This story is set abroad (for me) and involves a relationship where neither of us spoke much of the other’s native tongue. As such it contains less dialogue than I would normally include. But I hope that it still appeals.
In my late 20s I was recovering from a messy divorce. We’d only been married a few years and it had, with hindsight, been a mistake from the outset. But the split had been acrimonious and had taken its toll on me: psychologically; physically; and financially.
Luckily we hadn’t had children. So we didn’t have that to unpick. But everything else had been tumultuous. My life was a mess and I needed to take stock and rebuild.
Fortunately I had a good job, as a software engineer. And when my company offered me the chance to work on a project in Portugal I jumped at the opportunity. I saw it as a chance to get away, lick my wounds and use the time to reflect on the mistakes I’d make. Plus I knew from a holiday there a few years earlier that it was a lovely country, with friendly people, good weather and great food.
I’d be there, initially, for three months, with an option to prolong the term if the local customer needed more input and I wished to continue. Lisbon was my base, though with occasional trips out to other sites across the country. But I was placed, at the company’s expense, in a serviced apartment in a nice part of the City. Close to the bars and restaurants, but quiet and safe.
That said, in the first few weeks I had neither the desire nor confidence to go into the City. So I kept very much to my self. I was working flat out in the day but, as a contractor, worked largely on my own. In the business word most of my local colleagues spoke excellent English. So I was able to operate in something of an insular bubble. And that suited me in those early days.
Outside of work other than the odd exchange in the lift or lobby I had little or no interaction with the other residents in the apartment block. In fact, away from the office, the person I probably interacted with most was the cleaner/housekeeper who looked after the whole complex.
She wore the ubiquitous cleaner’s uniform of white overalls and trainers. The uniform always seemed just a little too tight, showcasing her well built, curvy, figure. She wasn’t fat (in my opinion anyway) but the embodiment of “womanly”. With perfect black skin, cropped hair and a smile that, when she graced you with it, was utterly dazzling. Though I noticed, quite a lot of the time, that she looked quite glum. But I guess working for minimum wage, cleaning other people’s floors and lavatories, can do that to you.
Initially I had no idea what she was called but over time we began to exchange pleasantries. I established that she was called Consuela and was, originally, from Mozambique, one of the old Portuguese colonies. Her English was poor and my Portuguese not much better. Though I was making an effort to improve it, via an app on my phone. And with a little practice in the workplace, plus local shops and cafes, I was becoming a little more proficient.
She’d overheard me one day practicing my Portuguese on my phone.
“You learn well. Good boy,” she encouraged. “I help you?”
“God, yes please,” I agreed immediately. I really did want to improve. And I knew regular conversations with a local would enhance that. But also, if I were honest with myself, I saw it as a further chance to spend a little more time with Consuela.
So most days, whilst she was in the flat, or even if we passed in the corridor, we’d converse – or at least I’d try to – in Portuguese.
Consuela seemed pleased that I was making an effort to learn. But took great delight in teasing my clumsy pronunciation. Laughing at me as I cursed the app when, despite my best efforts, it misunderstood what I was saying.
“That’s what I said, you stupid machine,” I’d groan, as it failed to register that I’d repeated (in Portuguese) “I’d like a room for tonight with a shower,”, or whatever (slightly ridiculous) phraseology I was practising.
Whenever we’d meet I’d greet her in Portuguese, “com es tas (how are you)?” I’d inquire. “Tutu ben (very good)” she’d answer. Invariably breaking into a huge smile at my clumsy, but well intentioned, efforts. A smile that I was beginning to realise was one of the few bright spots in my rather grey, featureless, days.
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I’d always been fit and active. But over the last few months I’d let myself go. Drinking too much (on my own in the lonely evenings), eating poorly and neglecting the gym. But as I settled into a routine in Lisbon I began working out regularly. Running through the streets and parks in early morning and doing a series of exercises in the apartment on my return. I cut back on my alcohol consumption and ate more fish and salad. Soon feeling a lot better for it.
In fact, my limited time with Consuela, coupled with a general improvement in my mood and fitness as I was getting over the trauma of my divorce, saw my libido (which had taken a knock) return with a vengeance. I found that I was masturbating daily, if not multiple times a day. And I was aware that my internet searches increasingly included, “ebony”, or “African.”
One evening, as I returned from the office, I passed Consuela at the door of the apartment block, as she knocked off for the day. She’d changed out of her cleaners uniform and was in jeans and a vest top, both of them tight fitting. They illustrated further what an attractive figure she had. In fact, it was a knockout figure. She also wore a little make up and looked extremely attractive.
“Wow,” I exclaimed, “you look terrific, really gorgeous.” Which was a lot more forward than I’d planned to be. I’m not sure she understood exactly what I meant. Though my body language I’m sure gave a good illustration.
