The Woman Who Made Me Tremble Without Touching Me

I’m Sofía, and in this relationship I’m always the one who writes.

My husband Diego and I have spent years in what the world calls an open relationship. Neither of us uses that label with embarrassment: we’re simply like this, open and honest with each other. When I signed up on a dating app with a profile that made our situation clear — open couple, me bisexual, him heterosexual — I didn’t expect anything important to come of it.

But then Elena’s message arrived.

Of everyone who wrote to us that first week, Elena was the only one who didn’t start by talking about sex. Her first message was brief: “Hi, I read your profile carefully and I’d like to talk.” That was all. No direct proposition, no attached photo, no innuendo.

I replied that same day.

***

Over the following weeks, she told me her story in fragments. She had a rich husband, owner of properties in several cities, obsessed with projecting a perfect family. For him, Elena didn’t exist beyond the image she offered the world: a presentable mother, a smiling wife at the right events. In bed he’d shove his cock in her for two minutes, come inside without warning, and roll over to sleep with semen still dripping down her thighs. Without looking at her. Without asking her anything. Without ever touching her cunt with his hand, his mouth, or anything other than that hurried, selfish dick.

After a lot of pressure from her friends, she decided to look for something different. First she tried a man. She told me in detail: the guy had undressed her slowly, had licked her all over, had eaten her cunt until she came twice against his mouth, and then had fucked her in four different positions until she screamed so loudly she covered her mouth with the pillow. It had been the complete opposite of her husband: skilled, generous, he’d made her moan like never before. But when they were done, he wiped his cock with a towel, got dressed without looking at her, thanked her as if closing a meeting, and left. Elena was left alone in that bed, with another man’s cum still inside her and her cunt throbbing, feeling the deepest emptiness of her life. She cried herself to sleep.

She started searching for pornography online. Everything felt mechanical and crude to her, giant cocks going in and out without any real eroticism. Until she found scenes between women. Slow mouths over swollen cunts, tongues tangling with tongues, fingers entering slowly. That kept her going for several months; she’d masturbate watching them and come hard, squeezing her legs against her hand. But she still felt empty at the core.

“What I’m looking for,” she wrote me one afternoon, “isn’t just to sleep with someone. I want someone to really look at me while they make me come.”

Those words hit me straight in the chest, and a little lower too. I suggested we meet. Just her and me: Diego wouldn’t be part of this.

***

She asked me to meet her at a downtown apartment. It belonged to her husband, one of many he owned and never visited. When I arrived at the building, I paused for a moment in the elevator. It had been a long time since I’d felt that kind of nervousness before meeting someone: not the usual sexual anticipation, but something closer to the thrill of meeting someone who already mattered before I even saw her.

When she opened the door, I saw she wasn’t wearing makeup. Her brown hair fell loose to the middle of her back, she wore a skirt that reached her knees, and a simple button-down blouse. She didn’t look like she was waiting for me to fuck her. She looked like she was waiting for me to have tea and talk.

“Hi,” I said, and my own voice sounded softer than I’d planned.

She opened her arms to greet me. When her skin brushed mine, the hair on my neck stood up and I felt my nipples tighten under my dress. I hid it. Or tried to hide it.

***

She was petite: she couldn’t have been more than five foot one. Slim, with slow movements. Her skin was white with that tone the sun leaves behind when someone spends time outdoors without trying to tan. Small, firm breasts, small hands, well-shaped legs.

But what undid me wasn’t any of that. It was her gaze. Her eyes held something I couldn’t name at first, and then later identified without hesitation: melancholy. Not the dramatic kind, not the kind used as a disguise. The other kind. The silent kind. The kind left in a woman after years of feeling invisible to the person who should be looking at her.

She offered me something to drink, and I accepted with a smile.

We sat on the sofa in that tidy living room and talked for a long while. She told me again about the man, in more detail than by message. The crying that night, the weeks staring at the ceiling, the search for pornography until she found something that spoke to her differently. The relief and the persistent sense of emptiness.

While she talked, I stroked her arm without really thinking about it. Lightly, with the tips of my fingers. And something in me, something at once physical and emotional, was starting to move inside. My cunt was slowly getting wetter, no rush.

“Do you mind if we don’t rush?” she asked at one point. “I want to enjoy this properly.”

