The Widow from the Third Floor Was Waiting for Me Half-Naked

I live alone in an old apartment building on one of the streets that slope down toward the port in Valencia. I’m twenty-eight years old and, if I’m honest, my life isn’t much to write home about. I work nights restocking boxes in a warehouse, sleep during the day, and spend the rest of my time shut away between these four walls that smell of damp.

I could say I have a social life, but I’d be lying. I’m fat, I wear thick glasses, my hair is thinning, and with women it was always the same: I see you as a brother, I love you to bits, but only as a friend. At twenty-eight I was still a virgin, and I’d already stopped fighting the idea. I jerked off twice a day watching free porn on my phone, came quickly, wiped myself with a sock, and went back to sleep. That was my entire sex life.

On the third floor, apartment C, a woman everyone called the widow had lived there since long before I arrived in the building. Doña Amparo. A plump woman close to sixty, who must have weighed well over two hundred pounds. She walked with a crutch and, depending on the season, even used a wheelchair. Her head was almost shaved, and she received a disability pension that my neighbor from the second floor mentioned in a hushed voice as if it were some kind of scandal.

Doña Amparo was hard to describe. Sometimes you’d pass her and she wouldn’t even say hello, silent and shut inside herself. Other times she’d make a scene on the landing over nothing, screaming at the doorman, the people on the fourth floor, or whoever happened to cross her path. She was a few screws short, we all knew that. I tried not to run into her.

***

One September afternoon I found her in the entrance hall struggling with an enormous, flat package the size of a door. She could barely manage it. She dragged it a few inches, then stopped, panting, her crutch hanging from her arm.

“Would you like me to help you with that?” I said, approaching her.

She jerked her head up and fixed me with small, furious eyes.

“Go to hell, you idiot! Do you think I can’t manage? Do I look like a weak woman to you?” she spat, in a hoarse voice that echoed through the whole entrance hall.

I turned red to the tips of my ears and took a step back, ready to go upstairs and forget the whole thing. But then, behind me, I heard her change her tone. Almost to a whisper.

“Please, please… forgive me, handsome. I mistook you for someone who tried to rob me at this very door the other day. I really do appreciate the help. Don’t pay any attention to me.”

The package wouldn’t fit in the elevator, so we carried it up the stairs, both of us panting, her in front giving me orders and me behind bearing the dead weight. By the time we reached the third floor, we were exhausted. Doña Amparo put the key in the lock, turned it the wrong way, muttered a curse, and tried three more times until I gently took it from her and opened the door myself.

“Come in, come in. Leave that in there,” she ordered.

The apartment smelled shut up, of old sweat and something sweet I couldn’t identify. The blinds were halfway down, and the only light came from a bare bulb in the hallway. I left the package propped against the wall and remained standing there, not knowing what to do with my hands.

“Sit there for a moment,” she said, pointing to a flower-patterned sofa with worn upholstery. “I’m going to change and bring you a glass of water. You must be thirsty.”

“Yes, thanks,” I murmured, and let myself sink onto the sofa.

***

In front of me stood an enormous television, one of those old tube models, a relic. I tried turning it on just to have something to do, but it only showed static and gave off a deep hum. I switched it off. From the far end of the hallway came the sounds of Doña Amparo rummaging around, opening drawers, talking quietly to herself.

When she came back, I couldn’t breathe. She had put on a thin robe, open from top to bottom, and underneath she was wearing practically nothing. Huge breasts, sagging down to her belly, with dark nipples as wide as coins pointing toward the floor. A soft stomach divided into two rolls by the elastic of black panties that dug into her flesh. And between her legs, a mound of untrimmed gray pubic hair showing above the cotton. Her enormous, soft body, gleaming with sweat, filled the entire doorway. She carried the glass of water in one hand and her crutch in the other, advancing toward me with a crooked smile I had never seen on the landing.

