My Mature Neighbor Was Waiting for Me by the Pool

I'm a textbook liar, and I have no intention of apologizing for it. I have a weakness for mature women, the kind who no longer have anything to prove to anyone, and for one of them I'm capable of inventing whatever story is necessary. I don't know which gets the better of me, my weakness for women twenty years older than I am or the vertigo of an entire afternoon of desire with them.

My name is Mateo, and I take the art of seducing a mature woman very seriously. So seriously that I've lied without batting an eye more times than I can remember just to get one of them into the garden with me. That said, I'm selective. Just anyone won't do. I'm obsessed with mature women who look like queens: the kind you see between the supermarket shelves and think isn't the most stunning woman in the world, but radiates an aura that would make you throw away your shopping list and suggest an endless afternoon of blankets, a movie, and everything else.

That's why, when summer arrived, I started accompanying my mother's best friend to do the shopping every week. Her name is Amparo, and she has a body that undoes me. Imagine a woman just over fifty, with breasts that, without being enormous, are full and firm, a subtle waist, and hips that shape a perfect ass. Without being fat, she's full in all the places a man wants a woman to be. All her life, that was what people called a woman who was built like a flag.

I started accompanying her at my mother's insistence, it has to be said. It was summer, I was without a car, bored, and had nowhere to go. I live in a tiny hamlet ten minutes from town, in a neighborhood with only two houses. Guess which ones.

That first day, several things came together: the heat, the boredom, a thin dress that, damp with sweat, hinted that Amparo wasn't wearing a bra, her sweetness toward me, and the gratitude with which she received every favor. What promised to be a tedious morning ended up being one of the best of the month. She kept up a conversation, laughed at everything, and returned home radiant. I went back with one fixed idea in my head: as I drove home, I couldn't stop thinking about how her nipples showed beneath that thin fabric, or about how badly I wanted to fuck that woman twice my age deep.

Little by little, we grew close. When I was authorized to work remotely, I suggested that my mother and I switch homes: I would move into hers in the village, while she moved to the city, with better transport links and closer to her job. The only thing tying my mother to the village was Amparo, precisely, and she was the one who finally convinced her to take the step.

And so, without looking for it, Amparo and I became neighbors. She worked at a small massage and physiotherapy center in town, earned good money, and indulged herself now and then, like with that beautiful house her brother had renovated, a big, burly man whom people in the neighborhood called “the Anvil” because of the size of his hands.

We exchanged phone numbers in case of any emergency, especially on her end, since she always apologized before asking me for anything. It wasn't unusual for us to spend hours chatting in her living room, telling each other our stories. Nor was it unusual for us to improvise dinner at one house or the other, because living in the middle of nowhere brings people very close, and only a wooden fence and a hedge separated us.

One of those nights, Amparo uncorked a bottle of red wine her brother had given her, from a case that the former owners of a house had left behind and forgotten. We drank the whole thing during dinner. Neither of us ended up drunk, but we were relaxed, loose-tongued, and laughing.

During one of those conversations, Amparo confessed to me that, although she'd had a couple of boyfriends, she'd never gotten into anything serious because they all seemed like idiots to her. Without the slightest hesitation, I asked whether she'd at least had good sex with them.

She grew serious and straightened up in the armchair.

—Good boyfriends, yes; good lovers, none —she said—. None of them knew how to eat my pussy properly, or last long enough for me to come with their cock inside me. The good thing is, I left them all in peace.

After that, her mouth loosened, and she ended up telling me, between laughs, that it had been more than a year since she'd fucked anyone and that her best lover had been a toy the last one had given her, a thick dildo that she came with every night while thinking about anything but her ex.

To ease the tension, I confessed that I, too, kept a toy my last partner had given me: one of those silicone vaginas supposedly modeled on a porn actress we both liked watching. Amparo asked me, laughing her head off, why anyone would give such a gift, and without thinking I blurted out that it was common for my girlfriend and me to watch that woman's movies while I fucked my girlfriend from behind and imagined sticking it in the actress on the screen.

Then I noticed something between discomfort and arousal in her gaze. Her cheeks flushed, she crossed her legs tightly, and I saw how her hard nipples showed beneath her blouse. She hurried our farewell, blaming the time, and we made plans for the next day to do the weekly shopping that had by then become the two of ours.

