The BDSM Session After a Wild Night

My name is Mara, and at this point I’m not going to pretend to be modest. When I woke up that morning, my mouth was gummy, my body was battered, and the smell of the night before clung to my skin like a second layer. I could have showered. I could have brushed my teeth, tidied the room, and pretended to be a decent woman receiving an ordinary visitor. I didn’t want to.

I liked presenting myself that way too much: used, sweaty, marked, still hot inside. There was something about seeing myself transformed into what was left of the party, into a tired body that was still good for more, that turned me on in a filthy, precise way. It wasn’t just vice. It was also work, play, and a very specific form of power.

The suite smelled of spilled alcohol, cheap perfume, and damp sheets. Beside me, Lidia slept tangled in the blankets, one leg over mine, as if we had ended up fused together during the night. I kissed the corner of her mouth. She didn’t even move. She had the heavy breathing of someone who had fucked, drunk, and run around far too much to return to the world so soon.

Lucky her, I thought. I had an appointment.

I sat up slowly. The back of my neck throbbed. Between my thighs I felt that sticky mixture of dried discharge, lubricant, and old semen that you eventually learn to recognize without needing to look at yourself. I walked barefoot to the bathroom, and when I switched on the light, I found a version of myself that made me smile: smeared mascara, disheveled hair, old bite marks on my neck, and my flat stomach crisscrossed with reddish marks from hands and teeth.

I felt like making myself look even worse.

I peed calmly, just enough to relieve the pressure. I knew perfectly well what Darío liked, and part of the fun was reaching the edge without emptying everything out. Then I went to the suite’s kitchen, poured myself a dark coffee, and lit a cigarette. Naked, disheveled, cup in hand and ash trembling between my fingers, I waited for the doorbell.

It didn’t take long.

I looked through the peephole to prolong his wait by two more seconds. There he was: shirt buttoned all the way up, jaw tight, eyes hungry. One of those men who look neat and serious out on the street, but the moment you close the door, want to crawl after a smell, a humiliation, or a hole. I opened it without covering myself.

“Come in,” I said, stepping aside. “You’re punctual, as always.”

His gaze traveled over me from face to feet with such blatant avidity that it almost made me laugh. He shut the door behind him and bent to kiss me. I returned the kiss with my tongue. I noticed his thick breath, his urgency, the small growl that escaped him when my hand brushed over his bulge through his trousers.

“Fuck, Mara,” he murmured. “You’re a complete mess.”

“And you love seeing me like this.”

“Yes.”

“I know.”

I led him down the hallway without hurrying, knowing that my hips were marking out the way for him. Before entering the spare bedroom, I turned and put a finger to my lips.

“Keep your voice down. My friend is still asleep in the other room.”

That excited him even more. I could see it in the way he swallowed, in the gleam in his eyes, and in how quickly he began unbuttoning his shirt the moment he crossed the threshold. I left my coffee on the table, sat in an armchair facing him, and opened my legs just enough for him to see the state I was still in.

“I haven’t showered,” I told him. “I haven’t brushed my teeth. I haven’t cleaned anything from last night.”

“I noticed.”

“That’s exactly what you came looking for.”

“I came to worship you filthy.”

I shook my head with a brief smile.

“No. You came to obey.”

That distinction changed something in the air. He liked playing the pig, the man dominated by his own fetishes, but what truly drove him out of his mind was having me say it to his face, lowering him one step and leaving him there. He took a step toward me. I stopped him by raising my hand.

“Get undressed. Slowly. And don’t touch yourself.”

He obeyed. First the shirt, then the belt, then his trousers and briefs. His cock dropped heavy and thick, still partly covered, and already hard enough to point toward his navel. His balls were full. You could see it in the tautness of his skin and in the way he breathed halfway, holding himself back.

“You’ve been saving yourself for this for days, haven’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Good dog.”

I indicated the armchair with a gesture. When he sat down, I approached and knelt between his legs. I didn’t kiss him or suck his cock. I buried my face between his thighs and breathed him in. Sweat, enclosed skin, freshly awakened ass. A dry gasp escaped him.