She held out the water. I took it without looking her in the face, keeping my eyes fixed on the floor, and yet, to my shame, I felt myself getting hard. My cock swelled inside my jeans all at once, so quickly it hurt, and the fabric bulged out in front like a tent. Twenty-eight years old, a virgin, and I was getting hard for the crazy woman from the third floor. Pathetic, I thought. But the body doesn’t care about reason.

I don’t know what came over me. Maybe it was nerves; maybe it had simply been too long since anyone touched me. I leaned forward, brought my face to her chest, and gave her a clumsy kiss, almost a bite, on the hot skin. I caught one of her nipples in passing and felt with my tongue that it was hard as a stone.

Smack! A loud slap snapped my head to the side and nearly knocked my glasses to the floor.

“What the hell are you doing, you bastard? Are you trying to force yourself on me in my own home?” she roared.

I froze, red-faced, my cheek burning, on the verge of apologizing and running out. But she didn’t move. She watched me with a mixture of fury and something else, something dark and amused, as if she had been waiting for exactly this moment for months. Her eyes dropped to the bulge in my pants and she chuckled softly, almost to herself. Then she grabbed me by the hair with a strength that didn’t seem possible for someone who walked with a crutch and kissed me.

She kissed me deeply, with her tongue, without asking permission, crushing me against the back of the sofa. She tasted strange, of herbs and medication, but I didn’t pull away. She thrust her tongue down my throat, bit my lower lip until it hurt, and with her other hand squeezed my cock through my jeans, assessing it as though she were weighing a cut of meat at the butcher’s. She let all her weight fall on top of me, her huge, damp body covering me, and I disappeared beneath her without the slightest resistance.

“Well, well,” she whispered against my mouth. “So the little fatty has a good cock hidden away. And hard as iron. How long has it been since anyone sucked you, sweetheart?”

I didn’t know what to say. There was no point in lying. She laughed again, hoarsely, and licked my cheek from my jaw to my ear.

***

“Don’t get nervous, sweetheart,” she whispered in my ear. “And don’t be in such a hurry. Men in a hurry are no good for anything.”

I tried to do something, anything. I wrestled with my own clothes without managing to take them off, pawed clumsily at her skin while she watched me with almost maternal patience and a sly smile. I tried to lower my pants so I could get straight to the point and couldn’t even find the button.

“Easy, easy,” she scolded, restraining my wrists. “You don’t know anything, do you? You’re new to this.”

I didn’t answer her. There was no need. It showed in everything: in the trembling of my hands, in how red I was, in the way I avoided her eyes. And far from bothering her, it seemed to delight her.

“Better,” she said. “That way you haven’t picked up any habits from other women. We’re going to do things my way.”

She slapped my hands away, unbuttoned my jeans herself, and yanked my pants and underwear down to my knees. My cock sprang upward, hard and red, the tip already wet with a thick drop of fluid hanging from it. Doña Amparo stared at it for a long second, her mouth slightly open.

“Look what you had hidden, you idiot,” she murmured. “A nice, thick cock, wasted because you’re too scared to do anything.”

She wrapped her right hand all the way around it, squeezed, and began moving her fist up and down, slowly, deliberately setting a leisurely pace. A half-choked moan escaped me. Just that—her hand circling my shaft for the first time—and I was already on the verge of coming.

“Hold it,” she ordered, squeezing the base with two fingers as if it were a tourniquet. “If you come now, fatty, you’re leaving this house without getting fucked. You’ll hold it until I tell you.”

She bent down as best she could, with some effort, brought my cock to her mouth, and swallowed half of it in a single motion. I felt the heat of her tongue enveloping it, saliva running over my balls, her lips tightening as she moved up and down. She sucked hungrily, noisily, without the slightest shame, looking up at me with shining eyes. She took my balls into her mouth too, one after the other, rolled them around with her tongue, licked me in long strokes from my asshole to the tip, and swallowed me again.

“Doña… Doña Amparo, I’m going to come,” I panted, digging my fingernails into my thighs.

She pulled my cock from her mouth with a wet pop and squeezed the base again.