My language app didn’t have a section on chat up lines, or complimenting hot women. Or if it did it was a mastery level that I was quite some way from achieving. So I then, in my faltering Portuguese, explained that I thought she looked really good. Though I was just a little less emphatic than I’d been in English. But I did say, “voce esta lindinha.” Which I think meant, “you are pretty.”
Whether I got the tense or pronunciation right I wasn’t sure. But Consuela understood enough to be flattered by the compliment.
“Muito obrigado, thank you,” she responded, with her skin, dark as it was, colouring at my obvious appreciation of her looks.
She explained she was going off to meet some friends for drinks. And further disclosed that, “my friends are fun. My husband old and boring.” Causing her to grimace slightly at this description.
“Well,” I reassured her, in my faltering Portuguese, “you are not old or boring. Voce parece chique (you look chic).”
“You smart too,” she murmured in response. “But hair not,” she giggled, tousling it lightly.
I was unusually taken by the gentle intimacy of this simple interaction. But also the heave of her ample chest as she carried out the act.
“I know,” I agreed, blushing a little. “I need to get a haircut. I’ll try to find a barber this week.”
“I can do,” Consuela replied, shyly. “I cut good hair.”
“Ok, if you’re sure, that would be really helpful,” I agreed. Surprised by how excited I was at the idea of. it. We agreed she’d call by the next day after she finished her cleaning duties and I bade her a good evening with her friends.
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The following day in work I found myself in an unusually good mood. And I realised I was looking forward to spending a little time with Consuela, albeit in a functional capacity, as she gave me a much needed trim.
Around 5.30pm there was a knock on my door. Consuela was there, not made up this time, but still clad in her “mufti” clothing of jeans and a vest. I thought, for the umpteenth time recently, that she looked really hot.
I probably spent just a little too long admiring/staring at her breasts, encased in her tight vest. And this was, perhaps, not unnoticed by Consuela. Though the smile she gave seemed to be wry, not accusatory.
After some idle chat, where I tried not to leer further at Consuela’s tits, she directed me to a chair in the kitchen.
“Time for cut,” she suggested, pulling out a scissors and comb from her bag.
“Take off shirt and sit,” she directed. “No hair on clothes.”
Strangely affected, once again, by the suggested intimacy of disrobing, albeit just taking off my shirt, I hesitated slightly. Then swiftly pulled of my polo shirt.
It was now, it seemed, Consuela’s opportunity to leer. Actually, leering was most certainly a product of my over fertile imagination. But I certainly felt an appreciative nod.
“You fit,” she smiled, “good body,” confirming this appreciation by reaching out to squeeze a bicep.
“Thank you, I’m trying hard to get back in shape,” I responded, blushing once more. “You look good too,” I followed up, shyly, though this time not trying to hide my own appreciative glance at her body.
Then, nervous that I may be overstepping the mark I looked away and busied myself. Making myself comfortable and positioning myself for Consuela to get to work.
For the next few minutes there was little communication between us, with the silence punctuated only by the clip of the scissors as she trimmed my unruly locks.
As Consuela was behind me I was aware of her breathing on my neck and her closeness to me as she snipped away. This awareness heightened as she moved around in front of me and leaned over me as she worked on my fringe.
Her heaving breasts were no more than a foot away from me. And her firm thighs were occasionally rubbing against my side.
Having had so little physical contact for several months the proximity of such an attractive, womanly, figure got to me. Or rather, it got to my dick. It went from flaccid to erect in no time flat. I was wearing quite loose fitting chinos. But, looking down, surreptitiously, I could see that they were tenting. As brief as the glance had been it seemed to have directed Consuela’s gaze downwards too.
She said nothing, but it seemed clear she’d noticed as, even with her black skin, it was apparent that she was blushing.
I considered whether I should apologise, but feared this might bring further embarrassment, as I tried to explain my unruly member away.
I’d imagined that, knowing she’d spotted the state I was in, she may be more careful about brushing against me. But the opposite seemed to be true. If anything she was more pronounced in rubbing against me.
It wasn’t sexual. Or at least I didn’t think it was. But it certainly seemed she was less concerned about maintaining a “safe” distance from me, as most – in fact all – hairdressers would do.
The rest of the haircut passed without incident. Though my erection showed little sign of subsiding. Eventually Consuela was content with her work and asked me to stand and check her efforts in the mirror.
“Very good,” I pronounced. And it really was, she’d done an excellent job.
“How much for the haircut?” I asked, in my halting Portuguese, wanting to reward her for her efforts. Plus all the work on a daily basis keeping the apartment clean.
“No, no money,” she replied, waving her hands to emphasise the point. “Happy to do,” she smiled.
“No way,” I insisted, “you’ve done a very good job. And saved me finding a barber.”
Retrieving my wallet I grasped her arm and pressed 20 euros into her hand.
“No need, no need,” she said, adamant once more that she did not want payment.