“I’m not going to suck you yet,” I warned him. “You’re going to earn it first.”

I took one of his hands and guided it to my coffee cup. On the little table I had left a small knotted condom I’d found earlier among the rumpled sheets. I didn’t need to explain anything. Raising one eyebrow was enough.

“Open it.”

“Mara...”

“Open it and empty it into my coffee.”

He obeyed. His fingers trembled slightly. The fluid, more runny than thick, fell into the dark cup and formed a pale cloud before disappearing. I watched him, not the contents. I liked his face more than anything else: that mixture of shame, desire, and relief at knowing himself exactly where he wanted to be.

“Stir it.”

He did so with a teaspoon. Then, without my asking, he spat into it and mixed it again.

“Very good,” I said.

I took the cup, drank a long sip, and didn’t look away from his eyes. The coffee was lukewarm now, harsh, with that salty undertone that heated me more because of what it meant than because of the taste itself. I swallowed slowly and left my tongue out for a second, just long enough for him to see it.

“Look at me while I drink.”

His cock jerked. He didn’t touch it. He knew that if he came too soon, he would pay for it.

I set the cup aside and crouched at his feet. He was wearing shoes without socks. I took them off one by one, and the smell hit me head-on: leather, confinement, old sweat. Exactly what he knew I had wanted to find. I kissed the instep, then his toes. After that I opened his foot with my hand and ran my tongue between one toe and the next.

“This is how I want you,” I murmured. “Still and grateful.”

I licked the soles slowly, dirtying my mouth with his flavor. He watched me as if I were an altar and a condemnation at the same time. When I finished with one foot, I continued with the other, sucking his toes one by one until I left them wet.

“Now you.”

I made him lie down on the bed. I climbed onto the mattress standing up and positioned myself over his face. The soles of my feet were black from walking barefoot since dawn, and I knew he saw them before kissing my ankles. I placed one foot over his mouth.

“Clean it.”

He began with the heel, then the arch, the ball, and the toes. He opened his mouth to take them whole, sucked them, ran his tongue over the stuck-on dirt again, and moaned each time I increased the pressure against his face. When one foot was clean enough, I gave him the other.

“More.”

He devoured it with obscene enthusiasm. I had one hand against the wall and the other between my legs, barely touching myself. I wasn’t trying to come yet. I wanted to push him higher, tighten him, turn him into a cable on the verge of snapping.

When I was finished with his lips on my feet, I turned around and lowered my body until I was sitting on his face. His first breath against my cunt was a wave of heat. He gasped as if he really had been waiting for that smell all morning.

“Eat,” I ordered.

His tongue appeared immediately. First he licked my lips, slowly parting them and gathering the old wetness mixed with the new. Then he went deeper, searching for me hungrily, tracing my entrance, moving up to my clit and down again. I spread my legs wider and grabbed his hair.

“Don’t rush, pig. I want you soaked properly.”

He obeyed me. He sucked and licked with almost ridiculous devotion, but there was nothing tender about it. It was dirty, hungry, anxious. I moved my hips to rub myself more firmly against his mouth, and felt his growl trapped in his throat. My cunt was beginning to throb. The weariness of the morning was falling away, replaced by that dense current that turned me into pure need again.

“Put your tongue in me properly.”

He buried it inside me. In and out, then back to my clit, then to my entrance again. I braced myself on his shoulders and began riding his face harder. Every time his nose brushed my slit, he let out a low moan. He was soaking me with saliva and desire.

“That’s it. Like that. Don’t stop.”

I came for the first time, squeezing his face between my thighs. It wasn’t a delicate or elegant orgasm. It was a harsh spasm that left me trembling and made me spill into his mouth with a hoarse moan, barely restrained so I wouldn’t wake Lidia. Darío kept licking while I recovered, making the most of every contraction, swallowing everything he could.

I pulled away for a moment, breathing hard. His cock was rigid and red, shining at the base from tensing itself so much. Even so, I didn’t touch it. I looked down at his wet face and smiled.

