I Confessed My Fantasy, and Two Weeks Later He Made It Happen

My name is Camila, I’m in my early twenties, and I’m one of those women who seem more innocent than they are. Long, dark hair, attention-grabbing hips, and a mouth that, according to my boyfriend, was made for one thing: to be kept full of his cock until I drooled down my chin.

Andrés and I had been together for four years when what I’m about to tell you happened. We’d been living in the same apartment for two of those years; we knew each other’s gestures, silences, and tastes in bed. And in bed, we understood each other too well.

I like raw sex. I like spankings that leave a red mark until the next day, my hair pulled until my eyes water, pinches on my neck, the unmistakable feeling of being used like a whore by someone who knows what he’s doing. Andrés reads me perfectly. He knows when to fuck me hard against the wall and when to take me slowly from behind, when to call me a slut while he drives his cock all the way in and when to kiss my back, whispering soft things in my ear while he fills my cunt with cum.

Of everything in our repertoire, what I do with my mouth is the most mine. Sucking Andrés’s cock is a ritual, not a favor. I kneel, pull down his pants, and take my time: first I run my tongue from his balls to the tip, then I take his entire cock down my throat until my eyes fill with tears, and stay there for a few seconds, breathing through my nose, feeling it swell inside me. I got into that rhythm almost every night, and if I saw him limp, I’d wake him by kneeling between his legs and swallowing him in my sleepiness, until he got hard inside my mouth. Swallowing every drop of his cum is part of the game: I open my mouth, show him how full it is, and then run my tongue through it before swallowing. For me, it’s a delight; for him, it’s proof that I’m his from head to toe.

I always fulfilled his fantasies. Sex in the alley at four in the morning, his hand covering my mouth while he fucked me standing up with my panties pulled to the side; once on the beach with the tide coming in, sand getting into my ass while he pounded me and I bit his shoulder so I wouldn’t scream; role-playing where I described in lavish detail how a fictional office coworker had fucked me in the bathroom while Andrés jerked off listening and then fucked me himself; slow anal with enough lube to reach my ears, and hurried anal, on all fours, with two of his fingers in my cunt and his entire cock in my ass. Almost nothing was off-limits for me. I ended up liking almost everything more than I admitted.

One morning before dawn, we were talking quietly, watching the ceiling fan. He asked me something he had never asked in four years.

—Do you have any fantasies, Cami?

I laughed.

—What’s that about?

—I don’t know. I’m always telling you mine, and I’ve never asked about yours.

—I have one. But it’s really crazy.

—Tell me.

I held his gaze for a while. The blue light of the alarm clock illuminated half his face.

—You know I love sucking your cock. Well. I’ve always been curious about doing a bukkake. Kneeling down and having a bunch of guys come all over my face at the same time. Finding out what it feels like to have all that hot cum raining down on me.

Andrés was silent for two long seconds. He hadn’t expected that.

—How many?

—I don’t know. In my head, eight or ten. The first time, maybe six. Just to try it.

He laughed softly and squeezed my thigh. I looked at his bulge: he was hard beneath his underwear, outlined clearly.

—You’ve got quite an imagination.

—Jerk. That’s why I hadn’t told you.

—Any others?

—No, I already make up enough for you.

I slid my hand down into his underwear, grabbed his cock, and began slowly massaging it while we talked. I ended up riding him in silence, barely moving, until he filled my cunt and we fell asleep like that, pressed together. I genuinely forgot about the subject. I’d said it and let it go, like when you tell a friend some strange dream and the next day neither of you remembers it.

Two weeks went by.

***

We were coming back from shopping. We’d stopped at a lingerie store—he had insisted on buying me a ridiculous red set, with my tits almost exposed and a thong that was more string than fabric—and at the supermarket. On the way, I saw him turn and pull into the entrance of a motel downtown. I thought he’d gotten horny in a hurry and settled into my seat with a smile, already feeling my thong grow damp just thinking about his cock.

He parked. He didn’t turn off the ignition.

—Baby, you’re going to wonder why we’re here.

—To fuck, right?

—No.

I looked at him.

—Upstairs, there are six guys waiting for you. With six hard cocks waiting for your mouth.

I froze. I felt my body split in two: one part went cold, while the other began throbbing between my legs before my brain understood anything. My cunt suddenly soaked through, as if someone had turned on a faucet.

—What?

—For your fantasy. I’ve been arranging it since the night you told me.

—Andrés, are you serious?

—Completely. I chose them myself. They don’t know you. They’ve had medical tests. They know the rules: when you say enough, it’s enough. And I’ll be there too.

This is real. This is happening.

It took me two minutes to answer. I grabbed his face with both hands and kissed him deeply, sliding my tongue all the way in. I ran my hand over his jeans and found him hard as a rock, outlined from top to bottom, as though he’d spent an hour thinking about seeing my mouth full of someone else’s cum.

—Let’s go.

—Are you sure?

