The Safeword I Almost Never Got to Use

There are people who sear themselves into you and never let go. Sometimes it’s a family member, sometimes a friend, but almost always it’s a partner, or someone who comes through your bed one night and then keeps circling around in your head for years. For me, it was my boyfriend. For my friend Camila, it was a stranger she met on an app, and even now, when we talk about him, her eyes drift every time she says his name.

She told me this story in pieces: over chat, in long late-night calls, and once all at once, on a winter afternoon in my apartment. I’m writing it as if she’d told it to me in one breath, sprawled on my bed with the lights low, because that’s the best way to understand it.

We were finishing a long degree, both of us exhausted from studying. I had pulled a couple of beers out of the fridge and she’d already had a few before arriving. She settled back against the pillows, took off her sweatshirt because she was hot, and looked at me with that face people make when they need to confess something.

—Caro, I never told you about the first time I was really submissive —she said—. I was ashamed. But you don’t judge me, and I need to tell someone before it rots inside me.

—Go on —I told her—. No filter.

—I met him on one of those apps. The profile was utterly ordinary: a tall guy in his thirties, glasses, short hair, shy smile, worked for an insurance company. His name was Damián. My bio was very clear: “looking to have a good time, open to whatever comes.” I messaged him first because I was bored on a Sunday, and he replied right away.

—And did he come on strong?

—Straight to the point. He told me he wasn’t interested in commitment either, that if there was chemistry we could have fun without strings. And then he dropped it: “I’m dominant, I like to control everything in sex, are you up for trying?” I acted cocky, told him I was super experienced, that I did everything, that I’d been fucked in a thousand ways. He answered that he liked my attitude and that we should meet for a drink.

***

—We met at a bar in Belgrano, one of those places with tables on the sidewalk, but we went inside because it was cold. When he showed up I was surprised: he was thinner than he looked in the photos, tall but bony, pressed shirt, glasses. He looked like a shy nerd from college, someone you wouldn’t bet a cent on being dominant. I even felt a little tenderness toward him. We ordered coffee, talked about bullshit: college, shows, work. He was polite, attentive, laughed at my jokes. I thought, “this is going to be a calm fuck and nothing more.”

—And it wasn’t?

—Wait. Before we left, in a little secluded corner of the bar, he looked at me seriously and asked if there was anything I didn’t like, what my limits were. Me, puffing out my chest: “nothing, I do everything, fuck me however you want.” He didn’t even blink. He just smiled a little and said, “I want to dominate you for real tonight. Control how you move, when you come, when you stop. Are you sure?” I laughed nervously and said yes.

—You’re reckless —I told her, laughing.

—That’s what I thought afterward. He looked me straight in the eye and said, “then pick a safeword. If you say it, we stop instantly. I won’t stop when you say no, or when you say enough. Only when you say that word.” It seemed over the top to me, but I played along. I chose “red,” like the traffic light.

—Good choice, though.

—The best choice I ever made, Caro. He drove me to a beautiful building facing a park. He explained that the apartment belonged to his grandmother, who had been in the hospital for months, and that he looked after it. We went up to the fifth floor, private landing, dark wooden door. Inside it was a different world: huge living room with floor-to-ceiling windows, classic sofas, paintings that were clearly expensive. It was not the apartment of some random nerd.

***

—We had a glass of white wine to loosen up. I was already hot from the conversation, my pussy was throbbing under my jeans, I was imagining what was coming and my panties were getting wet. He took me to the bedroom: big bed, white sheets, a lamp with dim light. He said, “slowly get undressed, I want to watch you.” I started taking my clothes off little by little. First the T-shirt, then the jeans, until I was left in black underwear. He stayed standing there, watching me, not touching himself yet, and he made a two-finger gesture for me to keep going. I unhooked my bra, my tits fell out, my nipples hardening instantly. Then I pulled down my panties, handed them to him, and he tucked them into his shirt pocket like a trophy.

—So nerve-racking, right?

—A lot. Then he undressed himself, neat, unhurried, folding his clothes over a chair. And when he lowered his boxer briefs I froze. He was huge, Caro. Really huge. Long, thick, veins standing out, head shiny and already half-hard, hanging heavy between his legs. I’d been with big guys before, but this was another league. For the first time in my life I felt something like fear in a bed. My legs went weak and my pussy clenched on its own, as if my body already knew what was waiting for it.

—And what did you do?

—Nothing. He saw my face and smiled, as if he already knew that reaction by heart. He came closer slowly, without touching me, taking me in from head to toe with his eyes, pausing on my tits, my cunt, my mouth. And he said, in a calm voice that left no room for argument: “kneel.” And I obeyed immediately. It surprised even me. I knelt on the rug in front of him, his cock at my face level, without saying a word.

—I can’t believe it.

