The young gentleman fucks the maid
When July arrived, my parents decided to take a trip to Italy before heading off to the beach house in August. I had passed my fourth year of architecture, but I still had a project to submit to the university, and I also had the opportunity to do an internship at a friend of my father's studio.
We lived in a single-family home on the outskirts of Madrid, and I was drawn to the prospect of enjoying the quiet of the house and working to the sound of birds and the lapping of the pool. I would also take advantage of the opportunity to work hard with some exercise and get back into shape after spending hours studying. I had to lose 3 or 4 kilos to get back to my 78 kilos, a weight in line with my 180s frame.
Actually, I wasn't left alone. Marta, the Colombian housekeeper, stayed on, reducing her hours to part-time. Marta was about forty years old, with a soft Caribbean skin tone. She wasn't very tall, but she was a woman full of energy. She had been working full-time at the house for a few months and went home to sleep.
A woman who was always kind and respectful, she performed her work with professionalism and discretion. My parents asked her to make sure everything was as it should be in her absence and to avoid distracting me with tasks unrelated to my studies.
The first morning, when I went down to breakfast, I found her cleaning the kitchen. She was wearing the work uniform my mother had asked her to wear, the same uniform worn by Liliana, the previous housekeeper who was nearly bursting inside her outfit. On the other hand, it fit Marta like a glove. A white long-sleeved shirt over which she wore a little suit and apron. Her dark hair was casually tied back, leaving her neck bare, except for a few strands that fell over her face.
"Good morning, Marta," I greeted her in a tone that was meant to be affectionate.
"Good morning, sir," he replied with his friendly smile, without looking up.
Although I had a deep respect for her, I felt that I was not my parents and I should show closeness, at least while my parents were away.
—Marta, you don't need to call me sir. I'm David.
—Well...Sir...David.
In July, it was already hot at 9 a.m. I thought she was too bundled up in a shirt and apron, when it was weather for us to be almost naked.
—And you don't need to wear your uniform these days. It's so hot!
—But her mother is very demanding...
She was right, my mother was a sergeant to everyone.
—I'm the master of the house now. Dress however you want, as far as I'm concerned.
—Thank you very much, Miss...David. You've always been very kind.
The smile revealed his white teeth, justifying my offer. At the time, I couldn't have guessed the change our relationship would take.
I decided to place my work area in the living room, which was much cooler than my west-facing bedroom. Throughout the day, I began to notice details about Marta that I hadn't previously noticed, assuming Marta belonged to my mother: the graceful way she moved around the house, the soft melody of her accent, the natural laugh she displayed when I spoke to her. I remained thoughtful, looking at her. Why did I suddenly see her differently? Was it the result of the heat or the loneliness of summer?
At midday, the heat was on. I decided to go to the pool to cool off a bit. I went to change and came back in my swimsuit. When I came out, I saw Marta, who had already finished cleaning the ground floor, sitting on the terrace, drinking a glass of water and looking out at the pool.
"The heat is unbearable, I'm going to take a bath," I said, smiling.
Marta smiled back, much more relaxed than usual.
—That's true. I really liked going swimming in Bogotá.
"Why don't you take a bath?" I said without meaning to.
—His mother won't let me. Besides, I don't have a swimsuit here.
I refrained from making a joke about bathing in or without underwear.
"At least you can soak your feet," I added playfully, showing him a familiarity we hadn't had before.
I jumped into the water and found it very cold. When I surfaced, I saw Marta standing at the edge of the pool, staring at me, as if she was weighing her decision.
"Cheer up," I said, not really expecting her to. "If you want, you can wear one of my mom's swimsuits..."
—No. If you don't mind... I'll bring one of my own tomorrow.
Marta took off her sandals and sat on the edge of the pool, dipping only her feet in. I swam up to her, keeping a certain distance. She looked at me with a different expression, with a complicity I'd never felt before.
—What do you want me to make for you to eat?
—Stop calling me formally. And you don't have to do anything. Gazpacho and whatever.
"That's not a meal. I should make you something," he replied. "If your mother finds out I haven't...that I haven't looked after you, she'll fire me."
I respected my mother extraordinarily, just as I felt dominated by my father.
