The Mature Woman Who Knew Exactly What She Wanted

Elena was one of those women who knew exactly how much space she was taking up. Brunette, with dark shoulder-length hair and a way of walking that didn’t seek attention but got it anyway. When she first spoke to me, a mutual acquaintance introduced us because we both wrote for the same erotic fiction forum. She was the one who wrote first.

At first it was just conversation: travel, work, books. She had spent years covering half the country selling medical equipment. I did the same with management software. We shared that life of highways and hotels that either destroys you or makes you fiercely self-sufficient, and it gave us a starting point that gradually filled with something else without either of us naming it.

Little by little, the messages changed tone. Not all at once. Tension accumulated until one day she sent me a picture. Nothing explicit at first: she was turned away, her back bare, her head turned toward the camera. That “nothing explicit” that leaves your head full of images for entire days.

We started sending each other pictures more regularly. Hers were always more suggestive than mine. She had that real, unadorned body: big, heavy tits, wide hips, the bra mark pressed into her skin, an ass that filled the entire screen when she turned in front of the mirror. One night she sent me one in which she had pulled her panties halfway down her thigh and was holding one tit with her free hand, her dark nipple showing between her fingers. I sent her mine—once with my hard cock in my hand, after I’d spent half an hour staring at her picture—and she replied with an “I’d put it in my mouth right now” as casually as if she were asking me the time. We never said directly what was happening. We both knew there was no need.

***

The trip lined up without us forcing it. I had to be in that city on a Wednesday. So did she. Elena was the one who brought it up in that way of hers, presenting things as if they were the most logical option in the world: should I pick her up on the way?

I waited for her in a business-park parking lot at eight-thirty. She arrived on time, with a small wheeled suitcase that rattled over the wet asphalt. She gave me two kisses, got into the passenger seat, fastened her belt, and said, “Let’s hope the eleven o’clock meeting doesn’t run long.” As if there were nothing between us.

The drive lasted nearly two and a half hours. We talked about everything: her clients, mine, whether the set lunch was still the most decent option when you traveled alone. Her perfume had filled the car from the first minute, and I tried to concentrate on the road while wondering how much longer we could keep pretending we were just two acquaintances sharing a ride.

It was after the first hour that she reached over and put her hand on my thigh. That was all. She left it there and kept talking about a conference she had attended in March. I nodded and asked questions at the appropriate moments.

After a while, her hand moved a few inches upward. Nothing abrupt, almost as if it were accidental. But it wasn’t accidental. Her fingers brushed over the fabric against the bulge that had been forming since she sat beside me, and stayed there, squeezing very slowly, taking my measure.

“Do you know what you’re doing?” I said.

“I’m listening to you,” she replied, looking at me with her eyes wide open.

“Elena.”

“What?” She barely smiled and turned her eyes back to the road.

Her hand didn’t move. Neither forward nor back. It stayed there for the rest of the journey, still on my hard cock beneath my trousers, reminding me of everything we weren’t saying.

***

We each went to our meetings separately. We arranged to meet at seven outside her last client’s office. When she came out, she had the expression of someone who had just closed an important deal: relaxed, present. She kissed me on the cheek, lingering longer than necessary.

She got into the car and placed her hand in the same spot as that morning. This time her little finger moved slowly, almost weightlessly, tracing the shape of my cock over the fabric.

“How did it go?” she asked.

“Fine. I was distracted all day.”

“Why?”

I didn’t answer. She didn’t press me.

The hotel was a converted historic building, with inner courtyards and stone staircases. Elena had chosen it, and when I saw it from the parking lot I understood why: it was the kind of place where things were done slowly. The receptionist informed us that dinner was already being served and that he would take our bags upstairs himself. Elena thanked him with a smile, glanced at me from the corner of her eye, and walked toward the dining room without waiting for me.

***

Dinner was the kind you don’t want to end.

We ordered a seasonal menu and a full-bodied red that the sommelier recommended with conviction. We sat at a table near the window. Elena wore her hair loose and gathered it with one hand while reading the menu, a distracted gesture that felt more intimate to me than anything she had done before.

We talked for hours. About her, about me, about cities we both wanted to visit again. At some point dessert arrived, and I no longer remembered what we had eaten before. The bottle was empty, and the waiter had brought us two glasses of sweet wine without anyone asking.

Elena had a knack for keeping up a conversation while doing something else at the same time. When she put her hand on my thigh beneath the tablecloth, she kept talking about a movie she had seen on the plane without changing her tone or her gaze.