“Not at all,” I answered.

And I meant it. At that moment I wasn’t in any hurry.

***

I don’t remember who moved in first. Maybe it was me. Maybe it was her. What I do remember is that suddenly there was no distance between us anymore, and that was all that mattered.

The first kiss was soft. Closed lips, a minimal pressure, as if we were both asking the same question at the same time. I closed my eyes. Elena’s breath smelled at once fresh and warm. We stayed like that for a long moment without moving, with no urgency whatsoever.

Then I opened my mouth a little. And she answered.

Our tongues sought each other slowly, still shy, and then began to play more eagerly. She sucked on my lower lip and let it go, I nipped barely at the corner of her mouth. Her hands found my hair and tugged a little. Mine slid down her waist to the curve of her ass and squeezed. She let out a sigh against my mouth.

“No one’s ever kissed me like that,” she said when we parted for a second.

I didn’t answer. I kissed her again, this time sliding my whole tongue into her mouth, hungry.

***

I let my dress straps fall. My nipples were exposed to the apartment’s cool air, hard as stones, dark and tight. Elena looked at them for a full second before touching them, as if she wanted to fix the image in her mind first. Her fingers were delicate and precise, without the haste desire has when it comes from anxiety.

She pinched one nipple softly, then the other, rolling them between her thumb and forefinger. I arched. Then she leaned down and took one fully into her mouth. She sucked hard, while her tongue circled it. I felt a straight pull down to my cunt, as if there were an invisible thread between my breasts and the clit she had just found.

“Fuck,” I murmured. “Like that, keep going like that.”

I was the one who unbuttoned her blouse. Underneath she wore a white bra, thin, almost transparent. I could see her pink nipples showing through the fabric. I lowered the back closure of her skirt and the fabric fell to the floor. She stood in front of me with that small, firm, white body, wearing only white lace panties, and I saw her breathing had become shorter and faster. I unclasped her bra. Her little tits were bare, round, nipples erect and pointing at me.

I took both breasts in my hands and squeezed them. I bent down and sucked one nipple, then the other, nibbling lightly until she moaned and dug her nails into my shoulder.

I led her to the sofa. I sat her at the edge and spread her legs with my hands. I knelt in front of her.

I brought my face to her belly. I breathed slowly, sensing the heat coming through the fabric of her panties. There was already a dark wet patch in the center. I ran my nose over the lace, taking in the smell of her wet cunt, and she trembled all over. Then I looked at her. I waited until she nodded, just barely, and I pulled the garment down over her thighs, over her knees, until it was completely off.

A few dark hairs over the clit, the lips already swollen, shiny with moisture, parting slightly under the little light coming in through the window. Her cunt was contracting on its own, as if it were already asking for my tongue.

“No one’s done this to me in years,” she whispered, her voice breaking.

I placed the tip of my tongue on her clit. She tensed completely. A long moan escaped from her chest.

***

I started slowly. Soft circles around the clit, not touching it directly yet, letting her ask for it. I ran my whole tongue from bottom to top, from the entrance of her cunt to the hood, and back down again. Every time I brushed her clit she jerked a little at the hips. I pressed her thighs apart with my hands, opening her wider, burying my face between her legs.

Elena’s cunt was sweet, slightly salty, and it wouldn’t stop getting wetter. When I felt she was ready, I thrust my tongue inside her and moved it as if I were fucking her with it. Elena screamed for the first time.

“Oh God, Sofía, don’t stop, don’t stop please,” she panted, her voice completely wrecked.

I went back to the clit. Now directly. I sucked and licked it without stopping, while my other hand came up and slid two fingers into her. I pushed them in slowly, feeling her cunt close around them. She was hot inside, tight as hell. I started moving my fingers in and out, curving them upward, looking for that rough patch that answers to sustained, steady pressure from within.

I wasn’t technical or methodical. I was present. Attentive to every contraction of her thighs, to every little sound escaping through her clenched teeth, to the way her hips started moving almost without meaning to, searching for my mouth. When I felt she was close, I sped up my tongue on her clit and sank my fingers deeper, pressing firmly against that inner spot.

Elena lost control.

She writhed. She grabbed my head with both hands and pressed my face against her cunt with a force I hadn’t expected from her. She said words I hadn’t expected to hear from her, raw words spoken in a broken voice.

