The Mature Woman Who Ran the Shelter Was Waiting for Us with Her Daughter

The dirt track had disappeared under the mud more than an hour earlier. Tomás and I were tightening the straps on our backpacks with frozen hands while the west wind drove the rain in slanting sheets. We had been walking since the border crossing and the plan was to reach the village before nightfall, but the storm had come down on us without warning, as it always does in the mountains.

—There —Tomás shouted, pointing with his walking stick.

Some five hundred meters away, among the low grasslands, a window glowed with yellow light. An adobe building with a corrugated metal roof, surrounded by a stone corral and two llamas chewing placidly through the downpour. It wasn’t a hostel or a border patrol post, but it was shelter.

We reached the door soaked through, our boots heavy with mud. I knocked on the wood three times. Inside, a chair scraped, then slow footsteps, and finally the rattle of the bolt.

The woman who opened the door was in her early sixties, with gray hair tied in a loose bun and the dark eyes of someone who has watched many storms pass. She wore a long brown wool dress and a shawl crossed over her shoulders. She didn’t seem surprised.

—Good evening —she said, looking us up and down—. Coming from the pass?

—Yes, ma’am. The rain caught us badly —I replied, and noticed my voice came out rough from the cold—. Do you have a place where we can spend the night? We’ll pay whatever you ask.

Behind her, in the dimness of the kitchen, another figure moved. A younger woman, no more than forty, with loose black hair and a flour-stained apron over a fitted blouse. She rested her hands on the back of a chair and looked at us without shame.

—Come in —said the older one, stepping aside—. But before you settle in, we talk about the price.

Inside, it smelled of firewood, boiled quinoa, and the dampness of old walls. The kitchen doubled as dining room, living room, and antechamber. The older woman —Doña Hilda, I later learned— pointed me to two chairs by the stove.

—I’ve got a room at the back, with two cots —she explained, drying her hands on the apron—. For the night, with dinner and breakfast, it’s eighty pesos each.

Tomás and I nodded without thinking. I was just about to take out my wallet when she raised her hand.

—Now —she went on, staring at us without blinking—, if you want more than a roof over your head, we talk another price. My daughter Camila and I charge two hundred each. Bed, food, and the two of us until dawn. Up front.

Tomás was left with his mouth half open. I felt heat rise to my face, mixed with the alcohol still left in me from the thermos in the afternoon. Camila, at the back, bit her lower lip and didn’t look away. This was no ordinary shelter. It had that quality some country women have: a body that doesn’t need making up, that shows through the simplest clothes.

—Two hundred each —Doña Hilda repeated patiently.

I took out the bills and put them on the table. Tomás did the same. Doña Hilda counted them with her flour-stained fingers and tucked them into a glass jar she kept on the shelf, next to the sugar.

—Eat first —she said, serving two deep bowls of soup—. Afterwards you won’t have an appetite.

Camila gave a soft laugh.

The soup was hot and thick, with pieces of lamb and squash. Tomás ate fast, without lifting his eyes. I couldn’t stop looking at Camila. She was sitting across from me, elbows on the table and blouse open just enough for the neckline to show the beginning of her breasts. Every time she leaned over to serve me more broth, the fabric parted a little further and I could see the dark nipple peeking out beneath the cotton.

Doña Hilda didn’t bother pretending. She sat beside Tomás, ran her hand over his thigh through his pants, slowly slid it upward until she squeezed the bulge, and said, without looking at him:

—Eat easy, honey. Later I’ll suck you off nice and slow so you get good and hard. The night is long.

Tomás choked. I tried not to laugh while I felt my own cock swelling inside my muddy pants.

When the bowls were empty, Doña Hilda blew out two of the candles and left only the kerosene lamp burning. Camila stood up, took the lamp, and gestured with her head.

—This way.

The room was small and plain. Two cots pushed against the walls, a table with a jug of water, a crucifix over the door. Camila set the lamp on the table and, without ceremony, took off her apron. Then she unbuttoned her blouse slowly, watching me, until her breasts fell heavy and free, with large brown nipples already hard from the cold in the room.

