I Was His Secret Mistress for Over a Year

I was twenty-six the first time I saw him on my phone screen. He appeared among the suggestions on a social network where I hardly ever posted, but I started following him in silence: tall, with a dark beard and shoulders that promised things I shouldn’t have been thinking about regarding someone with a wedding ring.

It took me almost three weeks to work up the nerve.

One Tuesday night, without thinking too much about it, I sent him a friend request. He accepted it the next day and wrote me something short and unassuming: “Hi, how are you?” Two words that said nothing and, at the same time, opened a door.

We talked about unimportant things for a few days. Work, music, the weather in his city, which was different from mine. He was kind, intelligent, with a dry sense of humor that I ended up liking. I got used to waiting for him.

Things changed on a Friday night, a little after one in the morning. I was in bed with my phone on the pillow, half asleep. He asked me what I was doing. I told him I couldn’t sleep, that I was in pajamas, shorts, and a thin-strapped tank top. He took a moment to reply.

—What a picture —he wrote.

And that was when I knew there was something there.

I baited him without much shame: I told him that sometimes I’d fall asleep and wake up naked, that the heat did that to me. His reply came within seconds: “The heat is lucky.” Then he asked for a photo. Just of the pajamas, he clarified.

I took a photo in the dim light of my room, angling the frame just enough so the top would reveal more than it should, with my nipples showing hard beneath the thin fabric. It wasn’t innocent. He didn’t pretend it was. Two minutes later his reply arrived: “Your nipples are showing, and you just made my dick rock-hard.” I asked him for proof and he sent me a photo of his bulge straining the waistband of his pajama pants. My mouth watered before I even realized it.

That night I slipped my hand inside my shorts while I read his messages, and I came biting the pillow, thinking about that dick I still hadn’t seen in full.

***

What came after lasted almost fourteen months.

Audio messages at midnight where he described in detail what he would do to me if I were in front of him: how he’d spread my legs, how he’d lick my cunt until I trembled, how he’d fuck me against the wall until I begged him to come inside. I listened to those audios with my headphones on and my fingers between my legs, biting my lip so I wouldn’t scream.

Photos he sent from the bathroom at his office, his thick cock peeking above his unfastened belt, glossy at the tip. Videos recorded in silence, with the phone propped on a shelf, his hand sliding up and down that hard dick while he looked at the camera as if he were fucking me. I sent him mine: fingers buried in my cunt, two, sometimes three, the other hand squeezing a breast, and whispering his name at the end when I came.

He received my videos sitting in his car, in the parking lot, and told me he had to bite his knuckle to keep from making noise while he jerked off watching me come. Once he sent me the audio of him cumming: ragged breathing, a stifled groan, and then the sound of semen hitting something. “All of this is yours,” he wrote. “All this load was supposed to go inside your cunt.”

There was something addictive about knowing I drove him crazy from so far away. That he deleted the messages every night before going into the house. That he jerked off thinking about me with his wife asleep beside him. That he looked for me anyway the next day, with my own cum still sticky between my legs from the night before.

We tried to meet three times before something finally worked. There was always some obstacle: his wife changed plans, I had a commitment, the schedules wouldn’t line up. Every cancellation left me frustrated in a way that was no longer just curiosity. I needed that dick inside me. Period.

When we finally settled on a date, I didn’t sleep the night before. I spent hours shaving, moisturizing, imagining which position he would fuck me in first.

***

I saw him get out of the car in the hotel parking lot and froze for a second. In the photos he already seemed tall to me, but in person he was something else: easily six-foot-one, and when he walked up to greet me, I had to tilt my head back. I come up to most men’s shoulders. With him I barely reached his chest.

—You’re smaller than I thought —he said, smiling.

—And you’re bigger —I replied.

We laughed. Both nervous, both pretending we weren’t.

We went up to the room almost without speaking. It was the first time he had touched another woman who wasn’t his wife, he had told me several times over those months, and that fact stirred something in me that I’m not sure is pride or something darker. I liked being that first time. I liked thinking I was going to ruin his mouth and his cock forever.

I was wearing a short skirt and nothing underneath. I’d planned it since morning. My cunt had already been wet since before I got out of the cab.

As soon as the door closed, we looked at each other and there were no more words.

