I Confessed in a Story Everything He Did to Me That Afternoon

—Do you feel like a quick one? —you ask from the office doorway.

I lift my eyes from the document. I’ve spent half an hour correcting the same paragraph and haven’t made any progress. You’re leaning in the frame, with the towel slung over your shoulder and that half smile I know far too well.

—Okay —I answer, without thinking too much about it.

—I’ll shower quick and come back.

When you come out of the bathroom, your smell reaches me before you do: clean soap, warm skin, that mix of you I recognize in the dark. Your hair is still wet and the towel is badly knotted around your waist, the one you only put on when we’ve already decided what’s going to happen.

—Should I put on anything special? —I ask you, getting up from the chair.

You kiss me softly on the lips, barely with the tip of your tongue, just enough to make my skin prickle.

—The lace stockings. The ones that go up to your thigh.

—And the thong with the little bow?

—And the thong with the little bow.

I smile. I know exactly what you’re going to ask for before you even ask.

—I’m also going to put on the black babydoll, the one that hardly covers anything.

—That one too.

I go into the bathroom and take off my plush robe, my socks, my jeans, my T-shirt. I strip off the burgundy set I was wearing underneath and put on the black babydoll. The fabric clings to my breasts and my nipples show at once, hard before you even touch me. I pull up the thong string, that tiny thing, with the little bow in back that you love to undo with your teeth so much. Then the stockings, one leg and then the other, carefully adjusting the lace over my thigh so it doesn’t roll down.

I look at myself in the mirror for a second. There’s something about feeling dressed like this just for you that turns a gray day into something else.

When I come out to the bedroom, you’ve left a cushion on the floor at the foot of the bed. You’re sitting on the edge of the mattress, waiting. I kneel on the cushion without you having to tell me. There’s something about kneeling in front of you that loosens something inside me, something only you understand.

You lean down and kiss me on the forehead. It’s not a bed kiss, it’s a you’re here kiss. Then your hands slide down my shoulders, warm against my always-cold skin, and you lower the babydoll straps. You free one breast. You pinch the nipple slowly, looking me in the eyes. When I make a sound against your mouth, you smile and do the same to the other one.

Your mouth travels down my neck, finds the nipple, sucks it. Pleasure gathers there and from there it spreads everywhere. One hand slides over my belly, under the thong string, and finds my clit. I’m wet before you get there. You know it. You smile against my breast.

—Let me suck you off —I ask, gripping your thighs.

You stand up. The towel falls to the floor. I have you right at mouth level, hard, already dripping a little. I take you all in at once. I’m greedy. I’ve spent half the afternoon imagining it.

My hands go up the backs of your thighs and I grab your ass, pulling you against me. I love having you like this. I love feeling you fill my mouth, stretching my lips, feeling the head hit the back of my throat and breathing through my nose so I don’t have to stop. Your hands in my hair, setting the pace.

—Tonight I want you to finish in my mouth —I tell you when I manage to let go for a second—. I want to swallow it all.

—We’ll see about that.

I go down, lick your balls, try to get them both in my mouth. I rub your cock over my cheek, over my neck, marking myself with your saliva and mine mixed together.

—You suck me off so well —you say, your voice hoarse—. But come here first. I want to fuck you for a while.

You lie down and I climb on top of you. I move the thong string to the side; I don’t take it off. I grip you with one hand and guide your head to my opening. When I let myself drop and you enter all the way at once, I let out a sound that is half moan, half relief. I’ve needed this for too long.

You pull the babydoll up to bring my breasts to your mouth. Your hands close over my ass. I move slowly at first, finding the rhythm. Then faster, thighs open over yours, feeling you so deep I don’t know what to do with my voice.

Without warning, you take the vibrator out of the nightstand drawer. You switch it on and slip it inside the thong, right against my clit. The fabric holds it there. Every movement I make presses it harder.

—Adrián, you’re going to make me come right away like this.

—That’s the point.

I move faster and faster. My breasts bounce, your mouth chases them. The orgasm comes like a long wave, one of those that won’t let you breathe. I cling to your shoulders, my thighs shaking. You hold me by the hips so I can keep going, even though for a second I can’t move. You kiss me to swallow the sound I make.

When I recover something close to speech, I repeat it to you.

—Tonight I want you to finish in my mouth.

—Suck me for a little longer. Then I want you on all fours for a bit. After that I’ll decide.

I get off you. Your cock is soaked with me, with my orgasm, shining. I go down and suck it like that, with my own taste over it. There’s nothing more obscene and nothing that gets me hotter.

—Get on all fours.

I position myself at the edge of the bed, knees on the mattress, shoulders and face on the sheets, ass in the air. The thong cuts into one cheek. I know how you see me from there. I know exactly how you see me.

You run the head of your cock along my slit, up and down, slowly, until you move the string aside and go in. The feeling of being filled is always the same and always new. I never get tired of it. I’ll never get tired of it.

You grab my hips and fuck me in and out slowly. Too slowly.