“You haven’t earned your orgasm yet.”

“Fuck my face with your cunt again,” he begged, almost pleading.

“You beg so nicely.”

I turned around again, this time giving him my back completely. I squatted over his mouth, spreading myself open for him with my hands. I felt the air of his breath on my ass before he extended his tongue and drove it into my hole with an avidity that made me shudder.

“There,” I said. “That’s where I want that tongue.”

He licked my asshole as if he were going to find gold. Slowly at first, then with more insistence, opening it, wetting it, pushing the tip in and pulling it out. I gripped the headboard and began moving my hips backward, rubbing my ass over his mouth. Every contact sent a filthy pleasure jolt straight down into my cunt.

“Deeper.”

His tongue went in again. I moaned without hiding it. I loved feeling how completely he surrendered to whatever I gave him, how he turned my entire body into a menu. Cunt, ass, thighs, feet, sweat, saliva. Everything was his only because I decided it was.

When I felt him trembling beneath me, I climbed down from the bed and knelt between his legs. At last I wrapped my hand around his cock. The simple contact made him squeeze his eyes shut violently.

“Look at me,” I demanded.

He opened them.

“If you come without permission, it’s over.”

“I won’t.”

I drew back his foreskin slowly, my tongue pressed to the tip. The glans was wet, hot, sensitive. I licked around it, gathering the concentrated flavor he had been holding in. Then I took it into my mouth and began sucking slowly, without taking it all the way in. Just the tip, the crown, small movements to torture him.

“Fuck...” he breathed, clutching the sheets.

“That wasn’t an order. Stay still.”

I massaged his balls with my free hand, weighing them, feeling how full they were. Then I took him deeper, swallowing little by little until I felt him hit the back of my throat. I pulled away to breathe, spat on the glans, and swallowed him again, this time with a firmer rhythm. My hand worked the base while my mouth moved up and down. I heard him gasp and felt him trying not to thrust.

I pulled his cock from my mouth with a strand of saliva hanging from it and rubbed it between the lips of my cunt. I was so wet it slid on its own.

“Do you see this?” I told him. “It’s because I have you underneath me, obeying like a hungry pig.”

Without giving him time to answer, I climbed on top of him and sat down on his cock with a sharp thrust.

We both let out our breath at the same time.

He was thick, truly hard, full of all the pressure I had kept simmering in him throughout the session. I lowered myself all the way down, feeling him open me, and stayed there for a second, my hands braced on his chest, enjoying the sensation of being completely filled.

“Now we can,” I murmured. “Now you’ll fuck me when I let you.”

I began to move slowly. Up and down. Very slowly. Just enough for him to feel how tight, hot, and soaked I was. Every time I rose, the tip brushed me inside and drew a small spasm from me. Every time I sank, I felt his balls strike my ass.

Darío watched me, fascinated, as if it hurt him not to ram into me at once.

“Don’t move,” I repeated. “Keep those hips still.”

I continued riding him at a rhythm that was more punishment than pleasure for him, and precisely because of that it was driving me crazy. Then I leaned forward, put two fingers in his mouth, and let him suck them. While he did so, I began moving faster.

The bed creaked. My cunt was no longer merely sliding: it was milking him. I rose almost enough to pull him out of me and dropped back down, driving him all the way in. Again and again. I felt his cock harden even further inside me, his abdomen contracting each time he came close to losing control.

“Tell me who’s in charge.”

“You.”

“Clearer.”

“You’re in charge.”

“And what are you?”

He swallowed.

“Your submissive.”

“My filthy submissive,” I corrected, giving him a light slap across the face. “Don’t forget it.”

He grabbed my hips only when I allowed him to. Then I let him accompany my movements, first with short thrusts, then with more serious plunges. The change went through me like a shock. My back arched on its own. I came a little with every thrust, but not completely yet. I needed more.

I pulled myself off his cock, turned him face down, and got on all fours on the bed.

“Come here. Fuck me like this.”

