The Plug He Ordered Me to Wear to the Hotel

Almost three months had passed since the last night with Damián, and in that time we had become accomplices in a routine that consumed me. We wrote to each other every day. He was the most faithful spectator of my solo sessions: during the week I filmed myself finishing in the office bathroom, my fingers buried in me, and I managed to send him the video just before one of his meetings. It gave me a perverse pleasure to know I was leaving him hard and desperate minutes before he sat down in front of a client.

He paid me back in kind. Photos of himself, short videos where he did exactly what I asked: his filthy expression, his steady hand, the exact moment he came. On top of that came the messages, long and dirty, where we made up what we would do to each other when we were skin to skin again. I was only the second woman he had ever been with, but his imagination guessed my deepest-buried fantasies and pushed me to want things even I didn’t know I desired.

Seeing each other again became urgent. Damián invented a trip to the city to visit a new supplier for his company, far enough away to justify staying the whole night. We counted down the last fifteen days like two kids waiting for a date marked on the calendar.

Seven, one of his messages said one morning. There was still a week left and it felt like an eternity. Those days I touched myself with almost sickening frequency, imagining all the ways I wanted him to fill me, use me, leave me breathless. Another day of furtive bathroom visits awaited me.

***

When I got to the office, the receptionist greeted me and told me there was a small package for me. Sometimes I bought things online and had them sent to the office to make sure someone would be there to receive them, but that morning I didn’t remember any pending order. I went upstairs, sat down at my desk before my coworkers arrived, and turned the box over in my hands. It was light, no bigger than half a shoebox, wrapped with a care that didn’t seem like a store’s.

I shook it. Something heavy thudded against the cardboard. I read the name twice to make sure it wasn’t a mistake: “Marina Solís,” handwritten in a thin black marker. I knew that handwriting. I opened it.

Under a sheet of gray tissue paper was a black lace thong and a little black cloth pouch holding something solid. It didn’t take much guessing. I took it out: a polished metal plug topped with an amber stone that gleamed in the morning light. I felt the heat rise from my thighs to my chest. Damián. I crossed my legs. Damián. There was no doubt about who had sent it. A note accompanied the two gifts: “For our date, I want you to wear both. Or wear nothing.”

My coworkers started coming in. I shoved everything into the drawer and hid it as best I could while greeting them. Somewhere in a message I had confessed where I worked, and that calculated attention from my lover melted me.

***

I waited until they went out to lunch. I made up an excuse, saying I wanted to finish an important email, and as soon as I heard the door close, I grabbed the gifts and locked myself in the bathroom. All morning I’d fought the urge to open that drawer. I pulled down my pants and underwear, which still hadn’t dried after hours. A warm, thick film covered me, the kind that stays on your fingers for ages when you touch yourself. It had always been like that, too wet, and I wanted him to know it. I wanted to drive him crazy with a photo.

I gathered some of my own wetness and brought it back, massaging myself slowly to start giving in. The plug was ice-cold, so I warmed it in my mouth, like I’d seen done in so many videos. Between the metal between my lips and my body opening with a ease that surprised me, I felt shamelessly slutty. His little whore, standing by the toilet, clothes bunched around my ankles, arched and open for him even though he was miles away.

When the plug had reached almost my body temperature, I covered it in saliva and set it in place. I’d never used a toy like that before. Luckily it was small and I was no novice: I pressed with the tip, felt it open me centimeter by centimeter, and couldn’t help touching myself at the same time. I held it halfway in for a few seconds, enjoying the way it stretched the widest part of me, and then let it slide in all the way. It sat perfectly, present without bothering me, giving me a terrible rush.

I lifted my phone on camera mode. Between my buttocks that insolent stone gleamed. I put on the black thong: the very fine lace fit my body and let the glint of the plug show through. Damián wasn’t just an incredible lover, he had good taste. I sent him the photo with nothing more than “I’m going to come with both on right now” and a kiss. Without waiting for a reply, I rubbed my clit harder, faster, my fingers sliding on their own. I was so close that the orgasm hit me within a couple of minutes, biting my lip so I wouldn’t make a sound.

***

We were meeting at six in a downtown hotel, and to get there I had to take a half-hour bus ride. Little time, in theory, but between the urge to see him and the delicious insecurity of feeling the air slipping under my red skirt, brushing where no one should, it became an unbearable trip. I had chosen the second option in his note. Wear nothing. Just a garter belt, very sheer black stockings, and the skirt. Ready to be found out at any moment.

Damián texted me just as I got off the bus: “I’m here. Room 105. Don’t go through reception.” The hotel occupied an old convent, the same one as last time. I climbed the imposing stone staircase quickly; I didn’t remember it being so huge. The thick carpet in the hallway swallowed the tap of my heels. I was feverish, separated from him by only a few meters and a few seconds. I knocked timidly on the door. It opened.

Damián. We held each other tightly, urgently, and kissed with that mix of desire and relief only waiting can give. I grabbed his neck, his face, that dark beard flecked with a few silver threads. He held my waist and ass while he devoured my mouth. We closed the door without letting go of each other. From the pocket of my coat I took out the thong he had given me and handed it to him. He looked at me in surprise for a moment and slid his hand under my skirt.

“You’re a goddess,” he sighed between kisses, feeling my naked skin.

I could feel his erection hard against my belly. I unbuckled his belt with nervous fingers while his checked how wet I was. He had barely put them in for a couple of seconds before I turned around and braced myself against the small desk, facing the mirror. I had fantasized about long foreplay, about licking each other without haste, but reality would not be slowed down: I needed him to fuck me now, and the need was mutual. He only lifted my skirt and blouse, leaving my breasts bare, which he squeezed hard.

