Maria Espalda gazed out of the window of her little shop in the hills of Derbyshire. She thought about her life and wondered seriously how on earth she had ended up there. Her hand strayed inside her shirt and she adjusted her bra, then without thinking, the fingers ran down her body to her jeans and she very gently touched her pubic area, not attempting to stimulate herself but confirming that she still had those parts. She was Spanish, from a small town in the wine-producing area of Castilla Mancha. She was supposed to be exotic, a dark-eyed woman with long, shiny black hair and dark eyes, and the British men had been all over her at first when she had come to the country with the man who was to become her husband. Graham was his name and they had met in Alicante when he was on a two-week holiday with a friend, and she had just popped down for a long weekend.
Graham had swept her off her feet – in fact, they had swept each other off their feet, each fascinated by the other’s different culture and what seemed at first to be a better, more sophisticated way of doing things. He considered it something of a coup, she could tell, to get this shadowy, juicy woman into bed and she enjoyed the element of English gentleman which he undoubtedly possessed. It was somehow more exciting to be explored and invaded in a scrupulously polite way, rather than with the rustic indecent haste that the local boys displayed.
As Graham had a decent job, as manager of a farm, and she was just working in a country farm shop, selling olives and pate and cheese, they had made their home in England, and she had been that mysterious “lady of Spain” whom the song said they all adored. Several of Graham’s friends and associates had tried it on with her, eager to get a taste of some foreign femaleness, but she had fended them off and after she and her English gentleman had married, they had pretty much stopped socializing and lived a private, remote life in their cottage, where they had set up the shop in an outbuilding, selling the same sorts of things she had been selling in Spain.
The novelty of their relationship had worn off quite quickly as, she was disappointed to conclude, happened with most relationships, leaving them with a life of routine and tedium that seemed like the path to eternity. It was comfortable enough and happy enough in a bland way if you didn’t look into the future. They hadn’t had children because she was infertile, which was a rotten trick for nature to play on her and could have made her depressed if she had taken it personally. In fact, it had made her depressed from time to time, but the two of them had soldiered on and kept themselves occupied by importing Spanish goods and exporting British things to her family. But Graham was more dynamic than she was, and he had soon taken over, to the extent that he gave up his job at the farm and was flying to and from Spain and driving around the UK, while she was fronting the retail business which he told her was the ‘flagship”, although she always suspected that was just to keep her quiet.
They bought a small house near where she came from, and he began to spend more and more time there. And then he just stopped coming back because he had hooked up with a woman who ran a bodega, a wine business. The divorce was a miserable affair, although not as bloody as some because there were no children involved. When it was finalized, she thought about going home, but Graham was now established there, and she had been in the UK for thirty years. She made a comfortable living and had a few friends in the nearby villages and towns, so life wasn’t so bad.
When the dust settled on her new single state, all she thought was missing was some sexual excitement. There had been precious little of that in her marriage, but she had been almost too busy to notice. Now, though, her fiftieth birthday was looming and she wanted to spice her life up before it was too late. She looked at herself in the mirror and what she saw wasn’t a total disaster. The hair was still dark and lustrous, with a little assistance from a dye that covered the encroaching grey. Her face was still quite firm, and her eyes shone with a sort of mature feminine steeliness. Her breasts, always her favourite feature, remained eye-catching, and, depending on what she wore, she could turn a head or two. Bum and legs? Unspectacular but tidy, as they had always been.
What really bothered Maria was her location. How was she ever going to get up to no good when she knew every man within 50 square miles and there wasn’t one who really fitted the bill? She didn’t want a relationship; she’d had enough of that to last her a long time. And because of the remoteness, she didn’t feel she could hook up with someone online, because dates would be hard to arrange and if a likely man were to make the trek out there, there would be an inevitable sort of expectation that it would get physical, probably before she was ready.
