The Mature Cashier Who Came to My House

I'm going to tell you about an experience that left me thinking for several days, because it began in the dumbest way possible: with a cheap pastry at a supermarket checkout and a look that lasted a second longer than it should have.

I'd gone in after training, hungry and with that feeling that I deserved a treat. I grabbed a pastry, coffee, fruit, a couple of other things, and went to pay without expecting anything special. Then I saw her.

She was new at the checkout. Tall, blonde, big and firm-bodied, with powerful legs and the confident face of a woman that contrasted with the uniform. Her loose clothing didn't reveal much, but even so you could make out generous tits and an ass that filled out her work trousers with authority.

When she ran the pastry over the scanner, the code wouldn't register. She had to ask for help, and while a colleague went to find it, we were left alone face-to-face, trapped in that banal conversation that suddenly stops being banal.

—They put these things out earlier every year —she said, smiling—. There's no way anyone can watch what they eat.

—I've already given up —I replied—. I saw it and thought I'd earned it.

—Is it really that good?

—It looks pretty good. Otherwise I wouldn't have taken it.

She looked at me when I said it. It wasn't an innocent look. It was that kind of brief exchange that guarantees you nothing, but leaves the idea planted in your head. Then her colleague arrived with the code, I paid, and left.

Everything should have ended there, but it didn't. For days I kept thinking about her. Not romantically. Purely out of horniness. Because of the way she'd held my eyes while we talked about the fucking pastry as if we were talking about something else.

After the holidays I went back to the same supermarket first thing in the morning. I saw another discounted pastry and found it funny to take it, almost like a private excuse. When I reached the checkout, there she was again.

This time there was no line.

She recognized the product before my face and let out a little laugh.

—The pastry again.

—I never learn.

—And how was the other one?

—Very good. Although I wouldn't have minded staying with you a little longer that day.

She blushed without stopping the scanning. She didn't look up, but I could tell she'd taken it in. Before she charged me, I asked her for a pen. On the receipt I wrote my number and an address, with a simple question: “Five o'clock?”

She watched me as I wrote.

—When you finish, you can throw the receipt away if you want —I told her.

I took the bag and left without looking back. It seemed like the cleanest way to do it. No pressure, no putting her on the spot, no theatrics. In the car I thought the most likely outcome was that nothing would happen.

Two hours later I got a message from an unknown number.

—You're shameless.

I smiled at once. We kept texting for a while. She told me her name was Verónica, that at first she'd thought I was younger, and that she didn't know whether any of this made sense. I made my age and intentions clear, along with something more important: I wasn't expecting anything, but I'd be home at five.

She replied that she wasn't promising anything.

And yet, at five fifteen, the doorbell rang.

The minutes it took her to come upstairs felt endless. When the elevator opened and I saw her walking along the landing, I knew I'd imagined her body correctly—and still come up short. She was wearing a long coat, modest high heels, and a simple black dress that wasn't trying to be provocative, but looked brutally good on her.

We kissed each other twice on the cheeks and introduced ourselves as if we hadn't just done something crazy. My name was Darío to her; she was already Verónica to me. I took her coat, and when I hung it up I could see her better.

The dress wasn't tight, but it didn't need to be. Her breasts pushed naturally against the fabric, her hips filled it out completely, and the dark stockings turned her legs into something that was hard to stop looking at. She was a mature woman, yes, but above all she was a woman fully aware that she could still drive a man crazy.

—Would you like some coffee? —I asked.

—And to see the house —she said, as if she needed to buy herself some time.

We went through it quickly. It was a small, comfortable penthouse, with a large terrace that was useless on that winter afternoon. Then we went to the living room, I made coffee, brought out the famous pastry, and we sat down.

The first two hours passed with deceptive ease. We talked about travel, work, routines, and how absurd it was that we'd met this way. Little by little she relaxed and told me she'd been alone for a while, that she didn't go out much, and that she almost never did anything impulsive.

—Then I'm lucky today —I said.

—Today I'm being irresponsible —she replied, smiling.

