The Saturday Amparo Welcomed a Younger Man

The first raindrops drummed on the roof of the car when Tomás switched off the engine in front of the building entrance. He checked for the third time the number she had written down for him and took a deep breath. It was the right one. Behind one of those lit windows, Amparo was waiting for him.

His hands trembled slightly on the steering wheel, and not because of the cold. They had been talking for weeks, first in cautious phrases, then with a confidence neither of them had entirely sought. A mutual friend had introduced them almost in passing, knowing exactly what she was doing. “Tomás is the kind of man who knows how to listen to a woman,” she had told her. Amparo had needed nothing more.

A nervous smile escaped her as he made the missed call they had agreed on. One ring, two, and he hung up. Almost immediately, a message arrived with the apartment number and the letter on the door.

Relax. It’s only a glass of wine.

But neither of them entirely believed that sentence.

He rode the elevator up, studying his reflection in the mirror. Forty-four years old, a freshly ironed blue shirt, his hair still damp from rushing to get ready. When the doors opened on the fourth floor, she was already waiting for him in the doorway.

“You came,” Amparo said, as though she had doubted until the very last moment that he would.

“Of course I came,” he replied.

She took his jacket off him with a delicate gesture, making sure to close the door properly behind him. She wore black leggings and a cream-colored blouse that fit her as if it had been sewn onto her. She must have been in her fifties, her hair gathered in a loose bun from which several silver strands escaped, and eyes that laughed before her mouth did.

“Welcome to my little refuge,” she said, leading him toward the living room.

The apartment smelled of candles and something sweet that had been baked hours earlier. A small dog raised its head from the sofa, looked at them indifferently, and settled back down. Amparo disappeared into the kitchen for a moment and returned with two glasses of red wine.

“To Saturdays that stop being like all the others,” she toasted.

Tomás clinked his glass against Amparo’s and drank without looking away from her. The conversation began lightly: the weather, the neighborhood, how difficult it was to fill the nights of a weekend when you lived alone. But beneath every word ran something else, a contained tension apparent in the soft laughter, the careful gestures, the looks that lasted a second longer than necessary.

The dog got up from the other end of the sofa and came to curl up between them. As they stroked it, their hands brushed. It was a minimal, almost imperceptible contact, but enough for both of them to feel the same impulse, intimate and electric.

“The passing of time teaches you to appreciate moments like this,” Amparo murmured, looking him in the eyes.

“Yes,” Tomás replied. “And it makes them more necessary. More intense.”

They leaned toward each other at the same time, almost without realizing it. The distance between them narrowed, and silence filled the room with a new, palpable tension made of held breaths.

“I think…” he began, without finishing the sentence.

She smiled faintly, with a mischievous, determined gleam.

“I know,” she whispered.

Without another word, they moved closer. The first brush of their lips was brief and delicate, charged with an emotion they had been holding back all evening. It did not break the calm, but sealed it. They drew apart a few inches, breathing in front of each other, smiling with the certainty that something was about to happen.

The living room remained wrapped in that warm, silent light, where the distant murmur of the street barely slipped through the gaps in the shutters. Sitting very close to Tomás, Amparo observed the softness of his features, the line of his freshly shaved jaw, and surprised herself by wanting to taste that mouth again.

The second kiss was different. Deeper, slower, their tongues seeking each other as their hands lost their timidity. For both of them, the world narrowed to one simple, resounding truth: they were burning. Not with heat, but with something that had been asleep for far too long.

***

Tomás slid his hand along Amparo’s thigh, feeling the taut fabric of the leggings beneath his fingers. She did not stop him. On the contrary, she parted her legs slightly and guided his hand to her crotch, pressing it there against the warm, damp bulge outlined beneath the Lycra.

“Can you feel how wet I am?” she whispered, her voice hoarse. “And you haven’t even touched me yet.”

Tomás groaned softly. He pressed two fingers against the fabric, and she arched over him, letting out a long moan. When he lowered his mouth to kiss her neck, she tipped her head back and closed her eyes.

“It’s been a long time since anyone touched me like this,” she confessed quietly. “It’s been a long time since anyone fucked me, period.”

“Well, I’m in no hurry,” he replied against her skin. “I’m going to take my time with you.”

He undid her blouse one button at a time, pulling the fabric aside to reveal a black lace bra that barely contained two heavy, still-firm tits, their nipples already hard against the material. He yanked the cups down and freed them, his mouth going straight to one, sucking it whole, biting it gently and tugging it with his teeth while his other hand kneaded the other breast and pinched its nipple between his forefinger and thumb.

