The Quiet Girl Who Taught Me to Obey

Marcos had been watching her from the bar for twenty minutes. The girl was seated at a small table in the darkest corner of the place, with an open book beside a gin and tonic she had barely touched. Black-rimmed glasses, hair tied up in a messy bun, a buttoned-up blouse fastened all the way to the neck. Everything about her screamed shyness.

Easy pickings, he thought as he finished his beer.

At thirty-one, Marcos considered himself an expert at reading women. Shy ones were his specialty: a couple of compliments, steady attention, and the odd joke to get them to loosen up. The formula never failed. He walked over to her table with the smile he reserved for occasions like this.

—Do you mind if I sit here? Looks like your book is better company than anyone in this bar.

She raised her eyes slowly. Dark eyes behind the lenses, a look that sized him up in less than a second.

—Go ahead —she said softly, closing the book.

Her name was Valentina. Twenty-four years old, psychology student, two cats in her apartment. She spoke little and listened a lot, nodding with slight movements of her head while Marcos rolled out his usual repertoire. Every time he paused, waiting for her laugh or her reaction, she just looked at him with a half-smile he couldn’t quite decipher.

—You don’t come here much, do you? —Marcos asked, trying to fill a silence that was starting to make him uncomfortable.

—I don’t usually go out —she replied—. But tonight I felt like something different.

Something in the way she said “different” made his skin prickle, though he couldn’t have said why.

After the second gin and tonic, Valentina visibly relaxed. She took down her hair and Marcos discovered it fell below her shoulders, black and straight. She took off her glasses for a moment to clean them and, without them, her face was completely different. Sharper. More determined.

—Do you live nearby? —she asked suddenly.

Marcos blinked. Usually he was the one asking that question.

—A few blocks away. Do you want...?

—Yes —she cut him off before he could finish—. I want to.

They walked in silence through barely lit streets. Valentina kept her hands in the pockets of her jacket and stared ahead with a serenity that contrasted with the nerves Marcos was starting to feel in his stomach. He didn’t understand why he was nervous. He was never nervous.

When they reached the building, they climbed the stairs to the third floor. Marcos reached for his keys, trying to look casual, but they slipped from his hand before he found the right one.

—Come in, make yourself comfortable —he said, switching on the living room light.

Valentina came in without hurry. She inspected the apartment like someone surveying new territory: the gray sofa, the coffee table with stacked magazines, the ajar bedroom door. She didn’t comment on anything. She took off her jacket and folded it over the back of a chair.

—Can I get you something? I’ve got wine, beer...

—No —she said, turning toward him—. I don’t want to drink any more.

The transformation was instant. Valentina took two steps toward him and put an open hand on his chest, shoving him firmly against the wall. Not violently, but with a certainty that admitted no argument.

—We’re doing this my way —she said, looking him straight in the eye—. If at any point you want me to stop, you say “red” and I stop. Understood?

Marcos opened his mouth to say something clever, but no words came out. He nodded.

—I need to hear it.

—Understood.

Valentina smiled for the first time for real. It wasn’t the shy smile from the bar. It was something else entirely. The smile of someone who had been waiting for this moment a long time and knew exactly what to do with it.

She unbuckled his belt without breaking eye contact and slid her hand into his boxer shorts in one smooth motion. She grabbed his cock, already half-hard, and squeezed it with calm firmness, measuring it in her fist like someone weighing a piece of fruit.

—Look at me —she said when Marcos closed his eyes—. I want you looking at me while I touch you.

She started jerking him off slowly, her thumb sliding over the glans every time she reached the top. Marcos felt the blood pooling, his dick filling against her palm, hard now, swollen. He tried to touch her and Valentina knocked his hand away with a sharp gesture.

—I didn’t say you could touch.

She yanked his pants and boxers down to his ankles and ran her eyes over him, assessing him as if he were an item on display. His cock was standing straight against his belly, shining at the tip, throbbing with every heartbeat. She traced his belly, his balls, the base of his shaft with her fingertips, never quite taking hold. Every brush was deliberate, measured, designed to provoke without satisfying.