—He told me, “Open your mouth, slowly, I want you to taste it first.” And I started. I grabbed the base with one hand, could barely wrap around it, and ran my tongue from his balls to the tip, slowly, licking his skin, savoring the salty taste. I licked the head in circles, took the tip into my mouth, sucked it slowly, let it go with a wet sound. He was breathing deeply, one hand resting on my hair, not squeezing yet. I was trying to show him I could handle anything, that I wasn’t scared. I started taking it in little by little, centimeter by centimeter, until I felt the tip hit the back of my throat and had to pull back to breathe, a thread of saliva hanging from my lip. We spent a good while like that, me sucking him with my eyes half closed, one hand working his base, the other massaging his balls; him looking down at me with that calm that made me more nervous than any yelling ever could.

—And that’s when it got intense?

—That’s when it changed. He grabbed my hair with both hands, not to hurt me, but to make it clear who was in charge. He said, “Now I’m taking control. Breathe through your nose. If you can’t, say the word.” And he started fucking my mouth at a rhythm that wouldn’t let me think. He thrust all the way down, the head hitting the back of my throat, his balls smacking my chin. I made muffled noises, tears ran down my face, spit streamed down my chin to my tits. Every so often he’d stop, leave me pinned to the hilt, hold me there for a few seconds, and then yank it out so I could breathe deeply. He looked me in the eyes and asked if I was okay, if I wanted to say “red.” I shook my head no. I wanted to take it. I wanted him to see I had nerve.

—Camila, you’re awful.

—My eyes were watering, my mascara was smeared down my cheeks, my mouth was open, strings of spit ran from his cock to my lips, I was shaking all over. But not from fear. It was something else. I was leaking, I could feel the wetness running down my thighs. When he stopped completely, I sat back on my heels, wrecked and more turned on than I’d ever been in my life, lips swollen and throat burning, not fully understanding what was happening inside me.

***

—Then he got up calmly, went to a drawer in the nightstand, and took out some ropes. They were soft, thick cotton, the kind that don’t mark or hurt. He didn’t ask me anything. He just said, “I want to tie you up. You’re going to stay still for what’s next.” I opened my mouth to answer and nothing came out. My heart was pounding in my throat and my pussy was pounding even harder.

—And you just let him tie you up like that?

—I let him. He took me to the bed, laid me on my back, and tied my wrists to the headboard, slowly, checking that it wasn’t too tight. Then my ankles, opening my legs until I was completely spread, my cunt exposed, shining wet under the lamp. I was left totally open, unable to move a centimeter, feeling the cool air hitting my slit directly. And before continuing he repeated, looking me in the eye: “Remember, ‘red’ and we stop. No shame.” I nodded, biting my lip. I was scared, but more turned on than I’d ever been in my life.

—You’re making me nervous.

—He got between my legs and started using his mouth. He blew on me first, barely brushing me with his breath, and I was already arching my back. Then he licked me all the way from bottom to top, slowly, savoring me, and sucked my lips one by one, lightly nibbling them. He circled around my clit without touching it, licked my entrance, put his tongue inside and took it out again, until I was begging him, tugging at the ropes, moving my pelvis to search for his mouth. When he finally sucked my clit, he did it for a few seconds and stopped. He slipped two fingers inside me and touched that spot deep inside, curling them, until I started trembling, and then he stopped. Over and over. Five times, six times he took me right to the edge, until I was begging him, voice breaking: “Please, make me cum, please, finish me.” And he’d lift his head, mouth shiny with my wetness, and say to me with that half-smile, “I’m going to fuck you now. But there’s a rule: you don’t come until I allow it. If you come without permission, there’s punishment.”

—And you held out?

—No, Caro. I couldn’t. He got on top of me, grabbed his cock with one hand and dragged the head along my pussy lips, soaking it well, pushing it in just a little and pulling it out, playing with me. And all at once he rammed it in, halfway, and stopped. I screamed. It was too intense, a mix of pain and pleasure I didn’t know, I could feel him opening me from the inside, stretching me. I asked him to go slow, and he advanced little by little, a bit more, a bit more, until I felt his balls hitting my ass and knew he was all the way in. He stayed there, letting me get used to him, while he looked at me and whispered, “Breathe, relax, feel it.” And then he really started moving. He pulled almost all the way out and slammed back in to the hilt, with long, deep thrusts, making the bed creak. I wanted to hold out, I clenched my teeth, dug my nails into my palms, but every time he drove into me to the bottom and brushed my clit with his pubic bone everything went blank. The orgasm took me, rising from my feet like a wave, and I came screaming, shaking against the ropes, squeezing his cock inside me with spasms I couldn’t control.

—And the punishment?

—He stopped dead, with his cock buried all the way to the balls inside me. He looked at me seriously and said, “I told you you couldn’t without permission.” He pulled out slowly, his dick shining with my juices, and took from the drawer something flexible, suede, a sort of flat crop that hit with a broad strike but didn’t cut. He untied one ankle, made me turn onto my side without fully untying me, my ass exposed. He gave me firm swats, one on each cheek, measuring each one, letting the sting settle before the next. He gave me ten, twelve, counting them in a low voice, reminding me the whole time that I could say “red” whenever I wanted. I didn’t. I liked it. I liked the sting, I liked giving myself to it, letting him decide. When he finished, my ass was hot and red and sensitive, and my pussy was wetter than before, pouring down my thighs.

