The Mature Woman Who Gave Me the Keys Didn’t Stay at the Door

The company, in one of those fits of penny-pinching they like to boast of as efficiency, had booked me an apartment through one of those rental websites instead of a decent hotel. What especially annoyed me was that after swallowing up mile after mile of highway, with night already well underway, I still had to deal with formalities, even if they were the bare minimum needed to get myself into bed.

When I reached the city, I opened a message the office had sent me with a contact number and the address of the apartment, on Robles Street. I’ll admit it: I was in a bad mood. Sometimes the price difference between an apartment and a hotel is ridiculous, if there even is one. But anyway. I called the number, and a fairly direct woman’s voice answered—without any unnecessary sweetness—and told me the keys weren’t in one of those coded lockboxes; they would hand them to me in a bar, where they would explain how to get into the apartment.

It was odd. It smelled like a scam, because things are never done that way, but at that hour I had no choice but to find out.

The bar wasn’t a bar at all; it was some kind of pub packed with people. Some were wearing coats, others were dressed to the nines, and the two young waitresses were in tops with their entire arms bare. The city was small, and it seemed people of every age converged there: teenagers, mature couples, perfumed men who came in to pick up their drinks and went straight back out into the lively street. It took me a while to reach the bar. The music was deafening.

“Which apartment?” one of the waitresses shouted when I asked her for the keys.

I almost laughed. I handed her my phone with the message open, because at that volume I was incomprehensible to her. She read it, handed it back, and pointed toward the door.

“The one with the keys is outside,” I barely managed to understand. “Go out and find her.”

I went outside with an ice-cold beer in my hand to see if I could spot her. There was even more of a crowd outside, a mix of people I didn’t know from Adam. I swallowed my irritation at all the stinginess by taking sips of my beer, while I tried to guess which of them was the “housekeeper.” Our eyes met and passed among the crowd. I didn’t move. I enjoyed the beer and its chill sliding down my throat.

With barely a finger’s width left in the glass, I looked up that damn number again and called. No answer. I tried again, and this time she picked up. Among the people, a mature woman looked up, searched for me with her eyes, and nodded. We had been looking for each other. It was close to one in the morning.

We came closer, and yes, it was her. A voice slightly hoarse from the late hour, a few extra pounds distributed quite evenly, salon-blond hair in soft waves, a little makeup smudged around her face. Her eyes were a nearly transparent light brown, and her lips were painted red. Late forties, maybe fifty. I stood there gawking at her for a moment.

“Is it you? We spoke on the phone a moment ago, didn’t we?” she said, and without waiting for an answer, placed the keys to the apartment on Robles Street in my hand.

“What’s the easiest way to get there from here?” I asked. “My car’s parked outside the building.”

“I’ll come with you. I live right next door.”

She finished her drink, which contained nothing but melted ice and a finger of alcohol, and left the glass on one of the barrels being used as a table in front of the pub.

“I’m leaving, girls,” she told a nearby group. “I’ve delivered the keys.”

“We’ll come with you, Amalia,” one of them replied.

Four more women her age joined us. The apartment was about three hundred meters away, around a corner and down a narrow street. With the Christmas lights up, it was actually rather pretty.

On the way, they questioned me amiably: where I was coming from, where I was going, whether I traveled much. It was a friendly interrogation in every sense, and it made me forget my annoyance and turn the walk into an almost pleasant stroll. They were funny, joking about the drinks they had had, and their abundant perfumes filled the cold night air.

Three of them lived in the same building; the other two were neighbors from the area. We all squeezed into the elevator, packed in two facing two, because the box was tiny and they weren’t exactly slim in their coats. Our bodies brushed against one another. Opposite me, a very dark-haired friend of Amalia’s held my gaze as we went up, never stopping her conversation. She got out on the second floor with another woman.

Amalia and I were left facing each other. She smelled a little of alcohol and was still determined to be friendly: asking whether it was my first time staying there, whether I knew the area. That was how we reached the sixth floor.

“Well, here we are. Good night, sleep well,” she said in the landing, door to door with mine.

“Good night. See you tomorrow.”

I was going to stay for five days and four nights.

***

I gave the apartment a quick inspection. Very clean, very well kept, but cold as an industrial freezer. I couldn’t find the thermostat. I unpacked a little and took out some clothes, but I was freezing. I thought about taking a scalding shower, although I was exhausted and all I wanted was to throw myself onto the bed and pass out. The problem was that the place was a freezer.

So, taking advantage of the frankness between us earlier, I decided to go out and ask how to turn on the heating. I rang the bell opposite. It took a little while. She came out already disheveled, wearing white socks, short pajama bottoms, and a fairly loose old branded T-shirt. Over them she wore a robe like a bathrobe, which she crossed over herself when she opened the door to cover up a little. She questioned me with her eyes without saying anything.

