The Carpenter Summoned Me to That Empty Apartment

Exactly one month had passed since that afternoon in my parents’ kitchen. One month since the carpenter had touched me for the first time, and I had left there swearing to myself that it would never happen again, that it had been an accident, a madness that would not be repeated.

I was in my final year of architecture, and that midday I had just finished my morning classes. I had an hour free before returning to the classrooms, just enough time to cross campus and have lunch with a couple of classmates.

I was walking along the tree-lined path leading to the cafeteria when my phone vibrated. An unknown number.

—Hello, gorgeous. How’s that library still functioning? —the message read.

I knew immediately. There was only one person in the world who would text me asking about a library, and my mouth suddenly went dry. I stopped in the middle of the path and tried to play dumb.

—I think you have the wrong number.

—Of course I don’t. I know perfectly well it’s the phone of the richest university girl I’ve met in years.

I gripped the phone with both hands. One part of me wanted to block him and keep walking. The other had already begun to tremble.

—I’m asking you to respect me —I wrote—. What happened that afternoon shouldn’t have happened. Leave me alone or I’ll report you.

—Report me? —he replied, and I could almost hear his deep laugh through the screen—. And who’s going to believe it was against your will? You were so into it, with your mouth full of my cock and your pussy dripping, anyone would have said it was exactly what you wanted.

I was about to answer when the photos arrived.

There were two. Of me. From that afternoon. In one, I was on my knees, my lips stretched around a thick, dark cock, a string of saliva running down my chin. In the other, I was on my back against the counter, my skirt hiked up to my waist, my panties hanging from one ankle and his thick fingers buried between my thighs. I hadn’t realized he had taken them, lost as I was, my eyes closed and my head somewhere else. Seeing myself like that, exposed in such a raw, real way, left me unable to breathe.

I had to sit down on a bench along the path. Luckily there was no one nearby, because anyone who had seen my face would have been frightened. This can’t be happening.

Before I could answer anything, another message came in. An address, in a neighborhood on the other side of the city.

—I want to see you. You have one hour to get to that address. If you don’t show up, your father gets these photos on his phone. Remember, he’s my client; I have his number.

***

Later, I put the pieces together: he had copied my number from the cell phone I’d left on the kitchen counter that afternoon, while I went in to get a drink of water. I hadn’t noticed a thing. I also hadn’t realized he was photographing me while he fucked me against the cupboard.

I stared at the screen while the world spun around me. The only thing I knew for certain was that those photos couldn’t reach my father. It would be too devastating for him and my mother. Seeing their daughter brought down like that, with another man’s cock in her mouth. That couldn’t happen.

—Please, don’t send them —I wrote, hating every word as I typed it—. I’ll come. But promise me that when I get there, you’ll delete them in front of me.

—All right, gorgeous. When you get here, I’ll give you the phone and you can delete them yourself. One hour. I’ll be waiting.

I walked to the campus exit like a sleepwalker. I stopped a taxi, gave the driver the address, and half an hour later I was standing in front of a pretty, quiet apartment building. I paid and got into the elevator.

I went up to the eleventh floor. As I walked down the hall toward the door, I was trembling all over. It was an extraordinarily strange feeling: fear, shame, even some of the revulsion I had felt the first time that man touched me. But beneath all of it, hidden and hot, there was another kind of anxiety too. The desire to feel that thick cock opening me again the way he had pushed it into me a month earlier, until he made me come against the counter in my own home. I could feel my panties already damp before I reached the door.

I stopped in front of the door, took a deep breath, and rang the bell. I heard footsteps approaching. It was only a few seconds, but they seemed like minutes, as if time had stood still.

***

Don Marcial opened the door wearing work overalls stained with sawdust, his face sweaty, his large hands still dirty from the workshop. He said nothing. Not even hello. He grabbed me by the wrist, pulled me inside, shut the door, and pressed me back against it.

The apartment was empty. It was being remodeled: bare walls, no furniture, the new floor protected with cardboard so the work wouldn’t scratch it. He was handling the kitchen. But I barely had time to register any of that, because his hands were already everywhere.