His cock entered slowly, gifting me that indescribable sensation of the first thrust. Without taking his eyes off me in the mirror, he gave me deep, slow, masterful thrusts. When I took my hand to my clit, he replaced it with his. He kept himself buried to the hilt and pressed that sensitive spot until I came instantly, my knees trembling against the desk.

***

We embraced and I sat on the bed, taking off my blouse and skirt but keeping the garter belt and stockings. From behind or on all fours, I knew that outfit had its best effect, the garters cinching my thighs, and I wanted to give him the pleasure of seeing me like that. He loved it, of course. In my thirties, I was proud of my body: if I lacked breasts, I made up for it with firm ass, long legs worked in the gym, and a back many had wanted to run their hands over. Ever since I was very young I had discovered the power of provoking the desire of a man I chose, and I found it fascinating. My lovers’ erections were a hard drug. Damián’s was worth a thousand.

I leaned back and he buried himself between my legs to lick me. I spread them wide, letting him gather up with the tip of his tongue what he liked so much. He knew I longed to rub myself hard until I triggered a squirt, and when his fingers entered without him stopping the licking, a long moan escaped me. He moved them with a mastery I remembered well, pushing me back toward that delicious edge between urgency and pleasure.

Over text he had once asked if I wanted to try how much I could stretch. The idea made me incredibly horny. I asked him to put more in me. I was so wet that it was no trouble for him to add one finger, and then another, until I felt his hand going in almost entirely, his thumb outside pressing my clit. He moved it steadily, firm but not rough. The wet sound kept growing and growing. That’s how my second orgasm came, stretched by his hand, releasing for his delight a considerable amount of liquid that he drank straight from the source.

***

He gave me no respite. Seconds later he had me on all fours, opening my legs with a skilled blow of his knee and pressing my shoulders down against the mattress. I took his cock for the second time, and when he spat on my ass, the urge to have the plug in me came back all at once. He searched for it in my bag and put it in my mouth for a while so I could warm it. He took the gel I had left within reach and poured a generous amount between my buttocks. I let him prepare me, docile.

Damián kneaded my entrance in steady circles, and when he felt me loose enough he started to penetrate me with a finger. He didn’t keep it still or push it deep, he just opened me with a patience that drove me crazy. After a couple of minutes, seeing me return to stroking myself with those soft, pampered-cat moans, he retrieved the plug, slicked it up, and set it in place. He played, of course: when he was about to let it in he would pull it back out and press again, keeping me occupied right at the widest part.

“Leave it like that, please, I love it,” I begged.

I would have stayed for hours with that subtle tension, with the full sensation of being occupied. You already know the impossible balance between delicacy and filth that every gesture of his exuded, so imagine with what precision he slid the toy all the way in, with steady pressure, working me over while he panted at the sight of my intimacy giving way.

“It went in on its own, your body swallowed it without complaint. The day you let me fuck you there will be a national holiday for the rest of my life,” he said, amazed.

I turned onto my back. Damián stroked my hair and kissed me, and if it weren’t for the plug in place and his cock hard as stone, anyone would have thought we were about to fall asleep in each other’s arms. Since he hadn’t seen me in the lace thong, he asked me to try it on. I got up to fetch it and put it on over the garter belt, turning my back to him and bending over so he could enjoy the jewel gleaming between my buttocks. The result drove him wild.

“Want to see if it really suits me?” I asked, taking the lace off again.

“Yes, let’s see…”

He sat between my legs, gave me a couple of generous licks, and resumed his slow masturbation. He knew the show I was about to give him would wreck him. With my legs wide open and my clit exposed, I began touching myself just enough not to come too soon. With my other hand I grabbed the thong and started to work it inside me. Between his saliva and my wetness, the fabric slid between my lips. I pushed it in little by little with my fingers, that barely rough sensation added to the thrill of showing myself off. I loved showing him how I filled myself with my own underwear. Centimeter by centimeter I made it disappear.

Without stopping rubbing myself, I looked him in the eyes and asked whether it looked better like that. I didn’t hear his answer: an unbearably intense orgasm rushed through me. The contractions pushed out the tip of the lace. Damián, hypnotized, brought his cock closer and ran it between my wet lips, and with the head of his cock he pushed the fabric back inside. We were both breathing deeply, lost in what we were doing. He went in halfway, pressing against the lace that had already been swallowed in. With the plug in back and that penetration, the most obscene I had ever known, I felt divinely full. I let myself be stretched even further, and when his cock found its place, wrapped in the soft, soaked fabric, he started moving. It only took a few thrusts for him to come with a deep sigh, flooding me.

He didn’t rest even a few seconds. Answering my frustrated whimpers, he bent down to lick my clit and slipped his fingers in to hook the thong. He pulled it slowly back out, increasing the pressure of his tongue, and when he felt me on the edge he yanked it out in one hard pull, drawing a hoarse cry from me out of pure pleasure.

***

We held each other for a long while, kissing even more. I stayed there memorizing the constellation of freckles that covered his chest. He handed me the thong, completely soaked with both of us.

“It’s time to go to dinner, and I want you to leave wearing this, like this, wet. So that with every step you remember how I just used you, my little slut.”

I smiled at him and put it on without protest. Damián was the most unexpected gift life had ever given me, and that night, with the evidence of him pressed against my skin, I knew it with absolute certainty.