The Mature Real Estate Agent Who Waited for Me in Her Office

I was twenty-two and had the habit of not paying too much attention to my mother’s friends. They were women from another generation: coffee gatherings, the same gossip told three times, conversations about properties and organized trips that I didn’t care about at all. Verónica Salinas, the most recommended real estate agent in the neighborhood, fit that category perfectly. Or so I thought before I opened the door that October Saturday.

She was wearing tight charcoal pants, heels that clicked with authority on the marble foyer floor, and a beige blouse that clung where it was meant to cling. Fifty-two years old, according to my mother, though that fact was hard to believe when I had her in front of me. Married to a man with a long surname who traveled a lot for work. Real estate agent for more than twenty years, with an untarnished reputation in the business. That was what I knew about her before she came over to give me the usual two kisses.

—Look at you —she said, and her lips lingered on my cheek a second longer than was strictly necessary—. You’re not the kid I remembered anymore.

—Verónica… —I replied, unable to think of anything else to add—. Come in, Mom’s in the kitchen.

She laughed at something I hadn’t said and came inside. I watched her walk toward the back of the house without the slightest attempt at subtlety. Her pants clung to her hips in a way that left nothing to the imagination: the two half-moons of her ass were firm, round, perfectly outlined beneath the fabric, and they moved with every step in a way that had my cock half-awake before I’d even shut the door. I closed the door slowly and stood there for a second in the foyer, trying to remember why I had opened it in the first place.

All afternoon I pretended to study in the living room. My third-year law notes were open on the table, although I never managed to read more than two lines in a row. Verónica and my mother were talking in the kitchen about appraisals, square meters, and the orientation of the seaside apartment my parents had been trying to sell for months. Now and then she would peek into the living room to look for something or refill her coffee, and every time she passed close by she brought with her that scent of wood and white flowers that made it hard to concentrate on anything except her.

My father had gone out to watch the game at a neighbor’s house. Only the three of us were in the house, and that afternoon I was fully aware of it.

At one point, my mother went to the bathroom. Verónica sat down next to me on the sofa. Not at the opposite end, at a proper distance. Next to me, our knees only a few centimeters apart.

—A lot of work with school? —she asked, her voice a little lower than before.

—Third year. It’s going well —I replied.

—Guys your age carry a lot of tension —she said, resting her hand on my knee with a calm that threw me off—. And they don’t always know how to let it out.

Her hand didn’t stay on my knee. It moved up two centimeters, three, just enough for me to feel my blood pounding in my groin and my cock starting to harden right there, in my parents’ living room, with my mother in the bathroom ten meters away. She wasn’t talking about exams. We both knew it.

She took her hand away with the same calm when she heard my mother’s footsteps in the hallway. She crossed her legs again and resumed the conversation about the apartment as if nothing had happened. I put my notes away in my backpack. I wasn’t going to be able to read another line that afternoon.

Before leaving, when my mother went to get her coat from the foyer closet, Verónica stopped by the living room doorway and looked at me with that expression that was both appraisal and decision made.

—If you ever need to relax, you know where to find me —she said, very softly.

She smiled once and left.

That night I didn’t sleep well. I jerked off twice thinking about her before I finally managed to close my eyes: the first time with the image of those tight pants and that hand sliding up my thigh, the second imagining that the hand didn’t stop, that it kept going until it found my hard cock over my jeans. I replayed the scene over and over: her hand on my knee, the sentence she’d left unfinished, the way she moved like a woman who didn’t have to prove anything. She was fifty-two, married, and had a completely organized life on the other side of that smile. I was twenty-two and had way too much time to turn things over in my head.

***

Two weeks passed. Fourteen days in which every time I tried to focus on something, that tight pair of pants and that hand on my knee came back to me. Fourteen days of messages I drafted and didn’t send, excuses I never quite managed to build.

It was my mother who gave me the excuse.

—I need to take some folders with documents to Verónica’s agency, but I’ve got an appointment at the clinic today. Do you mind taking them over?

I didn’t argue.

I thought about her the whole way there. About whether she’d be alone, whether anything that had happened on Saturday had been only in my imagination, what I would do if I found her with clients and had to leave with the folders and a formal “see you later.” I parked on the street with a hand a little less steady than usual.

The office was on the ground floor of an eighties building, ten minutes away by car. I went in with the folders tucked under my arm. Through the glass in the door I saw that she was alone, sitting in front of the computer screen, wearing burgundy pants that gleamed faintly under the ceiling light.

When I pushed the door open, she looked up. She stood.

She locked the door before coming to greet me.

—I’m so glad you could make it! —she said, and gave me the usual two kisses. This time one was very close to the corner of my lips—. Your mother told me you were coming.