“Not a chance,” she said. “Now it’s your turn to do some work.”

She leaned back on the sofa, opened her robe all the way, and pulled her panties down to her knees. She grabbed me by the hair again and, with no delicacy whatsoever, guided my face downward, between her legs. At first I didn’t know what to do. I stayed still, my nose buried in that mound of gray hair, my breathing ragged and my heart about to burst. She smelled strong, of a mature woman, a dense scent that went straight to my head and made my cock even harder.

“With your tongue,” she ordered. “Slowly. That’s the only thing a man really knows how to do. The rest can be learned.”

And I obeyed. I stuck out my tongue and awkwardly ran it over those thick, swollen lips, already soaked. She shuddered and pressed me harder against her pussy.

“Up, up, on the button,” she hissed. “There… there, you bastard. With the tip, with the tip.”

I found her clitoris by feel, a hard little nub amid all that flesh, and began licking it in circles. Doña Amparo let out a guttural growl that sent a shiver over my skin.

“That’s it… that’s it, fatty… put it in me too, put two fingers in me while you suck.”

I thrust my middle and index fingers in at once, and her pussy swallowed them with a wet squelch. She was soaked inside, burning hot, and her walls squeezed my fingers as if they wanted to wrench them out. I moved them in and out to the rhythm of my tongue while she began riding my face, rubbing herself against my mouth without restraint. Clumsy, frightened, with no idea what I was doing, I obeyed, obeyed, and obeyed. After a while I must have started doing it right, because her hand loosened in my hair, she stopped giving me orders, and began releasing hoarse moans that filled the entire living room. Her whole body tensed, her thighs squeezed my face, and she shuddered from head to toe. I felt her pussy contract in spasms around my fingers and a hot gush of fluid soak my chin and neck. She came screaming, without covering herself, as if the entire building could hear her, then went limp, panting against the cushions.

“That’s it… that’s it,” she murmured with her eyes closed. “The best thing about a man isn’t what he has between his legs, handsome. It’s his tongue. Remember that for the rest of your life.”

***

Afterward, she took care of me. With astonishing calm, without hurrying, she finished removing the clothes I hadn’t known how to take off, pushed me against the back of the sofa, and climbed on top of me. She took hold of my cock, rubbed it for a while between the lips of that soaked pussy, wetting the tip thoroughly, and slowly began to lower herself, letting all her weight drop onto it.

Heat shot up my spine like an electric current. It was nothing like my hand, or anything I had imagined during so many lonely nights. Doña Amparo’s pussy was a burning, tight mouth that swallowed me whole and squeezed me dry. When she had finished lowering herself and sat astride me, her breasts hanging against my face and my entire cock buried inside her, she let out a hoarse laugh.

“There you have it, darling,” she said. “All the way in. Now you’re a man.”

She began moving up and down, with effort but with a technique I hadn’t expected. She lifted herself almost to the tip and then dropped her entire weight back down, setting the pace herself without letting me move. I grabbed at her breasts, squeezing them, sucking them, biting her nipples because I didn’t know what else to do. She laughed and tugged my hair.

“Suck my tits, baby, suck them hard. Bite them; don’t be delicate.”

The ride lasted longer than I would have liked. We switched positions: she made me lay her down on the sofa, on her back, with her legs spread over my shoulders, and I got between them and fucked her hard, as hard as I could, hearing flesh slap against flesh and the sofa creak beneath us. She begged for more, deeper, harder, and I thrust without rhythm, dazed, until I couldn’t hold back any longer.

“Doña Amparo, I’m coming, I’m coming,” I panted.

“Inside,” she growled, grabbing my ass with both hands and digging in her nails. “Let it all go inside me, sweetheart. Let your hot cum stay in there.”

And I came. I came harder than I ever had before, my head exploding, shooting jet after jet inside that soaked pussy, screaming against her neck without being able to stop. She shuddered again beneath me, wrapping her legs around my waist and milking my cum with a series of contractions.

