The Spanish embassy in Bogota, Colombia was awash with women. Working there, I mean. The ambassador herself was about seventy years old and although that doesn’t make her ineligible in my book – and she was in decent shape and was probably quite a looker in her day – she had switched herself off sexually and exuded nothing, even in the intimate confines of the office at her official residence in the evening, when I was giving her English lessons. As we huddled together at my laptop I would occasionally tickle her under her upper arm or pat her thigh in congratulations when she did something well, and she didn’t object, but nor did she respond as she might have done in her prime.
The ambassador’s deputy was certainly in her prime, a thirty-something dusky-skinned, perfect-bodied flirt who was as desirable as any woman in the world and knew it. The word was that she was very free with her affections, bestowing sexual favours on any man who showed an interest and had something going for him in terms of status, wealth, or machismo. That meant anyone from other diplomats and business owners to police officers, those shiny ebony hunks in their Caribbean-style, excessively smart, tight-fitting uniforms. I had given her lessons too – early morning before she started work – and had got the impression that she would have been perfectly happy if I had tried something on with her. The trouble was, the cleaner had a habit of bursting into the room when you least expected it.
And talking of the cleaner, she was an unpretentious, dark-skinned woman, overweight as was typical in those parts, but probably a lot of fun in bed, I thought. And she was a nice person, too, which is something that really turns me on, and that was a point on which the deputy failed my test. Strange as it may seem to many men, you can keep the stereotypical, magazine-cover types who are so popular, and I’ll take an average-looking, well-mannered, pleasant, less sought-after woman any time. Like that cleaner, for instance. But as she was local, wore a wedding ring, and didn’t speak any English at all, I thought it could be problematic.
Also part of the team was the accountant, an ultra respectable Spanish married woman, always crisply, neatly dressed in roomy, feminine clothes and smelling great. Getting close to her would have been very nice, but in my opinion, if a woman like that doesn’t give you a lot of encouragement, it is unwise to try anything.
And that brings us to the other member of the group, an unsophisticated girl in her late 20s with an unsubtle stocky body and a blunt, rounded face, which boasted full, prominent lips and eyes so dark they were almost black. Her name was Airis, pronounced Iris, but they have to put the a in because in their language i is pronounced with an e sound, so Iris comes out as Eeris.
Airis was the ambassador’s secretary and had none of the pretensions that embassy people often did because of the air of officialdom their profession brought with it. Airis was a secretary, no more and no less, and she was very good at it, very efficient. She also knew what went on behind the scenes and would make sure I was paid properly, in US dollars rather than the local currency. She looked after me in her way, and that’s another thing that’s very attractive.
One day after a teatime class I drove the ambassador and Airis to the supermarket and waited for them in the car. After I had taken them home again I went back to my place about a mile away. I was just settling down for a film and some wine when the phone rang.
“Mr Chris,” the voice said, her Spanish vowels making it sound like Meester Crees. “Is Airis. I leave some books in your car. Can I come and get them? I have to study.”
Half an hour later she was knocking on my door. I had retrieved the books, which were something to do with business finance, and we stood together at the dining table where I had put them. Airis was wearing a tight t-shirt and thin, stretchy leggings that were too small for her, so the outline of her panties was not just visible but waving at me. I had noticed before that although she was normally quite smartly dressed, she could occasionally wear something similarly striking in a careless way as if she had been in a hurry and either hadn’t noticed or was happy to look like that. It’s like when a woman comes out of the toilet and has “forgotten” to zip up her jeans but in reality has done it for your benefit, which Airis herself had done once when only she and I had been in the office. Maybe some people would have immediately known it was deliberate, but I tend to make no such assumptions.
This time, though, we were alone at my flat, standing very close together and there was that magical electricity between us.
Airis pushed a book into the middle of the table and leaned over to open it and peer as if she couldn’t see properly. I stood very close behind her so that my down-hanging donger nestled between her buns. She gave a little grunt of what could have been approval, but she too was being cagey in case she had misread the situation. I moved my hips sideways and back, so my cock slipped up the side, out of the valley, and quickly back down into it.
Now Airis knew it was deliberate.
She made a very slight movement that stimulated my cock, which promptly gained substance and firmness. At this point, I leaned forwards and placed my hands on her ribcage. She stood up and turned around, looking me in the eyes.
“Mister Chris,” she said, and, as she had nothing planned for the rest of the sentence and I had no reply, we put our arms around each other and kissed.