She went into the kitchen while I continued enjoying the water in the pool. When I entered, I looked for her and when I couldn't find her, I assumed she'd left. She'd left a bowl of pasta with tuna and pesto sauce, which I really liked. She appeared from the living room, which she used as a break room when she stayed at home. I don't know if she noticed my reaction, but I found her extremely attractive. She had let her long, black hair down. Shorts covered the tops of her petite legs, and she was wearing a tight T-shirt that highlighted her high, firm, and generous chest through a pronounced cleavage.
—See you tomorrow, David.
"See you tomorrow...Marta," I replied, avoiding showing my upset.
After lunch, I felt so drowsy that I went to the bedroom for a nap. Before I fell asleep, the image of her as we said goodbye came to mind. She seemed like a different woman than the one I'd seen at home the previous months, always in her uniform and with her hair tied back, a woman I hadn't paid any attention to.
Since I broke up with my girlfriend a year ago, isolated by my dedication to my career, I had only had a couple of flings with girls, no serious relationships.
I had decided to enjoy a hedonistic phase, which made me unable to commit to committed relationships.
I made a sandwich and went out into the garden with a beer, lying on the Balinese chair. I remembered Marta, who was shy even about putting her feet in the water, and I was glad I wasn't alone that week. Tomorrow I'd call Pablo to play paddle tennis and go out for a drink in the evening with friends. The atmosphere in Madrid in the summer was great.
The next day, I was already having breakfast when Marta arrived, wearing a short summer dress, and I couldn't help but admire how well it looked on her.
"That dress looks great on you," I commented with some caution.
She laughed, unbothered.
—I feel a freedom with you that your parents don't offer me.
—Then come, have a coffee with me. I'll make it for you.
Without knowing why, I felt the need to know details about her, and we began to talk about her life here, where she went, her family.
—My family is in Colombia. I have a 14-year-old daughter living with my parents. When she finishes elementary school, I'll bring her home.
I told him about my studies and my excitement about soon being able to design houses. Between confessions and smiles, a palpable connection began to form between us.
"Do you live with someone?" I asked.
—No, I share a flat with another girl and I haven't found a man who respects me the way I like.
I left for a meeting with Luis Garrido, an architect friend of my father's, who showed me his studio and invited me to work there for a few months as an intern. After a coffee with him and another associate, I returned home.
I arrived at noon and sat down to work while the sunlight illuminated the entire living room and Marta was finishing cleaning. When she was done, she put down her cleaning supplies and sat across from me, sighing wearily.
"I'm glad you're here," I said.
—I like talking to you. You seem like a nice guy. Men in Spain are untrustworthy.
—Don't generalize, sometimes you don't get to know someone because you don't have time to listen.
The closeness between us grew closer, we both seemed to enjoy the subtle play of glances and words without breaking the barrier of respect.
I continued working until two to make up for lost time with the visit. I put my swimsuit back on, and when I stepped outside, I found a star illuminating the surroundings. Marta was sunbathing on the terrace in a bikini, unable to hide the shape of her body, revealing two breasts struggling to emerge and a little butt that could be used as a model for a perfect ass.
"I didn't mean to bother you. Yesterday you offered me the use of the pool..." she exclaimed timidly, seeing my surprised reaction.
—Of course! I was just surprised to see you...Let's go into the water.
I waited for her to enter first and watched her swim with a certain flair, coordinating her hands and feet. We sat on the edge of the pool. The sight of her ample nipples poking out of her swimsuit top made me look away, unable to maintain it without becoming agitated, instead shifting my gaze to the reflection of the sky in the water and fearing she might notice my erection.
—Can I stay this afternoon? It's hot in the house...
—Sure! Come on, let's get something to eat, and then you can stay here while I get some work done.
—I've already eaten. In my country, we eat beforehand. I left you a fish in the oven, it needs to heat for three minutes.
I ate alone, constantly glancing out the window to see her silhouette. I had a hard time concentrating on my work imagining her lying alone in the pool. Could she concentrate with anyone with that view? "Don't give a damn about work!" I thought. I went out onto the terrace with two coffees and a glass of ice.
—Thanks...David. I still can't get used to calling you that.
—I like to hear it.
He looked at me with a mischievous smile.
—Do you have to work this afternoon?
—I don't feel like it. Besides, I wouldn't be a gentleman if I didn't take care of my guest.
—Do you like mojitos? They're amazing.