But I held on to her – not roughly but gently – and insisted that she closed her fingers around the notes. With this act, once again, an opportunity/excuse, to have some physical contact with her. God, I was acting like some gauche, cunt-struck, virgin.
After further protestations – allowing me to maintain my gentle hold on her – she finally relented.
“You kind man,” she suggested. “Very nice man.”
As she prepared to leave Consuela paused at the doorway and now reached out to grasp me.
“Now you look smart,” she suggested, gently tousling my freshly trimmed hair. “But fit too,” she grinned. This time running her hands over my pecs. Causing me to shudder as her hand ran over my nipple, which was erect.
“You like,” she laughed, tweaking the nipple once more.
Then she surprised me further by pulling me to her for a kiss and a hug. Not sexual – though in my heightened state it almost felt that way to me – but very affectionate.
“Thank you for money. You good man,” she opined, quietly. “I like you.” Before she rushed out of the apartment and down the stairs.
Almost as soon as she’d left I was shucking off my shorts, pulling out my still hard cock and wanking myself to a shuddering orgasm. As I exploded over my abdomen it was Consuela that I was imagining fucking.
The next time I saw her things were just a little awkward (though clearly I didn’t think she was aware that I had been wanking whilst fantasizing about her). But I did my best to overcome this by thanking her for the haircut and continuing to work on my language skills with her. And we soon returned to the comfortable familiarity that we’d been enjoying.
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Emboldened by her approval of my physique I now took every opportunity when she was around to have my top off. Then, as I grew more confident, sometimes padding around in my boxer trunks.
Initially Consuela, whilst clearly not uncomfortable, did not remark on this any more than she had previously. But, over time, as I would pass her she would sometimes lightly stroke my back or laughingly grab a bicep and make comment on it. And when she was being extra playful some further gentle nipple tweaking. Which, looking back, was a sexual act. Or certainly one with sexual overtones. And clearly a green light for me to become more overt myself. But, perhaps scarred by my divorce and mindful of the fact that I “employed” Consuela (albeit just for a few hours/week) I was reluctant to move too swiftly.
However, after a week or so of this I became bold enough to reciprocate a little of her tactility. After she might grab an arm, or stroke a pec I would put my arm around her and cuddle her.
“You naughty boy,” she would giggle, “always grab me.”
“Just being friendly,” I assured her, with a blush. But, as I met with no real opposition I did this more frequently and with more full on contact. I would place my arms on her lower back, inches away from her full buttocks. I was oh so tempted to reach down and fondle her arse fully. But I still resisted.
There was most certainly an undercurrent of sexual tension. It also seemed apparent that Consuela was spending more time in my small apartment than was necessary to keep it clean. Not least as I had few possessions and kept it quite tidy myself. I’m certain it would take no more than 10-15 mins for her to conduct her daily cleans. But, increasingly, she was there for more than half an hour. With much of this time chatting.
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Late one afternoon I’d returned from the office and did some press-ups and kettle bell sets in my living area. Consuela arrived as I was finishing off. And made comment, once more, on how hard I was working. Putting the kettle bells away after my last set I sat down to get a glass of water. As I did that I arched my back and groaned slightly after the exertion. Possibly over exertion as I guess I’d been “showing off” to Consuela.
“Oh my goodness,” I informed her. “I think I’ve done too much. I’m aching all over.”
I’m not sure how much she understood of this (and my Portuguese, improved as it was, wasn’t yet up to translating “aching”). But it was apparent what I meant.
“Poor man,” she opined. “You work too hard. I give you massage.”
Acquiescing immediately I stripped off my vest and sat, as she directed, in a kitchen chair. A similar position to the one we’d been in when she cut my hair. Initially she stood behind me and began, more expertly than I’d expected, to dig in to the over-extended muscles in my upper back.
As she’d done when she’d cut my hair she was brushing herself – in fact more than brushing – against me.
Consuela was now in front of me, massaging my upper pectoral muscles. She was standing just inches away from me. As my legs were spread she was standing between them to allow herself maximum purchase. She was inches away from me. In fact, as she began kneading the muscles on my upper chest our legs were touching, with her chest at eye level with me.
I placed my hands, initially, on Consuela’s hips. It could, conceivably, have been seen as a means to steady myself as she pushed hard into my sore chest. But then, becoming bolder – and removing any modicum of doubt – I moved my hands around and began, gently at first, to grasp her bum.
Time seemed to stand still and I was almost frozen into inaction. But, having met with no repercussions I started to really fondle her arse.
Oh my goodness. It was so full and so firm. I was torn between ravaging her and continued terror that I’d overstepped the mark. Still fearing I’d be met with a slap on the face and a torrent of abuse.
Thankfully, that didn’t happen. Though, at first, neither did she respond positively to my groping. Instead she said nothing, but continued to massage me. Though a little less forcefully.