“Do you know how to turn on the heating? The apartment’s an icebox.”

“Oh, sorry, I forgot to leave it on. I’ll turn it on from my phone. Would you like a coffee while it warms up a little? It’ll only take a moment.”

It seemed reasonable. And I went in, because I could already smell freshly brewed coffee.

“It’s very late for coffee, but all right,” I said, and found myself inside her home without really knowing how.

“Sit on the sofa if you like.”

It was a three-seater sofa facing an enormous television.

“Put something on if you feel like it; I have Netflix. I’ll be right back!” I heard from the kitchen. “I’ll make you one with almond flavor, okay?”

I didn’t answer. I was sprawled exhausted on the sofa, staring blankly at the dark screen. Five minutes and then bed, I thought.

She came back with two cups. It smelled good—very good. Her robe had opened all the way, hanging like a cape, and her tits, braless now, swung freely beneath the T-shirt, two large, hard nipples pushing against the thin fabric.

“Don’t judge the mess; I wasn’t expecting company,” she said, taking a sip. “Sugar?”

“It smells wonderful. Do you take sugar?” I replied, trying not to look down her cleavage.

“Only if you do.”

My eyes jumped like the reels on a slot machine. I was exhausted, but that woman, with those loose breasts swaying beneath the fabric, was making my cock hard without even trying. Or so I thought.

The coffee was an excellent ristretto, but taken in little sips, it was gone almost immediately.

“Doesn’t it burn you, that hot?” I asked.

“I like it very hot,” she said, while openly caressing one breast through her T-shirt, pinching the nipple between two fingers until it stood out even more, and sitting beside me. “I like it very hot too. Very deep and very hot, you know?”

She opened her robe a little farther and adjusted her hair without taking her eyes off mine. As tired as I was, I reacted slowly. She moved much closer, her gaze fixed on me, hypnotizing me with those honey-colored eyes.

“And what else is hot?” she whispered, pressing one breast against my arm until she reached my lips with a spectacular kiss, her tongue going straight into my mouth, stirring me up, biting my lower lip as she pulled away.

She tasted of alcohol and coffee. My remaining strength was enough for my hands to seek out those tits, first over the T-shirt, then underneath it: heavy, warm, soft-skinned, their nipples already erect like little stones against my palms. I pinched them, and she let out a long moan into my mouth. Her tongue was on mine again—or mine on hers; I no longer knew. And I felt my cock in my trousers, hard as a rock despite the miles, pushing against the fabric until it hurt.

“Oh, someone down here isn’t so tired,” she murmured, lowering her hand and squeezing me through my trousers, finding my bulge with her open palm and measuring all of me from top to bottom. “What a cock you have, darling… I want to see it.”

Our clothes were soon in the way. She unfastened my belt herself, then the button, and pulled my jeans and underwear down in one tug, as far as my ankles. My cock sprang stiff against my stomach, and she stared at it for a moment with that half-smile, biting her lip. She gripped it at the base with her right hand, squeezing, while her left weighed my balls, swollen and hot from hours in the car.

“Mmm, look how pretty,” she said, and without taking her eyes off my face, crouched down and took it into her mouth in one go, halfway down.

Her hot tongue coiling around the head, her throat tightening around me, a long suction as she moved up, then a pop as she released it. She sucked me slowly, savoring me, moving her hand and mouth together, up and down, with a wet sound that filled the living room. She stopped at the head, played with her tongue along the slit, lowered herself to lick my balls one by one and take them into her mouth, then went back to swallowing my entire shaft. Drool ran down her chin, and her red lipstick smeared all over my cock from top to bottom, while she seemed to enjoy it even more than I did.

“Amalia, fuck… just like that,” I gasped, throwing my head back.

“Shhh, darling, let me,” she said in her hoarse voice, my cock still in her mouth. “It’s been a long time since I sucked such a delicious cock.”

She straddled me and pulled her T-shirt over her head. Her large, white tits, with broad areolas and hard, dark nipples, were level with my face. She grabbed them in both hands and offered them to me, pushing them into my mouth.

“Suck my tits. Hard, don’t be a prude.”

I sucked one nipple and then the other, biting them and tugging at them with my teeth. She arched her back, moaned, and rubbed her soaked pussy against my stomach, leaving a sticky trail just above my navel. I slid my hand between her legs, pushed aside her panties, and found her swollen pussy, wet all the way to her thigh, her lips bulging and her clitoris jutting out hard. I drove two fingers deep inside her without preamble, and she jerked.

“Oh, yes… like that, deeper…,” she gasped, pressing her mouth to my ear. “Open me up properly.”

I thrust my fingers in and out, curling them upward, hearing her pussy squelch as I fucked her with my hand. I stroked her clitoris with my thumb in circles, and she collapsed onto me trembling, biting my neck.