Maria found her fingers tickling her pubic mound again while she thought about one possible exception to the bleak rule. It was a man who visited every six months or so, trying to interest her in the wine he made in small quantities and against all the odds in some sunny corner of Cheshire. She had taken a dozen bottles off his hands on his third visit because she felt sorry for him and guilty at not helping him out. Why did the guy keep coming back? As she thought about it, her hand crept around to the back, so she was running a finger between her buttocks. She had caught this Billy looking at her bottom, and he hadn’t even flinched when he knew she had noticed.
It would be very easy to send him an email, just a routine, businesslike note asking when he was going to be in the area next. So that’s what she did.
Billy was quite tickled to get the email from the Spanish woman in the hills. She hadn’t shown any interest in his wine the first couple of times, but on the last trip, she had taken a case of his one and only type, a dry white that he liked to tell people was similar in style to Burgundy. It was made from the Seyval Blanc grape, and he had gradually improved it to the point where customers were saying nice things about it.
Maybe this Maria liked it. Maybe she liked him. She was married as far as he knew, but he had only met the husband the first time, and she didn’t talk about him. Anyway, he could do the rounds in Buxton, where there was a nice little hotel that didn’t break the bank and go and see what – if anything – was cooking. She was a friendly woman and in good shape for her age, ten years or so older than him, he guessed. The big, clumsy glasses didn’t do her face any favours, although they might have been okay in the 70s when Deirdre was “Coronation Street’s Miss Sexy Specs”, or so the tabloids dubbed her.
Maria wasn’t sexy, though, whatever that meant. Foreign women were always supposed to be more exciting than British ones, with some secret within them that would make them more fun in bed, willing to do things that your own variety wouldn’t, but Maria didn’t have that glint in her eye. The expression that came to mind was “untouched by human hand”, and he wracked his brains for where that came from.
Some sort of advert in the 60s, he thought. He would have to look it up. The internet had made all knowledge available to everybody. Theoretically, then, the world was a cleverer place than it had ever been. And sexier, more adventurous, more permissive than ever, because there were so many ideas out there on pornographic videos, ready to enlighten even the most innocent. Even women. You didn’t find women admitting they looked at porn – men didn’t exactly brag about it either, for that matter – but the female of the species was interested in the male, along with other females. But still, heterosexuals were in the majority, he assumed (and hoped), so women must spend at least some time in the privacy of their own homes, looking at penises online, watching women getting fucked and licked and sucking dicks, and being treated in all sorts of kinky ways, not to mention instigating the kinky stuff themselves these days.
Billy knew Maria thought he liked the look of her; it was always worth planting that seed, discreetly but clearly, because women didn’t usually make the first move, and the least you should do is let them know you would be interested. In her case, perhaps quite a lot of encouragement would be needed.
Maria spoke good English, although like most Spanish speakers she couldn’t stop herself from making the i sound like ee, so to her he was Beelly. Maybe one day he would hear her doing her ee sound when talking about his willy or asking him to go a bit quicker or to suck her clitoris. Well, there was no harm in daydreaming.
With nothing much on at the moment, he arranged the trip for the next week, and so it was that he pulled into the crunching gravel drive of the farm shop at 4 PM on the Wednesday. A note on the door said she would be back in five minutes. Probably in the toilet, sitting there with her trousers and knickers around her knees, dabbing at her bits with a sheet of pink tissue paper. Billy leaned against the door frame and waited. She saw him as soon as she came back into the shop from what he presumed was the little loo out the back. She instinctively wiped the back of her right hand on her jumper as she strode to the door.
“Beelly!” she said happily. “I thought you was coming this morning.” Billy smiled enigmatically. The time of his arrival was deliberately planned so that they could have a cup of tea, which she always offered him, and then perhaps a glass of wine as the slow country clock ticked towards five. She was visibly pleased to see him, and he had to remind himself that this was a business meeting, a sales opportunity.