Taking this as a signal that I could proceed I moved a hand around to her front. Gently raising the hem of her overall I began inveigling a hand between her firm – though fleshy – thighs and moved it higher. There was now no doubt at all that this was a sexual act. And my confidence grew as Consuela’s firm massage halted, turning to a caress of my back and neck. And she opened her legs slightly to give me greater access.
“Yes, yes, sim, sim, good, good,” she grunted, in verbal encouragement.
I was now rubbing my hand against the gusset of her knickers and snaked a finger inside. Where I found a clean shaven, already wet, pussy. As I started to finger her Consuela was writhing against me and seemed as I eager as I to progress matters swiftly.
Pushing off me briefly she tore open the buttons on her overall so that she was standing before me in her underwear. Clearly cheap and functional, not erotic. But still allowing me to see the wonderfully sexy figure that I’d increasingly been imagining – and indeed fantasizing – about.
Pulling me up from the chair Consuela wrapped her arms around me and drew me in for a kiss. After I had taken the early initiative it was now Consuela’s turn to set the tone. This kiss was deep, passionate and full of raw, sexual, energy. Consuela was the instigator, with me happy – ecstatic in fact – to respond to her lead. Her tongue was buried deep in my throat and she was grinding herself against me.
“Oh God yes,” I managed to stutter, in between kisses
I ran my hands through, or more accurately across, her tightly cropped hair. I didn’t understand why, but I found this incredibly arousing. All of the women I’d ever been with had long, feminine, tresses. But her closely shaved head – amongst many other things – was making me mad with desire.
But then, in a further display of Consuela’s own desire, as well as her dominance, she dragged me to the bedroom. Her need, it seemed, at least as great as mine.
I swiftly pulled down my shorts and boxers and stood proudly before her, my dick rearing up before me.
Pointing to my cock, she mimicked rolling a condom down it.
“You have?” she inquired, with hunger in her eyes.
“No, I’m so sorry,” I had to respond sheepishly.
“Aaarh, no fuck then,” she insisted, albeit it seemed reluctantly. And, frustrating as it was, I agreed with her.
But she was undaunted. Once again, demonstrating her hunger, she pushed me onto the bed so that I was laying flat on my back. Climbing up she stood above me. I thought she may have changed her mind and been about to squat down and fuck me, without a condom. But, instead, she hovered over my head.
“You lick, then I suck” she directed, peering down at me, mimicking the action of gobbling me.
Almost as soon as I’d nodded acquiescence she lowered herself down onto my face, rendering me unable to communicate further.
As she squatted down towards me I could see that her pussy was pink and inflamed, in stark contrast to the dark, almost shiny, skin of her legs and buttocks. I could sense the desperation. That was confirmed moments later as Consuela began, most enthusiastically, rubbing herself on my face and tongue.
Her pussy was moist, largely with arousal. But also with sweat. In fact she had a tangy odour that, whilst not unpleasant, was certainly marked. But also arousing.
My efforts appeared to be having an immediate effect as, above me, Consuela was gasping and moaning, whilst grinding herself against my mouth and tongue.
“Oooh, oooh, ooohh, sim, sim, yessss, yes……..” she urged, though the sound was muffled by her muscular legs wrapped around my head. She held herself in place by pushing against the wall behind my bed. Though I could see, as I peered upwards, her big hanging tits jiggling as she ground down.
For my own part, I was unable to communicate as I had a mouthful of pussy. So I focused all my efforts on lapping my tongue against her engorged clitoris. Whilst trying to insert a finger into her.
After several months without sex – indeed without any real physical contact – I was massively turned on myself. But Consuela appeared to be in a similar – if not advanced – state.
“Aaargh, arrgh, aaargghh, baby, baby,” she grunted above me as she continued to grind her soaking pussy against me.
I was out of practice and so excited that I probably lost any finesse. But I lapped away furiously, with Consuela matching me. She was soaking wet. Partly due to my saliva, but largely her plentiful pussy juice.
Back in the early stages of our relationship my wife had enjoyed oral sex. Or at least enjoyed me going down on her. But it took a long time for her to orgasm. Not so, with Consuela! As unpractised as I was I knew enough to realise that her climax was fast approaching.
I wanted nothing to prevent this. Nor, I imagined, would Consuela have let me. So I kept licking her clit as consistently as I could. Whilst I maintained, as much as I was able to, my fingering of her pussy.
Above me I could sense that her breathing was becoming laboured and her legs were tightening around my head. So much so that it was almost uncomfortable. But extremely arousing at the same time. Then, just as I was starting to fear I may suffocate, the dam broke.
“Nnnngh, nnnngh, ngghhh, simm, simmm, SIMMMMMMM………..” she cried, as she bucked and writhed against my tongue as her orgasm hit. Lasting, it seemed, for several seconds.