***

We started slowly, almost carefully. His hands on my waist, my face lifted toward him, the height difference making everything slightly awkward at first. We kissed and the awkwardness disappeared. He had a way of kissing me that emptied my head: unhurried, his hands holding my face as if he wanted to make sure I wasn’t going anywhere. His tongue sliding deep, finding mine, while I felt the hard bulge pressing against my belly.

His lips moved down my neck and I closed my eyes. I felt his hands search for the hem of my top and lift it slowly. When he pulled my breasts out over the fabric, he stayed there looking at them for a moment.

—God —he said softly—. What tits you’ve got.

He lowered his head and started kissing them without haste, his tongue circling one and then the other, learning the rhythm of my reactions before sucking harder. When he caught a nipple between his lips and tugged gently, a moan slipped out of me that I hadn’t planned on making. Then he bit, just barely, and I arched.

—Suck them hard —I asked him, almost breathless—. Like in the videos you sent me.

He obeyed. He filled his mouth with one of my breasts, sucking hard, his tongue working the nipple against his palate, while with his other hand he pinched the other nipple until my legs shook. He stayed like that for a long time. He wasn’t in a hurry and I didn’t want him to be. He alternated from one breast to the other, leaving them glossy with saliva, the nipples red and swollen, hypersensitive. I couldn’t pretend anymore: I pushed his head against my chest and begged him in a low voice not to stop.

His hand slid under my skirt and found exactly what it was looking for.

—You’re soaked —he murmured against my breast.

—I’ve been like this since yesterday —I told him.

He slid two fingers inside in one motion and I cried out, gripping his shoulders so I wouldn’t fall. He moved them inside, curling them, searching for that spot I knew he’d find, while his thumb worked my clit in slow circles. My knees went weak and he held me up with his free arm.

—You’re going to soak my whole hand —he said, his mouth by my ear—. Come like this, on my fingers, I want to feel it.

I didn’t last more than a minute. I came standing up, hanging onto him, his fingers buried to the knuckle inside me, biting his shoulder so I wouldn’t scream too loudly. When he pulled his fingers out they were dripping, and he brought them to his mouth without taking his eyes off me.

—You taste good —he said—. I knew you’d taste good.

When he finally took my clothes off completely, I was already trembling. I pulled off his shirt with my hands. He had the torso I’d seen in photos but in another way: the heat of his skin, the weight of his hands when he pulled my naked body against his, the smell you can’t capture on a screen.

I pulled down his pants and boxer briefs in one move.

What I saw made me hesitate for a second. Thick, thicker than I expected, long, with a swollen vein running along the underside and a pronounced head, purple, glossy with the drop already escaping from it. It promised exactly the sensation I had been imagining for months.

—You okay? —he asked.

—Very okay —I said, and lowered myself to my knees.

***

I took my time with him. I started slowly, my tongue tracing the length of his cock from top to bottom, feeling him hold his breath. I licked the head as if it were ice cream, gathering the thick drop seeping from it, and he muttered a curse under his breath. Then I took the tip between my lips and sucked gently, watching his face. I saw his eyes narrow and his jaw clench.

I went down little by little, taking more of him deeper each time, helping myself with my hand at the base. He was wide; I had to open my mouth fully, and even so I could feel the tip brushing the back of my throat. I choked a little and my eyes watered, but I didn’t stop. I spit on his cock to lubricate it better and took the whole thing back into my mouth.

—Fuck —he growled, and I saw his hands trembling at his sides.

I found a rhythm. My mouth moving up and down, my tongue working the underside on each pass, my hand following the motion and twisting at the base. Every so often I pulled away completely to lick his balls, burying my nose between his thighs, while my hand kept jerking him with saliva. Then I’d take him back to the root.

—Look at me —I asked, his cock pressed against my cheek.

He lowered his gaze. I held his eyes while I took him in again, centimeter by centimeter, until my nose touched his belly. I stayed there, swallowing around him, feeling him pulse in my throat. When I let him out to catch my breath, there was a thread of saliva hanging between the tip and my lips.

—Stop —he said hoarsely—. Stop for a moment.

I stopped and looked up at him, my mouth still open.

—If you don’t stop, I’m going to come in your mouth right now.

