El Olor del Aceite y el Pasado

The room smelled like bergamot and warm massage oil, but all I could sense was her. Irina lay face down on the table, the soft light from the frosted lamp falling across her shoulder blades. I hadn't seen her in eight years—not since that night at the dacha when we both pretended nothing happened. She turned her head, gave me that little half-smile, and my mouth went dry.

"Kostya?" Her voice cracked. "I booked a deep tissue, and here you are."

"Long time," I said, stepping closer. The air got thick. "Your back bothering you?"

"Everything hurts," she said, lifting her hips just a little to adjust the sheet. "Especially my lower back. There's this knot..."

"Show me."

She pulled the sheet down to the middle of her ass. My fingers pressed into her lower back, and I felt her shiver. Her skin was hot, smooth, smelling of vanilla cream—and her. I worked my thumbs slowly up her spine, feeling the muscles tense under my palms. She let out a soft breath, spreading her legs a little wider, and my hands slid over her ribs, brushing the sides of her tits.

"Here?" I asked, pressing on her tailbone.

"Ah..." She bit her lip. "Yeah... more."

I kneaded her ass through the thin sheet, and she pushed back into my hands like a cat. My cock was already hard against my pants, and I knew she could feel me standing there, almost pressing against her thigh.

"Kostya..." Irina lifted her head, her eyes dark. "My husband said you were a good masseur."

"You remember what happened at the dacha?" I whispered, sliding the sheet off her ass.

She froze.

"Yeah. You kissed me, and I left."

"And now?"

She was quiet for a second, then slowly lifted her hips, letting me pull the sheet off her legs. My hands settled on her thighs—soft, warm. I leaned down and kissed her lower back, tasting salt on her skin. She exhaled, spreading her legs.

"My husband's away on business," she whispered. "I'm all alone."

My fingers slid between her ass cheeks, and she gasped, pressing her face into the table. I spread her open with my thumbs, smelling her cunt—sharp, warm, intoxicating. Her clit was already swollen, her lips wet. I pressed my mouth to her, running my tongue from her clit all the way down to her asshole. She cried out, gripping the edges of the table.

"God... Kostya..."

I kissed her ass, breathing her in, then pressed my mouth to her asshole. My tongue traced the tight wrinkles, and she moaned, arching her back. I licked her in circles, feeling her tremble. Then I moved lower—into her cunt, my tongue pushing through her folds. She was wet, hot, and I drank her, listening to her ragged breathing.

"You're insane..." she breathed. "Jesus..."

I stood up, unzipped my pants, and my cock sprang out—hard, swollen. Irina turned her head, saw it, and her eyes went dark.

"You want it?" I asked, running the head over her ass.

"Yeah," she almost growled. "Fuck me. But in my ass... I love it in my ass."

I slicked her asshole with oil, pressed, and she moaned as the head pushed in. Tight. Hot. Irina arched, pressing her ass back against my hips, and I sank deeper.

"Ah... yeah..." She clenched around me. "More... harder..."

I moved slow, feeling every muscle grip me. Then I leaned over, grabbed her tits, squeezing her nipples, and she cried out. I sped up, driving deeper, and her moans got louder.

"Come inside me," she whispered. "I'm on the pill... come inside me..."

I felt her asshole clench, felt her shake. My fingers found her clit, and she screamed, arching as her orgasm hit us both. I came inside her with a grunt, feeling her body shudder.

She lay there, breathing hard, and I pulled out slowly. Irina rolled over, smiled, and there was something new in her eyes.

"My husband called," she said, nodding at her phone. "Said he'll be back in a week."

I leaned down and kissed her.

"Entonces tenemos tiempo."