—Wait —I managed to say—. Don Marcial, not like this. I only came to delete the photos.

—We’ll delete them —he murmured against my neck—. After you suck my cock and I leave your pussy like a rag.

He threw my backpack onto the floor. His hands traveled over my waist and back, rose to my face, then moved down again. I was wearing my usual clothes for college: tight blue jeans, a green button-down blouse that barely reached my waist, sneakers, my long dark hair tied in a ponytail. I liked looking natural, without makeup. That afternoon, against that door, that naturalness made me feel even more naked.

—Remember what you promised me —I insisted, my voice growing weaker.

—I remember —he said, and kissed me.

It was a slow, deep kiss, the kind that didn’t ask permission. He pushed his tongue deep into my mouth while one hand squeezed a breast over my bra, kneading it with the strength of a carpenter who didn’t know his own power. I tried to put my hands on his chest to push him away, more out of pride than conviction, and he firmly lowered them, without violence, returning them to my sides as if reminding me where I belonged.

—Still —he said softly—. You know why you came. You came to let me fuck you properly.

The worst part was that he was right.

With one hand, he undid the buttons of my blouse. It fell to the floor. He pushed the bra cups up over my breasts and lowered his mouth to them, slowly, running his tongue over my skin until he drew the first sigh of the afternoon from me. He sucked one nipple, barely bit it, let it go, then sucked again. Then the other. I hated myself for that sigh. But another followed, and another, and then a long moan when I felt his teeth close right at the edge of my nipple.

—Look at you —he said against my skin—. You act so respectable, but your tits are hard and your pussy is soaked. I can see it from here.

—Don’t say that —I gasped.

—I say it because it’s true. And now I’m going to prove it to you.

His other hand went down to the seam of my jeans and began pressing through the fabric, right over my clitoris. I closed my eyes. My body responded to his rhythm without asking my permission, as if he knew a mechanism inside me that I hadn’t known existed. I began moving against his hand without realizing it, rubbing myself like a bitch against his fingers.

—That’s it —he whispered—. Let yourself go. That’s why you came.

—Yes —I finally admitted, and the word tasted like defeat and relief at the same time.

He undid the button of my jeans, pulled down the zipper, and tugged the fabric down until it was around my calves. His thick fingers pushed my panties aside and found the direct path. One sank into me all at once, right up to the knuckle, drawing a muffled cry from me. He moved in and out slowly, feeling how tightly I gripped him, how I dripped around his hand.

—You’re such a slut, gorgeous. Your whole pussy is dripping down your thighs.

He inserted a second finger. The two of them began moving in and out with a wet, obscene sound that echoed off the apartment’s empty walls. His thumb circled my clitoris at the same time, with a craftsman’s precision. I held on to his neck so I wouldn’t fall to the floor. I closed my eyes again and let myself go, moaning the way he wanted me to moan, until a first tremor ran through me from head to toe, everything clenched inside, and I had to bite my lip to keep from screaming against the door as I came over his hand.

He pulled out his soaked fingers and ran them over my lips.

—Suck them —he ordered—. So you know what you taste like yourself.

And I opened my mouth and sucked both fingers all the way down, looking him in the eyes like a whore.

***

He half-carried me to a corner of the living room, where the cardboard sheets formed a kind of makeshift bed. He finished undressing me and made me lie on my back. Then he undressed himself.

It was the first time I had seen him completely naked. His prominent belly, his chest covered in graying hair, his thick thighs. And between his legs, hanging heavy and already semi-erect, was the fattest cock I had ever seen in my life: dark and veined, with a wide, shiny tip, and heavy balls swinging beneath with every step. There was nothing of the carefully maintained body of the boys my age in him, and yet he possessed a confidence, an absolute lack of doubt, that hypnotized me. He knew exactly what he wanted, and that was what disarmed me most.

He came closer, stood beside my head, and grabbed my hair.

—Open your mouth, gorgeous. You’re going to warm me up first.