“Wow,” I managed to gasp, as she pushed off from me, albeit briefly. Before she settled back down on my face.
With most women I’d been with the first orgasm would often lead to sensitivity. And they’d need a break – certainly from clitoral stimulation – before continuing. Consuela was obviously made of sterner stuff. No sooner had the contractions died down before she was, once more, smothering me with her now soaking pussy as she drove on for what she clearly expected would be another orgasm.
The second one was even quicker to arrive than the first. And, if anything, appeared even more powerful.
“NNNGHHHH, NNGHHHHH, SIMMMMMMM!!!!!!!!!” I heard her cry above me. Though, once more, the sounds were muffled somewhat by her legs wrapped around my head. But I was able to tell from the shaking and spasming that she had come again.
Finally sated, Consuela pushed herself off, looking down with a huge smile on her face.
“You good man, obrigado, obrigado (thank you),” she gasped, grinning profusely as she lowered herself down to lay beside me.
Looking at my face, smeared with the copious discharge of her pussy, coupled with my own saliva, she laughed throatily.
“You very wet, I clean you,” she suggested, before pulling me to her for another passionate kiss. Apart from locking tongues she also licked all around my face. Delighting, it seemed, in tasting her own arousal on me.
This licking of my face, far from repulsing me, actually inflamed me further. I’d been hard for the last 30 mins, including the time I’d been licking Consuela. So now, particularly after months of abstinence (other than my recent wanking) I was desperate for relief myself.
“I really need to come,” I informed her, grasping her hand and placing it on my pulsing cock.
I’d have been happy for a hand job. Though, after the prolonged cunnilingus I’d just treated her too I was really hoping for a blow-job, which it seemed like she’d promised earlier. Thankfully, Consuela didn’t disappoint and was true to her word.
Turning to me with a big smile on her face she confirmed her intentions, “you good to me, I be good for you. You like?” she asked, once more mimicking the action of a blow job.
“God yes,” I assured her, as she immediately dipped her head into my groin. Without a hint of reluctance she took hold of my cock and engulfed it, almost to the root, in her hot eager mouth.
It had been some months since I’d any sexual interaction. But it had been several years since I’d been fellated. As our marriage disintegrated the sex dwindled. And the little we had was perfunctory and certainly never included oral.
“Oh fuck,” I groaned, “so good,” almost coming in those first few seconds as the unfamiliar pleasure had an immediate impact on my overcharged senses.
“Go slow,” I urged, not wanting to come so quickly. “It’s just sooo gorgeous.”
Consuela paused briefly, looking up with a huge grin.
“I take time, make you feel good,” she assured me, before bobbing her head back down and, more gently now, continued sucking my pulsing cock.
She alternated deep suction with licking the underside of my shaft and gently cupping my balls. Doing her best to maintain eye contact to check how much I was enjoying. In fact, she seemed to be taking as much pleasure in delivering the blow job as I had in receiving it.
“Oh Jeez, this is gorgeous, keep going,” I gasped encouragement, writhing on the bed and stiffening my whole body as I tried to delay my impending orgasm.
Consuela did as I asked and kept up her enthusiastic cock sucking. Much as I would have liked it to last longer, after just a few minutes it all got too much for me.
I could feel the spunk boiling in my balls and I knew my orgasm was just moments away. Wanting to alert Consuela – and not imagining she’d want me to explode in her mouth – I tried to pull her head away.
“So close,” I gasped, “I’m going to come.”
Pursing very briefly in her endeavours, but not pulling away, Consuela looked up with a grin.
“OK, come now,” she directed, before bobbing her head back down.
This was all that I needed. My buttocks tightened and I began thrusting my hips upwards.
“Nnngh, nnngh, nnngh, YESSSSSSS………” I grunted, as I released the torrent of spunk that had been building. Not just over the last 30 mins, but over the last several weeks.
Consuela, to her great credit, took it like a trooper. But there was so much that it caused her to gag slightly and pull away. Though this only served to let me see the last spurt splatter against her tongue and lower lip, with the residue then dribbling out her mouth.
“Oh Jesus,” I gasped, “that was wonderful. Thank you so much. I hope that wasn’t too unpleasant,” I continued, apologetically.
It had been so long since I’d had a blow job I’d forgotten that some women actually enjoyed performing them. And were not repulsed by the idea – and certainly the act – of sticking a cock in their mouth. My ex-wife certainly appeared to have been like this. And would have absolutely recoiled at the idea of swallowing my jizz.
But Consuela was different.
“Mmm, muito bon (very good),” she grinned, as she used a finger to scoop up some of the spunk that had leaked out of her mouth and fed it back into her mouth. Savouring, in porn star style, the taste and texture.
Then, realising the time, she pushed herself up. “Aargh, I must go home,” she alerted me. “You make me late, she scolded with a smile. “But you get condom. Then we fuck,” she directed, with a huge, spunky grin.