“Elena,” I said quietly, “they’re going to see us.”

“Who’s going to see us?”

She was right. The other tables were far away. But that wasn’t the point. Her hand found my cock and wrapped around it over the fabric of my trousers, squeezing with her whole palm, tracing its entire length from top to bottom. My whole body tensed.

“Stop,” I said.

“Does it bother you?”

“It bothers me that we can’t leave right now.”

She squeezed lightly once, slid two fingers to the tip and back down, then withdrew her hand calmly. She brought those same fingers to her mouth and sucked them slowly before picking up her glass.

“Finish your dessert.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“I am,” she said, running her spoon very slowly through the ice cream while staring at me, sticking out her tongue to lick the cream before putting the entire spoon into her mouth.

I leaned toward her.

“Shall we go upstairs?”

Elena placed the spoon on the saucer with great care. She wiped her lips with her napkin, stood up, and said:

“Let’s go.”

***

We called the elevator. While we waited, with our backs to the dining room, I stood behind her and put my hands on her waist. Elena didn’t move. She only tilted her head back slightly, letting my hard cock press against her ass over her skirt.

“You’ve been doing this to me all day,” I whispered in her ear.

“And?”

“I don’t understand how you’ve managed to stay so calm.”

“Calm is part of the plan,” she said, and the elevator doors opened.

Inside, I kissed her before the doors closed. She returned the kiss, slowly at first, then with far greater intensity, pushing her tongue all the way into my mouth. I pressed her against the mirror, and her hands found my back, then dropped straight to my fly and began squeezing without any attempt at discretion. I lifted her skirt to her waist and ran my hand over her panties: they were soaked.

“Fuck, Elena.”

“I told you I’d been like this all day,” she whispered, and bit my lower lip.

I moved the fabric aside with two fingers and shoved them inside her. Elena threw her head back against the mirror and let out a short, hoarse moan that ran all the way up my spine. She was so wet my fingers slid in without resistance.

“Easy,” she said between kisses, gripping my wrist so I wouldn’t stop moving. “There’s time.”

“I’ve been waiting hours for this.”

“I know.” She kissed my neck, just below my ear, while rubbing herself against my hand.

The doors opened on our floor. I pulled out my fingers, ran them over her lips, and she sucked them without looking away from me.

***

Inside the room, Elena left her purse on the chair and turned toward me. She said nothing. She looked at me for a moment, then reached out and slowly loosened my tie, never taking her eyes off mine.

I kissed her. This time without the restraint of the elevator: my hands on her back, closing all the distance between us. She responded without holding back, pressing her body against mine. I could feel her hips, her tits crushed against my chest, and the heat radiating from beneath her skirt.

We undressed without ceremony. She took off her blouse and unclasped her bra with the calm that made everything seem deliberate. Her tits were exactly as I had imagined them months earlier, when she sent me that first picture: heavy, with broad, dark areolas and stiff nipples that had been in my head ever since, without my wanting to admit it. I grabbed one with my whole hand, bent down, and sucked her nipple, carefully tugging it with my teeth. Elena held the back of my neck and pressed me against her.

“That’s it,” she said, her voice a little deeper. “Bite it.”

I ran my tongue from one tit to the other, sucking each nipple until I left them shining. She panted with her mouth open, her hands already on my belt. She unbuckled it, yanked down my trousers and underwear, and my cock sprang hard against her belly. She looked at it for a second, ran her tongue over her lips, and pointed to the armchair in the corner.

“Sit down.”

I sat with my trousers around my ankles, completely hard, my cock pointing at the ceiling, with nothing left to hide.

Elena stood in front of me. She lowered her skirt very slowly, watching me as she did. She wore dark lace panties, soaked on one side, and let them fall to the floor without any unnecessary gesture. She spread her legs for a moment so I could get a good look at her shaved pussy, its lips swollen and glistening, then came closer, squatted on her heels, and took my cock between her hands. She looked at it for a second.

“I’ve been thinking about this for a while,” she said.

And she began.

She knew exactly what she was doing. She started with the tip, using her tongue, taking her time, slowly sliding it around the glans while her fingers encircled the base and squeezed in a gentle rhythm. She gathered a drop of precum with the tip of her tongue and looked up at me from below as she swallowed it. I had to grip the arms of the chair so I wouldn’t lose control. When she opened her mouth and took it all in at once, until the tip reached the back of her throat, I closed my eyes and stopped trying to control anything.