He interpreted my smile as a yes to his proposal, and within minutes he appeared with a pitcher of mojito, redolent of mint.
—You were right, it's delicious!
It was a warm afternoon, perfect for lying there, chatting. I was curious about their origins since our relationship had changed.
—Do you miss Colombia, Marta?
She looked at me, surprised.
"Of course I miss her, David," she replied, her voice soft and her eyes a touch of nostalgia. "Colombia is… it's part of who I am. Sometimes I feel like I have the smell of coffee on my skin."
I listened to her, enraptured by the passion of her words.
—Tell me a little about your country, what your life was like there.
His gaze was lost in the water, as if he were trying to find the right words. After a moment, he began to speak, with a mixture of sadness and melancholy.
—I was born in a small town in the coffee region, where my parents worked on a small farm. As a child, I learned to get up early and help with the harvest. The mountains were covered with coffee plants, and the afternoons always smelled of wet earth after a rain. My mother made the best coffee I'd ever tasted; she always said the secret was picking the cherries at their perfect ripeness.
I imagined the mountains and the smell of coffee, as if I were there with her. I remembered the Juan Valdés commercial on TV.
"My family didn't have much money," Marta continued, a twinkle in her eye. "At the end of the day, we would all gather in the yard to chat and listen to music. My father played the guitar, my mother sang, and my sister and I danced. Life was hard, but we were happy."
"And when did you decide to come here?" I asked curiously.
Marta sighed.
—It was a difficult decision. I got married, had two children, and led a happy life. Three years ago, my husband left for another younger woman; it's normal there. My oldest son stayed with him. My father passed away, and Mother encouraged me to come and seek a better future for my daughter. At first, it was very hard. I missed every corner of my homeland and often wondered if I had done the right thing in leaving everything behind. But I know that the money I send home supports my mother and sister. And my daughter will soon arrive.
Marta's eyes sparkled as she spoke of her past, and for a moment, I felt a deep tenderness for her. I didn't see her as the family maid, but rather a woman full of sacrifices and dreams.
"Have you thought about coming back?" I asked, trying to keep the excitement out of my voice.
She nodded, with a melancholy smile.
—Every day. Colombia is always with me, in every song I sing while I work, in every coffee I drink. But... you know what? I also feel good here, especially when I meet people like you. And I know I must put down roots to offer my daughter a better future.
That afternoon, I discovered that Marta was a woman of immense strength, someone who had sacrificed so much for her family, and who, despite everything, retained her will to live intact.
—I don't want to get serious. Do you like bachata?
He turned on his phone and started playing the Caribbean music he heard in every club when he went out. He took my hand and started dancing.
"I don't know how to dance!" I said, moving awkwardly.
—Let yourself go... Don't let your body stiffen, let it go.
It seemed like a better plan, her and mojitos, than the drawing board and the computer.
"Okay. Please, please, pool for dancing," I offered, knowing it would be very useful to know how to dance.
"Nice to show you. I'm happy, this is paradise. And you're being great to me," she finished, lowering her voice. "And you're very handsome, in case you didn't know."
"I'll be right back," I said as a simple excuse to cool down the heat caused by contact with Marta in a bikini, half naked.
Was she trying to get something? I couldn't just fall into the arms of a girl, no matter how sweet she was, just like that. Although I could also be accused of being an idiot for giving up on enjoying a laugh and mojitos with a woman with that body.
I called Pablo to confirm we'd meet that night. When I came out, I found Marta asleep, sunbathing topless. She was showing off perfect breasts, which I gazed at, transfixed. It had been months since I'd seen breasts comparable to this girl's, with her tanned skin.
He half-opened his eyes, and when he saw me, he made no move to cover himself.
"I hope I didn't bother you," he excused himself with a shy smile.
—Not at all. You can do it these days. If you do it in front of my mother, I'll call the police for violating the rules of the house.
—Thank you, there wouldn't be a problem with her. Your father is the rigid one. I admire her class. She must have been a beautiful woman when she was young. And she still is.
—Yes, my father says she was the admiration of Madrid. He was lucky to have her fall in love with him.
—The age difference between them is too noticeable now. Your father should be careful.
"Do you think so?" I asked, surprised.
—Women notice what other people feel. Your mother is a woman who hasn't yet given up the pleasures of the flesh, and your father is too old.