I set the folders down on the counter. I turned around. She was leaning against the desk with her arms crossed and that look that was judging and deciding at the same time.

—Since Saturday at the café, I haven’t been able to stop thinking —she said. The sentence was deliberately left hanging.

—Neither have I —I admitted.

She took two steps toward me. When she reached me she didn’t stop. She kept going until her hands were on my waist and her face was only a few centimeters from mine. I smelled the same perfume from my mother’s living room.

—I’m thirty years older than you —she said. It wasn’t a warning or an apology. It was something else.

—I know.

I kissed her first.

She had a warm mouth, with plenty of experience in how to move. She slipped her tongue in without asking, teasing mine, biting my lower lip and letting go only to shove her tongue back in deep. Her hands found my neck and pulled me to her with a certainty that stole my breath. I slid my hands down her sides, over the smooth fabric of those burgundy pants, and then lower, until I cupped her ass with both palms, firm and full, feeling her hips tighten when I squeezed for real. She let out a short moan against my mouth, the kind that had nothing left of surprise and everything to do with held-back desire.

—I thought about this —she whispered, barely parting her lips from mine—. About how you’d touch me if you finally got me alone. About how you’d fuck me too.

She ran one hand down my chest, over my stomach, until she found my cock over my jeans. She gripped it with her open palm, measuring the hard bulge like someone appraising a property, and gave a low, satisfied laugh.

—And you’ve been like this since you walked in —she said—. Good.

I turned her slowly and pressed her against the desk. The hard edge knocked into her lower back and she arched her body without resisting, tilting her head back with a crooked smile that had my cock rock hard. I ran my hands over her back through the blouse, feeling the curve of her shoulder blades and the hollow of her waist, then slid my hands beneath the fabric to palm her hot skin, flesh that was soft and firm at once, until I reached the clasp of her bra.

—Close the blinds —I said.

She went to do it without asking questions. I watched her walk to the window in those burgundy pants hugging her ass, lower the blinds one by one with the calm of someone who doesn’t want her hurry to show too much, and turn back to me with her blouse half undone and her chest rising fast. The beginning of a black lace bra was visible, along with the deep line of her cleavage.

I came closer and finished what she had started. I slid her blouse off her shoulders, unclasped her bra in back, and bared a pair of big, round, heavy breasts, with dark nipples that hardened the moment I saw them. I buried one hand in a breast and squeezed hard, making her look at me like someone who had spent years waiting for a man to dare touch her like that. I pinched her nipple between thumb and forefinger, gently at first, then hard, until a dirty moan escaped her that didn’t sound like her at all.

—That’s it —she murmured—. Fuck me with your hands first. Make it obvious you’ve been thinking about these tits for two weeks.

I bent down a little and took her right nipple all the way into my mouth. I sucked it, licked it, bit just enough to make her arch her back and press my head against her chest. I moved to the other one and did the same, until both were shining, swollen, marked with saliva. By then she already had one hand between my body and hers, rubbing her crotch over her pants with desperate urgency.

—Take them off me —she begged—. I can’t stand having this on any longer.

I lowered her pants slowly, first to her hips, then to mid-thigh. Under them she was wearing thin, dark panties, already soaked through in the center. The fabric clung to her cunt, and seeing her like that, so ready, sent a savage wave of heat to my gut. The wet patch had soaked through the lace and smelled like a mature, hot woman, like a cunt aching for it.

—My husband hasn’t looked at me in months the way you’re looking at me now —she said, with no trace of sadness. Just the cold register of a fact—. He hasn’t put his hand down there in months either. Touch me.

I slipped my hand over the panties, rubbing her cunt through the lace. She was drenched, burning, and the fabric sank between her lips on its own. I moved the lace aside with two fingers and pushed my middle finger inside in one motion. She gave way like warm butter, clamping around me with a ring of wet, throbbing flesh that pulled a gasp out of me.

—Fuck, you’re so wet —I said.

—I’ve been like this for two weeks —she replied, biting her lip—. Since I sat next to you on your mother’s sofa.

I knelt in front of her. I slid her panties down to her ankles and took them off completely, along with her heels, and spread her legs, resting one knee on each side of my face. She had a beautiful cunt, mature, neatly shaved, with lips a little swollen and shining from how wet she was. I kissed the inside of her thigh first, then closer, feeling the tremble running through her legs. I parted her wet lips with my fingers and licked her slowly, top to bottom, tasting her without rushing, swallowing her salty, hot flavor while she grabbed my hair hard.

—That’s… —she panted—. Don’t stop.