“Oh, fuck…” Amparo moaned, grabbing the back of his neck and pressing him against her chest. “Suck them, suck them hard.”

Tomás obeyed. He moved from one to the other, leaving them glistening with saliva as she writhed and sank her red-painted nails into his shoulders. His right hand traveled down her stomach, slipped beneath the waistband of her leggings and straight under her panties, finding a soaked cunt, soft, trimmed hair, swollen lips that opened on their own at the first touch.

“You’re dripping,” he murmured, burying two fingers deep inside her and pulling them out gleaming.

“I’ve been like this since you rang the bell, you bastard,” she panted, laughing with her mouth open. “Before that.”

She brought his fingers to her lips and sucked them slowly, savoring herself while holding his gaze. Tomás’s cock grew so hard it hurt against his trousers.

“Stand up,” he asked.

Amparo stood in front of the sofa, and he, kneeling on the floor, pulled her leggings and panties down in one motion to her ankles. He made her spread her legs, grabbed her buttocks with both hands, and buried his face in her cunt without further preamble. His tongue thrust inside at once, and Amparo jerked and clutched his hair to keep her balance.

“Oh my God, oh my God…” she repeated, biting her lower lip.

He licked her from top to bottom, paused at her clitoris and sucked it whole, rolled it beneath the tip of his tongue, pulled away to blow over it, then returned to devour her as if he had months of accumulated thirst. He pushed two fingers inside her and crooked them inward, searching for the spot that made Amparo’s eyes fly open.

“There, there, don’t stop, right there…” she begged, thrusting her hips against his mouth.

Tomás did not stop. He worked her clitoris between his tight lips, sucking and releasing, while his two fingers slid in and out with a wet sound that filled the living room. Amparo’s legs began to tremble; she had to grip the back of the sofa with one hand, and when she came, she did so with a hoarse, prolonged cry, squeezing his face between her thighs and covering his chin with hot fluid.

“Fuck… fuck…” she whispered, bent over him, laughing and panting at once. “I almost fell.”

Tomás licked his lips and rose slowly, his chin gleaming, his gaze dark. Amparo, still trembling, reached for his belt. With a skill that surprised even her, she opened it, undid the button of his trousers, and freed his cock with one tug. It fell heavy and thick, almost fully hard, a prominent vein running along the top.

“Look at what a delicious cock you have,” she said with a hungry laugh, pushing him to sit on the sofa. “Let me get a good look at it.”

She knelt on the rug between his spread legs and took it in both hands, comparing its size to her small fingers. She began stroking it slowly with both hands, watching it finish growing with every movement. Tomás breathed more and more deeply, his restrained moans accompanying the slow rhythm of her caresses. A clear drop appeared at the tip, and Amparo’s mouth went dry with anticipation.

She bent toward him without breaking eye contact. She stuck out her tongue and collected the drop, savoring it as she closed her eyes for a moment. Then she took him all the way into her mouth and felt the heat of his skin against her tongue. Tomás shuddered from head to toe.

“My God, Amparo…” he gasped, gripping the edge of the sofa.

She did not answer. She didn’t need to. She moved her mouth up and down with deliberate calm, savoring every inch, pausing at the tip before starting again. Her red-painted nails pressed gently into his thighs, anchoring themselves to that younger body like someone clinging to something she had thought lost. One hand gripped the base of his cock and twisted it while the other cradled his balls, squeezing them carefully.

“Not so fast,” Tomás murmured, burying his fingers in her hair and undoing her bun. “I want it to last.”

Amparo pulled him from her mouth for a moment and looked up, her lips wet and shining, a thread of saliva hanging from the corner, a mischievous smile forming on her face.

“Do you like the way I suck you?” she asked, giving him a slow lick from his balls to the tip. “Had anyone ever sucked you with this much enthusiasm?”

“Never,” he admitted, his voice breaking. “Fuck, never.”

That word aroused her more than any caress. She bent down again, this time without restraint, licking him from base to tip, pausing at his testicles to take them into her mouth one by one while Tomás breathed unevenly and bit his lip to keep from crying out. Every moan was a reward, proof that she still knew how to drive a man out of his mind.