I parted my lips, and he slipped the tip inside without hurry, pushing little by little until I felt the head striking against my palate. He pulled it out and put it back in. I sucked him as best I could, choking a little, saliva running from the corners of my mouth. He guided me by my ponytail, setting the pace, letting me lower myself until the tip touched the back of my throat and made me gag. Then he pulled it out and rubbed it over my face, my lips, my cheek.

—That’s it, swallow it all. Let it show on your face that you’re enjoying it.

I sucked him without taking my eyes off him, tears filling my eyes from the gagging, my mouth a mess of saliva and drool. Every time he pushed himself all the way in again, I felt his cock throbbing against my tongue, thick and hard, and my thighs squeezed together on their own from how badly I wanted it.

When he decided he’d had enough, he pulled out with a jerk and knelt between my legs.

—Now it’s your turn.

He lowered his head. What followed was long, patient, almost cruel in how drawn out it was. He opened my thighs with both hands, settled himself, and pressed his mouth to my pussy as if he were eating ripe fruit. He sucked my lips one by one, long licks from underneath to my clitoris, slow circles with the tip of his tongue, then his whole tongue flat against me, flattening me. He inserted two fingers and curled his knuckles upward, searching inside for that spot while he kept sucking. He brought me to the edge once, twice, three times, pulling away at the last second to begin again, leaving me panting and begging with my hips raised off the cardboard, until I lost count and all sense of where I was.

—Please —I begged him—. Please, don Marcial, let me come.

—Not yet. Hold on.

And he lowered his mouth again. When he finally let me come, he did it while sucking my entire clitoris with his lips and pushing both fingers deep inside, and I screamed into the cardboard without caring who might hear through the walls. My thighs closed around his head and I shook all over, almost pissing myself, soaking his entire beard.

At some point I think I lost the thread completely, because when I opened my eyes again, I found him sitting beside me, looking at me with a possessive smile, his beard still shining with me.

—You’re back —he said, amused—. I like seeing you like this, dazed, completely surrendered.

He leaned over and kissed me on the mouth, slowly, making me taste myself, as if thanking me for something.

I had barely caught my breath when he lay on his back on the cardboard and, with the ease he had for moving me however he wanted, settled me on top of him. He made me straddle him, his firm hands on my hips, guiding me. His cock was hard as a stone, pointing at the ceiling, already shiny with saliva and my juices.

—Take it —he said—. Yourself. Slowly. Put all of it inside you.

I obeyed him. I grabbed it with my hand, positioned it at my entrance, and lowered myself inch by inch. I felt it opening and stretching me, pushing where no boy had ever reached before. I sank down with my knees planted on the cardboard and my hands braced against his broad chest, gasping each time a little more entered. When I had him completely inside me, his balls pressed against my ass, we both exhaled at the same time.

—That’s it —he murmured—. Now move. No rush. Show me how the university girl rides.

I began riding him. I moved up and down at my own pace, letting his cock slide almost all the way out before dropping down fully again, feeling it strike the deepest part of me each time. He watched me from below with narrowed eyes, never stopping his touching: he squeezed my breasts, pinched my nipples, ran his thumb over my lips so I would suck it. Every so often he gripped my hips and forced me to slow down, to hold the tension a second longer than I wanted, his cock buried to the hilt, just to remind me who was in charge.

—Move in circles now. That’s it, work your hips. Make sure you feel it deep inside.

I did everything he told me. I rotated my hips over him, let him open me from within, and told him between gasps that I was his, that I would come whenever he called, that I would do whatever he asked. I told him to fuck me, not to stop, that his cock was the best I had ever tasted. And as I said it, I knew it was true.

At some point he grabbed me around the waist, turned me around, and put me on all fours on the cardboard, my ass raised and my face against the floor. He settled himself behind me. He spat on my slit, grabbed his cock, and drove it into me again in one thrust, all the way to his balls. I screamed. He grabbed my hair, pulled my head back, and began fucking me like that, mercilessly, every thrust making my ass bounce against his belly with a wet smack.

—Look how I’m giving it to you, gorgeous. Look how this old man opens you up.

—Yes, yes, like that, harder, don Marcial, harder.