—Adrián, please.

—You move.

You stay still. I push my ass back against you, setting the pace myself, impaling myself on your cock at the rhythm I need. You pull a sound from me when you shove in hard right as I pull back. I feel you so deep I bite the sheet.

—So good, so good, so good.

—I’m going to fill your mouth. And you’re going to swallow it all.

—Yes, yes, yes.

You pull out of me. I turn and kneel on the bed again. You grab my hair, gathering it in a fist, holding my head at exactly the right height. I open my mouth. You take yourself in hand with the other hand and I watch you as you finish. I see the second your body tenses, that little flex I already know, and then the first spurt lands hot and thick on my tongue. Then the second. You shove yourself into my mouth for the last ones, emptying yourself without hurry, and I lick the tip until the last drop.

I keep my mouth closed, your taste still un-swallowed. You stroke my hair. I sit up and part my lips to show you, so you can see I’ve got it all there, all yours, before I swallow.

—I love it when you finish in my mouth —I say when I can speak—. It turns me on in a way I can’t even explain.

—You do it for me too —you answer, and kiss me on the forehead.

***

I go back to the office wearing the babydoll, the thong, the stockings, and nothing else. Your taste is still in my mouth. The story I’d spent all morning trying to write doesn’t matter anymore. I open a new document and pour out what just happened. I write quickly, without correcting, still breathing unevenly, before it can slip away. When I’m done, I copy the text and email it to you.

Then I change. I keep the thong on, but I put the burgundy bra back on, the sweater, the jeans. I go downstairs to the kitchen and make myself a coffee. Sitting on the stool, cup in hand, I can still feel the heat between my thighs, the aftertaste on my tongue, the throb under the fabric of the string. I check my email. You’ve opened it.

When I go back up, you’re waiting standing in the middle of the room. You don’t say anything at first. Your chest against mine, your mouth finding mine with a kiss that isn’t a greeting. It’s a reply.

—On all fours again —you say against my lips.

I only take off my jeans. I pull them off without stopping looking at you. I get back into position, at the edge of the bed, shoulders on the mattress, back arched. Your hand closes over my ass cheek with a possessive, hungry squeeze.

You move to one side, by my face. You’re hard again, pointing at me. I open my mouth and take you in. I barely taste you on my tongue and my sex tightens on its own. I didn’t expect this second round. It was triggered by what I wrote. That turns me on even more.

—Touch yourself while you suck me.

I slip one hand down my belly, inside the thong, and find myself drenched. I stroke myself while I take you all the way in. Then I hear the familiar buzz. You’ve picked up the vibrator again. You slip it in under the string and leave it pressed to my clit. I close my thighs to hold it in place.

I suck you desperately, mouth full, eyes half-lidded, my hips moving on their own against the air, against the bed, against the vibrator. Your fingers in my hair. My saliva dripping down my chin.

Without warning you pull out of my mouth and get behind me. You move the string aside and drive in all the way at once. I cry out into the sheet.

—Yes, yes, yes.

I push my ass back. I need to feel all of you, I need everything. You stay still again, letting me do the work, letting me spear myself on your cock at my own rhythm. My ass cheeks slap against your pelvis again and again. The vibrator is still pressed to my clit, held by the thong.

The first orgasm comes fast and doesn’t let me recover. I don’t take the vibrator away. My body jolts with the overload, but I don’t want it to stop. Your hands return to my hips and then you do move, with hard, deep thrusts, setting a rhythm that needs no explanation.

—Fill me, fill me all the way this time.

The second orgasm isn’t just one. It’s a succession. It knocks the air out of me. I turn off the vibrator because I can’t take it anymore. I’m so sensitive I feel the curve of the head every time you pull out, every centimeter on the way back in. It’s almost unbearable. It’s exactly what I want.

—Fill me —I repeat, my voice broken against the sheet.

I feel your orgasm before I hear it. Your cock flexes inside me, you bury yourself as deep as you can and empty yourself. Hot. A lot. You don’t move for a few seconds. Neither do I.

When you pull out, I pick up my jeans from the floor. I button them without changing the thong.

—Now you really are going to leave me soaked all afternoon —I tell you, smiling.

—The email cost you —you answer—. You said this time I’d left you clean because I finished in your mouth. I couldn’t leave you like that. I had to fill you there too.

—I’m going to feel it all day.

—That’s the idea.

I go back down to the office. The coffee cup is cold. I open the document for the story I’d been dragging through the morning, the one nobody’s going to read today. I close it without saving and open the other one, the one I just wrote, the one I emailed you. I give it a title. I add the ending.

The rest of the day goes on like any other. Calls, the shopping list, a phone conversation with my mother, dinner. But when I get up from the sofa a couple of hours later, I feel it. That warm gush sliding out of me, stopping me for a second in the middle of the hallway, passing through the string, the stockings, the denim. Your mark still with me, still inside, still making me wet hours after receiving it.

I lean against the wall for a moment and squeeze my thighs together. I smile to myself.