When Her Former Master Knocked on Valeria’s Door

Valeria lived with her parents fifty meters from my house. She had just turned twenty-three, and for a few months we had been wrapped up in something neither of us knew how to name. Most mornings she stayed alone in the apartment, and I took advantage of that to cross the street and stay until the afternoon under the excuse that we were keeping each other company. It wasn’t entirely a lie, but it wasn’t the whole truth either.

Over time we had built our own dynamic. She was direct, no beating around the bush, with a clarity about what she wanted that never stopped surprising me. I learned to keep up. We started exploring things neither of us had ever tried with other people, and each time we went a little further without anyone ever having said so out loud. She would ask me for things looking me straight in the eye —"fuck me all the way," "spit in my mouth," "grab my throat while you’re fucking me"— with the same naturalness she would have used to ask for a glass of water.

I remember one afternoon she called me from her parents’ bedroom. I found her on all fours on the double bed, her back arched, completely naked. Her pale thighs and the curve of her spine against the light coming in through the half-closed blinds. Her pussy was already shining, her lips swollen and parted, and one hand was between her legs, rubbing her clit with two fingers while she waited for me. "Come fuck me here, in my folks’ bed," she said without turning her head. I stood in the doorway for a few seconds before going in. I pulled my pants down in the hallway. By the time I got to the bed I was already hard, and she took me in her free hand, put me in her mouth, and sucked me off on her knees before turning her back to me again. I drove into her in one thrust, balls-deep, and she screamed into the mattress. I fucked her like that for half an hour, gripping her ass with both hands, spanking her until her skin turned red, until I came inside her and my cum ran down her thighs onto the sheets. Afterward we joked about the stains we’d left on those sheets. That was the kind of relationship it was: room for humor even in the worst moments.

The thing was, Valeria wasn’t simple either. She had a temper that made her hard to keep up with outside the bedroom. We’d argue over stupid things and drift apart for days. That particular week we had gone seven days without saying a single word to each other, and I spent the mornings pretending I was getting ahead on university work while I kept glancing sideways at the window in her room and jerking off thinking about her, about her tight pussy, about how she moaned when I pulled her hair.

The night before I had seen her hanging out with her friends on the sidewalk across the street. Then some guys showed up. She flirted without even trying to hide it, with that ease of someone who knows exactly the effect she has on other people. I watched from my room with a jealousy I didn’t want to admit even to myself.

***

On Friday at ten in the morning her message came through.

—I don’t know if you want to hear from me right now, but I want to warn you about something: Bruno texted me this morning. He hasn’t shown any sign of life for months and he’s coming over now to talk.

I stayed there with the phone in my hand, not knowing what to do with it.

Bruno was Valeria’s ex. He was ten years older than her. He had been her first master—that was the exact word she used the first time she told me about him—and they had been together for five years. I only knew him through the stories Valeria told me in a low voice, lying in bed after we’d fucked, with that frankness some people have when they have nothing left to lose. She had told me how Bruno had initiated her into all of it. How he had taken her to the edge of what she thought she could stand, and how, year after year, that edge had moved farther back. She told me that the first time he tied her to the bed with her own stockings and shoved his cock into her ass without lubricant, and she came screaming into the pillow. She also told me that some of those memories came back on their own in the worst moments, and that it wasn’t always easy to tell whether that was a blessing or a problem.

Valeria’s accounts of Bruno were so precise they left little room for imagination and too much for fantasy. The dates in semi-public places that always ended the same way —her on her knees sucking him off in a public bathroom or with her skirt hitched up against the hood of a car in a parking lot—. The way he could leave her speechless with a single gesture. The months when he forbade her from touching herself and how Valeria found in that prohibition something she couldn’t name until much later.

—If you want to enjoy it, at least tell me what’s going to happen —I wrote back.

It took her three minutes to answer. I got a photo.

She was in front of the bathroom mirror, fresh out of the shower. She was wearing the underwear we’d bought together in November: a semitransparent black lace bra that left her erect nipples and the pink of her skin visible underneath, and a thong of thin straps that covered almost nothing, the tiny triangle of fabric pressed against her mound and sunk between the lips of her pussy. Her hair was wet and she had the calm expression of someone who has already made a decision and doesn’t need anyone else to validate it.

—I’ll keep you posted —she wrote.

***

I saw him arrive from my window.

Bruno was exactly as I had imagined him from Valeria’s descriptions: athletic build, buzz cut down to the scalp, thick unkempt beard. Dark T-shirt with sweat marks at the sides. He walked with the unhurried pace of someone who knows exactly where he’s going and also knows that what he’ll find when he gets there requires no preparation whatsoever.

Valeria opened the door before he knocked. She was wearing a short denim skirt and a white camisole. From where I stood I could see the outline of the black lace through the thin fabric. Bruno looked her up and down without saying anything. Went in.