I went back to work, deeper with my tongue, marking her clit with slow, cruel movements until she began breathing in broken gasps, her knees opening wider and her body pushing my face. I sucked her clit like candy, let it go, sucked it again. I shoved my tongue inside, as far as I could, fucking her with my mouth while she ground herself shamelessly against my face. She begged for more with a muffled moan, moving her hips against my mouth like a woman who no longer wanted to hide anything. When I slid two fingers inside her, she clenched around me with a wet, tight force that almost made me lose my concentration.

—Fuck, yes —she said through her teeth—. Yes, like that, like that. Put your fingers in me and suck my clit at the same time. There, there, there…

She came with her mouth pressed against her own hand so she wouldn’t make a sound, but her whole body trembled over the desk. Her cunt contracted around my fingers in waves, wetting my palm, staining my chin with her juices. Even so, she still wanted more. Always more.

—Stand up —she said, still panting—. Stand up and come here. Now it’s my turn.

I stood. She slid off the desk and knelt on the floor in front of me without wasting a second. She undid my belt, the button, the zipper, and yanked my jeans and boxers down to my thighs in one pull. My cock sprang free, hard, swollen, the tip already shining. Verónica looked at it for a moment, like someone finally seeing before her what she had been imagining for two weeks, and took it all the way into her mouth.

—Holy shit… —I blurted.

She sucked like she’d spent her whole life sucking cock. She took me deep, all the way, and came back up slowly with her tongue pressed to the head, letting it fall out to spit a little saliva and then taking me back in to the throat. She grabbed my balls with one hand, gently, tugging them downward, while the other held onto my thigh so she wouldn’t lose her balance. She looked up at me with my cock buried to the back of her mouth and I thought I was going to come right there, looking at that elegant lady face with her lips stretched around my dick.

—If you keep doing that you’re going to make me come —I said, grabbing her hair to slow her down.

She pulled my cock out of her mouth with a wet pop and licked her lips.

—Not yet —she replied—. I want you to come inside me. I want to feel you there.

I helped her sit on the desk and kicked my mother’s folders aside with my foot. She opened her legs without my having to ask again, showing me her wet, reddened cunt, still throbbing from the orgasm. I guided my cock to her entrance, brushing first against the wet lips, rubbing the head against her clit two, three times, until she sought me out with her hips herself.

—Put that cock inside —she said, staring at me—. I want to feel it all the way in. Don’t make me beg.

I went in slowly at first, because she was soaked and she squeezed in a delicious way, hot and tight, wrapping around me with a pressure that drew a groan from me. She threw her head back and dug her fingers into the edge of the desk as I pushed in farther, centimeter by centimeter, until I filled every corner of that mature, hungry cunt that swallowed me like she had known me her whole life.

—That’s it —she said, her voice broken—. That’s how I like it. Hard. No mercy.

I fucked her in rhythm, holding her by the hips while the desk squeaked against the wall. She opened wider, asked for more with her legs around my waist and her cunt gripping me like a hot trap. The sound of our bodies colliding, wet and obscene, mixed with her increasingly ragged breathing and the small moans she no longer bothered to hold in. I could see her tits bouncing with every thrust, her belly tightening, her face coming apart with pleasure.

—Turn around —I said, pulling out of her for a moment—. I want to fuck you from behind.

She didn’t protest. She got down from the desk, turned, and leaned forward with her elbows on the wood. Her ass was at just the right height, parted, offered, with her pink, soaked cunt facing me. I smacked her right cheek—not hard, just enough to make it bounce—and shoved my cock in with one thrust to the hilt. She let out a muffled cry against the desk.

—Fuck, fuck, like that —she moaned—. More, give me more.

I grabbed her by the hips and started fucking her from behind with everything I had. I watched her bite her lip, grip the edge of the desk with white knuckles, move her ass back to meet me on every thrust. Every time I drove in to the hilt, her butt bounced against my pelvis with a wet, flat, filthy sound. I pulled her hair to tilt her head back and see her face in three-quarter profile, eyes closed, mouth open, lipstick smeared from the way it had run.

—You’re a slut —I murmured, almost without realizing I was saying it out loud—. An elegant slut.

—Your slut —she corrected me, glancing sideways with a smile made of pure desire—. Today I’m your slut. Keep going.

I made her go back to the desk on her back. I lifted her off the floor, sat her on the edge, and spread her legs as wide as they would go. I put them over my shoulders, folding her almost in half, and rammed into her again. From that angle I was going even deeper, and she knew it. I bit one nipple, then the other, while continuing to drive into her from above with deeper and deeper strokes, feeling my cock disappear entirely into her and come back out covered in her wetness. Verónica clung to my shoulders, scratched my back, looked at me with half-closed eyes and a slightly open mouth as if she were on the verge of something too big to name.