Airis gave herself to the kiss and the embrace with nothing held back. Her breasts pressed my chest, her pubic area found mine, and our bodies communicated in a silent crackle of transmissions that said more than a thousand words, or a thousand pictures, for that matter. My hands squeezed her buttocks and then, of their own volition, leapt up to her breasts, those wonderful, full, firm announcements of her sex.
Meanwhile, her tongue and mine were having a private party that sent wave after wave of excitement to my cock. Sensing that it had blossomed, Airis unzipped my jeans and, dropping to her knees, pulled them down. She pulled my erection out of its constricted cotton tent and kissed it. Then she plunged her mouth over it and gave me a blowjob that was as full of adoration as it was of lust.
I had half-thought Airis had a thing for me, but she was such an unassuming, humble person that she would never have pressed her claims above the other women in the office. She would have deferred to the showbiz charms of the deputy ambassador, stepped aside for the mature, elegant virtues of the accountant, and would probably have folded the clothes of the ambassador herself and fanned us with the biggest pad of paper she could find, if the old lady had decided to try one last fling. With none of her potential rivals and superiors showing much interest, though, Airis gave herself happily to the task of pleasuring the man she had been wanting to get together with all along.
She sucked me with such skill and finesse that I was both intoxicated with feel-good chemicals and swept away with gratitude and admiration.
Now I wanted to give something back to this woman. I grunted for her to stop and helped her to her feet, then led her to the bedroom. She undressed for me, still in servant girl mode and unaware that I liked her as much as she liked me. Brushing aside her bashfulness and her low opinion of her body, I kissed her all the way down her chest, sucking her nipples and licking her navel, until I reached her pubic mound, which was freshly tended and smooth as silk. I poked my tongue as far in as I could manage and she parted her legs to admit me to her palace of pleasure, where I could feel the warm, oily dampness and smell the salty, spicy juice that was slowly flowing down her heavenly tunnel.
Standing up front-on, though, is no position for cunnilingus, and she responded gratefully as I pushed her back and she sat on the bed. She lowered her upper body into a comfortable state of repose and parted her thighs to invite me in. Now that she was aware of my desire for her, and presuming I at least liked her enough to lick her vagina, she held my head like a welcome visitor and stroked me as I feasted on the bed of her feminine creek.
“Lift your legs,” I breathed, half expecting her not to understand the words, and I was right – she didn’t move, except to relax her muscles a little to allow me to clarify the request. I raised her thighs and got my hands into the crook of her knees, then pushed them up. Airis raised her bottom and after a brief pause to give herself permission, she accepted that I wanted to lick her arse, and made it available to me, pulling her knees back and surrendering to the situation. After half a minute of my lingual caressing and probing, she seemed completely happy with the situation and allowed herself to make grunting, hissing, animal noises as the erotic intensity raced up the scale and turned her into a primeval female happy to receive whatever gifts and acquiesce to whatever demands came from the man operating her sexual mechanism. She groaned in a way that doesn’t belong to the 21st-century lexicon of physical love. This was no porn star going through the motions as she was told would express her feelings; this was a woman stripped back to primitive settings and emitting the sound of unbridled lascivious reaction. It was a sound that expressed “Oh, you dirty bastard. It’s lucky for you I’m dirty too. That’s incredible”. It was a woman receiving this base act and accepting it for what it was, rather than filtering her enjoyment through contemporary concerns about decorum and good manners.
“Mister Chris,” she said again. “I like.” Then a pause. “You like also?”
“I love it,” I said.
Airis wasn’t finished yet, though. In her mind, she had to give me as much as, if not more than, I had given her.
“Please lay down,” she said. I lay on my back and she gave me the most thorough, sumptuous kissing and licking of my life. After administering mouth-to-mouth adoration, she was soon sucking my nipples and licking my belly before arriving back at my ecstatic erection, which she proceeded to lavish with love. She licked my scrotum and sucked it, gently took each ball in turn in her mouth, and when she had given my cock a final kiss goodbye, she approached my thighs as I had done hers, lifting my knees until my arse was exposed to her. It’s not something I expect or even particularly want from a woman, but Airis wanted to do it, so I did as I was told and she licked my arse with tender devotion, boldly and confidently.
“You like?” she asked.
“I love it,” I replied.
“I like also, “ she said. “I am for you. Other time. You call.”