I hadn't considered that the fifteen-year age difference might jeopardize their marriage. It was true that my mother, at fifty, was still very attractive, and my father was beginning to limp.
"They get along well," I remarked.
"To your parents! I hope they don't come back for a long time!" he toasted.
She refilled the mojito glasses. She selected music, stood on her heels, raising her meager five-foot-six, bringing her defiant eyes level with mine, and began to move sensually.
"I love this terrace, protected from prying eyes," she whispered, still moving her animal body. "It's beautiful to see the sunset from here, with its orange and violet hues and the sun disappearing over the horizon without anyone being able to stop it."
"I'd never noticed before," I said, caught in his sensitivity.
He left when night had covered the terrace sky. I felt so good I didn't feel like going out, so I called Pablo to apologize. I was going to switch from gin and tonic to a mojito. I drank the last mojito left in the pitcher.
My mood changed from then on. Enjoying Marta was like injecting a shot of heroin into my veins. The next two days were a continuation of what I'd experienced. I was already doing very well dancing. I was becoming more and more confident, and we played all kinds of jokes on each other.
On Friday we were enjoying an afternoon at the pool when I asked him.
—I'm surprised no guy has asked you out.
—Who told you not to? Men in Spain are very classist. The last one I met didn't like going with me to the places he frequents.
-I don't understand...
—It's very easy. Would you invite me to go out with your friends?
—Well, my friends are my age, young... But I wouldn't have a problem—I replied, seeing that she was breaking up.
—See? You're different. It's a shame you're so young!
What was the point of going out one night and dancing salsa? My parents would be back the following week, and I wouldn't be able to do it.
—What does age matter! It's Friday, join me tonight with my friends.
He stood up and came to give me two kisses as a sign of joy, causing a convulsion in my body and noticing in that approach, the awakening of my cock.
—Mmm, you're young, but you're not made of stone… —she smiled mischievously.
She went home to change. I picked her up and was surprised to see her looking so youthful. Her outfit wasn't designer, but she rocked it with style. She grabbed a makeup bag and, using the mirror in the sun visor, drew lines under her eyes and lined her lips. The result was incredible.
"I'm going to be the envy of my friends," I told him.
—Thanks. I'm excited to go out with Spanish guys.
When we arrived at Brito, where I had met my friends, I noticed her surprised expression and how Marta felt like she was the protagonist amidst all the compliments and banter. The rest of the girls welcomed her, because it had to be said that Marta was incredibly nice, and, perhaps because of her age, they weren't jealous no matter how hot she was.
He smiled at me and told me that it was the first time he had gone out with a group like that since he arrived in Spain.
—Maybe you have very high expectations.
"I don't know, but you have a lot of birthdays," she trailed off. "Did I surprise you?"
"I feel happy, you're great," he told me in an aside.
—Me too. I haven't been out in a while.
—At your age, it's not good to shut yourself away. You have to celebrate that you'll soon finish your degree.
—Now with you I don't need to leave the house anymore.
—Don't forget who we are. When your parents come back, we won't even be able to be friends.
I felt confused. I remembered her body in the pool, and looking around, there wasn't a hotter girl. He tried to divert the conversation.
—Your friends are so much fun. I'm tired of rude boys.
—We value novelty here, and you're different from all the girls they know.
—It could be the Mother Superior.
"You are superior to all mothers," I continued, laughing. "And to their daughters."
"Ha, ha, ha. How flattering! If your mother finds out!" he replied, still laughing, "you're supposed to be in my care. We'd have to bring her in one night."
—My mother? I don't see her.
—I've known women in your situation. You'd be surprised!
Her comment took me back to my teenage years, when I saw my mother as a wonderful woman and fantasized about her. How would my mother behave in a place like that, with boys my age? I longed to step up and felt insecure.
"What do you think your friends will think of us?" He looked at the rest of the group.
—I don't give a damn! Do you care?
The appearance of Lucas, a friend who boasted of being a flirt, separated us and tried to monopolize her.
"Let's dance." Without asking permission, he grabbed her and led her to a makeshift dance floor that had been set up at the end of the bar.
Marta was fun, engaging, and all she could think about was laughing. Her chest bounced as she danced, her hair curled in knots, and she winked at me from the makeshift dance floor, not knowing if she was doing it to provoke me or if it was her way of showing her joy. I let them have their way, but I kept an eye on them.
