The Lesson the Braggart Never Forgot

The first thing I learned about Damián was that he didn’t know how to keep his mouth shut. He’d been standing in the doorway of my living room for half an hour, staring at the ceiling anchors and the oak cross on the wall, and he hadn’t stopped explaining how little any of it impressed him.

—I’ve tried everything —he said, dropping into the armchair without being invited—. There isn’t a whip or a rope that can make me blink. I’m here more out of curiosity than necessity, you know?

—I know —I answered, pouring myself water slowly, without offering him any—. I know you think this is a show and you’re the audience.

He laughed. He had the laugh of a man used to having it celebrated. Early thirties, broad back, the confidence of someone who has never lost anything that truly mattered to him. A mutual acquaintance had recommended him to me with a crooked smile: “That one needs to be brought down a peg.” I don’t like humiliating people on command. I like it when someone asks for it without knowing they’re asking.

—What do you want me to call you? —I asked.

—Damián is fine. Or sir, if that turns you on.

—Nothing turns me on yet. And here the only one who decides what each thing is called is me.

Something in my tone wiped half the smile off his face. Not all of it. He was saving that for later.

***

Before any play comes the important part, and that isn’t negotiable. I made him sit up straight and we talked about limits like two adults. What yes, what no, how far. I explained that he would have a safeword and that the instant he said it, everything would stop without questions or reproaches.

—The word is “vanilla” —I said—. If you say it, we stop. If you say it hurts, I might keep going. If you say “vanilla,” it’s over. Clear?

—Crystal clear —he replied, and I could tell how hard he found it to take seriously—. But I’m telling you now I’m not going to use it.

—Everyone says that. —I came to stand right in front of him, looking down at him—. And almost all of them end up whispering it like a prayer.

I asked him to undress. He did it theatrically, slowly, confident in his body, waiting for a reaction I didn’t give him. I folded his clothes myself and left them out of reach, on a chair. Small details. Taking control away from him over things as stupid as his own shirt is the first brick that gets moved. When he lowered his boxers, his cock was already half hard, thick, hanging heavy between his thighs, and he displayed it like someone showing off a medal.

—Pretty —I said, running my eyes over him without touching him, pausing a second too long on the swollen dick twitching on its own with each pulse—. Too bad you come with so much noise. Let’s take that away first.

***

I took him to the cross and tied his wrists at shoulder height, arms spread. The ropes, snug but not cruel, forced him to stay upright. I checked the circulation with two fingers, as I always do, and asked whether his hands felt okay.

—Perfectly —he said—. Is that all?

—This is the beginning. —I walked circles around him, letting the sound of my heels fill the silence—. Do you know what your problem is, Damián? You confuse not being afraid with being interesting. You’ve spent your whole life talking and nobody has taught you to shut up and wait.

I stopped behind him and spoke in his ear, without touching him, letting only my breath graze the nape of his neck.

—Today you’re going to learn how to wait.

I left him like that for a long while. That’s what no braggart can stand: emptiness. I sat in the armchair he’d used without permission, crossed my legs, and drank my water while watching him like someone watches the rain. Every minute that passed without anything happening weighed on him more than any blow. I saw how his back, so steady at first, began searching for a comfortable position that didn’t exist. I also saw how, without anyone touching him, his cock kept getting harder against his belly, pointing at the ceiling, betraying him long before he opened his mouth.

—Are you going to do anything or…? —he started.

—Did I ask you to speak? —My voice came out calm, almost sweet, and that’s why it cut him off cold—. Every word of yours I didn’t ask for is going to cost you. Want to find out how much?

He clenched his jaw. For the first time, he chose silence.

—Much better —I said.

***

Then I moved closer, slowly, and finally touched him. I slid my open palm over his chest, over his belly, downward without haste, measuring his breathing. His body responded even though he pretended not to care: his skin prickled, he held his breath when my hand lingered, and the tip of his cock grew wet on its own, leaving a shining thread dangling down to his navel.

—Look at that —I murmured, gathering with one finger the slick that had escaped him and taking it to my lips very slowly, so he could watch me do it—. Your mouth says one thing and your cock says another. Which one do I believe?

He didn’t answer. He learned fast when it suited him.

I wrapped my hand around his cock, firm, not moving, just holding it, letting him feel who was in charge there. It was hot, throbbing against my fingers, so tense that the skin of the glans was stretched and purple. I watched him swallow. All his untouchable-man confidence was now hanging on how I decided to close or open my fingers.

