The Travesti Who Crossed the Cordillera for a Deal

Renata was twenty-two and had a beauty that seemed made for places without witnesses. Light cinnamon skin, smooth as a river stone, small, firm breasts, narrow hips, and, between her legs, a neat pink cunt that swelled at the mere brush of the wind. Her copper-dyed hair fell to her shoulders, and that afternoon her bangs clung to her forehead from the heat of the journey.

She met him in a bar in Esquel, one March afternoon when she no longer knew how she was going to pay the rent. His name was Genaro, he was fifty-eight, and he owned a ranch on the foothills of the cordillera. Gray beard, hands like old roots, and a gaze that never asked permission to settle wherever it pleased.

“Come with me to the ranch for fifteen days,” he said bluntly, swirling his whiskey. “I’ll give you eight thousand dollars in cash. Then you leave. Don’t ask questions, and don’t talk if you don’t feel like it.”

Renata knew what that proposition meant. She knew from the way his eyes had traveled over her body when she walked in, slowly, like someone appraising an animal. She should have refused. Instead, something in that hoarse voice made her knees go weak and soaked her black lace panties before he had finished speaking. She felt her cunt throb beneath the table, her nipples hardening against the thin fabric of her blouse.

“All right,” she answered, and the words came out firmer than she expected.

***

They drove for nearly three hours along gravel roads, first through lenga forests and then across a barren plateau where not a single streetlight remained. Renata’s phone lost its signal during the first quarter-hour and never got it back. On either side, nothing: wind, fences, the occasional cow standing still and staring into emptiness. The ranch only appeared at nightfall, a large, dark stone-and-wood building pressed against a hill as if it had spent a hundred years hiding.

There was no electricity inside. Only kerosene lanterns drawing long shadows on the walls, and a fireplace burning with a deep, almost animal roar. It smelled of firewood, leather, and something older that Renata couldn’t name.

“The main bedroom is that one,” Genaro said, indicating it with his chin. “Leave your bag. You won’t need many clothes.”

She knew exactly what she was getting herself into, she thought. And followed him anyway.

***

That first night, he wasted no time on courtesies. He led her in front of the fire, lowered her skirt with two fingers, and pulled her blouse over her head without hurrying, like someone undressing something he already considered his. He left her standing on the tiles in black lingerie, orange light trembling across her skin.

“Turn around,” he ordered.

Renata obeyed. She felt his gaze fixed on her back, traveling down the curve of her hips until it stopped at the fabric wedged between her buttocks. Genaro came closer. He smelled of tobacco and the countryside. He hooked his thumbs into the waistband of her panties and lowered them to her ankles with calculated slowness, letting the damp fabric peel itself away from her cunt. He spread her buttocks with both rough hands, unhurried, studying her, and she felt the cold air enter all the way inside while he watched her in silence.

“It’s been a long time since anyone new came into this house,” he murmured against the nape of her neck.

He dropped to his knees behind her without warning. Renata felt his beard rasping against the inside of her thigh, and then his tongue, broad and flat, traveling from her clitoris to her asshole in one long stroke. He licked hungrily, without restraint, latched onto her cunt as if he had been waiting years. He dug his fingers into her buttocks to keep her open and pushed his tongue inside, in and out, and when she shoved herself backward against him, begging for more, he moved up to the hole above and licked that too, slowly, circling the tip until she trembled.

“Holy fuck,” she whispered, her forehead pressed against the back of the armchair. “Don’t stop.”

He didn’t stop. He pushed two thick fingers into her cunt and kept sucking her ass, and Renata came like that, convulsing, squeezing his fingers with the walls of her pussy while a warm trickle ran down her thigh. Genaro chuckled softly, satisfied, and slowly stood.

He undid his belt and lowered his trousers without hurrying. When she turned her head slightly and saw what he had—a thick, dark, curved, veined cock hanging heavily between his thighs—she let out a gasp.

“Kneel,” he said. “Before I fuck you, I want to watch you suck me.”

Renata knelt on the tiles warmed by the fire. She gripped his cock with both hands, stuck out her tongue, and ran it along the underside from his balls to the tip. Then she took the head into her mouth and began sucking him slowly, looking up at him. Genaro seized her copper hair and pushed her down to the root until she gagged and tears filled her eyes. He pulled her off to let her breathe, then pushed her down again. He fucked her mouth that way for a long while, setting the pace, forcing her to take him down her throat until saliva ran over her chin and dripped onto her tits.