While I was laughing with Pablo, who was hinting at what kind of relationship I had with Marta, I lost track of them. Where had they gone? It took me a while to spot Lucas, at the back of the bar, trying to pick up a girl. I approached him.
—And Marta?
—Marta? That Latina bitch? She's gone.
—What happened?
—Nothing, she's hysterical.
That comment didn't add up. I called her and got no answer. I tried three times and finally found her phone was dead. Or was it dead? It didn't seem logical for her to leave without saying goodbye.
I got up worried and went straight to the kitchen. I found her sitting on the stovetop, slowly sipping from her coffee cup.
—You didn't say goodbye last night.
-No.
—Did you have a good time?
His gaze could have killed me.
-It's a joke?
I didn't understand anything.
—Can you explain your attitude to me?
—My attitude? Or that of your asshole friend?
She told me how Lucas tried to touch her while they were dancing and how he insulted her by calling her a fucking Latina maid and that I was the only one who could fuck her.
—I'm going to hit him when I see him!
—I shouldn't have gone with you. This isn't the first time something like this has happened to me.
—I swear I didn't see it! Lucas is a conceited pimp, but my friends aren't like that.
I couldn't convince her. The morning dragged on in that tense atmosphere between us. When the theoretical leaving time arrived, she changed and prepared to leave.
—Aren't you staying this afternoon?
—No. I mustn't mix with the "gentlemen."
"How can I convince you that I had nothing to do with what happened last night?" I said, holding her shoulders.
—I felt like a cheap whore!...
I hugged her to calm her down. I gave her a Lexatin and made her lie down. I struggled to concentrate on my work without getting that son of a bitch Lucas out of my mind. How could I make Marta forget what I'd experienced? She got up smiling. It was a change.
"The nap did you good," I greeted her.
—Yes. I've been unfair to you, I'm sorry.
—Well, you have to fix it. Condemned to have dinner with me tonight.
She looked at me, a little confused, with a shy smile.
"Stay for dinner?" he repeated, not understanding my offer. "I'm feeling fine now, there's no need."
—You misunderstood me. Going out to dinner!
"I couldn't stand another snub," she replied, still annoyed.
"Just you and me. We're going somewhere special," I confirmed, letting him know I wouldn't accept a refusal.
—Wouldn't you mind appearing with me somewhere fancy?
Besides being attractive, Marta was one of those thousands of good people, trapped in a strange country. I once read that we should always treat a woman as if she were a princess. If she was, we wouldn't be wrong, and if she wasn't, she would be just as grateful. Marta had the right to be happy for one night.
—I'll be proud to date such a brave woman.
Convinced that it was a serious invitation, her face changed and she burst into joy.
—Oh, David. I can't go somewhere fancy. I don't have any suitable clothes.
It was true that her outfit suited her very well, but for a night out, it was still thought-provoking. Why not give her a special night?
I smiled at him and motioned for him to follow me. I opened the dressing room for him.
—My mother has a lot of dresses she doesn't wear. Choose the one you like best.
Marta looked surprised, and a little uncomfortable, at the number of outfits in front of her, but a touch of excitement shone in her eyes.
"I can't..." she exclaimed with suppressed enthusiasm as she saw the dresses and accessories that filled the space.
"Today you're going to be the lady of the house..." I said, determined to make her happy.
"You're younger and more handsome than your father," he reacted, as if he had to defend me.
—And you're much sexier than my mother.
—I'm flattered you compare me to her. She's a great lady.
She hesitated for a moment, but finally, with a grateful smile, she began to look through the dresses.
"Give me some time," she asked, "to get ready."
I left the room to give her privacy, and reserved a table on a terrace frequented by famous people. When Marta arrived at the living room an hour later, I could hardly believe what I saw.
She chose a white suit with large black floral prints that she'd seen my mother wear with pants, but she didn't think it was necessary. My mother was taller and slimmer than her, and the suit fit her body; it fell to mid-thigh, highlighting her very firm butt. She'd chosen open-toed shoes with high heels and a handbag.
"Impressive," I acknowledged.
Marta had let her hair down, put on some eye makeup, and applied a soft pink gloss to her lips, giving her a tremendously elegant look. I thought she was missing something.