—This —I said, squeezing just at the base, enough to cut off his breath and make the veins stand out— is what you think makes you invincible. You parade it around the world like it’s a trophy. And here, tied to my cross, it’s nothing more than the part of you that obeys me best.

I loosened. Squeezed again. I slid my fist up once, very slowly, dragging the skin back until I’d fully exposed the glans, and I stayed there, my thumb brushing the wet hollow at the tip. He arched his hips for more and I took my hand away at once.

—No —I said—. You don’t push. You endure.

I closed my fingers around his cock again and set off a slow, calculated rhythm, stroking up and down with excruciating slowness, tightening when I felt him near the edge and easing off just before. A rhythm that kept him on the knife edge between pleasure and desperation without ever letting him decide what came next. I kissed his neck while I did it, nipped his earlobe, and that contrast—the tenderness up top, the firm fist down below squeezing his cock—undid him more than any harshness could have.

I lowered my mouth down his chest, licked one nipple, bit it. I kept going lower, kneeling in front of him without letting go of his cock. It was at the height of my face, hard, trembling, a thick strand of precum hanging from the tip. I stuck out my tongue and collected it without actually taking it into my mouth, letting him watch, letting him feel my hot breath against the glans without any more contact than that.

—P-please —he said, and the word came out broken, unlike anything he’d said until then.

—“Please” what.

—Suck it. Please. Put it in your mouth.

—Ah —I said, smiling against his skin—. There’s the honest man. Took him a while, but he got here.

I ran my tongue all along his cock, from base to tip, very slowly, drawing a wet line that cooled in the air and made his legs tremble. I repeated the gesture on the other side. I licked his balls, tugging them with my lips, and climbed back up. When I finally opened my mouth and took him in, I took him all the way, until the tip hit the back of my throat and my lips closed around the base. Damián let out an animal moan that slammed into the ceiling. I stayed there for a few seconds, letting him feel the tight heat of my mouth, and then I pulled off completely, leaving his cock shining with saliva and exposed to the cold.

—No —I said, standing back up—. Not yet.

—Fuck —he panted—. Fuck, fuck…

—That’s the first honest thought you’ve had since you walked in —I said—. Keep it.

***

I loosened the ropes around his wrists one by one and rubbed his arms to get the blood flowing again. He looked at me, confused, his cock still hard and pointing at me, expecting a punishment that still wasn’t coming.

—On your knees —I ordered, pointing to the floor in front of me.

He hesitated. Only for a second, but I saw it. The old Damián, the easy-laughing one, was wrestling with the one who was starting to understand where he was. The second one won. He went down.

—Hands behind your back. Eyes on the floor. And don’t you dare speak.

I circled him again, slowly, leaving him kneeling and naked in the middle of my living room while I stayed dressed, untouched, in control of every inch of air between us. I rested the sole of my heel against his thigh, no weight, just presence. I felt him tremble. His cock, between his legs, was still hard, red, dripping a trail onto the tiles that he could see just as well as I could. —Look at what you’re leaving on my floor —I said—. All of that for a mouth that shut up for a while?

—Yes —he whispered.

—Comfortable?

—No.

—Do you like it?

A long silence. The hardest question anyone had ever asked him.

—Yes —he said at last, almost voiceless, as if the word hurt more than any rope—. I love it. I can’t even handle how hard my cock is.

—I know —I answered—. I knew it the second you came through the door making all that noise. The people who truly feel nothing don’t need to announce it. You’d spent your whole life waiting for someone not to swallow your act.

I lifted his chin with two fingers until his eyes met mine. There was no mockery left in them. Something else was there, rougher and truer: relief.

I hiked my skirt up to my waist without taking it off and let him see that I wasn’t wearing anything underneath. My shaved cunt, shining from how wet I was at having him like this. His eyes widened with hunger.

—Open your mouth —I said, grabbing his hair with my free hand—. You talked so much, let’s see whether you know how to use your tongue for something better.

I brought his face to my cunt and he, obedient for the first time in his life, stuck out his tongue and started licking me. I held his nape and set the pace, rubbing my clit against his mouth, forcing him to suck when I wanted and wait still when I felt like it. He did it well, with that desperate late-student need to pass. I shoved his face between my thighs until his nose dug into my mound and I didn’t let him pull away even to breathe. I felt him moan against my cunt and that vibration shot through me like a lash.

—Deeper —I panted—. Take me all the way in. Fuck me with your tongue.

