My Boyfriend Kissed Me Without Knowing What My Lips Tasted Like
I realized my mistake too late. The “Adrián” thing had been a false step, too obvious, a beginner’s amateurism. The true genius of torture lies in subtlety. He had to suspect, had to feel that everything pointed toward me, but without a single piece of proof he could hold in his hands. Doubt is an acid that corrodes the soul from within, slowly, leaving no mark. So I decided to evolve.
And I decided to take it to the next level. Why settle for a video recorded just for him? If my work deserved an audience, why not share it with the whole world? I opened a profile on one of those adult video sites and called it “The Faceless Woman.” The description was brief: no face, no guilt, just body and desire. Each clip, a wound for the man sleeping beside me and not knowing it. I sent him the link from an anonymous email account, with a single line: “Now everyone can see what you have at home.”
The first video meant for that audience I titled “A Gift for You.” The quality was something else: fixed camera, good light, careful framing. Me, in a black wool balaclava, kneeling on a pale wooden floor, my tits out, nipples hard facing the lens. A young guy, broad-backed and big-handed, came over with his cock already rigid in his hand, thick, veiny, wet at the tip. I opened my mouth without him asking, stuck out my tongue, and waited. He shoved it all the way in in one go, grabbing the back of my neck with both hands, and started fucking my throat with no mercy at all. I swallowed, gagged, strings of spit ran down my chin and onto my tits, and he kept driving into me, setting the pace as if my mouth were only a hole for his pleasure. I sucked his balls between gags, licked them one by one while he ground his cock against my lips. When he was close, he pulled his dick out of my mouth, pumped himself twice with a closed fist, and came in jets all over my face. The first load landed on my forehead and ran down my nose. The second filled my open mouth. The third and fourth soaked my cheeks, my chin, my jaw, hanging in thick white strands. I swallowed what I had on my tongue, stuck out the tip, and licked whatever was left on his glans, sucking until the last drop. Then I looked straight at the lens, at the eyes peering through the fabric, with my face dripping semen, and I spoke.
“Look at me carefully, my love. This is the gift I brought you tonight. I’m leaving it on my face for you, do you see how it’s dripping on me? I’m letting it stick to my eyelashes, my lips, between my tits. Do you like how his load looks on me? I hope the next time you kiss me you can recognize a little bit of him in my mouth. I hope your cock gets hard imagining your girlfriend on her knees, treated like this, like something disposable. Fucking cuckold, look carefully at how I’m getting my throat fucked while you jerk off alone at home.”
He saw it. And this time he didn’t write anything. He just stared at the phone screen, his face the color of paper, his knuckles white around the device. That was when his real paranoia began.
The second I called “It Lasts Longer Than You Think.” In it I appeared face-down on an unmade bed, ass raised up high, held between two men who took turns without respite. One had me by the hips and was burying his cock in my cunt to the hilt, pulling it all the way out and ramming it back in with hard thrusts that made me scream into the mattress. The other, kneeling beside my face, made me suck him while the first tore me apart from behind. They switched places without warning. The one behind pulled his cock out of my dripping cunt, spat on my asshole, and drove it into my ass in one single stroke. I howled. I arched like a cat and the other took the chance to shove his into my mouth, pushing it down to the back of my throat. It was rough, it was real, and my moans mixed pain and something dangerously close to pleasure. One grabbed my hair and yanked my head back, forcing me to hold the camera’s gaze with a cock filling my mouth while the other kept fucking me up the ass, spitting on my back, slapping my ass cheeks until they turned red. They put me astride the one underneath, impaled on his cock, and the other climbed in behind to put it in me too, both at once, squeezing me between their bodies. Bent inside, with two cocks rubbing inside me, I wasn’t moaning anymore: I was shrieking, drooling, saying filthy things I didn’t even recognize as mine. They came almost at the same time. The one behind filled my ass until it overflowed and dripped down his thighs. The other pulled his cock out and emptied his load into my open mouth, onto my tongue, forcing me to show him everything before swallowing.