It was, without question, the most intense thing I had felt in twenty-eight years. For the first time in my life someone wanted me—or at least used me eagerly—and I didn’t care about the difference.

When we were finished, we were both sticky and breathless on that old sofa. A thick thread of semen ran down between her thighs and stained the flowered fabric. I thought it was over, that I would get dressed and return to my apartment to process what had just happened. But Doña Amparo had other plans.

“Well, champ,” she said, laboriously sitting up, “now you can put the table together for me. That’s what I had in the package. A desk.”

I laughed, thinking she was joking. She wasn’t. She handed me the instructions and, before I could read them, snatched them back out of my hands.

“Bah! This is written in Chinese,” she complained, tearing the paper into pieces.

I tried to assemble it anyway, searching for where the legs and screws fit, but there was only a rusty flathead screwdriver for a desk that called for half a toolbox. Seeing me hesitate, Doña Amparo’s lip began to tremble.

“I’m useless,” she suddenly whimpered. “I can’t do anything by myself. Nothing.”

“There, there,” I said, reaching a hand toward her.

That was a mistake. The moment I touched her, something lit up in her eyes again, and this time there was nothing warm in them. Her gaze dropped to my cock, still drooling and half-hard between my legs, and she licked her lips.

“This is your fault,” she said, lowering her voice. “You got me like this. Now I want to sit on your face. I want to feel all my weight on top of you while you get me hard again with your tongue.”

***

She pushed me against the sofa, lay me on my back, and climbed on top with some difficulty, bracing her knees on either side of my head. I watched as her enormous pussy, still soaked with my cum, came down over me like an open mouth. At first I let myself go, still dazed from what had happened, sticking out my tongue and searching for her clitoris among those swollen lips. She moaned and lowered herself a little farther.

But when she truly sat down, all of her more than two hundred pounds pressing onto me, leaving me no room to breathe, crushing my nose and mouth against her flesh, gripping my hair to keep me from moving, arousal turned to panic within seconds. I could taste my own semen mixed with her fluids in my mouth, running down my face, and I couldn’t draw breath. This wasn’t a game. She was really suffocating me.

“Suck, suck, my love, don’t stop,” she moaned above me, rocking back and forth and rubbing her pussy all over my face.

I flailed, tried to push her away, tried to turn my head to steal a breath, and couldn’t. I’m a big guy, but she was an immovable mass, and I was beginning to feel dizzy, seeing black spots. Through instinct, or luck, I managed to plant an elbow against the sofa and shift my body just enough to throw her off balance. Doña Amparo rolled to one side and landed heavily against the cushions while I sat up, gulping air, dizzy, my glasses askew and my face soaked.

“My love, my love, don’t be scared!” she said from the floor, reaching her arms toward me. “We were made for each other! We’ll get married and then finish putting the desk together, okay, darling?”

I didn’t wait to hear any more. I snatched my clothes off the floor, got dressed as best I could on the way to the door, and turned back for one second before leaving.

“I’ll send someone to put the desk together for you, Doña Amparo,” I said, my voice trembling. “Take care of yourself. Take very good care of yourself.”

I opened the door and ran down the stairs two at a time until I reached my apartment and slid the bolt shut.

***

That night I didn’t go to work. I sat in the darkness, my aching cock inside my pants and her smell still in my mouth, going over again and again what had happened in that third-floor apartment. I had lost my virginity to the most impossible woman in the building, a woman twice my age who treated me like a king one minute and tried to suffocate me on her own sofa the next.

I don’t know whether she’ll remember any of this tomorrow. I don’t know whether she’ll scream at me in the elevator again as if she doesn’t know me. The only thing I do know is that, in the most erotic, dangerous, and absurd part of that afternoon, I felt something I had never felt before. And that’s why the question that really keeps me awake isn’t whether I regret it.

It’s whether, when I run into her again on the landing and she whispers in my ear to come upstairs and suck her off, I’ll be able to say no.