I shook her hand and led her back to the bedroom. I opened my mother's jewelry box of everyday pieces. I selected a choker and placed it around her neck. I offered her simple small diamond earrings with a matching bracelet.
"David, I..." he stammered as he looked at himself in the mirror.
She looked like a real society lady, only tanner and more buxom. She was a real knockout!
Marta deserved to feel like a princess, at least one day in her life.
"You look... incredible!" I said, unable to hide my admiration.
Marta blushed and looked down, with a smile that reflected gratitude.
I made a reservation at the Café de Oriente, across from the Royal Palace, where at night you could see the entire square from its terrace, featuring a high-end restaurant. When we arrived, Marta seemed a little uncomfortable at first, unused to that kind of place. Upon discovering the waiter was also Latino, I whispered a recommendation in her ear to treat her like a princess. She smiled, understanding the message and the importance of that evening to her. Throughout the evening, she went all out with her, which eventually relaxed her.
She seemed delighted listening to me talk about the views from that terrace and the surrounding area.
—The Palace has centuries of history, but since Alfonso XIII, no one has lived there. Over there on the right is the Opera House, from whose terrace works are sometimes performed for the general public.
He enjoyed the views and the explanations, while I, without needing explanations, enjoyed his view.
The night invited us to talk about all sorts of things, forgetting the differences between our lives and feeling like a lady who deserved to be treated with the utmost respect. As the night wore on, she began to loosen up, forgetting her role in the house.
—I haven't told you the whole story of my life. In Bogotá, I went to very elegant places, like this one. My husband was a well-known doctor, and I helped him at the clinic he co-directed.
"One day he changed his plans. A patient died, and to avoid criminal liability, he decided to go to Miami with a mistress I didn't even know existed." His face became more serious. "He left me with nothing."
Her luck changed, and she went from being a doctor's wife, with a wonderful life, to having to emigrate and start from scratch.
"How old are you?" I asked.
—I'm forty-two years old.
"I'm 23," I said with some fear.
—I know. But you're acting like a very grown-up guy. I'm glad I came. The night is beautiful.
"The night...and you," I said, looking into her eyes, wanting her with all my soul.
Marta looked at me, trying to process the emotions she was feeling. Then, she briefly took my hand across the table and, with a warm smile, said,
—Thank you. I'll never forget this night. You truly made me feel like the lady of the house.
—And you've made me proud to be your partner.
The chemistry between us was evident, and for a moment, the outside world ceased to exist.
—I know you didn't mean anything more than to make me happy.
-I...
"Shut up. Now it's my turn to make you happy." He paused for a moment. "I want to be your partner until the end. Will you invite me to sleep over?"
My heart raced. I was going to fuck her! I pulled out her chair, and as she stood up, she turned and gave me a soft, lingering kiss. The kiss of Cinderella, the most attractive woman that night, who just a few hours ago had been cleaning in my house and now, anyone present would have wanted to take my place.
When we got home, while she was returning the jewelry, I made her a drink. She turned on the living room stereo, took off her shoes, and began to dance. Watching that body moving in front of me, I decided to lose control of my destiny. She invited me to follow her onto the dance floor of her body, pulling me closer and further away from her. In one of her final moves, she pulled me in and kissed me with rage and need.
She looked at me mischievously, unzipped her dress and, moving a little, let it fall, leaving her dressed only in a thong.
"Do you like the lady of the house?" he asked suggestively.
She began a small parade around the room, wearing heels and a white thong that contrasted sharply with her skin.
—I've never seen a body like this. I can't wait to fuck you.
—You didn't need to do everything you've done for that.
—I wanted to see you happy.
He looked at me with gratitude in his eyes.
"Get comfortable, I'm going to put this dress back in its place," she ordered me, not knowing where the limit would be with her.
She appeared in a suggestive black negligee, beneath which only her mini G-string was visible. I was already in my boxers.
—Do you like what you see?
—You're driving me crazy...!
"The night is perfect," he said, shaking my hand and walking out onto the terrace.
She laid me down on the Balinese chair, grabbed her glass of gin and tonic, pulled down my boxers, spread them over my penis, and bending down, began to circle my glans with her tongue, licking it, keeping my cock firm with her hands.