The door closed.

I called four times in a row. I sent messages that stayed on delivered for more than an hour. I stood in front of the window staring at the front of her house as if it were going to reveal something to me. It revealed nothing.

***

What happened inside she told me that same afternoon, with the kind of precision only people have when they want you to picture it properly, when they want you to be there even if you weren’t.

When she closed the door, Bruno didn’t greet her. He put a hand under her jaw, lifted her face, and studied her for a moment. Then he shoved his thumb into her mouth all the way to the back and said, just like that, no preamble: "Suck." Valeria obeyed, closing her lips around the finger and sucking while looking up at him. She caught the smell of sweat and cheap cologne mixed together, and something in her responded before her mind had time to process what she was feeling. She hadn’t seen Bruno in almost a year, but the body has a shorter memory than the mind and a more honest one than either. She felt her thong grow damp from that alone, from a thumb in her mouth.

Bruno went straight for her breasts without preamble. He slid the camisole straps down, undid the bra with one hand and caught one nipple between his teeth while with the other he squeezed the other breast until she let out a moan. He sucked on her tits one after the other, mouth open and tongue broad, leaving them wet with saliva, biting her nipples until they were hard and purple. Valeria told me that it was that exact moment —Bruno’s mouth open over her, his rough tongue against the erect nipple— that she had been imagining for months without wanting to admit it. That as soon as she felt it she knew she would remember it for a long time. That her pussy was already soaking and she could feel the wetness running along the insides of her thighs.

Bruno shoved a hand under her skirt, pulled the thong aside with a yank that made the elastic bite into her hip, and sank two fingers into her pussy without warning. Valeria moaned and her weight tipped forward. He held her by the neck with his other hand and started pumping his fingers hard, curling them inside her, searching for the spot he knew better than anyone. In less than a minute he had her dripping into his hand, her skirt ruined and her thighs trembling.

—You’re still a slut —he told her, his mouth against her ear.

—Yeah —she answered, without hesitation.

He pushed her toward the sofa.

Bruno sat on the edge and unbuckled his belt without hurrying, with the same calm as before. He pulled his pants and underwear down to his knees. His cock sprang out hard, thick, pointing at the ceiling, with the vein standing out and the head red. He put a hand on the back of Valeria’s neck and guided her down. She tried to set her own pace, to start slowly with her tongue around the head, to lick his balls first, but Bruno gave her no room. He tangled his fingers in her hair and squeezed until Valeria had no choice and swallowed his cock whole in one gulp. She felt it hit the back of her throat and gagged.

She told me that in that moment she didn’t think about resisting, quite the opposite: letting herself go gave her a feeling of relief she hadn’t expected to find there. Her eyes filled with water. Saliva hung from her chin in thick strings that fell onto her tits. Bruno shoved her head up and down with both hands, taking her mouth like it was a cunt, not letting her breathe between thrusts. Her skirt rode up to her waist. The sound that filled the room was dry and constant: the slapping of her throat, the muffled gagging, the thud of his balls against her chin.

Every so often Bruno would pull his cock out and slap her cheek a couple of times with it, or her outstretched tongue, and ask if she liked it. She nodded with her mouth open, waiting for him to put it back in. "Spit," he ordered, and she spat a thick stream onto the head and took it back into her mouth to the base, with her nose pressed against his belly and tears dripping onto his balls.

—It was exactly how I remembered it —she told me afterward—. I wasn’t surprised. I was surprised that I wasn’t surprised.

***

Bruno lifted her off the sofa by her hair.

He took her down the hallway like that, making her crawl on all fours with her tits shaking and her ass up, stopping every so often to brace her against the wall and shove two fingers into her pussy from behind to check how wet she was. Every time he pulled them out, he ran them over her mouth so she could suck them clean. Valeria told me that every time he moved her again her legs went weak and her head went blank in a way she found hard to describe: like being very awake and very far away at the same time. No real pain, just pressure and heat and a strangely clear certainty that this was exactly where she wanted to be.

In the bathroom he stood behind her facing the mirror. He wrapped one hand around her neck, not hard enough to hurt, just enough to keep her still and present. With the other he lifted her skirt, pulled her thong down to her knees, and started rubbing her clit with his middle finger, in slow circles, watching her in the mirror. Valeria told me that what she felt at that moment was not fear or shame, but something like recognizing herself: the mirror was giving her back an image of herself she hadn’t seen in a long time and hadn’t known she missed. She could see her swollen mouth, her tits out with the red bite marks, mascara smeared, and Bruno’s hand between her legs moving slowly until she came for the first time, shaking all over against his body, her knees giving way and her pussy dripping onto the bathroom floor.

—You didn’t regret it at any point? —I asked.

—Not once —she said. Without hesitation.

***

The punishment came standing up, against the hallway wall.