We went from coffee to beer. Then another one. Later, I suggested we have something simple for dinner, and she came with me to the kitchen while I made some burgers. She chopped tomatoes and lettuce; I opened wine and shaped the meat. The scene was almost domestic, and perhaps that's why the tension became more obvious.

At one point I had to reach for a dish above her. I pressed myself against her from behind more than necessary. My pelvis clearly brushed against her ass. It wasn't an accident.

Verónica stopped chopping immediately.

She placed her hands on the counter and didn't move away. Her back tensed. She said nothing. Neither did I. I took the dish and returned to my place with my heart racing.

When she turned toward me, her look was no longer the same. It was warmer, more decisive, with fewer excuses.

We had dinner in the living room. Afterwards I poured a glass. She settled onto the sofa, crossed her legs, and the skirt of her dress rode up enough to reveal the top of her stockings. The sight hit me full force.

I sat beside her and kept listening, but I could no longer concentrate on her words. All I could see was the curve of her thigh, the skin showing between stocking and dress, the slow movement of her fingers around the glass.

During a comfortable silence, I placed my hand on her knee.

She didn't move away.

I caressed it gently. Moved up a little. Down. Then up again. She kept talking, though more and more slowly, until she finally confessed that it had been far too long since she'd slept with anyone.

—How long is too long? —I asked.

She lowered her eyes and exhaled.

—A long time.

We told each other our real ages. We were both surprised. Then came the question that many confident women ask when deep down they need to hear the answer.

—And what are you doing taking an interest in a lady like me?

I squeezed her thigh a little higher up, very close to the top of the stocking now.

—I'm not taking an interest in a lady. I'm taking an interest in a woman who's been driving me crazy all afternoon.

This time she looked me straight in the face. There was no going back. I leaned in slowly and kissed her. At first it was a soft, measured kiss, as if we were both checking that this was real. As soon as she responded, slipping her tongue into my mouth and grabbing the back of my neck, prudence was over.

My hand moved up her thigh until it touched bare skin. Hot, soft, and firm at the same time. I caressed her beneath the dress and squeezed one large, hard, full buttock. She let out a short moan against my mouth.

—Fuck —I murmured—. What an ass you've got.

She blushed, but not from embarrassment. From arousal.

I took her hand and brought it to my chest. She understood immediately. She ran it over my torso, down to my stomach, and ended at my fly. She felt the bulge and drew a deep breath. Without taking her eyes off mine, she undid the button of my trousers and began rubbing me through my underwear, slowly, testing me, as if she wanted to measure exactly how much of an effect she was having.

I kept kissing her mouth and neck. I bit her just below the ear and she trembled all over. Meanwhile, I pushed her dress up to her waist. Beneath it she wore stockings, a thong, and a bra that could barely contain her breasts.

I opened her legs. The heat coming from between them could be felt even through the fabric. I ran a finger over her thong and felt it become wet instantly.

—Look at how wet you are —I whispered.

She closed her eyes and tilted her head back.

—Don't make me wait any longer.

I pulled her dress up over her head, then took off her bra. Her tits fell heavy and large, with broad, dark nipples that made me moan too. I grabbed them with both hands without gentleness, feeling their weight and kneading them while she squeezed my cock through the fabric.

I leaned down to suck one nipple. Slowly at first, with my tongue. Then I took it properly into my mouth, sucking and biting just enough. Her reaction was immediate: a rougher moan, one hand pulling my hair, and her legs opening wider.

I moved to the other tit and treated it the same way. Sucking, licking, biting, tugging the nipple with my lips. Verónica was already breathing like a woman on the verge of losing her composure, and that turned me on even more.

I knelt in front of the sofa and took off her thong. It came away stuck to her, soaked. I let it fall to the floor and pulled her to the edge of the seat, spreading her legs wide. Her pubic hair was carefully groomed and blonde, and her pussy was swollen and gleaming with arousal.

—It's been a long time since anyone ate this, hasn't it?

—Too long —she said, almost voicelessly—. Do it.

I didn't make her repeat herself.

