The Venezuelan Woman from the Imperial Chose Me in Broad Daylight

Madrid in May is treacherous. The midday sun falls on the nape of your neck like a warm iron, and in the afternoon the air suddenly turns cold when the breeze blows down the Castellana. I walked aimlessly, coffee still clinging to my tongue and my T-shirt damp from the long morning in Lavapiés.

I saw her leave the Hotel Imperial as if the entire street slowed down for a second to let her pass. The beige linen dress clung to her in the places where the heat had already begun to dampen the fabric. She wore enormous sunglasses and expensive perfume, a dense blend of vanilla, jasmine, and something woody that spread around her like a cloud. When she stopped in front of the Loewe window, the sun lit up the gleam of her collarbone.

She was pushing fifty, with light brown skin and generous curves that no cut of dress attempted to conceal. She walked slowly, conscious of every step, with the confidence that only comes with age and leaving behind the need to please anyone. She was a woman who had nothing left to prove, and precisely for that reason it was impossible to look away. Beneath the linen, you could make out the weight of her tits, braless, swaying slightly with every step, and the line of her panties outlined on a big, round ass, the kind that begs to be grabbed with both hands.

I approached her. Her perfume hit me harder when I was a yard away.

—Sorry for being so direct —I said quietly, just for her—, but it’s impossible to walk past you without forgetting even my own name.

She turned slowly. She lowered her glasses a little. Her eyes were dark, with small wrinkles at the corners that became more pronounced when she smiled. Her laugh came out husky, touched with smoke and long afternoons.

—Are you the kind of man who just throws out a compliment and goes home —she asked—, or the kind who then invites a woman for a drink and tells her what he’d really do?

I handed her my card. As she took it, her wine-colored nails brushed my fingers. Her skin was warm, slightly damp from the heat.

—Renata —she said, extending her hand—. And yes, I’m curious. Very curious. My daughter and her husband are going to the mountains with the little one the day after tomorrow. I’ll be alone in the suite. If you want, come by Thursday night. But bring an appetite, okay? It’s been a long time since I satisfied this kind of hunger.

She winked and walked away. The sway of her hips left a trail of perfume in the air and the faint rustle of linen against skin. I got hard right there in the middle of the Castellana, watching her ass disappear.

***

On Thursday, at seven thirty, the message arrived:

“Better not wait until tonight. Come to Gran Vía now. I want to start playing before we go upstairs. Wear something that comes off quickly. I’ll see you in front of the boutique on the corner.”

When I arrived, the air already smelled of the coming night: cigarette smoke, the perfume of women heading out to dinner, the sticky sweetness of a churro stand. Renata was waiting in a tight black dress that clung to every curve. The neckline revealed lace struggling against warm flesh. When she approached, her perfume mingled with a more intimate, more animal scent.

—Come here —she whispered. Her breath smelled of mint and white wine—. Walk with me. And don’t move away.

She took my arm and we started up Gran Vía, among the people going in and out of the cinemas and theaters. Whenever we reached a darker stretch, behind a column or near a closed doorway, she stopped, pretended to look at a shop window, and pressed my hand against her waist with hers. I felt the heat of her body through the fabric, the slight tremor in her breathing whenever someone passed too close.

At the second doorway, she guided my hand directly to her breast, over the dress. Her nipple was hard, showing through the lace. She squeezed it herself with my fingers.

—Feel that? —she murmured—. I’ve been like this since I got out of the shower, thinking about what I’m going to do to you. And I’m not wearing panties. Stick your hand in and check, if you’ve got the balls.

I looked around. A taxi went by; a couple was arguing in the middle of the street. I lifted her dress to one side, just enough, and slipped my hand between her thighs. She was soaked. Her pussy was burning, swollen, slippery, and as soon as I brushed her clitoris with my fingertip, she let out a brief moan that she swallowed by biting her lip.

—Aren’t you embarrassed? —I asked, half-seriously, without taking my hand out.

—I left embarrassment in another decade —she replied without looking at me, her eyes fixed on a mannequin in the window while I drew slow circles between her legs—. At your age, you worry about what other people think. At mine, you learn that nobody’s watching as much as you imagine. And when they are watching, all the better: let them be left wondering.

There was something magnetic about her composure. It wasn’t the nervous shyness of a first date or the clumsy urgency of youth. She was a woman who knew exactly how much each of her gestures was worth and dealt them out like someone distributing marked cards. I thought I was experienced, but suddenly I felt like an amateur beside a professional of desire.

—This is what I like —she said, laughing softly, her husky voice vibrating beside my ear—. Letting them see us without knowing anything. Have you look at me as if we were the only people in the street. Keep going. A little more and I’ll come right here standing up.

