I Asked Him Again for What I Wanted at His Apartment

By the time I stepped into the elevator, my pulse was already racing. It wasn’t fear. It was that mixture of embarrassment and hunger that had lodged itself in my body from the first time Darío wrote to me, bluntly, that he wanted to see me do in person everything I dared to put in an email.

We had spent weeks provoking each other with messages that grew more direct by the day. It had started with a stupid little game, a sentence thrown out in the middle of the night, a fantasy written almost to find out whether the other person would get scared. Neither of us did. Quite the opposite. Every reply went a little farther, and every night ended with moisture between my thighs and the feeling that I couldn’t breathe.

He didn’t promise romance. He promised presence, firm hands, orders whispered in my ear, and an almost obscene attention to every detail of my body. I wasn’t looking for tenderness either. I wanted to find out whether the man who made me tremble with a screen between us could make me lose my mind when he had me less than a foot away.

I rang the bell and, while I waited, looked at myself one last time in the dark reflection of the hallway window. Under my dress I was wearing black stockings, a garter belt, and a set I had chosen with him in mind. Not out of coquettishness. As a challenge. I knew he would notice at once.

The door opened unhurriedly. Darío held my gaze before stepping aside to let me in. He was wearing a black shirt with the sleeves rolled up and a calm expression that made me more nervous than if he had devoured me with his eyes.

—I thought you were going to back out —he said, closing the door behind me.

—I thought you were going to make me wait longer —I replied, though my voice came out lower than I wanted.

His smile was slight, almost insolent. A low, slow beat was playing in the living room, the kind that sounded like amplified heartbeats. There were no candles or ridiculous staging. Just dim light, a dark sofa, a low table, and that charged atmosphere that forms when two people have been imagining the same thing for too long.

I left my bag on a chair and turned toward him. He didn’t give me time to say anything else. He wrapped one hand around my waist and backed me against the entryway wall with a calmness that undid me. It wasn’t a rough shove. It was worse: measured, confident pressure, enough to make it clear that from that moment on, he would set the pace.

His mouth found my neck, and I felt the first brush of his lips just below my ear. He took his time. He breathed against my skin before kissing me, as if he wanted to savor me even before truly touching me. I closed my eyes and rested my head against the wall, giving him access, already panting over something that hadn’t even begun yet.

—You smell just like I imagined —he murmured.

His hands slid down my sides and stopped at my hips. He felt the garter straps through the dress and let out a short, satisfied laugh. Then he looked straight at me, taking me in slowly, until the silence between us became unbearable.

—Lift your skirt.

He didn’t shout or harden his voice. He didn’t need to. I obeyed. I raised it with clumsy fingers until the stockings and black lace were exposed. His gaze changed. It became cruder, hungrier. He spread my legs slightly with his knee and squeezed my thigh.

—So you came prepared.

—You said you couldn’t stand half-measures.

—And you said you wanted me to make you ask for it.

A shiver ran through me. Not because of the words, but because of the way he remembered them. I had written that line one night, half aroused and half embarrassed, never thinking I would later have to stand by it with my body.

His fingers slid along the inside of my thigh, barely brushing me over the fabric. I was already wet. So wet that I felt both annoyed and relieved when he found out for himself. He stroked my crotch over my panties and pulled a sharp moan from me.

—Look at me —he ordered.

I held his eyes while he rubbed me with slow, precise movements, seeking exactly the place that undid me. His thumb pressed where I was most sensitive, and I felt my legs weaken. He saw it. Of course he saw it. And instead of speeding up, he withdrew his hand.

—Not yet.

—Don’t play with me —I blurted, breathing badly.

—If you came all the way here, you came to play.

Then he kissed me. Not on the neck now, but on the mouth, hard and wet, thrusting his tongue in without asking permission. I grabbed his shirt and wrinkled it in my fists while he caught my jaw with one hand. He kissed the way he wrote in his emails: direct, confident, without useless delicacies. The sound of our mouths filled the entryway and aroused me more than I wanted to admit.

He pulled back just far enough to unzip my dress. He opened it slowly, sliding the fabric over my shoulders until I was left in lingerie and heels. The cooler air of the apartment raised goosebumps on my skin. He watched me as if he had just unwrapped something he had been waiting for far too long.