—Look at you getting hard for a stranger —she murmured—. On your knees.

The voice was calm, almost sweet, but Marcos obeyed before he had even processed it. He found himself kneeling in front of her with his heart battering his ribs and his cock pointing toward the ceiling. Valentina unbuttoned her jeans and let them fall along with her panties, stepping out of them. She wasn’t wearing anything underneath. Her pussy was shaved, her lips already glossy, a wet slit that smelled like a heated woman.

She ran her hand through his hair, tangling her fingers in the back of his neck, and guided his mouth toward her as she sat on the edge of the coffee table in the living room.

—Slowly —she whispered—. Start on the outside. Lick me all over first. And don’t put your tongue inside until I tell you.

Marcos tasted her with a flat tongue, tracing her lips from bottom to top, and felt her trembling against his mouth. The flavor was strong, metallic, sharp. He ran his tongue over the entrance to her cunt without going in, over and over, while she dug her nails into his scalp every time he drifted a millimeter off course.

—Not there, higher. The clit. With the tip. Don’t suck yet.

She kept the rhythm with her hand on his neck, pushing him closer or pulling him back when it suited her. Valentina’s thighs trembled against his cheeks but her voice stayed steady, giving precise instructions: higher, slower, there, don’t move, now suck, slowly, I said slowly. Marcos sucked with his lips sealed over her swollen clit while he slid two fingers into her cunt up to the knuckles. She let out a loud gasp for the first time and he felt a stupid pride that lasted a second.

—Stay still —she ordered—. Don’t take your fingers out. Stay there. If you come before I do, I’ll castrate you.

She kept him like that, mouth pressed to her cunt and fingers buried inside her, until a shiver ran through her whole body and she squeezed the hand on his neck so hard she tore out a lock of hair. She came on his face, soaking his chin and neck, and he had to keep licking until she pulled his hair to drag him away.

—Good boy.

When she let him go, Marcos looked up. His face was wet, his lips numb, his jaw aching. She was looking down at him with narrowed eyes and ragged breathing, but absolute calm in her expression.

What is happening? he thought. I was supposed to be in charge.

—Stop thinking —she said, as if she had read his mind—. From now on, you only think when I tell you to.

She led him to the bedroom by the wrist. Marcos let himself be led with the docility of someone who has discovered resistance is useless and, besides, doesn’t want to resist. Something about Valentina’s confidence excited him more than anything he had ever experienced before. His cock was so hard it hurt.

She pushed him onto the bed and undressed in front of him without shame or coyness. Every garment came off with the efficiency of someone who had more important things on her mind. Beneath the modest blouse was a slim, sinewy body, pale skin, small tits with pink, hard nipples, and a small scar on her hip Marcos didn’t dare ask about.

—On your back —she instructed—. Hands behind your head. If you move them, we start from zero.

Marcos obeyed. Valentina climbed on top of him, spat into her hand, and coated his cock with her saliva, jerking it two or three times to spread it well. Then she took him by the base, aimed him at her cunt, and sat down slowly, sinking centimeter by centimeter until she had him all the way inside. They both let the air out at the same time. She was tight, wet, hot. Marcos felt the walls of her cunt closing around his cock like a fist.

—Fuck —slipped out of him.

—Quiet.

She set the pace from the start: slow, deep, controlled. She rose until only the tip stayed inside and then came down hard again, sitting all the way down. Every movement of her hips was precise, as if she were following a choreography rehearsed a thousand times in her imagination. Marcos could see his cock coming out shiny, slick with her wetness, and disappearing again into her open cunt.

Marcos tried to speed things up by lifting his hips and she dug her nails into his chest as a warning, leaving four red lines on either side of his sternum.

—My rhythm —she whispered—. Not yours. The cock is mine while it’s inside me. Is that clear?

—Yes.

—Yes, what?