—Yes. But hurry before I lose the urge. My cunt is dripping.

***

We went up a narrow staircase. My heart pounded in my ears, and I felt the juices running down the inside of my thigh. He opened the room door, and I went in behind him. There were six of them. They were talking among themselves, normally dressed. When they saw me, they fell silent. That sudden drop in the noise hit me harder than anything else that night. I felt like livestock, like a beer that had just been served at the table.

—Guys, this is Camila, Andrés said.

I greeted them with a nervous smile. Andrés handed me the bag with the lingerie we’d just bought. I went into the bathroom to change. I looked at myself in the mirror for two seconds, the red bra barely covering my nipples and the thong disappearing between my cheeks. I didn’t quite recognize myself, but I liked what I saw. I ran a finger over my cunt and brought it to my mouth: I tasted like a ready whore.

I came out. They slowly surrounded me, without crowding me. Hands on my waist, my hips, my neck, my ass, my tits over the lace. One mouth found mine, then another. One hand slipped beneath my thong and found my clitoris; another pinched one of my nipples through my bra until I moaned. I let myself go for the first minute, just to get used to the sheer size of six men’s bodies around mine, the heat, the smell of skin and cologne mixed together.

Andrés kissed me over one of their shoulders. That finally made me let go. I needed him there.

I knelt on the carpet. They began undressing around me. Suddenly I had six hard cocks at face level, all different: one thick and short, another long and curved, another black and veiny, another pink with its foreskin pulled back. When they were all around me, I understood why I’d been thinking about this for years. It wasn’t just the kink. It was the feeling of not having to choose between one and another, of being able to move back and forth, of every head I turned finding a new cock waiting for my mouth.

I started with a tall one with enormous hands. I gripped his cock with both hands and took it all the way in, until the tip hit the back of my throat and I gagged. He grabbed the back of my neck and began fucking my mouth at his own pace while I let him. I pulled it out, dripping with spit, and turned to the man beside him, who already had his pointed at my lips. I swallowed that one too, all the way to the balls. Andrés came up behind me and grabbed my hair, not pulling hard, just reminding me that he was there. I let him guide me. I moved from one to another, setting the pace with my breathing, sucking their balls in between, letting their glans slap my cheeks, laughing with my mouth full when one of them whispered that seeing me like that was a dream, with strings of drool hanging from my chin.

Someone got behind me, pulled my thong aside, and shoved three fingers into my cunt at once. I screamed with a cock in my mouth. He began moving them quickly, searching for my spot, while I kept sucking. I felt myself dripping down my thighs onto the carpet. Another spread my ass cheeks and ran his tongue slowly over my hole, without hurrying, while the man in front drove his cock all the way down my throat. I came for the first time right there, trembling, the orgasm interrupting my blowjob. They tore a guttural moan out of me that I hadn’t even known I had.

They moved me onto the bed. One lay down, and I climbed on top of him. I impaled myself on his cock in my cunt in one movement, all the way in, and let out a hoarse cry. Another put his cock in my mouth from behind the first man’s head, leaning over us. A third probed my ass with a finger, applied lube, and began slowly opening me. When he put his cock in my ass while I had another in my cunt and another in my mouth, my vision blurred. The three of them began moving in a rhythm that wasn’t a rhythm, each at his own pace, pushing and shaking me. I was filled through all three holes, moaning around the cock in my mouth, feeling the orgasm building in my belly like a wave that refused to break.

After twenty minutes—or forty, I don’t know—I had no idea how many times I’d come. The changes were continuous: one came inside my cunt, pulled out, and another went in without waiting; the one in my ass would move aside, the next man would position himself, and it would start again. I felt completely open and completely in control at the same time. That contradiction was what I liked most. Every time one of them was about to come inside me, I’d tell him, “No, I want that one outside,” and he’d hold back, pull out, and return to the line.

Then came the part I’d asked for. They formed a line. Andrés went last. I knelt down on the carpet again, with my bra hanging from a single strap and my torn thong tossed aside. One by one, they stood in front of me, jerking off inches from my face, coming wherever I indicated with a gesture. My face, my tongue, my neck, my tits. The first filled my left cheek with a thick, hot jet that reached my hair. The second asked me to open my mouth and emptied himself over my tongue; I kept it open so everyone could see. The third came between my tits, with a muffled cry. The fourth came across my forehead and eyes—I closed them just in time. The fifth asked me to stick out my tongue again and left me a long strand that fell from my chin to my neck. When Andrés came, over everything else, I opened my eyes and we looked at each other for a second. I was drenched. He took a picture of me. I was laughing, my mouth still open and full.

I cleaned myself with my fingers, slowly, watching him. I brought one loaded finger to my mouth and sucked it clean. Then I went to the bathroom for a quick shower.