He slapped one buttock, then the other. He left my skin red and burning. Without stopping his thrusting, he brought the thumb wet with saliva to my other hole and began pressing, barely pushing it in, playing with it.

—This one will be mine too someday —he whispered in my ear—. Everything that belongs to you will belong to me. Do you hear me?

—Yes —I moaned—. Everything is yours.

He lay me back down, opened my legs wide, and entered me again, this time facing me, putting all his weight on top of me. The cardboard creaked beneath my back. I dug my nails into his shoulders while he thrust into me faster and faster.

—I’m going to fill you —he suddenly said, speeding up—. Right here. Inside. I’m going to leave you dripping with cum.

—No —I blurted out, with one last scrap of reason—. Not that, please.

—No? —He slowed down, teasing me, leaving his cock still inside me, pulsing—. So you don’t want it anymore? Should I pull it out?

He pretended to withdraw, and I panicked at the thought of losing him. I dug my heels into his ass to keep him from leaving.

And there it was again, the trap. Because at that moment, burning inside, with that cock throbbing deep in me, it was exactly the only thing I wanted.

—Yes, I do want it —I admitted—. Don’t stop. Like that. Inside. Fill me.

He sped up again. He held my hips and made me bounce on him faster and faster, the cardboard bed sliding beneath us. I felt another orgasm climbing up my legs, bit the shoulder above me, and came screaming, squeezing his cock with my entire pussy. He held out for two, three more thrusts, until I felt his whole body tense, hold itself still for an instant, then let go with a long, deep groan as he pinned me against him and unloaded hot spurts deep inside me. I felt every pulse of his cock emptying into me, a thick flood that filled me and began running down my thighs as soon as he moved.

I collapsed onto his sweaty chest, strengthless, my cheek against his shoulder, my breathing in tatters. Beneath me, he rose and fell like a tired animal, his cock still inside me, slowly softening. When it finally slipped out, I felt a warm trickle run between my legs and stain the cardboard. We stayed like that, tangled together, until the silence of the empty apartment gradually brought us back to reality.

***

When I sat up, the concern that any woman in my situation would have hit me all at once. What if I get pregnant? It must have shown on my face, because he laughed before I said anything, looking at the semen still dripping from between my thighs.

—Relax, gorgeous —he said, stroking my hair—. This old man had the operation years ago. You won’t get pregnant no matter how much I fill you. I just wanted to see how far you were willing to go.

He helped me stand and sent me to the bathroom to freshen up. Two hours had passed since I walked through that door.

While I washed my face and wiped away the semen that was still slowly running down me, he spoke to me from the hall, calmer now, almost sincere. He said he wanted to keep seeing me, that being with me was like recovering some of the youth he had thought he’d lost. But he also told me that I had to continue with my usual life: my classes, my friends, my outings, even a boyfriend if I wanted one. No one could find out about us. He wouldn’t be intense or jealous; he would only seek me out from time to time, once or twice a month, and whenever he did, I would be his, completely his, and obey him in everything.

Once we were both dressed, he pressed me against the exit door again. One hand rested on the wood beside my head; the other caressed my cheek, like any boyfriend saying goodbye. I looked up at him despite myself, mesmerized, my panties still sticky.

—Do you agree, gorgeous? —he asked—. Will you be mine when I call you?

—Yes, don Marcial —I replied softly—. Whenever you want. And thank you for keeping it secret. No one can know.

—It will be our secret —he said, and something in his smile sent a shiver through me—. Although some people I trust may come to know about you. But they’re close to me. Don’t worry.

I didn’t ask what he meant by that. I don’t know whether it was out of fear or because, deep down, part of me didn’t want to know yet. He kissed me one last time, opened the door, and I stepped into the hall with my legs still trembling and my pussy full.

I rode the elevator down and walked to the street as if floating, lost between guilt and a heat that wouldn’t let me think, feeling with every step how his semen continued to slowly seep inside my panties.

And while I looked for a taxi to take me home, staring at the phone in my hand, there was only one question going around in my head.

When will he call me?