She Ordered Me Not to Stop, and I Obeyed All Night

I met Caro when we were already both adults, she was twenty-two and I was twenty-four, and it all happened faster than either of us would have admitted. A couple of months were enough for us to decide that being together was the only thing that made sense. She was reserved to a pathological degree, one of those people who take forever to let a single extra word slip, but when she did, it was worth the wait.

She had an ordinary body, the kind that doesn’t turn heads in the street and yet left me undone. Thin, with straight hair falling down her back, small breasts, five-foot-five of walking shyness. A neighborhood girl, nothing spectacular at first glance. The spectacular part was somewhere else, in things it took me months to discover.

One of the first nights we spent together, she confessed to me, staring fixedly at the ceiling, that she didn’t have much experience. Curious, I asked what she considered “not much experience.” She took a while to answer. She didn’t do it then, but much later, almost as if she had been saving the answer for when I stopped waiting for it.

I wasn’t from another world either. Mine had always been within the ordinary: kisses, the occasional relationship, nothing worth talking about. I thought I knew the whole map until, in the fifth month, that summer night redrew it from scratch.

My parents had gone to Portugal for a month, as they did every year, and the house was ours. The freedom of not having to measure our noises, of walking naked down the hallway, of falling asleep wherever exhaustion caught us. That night the heat was thick. We had had slow sex, unhurried, and afterward we lay sprawled on the big bed, too hot to hold each other, each on our own half of the mattress.

Caro had been on the pill since before we met, so coming inside her had become natural, something we both liked without having to say it. I fell asleep thinking about that, about how easy everything was with her.

I woke up in the middle of the night without knowing why. The room was dim, with only the line of light coming through the poorly shut blinds. I wanted to go to the bathroom, but something stopped me before I fully got up. Caro was sleeping on her back, completely relaxed, one leg stretched out and the other barely bent. Seeing her like that, defenseless, without the shell of shyness she wore during the day, pinned me to the mattress.

There’s something about her that few people would understand. Her smell attracts me in a way I can’t explain elegantly. It isn’t perfume or soap: it’s her, her skin after an entire day, that warm trace she leaves on her clothes. I slowly sat up and groped around on the floor until I found her thong, the one she had taken off hours earlier. I brought it to my face almost without thinking and the scent hit me: sweat, heat, the whole day condensed in a single garment. I got hard again immediately, as if I were eighteen all over again.

I stayed kneeling beside her side of the mattress, hesitating. It was the first time I had felt such a clear temptation to go down between her legs while she was asleep, to taste her knowing that at some point she would wake up. Would she play along or get mad at me? I had no way of knowing. And that uncertainty, far from stopping me, only turned me on more.

I brought my nose to her pubis. The scent of sex was strong there, more intimate, a mix of what I had left inside her a while earlier and her own fluids. By then I was already decided. There was no going back in my head.

I climbed onto the bed like a thief, distributing my weight so I wouldn’t sink the mattress all at once. I placed my head between her thighs slowly, like someone settling onto a pillow they don’t want to wake. My mouth came to rest on her sex, my nose brushing her clit. I waited. Nothing. Not a movement, not a change in her even breathing.

Was she really asleep, or did she already know and was letting me keep going? She gave no reaction, and for the moment that worked in my favor.

I stuck out my tongue and started working my way between her lips with almost reverent softness. She was sliding on me with indecent ease, still wet from before. The taste was intense, the scent sweet, and I stretched out over her, my body pressed against her legs. My cock was trapped, rock hard, against the sheet, and every movement I made created a friction I had to hold back from.

I pushed my tongue a little deeper and felt her first shiver. Her legs closed just a little, an instinctive reflex. She has delicate thighs, and when she brings her knees together, there’s that little hollow right at the height of her sex, that space I had so often guessed at through her underwear and that now was pressed against my face.