That night, in my room, wearing only my underwear on the bed, I couldn't fall asleep until I resorted to that toy while thinking of her. I pulled down my underwear, took out my already rock-hard cock, and sank the silicone all the way in, imagining it was Amparo's pussy squeezing me. I imagined her tits hanging above my face while she rode me, her wide hips rising and falling, her mouth open as she moaned my name. I came in a long burst that left my thighs trembling and the silicone dripping with semen. I don't know whether it was the remnants of the wine, all the pent-up desire, or a simple impulse, but when I finished, my cock still wet between my hands, I sent her a message wishing her good night. She replied almost instantly.

***

The next day went perfectly. There were no lines at the checkout or at the parking-lot exit. The sky was a clear blue with a couple of decorative clouds, the sun was warm without being oppressive, and a breeze was blowing that invited us into the water. When we returned to the neighborhood of the two houses, we decided to make spaghetti bolognese together and then take advantage of the pool that occupied half of Amparo's garden.

After lunch, I slipped away for a moment to get my swimsuit. We didn't need a towel: she offered to lend me one.

I crossed the gate in the fence and found an apparition. Amparo was wearing a pink, gray, and white patterned bikini. The top supported her breasts without squeezing them, allowing their shape to show; the bottom was a Brazilian-cut brief that split her buttocks in half and emphasized the curve of her ass. I stood rooted to the spot, my cock beginning to swell inside my swimsuit, unable to believe it was real, until she had to call me a couple of times to bring me out of my trance.

—Do you like it? —she asked, knowing the answer perfectly well.

I nodded wordlessly. She smiled, aware that she'd reduced me to obedience with a simple swimsuit.

We lay down on the wooden loungers beside the water to rub on sunscreen and avoid getting burned. When I'd finished coating myself, I had a moment of clarity and suggested that we put cream on each other's backs. She accepted without hesitation, perhaps a little hastily because of everything that had been left hanging in the air the night before.

Since it had been my idea, she rewarded me by starting. It stopped being sunscreen almost immediately and became a full-fledged massage. She said so herself: I felt tense, and she wanted to relax me. And there I was, melting beneath that woman's hands, feeling as if I were in paradise, even more so when she asked me to turn over so she could massage my chest. I didn't object in the slightest.

That was when Amparo let herself go. She kneaded my chest while I held her legs, which rested on either side of the lounger. She didn't move away when I slowly raised my hands to her buttocks. The previous night had left me wanting far too much, so I squeezed the flesh I'd been imagining for some time. She only answered with a mischievous smile, while her hands, seemingly by accident, brushed against the hard bulge showing through my swimsuit.

Encouraged by her silence, I slid my fingers to the edge of her hip, slipped a fingertip beneath the fabric of her brief, and caressed the cleft of her ass. Amparo let out a low moan, sat up, moved to her lounger, and claimed her turn. I thought she would only undo the top, but she took it off completely and tossed it onto my lounger, where it lay like a flag of surrender. Her tits were bare, round and full, with pink, already hardened nipples pointing straight at me.

I didn't keep her waiting. I put cream on her back and covered it with a slow, meticulous massage, attending even to her sides, brushing the outline of her breasts several times. I didn't want to force anything; I limited myself to the permitted areas, the edge of her breast, the lower curve of her back, letting the tension cook itself.

—Now the front —she requested, turning over with her eyes already half closed—. All of it.

I had barely any cream left, so it was more caressing than massaging. I started with her arms, continued over her abdomen, neck, and upper chest, where I lingered fondly because I knew it was the prelude to everything else. Amparo let out little whimpers with her eyes closed.

I moved down to her breasts and caressed them, whispering how beautiful they were. I weighed them in my hands, feeling their fleshy heft, and gently pinched the skin at their sides. She didn't resist; all she managed was a warm “yes” between sighs. When I reached her nipples, already hard, I didn't touch them abruptly: first I traced the areolas with my fingertips, slowly, before stopping on them and squeezing them between my thumb and forefinger.

Amparo stopped trying to hide her moans.

—Eat them —she begged, grabbing my hair—. Suck my tits, fuck, I've been waiting all morning for you to eat them.

I stoically held out for another couple of minutes, simply for the pleasure of making her wait. Then I kissed her neck and lowered myself to her breasts. I traced them with my tongue, drawing the same circles I'd made with my fingers before, until I closed in on her nipples. I sucked them whole, taking them deep into my mouth, pulling them upward and releasing them with a smack. When I gently bit them, she tugged my hair, demanding more, like an impatient wild animal. I gave it to her. I ran my rough tongue over them, bit them a little harder, and she arched her back with a guttural moan that made me even harder.