—You paid —she said simply—. Take off your clothes. All of them.

Tomás obeyed first. I took a second longer, watching Camila as she lifted her skirt and revealed firm, broad legs, the legs of a woman who walks hills every day. She had dark, thick pubic hair, untrimmed, covering her cunt all the way to the groin. I liked it. She was not some city woman, waxed and smelling of cream. She was something else. When she parted her legs slightly, I caught the wet shine between her thick lips.

Doña Hilda came in behind her, already with her dress in her hand. The older woman’s body was heavy in all the right places: large, drooping breasts with nipples as wide as coins, broad hips, a belly with the slight curve of someone who has given birth more than once, and between her thick thighs a cunt with gray hair, already puffed and spread from use. She was not ashamed. She walked to the cot and sat with her legs wide open, showing everything, waiting.

—Tomás —she said—, come here. Get on your knees.

My friend crossed the room and knelt between her knees. Doña Hilda grabbed him by the hair with one hand and lowered his head to the middle of her legs, pressing his face against her cunt.

—Stick out your tongue, honey. Start right here, on the little bud. Suck it slow, in circles. That’s it, like that. Learn, because us mature women have patience, but not that much. Put it in deeper. Tongue nice and deep. Feel how I am. You’re going to taste what a wet old woman is like.

You could hear the wet sound of Tomás’s mouth working between her thighs, and Doña Hilda’s sighs as she pushed his face down with both hands now and moved his head however she wanted. My friend had his nose buried in the gray hair of her pubes and couldn’t stop swallowing.

Camila had already pushed me against the other cot. She climbed on top of me astride and kissed me with an open mouth, tasting of lamb soup, sliding her tongue all the way in. I felt her hand searching for my crotch and, when she opened my fly and pulled my cock out, she let out a hoarse little laugh.

—Look what we’ve got here —she said against my ear while taking my cock fully in her hand, squeezing from the base—. You’ve got a nice cock, gringo. Thick. I’m going to make you enjoy it. First I’ll suck it, then you’ll bury it deep inside me.

She slid back onto the cot, settled herself between my legs, and took me into her mouth in one stroke, down to the root. I felt the back of her throat tighten around my tip and arched without meaning to. Camila sucked hungrily, bobbing her head up and down, pulling off to lick my balls and then swallowing me whole again. With one hand she squeezed the shaft in time with her mouth, and with the other she stroked her open cunt between her legs. When she looked up at me, her lips were shiny with saliva and a strand hung from her chin.

—It’s good and hard —she murmured, pulling me out for a moment—. Nice and ready to go in.

I had been with women before, in backpacker hostels, at college parties, in some exchange student’s apartment. Never with someone like Camila. She didn’t expect me to lead. She took my hand and pressed it to one of her breasts, making me squeeze the flesh. Then she moved it to her side, to her hip, and shoved two of my fingers straight into her own cunt, showing me how soaked she was.

—Feel it dripping —she said, closing her eyes—. Put it in already. Drive it all the way in.

She climbed astride me again, grabbed my cock in her hand, ran it along the lips of her cunt to smear the tip, and lowered herself slowly. I felt her swallowing every centimeter, gripping me with a warm, elastic flesh I hadn’t expected. When she reached the bottom, she braced both hands on my chest and started moving. Camila rode me with her eyes half closed, hair falling over her face, her breasts bouncing with every thrust. Every time she rose, she pulled almost all the way off me, and when she came down, she sat deep and made a circular motion with her hips, as if kneading me from inside.

—That’s it, gringo, that’s it —she panted—. Let yourself get fucked. Feel how I squeeze you. Do you like how I do it? Tell me you like it.

—I like it —I answered, grabbing her ass with both hands, helping her move.