I gave her a long lick from underneath to her clitoris, opening her with my tongue. Her body arched suddenly. The next one was slower, deeper, savoring her taste and the way she grew wetter every second. I started eating her pussy in earnest, my face buried between her thighs, sucking her clitoris and pushing my tongue into her opening as if I wanted to fuck her with my mouth.

Verónica was no longer moaning quietly. She was crying out in bursts and covering her mouth with her forearm so she wouldn't completely lose control. I spread her lips with my fingers and licked her more precisely, feeling her contract.

I put in one finger. Then two. They slid in easily because she was so wet. I spread them inside her slowly, searching for the spot that made her convulse. All the while I kept sucking her clitoris.

—Fuck... yes... like that... like that... —she repeated.

I wanted to take her a little further. I lifted my mouth from her pussy for a moment and caressed her ass. Her hole clenched when it felt the tip of my wet finger.

—Relax —I told her—. Let me do it.

I pushed gently and the finger entered little by little. She opened her eyes, surprised, and fixed them on me. I saw doubt there for a second.

—If you don't want it, I'll stop.

She shook her head, panting.

—Keep going.

I lowered my mouth again and resumed my rhythm. Two fingers in her pussy, one in her ass, my tongue on her clitoris. I started slowly again and then sped up, feeling her squeeze my face with her thighs.

Her orgasm arrived without a clear warning. First came brutal tension in her abdomen. Then a long, wet scream and a jolt so strong I had to hold her by the hips so she wouldn't slide off the sofa. She came for real, soaking my mouth and fingers, trembling from head to toe.

She was left panting, flushed, undone, and embarrassed all at once.

—Sorry... fuck... I...

I wiped myself with the back of my hand and stood up.

—Don't apologize for coming like that. You've made my cock even harder than it already was.

I pulled down my trousers and underwear in one go. She looked at my cock with a mixture of curiosity and hunger, then immediately sat up and grabbed it. She began jerking me slowly, still catching her breath.

—It's been a long time since I've done this —she admitted.

—You don't have to do anything you don't want to do.

—I want to.

She bent down and took me into her mouth with some awkwardness, but plenty of enthusiasm. The first suck was cautious and wet, testing me. Then she repeated it with more confidence, closing her lips better and taking me deeper. She wasn't an expert, but that was precisely what made it more exciting: I could feel her concentrating, giving herself over, wanting to learn my body on the fly.

I stroked her hair while she sucked me. My fingers eventually held the back of her head, setting a gentle rhythm. She accepted the movement and began matching it, swallowing, panting through her nose, jerking the base with one hand while sucking the rest.

I squeezed her tits at the same time, playing with her nipples, watching her get wet again simply from having me in her mouth. Every now and then she slipped her other hand between her legs and touched her pussy while she kept sucking me.

—That's it, baby... that's it... —I told her, feeling myself reach the edge.

At one point I pulled out of her mouth and tugged her up. I kissed her hard, tasting myself on her lips. She asked me almost in a whisper:

—Doesn't it disgust you?

I answered by thrusting my tongue deep into her mouth and squeezing her ass with both hands.

—It turns me on even more.

I led her toward the dining table while we kissed. When she bumped into the edge, she climbed onto it by herself. She opened her legs and looked at me with a decisiveness that was no longer shy in the slightest.

I placed the tip of my cock at her entrance and rubbed it between her wet lips. Verónica let out a deep moan and lifted her hips, asking for more.

—Tell me how you want it.

—Fuck me —she replied—. And don't treat me like I'm made of glass.

I pushed slowly at first. Her entrance resisted; it had been a long time since she'd been penetrated. I felt her opening little by little around me, hot and tight. She frowned, but instead of moving away she grabbed my buttocks and pulled me in forcefully.

—More —she ordered.

I thrust all the way in with one hard drive. The impact tore a harsh cry from her throat that drove me crazy. I began fucking her standing up, jerky at first and then with a hard, increasingly confident rhythm, watching her tits bounce with every thrust.