Then we kissed in a long, ardent, shameless kiss, our tongues entwined, our hands roaming over each other's bodies as if we'd been indebted to each other for that afternoon for years. While I kissed her, I slipped my hand between her thighs and squeezed her pussy through her brief. She was soaking wet. The fabric yielded beneath my fingers, and her moisture seeped onto my fingertip. Amparo spread her legs and thrust her hips against my hand, seeking more pressure.

***

Amparo climbed on top of me and began rubbing her pussy against my cock through the fabric, while we confessed how much the previous night's conversation had turned us on. She moved back and forth over me, crushing her soaked sex against my bulge, and through my swimsuit I could feel it throbbing, opening, staining the fabric with her own juices. The excitement reached such a pitch that I ended up telling her that, that night with the toy, I'd come thinking about burying my cock deep in her pussy and about her becoming real for me someday.

When she heard that, she stopped dead. She looked at me with hungry eyes.

—Then today you're going to put it in me for real —she whispered—, and you're going to put the whole thing in.

She stood, stripped off her brief, pulled down my swimsuit, and the moment my cock sprang hard and erect against my stomach, she let out a low moan.

—Fuck, you've got such a tasty cock —she said, taking hold of it and stroking me a couple of times slowly, squeezing the base and moving up to the glans, which was already purple.

She settled over me facing the opposite direction to begin a leisurely sixty-nine. She planted her open pussy over my face, and I raised my hands to spread her buttocks and sink my tongue between her wet lips. She tasted like a mature woman, intense, salty, and sweet all at once. I licked her from bottom to top, from her asshole to her clitoris, and she let out a muffled moan just as she took my entire cock into her mouth. She sucked me slowly, swallowing me to the root, letting me slide out with her tongue following the underside, then wrapped her lips around me and began pumping with her hand while sucking only the tip. Moans escaped me as I tried to concentrate on devouring her pussy.

We licked each other, savored each other, and lost ourselves in each other's bodies for a while that seemed eternal and brief at the same time. I buried my tongue as deeply as I could inside her pussy, pulled it out dripping, and moved up to her clitoris, already swollen and throbbing. I ran the tip of my tongue over it in circles, then flattened it against her with its entire surface and began sucking it as if it were a nipple. Amparo thrust her hips against my face, rubbing her pussy over my mouth, and answered with her throat full of cock.

—I love it —she said between gasps, letting me go for a moment and wiping her chin with the back of her hand—, but I like it even better while you fuck me with your fingers.

I did as she asked. While I caressed her inside with two fingers, searching for the rough spot on the roof of her pussy, I traced her clitoris with my tongue, the swollen tip peeking out between her lips. Her sex fascinated me, shaved except for a discreet patch of hair that, to me, made it even more enticing. I fingered her as if she had a cock, curling my fingers upward every time they came out and striking the exact spot, while I sucked her clitoris without giving her a break. She screamed around my cock, spat it out, took it back into her mouth, saliva streaming down her chin to her tits.

—Oh, yes, yes, fuck, like that, don't stop, don't stop, I'm coming, I'm coming all over your face —she moaned in a broken voice.

Pleasure overwhelmed her, and she came all over my face with an intensity that left me breathless. I felt her pussy contract in bites around my fingers and a warm gush soak my chin and neck. I drank everything she gave me without stopping my sucking on her clitoris, prolonging her orgasm until her whole body began to tremble and she pushed my head away because she couldn't take any more.

I was already nearing my own limit, so I moved her aside a little to breathe, and she turned around decisively, got on her knees between my legs, and took me back into her mouth. She swallowed me whole, down to her throat, until her nose touched my stomach. She began sucking me hungrily, staring straight into my eyes, spitting on the glans and massaging my balls with her other hand. When she realized I couldn't hold out much longer, she pulled my cock out and began licking the tip with her flat tongue while stroking me with both hands, squeezing hard.

—Come in my mouth —she asked, her lips red and her chin glistening—, I want to swallow everything you've got inside.

I came seconds later, with a spasm that arched my back against the lounger. I shot burst after burst into her mouth, and she stayed pressed against me, sucking the tip and swallowing every drop, determined not to waste anything. When she finished, she pulled out my cock, shook it clean against her tongue, and showed me her empty mouth before giving me a salty kiss. I'd just had the best orgasm of my life, and it had been given to me by the neighbor I'd spent all summer filling my most unspeakable thoughts with.

We lay there recovering our breath, looking up at that August sky without a single cloud of remorse. Her tits were bare, still marked red from my bites, and my wet cock rested against her thigh, already beginning to recover. It was only four-thirty on an ordinary Saturday. We had a pool, two adjoining houses, the whole afternoon ahead of us, and endless possibilities within reach.

We had no intention of wasting a single one.