***

—At one point he stopped all of a sudden, told me to stay still, and left the room. It was only a minute, but it felt endless. Tied up, motionless, sore everywhere, with my cunt throbbing, and at the same time thinking, “This is the most intense sex of my life. I feel used, and I love it. No one has ever controlled me like this. I want more. I want him to do whatever he wants to me.”

—And what did he go get?

—Lube and a black cloth. He untied me, made me get on all fours, and tied me up again, this time with my arms stretched forward and tied to the headboard and my legs spread, ankles tied to the bedposts, unable to close them or shift back. My face against the mattress, my ass up high, offered to him. He blindfolded me. Everything went black and my other senses went wild: his cologne, his breathing, the air on my skin, the cold of the lubricant I could already feel being opened. He spoke softly into my ear: “I’m going to fuck your ass, Camila. Remember the word. This may hurt, but it can also take you somewhere you’ve never imagined. Are you ready?” I told him yes, in a thread of a voice.

—Don’t tell me that…

—Yes. But with infinite patience. First he dripped lubricant between my cheeks, cold, and spread it with his fingers, massaging my asshole in circles, without rushing. He put one finger in first, slowly, to the knuckle, moving it around inside so I’d loosen up. Then two, opening me a little, stretching me. I was moaning against the mattress, face hot, feeling my ass opening wider and wider. When he saw I was ready for it, he added more lube, coated his cock well, and set the tip at my hole. He pressed just a little, and I tensed up all over. “Relax, breathe, open for me,” he whispered. And he pushed, little by little, centimeter by centimeter. At first it burned, it stung like fire, I was crying under the blindfold, begging him to stop and at the same time begging him not to stop. It was contradictory, insane. But I never said “red.” I could feel how each centimeter opened me more, until he shoved it all the way in, to the balls, and stayed there still, his hands on my hips, letting me adjust. And little by little the burning turned into something else, into a deep, dense pleasure I didn’t know existed. When he started moving, he would come almost all the way out and then go back in to the hilt, with slow thrusts at first, then firmer, while with one hand he reached forward and rubbed my clit with his middle finger, in circles.

—Camila, this is too much.

—And then it happened, Caro. An orgasm that split me from the inside out, long, unlike anything else, rising from my ass and exploding in my head. I screamed into the mattress, everything clenched, my ass tightened around his cock inside me, and he kept thrusting and then he came too, growling, buried to the hilt, and I felt the hot spurts filling me from within. I shook against the ropes, left without strength, head hanging, feeling him slowly slip out and semen dripping between my cheeks. When he finished, he untied me carefully, took off the blindfold slowly, cleaned me with a warm towel between my legs and over my ass. I was wrecked: sore everywhere, wrists marked, throat burning, ass throbbing, cunt swollen, exhausted. And happier than I’d ever been.

***

—He lay down beside me and pulled me against his chest. And then something happened I hadn’t expected: he started taking care of me. He stroked my hair, kissed my forehead, whispered that it had been incredible, that he loved how I gave myself to him. He brought me water, covered me with the sheet, held me all night without saying much else. I curled up against his thin chest and thought, “this is the closest thing to love I’ve felt in a long time.” I fell asleep feeling cared for for the first time in years, my whole body still pulsing.

—That’s the part that surprises me most about the whole story.

—Me too. The next day he made me breakfast and ordered a car for me to go home. He promised he’d see me again. And he kept that promise.

***

I stayed silent for a long time. I didn’t know what to say. It was one of the most intense stories anyone had ever told me, and part of me doubted it was entirely true, because Camila had a habit of inflating her stories and adding romance where there wasn’t any. But from her face, from the way her voice trembled, I knew the core of it was true.

It didn’t end that night. They kept seeing each other for almost two years. At first it was just sex: sessions in the apartment, restraints, strict rules, orgasms forbidden until he allowed them. But then the other thing got mixed in. They went out to dinner, watched movies curled up together, he sent her sweet messages during the day. Camila fell hard. Every time he cared for her after a session, every gesture made her hope more.

They never took the next step. She suffered when he canceled, got jealous, hurt because she wasn’t the only one. And at the same time, she never fully gave herself over to something serious either. After almost two years, one night she got out of bed, dressed, and told him she couldn’t keep going, that she was falling too much in love and he didn’t feel the same way. He stayed quiet, nodded, and let her go.

After that she went back to seeing other people to forget him, but nothing was ever the same. No one controlled her like that, no one fucked her like that, no one took care of her afterward. She’d text me at three in the morning, crying, saying she wanted to be loved for real and not just used. I never had the courage to tell her she hadn’t exactly done her part either.

When she was with Damián, she had a different shine in her eyes. She looked happy. From the bottom of my heart, I hope they find each other again someday, even if she still needs to grow up a little first. Because there are people who only shine when they dare to let go of control completely. And Camila is one of them.

Thanks for reading to the end.