I smiled. I stood up, pressed my breasts on either side of his cock and squeezed them together with my hands, wrapping him in them. He sucked in a sharp breath. I spat on the tip so it would slide better between my tits and started moving slowly, then faster, and every time the head popped up over the top I met it with my tongue, sucking it for a second before letting it sink back down again.

—Come on my tits —I told him—. I want to see you fill me up.

He didn’t last another minute. I felt his cock swell even more between my breasts and then the first hot burst exploded on my neck, then another on my cheek, another landing on my tongue, which was hanging out waiting for it. He came with a deep, almost furious groan, and I didn’t move away. I stayed there until he was completely finished, sucking the tip to pull out the last drops, swallowing what had landed in my mouth without taking my eyes off his.

He looked at me as if he couldn’t believe what had just happened.

After that we rested, lying on the bed, talking in low voices, touching each other without haste. I still had stains drying on my neck and chest and I didn’t care. He ran his fingers over them, spreading it across my skin, as if marking me. As if we had all the time in the world, even though we both knew that wasn’t true.

***

The second time started calmly.

He ran his fingers along my back, my waist, the curve of my hip. He kissed my neck. I started stroking his soft cock between his legs and felt it respond almost immediately, thickening in my hand, as if his body already knew the route.

When he was hard again, I took him back into my mouth. This time it was more intense from the start: I had him on the edge much sooner, moaning with his hands tangled in my hair, and when I felt him close he stopped me and laid me flat on my back on the bed.

He started moving down, kissing me. Neck, breasts —where he lingered again, sucking my nipples until I writhed—, ribs, the center of my belly. By the time he reached between my legs, I was no longer pretending to be calm. He spread my thighs with both hands, settled himself chest-down on the bed, and looked for a second before lowering his head.

—What a beautiful cunt you’ve got —he said, and the first lick shot through me from top to bottom.

He knew what he was doing. It wasn’t the first time I’d been with someone experienced, but he had something different: attention. He paid attention to every reaction I had, adjusting pressure, angle, rhythm. He started slow, his flat tongue sweeping over me in full strokes, from my entrance to my clit, over and over. Then he focused on my clit, sucking it between his lips with short pulls while he slid two fingers inside and curled them upward.

—Like this? —he asked at some point, without really stopping.

—Yes —I managed to say—. Exactly like that. Don’t stop, please don’t stop.

He didn’t stop. He brought me to orgasm before I was ready to admit it. A direct, clean orgasm that left my legs clamped around his head, my heels dug into his back, and my hands tangled in his hair, pulling harder than I wanted to. He kept licking slowly while I trembled, drawing out every last contraction.

When he looked up, his mouth and chin were shining, and he had an expression I couldn’t quite read.

—Get on top —I told him, my voice broken—. I want to be on top. I want to sit on that dick now.

***

I sat on him slowly, his cock pointing straight up at the ceiling, and guided the tip to the entrance of my cunt. I rubbed it there for a while, wetting it with my own slick, enjoying his face while he watched me play. Then I started to sink down.

The first moment gave me exactly what I expected: a resistance that hurt a little, a stretch that made my mouth fall open without sound, and I had to stop and breathe with only the head inside me.

—Good? —he asked, his voice tight, hands gripping my hips.

—Good —I said, and kept lowering myself little by little, centimeter by centimeter, feeling him fill me.

When I finally had him all the way in, with his pelvis pressed to mine, I stayed still for a moment, getting used to that pressure so deep inside me. His hands were on my hips but he wasn’t pushing, just waiting, his jaw clenched from the effort of not moving. I liked that.

I started moving.

At first it was slow, finding the angle that worked for both of us, learning the weight of his body under mine. I rose almost all the way off him and lowered myself slowly, feeling every vein, every inch going back in. Then I found the rhythm and stopped thinking about anything else. He matched the movement of my hips without trying to control it. He let me lead. He let me use him however I wanted.

I leaned forward, resting my hands on his chest, and changed the motion: longer, deeper, almost slamming him against my cervix on each downward stroke. My breasts bounced against his face and he took advantage of it to catch a nipple in his mouth and suck hard. He growled softly.

—You’re insane —he said—. I’ve never fucked like this in my life.

I didn’t answer. I was too busy riding him harder and harder, listening to the wet sound of my soaked cunt swallowing that whole dick again and again.