—Turn around.

I obeyed again. I felt his hands on my back, moving down to the garter belt’s clasp, tracing the curve of my ass over the fabric. He grabbed me firmly, squeezing hard enough to make me let out a breath through my nose. Then he moved my hair aside and bit my shoulder.

—You have no idea how many times I’ve jerked off imagining you like this.

The crudeness of hearing him say it turned me on even more. I didn’t try to seem refined.

—Then stop talking and touch me.

He yanked my panties down to my thighs. He didn’t take them off completely. He left them caught uselessly between the garter straps and slipped two fingers between my legs. They went in easily, sliding through all the wetness I already had. My back arched on its own and I let out a louder moan.

—Fuck —he said against my ear—. You’re dripping.

His fingers moved inside me with a firm, unhurried rhythm while his thumb rubbed my clitoris. I felt him opening me with his hand, working me from behind, pressed against my ass, his breathing growing thicker by the second. I pushed against his palm without meaning to, needy, ridiculously needy, and he held my hip so I wouldn’t lose my balance.

—Say it.

—Say what?

He pushed his fingers deeper, and I had to bite my lip to keep from screaming.

—What you want.

I swallowed. It turned me on to say it. It embarrassed me too, and that was exactly why I said it.

—I want you to fuck me.

He slowly withdrew his fingers and put them in my mouth. I sucked them without taking my eyes off the narrow entryway mirror, watching myself half naked, my mascara still intact and my expression already gone. Darío watched me lick my own wetness from his fingers and smiled crookedly.

—Good girl. But ask again when you’re more desperate.

He took me by the arm and led me into the living room. The low table was pushed aside when he bent me over it to kiss my back. He dropped to his knees behind me, moved my useless panties aside, and spread my legs wider with his hands. The first lick made my whole body tremble.

He didn’t start gently. He licked me from bottom to top with his tongue held flat, then buried his mouth directly where he knew he could destroy me. I gripped the edge of the table and closed my eyes, feeling his beard scrape the inner skin of my thighs while he ate my pussy as if he had been hungry for days.

—Don’t stop —I panted.

He answered by pushing his tongue deeper into me. Then one finger. Then two. His face was buried between my legs and the wet sound of his mouth was driving me insane. Every time he sucked my clitoris hard, my knees weakened. Every time he penetrated me with his fingers and then curled them inside me, I saw white flashes behind my eyelids.

I wanted to sit up and find his mouth, touch him, do something besides hold myself up, but he planted a hand on my back and kept me bent over the table.

—Stay still.

That single word went straight through me. I stayed there, open for him, panting while he fucked me with his mouth and hand. My pussy throbbed without pause. I could feel myself getting close, my abdomen tightening, my thighs trembling.

—Darío... I’m going to come.

—Ask me.

The order drew a frustrated moan from me. He was taking me to the edge, and he knew it perfectly well. I raised my hips a little, seeking more friction, and he answered with a sharp slap to my ass. It didn’t really hurt, but it lit me up like a spark.

—Ask properly.

—Let me come —I blurted, my voice breaking.

Only then did he speed up. His tongue became harder, faster, and his fingers moved in and out with brutally exact timing. I lost every shred of dignity in a matter of seconds. I moaned his name, swore, spread my legs wider, and came over his mouth with such a powerful spasm that I had to brace myself on both forearms to keep from falling.

The orgasm shook me from my pussy to my neck. I felt everything contracting around his fingers, while he kept licking me even when I could barely stand it anymore. When he finally pulled away, I was still trembling.

I turned to look at him. His mouth was glistening and his expression held an obscene satisfaction. He stood without stopping his gaze and opened his shirt just enough to unbutton his pants. I stayed still, my chest still rising and falling far too quickly.

His cock came out hard and thick, already tense against his abdomen. I had imagined that moment so many times that for a second it almost seemed unreal to have it in front of me. I reached out, but he gently pushed my hand away.

—On your knees.

I lowered myself slowly onto the rug. Not out of blind submission, but because I wanted to be there. Because I wanted to smell him, touch him, feel the weight of that fantasy turned into flesh. I gripped him at the base and stroked him once, feeling him grow even harder.