—Yes, it’s yours.

—Good boy.

Time warped. Valentina moved with agonizing patience, stopping every time she felt him getting close to the edge. She knew the signs: when his balls tightened, when his asshole clenched against the mattress, when his breathing sped up. She took him to the brink and sat there motionless, with his cock buried to the hilt, feeling Marcos’s orgasm recede without breaking. Then she moved again. She did it four times. Pleasure turned into something close to torture, and torture turned back into pleasure.

—Please... —Marcos said, barely recognizing his own voice.

—Please what? Ask properly.

—Let me come. Please.

—Not yet. Hold it.

She repeated the cycle two more times. Every time Marcos felt the wave rising up his spine, she stopped, leaned over him, and whispered in his ear to be patient, to learn to wait, that she decided when. She bit his earlobe and ran her tongue along his neck while she tightened her cunt around his cock just to remind him where he was. The seventh time, when he had no pride or breath left, she suddenly sped up and allowed him to finish.

—Now. Come inside. Fill that cunt.

Marcos felt every muscle in his body contract at once. It was an orgasm born at the base of his spine and shot up to the nape of his neck, leaving him blind and breathless for several seconds. He emptied himself in spurts he felt one by one, unloading inside her while she bit his collarbone to keep from screaming.

But Valentina didn’t stop.

Without giving him time to recover, she kept moving on top of him, riding the cock that was still hard inside her semen-filled cunt. The sensitivity was unbearable; every brush sent spasms through him that swung between pleasure and something like pain. The nerves in his dick were raw, and Marcos could hear the wet sound of his cum leaking out, mixing with her slick, running down over his balls.

—Wait... I need a moment —he panted.

—No —she said simply.

She kept riding him with the same relentless cadence. Marcos gripped the sheets in both fists while she arched over his body, seeking her own pleasure with ferocious concentration. She brought a hand to her cunt and started rubbing her clit while she kept rising and falling on his cock. She reached orgasm with a long, tightly held groan, pressing her thighs against his ribs so hard it cut off his breathing. Marcos felt her cunt clenching in waves around his dick, milking him.

And then she started again.

—I can’t... I really can’t anymore —Marcos’s voice was a naked plea, undisguised.

—Red? —she asked, stopping for just an instant, with his cock still buried to the hilt.

Marcos hesitated. The word was there, available, right at the tip of his tongue. But something inside him refused to say it. He shook his head.

—Then you can —Valentina declared, and resumed moving.

She changed position without taking him out. She leaned back, bracing her hands on his thighs, opening her legs wider, letting his cock penetrate her from another angle. Marcos could see everything: her open cunt swallowing his dick, the swollen clit between the glossy lips, strands of cum and slick dripping down the perineum to the asshole. The image, added to the constant squeezing of her cunt, tore a second orgasm from him that left him trembling and teary-eyed. He felt completely emptied out, like nothing was left inside him, and still she kept moving. Valentina’s thighs trapped him, her hands held his wrists against the pillow, and her mouth bit his neck, leaving marks that would last for days.

—Look how you feed me —she murmured—. Look how well you serve.

—Stop... I’m begging you... —he murmured, voice breaking.

Valentina didn’t answer. She simply sped up, tipping her hips at an angle that drew a guttural sound from the back of Marcos’s throat. She was moaning softly, eyes closed and jaw tense, lost in her own pleasure. She licked two fingers and brought them to her clit, rubbing in quick circles while continuing to impale herself on his cock.

The third time she brought him to orgasm, Marcos no longer felt his legs. It was a dry, painful come, just a couple of drops that struggled out while his whole body shook like a fish out of water. He was drenched in sweat, his balls empty, his throat raw from all the panting. She collapsed over his chest and he felt the beat of her heart against his, out of sync, frantic. His cock, still inside her, was beginning to soften against the hot walls of her cunt.

—How many times have you done this? —he asked in a broken voice.

