The house was large and old. Its stone exterior expressed the hardness of some aspects of its owner. Inside, it was elegantly decorated. But none of that matters. It doesn't matter to talk about the large mahogany library, or the kitchen full of fruit or the furniture that is more than a hundred years old. It doesn't even matter to describe the aesthetics of that room: the handcuffs on the bed, the box with sex toys where a small whip stood out... It doesn't matter to tell how she seduced me, danced with me, and how we slowly entered the bed. But, why? What I want to tell is how we did it: Sometimes, she would take off all her clothes, lie down naked and I would start spanking her. Other times, she would bend over and I would brutalize her anus with a dildo. Sometimes, we would spit on each other while I was fucking her. Our encounters were accompanied by intense phrases: Do you like how I fuck you, you fucking bitch?; Suffer, you damn bitch!; You are my dirty whore! Phrases that would be the horror of feminists, but that she loved, intensifying the ardor of the moment to even higher levels. I think of the red wax falling on her buttocks and I am filled with passion. At this moment, my penis has become hard and, here, looking at the sea, I stop writing. I have taken out my penis and I am masturbating. Veronica...
5
As I reaffirm, I was obsessed with Veronica... And then I met Mariana.
While Veronica's anus was left with wounds from the perversion of our games, Mariana was the opposite extreme. And with Mariana there was never penetration, not even much nudity; only feet. She was Emily's sister, Veronica's other daughter.
I understand the strangeness of my choices. Some would say that, if I was enjoying myself so much with Veronica, why mess with her daughter, Mariana? And also, only feet? I don't understand it myself, because passion never responds to reason; it is rather reason that seeks to adapt to the dictates of passion. Trying to reflect, I consider that I found in Mariana a counterweight to Veronica. Veronica, Veronica, Veronica... so intense that it invaded me, obsessed me. Her carnal shadow was so immense that it needed a counterweight, and that was what I found with Mariana.
One afternoon, leaving Veronica's house, Mariana arrived to visit her mother. We crossed paths only for a brief moment. I was afraid, because I didn't want to cross paths with Emily, who would probably be offended to know that, after having been with her, I was now with her mother. Mariana was dressed all in black; she looked almost like a nun who had forgotten to cover her head. She had black hair, cut to her shoulders, and a shy look. She gave off an appereance of rigidity of character and little disposition to socialize. However, when I got home, I realized that the girl, who was younger than me, had left an impression on me. The strangeness of her appereance promised special pleasures, different from those that a normal woman or a woman as intense as Veronica could provide me.
I am bored of getting lost in inconsequential details. I will only say that Mariana worked as a photographer and that I hired her for an event for my company. Conversations, flirtations, exploring who each other is through words, until finally I took her to my apartment, because she was clearly a woman who would not accept going with a man to a hotel. The thing is, as our conversations became more intimate, she told me about her aversion to sex, even to her own nudity, even though she did not seem to have a bad figure. What encouraged me to approach her was that she wore sandals that revealed quite a bit of her feet. She had a rather beautiful foot shape and well-formed toes.
During my adolescence, I developed a certain foot fetish. I liked to look at photos of famous women in which they showed this part of the body. I masturbated intensely thinking that my lips could touch those toes that rooted them to the floor. This fetishism faded with time, but it was revived by this attractive and strange girl, so unsociable and contrary to any sensuality, but who showed her feet in that way. She made me think that it was the only part of her body that was free.
Life has taught me that every person has a certain lustful tendency and that, if one discovers it, one has access to some kind of voluptuousness. Standing there, facing each other, in my cold room with almost square furniture and brutalist-style cement walls, out of nowhere the lie came out of my mouth that I had extensive knowledge in reflexology. She seemed very excited and, without me asking her, she took off her sandals, put her feet on my legs and asked me to massage them.
Her feet were small and delicate, not too small. I put my hands on them, they were warm, and with my thumb I began to rub the center of the sole of her feet. It only took a couple of minutes for her to start moaning. "It's very nice," she told me. Although I know they were just feet, it was as if I were stimulating some sexual organ. My teenage fetish had come out in all its power. She had closed her eyes and was moaning softly and quietly. The bulge of my erection could be seen in my pants, which was close to her heels. I moved a little closer, and my bulge lightly touched her feet. She didn't seem to notice. I massaged her pretty toes one by one. Then her arches. And then I squeezed every inch of her feet. She seemed to be in a relaxing and erotic trance. Her feet were very clean, and I wanted to suck them, but I only dared to give her left big toe a timid kiss. When I told her I was done with the massage, she took her feet off my legs, put them in her sandals and continued acting as before she gave them to me.
And so was my first encounter with Mariana. By the fifth, she was already masturbating me with her feet.
Veronica... I liked that she didn't know about my connection with Mariana.
6
When I finished school, I thought very seriously about becoming a monk. I went to a Jesuit school, and my devotion, especially to the Virgin Mary, was quite strong. I spent the day silently imagining myself, seeking to enter into mystical contact with the mother of God. But those longings soon faded away to give way to rationalism.
It was about my abandoned faith that I last spoke to Veronica. It happened on a gray afternoon, when a swallow could be heard in the distance and it was Good Friday. We made love in my bed. I was on top of her. Veronica held me with her strong legs while she begged me to rape her. I gave her as hard as possible, while I squeezed her neck. Her face was red and her eyes were wide with pleasure. I ejaculated inside her. Minutes before, Mariana and Emily's mother had already had one orgasm, if not two almost in a row.
When she finished, she almost ordered me to take a bath in the tub together. I had once told her about my huge bathroom and its special features. Like all the walls in my apartment, it was made of thick, unpainted concrete in the brutalist style, and had a huge concrete bathtub. This, despite having capacity for four people, filled up quite quickly. Together and naked, inside, she approached me, with her long curly black hair and her beautiful tits. Veronica looked me in the eyes and said:
- This whole apartment is like you. Brutal... Brutal, like your heart. You love to say that you are obsessed with me. That my eroticism drives you crazy. I have rarely enjoyed with man as much as I do with you. And I know that a man who masters the arts of pleasure requires a heart as cold and hard as concrete. If I say these things it is not because I dislike you. On the contrary, I like you. Before you fuck me again, you should know that my daughters forced me to confess. Emily found out that we do it, and she told Mariana, and Mariana told her and me about the games you have with her feet. Few men can fuck me like you, because only a beast can fuck like that. Immoral, cruel, self-centered. I bet that in your solitude you think of me, making yourself believe that you are a tender being, devoted to me. You are made of concrete, Samuel, and you don't realize it. We will make love for the last time. My daughters asked me yesterday not to continue dating you and I'm going to listen to them.
She got on top of me, moved quickly and I ejaculated prematurely. Then she got out of the tub, dried herself quickly and left, almost without saying anything else. I barely had time to accompany her to the door in my robe.
Veronica passed through my life like a sexual seaquake. I never liked her. And having fucked her daughters was fun. But how I miss fucking her, like an alcoholic who misses the bottle. Veronica, I miss you so much... until I find another woman who moves it as well as you do.
Night has already fallen on the beach.
Veronica...