Bruno positioned her with her palms flat on the plaster and started. Her skirt was rolled up around her waist, her ass bare and still damp from the previous orgasm. The first spank cracked loud, open palm, and Valeria flinched. Then came the second, on the same cheek, harder. Then the third. Valeria told me she counted the blows up to the seventh and then stopped counting because the number no longer mattered, only the heat building up and the way that heat was spreading inward, all the way to her pussy, with each impact.

He took his time. He alternated the blows with long pauses in which he simply left her there, still, waiting for the next one, while he ran his open hand over her burning ass and sometimes shoved a finger into her ass up to the knuckle, leaving it there for a few seconds before pulling it out and continuing to hit her. Those pauses were the worst, or the best; she still hadn’t fully decided, she told me. Uncertainty was part of the pleasure.

When he finished with the spanks, he pried her legs open with a gentle kick to the ankle, spat into his hand, and spread the saliva over his cock. He pressed the head to the entrance of her pussy, rubbed it up and down between her drenched lips, barely let it peek in and then pulled it back out. Pushed it in again and pulled it out again. Valeria shoved her ass back searching for it, and Bruno gave her another smack for moving without permission.

When Bruno finally penetrated her all the way to the hilt in one thrust, the sound Valeria made came out on its own, beyond her control. A long, broken moan that reached the street, she told me later with a smile that wasn’t one of shame. Bruno’s hands gripped her hips, fingers digging into flesh, and he fucked her with a rhythm that gradually built in intensity. Valeria pressed herself against the wall, seeking more friction, more pressure, more of whatever he was giving her. Her fingers clutched at the plaster until her nails broke. The dry knocks of their bodies —pelvis against red ass, balls against clit— filled the narrow hallway.

Bruno yanked her hair until her back arched and spoke into her ear while he kept fucking her: "Whose pussy is this?" She took a while to answer and he slowed down until he stopped dead, his cock buried to the balls and motionless. "Whose?" he repeated. "Yours," she murmured. "Louder." "Yours!" And he started fucking her again, now faster, deeper, until he made her scream against the wall.

He pulled out, turned her, and faced her toward him without lowering her to the floor: he lifted her by the thighs, crushed her against the wall with the weight of his body, and shoved back into her while she was standing. Valeria hooked her legs around his waist and hung from his neck, biting him, licking him, while he lifted and lowered her on his cock like she weighed nothing. Her breasts bounced against his chest. Bruno’s fingers explored her ass without asking permission, slipping a thumb in while he kept fucking her pussy. Valeria told me that in those final minutes she wasn’t thinking of anything specific. Only of not moving from the place she was in, of having him deeper and deeper, of coming again. And she did come, clenching his cock with her pussy in spasms that climbed from her heels to the nape of her neck, screaming into his mouth.

***

When Bruno finished, he set her down on the floor and gave her a gentle push on the shoulder. Valeria knelt on the floor.

Not because he told her to. Because it was what she wanted to do.

He tangled one hand in her hair and Valeria opened her mouth and stuck out her tongue and looked up at him from below, her eyes glazed and her chin lifted. Bruno wanked himself in front of her with his cock shiny with her wetness and saliva, aiming at her face, until he started coming with a long grunt. The first jet landed on Valeria’s forehead and bangs. The second, on her nose and over her outstretched tongue. The rest painted her cheeks, her open mouth, her chin, her cleavage. She didn’t close her eyes. When Bruno was done, his cock still dripping, he brought the head to her lips and she sucked it clean, swallowing what was left, never taking her eyes off him.

She told me that at that moment she felt whole in a way that was hard to explain with words: as if something that had been slightly out of alignment for a long time had slipped back into place. When it was all over she stayed on the floor for a moment, still, back straight and breathing slow, semen thickening on her face, feeling no urgency to stand up or wipe it off.

Bruno got dressed without rushing. At the door he paused for a moment and looked at her.

—Next time you disappear for that long —Valeria said to him—, warn me first.

He didn’t answer. He gave a small smile and left.

***

From my window I watched him cross the street.

He passed in front of my house without looking up and turned the corner. I stayed by the window a little longer, phone in hand, with the strange feeling that I had spent the whole morning on the wrong side of the street. A mix of things that had no easy name and that I wasn’t in any hurry to give one.

Two minutes later the phone vibrated.

"Come. I want to tell you everything."

I changed my T-shirt, combed my hair without much conviction, and crossed the street. Valeria opened the door barefoot, with her hair still tousled and the black lace underwear peeking out from the neckline of the blouse she had half put on. Her face had just been washed, but her neck was still marked, a purple hickey on her collarbone and her tits with the red marks of bites crossing her cleavage. The expression on her face was neither guilt nor triumph. It was the calm, untroubled peace of someone who has just done exactly what she needed to do.

I sat down on the sofa.

She began to talk, and I listened to her without interrupting once.