I sank two fingers inside her. She closed around them, squeezing them with the inner walls of her pussy, and her whole thigh trembled against the back of my hand. She pulled them out before things went any further, brought them to her mouth, and sucked them slowly while looking me in the eyes, making sure I knew what she tasted like.

—Not yet —she said—. In bed. If I come here, I’ll collapse.

Beside the Imperial’s entrance, she bent over as if to fasten her sandal. I pressed against her from behind for an instant, just long enough for her to feel my hard cock outlined against her ass through my trousers. A group of tourists passed within a yard, laughing loudly, oblivious to everything. My heart pounded in my ears.

—Fuck, Renata —I murmured—. They’re going to see us.

—That’s the fun of it, my love —she replied, pushing me back with her ass and rubbing herself halfway around against my fly—. Come upstairs with me. I’m tired of the street.

***

The suite smelled of clean sheets and her perfume. The city lights came through the picture window, orange, drawing long lines across the bed. She closed the door with her back and pushed me against the wall.

—Take off my dress —she said—. I want you to see all of me before you touch me.

I slowly lowered the zipper. The dress fell to the floor with a whisper. Beneath it there was nothing but skin: her big tits hanging under their own weight, her brown nipples hard as stones, her soft, warm belly, her closely trimmed pubic hair, and the gleam of moisture still marking the insides of her thighs. I looked at her unhurriedly, tracing every curve with my eyes, and saw her breathing change as she felt herself being watched. She had the body of a woman who had lived, generous and warm, made for touch rather than photographs.

—My husband —she said quietly— touches me as if I were made of glass. As if I were going to break. I don’t want to be treated that way. It’s been five years since anyone fucked me properly.

—And how do you want to be treated? —I asked.

—Hungrily. I want you to eat my pussy until I scream, fuck me all the way to the bottom, and fill me with your milk. No holding back.

I kissed her. It wasn’t a gentle kiss; it was one of those that make clear what comes afterward. I held the back of her neck with one hand and grabbed an entire breast with the other, squeezing it and pinching her nipple between my fingers. She moaned against my mouth, a deep sound vibrating in my chest, and dug her nails into my shoulders as she searched for my cock through my trousers. She pulled it out right there against the door and began jerking me off slowly, her hand firm as she gauged my size and hardness.

—That’s some cock you’ve got —she murmured, squeezing it from base to tip—. We’ll do just fine with this.

—Slowly —she murmured afterward, barely pulling away, her lips still brushing mine—. Good things aren’t devoured. Good things are savored. Do I have to teach you that too?

She could teach me whatever she wanted, I thought. I’d stay and learn until Sunday.

I took her to the edge of the bed and sat her down. I knelt in front of her, spread her knees, and kissed the insides of her thighs slowly, moving upward. Her skin smelled of perfume and something deeper, salty and hot. When I reached her pussy, I found it already open for me, glistening, her lips swollen, her clitoris showing like a hard pearl between the folds. First I gave her one long lick from bottom to top, flat and slow, and she exhaled sharply through her teeth.

—That way —she whispered, burying her fingers in my hair—. Don’t stop.

I worked her with my tongue, first in broad circles, then closing over her clitoris and sucking it gently, letting the tip flick it again and again. I slid two fingers inside her and curled them upward, searching for the spot inside that made her squeeze her thighs against my ears. I pulled them out glistening and soaked, then plunged them back inside while continuing to eat her clitoris with my whole mouth.

—Suck it properly —she panted—. Oh, you son of a bitch, you’re so good at that. Don’t stop, don’t stop, I’m going to come.

She thrust her hips against my mouth, with less and less restraint, until she stopped pretending to have any control. She came trembling all over, with a husky moan she bit into her own arm so it wouldn’t be heard on the other side of the hallway, and I felt her clench around my fingers in spasms that rose through her insides. I kept licking her slowly, gathering the wetness running down her perineum, until she pushed my head away because she couldn’t stand having her clitoris touched anymore.

—Come here —she said, panting, tugging my arm—. Now I want you. In my mouth.

***

She knelt on the carpet and lowered my zipper with a calmness that contrasted with the urgency before. She wasn’t in a hurry. She was enjoying the moment, the control, knowing exactly what she was doing. She pulled out my cock, looked at it for a second like someone appraising a jewel, and gave it one long lick from my balls to the tip before taking it entirely into her mouth. She looked up at me from below with that smile of a woman who had learned not to be ashamed of anything and set about driving me crazy with deliberate patience.

She sucked deep, letting it reach the back of her throat, then rose slowly, circling the head with her tongue. She held my balls in one hand, squeezing them exactly as hard as necessary, and masturbated the base with the other while the rest of my cock sank into her mouth. From time to time she pulled it all the way out to give me slow licks underneath, suck my balls one by one, and swallow me again until she gagged softly, her eyes shining with the effort.