Pulling on her clothes she had a quick swill in the basin of my bathroom, before giving me one huge cuddle just as she rushed out of the door
So that evening, shortly after Consuela had left, I went out to one of the local supermarkets and bought a large box of condoms. I was confident (with some justification as it turned out) that the next day’s promised fuck would not be a one-off.
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The following day in work I could think of little else than renewing our activities of the previous evening. Neglecting some of my tasks I raced home from the office, an hour or so before I probably ought to have left. Just before I knocked off I text Consuela to let her know I was on my way. Though, conscious of her marital status, I was discreet enough to keep it vague, in case her husband saw it.
Letting myself in to my apartment I was greeted by a wonderful sight. Consuela was already there, standing in the doorway to my bedroom wearing a satiny purple bra that was – just about – encasing her heaving tits. With matching, flimsy, knickers. Cut very high, almost sheer and showcasing her impressively muscular thighs. Plus, as she turned to the side, her glorious arse. I suspected it wasn’t the most expensive lingerie in the world. But God she looked hot.
“Oh sweet Jesus,” I exclaimed, “you look stunning.” I’m not sure she knew what stunning meant in Portuguese, but it was clear from my reaction that I was FIRMLY in favour of her attire.
“Thank you,” she replied, with a big grin. “I’m happy you like.”
“God yes, I love it,” I assured her, swiftly crossing the short distance between us and enveloping myself in her outstretched arms.
Her tongue was immediately down my throat again as she ground herself against me, whilst I pawed at her tits. Peeling down a bra strap I unleashed one of them from the cup of her bra and suckled greedily on a spectacular, dark chocolate coloured, nipple.
“Nnngh, yes baby,” Consuela grunted, as I moved a hand down into the waistband of her kickers and started to rub against her pussy. She was soaking wet and my finger slid straight into her.
For a minute or so she was content to feel me fingering her. But it was clear that her mind – and her body – were set on other things.
Pulling away from me (I was still fully clothed at this stage) she demanded, “put on condom and fuck me.”
Taking her by the hand I dragged her towards the bed, tearing off my clothes as we went.
As my rigid cock sprang free Consuela looked at me with passion writ large on her beautiful face.
“Rapida, rapida, fuck me now,” she demanded, as I clumsily tore open a condom from its wrapper and peeled it onto my aching dick.
With it firmly in place I pushed her onto her back and positioned myself between her legs. I’d planned to take my time and savour the moment. But Consuela had other ideas.
Grasping my hips she pulled me towards her, arching upwards to meet my incoming dick. Moments later I was inside her, sliding straight into her already well lubricated pussy.
“Ooooh, shit,” I grunted, “this feels so good.”
“Sim, sim, good, good,” she assured. “Fuck me, fuck me,” she reiterated, pulling me tighter to her.
So I concentrated on doing just that.
Consuela’s apparent desperation – if anything greater even than mine – was a huge turn on. In fact, she was so desperate it meant I was focusing all my efforts on catching up with her. So there was little danger of me popping too soon.
A little as my pussy licking had been the previous day there was no finesse or sensuality in my actions – nor indeed those of Consuela. It was pure, raw, unbridled fucking.
I wrapped my arms around her to give myself maximum purchase and I was hammering away at her. The harder and deeper I went the more passionately she responded.
Wanting to provide maximum pleasure for Consuela – but also to satisfy my own selfish needs – I bent forward and recommenced sucking on a meaty nipple. Alternating the pressure and suction to establish what worked best for her.
It seemed that whatever I did worked as, beneath me, she was moaning and grunting at my exertions, whilst gripping me tightly with both her arms and her pussy muscles.
“Rapida, rapida, fuck me, fuck me,” she exhorted once more.
I was now pounding away at her, grasping her hard as I powered into her eager pussy. The sweat was dripping off us, with the bed and mattress, cheap as it was, creaking and bouncing at the unaccustomed pressure we were exerting on it.
My ex-wife had seldom come through intercourse – and I knew that was true of most women – but I felt increasingly confident that Consuela was in the group that were able to.
I could feel her pussy clenching tightly around my cock and her breathing was coming in short gasps. Moments later my thoughts were confirmed.
“Sim, sim, sim……….close…. close…..” she groaned as she tremored and squirmed beneath me.
“AARGHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!” she cried, seconds later, as a huge orgasm hit her, causing her to further shudder and gasp below me.
Pausing briefly (though still encased in her pussy) I looked down to see her chest heaving and small aftershocks triggering her abdomen to switch slightly. But she was clearly not done yet.
“More, more,” she demanded, as she pulled me back down towards her. “Fuck me, fuck me,” she urged.
Now that I’d been able to bring her to orgasm I concentrated more on my own needs. I was massively turned on and I knew it wouldn’t be long before I came. So much so that, though I’d loved to have tried multiple positions, I just needed to hammer away in missionary. Plus I was confident that we’d have lots of opportunities for a little more variety.
