The Club’s Older Woman Chose Me at the Annual Gala

Every respectable club throws a grand evening at least once a year. Ours, the Círculo Valdés, was famous for two things: the awards handed out to the most outstanding members, and what happened afterward, when the formalities loosened and the salon turned into something else. Dress code was mandatory. The wine flowed without restraint. And no one who had been once ever missed the next one.

I was the youngest man in the room that night. Twenty-three years old, newly admitted by a patron I’d rather not name, and with the feeling that I had sneaked into a party far too big for me. I was wearing a borrowed tuxedo and holding a glass I barely touched, watching from beside a column as the veterans greeted one another with the easy familiarity of people who share secrets.

Dinner began with the awards. A woman named Renata received the one for Entrepreneurial Member of the Half-Year. She was intelligent, with a modest figure, but with a gaze that betrayed enormous appetites. In her speech she looked at only one man, Mr. Belmonte, as if all her gratitude belonged to him and no one else.

They gave me the award for youngest member. I went up to the lectern not knowing what to say, scanned the room, and stopped, without meaning to, on a woman seated at the first table.

It was Daniela Belmonte. Blonde, tall, in her forties and wearing them with a confidence no girl my age had. The dress traced her curves without vulgarity, and when she crossed her legs and held my gaze, I felt the blood rush to the wrong place at the worst possible moment. I climbed down from the lectern quickly, praying the cut of my trousers would hide the erection already pressing hard against the fabric.

“Nice speech,” someone said beside me. It was her. She had stood up and walked over to me without my noticing.

“I’m not good with words,” I admitted.

“Even better,” she smiled. “Words are usually unnecessary.”

***

Dinner went on like all the others: too much wine, conversations that grew more explicit, laughter that turned lewd. By the time dessert was cleared away, almost no one was fully sober. Congratulations started moving from table to table, and Mr. Belmonte went over to Renata to congratulate her on her award.

What happened next I saw from a distance, and I wasn’t the only one. Renata wasn’t listening to what he was saying. Her eyes were fixed on the bulge in his trousers, biting her lower lip, and then suddenly her hands closed around his waist and pulled him toward her. She sank to her knees right there in the middle of the salon, and with deft fingers she unbuttoned his fly, pulled out his already semi-hard cock, and took it all into her mouth in one smooth motion, down to the throat. Belmonte let out a hoarse grunt and grabbed her by the nape. She began to suck him without a trace of shame, her cheeks hollowed by the suction, a line of saliva running down her chin, licking and drawing out the swollen shaft with a wet sound that could be heard from three tables away.

No one was scandalized. It was that kind of night. Some averted their eyes out of courtesy; others moved closer, drawn to the spectacle of that proper woman turned into a rutting female with a cock in her mouth. Belmonte threw his head back and shoved her face against his crotch, fucking her throat at a slow rhythm while Renata moaned around his cock as if she had spent months dreaming of that moment.

“I knew this would happen sooner or later,” murmured a voice by my ear.

Daniela had reappeared at my side. She watched the scene without the slightest discomfort, almost tenderly.

“Doesn’t it bother you?” I asked, nodding toward her husband, who at that moment had his fingers tangled in Renata’s hair.

“We stopped belonging to one another years ago,” she replied. “We’re only accomplices now. That’s different. Let him come in the mouth of whoever he wants, as long as he comes home.”

She turned to me. Up close she smelled of something expensive and dark, and the chandelier light softened her face without taking away a single one of her years. Those years, precisely, were what had me hypnotized.

“You’re not like the others here,” she said, studying me. “You’re still embarrassed. I like that. The shy ones last longer.”

“I don’t know what I’m supposed to do,” I confessed.

“Nothing. That’s the beauty of it.” She took my hand. Her fingers were cold and firm. “Come with me. I need to see whether what you’ve got in those trousers matches that good-boy face.”

***

She led me down a side corridor, away from the murmur of the salon, to a small room paneled in wood with an antique desk. She locked the door. The noise of the party was reduced to a dull pulse on the other side of the wall.