“Good girl,” he grunted. “Now to the armchair. On all fours.”

Renata positioned herself facedown over the back of the leather armchair, knees spread, ass raised. He prepared her with brutal patience, thick fingers working their way into her soaked cunt while his other hand held her hip so she couldn’t escape. He spat on her, on her cunt and asshole, and used the saliva to push a finger into her ass as well. Renata panted, arched over, hands clutching the leather. The only sounds were the crackling wood, her own broken breathing, and the wet squelch of his fingers moving in and out.

“Stay still,” he said, and the words sounded more like a promise than an order.

He set the tip of his cock against her cunt and began pushing it in slowly, inch by inch, until it was buried to the hilt. Renata bit into the leather of the armchair to keep from screaming. She felt it reach a place no one had ever reached before. Genaro took hold of her copper hair and began fucking her at his own pace, slow at first, then deeper, his broad chest covering her entire back, his balls striking her clitoris with every thrust. The armchair creaked with each drive, and Renata felt the cock splitting her open, filling her completely, reaching all the way to her stomach.

“Yes, Daddy, like that,” she moaned, not even knowing where the word had come from. “Break me.”

He seized her hips with both hands and began fucking her hard, pulling almost all the way out and driving back in to the hilt. She felt the heat of the fire on her face and the weight of that man over her, and for one moment she didn’t want to be anywhere else in the world. She came again, squeezing his cock with her cunt, biting the leather, and he kept going without stopping until she felt his cock swell inside her.

“Inside,” she begged, voice breaking. “Stay inside me. Fill me.”

He grunted something that wasn’t a word and emptied himself inside her in a long shudder. Renata felt hot spurts strike deep inside her, one after another, his cock pulsing as he finished emptying himself. When he finally pulled out, a thick thread of semen ran down her thigh to her knee. Genaro crouched, ran two fingers over her dripping cunt, and brought them to his mouth without taking his eyes off her.

Then, instead of leaving her carelessly, he lifted her in his arms as if she weighed less than a lamb, carried her to the iron bed, and covered her with a blanket of raw wool. Renata fell asleep listening to him breathe beside her, still trembling, her orgasm slowly trickling between her legs.

***

The days at the ranch had their own liturgy, and Renata learned to read it by the light entering through the shutters.

In the morning, before dawn broke, Genaro woke her with his mouth. He turned her facedown between the sheets, spread her buttocks, and stayed there for half an hour without speaking, his warm tongue traveling over her cunt and asshole, his fingers working their way deep inside. He sucked her swollen clitoris with his lips, tugging slowly, and put two fingers in her cunt and one in her ass at the same time, moving them out of rhythm until he drove her mad. Renata clutched the pillow, biting the case, and ended up coming across his face, pushing herself against his mouth, dripping into his beard while the sky had barely begun to brighten behind the hill. Then he climbed over her, placed his rock-hard cock between her buttocks, and pushed it into her soaked cunt from behind without a word, fucking her slowly and deeply until he emptied himself inside her again. Renata fell asleep that way, his cock still buried in her, feeling the warm semen leaking out.

In the afternoon, the shed. Amid the smell of tanned leather and dry manure, he bent her over a bale of alfalfa and fucked her standing up, one hand tangled in her hair, the other digging into her hip. Sometimes he made her drink the red wine from dinner straight from the bottle, slowly, while he pounded her, wine running down Renata’s chin and staining her tits as he drove his cock in up to the balls. Other times he put her on her knees on the packed-earth floor and made her suck him whole, gripping her by the ears, fucking her mouth until he came on her tongue, then demanding that she open her mouth and show him his orgasm before swallowing it. One afternoon he grabbed her and put his cock in her ass for the first time, spitting on her and easing it in little by little. Renata clung to the bale with her fingernails while she felt that thick cock slowly opening her asshole, until the pain mingled with a pleasure she had never known and she ended up begging for more, harder, while he fucked her ass and pinched her clitoris with two fingers.

At night, the fireplace again. Genaro sat her naked in a wooden chair, tied her wrists to the back with field twine—neither too tight nor too loose, just enough for her to feel that she wasn’t in charge—and spread her legs in front of the fire, her ankles fastened to the chair legs. He worked her over with his hands for an amount of time Renata found impossible to measure: he pinched her nipples until they were hard and purple, ran his tongue along her neck, and slowly buried three fingers in her cunt, twisting them, pulling them out glistening and pushing them back in. He brought her to the edge, and when she thought she was about to come, he pulled his fingers out and waited. Again and again, until she was undone, moaning softly, her whole body surrendered, a thread of fluid running down her buttocks onto the wooden seat.