Every so often she turned her head to look at her mother. She did it without shame, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. From the other cot came Doña Hilda’s deep voice giving Tomás instructions, and my friend’s muffled groans. Then the unmistakable sound of one body entering another, wet slapping, and the creak of the old cot. The old woman had put him on his back and sat on top of him, and now I could hear her insulting him softly as she rode him.

—Your mommy can hear you —I said to Camila.

She laughed and dug her nails into my shoulder, moving faster.

—Mommy doesn’t get scandalized by so little —she answered—. Mommy is enjoying herself just as much as I am. Listen to her. She’s fucking your friend to pieces, the dirty bitch.

Camila leaned forward until her breasts hung in front of my face, and she shoved one nipple into my mouth. I sucked it hard, biting it lightly, while she kept moving her ass up and down. I felt I was close. I tried to hold back by gripping her hips to slow her down, but she looked at me with a crooked smile and sped up.

—No, don’t pull out —I gasped—. I’m going to come.

—Come inside me, idiot —she whispered in my ear—. Come all the way inside me, don’t be stingy. It’ll come out on its own after.

She pinned her cunt down on me to the hilt, clamped tight, and I felt everything pour out in hot spurts against her walls. Camila moaned long and stayed still, then squeezed me a few more times with her inner muscles, milking me to the last drop. When she stood up, I saw her reach down and slip two fingers inside to scoop out some of my semen. She brought them to her mouth and sucked them clean, looking at me.

The night grew long, just as Doña Hilda had promised. We changed cots twice. I ended up between the older woman’s legs, my face buried first in that thick, gray-haired cunt, learning to lick her exactly as she told me. Doña Hilda grabbed my hair the same way she had grabbed Tomás’s and guided me without shame.

—Higher up, honey. There. Just the tip of your tongue. Now put it in, deep. Suck my juices, I’m dripping for you. That’s it, like that, learn.

When she made me climb up and I settled over her, I felt her take my cock in a strength I hadn’t expected from someone her age. She pointed it herself at the entrance of her cunt and pushed her hips in at once.

—Put it all in at once —she panted—. Don’t be afraid, it won’t break. Old, but tight. Feel it. Feel how it sucks you in.

She was right. The old woman’s cunt was something else. Softer on the outside, but inside it squeezed me with rings of muscle that came and went, as if it were swallowing me. I started moving slowly, but Doña Hilda dug her rough hands into my ass and set another rhythm for me, deeper, slower, complete.

—That’s it, gringo. No rush. Drive it in to the balls. Nice and snug. Feel my bone against yours. You young ones need to be taught —she told me in my ear while I went in and out between her thick thighs—. You’re better off with a woman who already knows. One who can teach you how to fuck the young girls later. Look at my daughter with your friend. It’s because I taught her.

I didn’t know what to say. I kissed her neck, salty, bit her earlobe, and let her do what she wanted. At one point she asked me to pull out and made me turn over. Then she got on top, with her legs bent to the sides of my waist, and started bouncing on my cock, her big breasts falling over her chest. I held them with both hands and squeezed her nipples between my fingers.

Tomás, meanwhile, was lying on his back on the other cot with Camila on top of him. She rode him with her mouth open, her breasts bouncing free, one hand on the boy’s stomach to keep her balance and the other stretched back, grabbing his balls. Every so often she turned her face toward us and said something to her mother in a dialect I didn’t understand. Doña Hilda answered her with a low laugh, never stopping moving on top of me, and the two exchanged looks that seemed like old complicity, a game they had played many times before.

At some point, near two in the morning, I lost track of the positions. I remember Camila sitting on the edge of the cot with her feet on the floor, her mouth open as she sucked me while Tomás penetrated her from behind, gripping her waist and driving into her to the hilt with thrusts that made her swallow my cock deeper each time. Camila braced herself with one hand on my thigh and used the other to spread her ass open so Tomás could see it clearly as he fucked her.

—Switch —ordered Doña Hilda from the other cot, laughing—. The poor thing can’t handle both at once.