***

When I came out, this time wearing nothing, they were talking among themselves, relaxed. One offered me some water. Another asked if I was all right, and I appreciated that more than the rest of the evening. Andrés kissed me the way he kisses me when we’re alone. He squeezed one ass cheek, then the other. He slowly slipped a finger into my still-sensitive cunt, then another, then pulled them out dripping wet and ran them over my lips. The others watched, their cocks getting hard again. When they began spanking me together, one on each side, while another pinched my nipples and another shoved two fingers into my ass, as Andrés kept kissing me and whispered, “That’s it, whore, that’s it,” an orgasm hit me hard enough to buckle my knees. I fell forward onto him, trembling, my cunt dripping down the insides of my thighs.

There was a second round. Slower, with more conversation and less urgency. They fucked me on all fours over the bed while I sucked another one; they laid me on my back with my legs spread and took turns coming in my cunt until it overflowed; they sandwiched me with two cocks at once, one in my ass and one in my cunt, while I held one in each hand. That second round was different because it was no longer a discovery. It was an agreement. I decided, and they obeyed. “Come here,” “turn over,” “harder,” “outside, on my face,” “inside, I want to feel it,” and they did whatever I asked.

When they were done, I went to the bathroom again. I got dressed. I went downstairs with Andrés. He drove with one hand and squeezed my thigh with the other, moving upward until he brushed me over my jeans. We didn’t talk much.

—Well? What did you think? he asked at a traffic light.

—It surpassed what I had in my head. My jaw hurts, and I can’t feel my cunt.

He laughed.

—And you? I asked him. How was it for you?

—I liked seeing you like that. With your mouth full. With your face covered. I didn’t expect to like it so much.

That night we fucked like two animals. He shoved it inside me as soon as we closed the door, against the hallway, without even taking all my clothes off. Then on the couch, on all fours, calling me a slut, asking how many cocks I’d had that night, how much cum I’d swallowed. “Nine,” I answered whenever I took it out of my mouth. “Ten with yours.” He ended by emptying himself into my ass, crushing me against the back of the couch. He didn’t ask me anything else. I didn’t ask him for anything else.

***

The following week, he started bringing it up in bed, in a low voice, while he fucked me. “Do you want to do it again?” “How many this time?” “Do you remember how they left your face?” I said yes to everything in that moment, with his cock inside me, biting my lip. Later, dressed and drinking coffee, I’d ask him to make it a surprise next time. Not to warn me. I liked that better.

Two weeks went by. We’d gone to the movies. I’d forgotten about it, this time too. On the way back, he turned right where he shouldn’t have. I recognized the block before the motel. I smiled without looking at him and felt heat rush down to my cunt in two seconds.

—How many?

—Go upstairs and count.

—Tell me.

—No.

We went upstairs. When I entered, I counted silently. Twelve, counting him. Twice as many as the first time. Andrés looked at me from beside the minibar as if to say, “I know what I’m doing.” I nodded and was already unbuttoning my dress before greeting them.

That night was longer, more intense, more chaotic. There’s no point in telling it piece by piece because it blends together in my head as one very long thing: cocks everywhere, hands that never stopped, my cunt open for hours, orgasm after orgasm until I lost count, double penetration with a third cock in my mouth, and a line that covered my face and chest with so much cum that it ran down my cleavage to my belly. What I do remember clearly is the last hour, when they made me kneel and came on my face and neck one after another, twelve cocks unloading one after the next, jerking off over me with their balls striking my forehead and chin. When the last one emptied his cum into my open mouth, I swallowed while looking him in the eyes. And I remember that when I got into the shower, I stayed one second longer beneath the water, feeling it all wash away, and thought this could become a dangerous habit. I also thought I didn’t care.

When I came out, there was no one left but Andrés. I asked him for something new.

—Next time, don’t come with me.

He laughed, but strangely.

—Seriously?

—Seriously. I want to see what happens if you’re not there. If one of them dares to do more.

—You’re a piece of work, Camila.

That night at home, he fucked me as if he wanted to mark his territory. He shoved his cock into my ass without asking, gripping my neck, forcing me to watch myself in the mirror while he pounded me and whispered that I was his, that my mouth was his, that my cunt was his, even if others used it. He came inside me with a growl, pinning me against the mattress. I let him. I liked it.

***

A month passed. We’d gone to the supermarket, the bags were in the trunk, and suddenly I realized he was turning again toward the motel. I laughed to myself. Andrés keeps his word.

He parked. He didn’t turn off the engine.

—They’re waiting for you upstairs.

—You’re not coming up?

—No. I have to take the groceries home and put them away. I’ll be back in three hours.

I looked at him. His face was calm, too calm. I knew what he wanted. It turned me on to know it and not tell him. I could already feel my thong wet.

—So you’re leaving me alone with them?

—Yes. What’s the problem?

—Nothing. See you in three hours.

I got out. I gave him a long kiss and told him yes with my eyes. I went upstairs.

What happened that night, what I decided to do and what I decided not to do, I’ll tell another day. Because this, I swear, is already another story.