She pulled down her shorts and kicked them to the floor. She shifted until she was sitting astride me, offering me her tits again with her own hands, her nipples almost in my face. She took hold of my saliva-wet cock and placed it at the entrance of her pussy, rubbing the head over her lips and clitoris before letting me inside.

“You fit inside me so well… fuck.”

She positioned herself properly, without hurrying, and with a slight movement of her hips I slid inside her, wet as if she had been coated in oil. Her pussy gripped me, hot and tight, wrapping around me inch by inch until I felt her ass crush my balls. I began pressing her against me, thrusting up from below, but she held my head against the backrest.

“Shhh… no…” she murmured. “Sloooowly, darling. Let me do it.”

And she remained still, completely still, with me inside her, not moving a millimeter, deliberately squeezing me with her pussy, milking my cock with small contractions.

“You can feel how I’m squeezing you, can’t you?” she whispered. “This is going to make you come, you’ll see.”

“Sloooowly…” she whispered afterward, and began a thousand-times-slower rocking motion, rising until my cock almost came out, letting me see it emerge shiny and drenched, then lowering herself again slowly, swallowing me whole to the base. She pushed me against the backrest, then pulled away without fully coming off, only to sink back down and take me to the hilt once more.

I was spent. My hands slid from her tits to her hips and from her hips back to her tits, caressing her, squeezing her ass, letting myself go. I had no strength to set the pace, and the position forced her to take control. She rode me with exasperating calm, measuring every millimeter, pausing at the top and lowering herself in slow motion.

“That’s it, Andrés… keep going…” she gasped. “You fill my whole pussy… don’t stop… look how it goes in.”

She lowered her gaze between our bodies to watch my cock disappear inside her and come back out gleaming with her juices. She licked her lips and made me look too, taking me by the nape of the neck.

“Do you see it? All yours. All the way inside my pussy.”

The T-shirt had already flown off. I sucked her nipples each time she sank down and pushed them away afterward, tangling her fingers in my hair so she could lower herself again. Sweet, long, incredibly slow. One of her spasms made me feel her wetness running over my balls and dripping onto the sofa. It sounded wet, a sticky squelch each time her ass struck my thighs, and she still didn’t speed up.

“You’re soaked,” I moaned.

“That’s what you do to me, darling. Look at me. Suck me again.”

I held her against me and pushed her, but she was the one setting every beat. She licked my mouth, bit my lip, nibbled my neck without stopping the rise and fall of her hips. I felt the swollen head of my cock inside her, every vein squeezed by that drenched pussy, and I knew I wasn’t going to last much longer.

“Amalia, I’m coming… wait… I’m going to come inside,” I managed to stammer.

“Come inside, come all the way inside me, don’t pull out,” she gasped, speeding up for the first time and pressing me against the backrest. “I want to feel it. Fill me.”

I tried to warn her again, but she covered my mouth with another kiss that left me breathless, her tongue thrust deep inside. And I came. I felt the first spasms rising from my balls, and she gave me a circular movement with her hips while I unloaded in jets inside her, pressing myself against her body with every spasm, unable to do anything else. I felt my cock pulse inside her, emptying itself in hot bursts, and she moaned in my ear each time she felt another jet.

“That’s it… that’s it, all inside… oh, so hot…”

Only then did she speed up. Faster, harder, riding me while my cock was still hard and slipping through my own come. The sofa creaked, her tits bounced in front of my face, and I grabbed her ass with both hands so I could drive myself deep into her on every downward stroke. She brought one hand to her pussy and rubbed her clitoris at top speed while she rode me, biting her lip and staring straight at me.

“I’m coming too… don’t pull out, don’t pull out… oh… oh, fuck…”

She moaned breathlessly while I remained inside her, and her whole body shuddered. Her pussy contracted around my cock in waves, squeezing out every last drop, and I felt a warm mixture of our fluids run over my balls and onto the sofa. I think mine shuddered too. She stayed wrapped around my head, her tits crushed against my chest, not separating, my cock still inside her and slowly softening, making the most of those final late-arriving tremors, whispering nonsense into each other’s ears in the dim living room.

“Don’t pull out yet,” she murmured. “Leave it in there for a while.”

When we had half recovered and she finally pulled my cock out of her, I felt a thick strand of semen trickle down my groin. She brought two fingers to her pussy, pushed them inside, pulled them out gleaming, and licked them in front of me, smiling. Then she took my hand.

“Shall we go to bed, Andrés?” she said. “Come on, the night is young, and you still have plenty of cock to give me.”

And she led me to the bedroom without letting go of me, leaving the two cold cups on the table and the heating finally warming an apartment I no longer cared about. The icebox had stopped being a problem. As I followed her down the dark hallway, my cock still dripping and hanging heavily between my legs, I thought I would have to thank the company for its stinginess. Five days and four nights. That first night, certainly, I didn’t sleep through it.