They duly got down to business over a cup of Earl Grey and a small cake she had baked herself. He liked being looked after in that small but thoughtful way. They talked about how business was going for her and then for him, and when they discussed wine, she was pleasingly knowledgeable. Then they drifted onto sport and apparently she was interested in tennis. Billy wasn’t, not particularly, but he went along with it, and they talked about the current crop of British youngsters. Was it his imagination, or did her right hand keep wandering over her central area?
Sure enough, when five o’clock rolled around, they broke out a bottle of Billy’s latest vintage, fuller and less dry than previous years. By five forty-five the bottle was empty and they looked at each other and laughed sheepishly.
“So, Buxton,” Maria said. “Bit of a drive when you’ve had a few. There’s a pub in the village where they have rooms. They don’t use them often but they probably still exist. Why don’t you stay for dinner here and we can call them and check?”
Billy thanked Maria effusively and helped her bring the signs in and lock up, before walking the few steps to the cottage. Still no sign of the husband and no word of him either.
Maria felt alive as she hadn’t done for years. She wasn’t committing herself to anything, but she was going to make dinner for another adult and she was sure they would enjoy their time together. She had a shepherd’s pie in the oven, having mastered a lot of the British classics over the years. There was more than enough for two and she had plenty of fresh vegetables.
Billy called the pub and made a reservation, saying he wasn’t sure what time he would arrive and giving his mobile number, not mentioning Maria.
It was a lovely, leisurely meal, both of them relaxed and he quietly delighted to hear that Maria’s husband was no longer around. She fetched some ice cream from the freezer and two glasses of Spanish brandy, about which Billy said complimentary things, although he thought it was just sweet and didn’t have the flavour of cognac. He savoured it while watching Maria talking happily, and then suddenly she stopped and leaned forwards with her elbows on the table and her forearms flat, palms upwards and the insides of her elbows open, pale and creamy.
Without thinking, Billy mimicked her stance and then tickled one of those silky elbows. She looked up at him and smiled. He gave her more of a stroke than a tickle with his middle finger and then ran it down into her hand, which closed around it. Then she repositioned herself and took all four of his fingers into hers, gazing down at them with a dreamy smile. They both leaned forward and had an awkward kiss across the table, during which Billy took her left breast in his right hand and gave it an approving but careful squeeze.
Maria stood up and gestured to the settee. He joined her there and, the ice well and truly broken, they resumed the kiss in a more practical position and their hands roamed over each other. Maria took off her glasses and swung her head from side to side, as if to shake off the constraints of propriety. She was wearing a knee-length denim skirt and she adjusted her position so there was a slight but accommodating gap between her thighs. Billy seemed fixated on her breasts, though. He unbuttoned her blouse and put a hand inside, then with some difficulty squeezed his hand inside the cup so that his palm was touching her flesh and he was scrambling blindly for the nipple.
Maria knew she was going to have to help this man out. Perhaps he wasn’t as experienced as his confident manner suggested. She wrenched off her shirt and performed that uniquely feminine maneouvre of unhooking a bra behind her back. Now she was naked from the waist up and it felt naughty but liberating natural. If only the dozy man would get his mouth down there. She hadn’t had her nipples sucked for years; even when she and Graham were still going through the motions, he hadn’t been interested in her breasts, preferring to make a dive on top of her and shove his cock straight into the nearest available hole, the slippery one at the front.
She pulled Billy’s head down so that he couldn’t avoid getting the idea, and after he had rolled his face around on her bosom flesh for a few seconds, he hesitantly took a nipple in his mouth and sucked it noisily.
“Aahhh! Yes,” she said, coaching him. Her right hand found the zip of his workaday chinos and ventured inside, grabbing him roughly through the cotton of his loose boxer shorts. These were easy to deal with, she remembered, much better than the sort of tight stretchy briefs that had monopolized male genitals for several years. She skilfully unbuttoned the chinos and pulled the pants down, more roughly than she had intended, but with the desired result that his cock and balls were exposed.