The second orgasm came halfway through, when I least expected it. Everything inside me clamped down around him and I screamed against his mouth, never stopping my motion. The third came soon after, chained to the first, and I had to put all my weight on my hands against his chest so I wouldn’t lose my balance. My cunt was pulsing so hard that slick escaped me in spurts every time I rose. He looked up at me from below with something like astonishment, his dick dripping my juices.

—Keep going —he said—. Don’t stop, keep cumming.

I kept going.

At some point he turned me and put me on all fours on the bed. He knelt behind me, spread my ass cheeks with both hands, and stayed there for a second looking at me like that, open and dripping for him.

—Put it in already —I begged—. Put it all in.

He drove in with one thrust, all the way to the hilt, and I screamed into the pillow. He took control from the first second. He grabbed my hips and started fucking me hard, without rest, the rhythmic slam of his thighs against my ass reverberating through the room. I pushed my ass up for him so he could go deeper, clutching the sheets, focused on how that thick cock opened me all the way to the bottom with each thrust.

The room smelled of air conditioning and sex, with the dull thud of the headboard hitting the wall and his balls slapping against my clit on every thrust. Both of us were panting openly now. He slapped one cheek of my ass, then another, and I arched even more to ask for more.

—Tell me how you like it —he growled, never stopping.

—Hard —I managed to say—. Fuck me harder. Break me.

He grabbed my hair and pulled back, forcing my back to arch. The cock was hitting a new place from that angle and I started trembling again. He shoved the thumb of his other hand into my mouth and I sucked on it, saliva running down my chin.

—I want to be on top again —I asked when I could let go of his thumb—. I want to feel you all the way in again, I want to see your face when you come.

He set me back on top of him without asking. I picked up the rhythm where I’d left off, this time more brutal, braced on his bent knees, dropping my full weight on every descent. He started thrusting from below, driving up at the moment I came down, and the impact shook me through and through.

The fourth orgasm hit without warning, almost painful in its intensity. I had to grab his shoulders because I felt myself slipping. The fifth came soon after, when I heard his voice go rough beneath me, his breathing quickening, his hands digging his fingers into my hips.

—I’m coming —he said—. I’m about to come.

—Inside —I told him—. Come inside, don’t pull out.

—Are you sure?

—Inside.

When I felt him come inside me, the hot burst slamming against the deepest part of me, I was still trembling from the previous orgasm. He pulled me tight against him, his cock buried to the base, and I felt every pulse unloading inside. I bit my lip so I wouldn’t cry from sheer pleasure.

I stayed seated on him a little longer, not wanting it to slip out of me, feeling him slowly soften inside. When I finally stood up, his cum ran down my thighs and he muttered a curse under his breath while looking at it.

—What a sight —he said, and I couldn’t tell whether he was smiling or still struggling to breathe.

I lay face down, my face in the pillow, unable to move for a good while. He lay down beside me and for a while neither of us spoke. He ran his hand over my back, my ass, between my thighs, gathering the semen that was still leaking out of me.

***

We showered together without anyone suggesting it. Under the water he washed my hair with a calm that contrasted with everything before, but then he cornered me against the tiles and fucked me again, standing up, with one of my legs over his hip, slowly, almost tenderly, until both of us came one last time in silence with the hot water falling over our bodies. For a moment I thought about everything we weren’t going to have.

We got dressed. We kissed in the doorway before going downstairs.

In the parking lot we said goodbye as if we were going to see each other the next day, even though we both knew that wasn’t going to happen. He had to go back to his city. I had to go back to my life, with my cunt still throbbing and his cum drying between my legs.

I watched him drive away and stood there for a moment on the hot asphalt, not quite knowing what I felt.

***

Since that meeting, we’ve only written to each other. Photos, audio messages, the same game as always but with more history behind it. Now when he sends me a video of himself jerking off, I know exactly what that cock looks like in person, how it feels in the hand, how it tastes. When I film myself with my fingers inside me, I know he’s thinking about how it felt to be there. He says he thinks about that afternoon more often than he should, that he jerks off remembering how I screamed while riding him. I don’t tell him that I do too, that I haven’t been able to come like that with anyone since.

His wife knows nothing. She doesn’t need to.

There’s something about that which I don’t know whether it makes me feel guilty or simply reminds me that desire doesn’t always ask permission to exist.