—Harder —she begged—. Don’t be polite now. Break me. I want to feel that cock tomorrow.

And I gave it to her. Harder, dirtier, rawer. I slammed her against the desk and fucked her like I’d wanted her my whole fucking life, burying my cock to the hilt again and again, watching her tits shake with every thrust and profanity spill from her between gasps when I hit exactly where she liked it most. I slid one hand down to her clit and rubbed it in quick circles while I kept fucking her deep. The orgasm hit her again all at once, her legs tightening around my waist and her back arching as she came convulsing, soaking my lower belly. Her cunt clenched around my cock with so many spasms in a row that it almost knocked me to the floor.

—I’m coming… fuck, I’m coming —she babbled, trembling—. Keep going, keep going, don’t stop. Don’t pull out now, please.

I didn’t stop. I kept going until she left me completely undone, until I felt the pressure in my balls surge up like a blow and I gave her three, four final thrusts before emptying into her with a groan that got stuck in my throat. I filled her with cum while she squeezed me even harder, digging her nails into my back and murmuring my name in a voice that no longer sounded like a perfect lady or an untarnished real estate agent, but like a fucking satisfied woman. I felt the last drops go in, felt her cunt swallow everything, and saw a thin white trickle escape the corner of her mouth when I finally pulled my cock out, still hard.

—Don’t move —she said, grabbing the back of my neck—. Stay there for a minute. Just like that.

When we were done, she stayed sitting on the desk with her blouse open, her legs still apart, staring at the ceiling. Her cum ran down her thigh and she didn’t seem to care. I leaned against the opposite wall, my jeans at thigh level and my cock shiny with her. Neither of us said anything for a long while.

—This can’t just be once —she said at last.

—No —I replied—. It can’t.

***

We kept seeing each other for almost nine months. Sometimes in her office, when the receptionist went out to lunch and she closed the front blinds. Other times in empty apartments she had on her books: flats with the blinds down and the smell of fresh paint, where the only piece of furniture was sometimes a folding chair we never ended up using. One November afternoon, in her car parked behind the municipal market, with rain battering the roof and the windows fogging up within minutes. That afternoon she climbed on top of me in the passenger seat, her skirt rolled up to her waist and no panties on, and took my cock to the hilt in the middle of the parking lot, fucking me herself, riding me like she’d been waiting months for that moment. She came biting my neck so she wouldn’t scream while I grabbed her ass with both hands and pushed her down every time she rose.

Verónica was not impulsive. She organized everything with the same precision she used to coordinate her property viewings. A terse, direct message would arrive: “Thursday, 3:30, Rosales Street 22, 4A.” And I would show up.

Once I arrived at the apartment on Rosales Street and found her in a robe, her hair down, as if she’d been waiting for hours. “I’ve got the day off,” she said, and locked the door without another explanation. That afternoon was different from all the others: calmer, longer, without the clock marking how much time was left before someone came back from lunch. She sucked my cock on the sofa until I was on the edge and then pulled away so I wouldn’t come. She made me fuck her on the living room floor, on top of an old blanket she had brought on purpose. Afterward, in the bedroom bed that smelled like an empty apartment, she asked me to take her from behind, slowly, patiently, and let me do it for the first time. She came twice with my fingers in her cunt while I entered her ass carefully, whispering obscenities in her ear. When I finished inside her that last time, she lay face down on the bed, my finger marks on her hips, and laughed softly into the pillow.

In those hours I learned things no one had taught me yet. Not just about sex, though that too. I learned how a woman speaks when she’s no longer afraid to ask for what she wants. I learned that desire changes when someone has spent years holding it back and one day decides it makes no sense to keep doing so.

—Doesn’t all this complicate things for you? —I asked her one day, while we dressed in silence in an apartment in the old neighborhood.

—Everything in my life complicates things for me —she replied, buttoning her blouse without looking at me—. At least this one I like.

I didn’t ask again.

The end wasn’t dramatic. One day the messages stopped coming. I waited a week, then two, not really knowing whether I should write to her myself. When I ran into her at my parents’ house over the December holidays, she gave me the usual two kisses and a perfectly normal smile, as if it were the first time we’d seen each other that year. My mother didn’t notice anything. Neither did my father.

I did notice she was wearing the same burgundy pants from the afternoon at the office.

I picked up my coat and went out into the street. It was cold. I stood for a moment in the doorway and thought that there are trains that pass only once, and that the smart thing is not to stay on the platform watching them disappear.

I had gotten on board. That was enough.