He did. He took me in, pulled out, alternated with the clit, and when I started squeezing his head with my thighs he understood he wasn’t to stop for anything. I came over his mouth with a long spasm, gripping his hair, leaving all my wetness on his chin. When I pulled him away, his face was soaked and his cock was harder than ever, stuck to his belly.

—Very good —I said, lowering my skirt again, as calm as if nothing had happened—. That’s the kind of noise I like you making.

***

I put him on all fours on the rug. I told him not to move and went to get what I needed. I came back with a harness and a thick black dildo, marked with veins. I saw his face when he understood what was coming and for an instant all the swagger he’d come in with surfaced again in the form of fear.

—Relax —I said, putting the harness on over my still-on skirt—. If you say “vanilla,” I stop. If you say anything else, I keep going. You decide.

He licked his lips and didn’t say the word. He lowered his head and spread his knees a little wider. That silent surrender pleased me more than any scream.

I knelt behind him and ran a hand slick with lube between his ass cheeks, drawing circles around his hole, squeezing without going in. I slid one finger inside, slowly, and he tensed all over.

—Breathe —I told him—. Open up. Don’t fight yourself.

I slipped in a second finger. I moved them inside, twisting them, searching for the spot I knew I was going to find. When I hit it, he let out a moan he didn’t recognize as his own and pushed back involuntarily, wanting more. I smiled. The invincible man, with two of my fingers in his ass, pushing for me to give him more harder.

—That’s it —I murmured—. You learn fast when you keep quiet.

I pulled my fingers out, set the tip of the dildo against his well-open hole, and pushed, slowly but without stopping, letting him feel every centimeter. Damián pressed his forehead into the rug and moaned with his mouth open, panting as if he’d run miles. He didn’t say “vanilla.” He didn’t say anything. He pushed back.

I started fucking him. At first slowly, pulling almost all the way out and pushing back in to the hilt, until my hips struck his ass and he let out a long whimper. Then faster, gripping his hips with both hands, setting a pace that was no longer his. I slid one hand underneath, grabbed his cock—hard as a rock, slick from how much it was dripping—and started jerking him off in the same rhythm I was fucking his ass.

—Please —he said, and I didn’t recognize the voice, it was a new one—. Please, please…

—Ask for it —I told him, keeping the pace, pounding him—. Ask for it all. Nothing gets handed out in halves here.

—Let me come. I’m asking you. I’m asking you. Let me come, fuck, let me.

—That’s it —I murmured into his ear, speeding my hand up his cock while I kept driving the dildo into him again and again—. The man who wasn’t going to beg, begging to come with a dildo in his ass. See how easy honesty was?

I took him to the edge and let him fall over only when I decided to, not before. I squeezed his cock at exactly the right moment, accelerated the last thrusts inside him, and Damián came with a hoarse, endless howl, shooting thick ropes of semen onto the rug, onto my hand, onto his own thighs. His whole body gave way, trembling like a cut string, while the last layer of his act dissolved between my fingers and from his throat came a groan that had nothing braggart about it. It sounded like truth. It sounded like someone who had finally stopped being asked to be invincible.

I stayed inside him a few seconds longer, still, letting him feel the weight of the dildo while he panted with his face pressed to the rug. I pulled out slowly, carefully, and he let out a nearly sorrowful moan when his hole was left empty.

***

Then came what matters most to me, what the rest of the world doesn’t see. I took the harness off him, wrapped him in a blanket, sat him in the armchair, and brought him the water I’d denied him before. I rubbed the wrists where the ropes had left their faint marks, spoke softly to him, asked how he was really doing.

—I don’t know what to say —he confessed, his voice sounding different, younger, almost new—. That wasn’t what I expected.

—It never is. Did you use the safeword?

—No.

—Did you need to?

He thought about it with a honesty he’d been incapable of half an hour earlier.

—No. But I liked knowing it was there. —He smiled, and for the first time it was a smile without an audience—. I think I came here for one thing and I’m leaving with what I didn’t know I was looking for.

—That’s usually how it goes —I said—. The body knows what the mouth takes years to admit.

He got dressed in silence, without theatrics this time, folding the blanket himself and leaving it where it belonged. At the door he stopped, hesitated, and said the only thing that was really hard for him to say.

—Can I come back?

—If you come back without noise —I replied—. If you come to learn and not to perform. Then yes.

He nodded and left quieter than he’d arrived. I hadn’t brought him down a peg on anyone’s orders. He’d done it himself, the moment he understood that surrender, when you choose the right hands to surrender to, means losing nothing at all. It means, at last, resting.