I then remember Doña Hilda bent over the table, hands on the surface, her big white ass lifted, legs apart and her open cunt gleaming between her thighs. I came in behind her, going in slowly because she’d asked me to do it that way, without rush. I held her broad hips with both hands and sank in until my balls tapped her clit. Every time I entered her fully, she let out a long groan and pressed herself back against me.

—Mature women don’t need to rush —she told me, looking at me over her shoulder—. We need you young men to learn us. Then you remember it for the rest of your life. Give it to me in the ass, honey. Spit on me first and put it in my ass, slow. It’s been a long time since anyone put it there.

I spit on her wrinkled hole, rubbed it in with my thumb to slick it properly, and set the tip of my cock against the opening. I pushed slowly, just as she’d asked, and felt the ring yield little by little and swallow me. Doña Hilda gave a long gasp, pressed her hands against the table, and spread her own butt cheeks wider to help me in.

—That’s it, gringo, all the way in. Fuck my ass slow. Oh, you son of a bitch, how you’ve got it.

When I reached the bottom I stayed still, breathing against her back, and then began moving only a little, in short thrusts. Camila and Tomás had stopped on the other side, watching us, and I felt Camila slide her hand between her legs as she observed us. I came inside Doña Hilda’s ass in one sudden rush, unable to hold back any longer, and for a moment I remained hugging her broad back, my cock still buried, feeling her breathing and feeling her squeeze me from within with the last spasms. She smelled of wet wool and something sweet, like dried herbs.

Camila appeared with a warm cloth she had soaked in the basin. She cleaned her mother with a naturalness that undid me, wiping between her buttocks and between her thighs without drama. Then she passed it to me, cleaned my soft cock, and without saying anything put it back in her mouth for a second, as if to leave it ready for later.

—Drink some water —Doña Hilda ordered, recovering her hostess’s voice—. And rest a bit. Then we continue.

Tomás looked at me with a face that showed he couldn’t believe any of this was happening. I shrugged.

And we continued, of course. Before dawn had fully broken there was another round, shorter, slower, with all four of us mixed together on the same cot. I ended up sucking Camila’s breasts while Doña Hilda jerked me with both hands, and Tomás came in the old woman’s mouth, which she then spat to one side and laughed as if someone had told her a joke.

By the time dawn began to gray, the rain had eased to a fine drip. The four of us were on the two cots pushed together, legs tangled, the room thick with the smell of semen, cunt, sweat, and kerosene. Doña Hilda got up first, put a robe over her still-naked body, and opened the window to let in the cold dawn air.

—Breakfast is included —she announced, as if nothing had happened—. There’s malted mate, bread, and cheese. In half an hour.

Camila stretched beside me and kissed my shoulder. Then she got up too and followed her mother into the kitchen. I heard them talking softly, laughing, while they stirred up the fire.

Tomás sat on the edge of the cot, looking down at his hands.

—Do you think this happens often? —he asked me.

—No idea —I said—. But the next storm won’t catch me by surprise.

We got dressed in silence. Our clothes were dry, neatly folded on a chair. Someone had put them near the stove while we slept.

In the kitchen, Doña Hilda served me the malted mate in a dented metal cup. Camila cut the cheese into thin slices. We ate without saying much, watching through the window as the light slowly beat back the valley storm.

When we slung our backpacks over our shoulders and opened the door, Doña Hilda followed us to the threshold. She had the shawl over her shoulders again and her eyes were a little more tired than the night before, but she was just as calm.

—If you come this way again —she said, without quite smiling—, you know the price.

Camila appeared behind her, slipped an arm around her waist, and looked at us with an expression that was half farewell and half invitation.

Tomás and I went down the muddy path in silence for a good while. The sun had only just begun to warm the stones. At some point, before we reached the junction with the old road, my friend said in a low voice:

—Better not tell anyone.

I nodded. But we both knew we were going to tell it, sooner or later. Only that morning, still with Doña Hilda’s and Camila’s smell on our clothes, there was no way to put the night into words.