I took my time. I traced slow circles with the tip of my tongue, up to the clit and back down again, alternating pressure, reading her body like someone learning a new language in the dark. Every time I got it right, one of her legs would tense a millimeter, her toes would curl, her breathing would catch just before she went back to pretending to be asleep. That performance of hers, sustained against all evidence, seemed to me the most erotic thing of the night.

When she closed her legs, her feet were almost touching me, and when she barely lifted her hips my tongue could slip in without obstacles. That was when I noticed it: she wasn’t asleep anymore. A hand pulled me down to the nape of my neck and held me there, firm, against her sex. It wasn’t a tender gesture. It was a wordless order, a pressure that said exactly where she wanted me and for how long. That hand gripping me set me on fire inside.

From that point on I lost all control. That quiet girl, the one who measured every word during the day, had turned into a volcano using my mouth to give herself pleasure, without asking permission, setting the pace with her hips and her hand.

—Keep going like that, don’t stop —she whispered, her voice still hoarse from feigned sleep.

—Clean up everything I left inside you —she added, and the line ran through me like a jolt.

It was intoxicating to feel her that way, to discover a Caro I had never seen before, one who gave orders and expected obedience. I, who had always been the one holding the reins in bed, was there, submitted, doing exactly what she commanded and wanting her to keep commanding.

—Don’t stop. Everything you left —she repeated, pressing me harder against her—. Iván, don’t stop.

—I’m yours —I said as best I could, my mouth busy, my breath ragged—. I’m all yours.

—I like that. Keep going, keep going, don’t stop.

—Touch me with your feet if you can —I managed to ask, but she had me pressed tighter and tighter to her sex, with no room for me to dictate anything.

—Deeper, put it deeper —she ordered me, her breathing broken—. I’m coming, don’t stop.

I felt her orgasm with a clarity I didn’t know in her. Her whole body tensed under mine, her thighs closing around my head like a warm trap, her hand pinning my neck for one second longer. I noticed a little different fluid, not much, something new, with a clean and slightly salty taste. I stayed there, licking slowly while she came down little by little, until she loosened her hand and let me go.

***

Caro began to relax and tugged my arm so I’d climb up beside her. I settled against her and we stayed like that for a while, in silence, not falling asleep again, our breathing still out of sync. I slid my arm around her waist and she nestled into my chest as if she had always fit there. Through the blinds came that gray pre-dawn light that hasn’t decided yet whether it’s going to be morning.

It was hard for me to sort out what had just happened. The quiet neighborhood girl, the one who had confessed to me that she had little experience, had dominated me in my own bed, had used me and directed me without the slightest hesitation. And far from making me uncomfortable, surrendering to her had thrilled me. I was the first to speak.

—You were awake, weren’t you? —I asked softly.

—Yes —she admitted, and I felt her smile in the dark—. But it was nice like that. How did you come up with it?

—I don’t know. I woke up thinking I should go to the bathroom and never made it. I got distracted —I said, smiling too.

—By what?

—By you like that, asleep, defenseless. And then I found your thong on the floor.

The conversation had a delicate quality to it, without anxiety, her questions asked with sincere curiosity, almost innocence, as if only now she dared to explore that side of us.

—Why the thong? —she insisted.

—I’m not sure, Caro. I saw it lying there, I got turned on by the smell it had and got horny right away. I adore your smell. You know the rest.

—I’m curious —she said, curling up closer—. If you want, I won’t ask you anymore. I’ve never had anything like that happen to me.

—You can ask me anything you want, really. I trust you.

—Me too, baby. I love being yours.

There was a comfortable silence, the kind that belongs to two bodies still getting to know each other. But one question had been turning over in my mind for a while, one that didn’t quite fit the sweetness of the scene.

—Caro, can I ask you a question? —I said, choosing my words carefully.

—Ask me whatever you want —she replied, sleepy, satisfied—. Whatever you want.

I kept looking at the ceiling, the same ceiling she had looked at months earlier when I asked her about her lack of experience and she took so long to answer. Maybe the answer had been there all along, waiting for this night to come out.

—Who is Iván?