I Confess What You Did to Me That Night

I never told you with all the words, so now I’m writing it to you. That night changed something between us, even though on the outside we kept being the same. I was my usual self: the one who decided, the one who set the rules, the one who acted hard to get because I liked feeling important. And you let me believe it. What I didn’t know was that you were waiting for the exact moment to show me who was really in charge.

That afternoon we had argued over something stupid, one of those fights of mine where I raise my voice and you go quiet, staring at me with a calm that drives me out of my mind. I barely ate dinner, answering in monosyllables, convinced you’d be sleeping on the couch that night. I was wrong. You only made mistakes with me when it suited you to make them.

I got into bed with my back to you, still angry, still wanting you to apologize to me. And then I felt your hand on my hip, unhurried, without permission, reminding me that anger had never taken away my desire. I wanted to shove you off with a slap. I didn’t.

It started slowly, the way you like. You undressed me without rushing, undoing each button as if you had the whole night ahead of you. You stroked every inch of my skin, kissed here, there, with no order, no visible plan. I breathed deeply, trying to keep a straight face, that mask of the woman who controls everything.

I let you do it because I told myself I was the one allowing you. Another one of my lies. The truth is my body had already decided for me long before my pride did, and you could tell by the way my skin prickled every time your fingers brushed a new spot.

But you were already turning me on, and we both knew it.

Then you pushed me onto the bed. It wasn’t a violent shove, but it wasn’t gentle either: it was just enough to remind me that I wasn’t going to be calling the shots that night. You moved in at once, giving me no time to react, not letting my pride rebuild itself.

You opened my legs and climbed over me. You reached my mouth and kissed me, and while you kissed me you bit my lips, slowly, with that intention I know so well. I felt your teeth and a shiver ran down my back. I wanted to say something clever, something that would put me back in control, but nothing came out.

You came down abruptly, spreading my legs wider with your hands. You kissed those lips of mine that you like so much, down there, and for a second I thought you were going straight for my cunt. I braced myself for that sensation. I closed my eyes.

But no.

You opened me with your fingers, and just when I thought you were going for the center, you went a little lower and licked my ass. I jolted and let out a sigh I couldn’t hold back.

—You bastard —I said, in a voice that no longer sounded quite so self-possessed.

You lifted your head and looked me in the eyes. You didn’t say anything. You didn’t need to. In that look there was a smile that undid me, one that told me, “you haven’t seen anything yet.”

You went back to licking my asshole, this time with your tongue flat, slowly, and you blew over my cunt, which you kept open with your fingers. Then again the tongue back there, relentless. I moaned. I was starting to get fucking horny, and I hated how fast you managed it.

That feeling of having everything open, exposed, as if you were going to devour me whole, made me nervous in a way I can’t explain. It wasn’t fear. It was desire in its purest form, desire for you to keep going with whatever you had in mind, whatever it was.

And the worst part was that I no longer remembered the fight from the afternoon. I didn’t remember that I was going to make you sleep on the couch, or that I wanted an apology. There was only your tongue and the wait, and the wait was almost as good as what came after. You knew that. That’s why you took your time.

And you kept going. Lick after lick, without stopping, without mercy. I felt your warm, wet tongue passing over the same spot again and again, and that spot was starting to soften, as if it were giving in, as if it were asking permission for more. I felt it clearly, and I was embarrassed to feel it, and at the same time I didn’t want you to stop.

The lips of my cunt, which you kept open, were beginning to wet themselves on their own, betraying me, telling the truth my mouth didn’t dare say.

I turned my head a little to look at you over my shoulder. I wanted to see you, to check whether you were as lost as I was. And you were. Your face was buried between my buttocks, your eyes closed, focused as if there were nothing else in the world but that piece of me. That image undid me more than any caress.

I buried my face in the pillow again because I was embarrassed for you to see how much I liked it. All my life I’d been taught that this was dirty, that a decent woman didn’t ask for something like that, that she didn’t even think about it. And there I was, lifting my ass toward your mouth, asking you without words, begging you with my hips.

You kept going with your tongue back there, passionate, stubborn, never stopping opening me up in front. You had me desperate, waiting for you to touch me where I needed it most, but you didn’t. You just licked and licked the same place. I gripped the sheets with both hands, clenching them, as if that would help me hold out, as if I had something to prove.

I couldn’t think about anything anymore. Only feel. Your tongue going over me, and every so often a pause so you could put your mouth on me and kiss me there, with your lips, the same way you kiss a mouth. The sensation grew strong, too strong to keep pretending.

Then I noticed your tongue stiffening. The tip pushed, trying to slip inside, and my moans didn’t wait. They filled the room, impossible to stop. I felt like a slut, completely a slut, at your mercy, with not a single protest, not asking for anything, just enjoying whatever you wanted to give me.

The tongue started to enter, without resistance. That ass was yours, your mouth’s, yours. It was as if you became my owner in that instant. Me, so argumentative, so full of myself, so queen of everything, and it turned out you possessed me however you pleased. It was ironic. But that was how it was, and I stopped fighting it.

You started moving as if you were fucking me with your tongue. I felt it go in and out, twist, push, while in front you wet me more and more. I started moving my hips. I had to. I wanted to feel it deeper, more, always more.

You had taught me well to enjoy this, to be eaten out and fucked in the ass. That practice was what kept me submissive when you took me, the thing that wiped out all my airs of being untouchable in one stroke.

You kept going. You could feel my hips moving. You knew I was enjoying it, that I was already turned on enough to come, and then you picked up the pace, you fucked me with your tongue with a new urgency.

My voice sounded louder and louder.

—Bastard… bastard…

And my movements sped up, helping you, seeking that tongue deeper, further in, shamelessly.

—Bastard… bastard…

I was going to come. I felt it rising from very deep down, unstoppable. And I started saying your name, louder and louder, without even bothering to keep the volume down.

—Adrián… Adrián… Adrián…

When you heard me naming you, your name coming out of my mouth over and over in that aroused voice I couldn’t even control myself, you knew you had me exactly where you wanted me.

You pulled out your tongue and, in its place, slipped in your middle finger. You sank it in slowly while bringing your mouth forward to those lips you kept opening with your other hand, the ones that were oozing all the proof of what you were doing to me.

You pressed your mouth there and took my clit between your lips. You sucked like a man possessed, feeling how I writhed with pleasure beneath you, how I kept repeating your name without stopping. You sucked at the front while your finger kept working at the back, in that asshole that had taken me right to the edge and now felt full, soft, completely surrendered.

I came with a force that left me shaking. It wasn’t a discreet orgasm, the kind I pretend to control. It was one of those that folds you in half, leaves you breathless, with your legs open and your face buried in the pillow to smother the cry.

My legs were trembling on their own, without my being able to stop them, and I felt my whole body closing around your finger and your mouth, holding you in, not wanting to let you go yet. I was saying your name between gasps, no volume now, almost no voice, like a prayer. You didn’t let up until I stopped moving completely.

Your mouth didn’t stop sucking until it seemed you had dried me out completely, down to the last drop of that orgasm you brought out of me, you alone, with your fucking patience.

I stayed still for a few seconds, catching my breath, feeling my heart pounding against my chest. You lifted your head and looked at me again, with that same smile from the beginning, the one that said, “you haven’t seen anything yet.”

Because we both knew that wasn’t the end.

It had been the preparation. By then you already had me ready to begin for real, docile and open, with no pride left to defend, with no desire to be in charge. And that, I finally confess to you, was the night I understood why I liked giving you control so much.