“Eat my cunt, like that, like that, you bitch, don’t stop, I’m coming, I’m coming, I’m coming...”

And then the orgasm hit, long and powerful, shaking her in spasms that took a while to calm. I felt her cunt tightening around my fingers in waves and a warm gush wet my chin. I licked up everything that came out, unhurried, until she stopped trembling.

She fell back onto the sofa with her eyes closed and her breathing ragged, her legs still open, her cunt red and throbbing.

I stayed on the floor for a moment, my face wet, looking at her. I felt a strange calm. Something very much like happiness.

***

When she came back to herself, she reached for me. She sat up, took my hand, and pulled me up onto the sofa beside her. She finished taking off my dress and then my panties too, and she stayed looking at me naked for a long while, as if she were memorizing me.

“You’re beautiful,” she murmured.

She found my breasts with her mouth and sucked with an urgency that had nothing clumsy about it: it was pure instinct, natural and feminine. She moved from one to the other with genuine eagerness, sucking hard, biting lightly, giving me a warm, small-mouthed pleasure that went straight down to my cunt. I was already soaked. I spread my legs on the sofa without thinking.

She brought one hand down and touched me. Her fingers sank all the way in with a single motion, no resistance at all, because my cunt was dripping. I let out a long moan.

“Let’s go to the bed,” she said, pulling her fingers out and taking them to her mouth to suck them.

***

In the bed I lay on my back and she took the lead. She positioned herself between my legs, looked into my eyes, and lowered herself slowly until she put her mouth on my cunt.

Fuck, how she licked. Hungry, patient, with the anxiety of someone who had spent years watching women do this in videos and now was finally doing it herself. She sucked my clit between her lips and let it go, slid her tongue inside me, came back up again. My thighs were trembling. I gripped her head with both hands and moved her to the rhythm that was driving me crazy.

“Like that, yes, yes, eat, eat everything...”

When I was about to come, I asked her to come up. I wanted to see our faces. She understood immediately.

There was no dominant role and no submissive one: we were two bodies seeking each other on equal terms, adjusting, moving, finding the rhythm on our own. We settled into scissoring, thighs intertwined, our cunts in direct contact, wet, sliding against one another. At the first touch we both moaned at the same time.

We began to move. Slowly at first, then harder. Our clits sought each other, brushed, pressed. I could feel her wetness mixing with mine. She threw her head back, grabbed my thigh, pushed her hips against mine. I did the same. The sound was wet, obscene, and it was the most beautiful sound I had heard in a long time.

There was no urgency now. Only movement, heat, and the sound of two breaths speeding up at the same time, and that slow, deep rubbing of cunt against cunt.

At one point we looked into each other’s eyes while our bodies kept moving on their own. That was the most intimate part of all. More than the kiss, more than the tongue, more than the fingers. That sustained gaze, her coming against me and me coming against her, was what left me speechless.

We came together. Elena squeezed me with her legs with a strength I hadn’t expected from that small body, and I squeezed her back, pressing my cunt against hers through the last contraction. I felt her spill warm onto my thigh. The sheets were soaked and we stayed tangled together, in silence, unmoving.

***

When I woke up, the room was dim. The sunlight had disappeared and outside a few windows were beginning to light up. Elena was sleeping with one hand resting on my stomach and her hair spread across the pillow.

The melancholy that was always in her eyes had disappeared. She looked at peace, truly at peace, perhaps for the first time in a long time.

I left quietly so as not to wake her. Before leaving, I stopped at the door and looked at her for a second from there.

***

I told Diego everything that night. He listened without interrupting, as he always does. What I saw on his face wasn’t jealousy: it was something more like tenderness.

Elena and I saw each other a few more times after that afternoon. Not many. A few months later her husband was transferred for work to another city and they moved. The last day I saw her, she hugged me very hard in the building elevator and neither of us said a word as the floors went by.

She still writes to me. A short message in the mornings, almost always. Sometimes just a sentence that says more than it seems.

I never quite fell in love with her. But I came close. Close enough to know that what happened in that downtown apartment wasn’t just sex. It was something that starts in the body and ends up somewhere completely different, something for which I don’t have a single exact word.

I still sometimes see the melancholy in her gaze when I close my eyes.

And I’m very glad I met her.