I laid her down on the table and spread her legs wider. From there I could get inside her better, deeper. I grabbed her nipples and pulled on them while thrusting into her again and again. The sound was obscene: my pelvis pounding her ass, her wet pussy taking me, her moans rising in volume as she no longer tried to hide them.

—Fuck, yes... yes... don't stop... —she repeated.

I slipped one hand between our bodies and began rubbing her clitoris while I kept penetrating her. That finished her. She arched, clenched around me, and came again, trembling on the table, letting out an untimely “I'm coming” because the orgasm was already breaking her voice.

I pulled out while she was still contracting and turned her without much ceremony. She leaned on her forearms, sticking her ass up, beautiful, big, offering herself completely.

I gave it a testing slap.

She remained still for a moment.

I gave her another, harder.

Then she turned her head toward me, her cheeks flushed.

—Another.

I smiled.

I gave her a series of alternating, open-handed, noisy spanks. Her ass began to turn red, and with every blow her breathing became more disordered. Between one and the next, I caressed her wet pussy and the entrance to her ass, keeping her aroused and expectant.

—I didn't know you liked this —I said.

—I did —she replied breathlessly—. Harder.

I obeyed.

I spread her buttocks and rubbed my cock between her lips again. Then I entered her pussy once more with a hard thrust. She gripped the table and pushed backward to take me better. I started fucking her like that, from behind, with the sight of both her holes, her back trembling, and her moans filling the living room.

Every few thrusts I gave her another slap. The contrast between the blow and the penetration had her completely fired up. She kept asking for more, harder, faster, deeper. I gave her everything.

I slid a finger over her ass again, first on the outside, then pushing in very slowly while I continued fucking her pussy. She accepted it better than before. Her moans had a different tone, more broken, more surrendered. So I kept the finger inside, moving it to the rhythm of my thrusts.

—I'm going to come —I warned her.

—Me too... don't stop... don't stop...

I pushed the finger a little deeper into her ass and sped up my hips until I lost all fine control. Verónica began screaming for real, holding nothing back. She came clenching around me like a trap, and that emptied me.

I came inside her with a violent shudder, buried to the hilt, gripping her hips as I unloaded. We stayed like that for a few seconds, sweating and breathing like animals, my cock still inside her and her body trembling beneath my hands.

When I pulled out, semen began to trickle between her thighs. I looked down, gathered some with my fingers, and brought them to her mouth. She looked at me in silence, breathing quickly, and sucked them clean slowly without breaking eye contact.

That gesture nearly had me hard again instantly.

We went to the shower amid tired laughter and belated modesty that was useless by then. Under the water we talked as if we'd just crossed a border. Verónica confessed that she played alone with toys, that her ass wasn't unfamiliar territory, and that spanking had always turned her on even though she'd never tried it with anyone.

—Well, it suited you —I said, soaping one of her still-reddened buttocks.

—I loved it —she admitted—. And that scares me a little.

—It makes me want to do it again.

We went to bed naked, exhausted. That night we slept pressed together, with the strange comfort of two strangers who had already seen each other in the most intimate way possible. There were no promises or foolishness. Just warmth, the smell of recent sex, and the heavy satisfaction left by a good fuck.

In the morning I woke first. She was still asleep on her stomach, the sheet tangled around her waist and half her ass exposed. I ran my hand down her back until I reached her buttocks and squeezed them slowly.

Verónica opened her legs without fully opening her eyes.

I slipped my hand between her thighs and found her wet again.

—You're like this already —I murmured.

She smiled into the pillow, still drowsy.

—Don't look at me like that if you don't want me to be late for work.

I kissed the nape of her neck and kept caressing her a little longer, enjoying the way her skin prickled and she moved her hips again, asking for me. But that morning we did manage to stop in time. Maybe that's why the story wasn't used up in a single night.

Ever since then, whenever I see a pastry in a supermarket, I remember a mature cashier who looked at me as if she already knew exactly how she was going to end up at my house, on my sofa, and spread open on my table, begging me for more with her voice broken and her pussy dripping.