—Look how hard you are —she whispered, her voice hoarse from the work her throat was doing—. All mine.

—Don’t come yet —she murmured afterward, pulling away for a second, her chin gleaming with saliva—. I want you to hold out. I want the bed.

I lifted her and laid her down. The mattress creaked beneath her weight. I spread her legs wide, positioned myself between them, and rubbed the head of my cock up and down her soaked slit, playing with her clitoris, until she began cursing me under her breath. Then I sank into her in one thrust, all the way to the balls. Renata arched her back and let out a long moan, clutching the sheets.

—At last —she panted—. At last, someone who doesn’t treat me like a grandmother. Fuck me all the way. Don’t hold back.

I thrust hard, slowly at first, reading her rhythm, letting her feel every inch entering and leaving, then without respite when she herself began asking for more. The sound of our bodies colliding filled the suite—the dull slap of my hips against the insides of her thighs, the wet sloshing of her soaked pussy swallowing my cock—mixed with her ragged breathing and the filthy things that slipped from her against my ear. Her nails were dug into my back and her legs locked around my waist as if she were afraid I might stop. I grabbed one of her tits and put the nipple in my mouth without ceasing to thrust, biting it gently, and she let out a cry she didn’t have time to stifle.

—Don’t stay still —she ordered—. Harder. Break me. I want to feel it tomorrow when I sit down.

I turned her over and put her on her knees, her back to me, and spread her buttocks with both hands. I spat on her, between her ass and pussy, and fucked her again like that, watching her arched back, narrow waist, and big ass trembling with every thrust. I grabbed her hair with one hand, wrapping it around my fist, and pulled back just enough to make her lift her head. I dug my other hand into her hip, leaving my fingers marked in the flesh.

—Like that, like that, you son of a bitch —she panted into the pillow, thrusting backward to meet me—. Give it all to me. All of it.

I reached around to find her clitoris and rubbed it in time with my thrusts. She squeezed so tightly she almost made me come right there. I moistened my thumb with the saliva dripping between her legs and pressed it against her ass, barely pushing, and she let out an even deeper moan, a long “oh” that was pure surrender.

—Put it in me —she panted—. Put it in there too, just a little.

I pushed it in slowly, to the knuckle, while continuing to fuck her pussy. Sweat ran down her back and gleamed in the orange light from the window. Each thrust drew a different moan from her, huskier and more animal than the last.

Then she climbed on top. The weight of her body over mine, her hands braced on my chest, her tits hanging in front of her face, her hips moving with a confidence that only comes with age. She rode me easily, lifting and lowering herself over my entire cock, letting the head brush her entrance before swallowing it all the way again. She looked me in the eyes as she rocked, not looking away for a second, as if she wanted to make sure I missed nothing.

—Look at me —she said—. I want you to remember this face. The face of an old woman fucking you like no one else ever has.

I grabbed her tits with both hands and squeezed them, and she leaned forward so I could suck them while she kept riding me. She pinched her own clitoris between two fingers, finding exactly the right rhythm. I felt her begin to tremble inside, tightening around my cock in increasingly rapid waves.

She came again like that, on top of me, trembling, her head thrown back and a moan she no longer bothered to hide. Her pussy closed around my cock in spasms, pulling at me, milking me. I couldn’t hold out much longer. I gripped her hips and drove her down onto me, burying myself to the hilt, and came inside her with short, deep thrusts, unloading spurt after spurt while she kept moving slowly to draw out the last drop. She collapsed onto my chest, sweaty, laughing softly against my neck, with my semen beginning to run down the inside of her thigh.

—Fuck, that felt so good —she murmured—. I really needed that.

***

We stayed wrapped in each other in the half-light, smelling of expensive perfume, sweat, and semen, while the city continued to hum beyond the glass.

—Do you know what’s best about being my age? —she asked after a while, drawing circles on my chest with a fingernail.

—What?

—I don’t waste time anymore. I know what I want, I know how to ask for it, and I know when I’m getting it properly. —She raised her head and looked at me with that husky smile—. And you gave it to me properly. Very properly.

I laughed. She stretched to reach the wineglass on the nightstand, took a sip, and handed it to me.

—My family comes back Sunday —she said—. You have until then to prove that the street wasn’t the only thing you knew how to do. And to empty yourself inside me as many times as necessary.

I drank, handed the glass back, and drew her toward me again. I felt my cock revive against her thigh, and she laughed softly, lowering her hand to grab it again. Outside, Madrid remained ablaze. Inside, Renata—fifty-something, having just rediscovered her own hunger—already had other plans, and I couldn’t think of anywhere better to spend the next three days.