“Look at me,” he told her at those moments, and it was the only real demand he ever made of her. “Look at me when you come.”

And she looked at him, eyes brimming, mouth open, while he thrust his cock all the way inside her in a single drive and fucked her tied to the chair, the wood creaking, her tits bouncing with every thrust, until he made her come screaming. He came afterward, always inside her, and sometimes remained with his cock inside for a long while, looking at her as if she were the most valuable thing he had possessed in years of solitude.

***

It wasn’t all silence. One afternoon, Genaro found her crying in the kitchen for no apparent reason, overwhelmed by the emptiness of that place where there was no one but the two of them.

“I’m not used to being treated well and badly at the same time,” she confessed, wiping her face with the back of her hand. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to feel.”

He stood for a long while leaning against the doorframe, watching her. Then he poured two cups of black coffee and sat across from her, something he hadn’t done during all those days.

“No one here is going to tell you what you’re supposed to feel,” he said at last. “In town, they look at you sideways, don’t they? I saw you walk into that bar, and you seemed like the most alive thing to have passed through the cordillera in years.”

“And that’s why you brought me to the ends of the earth?” she asked, almost smiling.

“I brought you because I haven’t wanted to share anything with anyone for a long time,” he answered without looking away. “And suddenly I wanted to. Don’t overthink it. Things are simple here if you let them be.”

Renata didn’t know what to say. She drank her coffee in silence, watching the enormous hands of that man encircle the cup with a care that didn’t fit their size. For the first time in a long while, the silence didn’t weigh on her. Outside, the wind kept blowing, but inside it was warm, and for now, that was enough.

***

The night before the last one, a storm broke out of the kind that seemed determined to tear the roof off Patagonia. The wind howled against the stone walls like a furious animal, and the lanterns shook from their hooks.

Genaro took her to the stable, where the hay muffled the uproar outside. He laid her on the bales, ripped off the little she was wearing in one pull, and threw himself over her. He began with her mouth, biting her lips, then moved down to her tits and sucked her nipples one after the other, tugging with his teeth until she arched. He kept going lower, spread her legs wide, and buried his face in her cunt. He licked her slowly and deeply, his tongue thrust as far as it could go, his lips latched onto her swollen clitoris, and Renata writhed against the hay, moaning, clutching his gray hair and pushing his face against her cunt until she came in his mouth, a warm gush he swallowed without letting go.

Then he turned her facedown in the hay, lifted her hips, and fucked her from behind, deep, while the horses snorted restlessly in their stalls and thunder made the beams vibrate. Renata felt bits of straw sticking into her tits and thighs and didn’t care; she only wanted that man never to stop splitting her cunt open with that old, thick cock. He ran a saliva-wet finger over her asshole and eased it inside without stopping his fucking, and Renata screamed into the hay, doubly filled, trembling all over.

He turned her over afterward. He wanted to look at her. He hooked her legs over his shoulders and pushed himself into her again like that, her body folded nearly in two, his cock entering vertically and touching a new depth. He sucked her nipples while he fucked her, bit her neck, and Renata dug her nails into his broad back. He held himself back as long as he could, stretching out every minute, letting her come twice more before finally giving in. When he did, it was with a tremor that ran the length of his back and a thick discharge of semen that filled her until it overflowed.

He held her against his chest covered in gray hair, still without pulling out, both their breathing synchronized with the rhythm of rain on the sheet-metal roof. Renata felt his cock slowly soften inside her, semen beginning to trickle between them, and didn’t want to move.

Then, for the first time, he spoke more than three sentences in a row.

“Stay as long as you like, girl,” he said, his deep voice muffled against her hair. “There’s no one here to judge you. Neither you nor me.”

Renata took a while to answer. Outside, the storm was beginning to weaken. Inside, the warmth of that man’s body was the only solid thing in a world that had suddenly grown too big for her.

“Then I’m not leaving,” she murmured. “Not yet.”

And they stayed that way, entwined on the hay, semen running between her thighs, the fire in the shed slowly dying and the rain fading toward the east. Two strangers who were no longer quite strangers, in the middle of absolute nowhere, where no one asked questions and no one was unwanted, as if the rest of the world had never existed.