“Relax,” she said, coming closer. “I don’t bite. Well. Not always.”

She kissed me before I could answer. It wasn’t a timid or exploratory kiss. It was the kiss of someone who knew exactly what she wanted and how long it had been since she’d taken it. Her tongue entered my mouth with authority, searching for mine, while she pressed me against the desk and her hands loosened my tie, the first button, the second, with a calm that made me more nervous than any hurry could have.

“Easy,” she repeated against my mouth. “We have all night for you to fill me with cream.”

She smelled of expensive perfume and red wine, and beneath the absolute control of her movements there was something that betrayed her: a breath a little faster than she wanted to seem, nipples standing hard beneath the silk of her dress. Then I realized she wanted this too, and that her confidence was not coldness but experience. Knowing that calmed me more than any words could have.

I felt her unfasten my trousers without taking her eyes off mine. She slipped her hand inside my boxer briefs, pulled out my cock, and gave a small laugh of satisfaction as she weighed it in her palm.

“Well, well. The rumors about the new member were true.” She squeezed me slowly, from the base to the tip, and watched a clear drop gather at the glans. “And you’re soaked too. Good boy.”

My face burned. She knelt on the rug with an elegance she didn’t lose even in that position, opened my trousers all the way, and freed my cock with both balls spilling out of the boxer briefs. First she licked me slowly, bottom to top, tracing the thick vein with the tip of her tongue, and when she reached the glans she closed her lips and descended, descended, descended until I felt the tip bump against her palate. She closed her eyes, breathed through her nose, and kept going until I was all the way in her throat.

It had nothing to do with the clumsiness of girls my age. Every movement was precise, deliberate, made to drive me insane and leave me right on the edge without letting me come. She sucked me with constant pressure, pulled me from her mouth with an obscene pop to spit over the tip and swallow me again, while one hand stroked my balls and the other squeezed the base to stop my orgasm when she felt me tense. I had to brace both hands on the desk so I wouldn’t lose my balance.

“No, no, not like that,” I panted. “You’re going to make me finish in your mouth.”

“That’s the idea,” she said, pulling my cock out with a wet kiss on the glans and wiping the corner of her mouth with her thumb. “But not yet. First I want you to fuck me all the way.”

She placed her hands behind her back and pulled down the zipper of her dress. The fabric fell to her waist, then to the floor, and she stood in front of me in a tiny black thong, tits bare, round, firm, with nipples dark and erect like two ripe olives. She took hold of the thong, slid it down her hips, and her shaved cunt appeared, shining with moisture, the lips already swollen. I, meanwhile, didn’t know where to put my hands.

“Touch me,” she ordered, taking my wrists and guiding them. “Here, the nipples. Pinch them, I’m not made of glass. Now down. Fingers inside. Slower. Yes, like that. Can you feel how wet I’ve got you?”

It was a proper lesson. I slid two fingers into her cunt and felt them glide without resistance, gripped by a heat that made me clench my teeth. She showed me where and at what rhythm, guided my thumb to her swollen clit and set the circles, corrected me when I rushed, rewarded me with a sigh when I got it right. I sank my fingers in to the knuckles and she started riding them, braced against the desk, mouth open and tits moving in time. No one had ever directed me like that, and I discovered I loved letting myself be led.

“Enough fingers,” she panted, pushing my hand away and bringing my fingers to her mouth to suck them. “Fuck me. I want to feel that good-boy cock opening me up completely.”

I lifted her onto the desk, spread her legs wide, and settled between her thighs. I gripped my cock in my hand, rubbed the glans up and down over her soaked lips, and when I shoved in and entered her all at once, all the way to the hilt, she let out a long, guttural moan and closed her eyes.

“Slowly,” she said, digging her heels into the small of my back. “I want to feel you put it in centimeter by centimeter.”