I heard him get up behind me. He spread my buttocks with his hands and spat right on my ass before running his tongue over my hole one more time. That detail made me moan angrily. Then he placed the tip at my cunt and penetrated me in a single thrust all the way to the bottom.

“Ah, son of a bitch...”

“Sorry,” he gasped.

“Don’t apologize. Keep going.”

He began fucking me hard. There was no room for ceremony anymore. His pelvis struck my buttocks with a wet, repeated sound. I gripped the sheet, my face buried in the mattress, letting him open me as he pleased while he obeyed the only order that mattered: don’t stop.

“Harder.”

He gave it to me harder.

“Like that. Like that. Ruin this cunt.”

The words came out on their own, mixed with moans and breath. He grunted behind me, out of control but still careful not to come. I could feel his urgency in the way he drove himself deeper, in how he held my hips to press me back against his cock every time I tried to pull away even an inch.

I slipped one hand between my legs and rubbed my clit while he fucked me. That was enough to send me over. The orgasm rose from my pelvis to my throat like an electric discharge. I came for real, squeezing his cock with my cunt as I trembled and said his name through clenched teeth.

He let out a broken moan.

“Don’t come yet,” I ordered, still shuddering.

He stayed inside me, motionless, breathing like a cornered animal. I turned around, pushed him down to sit on the edge of the bed, and knelt again. I ran my tongue over my lips and wrapped my mouth around his cock once more. It tasted like me, saliva, and freshly churned sex. I sucked it brutally, squeezing the base with my hand and massaging his balls at the same time.

“Now you can beg for it.”

“Let me come in your mouth,” he said in a broken voice.

“That’s better.”

I took him all the way in and began swallowing him with a steady, deep, wet rhythm. His breathing became erratic. He grabbed my hair, not to take control, but to hold on. I kept sucking, looking up at him, feeling the exact moment when he lost the whole fight.

“I’m coming... I’m coming...”

I answered by taking him deeper.

He emptied himself into my mouth in long spasms. I felt him pulse once, twice, three times, shooting hot against my tongue and throat. I didn’t let him go. I swallowed, sucked again, and milked him until the last drop. When I finally let him out, his legs were still trembling.

“Very good,” I said, wiping the corner of my mouth with the back of my hand. “You behaved as you were supposed to.”

He was still panting, wearing that empty, satisfied expression I liked to see at the end. I took him to the bathroom so he could rinse his face and pee. I knelt in front of him again when he finished and licked the last drops from the tip, slowly, just to watch him close his eyes again.

“You always manage to leave me completely wrecked,” he murmured.

“That’s why you come back.”

“Yes.”

“And you’ll come back needier.”

“That too.”

I smiled at him. There was no need to say much more. When he left the suite dressed, he left the envelope on the table and kissed me softly, almost contradictorily after everything else. I closed the door and leaned against it for a moment, feeling the weariness slowly return, mixed with that dense peace left behind after a good orgasm.

***

I returned to the main bedroom naked, still wet between my legs. Lidia was still sleeping on her side, her ass barely covered by the sheet. The room smelled of confinement, female sweat, and settled desire. I slipped in behind her, seeking warmth. When I pressed myself against her back, she murmured and moved her hips against my pubis.

“Are you finished?” she asked without opening her eyes.

“Yes. Go back to sleep.”

I slipped my hand between her thighs. She was wet.

“Liar,” she said with half a smile. “I can smell on you that you weren’t doing it for sleep.”

“I’ll tell you later.”

I squeezed one of her nipples and she sighed. I still had Darío’s taste in my mouth, my cunt was sensitive, and my body was spent, but I also had that animal fullness that left me soft and happy. I wrapped my arms around her waist, pressed my nose to the nape of her neck, and closed my eyes.

Before falling asleep, I thought that perhaps people really did notice something when they saw me with her out on the street: not an exact smell, but a kind of abandonment, a way of walking after having been used and having enjoyed it to the fullest. And the truth was, I didn’t care. Because that morning, once again, I had done exactly what I wanted with my body, with his desire, and with mine.

And I couldn’t think of a better way to fall asleep again.