—Now you can touch —he murmured.

I ran my tongue over the tip and felt his held breath. Then I opened wider, took him into my mouth, and began to suck him slowly. He held my hair with one hand without pulling, barely guiding me. I played with him for a while, licking him, wetting him, taking as much of him as I could while massaging his balls with my other hand.

—Fuck, yes... like that.

I liked hearing him finally lose his controlled tone. I sucked him deeper. I tried to take him all the way, feeling him brush my throat, and had to pull away for a second to breathe. A strand of saliva hung from my lip, and he wiped it away with his thumb before pushing the tip back against my mouth.

—Look at me while you swallow my cock.

I did. I looked at him as I lowered myself again, relaxing my throat as best I could, feeling him fill my mouth. His jaw tightened and he held my hair more firmly. He didn’t force me. He didn’t let me pretend innocence either. Every time I came up, he guided me back down, setting a rhythm that had me getting wet again too.

I pulled his cock out and masturbated him in front of him, slowly, thoroughly slick with saliva. Then I licked his balls, his shaft, his frenulum. I wanted to hear him moan. I wanted to show him that I knew how to make him ask for more too.

—Enough —he said at last, his breathing more ragged—. Stand up and come here.

He laid me on my back on the sofa. The fabric of my stockings caught against the edge, and I felt a run open in one of them. Darío looked at the tear and ran a finger along the broken line with a satisfied grimace, as if even that small accident fit the scene.

He positioned himself between my legs, lifted one of them over his shoulder, and rubbed the tip against my entrance. My pussy gave a pulse of pure anticipation. I had been ready for a while, dripping, open, desperate for him to stop torturing me.

—Say it again.

I hated him a little for that. I wanted him more because of it.

—Fuck me already.

He thrust in all at once. A scream tore out of me. Not because he hurt me, but because of the violence of the relief. The feeling of being filled in an instant, of finally having inside me what I had imagined for so long, left me speechless for several seconds. All I could do was grip the back of the sofa and spread my legs wider.

Darío stayed still for a moment, completely inside me, enjoying the way I squeezed him. Then he began to move. Slowly at first. Pulling almost all the way out and then driving back in to the hilt. Each thrust made me bump against the sofa and threw my breathing further out of order.

—This is how I wanted you —he said through his teeth—. Open, wet, and asking me for it.

I had no elegant answer. Only moans. Only the urge to lift my hips to take him better. I gripped his forearms and dug in my nails as he increased the pace. The room filled with the wet sound of penetration, his body striking mine, my pants growing less and less restrained.

He released my leg and grabbed both my hips. He began fucking me harder without losing his precision. Each thrust entered the same spot, hard and exact, and I felt pleasure rising again from my belly. My pussy swallowed and squeezed him hungrily, and he answered by fucking me even harder.

—Fuck... yes... don’t stop —I told him, with no pride left.

—That’s it. Talk to me.

—Harder.

He gave me exactly that. The sofa creaked beneath us. My tits bounced with every blow, and he lowered one hand to grab one, squeeze it, and pinch my nipple with just enough roughness to make me moan louder. Then he kissed me with the same brutality he was fucking me with. His tongue, his hips, his hand between my legs searching for my clitoris: everything came together.

I couldn’t hold his gaze when he began rubbing me down there while continuing to penetrate me. I closed my eyes and let myself be swept away. My body entered that state in which nothing mattered except the next thrust, the next pressure, the next exact brush.

—Don’t come yet —he said, and abruptly removed his hand.

I moaned in pure frustration.

—You’re an asshole.

—And you’re enjoying it.

He pulled out of me and sat me up almost immediately. He turned me around and bent me over the arm of the sofa. My cheek rested against the fabric, one leg folded beneath me and the other barely supporting me. I felt one sharp slap on my ass, then another, harder, leaving my skin burning in a delicious way.

—You like it.

—Yes —I admitted, with no air left to pretend otherwise.

He spread me wider with one hand and entered me from behind again. It was even more intense that way. I felt him deeper, more animal. Each thrust pushed me forward and made me moan into the sofa. He held my hip with one hand and my hair with the other, pulling just enough to arch me further.