“This is for you too, my love. So you can see what my cunt is capable of when it’s truly given itself over, so you can see how two cocks that aren’t yours open my ass. I wish you were here, on your knees between my legs, waiting for them to finish so you could clean me up with your tongue. The cum running down the insides of my thighs, the stuff dripping from my ass, the stuff left stuck to my pussy. That’s what you’d do for me, right, my love? You’d clean up after two other men without a word, swallowing it like the good cuckold you are.”
That night, after filming, I didn’t shower. I got dressed quickly and went straight home. My breath was soaked with the smell of the two of them, of my own sweat, of everything. My underwear was drenched, the semen still leaking out of my cunt and my ass as I walked, sliding slowly against the fabric. I had rinsed my mouth in a public bathroom, but the trace was still there, stubborn, like a ghost refusing to leave. I could taste the salt stuck to the roof of my mouth, embedded between my teeth.
Mateo was on the sofa, in the dark, with the TV off. I sat beside him without saying anything and laid my head on his shoulder, just like any other night.
“How was your day, darling?” he asked, and his voice came out broken somewhere.
“Exhausting,” I answered, and turned to kiss him.
It was a deep kiss, a tongue looking for his, forcing him to taste me whole. He tensed immediately. His whole body hardened like a rope about to snap. He pulled his head away a few centimeters, confused.
“Carolina… you smell… weird.”
“Weird how?” I asked, innocent as anything, leaning in again, this time to the hollow of his neck. “Like me, I guess. I’ve had an impossible day.”
“No… it’s something else. It’s stronger. It’s… ” he was searching for the word and afraid to find it. “It’s a salty smell. Like chlorine.”
I smiled in the dark, where he couldn’t see me. I had him exactly where I wanted him. I knew perfectly well what I smelled like. Like dried semen stuck to the back of my throat.
“Oh, yeah, you’re right. Today I tried a new protein shake, some disgusting one. It tastes awful and it sticks to me. Must be that. Don’t you like it?” and I kissed him again, even deeper, shoving my tongue in until it knocked against his, so he’d have no escape, so he’d unknowingly swallow the trail of the two cocks that had filled my mouth barely two hours earlier.
He let me, but his body was one tight knot of tension. He was kissing his girlfriend and, at the same time, in some corner of his head, he was smelling another man. He was swallowing humiliation without fully understanding it. And worst of all, what was going to hurt him most later: his cock got hard, so hard it pulled the fabric of his pants taut. A traitor hidden in his own underwear. I ran my hand over him as if by accident and felt the thick, throbbing bulge. I smiled against his mouth. The fucking bastard was getting hard from the taste of other men’s cum on my tongue.
***
The next video, my favorite piece, I titled “Dinner for the One Who Doesn’t Know.” The scene was the discreet corner of an expensive restaurant. Me, in a tight black dress and the balaclava, under the table. An older man, with elegant gray hair and a gold watch, was eating with studied calm. I had opened his fly, pulled out a long, thick cock, and shoved it all the way into my mouth without him even changing expression. I worked slowly, unhurriedly, sucking it with my lips tight around the shaft, bobbing my head up and down, circling my tongue around the glans, while the hidden camera focused on the movement of my head against the tablecloth. I licked his balls, took them into my mouth one by one, ran my tongue under the shaft from base to tip. Every so often he pushed on the back of my neck with his palm, setting a rhythm that wasn’t mine, forcing it down until my eyes filled with tears and a muffled moan slipped out. I drooled all over his cock, soaked his pants, and he kept cutting his meat with a knife as if nothing were happening. When the waiter came over to refill the glass, he shoved his dick to the back of my throat and held it there, still, while he ordered a wine in a steady voice. I couldn’t breathe. I could only swallow against the throbbing glans blocking my throat. That made me squeeze my thighs, my cunt soaking my panties, making myself cum without anyone touching me.
“While you eat your boring dinner at home, I’m down here on my knees with a stranger’s cock in my mouth, treating myself to something much better. Imagine my face, my love. Imagine my lips swollen from sucking it when I get back and give you your goodnight kiss. Imagine I tell you I had a very long, exhausting meeting. And that all that time I did nothing but this, sucking off a rich old man, so that you, in your ignorance, can keep bragging about me, fucking cuckold.”