She began sucking it hungrily, moving her head up and down, taking the whole thing out and swallowing it again, spitting saliva onto it and jerking me off with her hand at the same time. Every so often she stopped, looked at me with my cock resting against her face, and slapped her cheek with it before taking it into her mouth again. She licked my balls one by one, put them in her mouth, and sucked them carefully while continuing to stroke me with her hand. Then she went back up with her tongue along the entire length and sucked me all the way down until I felt it hit the back of her throat, and she didn’t pull away.

A while passed, though I had no way of measuring it. I put my hand on the back of her head, and she let me set the pace, swallowing each time I pushed.

At some point I stood up, lifted her too, and carried her to the bed. I laid her on her back first, opened her legs, and moved between them. I ran my tongue all over her pussy from bottom to top, and she arched her back and let out a “fuck” that sounded like surrender. I ate her eagerly: her lips first, then her clitoris, moving my tongue in circles and sliding two fingers inside her at the same time. Elena clamped my head between her thighs, pulled my hair, and began moving against my mouth without a trace of shame.

“Don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t stop,” she repeated, faster and faster.

She came like that, with my face pressed to her pussy and my fingers inside her, squeezing my head between her thighs until she almost stopped me from breathing. When she let me go, my chin was shining with her fluids.

I turned her onto her stomach and positioned myself behind her. I lifted her hips, leaving her ass raised. She was completely soaked. I ran the tip of my cock up and down her slit a couple of times, rubbing it against her clitoris, and she pushed back, seeking me.

“Fuck me already,” she panted into the pillow. “Don’t make me wait any longer.”

I entered slowly, enjoying every inch, feeling her open around my cock, and she buried her face in the pillow and made a long sound she didn’t try to hide. My first deep thrust tore a hoarse moan from her.

We fucked like that for a long while, without hurry at first and then with increasing hunger. She pushed her ass back every time I moved forward, and I put my hands on her hips and drew her closer, setting a rhythm that made her tits tremble against the mattress. I slapped one ass cheek, then the other, and watched the skin grow red.

“Harder,” she said. “Fuck me harder.”

I grabbed her hair with one hand, pulling back so she arched her back, and began driving into her all the way with every thrust. The sound of my thighs hitting her ass filled the room. Her moans grew louder, higher, more frequent. I was getting close, and I made no attempt to hide it.

Then she stopped dead.

She sat up, turned around, made me pull out abruptly, and looked at me with bright eyes and that expression of having everything calculated.

“Not yet,” she said.

“Elena, please. I’m about to come.”

“The things you enjoy slowly are the ones you remember best.”

She pushed me down onto my back and straddled me. She took my cock in one hand, ran it over her pussy a couple of times to wet it thoroughly, and sank onto it all the way in a single motion. She stayed still for a second, eyes closed and mouth open, feeling me inside her.

“That’s it,” she whispered. “Stay still.”

She began moving on her own, rising and lowering herself very slowly while staring at me. She took my hands and brought them to her tits so I would squeeze them. I grabbed them firmly, playing with her nipples between my fingers, and she began riding me faster, bracing her hands against my chest. Her tits bounced with every downward stroke.

“I’m going to come again,” she panted. “With you inside me.”

She thrust her hips against mine, moving in circles, squeezing her pussy around my cock with every stroke. When she came, she stayed impaled on me, trembling all over, her pussy clenching around me in spasms. I couldn’t hold out any longer.

She stared at me for several seconds, still catching her breath. Then she rose, leaned over, and kissed me on the mouth. Her hand found my cock, slippery with her fluids, and began moving up and down with a precision that left me speechless. She positioned herself between my legs and took the tip into her mouth again without stopping her hand, squeezing the base with her fist while her tongue moved over the glans. This time she didn’t stop. I watched her. She watched me, my cock between her lips and her hand wrapped around it. When I came, it was with my eyes open, looking at her, and she opened her mouth to receive the first spurt on her tongue, kept moving her hand, and didn’t let a drop go to waste, swallowing everything while continuing to squeeze and stroke me through my last contraction. She sucked the tip clean afterward, calmly, until there was nothing left in me.

She said nothing. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and rested her head on my chest.

We stayed like that in silence for a while.

“Elena,” I said when I had recovered some of my voice.

“Hmm?”

“It’s been a long time since something like this happened.”

“I know,” she replied. “It shows.”

I felt her smile against my skin.

***

That was months ago. We still write to each other. Sometimes she sends me a picture without saying anything else, and I reply with some comment that doesn’t quite say what I want to say.

She knows exactly what she’s doing. She always has.