—Never —she answered, straightening up, still not taking him out—. But I’ve been imagining it for years. Every night before going to sleep, I imagined this exact situation. I touched myself thinking about this. I shoved two fingers in deep, imagining a guy like you under me, begging. Someone who thought he had control and discovered he didn’t.

The confession hit him harder than anything physical. The shy girl at the bar, the one with the book and the glasses and the soft voice, had built all of this in her head for years. Every order, every calculated pause, every way of handling his body and his cock. All of it rehearsed in the darkness of her room, night after night, masturbating while fantasizing about this exact moment.

And he had been arrogant enough to think he was the hunter.

At last Valentina slid his limp cock out of her cunt and moved down his body, leaving a trail of kisses that made him shiver involuntarily. She ran her tongue over his belly, over his emptied balls, and took his whole cock into her mouth without warning. Marcos let out a choked cry: the sensitivity was unbearable, every brush of her tongue burned like an electric current. She worked him patiently, licking the glans with the tip of her tongue, pressing her lips around the shaft, playing with his balls with her other hand. She cleaned the remains of his cum and her slick from his cock and balls with her mouth, swallowing it all without disgust.

Against all logic, she managed to get his body responding once more. Marcos felt his cock beginning to fill again, hardening centimeter by centimeter inside Valentina’s hot mouth. He didn’t think it was possible, but she kept him there, on that edge between pain and arousal, with infinite patience and an tireless tongue.

—Impossible —he murmured.

—Everything is possible when someone knows what they want —she replied, lifting her gaze with that half-smile he now understood perfectly, her lips glossy with spit and him.

She rode him again. This time Marcos didn’t try to resist. He surrendered completely, letting her use him however she wanted, letting her cunt rise and fall on his cock at whatever speed she pleased. Valentina’s moans filled the room and he discovered that hearing her made him feel more than any contact. She leaned forward, her small tits swaying over his face, and slipped a nipple into his mouth.

—Suck it. Hard.

Marcos obeyed and she gasped loudly, pressing her clit against his pubic bone with every downward stroke. She rode him hard, head thrown back and free hand squeezing her other breast. When she reached orgasm for the last time, it was a cry that burst from her throat, unchecked, and Marcos felt her cunt clenching around his cock in long convulsions, milking him even though he had nothing left to give.

She collapsed on his chest, breathing hard. They stayed like that for several minutes, in silence, listening to the other’s breathing slowly return to normal, with Marcos’s cock still half-hard and buried in her soaked cunt.

Valentina got up naturally, as if the last two hours had been nothing more than a formality. His cock slipped out of her cunt with a wet sound, and a thread of semen and slick ran down the inside of her thigh. She wiped it off with two fingers and sucked them clean without taking her eyes off him, swallowing everything before going to the bathroom. She dressed with the same efficiency with which she had undressed, gathered her hair back into the messy bun, and put on her glasses. The reverse transformation was just as startling: in less than a minute she looked once again like the shy girl in the corner of the bar.

—You’re leaving already? —Marcos asked, unable to get himself up from the bed.

—I have an exam at eight tomorrow —she said, buttoning up her blouse—. It was good. Thanks.

It was good. Marcos would have laughed if he’d had the strength.

—Can I call you? —he asked, hating himself for sounding so needy.

Valentina considered him for a moment from the bedroom door, jacket on and the book sticking out of the pocket.

—Maybe —she said—. If you behave.

He heard the apartment door close and kept staring at the ceiling. His legs were still shaking. He had scratch marks on his chest, a bruise forming on his hip where she had clamped down with her thighs, bite marks along his neck, and a hollow feeling in his balls he had never known. His cock, sore and red, rested against his thigh like a broken piece.

He turned to check the clock: four in the morning. He showered with warm water because his body would not accept any other temperature, and then slipped between the tangled sheets that still smelled like her, like her cunt, like the two of them mixed together.

Tomorrow she has an exam, he thought, closing his eyes. And I don’t even know my own name.

He never underestimated a quiet girl again.