move her hips against the young face, with a slow and deep rhythm, almost cruel.

—What an obedient tongue you have, girl. If you keep this up I’m going to come in your mouth without warning you.

But she didn’t want to come yet. She wanted more. She wanted the whole body.

***

She stood up. Let the corset drop to the floor and remained completely naked, a whole woman, curves worked by six decades and a thousand nights. She held out her hand to Iris and led her to the bedroom.

On the bed there were, already prepared, several things: a thick transparent glass dildo, a small suction toy, a medium silicone plug, and a bottle of oil. But before the toys Estela wanted something else.

She lay back, opened her legs in a butterfly, and gave the order.

—Sit on my face, Iris. I want to eat you like you’ve never been eaten before.

The girl took off her dress trembling. Underneath she wore nothing. Her shaved sex, the small pink lips, the clit already swollen. She settled astride Estela’s mouth, resting her hands on the iron headboard.

When she lowered herself slowly, the mature tongue welcomed her with a long, deep, wide, hungry kiss. It traced the entire vulva, parted the inner lips, went in and out, played with the entrance, rose to the clit and sucked it until Iris began to tremble.

—Estela… you’re going to kill me…

Estela smiled against the hot flesh.

—Not yet, pretty girl. Not yet.

She spread her ass cheeks with both hands. The tongue went a little higher, licked around the tight anus, moistened it with hot saliva, pressed there without urgency. Iris shuddered as if someone had touched her with a live wire.

—Do you like having me lick you there too, girl?

—Yes… God, yes…

—Then hold on. You’re going to come like this, sitting on my mouth, while I eat you from the front and the back at the same time.

Estela alternated: deep tongue inside the vagina, quick circles on the clit, long licks along the perineum to the anus. Iris began to move up and down, fucking Estela’s face, leaving a shiny trail over the older woman’s chin and cheeks.

The first orgasm came fast and hard. Iris arched, her thighs squeezing Estela’s ears, and let out a hoarse cry, without shame.

—I’m coming… fuck, I’m coming in your mouth…

Estela drank every drop, licking without stopping until the girl fell forward, exhausted, both hands dug into the iron headboard.

***

But the fantasy did not end there. Estela wanted to give herself everything she had denied herself for years.

She sat up. Took the glass dildo and showed it to Iris in silence. The bedside lamp’s light passed through the crystal and cast a long reflection across the sheet.

—Now you’re going to see how a woman who knows what she wants gets fucked.

She lay down again. Spread her legs as far as they would go. Slid the crystal slowly, centimeter by centimeter, into her soaked sex. Iris watched her like someone hypnotized, mouth open, nipples still hard.

—Want to see it up close, girl?

Iris nodded, speechless.

—Then come. You keep going.

Iris took the dildo with trembling hands. She started slow, then faster, driving it all the way in, pulling it out, pushing it back in. Estela moaned without restraint, without filter, without the years of upbringing that had taught her to stay quiet.

—Harder. Put it in all the way. Ruin me.

The wet sound filled the room. Estela touched her clit with two fingers, opening herself for herself like she had never opened for anyone else.

—Now the plug —she panted—. I want both things at once.

Iris coated the plug with oil and pressed it against the older woman’s anus. She pushed slowly. The silicone entered, millimeter by millimeter, and when it was all the way in Estela let out a long, guttural, deep moan.

—Fuck me with both things. I want to feel full. I want you to watch me come.

Iris obeyed. One hand on the dildo, moving it forcefully in and out of the soaked sex; the other hand twisting and pushing the plug. Estela writhed, her breasts bouncing, her nipples on the verge of bursting.

—Yes… fuck, yes… I’m coming again!

The second orgasm was more violent. Her back arched, her thighs trembling, a hot jet shooting out, soaking Iris’s hand, soaking the sheets, soaking an entire life of nights without this. Estela screamed without a filter.

—Drink it! Drink me, girl!

Iris lunged, licked the hot spurt, sucked the swollen clit while Estela kept trembling in waves that would not end. When she finally calmed, she pulled Iris to her, kissed her with deep tongue, sharing both tastes in her mouth.

***

—Now you —Estela whispered against Iris’s lips—. I want to see you undone. I want to give you everything they denied you before.

She positioned her on all fours. She slipped three fingers into the soaking-wet vagina while her tongue returned to the anus, pushing inside, fucking from behind with her mouth. With her other hand she stroked the swollen clit, circling it, pressing.

Iris went wild.

—Estela… you’re tearing me apart… put more in me… put everything in…

Estela obeyed: four fingers now, opening, stretching, while her tongue worked without rest from behind.

—Say things to me —the girl begged—. Say dirty things while I come.

Estela smiled against the hot flesh, gripping one ass cheek with her free hand.

—You’re a delicious girl. A young thing getting soaked by a woman of almost sixty. I’m going to open you all the way. I’m going to make you gush over my fingers. And tomorrow, when you wake up in your room on the other side of the ocean, you’re going to know that this old woman really fucked you.

—Yes… fuck, yes… I’m yours…

—Say it again.

—I’m yours, Estela! Yours! I’m coming… I’m coming…

Iris exploded. Her body convulsing, juices sliding down Estela’s thighs. The girl collapsed onto the mattress, spent, panting as if she had run kilometers.

They stayed wrapped in each other for a long while, skin against skin, two breaths looking for the same rhythm.

—Even if you’re eleven thousand kilometers away —Estela murmured into her ear—, tonight I had all of you.

Iris smiled, exhausted and happy.

—And I had all of you, Estela… and I had all of you.

***

Estela opened her eyes. The salt lamp was still on. The satin nightgown was rumpled, the sheet wrinkled under her thighs, and her right hand was still inside her panties, her fingers glossy with her own juices. She was breathing as if she had run. A bead of sweat slid down her neck and disappeared between her breasts.

She took the phone. The screen was still open on Iris’s last message. She reread it once more, now calmly, like someone reading a love letter she finally understood.

Then she touched the screen and started writing.

“Yes,” she typed. “Get on the plane, darling. I’m waiting for you.”

She hit send before she could change her mind.

And what if this time it was real.

For the first time in many years, while the reply took its time coming, Estela knew desire had no age or geography. It only had courage. And she, that night of wind over the Pacific, had it intact.