"This gin and tonic turned out great," he stammered, his gaze flicking down and into my eyes. "Come on, try it now."
She removed her negligee and poured a little of my drink over her tanned breasts. I began to sip from those Caribbean glasses. To avoid wasting anything, she tilted my mouth to drink from the wishing well, to take advantage of the liquor spilled over her body. I savored the most exciting cocktail any tender bartender could prepare. I soaked up her juices until I heard her scream, while she lifted her pelvis, arched her back, and I, hugging her thighs, buried my head in her.
"Are you ready for me to fuck you, brunette?" I asked rhetorically, knowing her answer.
"I was already there last night, before your friend ruined our night," she responded sensually.
He took my hand, and we both headed naked to the pool. The water was warmer than it had been that morning.
—She looks great.
She entered the water, barely making a splash, gliding from one end to the other. She splashed a little, laughing. She encouraged me to follow her. I swam a couple of laps. She approached me slowly, triumphant. She was tightening the rope, speaking calmly, without nervousness. What was she up to? I hadn't felt this insecure in a long time. I felt like a puppet in her hands.
I managed to overcome my paralysis and hugged her, kissing her with all the passion the moment required, sensing her surrender, while I tried to explore her entire body with my hands.
I lowered my mouth down her cleavage until I found her round, tanned breasts, which my lips slowly explored, playing with her areolas, feeling her body shudder. She let herself go until she decided to take the reins.
We dived into the pool, playing at eating everything with the chlorine flavor. We hugged, we kissed, I carried her to the standing area and lifted her onto the edge of the pool.
I savored her thirsty cavern as she squeezed my head, pushing until my tongue was completely inside. When her orgasm came, her body convulsed, and she collapsed into the pool.
From inside the water, she slid her hand to my cock, and we moved to the part where some steps made it easier to enter the pool. She sat me there, exposing my cock like the mast of a sailboat.
"You have a good tool," I heard myself say. I remained passive, waiting for his move.
Without letting go of my cock, she pulled me towards her and kissed me, her hands massaging my cock in rhythm, my desire awakening moment by moment. She caught my tongue, bit my lips, and I felt a lightning bolt strike me.
She threw my head over the edge of the pool, leaving me semi-reclining on the steps. She kissed me all over my body. I reached down to caress her, ruthlessly ripping off her thong.
"I like it...keep going," he said, still wagging my tail.
She played with my cock as if it were a drifting boat. It bobbed up and down, like the piston on an oil rig. I wrapped my hands around her spectacular ass and tried to squeeze her against me.
—Stay still, I'm in charge.
Facing that sexual animal was mission impossible. When she realized I shouldn't take any more risks before I came, she took it into her mouth and, with a gentle but continuous sucking and expelling motion, accompanied by the caresses of her hands on my genitals, she caused an avalanche of snow as if a shot had been fired in the mountains.
Without removing her mouth, she received the discharge until she realized that the mountain had stopped emitting snow and she repelled all the remaining semen with her tongue, as if it were a glass of milk before sleeping.
"I'm sorry, I couldn't control myself anymore," I apologized.
She smiled at me, traces of semen falling from the corner of her lips.
—Relax. I wanted you to unload your first salvo so you can make me enjoy it when you fuck me.
—You seem like an expert...
"I'm not an easy woman to conquer. But when I give in, I die in bed. Let's go to your mother's bedroom. I want you to fuck me in her bed."
I arrived with my cock halfway aroused. But if I had any doubts it could work, it took him a few seconds to massage it and get it almost ready.
—I'm really late, I need a good fuck.
She rose above me, kneeling on the bed, and brought me her glass so I could drink. Her sun-tanned skin contrasted with the white of her vaginal lips. Her movements reflected the thirst of her pussy, which had always been taken without being given the respect it deserved. I savored her two breasts, which were firm, waiting to be inspected. I ran my tongue along the beginning of her vaginal lips, feeling their wetness. I thoroughly examined her pussy, which tasted of chlorine. It pressed against my mouth, as if it wanted to be penetrated by my tongue. I repelled the full taste of that super pussy, which came with built-in music, because as she approached her climax, she began to sing like a siren. She touched my cock and smiled.
—Now it's time, fuck me young man, show your youth.
She offered me her spectacular body entirely. We'd already played, now the serious tournament was beginning. She opened her legs so I could enter her completely.