She rose again and swallowed him in one motion, all the way down until the tip struck her throat. Her eyes watered and her mascara ran, but she did not pull away. She drew him out slowly and sank down again, setting an increasingly deep rhythm, spitting saliva over him so he would slide more easily, using both hands, masturbating him as she sucked him.

There was something almost tender in the way he guided her, holding her hair firmly but without roughness, setting a rhythm that gradually grew deeper. What had begun with some awkwardness, including the occasional stifled gag, became a synchronized dance in which they both seemed able to read each other’s thoughts.

“Wait, wait,” Tomás panted, pulling her hair back. “Stand up. I want to fuck you.”

Amparo licked her lips and stood, kicking off the leggings and panties. He rose, removed his trousers and underwear, and made her turn around, supporting herself with her hands on the back of the sofa, bent forward with her ass held high and her legs spread.

“Look at that ass,” he murmured, giving her a sharp smack that left a red mark on her buttock.

“Put it in me now, please,” Amparo begged, looking over her shoulder with misty eyes. “I’ve been waiting for you too long.”

Tomás grasped his cock, ran it over the lips of her soaked cunt to wet it thoroughly, and with one thrust drove it all the way inside. Amparo cried out, a hoarse cry of pure pleasure, and arched her back. He stayed still for a second, feeling her squeeze his cock, then began fucking her with long, firm thrusts, gripping her hips with both hands.

“Yes, yes, yes…” she panted in time with every stroke, her hair falling over her face. “Fuck me hard, don’t hold back.”

The sound of their bodies colliding filled the living room, mingling with her moans and his hoarse grunts. Tomás gathered her loose hair into a fist and pulled her head back, arching her even farther, while his other hand searched for a nipple and pinched it. Amparo came again within minutes, her entire body contracting around the cock opening her, wetting his thighs with her fluid.

“Come here, I want to see you,” she panted when she had recovered, gently pushing him back. “Lie down.”

Tomás let himself fall onto his back on the sofa, and she climbed on top of him astride. She grasped his cock with one hand, positioned it, and sat down slowly, closing her eyes as she felt it enter inch by inch. Once she had taken him completely inside, she stayed still, biting her lips and enjoying the sensation of being full.

Then she began to move. At first with slow circles of her hips, bracing both hands on his chest. Then up and down, her tits bouncing in front of Tomás’s face as he grabbed them, sucked them, and pressed them against his mouth. Her speed increased on its own, dictated by her hunger, until Amparo was riding him in hard strokes, her thighs beginning to tremble from the effort.

“I’m close,” Tomás warned, almost breathless, gripping her hips and driving her down against him. “Very close.”

“Wait, wait,” she panted. “In my mouth. I want you to come in my mouth.”

She climbed off him with trembling legs and knelt on the rug again, pulling out his cock, shiny and dripping with her own fluid. She took it fully into her mouth, soaked with herself, and began jerking him rapidly with both hands while sucking from the tip.

She did not pull away. On the contrary, she took him deeper, determined, without a gram of fear. When he let go, Amparo felt the first hot jet strike her palate, then another, and another, until her mouth was filled with thick semen. She swallowed some with serene composure, as though sealing a pact, and let the rest escape from the corner of her mouth and run down her chin to her cleavage. An intense, powerful sensation traveled down her throat and settled in her chest like a glowing ember.

Tomás collapsed backward on the sofa, spent, looking at her with a mixture of gratitude and amazement. Amparo slowly licked her lips, ran a finger along the corner of her mouth to collect a white thread, and brought it to her lips, sucking it clean and gathering the last trace of their encounter.

“I’d spent years feeling invisible,” she said, her voice hoarse and her eyes bright. “And look at me now.”

“I see you,” Tomás replied, stroking her still-stained cheek. “I see you perfectly.”

For the first time in a long while, Amparo felt desired. Desired, and capable, at her age, of driving a man considerably younger than her wild. She settled beside him, naked and completely unashamed, stole his glass of wine, and took a long sip while the dog curled up again at the other end of the sofa, oblivious to everything.

Outside, it was still raining. Inside, the night had barely begun.

Will I tell Pilar? she thought, holding back a smile. Her friend would never believe it. Or perhaps she would. Maybe that was why she had introduced them.

“Are you in a hurry?” Amparo asked, resting her head on his shoulder and lowering her hand to his still-damp cock, stroking it slowly to wake it again. “Because I still have some desire left.”

“Not at all,” Tomás said, feeling it begin to harden again beneath those expert fingers. “The whole night is ours.”