The man finished with an almost imperceptible grunt, pressing my neck against his groin, and emptied all his cum into my mouth. Thick, hot, so much that it almost didn’t fit. I kept it all, without swallowing at once, leaving it on my tongue, staring fixedly at the lens. Then I opened my mouth to show the white pool between my teeth and swallowed it slowly, sucking until the last drop hanging from his glans. I wiped the corner of my mouth with my finger, sucked my finger, stood up, smoothed my dress with both calm hands, and left the place like someone leaving a work meeting, with the taste of another man stuck to my palate.
When I got home, Mateo was waiting awake, as always. He looked like the shadow of himself, eyes sunk deep, three days’ worth of beard.
“How did the meeting go?” he asked without looking at me.
“Never-ending, my love. I’m dead.” I went straight to him, wrapped my arms around him, and gave him exactly the goodnight kiss I had promised him in front of the camera, without his knowing. I shoved my tongue all the way in, rubbed it against his, made him swallow the sticky trace still left in my mouth.
He went completely still. He didn’t kiss me back. He only smelled me, slowly, like an animal recognizing an old danger. His whole body trembled under my hands. He was smelling another man in my mouth, tasting a stranger’s cum on my tongue, the definitive proof, the only one that mattered. But it was proof he could never present to anyone. A smell. A taste. A suspicion. An idea anyone would dismiss as madness.
I pulled back just enough and saw his eyes shining, halfway between tears and something darker. And I saw the bulge in his pants too, hard again, his cock betraying him while his brain screamed the opposite.
“Carolina… are you…?” he began, and couldn’t finish the sentence.
“Am I what, my love?” I replied, stroking his cheek with the falsest, most perfect tenderness I could manage, while with my other hand I brushed the bulge through the fabric. “I’m shattered. Let’s go to bed. I love you.”
And there was the key to everything. If I denied it sweetly, with that tired-girlfriend tenderness, he was left with nowhere to plant his rage. He couldn’t yell at a woman who hugged him and told him “I love you.” He couldn’t accuse me without turning himself into the monster, the jealous lunatic inventing betrayals where there were none. Every soft gesture of mine was another turn of the screw. I was locking him inside a cage made from my own sweetness.
I turned and walked toward the bedroom, leaving him standing in the dark living room, with the taste of my betrayal still on his lips, his cock hard against his pants, and the absolute certainty that he was losing his mind. I heard him stay behind, breathing deeply, like someone trying not to collapse.
That night he went to bed late. I felt him slip under the sheets carefully, trying not to touch me, keeping between us an invisible border only he knew about. For hours he felt my calm breathing beside him and knew, without being able to prove it, that that same mouth that kissed him had sucked another cock just hours earlier, that that same cunt he no longer dared touch still held the moisture of a stranger inside. And I, with my eyes closed and my face buried in the pillow, smiled.
Because the real work of art wasn’t in any video, or any anonymous profile, or the comments from strangers who would never see my face. The real work of art was right there, inside Mateo’s head, playing on a loop in the darkness of our own bedroom. Every future kiss would be a doubt. Every smell on my breath, a question without an answer. Every “I love you” from me, a knife wrapped in silk.
I had turned him into something far worse than a cheated-on man. I had turned him into a man who knew and could prove nothing, who suspected and hated himself for suspecting, who desired me precisely when he should have despised me most, who jerked off in the bathroom with my smell in his head thinking of the cocks filling me while he wasn’t there. That contradiction was my finest revenge, the kind that leaves no mark and never heals.
I moved closer to him in bed, slid an arm over his chest, and felt his heart racing under my hand. I lowered my hand a little more and brushed his cock through his boxer briefs: it was hard as a rock. I smiled in the dark. I kissed his shoulder softly and whispered against his skin a “sleep well, my love” that sounded like a caress and fell like a sentence. He said nothing. He only squeezed his eyelids shut while I let myself drift into the most peaceful sleep in the world.