I obeyed. I pulled almost all the way out, leaving only the glans inside, and went back in slowly, watching her cunt open around my cock and swallow it whole. I learned to read her breathing, to hold back when she tensed, to thrust when her voice broke. Every stroke drew a wet sound from where we joined, and her tits bounced with every slam of my hips. The party kept playing on the other side of the wall, oblivious to us, and I was conscious only of the tight heat wrapping my cock and the way she said my name as if she had invented it that night.

“Harder,” she begged after a while, abandoning all her earlier calm. “Enough of slow. Break me. Make me forget my name. Fuck me like the young bastard you are.”

And that’s what I tried to do. I grabbed her by the hips, drove my fingers into her flesh, and stopped thinking. I started pounding her at a brutal pace, pelvis crashing against pelvis, the desk hitting the wall with each thrust. She gripped the edge with both hands, threw her head back, and began to let out increasingly sharp, obscene moans, not caring who might hear her. I lifted her off the desk, put her face down on the wood, and spread her ass cheeks with my thumbs to watch myself slide in and out of her red, swollen cunt. I fucked her from behind with every bit of force I had, listening to my balls slap against her clit.

“There, there, don’t stop, don’t stop,” she moaned, her cheek smashed against the desk and one hand between her legs rubbing her clit. “I’m coming, I’m coming on you.”

Her nails scraped the wood, her voice rose into something beyond words, and when she came her cunt clamped around my cock in spasms that dragged me with her. I drove myself all the way in and emptied inside her, shot after shot, my forehead pressed to her sweaty back while she kept trembling and contracting around me, squeezing every last drop from me. We stayed still, panting, her stretched across the old wooden desk with my seed leaking down her thighs and me on top of her, unable to move.

“For a newbie,” she said once she’d caught her breath, with a crooked smile, sliding a finger between her legs and bringing it to her mouth, “you learn fast.”

***

When we returned to the salon, the evening had changed completely in nature. Protocol was a memory. Renata was still with Mr. Belmonte in a corner, now on all fours on an ottoman, her dress hiked up to her waist and him penetrating her from behind with short, firm thrusts while she bit the back of her hand to keep from screaming. In the center of the room, a group of members had lost every shred of restraint. Two women were devouring each other’s mouths sprawled on a sofa, one with her hand under the other’s skirt, moving her fingers in a rhythm that made her partner arch. One man was the center of attention for three female guests who took turns with practiced complicity: one sucked him, another licked his balls, and the third sat on his face so he would eat her pussy while the other two worked below.

I watched it all like someone witnessing a world he hadn’t known existed. Daniela watched me, amused by my amazement.

“The first time is shocking,” she said. “After that, you get used to it. Some too much.”

I recognized Renata in the group, the award winner, unrecognizable compared to the proper woman from the speech. Belmonte had just slipped out of her and come on her ass, and Renata was already turning to lick the tip and clean the last traces away with a hungry smile. Her shyness had fallen off like a coat at the entrance, and now she laughed with a freedom that was a pleasure to see, semen trickling down her skin. Looking at her, I understood that this salon was not a place of senseless excess, but a kind of truce: people who for the rest of the year carried surnames, positions, and marriages, and who one night each semester allowed themselves to stop pretending.

“And you?” I asked.

“I choose. Tonight I chose you.” She gave me a brief kiss at the corner of the lips, still tasting of my cock. “And I doubt this will be the last time.”

One of the women on the sofa called to her by name, inviting her to join them, spreading her legs to show the shiny cunt. Daniela shook her head and held my gaze, as if to say she already had plenty to keep herself occupied. I felt a ridiculous pride, out of place in the scene, but real.

We sat on a separate armchair, her hand on my leg, close but not on my fly, watching the party continue its course together. We didn’t fuck again that night more than necessary. There was no need. There was something more intimate in staying like that, with her quietly telling me who each person was, who they slept with, what histories they carried, while the salon burned a few meters away and moans bounced between the paintings.

“Come back next semester,” she said when dawn was breaking and the guests were beginning to leave, some still half-dressed. “Ask for me. Don’t make me have to look for you.”

I promised I would return. And return I did. But that, as the club veterans say, is a story for another night.