"You haven't stopped tormenting me since we arrived," I said as I entered her.
—Did it turn you on to fuck the lady?
—I wanted to fuck you.
My cock was already hers, she contracted her pelvis, and I felt imprisoned. I let her set the pace; she'd just come off a long, solitary journey and needed to let off steam.
—Calm down, my life—I asked him.
Asking Marta to calm down at that moment was like telling the wind to stop. I lost my connection with her; I couldn't keep up with her accelerations. She looked like a stallion escaped from an American rodeo, struggling to dismount, but I had her completely inside me and I was able to keep up with her rhythm. Her face had transformed; she was wild, screaming, sighing. She wasn't content with my pace and grabbed my cock in her hand, accelerating my movements. I squeezed her clitoris with my fingers because I felt that with the force I was galloping, I wouldn't be able to finish her off, and I didn't want to fail.
We finished simultaneously, amidst her screams and constant thrashing. When I managed to pull my cock out, she took it in her hands and greedily stuffed it into her mouth.
—How stupid you are!
—Calm down, you've been good. He just spit up all your milk.
"You're an earthquake," I said, barely able to speak.
—I love sex. But I need complicity...and power. You've given me both.
—We have all week, Marta...
"Yes, that's true. Take tomorrow off from your project," she told me. "We have a full fridge and my pussy is hungry."
When she woke up, she took a shower in the bathroom and came out looking like a queen, her hair wet and her pussy dripping.
"It's been an amazing night," I greeted her.
—It has been. You made me feel special.
—You're special. I didn't see a more attractive woman last night, and you behaved with politeness and style.
I discovered how I could enjoy sharing a meal with a girl as unassuming as Marta, experiencing tenderness and passion, fucking her, and making love to her. It wasn't a matter of age or upbringing; it was simply a matter of feeling, of skin. Marta showed me the way.
"You're not just a good person, you're also good in bed," he said, feeling my body and caressing my cock.
—Yes, but first we have to recover, let's have breakfast.
She pulled down my pajama pants and served herself directly from my cock.
—I already have breakfast.
"Stop, stop, I know your skill with your mouth. Let me try it too," I said.
I lay down beside her, and like contortionists, we twisted around so she could have my bareback breakfast, while I treated myself to a taste of that wet little pussy, which was starting to return to normal. I didn't need to have finished college to recognize that it was the best 69 I'd ever enjoyed.
But having enjoyed her pussy, I couldn't resist penetrating her again. I stood up, in that erect state where you want nothing more than to cum, intending to shoot my seed inside her. Just as I was about to insert myself, she pulled back far enough so that I couldn't penetrate her.
An idea had occurred to him.
—If you want to fuck me, I'll remain the lady until your mother returns.
—And who's going to do the housework?
—You. You're going to be my assistant. Are you up for it?
I was dying to fuck her again. I would have said yes to Satan himself.
-Made.
She knelt against the headboard, offering her back to me. I positioned myself behind her and, in that position, without waiting a second, I grabbed her tits, placed my shaft at the entrance to her vaginal opening, and I couldn't quite get inside her. She held back her hand to guide my cock to the entrance of her orifice, lifting her ass to facilitate it. Seeing the tip inside, I thrust all the way in with one thrust, riding her desperately before cumming. How I loved the way her ass moved!
—Push with all your might, asshole, I'm yours —she was completely devoted.
I heard her screaming uncontrollably... and I ended up releasing my white liquid into her pussy's pantry where I planned to add a lot more that week.
—You're killing me, Marta.
—If you treat me like a lady...I'll be a whore in bed for you.
I planned to treat her like a lady. My mother loved having breakfast in bed, so I went down to the kitchen and made her breakfast, which I brought up to the bedroom.
—The lady will have breakfast in bed.
"Okay, but I'm asking to be a widow. I want to feel free to seduce my assistant," she said, playing the part of the provocative woman, wearing last night's negligee and completely naked beneath it.
—I'm here for you, ma'am, whatever you need.
I imagined my mother in her place, in her nightgown, having breakfast after a great fuck. Did she enjoy sex like Marta? I didn't think my father was very capable of providing her with food.
When he pulled the tray away from the bed and smiled at me, I knew what was coming next.
"Ready?" he whispered, stretching his arms out toward me.