Consuela was now the one to grasp me tightly, gripping my hips and arse hard as she pulled me deep into her.
I could sense that she was fast approaching a second orgasm. And I knew my own was now imminet.
“Aaaargh, arrrgh, SIMMMMMMM!” she shrieked as another climax was upon her, with this the final trigger for me.
“FUCKKKKKK!!!!!!” I cried, as I exploded into the condom, shaking with the intensity of my release.
Collapsing on to the bed we lay there catching our breath, cased in sweat, but mutually satisfied.
Finally rousing herself, Consuela looked down at me.
“You good man. And good fuck,” she reported, with a huge grin.
“Obrigado, you too,” I laughed in response, as I pulled her to me for a warm, companionable, hug.
Sadly, Consuela still had other apartment to attend to so, after a quick shower, she got dressed and was on her way. Though not without promising – in fact demanding – regular repeat performances.
Indeed, for the next week or so we were insatiable, unable to keep our hands off each other. Consuela disclosed that her husband, whilst a decent man, was much older than her and disinterested in sex.
Clearly our time together was limited by her domestic situation (mundane as it appeared to be). But Consuela worked 6 days a week in our complex. Every day that she was there she would come to my apartment and we’d engage in more frenzied lovemaking. Usually at the end of her shift, when I returned from work. But sometimes, if I was working from home, we’d grab an opportunity in the middle of the day.
It was hard to know who desired each other the most. But I think Consuela just about shaded it!
“Vem ca (come here), give me your cock,” she’d demand, with a sleazy grin, as soon as she walked through my door of my apartment.
Or she’d drag me to the bed and, reprising our first time together, straddle my face with her pussy, insisting, “lick me, make me come.”
I was always happy to do this. Turning her on turned me on too. And it wasn’t as though it was all one way traffic either. Consuela was always eager to reciprocate and was as desperate to have my cock insider her – pussy or mouth – as I was to insert it.
So our arrangement (relationship would have been over stating it) suited and satisfied us both. I really was fond of her, but with her marital status and my reluctance to commit to any emotional attachment we were content with just fucking each others brains out!
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
One afternoon I returned from the office shortly after lunch to finish up a report in my apartment. But I was hoping I’d be able to connect with Consuela as a diversion from my work. As I climbed the stairs to my third floor apartment I noticed that Consuela’s cleaning trolley was parked outside a storage cupboard on the second floor.
Thinking, initially, that I’d let her know I was back I diverted down the corridor towards it. The door to the cupboard was open and I saw Consuela inside, leaning over a pile of laundry to get some sheets.
Sensing my presence she turned her head, breaking into a big smile when she saw it was me.
Before she had time to straighten up and turn towards me I swiftly shut the door and grasped her from behind, as I began nuzzling on the back of her neck. An action that I knew really aroused her.
“Oh sim, sim, (yes, yes), boa, boa (good, good),” she purred in Portuguese, as I snaked a hand between her legs.
She was wearing her cleaner’s overall which I knew, from a lot of recent experience, had poppers to fasten it in place. Undoing a few of the lower poppers I pulled the hem of it apart so I could gain full access to her pussy.
“Oooh, oooh, ooooh,” she gasped as I started rubbing her pussy. Initially over her knickers but then I moved my hand around to reach into the waistband.
At this stage she was standing upright, but still facing away from me. Giving myself even better access I tore open all of the fasteners on her overall and swiftly pulled down her knickers.
Consuela leaned forward to give me even greater access to her pussy. Which I took full advantage of by inserting a couple of fingers into her, whilst I reached around with my other hand to play with her prominent clitoris.
At this stage we’d been fucking, almost daily, for several weeks. So we knew each other’s bodies well. But, perhaps as a result of my senses being heightened by the location I was impossibly turned on. But so, it seemed, was Consuela. She was wiggling her gorgeous arse and pushing back against my finger as I burrowed it inside her.
I kept condoms in the bedside locker, back in my apartment. So I had none with me. I was desperate to be inside her. But didn’t want to break the spell by pulling up my trousers and traipsing upstairs to get them. Taking a chance I began to rub my achingly hard cock against her pussy lips.
“Oh Dues, sim, sim,” Consuela gasped as I rubbed, more vigorously, against the underside of her pussy. There appeared no sign of hesitancy, or concern, at my unrubbered state. But I didn’t want to presume.
“I so want to fuck you,” I murmured into her ear. “Is that OK?”
Twisting her head backwards she looked me in the eye, with passion and lust burning as bright as I’d ever seen it. “Sim, yes, fuck me. Fuck me hard,” she insisted.
So, still taking my time and giving her a further chance to back out, I slowly eased my cock into her eager pussy.
“Aaarghhh,” was her only response – at least verbally – as she exhaled with pleasure at the insertion.