Billy was trying to make some encouraging noises of his own, but all that came from his mouth was an alarmed-sounding, “Aye,yaye yaye.” But then this rampant woman pulled his lower clothing right down to his knees and she had his knob in her mouth and clearly didn’t really know what she was doing; she was all teeth and gums and cheeks, but she was giving him a blowjob and he leaned back and stopped resisting, which he realized he had been stupidly doing. He relaxed and let this wild creature suck him. He stroked her hair but she took his hand and thrust it down between her legs.
“Pull them down,” she ordered, lifting herself so her bottom gave up its right to her knickers. Billy wrenched them down, plunged a finger into her pussy, and felt her pulsating, excited tunnel of soft, hot pink pillows, beyond moist, almost running with her juices. He instinctively felt it was his turn to take over oral duties, and as he dropped to his knees on the carpet, she read his mind and positioned herself on her knees on the seat, with her elbows on the backrest.
Maria didn’t really know why she was adopting this position. All she knew was that she felt unlocked, set free after all the years of marital stagnation and all the recent months of nothing. This Billy seemed as if he would go along with anything she wanted, and if she didn’t really know what she wanted, maybe he would know and make it happen. She had exposed herself to him because she wanted to expose herself. She didn’t think she wanted him to fuck her up the arse, but she wasn’t sure because she had never done that, but so many people seemed to do it and enjoy it that it couldn’t be that bad and just might be a revelation. Anyway, it was up to him and if she had to suddenly slam the emergency brakes on, she felt he would co-operate.
There were several options here, Billy thought quickly. Does she want me to lick her from behind, or fuck her from behind? Or does she want me to do something with her arse? He had seen rimming done in videos, although in his admittedly limited experience, it wasn’t something that women encouraged in the real world. He put his face into Maria’s hairy Spanish crotch and almost gasped at the salty, vinegary, indescribable aroma and taste. Of course, he had licked women before, but mainly his ex-wife, and then only in the early days of their relationship, before it went a bit staid and formal. That could certainly not be said of what was happening here with this surprising acquaintance of his, who had instantly turned into his most thrilling sexual partner.
He knew he was slurping and it was a bit embarrassing, but she had put herself into this position and was showing no sign of wanting him to stop. He sucked her pussy lips, sucked the fluid from between them. It wasn’t something he had ever done before; a quick, polite lick of the pink skin, yes, but nothing as rude as this. And then, just when he thought sex had reached its brazen upper limit, he found his face straying upwards and he realized it was between her buttocks. And it wasn’t unpleasant. Not at all. In fact, it was like the most unexpected pleasure he had ever experienced. It was like discovering there was white flesh and sweet water inside the hard, forbidding exterior of a coconut. It was like diving into the forbidding, apparently chilly surface of the sea and finding it was warm and sensual, somewhere he had been destined to discover. He was an innocent abroad: abroad in the strictly off-limits areas of a woman’s central area. He was licking this Spanish woman in places where he had no right to be.
Then suddenly Maria squealed and Billy thought he must have done something wrong, so he pulled back instinctively, but her rump followed him and planted itself on his face again.
“Don’t stop,” she urged. “That is beautiful.”
So Billy continued to lick Maria’s hindquarters and she continued to quiver and quake until suddenly she shook herself free and lay on her back on the soft, shaggy rug, her arms raised in invitation. He lay on top of her, between her legs, and he was so excited he knew he was going to cum in seconds and reveal himself to be a weak, over-eager amateur. But he thrust himself into her anyway and she wrapped her arms around him and sang to him: “Billy, Billy, Billy. Give me your custard.”
Stunned with disbelief but relieved beyond reason, Billy gave in to it and his pent-up fluids pumped into Maria’s vagina. And then the two of them subsided, kissing and laughing and caressing and gazing into each other’s eyes as if the end of the world had turned out to be the most wonderful thing in history.