—Look at yourself —he said, angling me slightly toward the living-room mirror.

I saw the blurred reflection of my half-naked body, the torn stocking, my reddened ass, his large hand holding me, and his cock disappearing inside me again and again. The image fired something filthy and exciting through my mind. It wasn’t only that he was fucking me. It was seeing myself being fucked exactly as I had fantasized.

I brought one hand between my legs and began to touch myself. Darío let out a rough laugh when he saw me.

—That’s it. Finish the job.

I kept masturbating while he fucked me without pause. The angle was perfect; his thrusts and my fingers coordinated until they made me completely useless. I moaned without restraint, my face pressed against the sofa, my body tense, feeling that the orgasm coming was bigger than the first.

—I’m going to come —I said, almost spitting out the words.

—Then come.

I didn’t need to hear it twice. I came with a violent shudder, squeezing him so tightly inside me that he let out a curse. My clitoris throbbed beneath my fingers, my legs weakened, and still Darío kept fucking me for several seconds, taking advantage of every contraction of my orgasm.

Then he lifted me from the sofa and sat me astride him. I guided him inside again myself, lowering slowly onto his cock until I felt all of him. We looked at each other face-to-face. I was still trembling, but I wanted more. That was the most dangerous thing about the whole night: discovering that two orgasms didn’t calm me down, but opened my appetite wider.

I began moving on top of him, rising and falling, setting the pace myself for the first time. My hands were on his shoulders, his on my ass, helping me drop down harder. Every time I drove him all the way in, his mouth opened slightly, and that aroused me in an almost tender way, if anything about that night could be called tender.

—This is what you wanted, right? —I said in his ear, speeding up—. To watch me fuck you like this.

—I wanted everything —he replied, and bit my lip.

The words made me move faster. Sweat glued our skin together. The music continued pounding low in the background, as if accompanying the sway of our hips. I rode his cock hungrily, feeling pleasure rise again, rawer, more exhausted, more disordered. He began thrusting upward to meet me, and the rhythm became frantic.

—Where do you want to come? —I asked, almost voiceless.

His hand rose to my throat, not really squeezing, only holding my neck as he stared directly at me.

—Inside.

The word set me alight. I kept moving, digging my nails into the nape of his neck, seeking him deep again and again. My pussy squeezed him, slippery and hot, increasingly sensitive. He no longer seemed so controlled; he held me with need, with the urgency of a man seconds away from coming and fully aware of it.

—Then come inside me —I whispered—. I want to feel it.

That was enough. He pulled me against his chest and began fucking me from below with short, brutally hard thrusts. I moaned into his shoulder, unable to do anything but take him and keep squeezing him. I felt his whole body tense before orgasm, felt his fingers dig into my hip, and then, with a hoarse groan, he came inside me.

The sensation made me shudder again. It wasn’t a full orgasm, but it was a final, wet, trembling wave that left me without strength. I stayed wrapped around him for several seconds, breathing with my face buried in his neck while his cock continued pulsing inside me.

Neither of us spoke right away. The only sounds were our breathing and the distant music. He stroked my back once, slowly, and withdrew from me as calmly as he had entered me. I felt the emptiness, the fatigue in my legs, and the heat still open between them.

I moved away just enough to look at him. His hair was somewhat tousled, his shirt open, and he wore that insolent half-smile that had won me over from the first message. I must have looked like a thoroughly fucked woman, because when I ran my tongue over my lip, I saw him watching me hungrily again.

—Now you look just like you do in my fantasies —he said.

—Your fantasies fell short.

His laugh was low and satisfied. He settled me more comfortably on his lap and brushed my leg, moving up along the torn stocking to the garter strap. That small gesture, after everything that had come before, made me smile in an almost intimate way.

—The best part —he murmured— is that now I know what to ask you for next time.

I held his gaze, my body still throbbing inside and the memory of every order, every tongue, every thrust still fresh. Then I remembered the sentence that had started our game weeks earlier, the one that that night had finally stopped being a written fantasy.

I leaned toward his ear and returned it to him as a promise.

—Ask again for what you want.