From our time together over the last several weeks it seemed that Consuela was keen on vigorous, almost frenzied, fucking. But I was determined, at first, to take this more slowly. Partly to build the pleasure and anticipation for her. And partly because I was so turned on by the illicit setting of our tryst – but mainly by the enhanced sensitivity of the bareback sex – that I feared I’d pop to soon.
“God, this is so good,” I hissed, cognizant that we needed to be quiet in case anyone walked down the corridor.
“Aaghh, sim, sim. Good, good.” Consuela concurred, as I began to fuck her more energetically. She was still bending forward, over a pile of sheets, as I held on to her hips and now began to fuck her in earnest.
I unclipped her bra and reached round to grasped her meaty breasts with both hands and began tweaking her nipples. As quiet as we were trying to be I was conscious of the “slap, slap” of my groin on her arse as I powered into her. I felt I could almost hear her squelching, so wet were we with a mixture of sweat and arousal.
Consuela added to that arousal by reaching down and starting to play with herself. It was a tactic she often used, frigging her clit as I ploughed away in her juicy pussy. But it seemed even hornier than normal. Plus, most of all, the fact that I could feel every ridge and nodulation of my cock in her wet pussy.
“Oh sim, sim, yes, yessss,” she urged me on. “I come soon,” she encouraged.
I was close myself, but the fear of discovery was, in some ways, taking a little of the edge of my arousal. So I concentrated my efforts on bringing Consuela to orgasm before my own climax hit.
As her breathing shortened I was now pounding away, deep and hard, as she squirmed in front of me.
“Me too,” I warned, though I remained determined to try and delay my impeding orgasm until I could bring Consuela to hers.
I slowed down a little but kept pumping away, as deep as I was able. Then, grasping her hips again to give myself maximum traction, I went into overdrive. Fucking in a frenzy of sweat and bodily fluids as I drove Consuela on to orgasm.
“OOOOhhhh, oooooooh, OOOHHHHHH, Dues, Dues, Dues. SIMMMMMM!!!!!!!!!” she shivered and gasped, in a low, guttural, growl. Doing her best to keep the volume low as we had no idea if anyone was passing on the corridor just outside the door of the store cupboard.
I’m afraid that Consuela’s orgasm meant that my resolve finally left me.
“Shit, shit, YESSSSSS!!!!!!!!!!!” I grunted as I exploded inside her, spewing multiple squirts of spunk deep into her pussy.
“Oh God, I’m sorry,” I apologised, as I finally withdrew. I looked down at my still half hard cock, coated in a sheen of spunk and pussy juice, with a trickle of this spunk slowly seeping out of her.
As she straightened up and turned towards me I was delighted – and very relieved – to see a smile on Consuela’s face.
“You very bad man,” she scolded. But with her teeth and eyes glistening, as she pulled me in for a huge hug. “No condom and no wait to get to room,” she added, with a grin.
“I couldn’t resist,” I explained, “you are just so gorgeous.” But then, turning more serious, “you have contraception, you take the pill?” I inquired, mimicking the action of swallowing a tablet.”
Initially Consuela looked at me perplexed, so I then mimicked a pregnant belly.
“No baby?” I asked, as I did this.
“No, no baby,” she laughed lustily, as she finally realised my concern. “But you still bad, bad, man,” she scolded. “But I like you,” she assured me, as she pulled me in for a big hug.
For a minute or so we held each other in a warm embrace, with the realisation hitting us both that we’d taken another step forward in our relationship. Finally breaking apart, Consuela pulled her overall around her.
“Vamos (let’s go),” she directed. “O banho de chuveiro.”
Then seeing me look perplexed, she smiled, “Shower,” she grinned, “wash my pussy.” she smiled, mimicking the action. Which caused my dick to rear once more. God, everything was turning me on at this juncture.
I let her leave the storeroom first to check no-one was in the corridor. Once I knew the coast was clear we raced to my apartment, where, after a quick shower we enjoyed another frenzied quickie before she had to depart.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
But that step was, to some extent, the last significant one we made. We still continued to fuck like crazy for several more weeks. Though now exclusively in my apartment, rather than store cupboards! But, with Consuela’s martial status, we were never able to meet apart from there, with the secrecy it provided.
I’d been working in Portugal for approaching six months now and the project was coming to an end. There was an opportunity to make the move permanent and the company I was supporting were keen for that to happen. But my heart wasn’t in it. I realised I’d been, to some extent, running away from my issues. But I left felt strong enough to return and re-build my life.
I let Consuela know that I was soon moving back to the UK. Despite a few tears she was also aware that we had no future together. And nor did either of us want one. But we enjoyed a few magnificent valedictory fucks as we made the most of our last week or so together.
I left with incredibly fond – and extremely horny – memories. And a predilection for full figured, short haired, black women that continues to this day!