I Went Hunting at the Club and Ended Up as the Prey

I’m going to tell you something that happened to me a couple of years ago, one of those nights when you think everything is planned down to the last millimeter and it ends up turning you inside out like a glove. I’m forty-two now; back then I was thirty-nine, freshly out of a long relationship and dying to make up for lost time.

For those who don’t know me, my name is Mariela. I work as a sales agent for a cosmetics company, I travel quite a bit around the region, and that gives me a freedom I learned to enjoy. I’m no model, but I take care of myself: I’m five foot five, slim, and if I set out to catch someone’s attention, I almost always do. My thing is my legs, and that night I put them to work.

During my relationship I had stopped going out. No clubs, no drinks with friends, no dancing until my feet hurt. When it ended, it was like opening a window in a house that had been shut for years. I started going out again, almost always alone, partly for safety and partly so I wouldn’t give my friends a topic to gossip about, because they have me pegged as a prude. I never tell them anything. I prefer to make something up.

That Saturday I got off work at midmorning in a black dress, heels, and a fixed idea in my head: I was going hunting. I had it that clear. I chose a nightclub far from the ones I usually went to, a younger, livelier place, the kind where they celebrate birthdays and people go to have a good time without complications. I got there around eight, ordered something to drink, and sat down to watch.

A couple of guys came over to buy me a drink. I told them the same thing every time: that I was waiting for my partner. It wasn’t true, of course. I was waiting, yes, but I didn’t know for whom. I was looking for something that hadn’t shown up yet.

It showed up after an hour, when I was already thinking about leaving. A group of four came up to my table, all of them college kids celebrating who-knows-what. One of them stood out: looser, more talkative, with a smile that knew exactly what it was doing. He introduced himself as Damián. They asked if they could sit because there were no tables left, and I, faithful to my story, told them I was waiting for my boyfriend but that they could stay until he arrived.

Nobody ever came, of course. And they knew it as well as I did.

We started dancing. First with one, then another, until things heated up and, through laughter, they told me my boyfriend had stood me up. I played along: if they ditched me, I came out ahead, because I had four men to keep me entertained. But the truth was that all my attention had shifted to Damián.

He danced well, talked even better, and had a look in his eyes that made no attempt to hide anything. It wasn’t that the others were shy; it was that he had something. And while we danced, stories from friends came back to me, stray comments, those things one hears and files away without meaning to. I started imagining, and imagination is the worst thing that can happen to a woman who’s in the mood.

***

On one of those turns on the dance floor, I felt his body against mine. It wasn’t a grab or a crude move; it was a slow, calculated brush. I felt his hip against mine and, more precisely, I felt the bulge of his cock pressing against my belly through his pants. Hard, thick, hinting at a size that made me clamp my thighs together right there on the floor. Everything that came after in my head was downhill from there.

—What are you going to do when you leave here? —he asked in my ear, never stopping moving, rubbing that hardness against me like someone signing a contract.

—Honestly, I’m annoyed. Not with you, with the ghost who left me waiting —I answered, laughing at my own lie.

—I can help you forget him —he said—. And in the process, get your revenge. What do you say?

—You’re bold —I told him, even though I was already lost, my pussy soaking my thong.

—It’s just a proposal. Think about it. We’d both have a good time. I’m going to fuck you until you forget your own name.

I kept playing hard to get a little longer, but we both knew where this was going. I confessed that I was curious about him, about everything I’d heard about men like him. He laughed.

—Then why don’t you check for yourself? —he said, and that was when I understood that I had gone from hunter to prey without even noticing.

I, who always kept control, who decided who and when, was there on a dark dance floor, letting myself be dragged by curiosity and by a stranger ten years younger than me who had read me like an open book.

He said goodbye to his friends in two words. I went to the bathroom, and when I came out he was waiting alone, with the car keys in his hand.

—Did your friends leave already? —I asked.

—I told them I was taking you home —he replied, with that same smile he’d worn all night.

Home, of course.

***

The motel was only a few minutes away. We barely spoke on the way; I was flying with my heart racing, my pussy throbbing, and my head a wreck, anticipating everything that had not happened yet. It wasn’t the first time I’d gone off with a stranger, but I was always careful, always assessed who I got involved with. That night I was certain I knew what I was doing, and even so nothing prepared me for what came next.

We got into the room and there was no preamble. We were both on fire. He threw me onto the bed before I could take off my heels, and I had to kick them off with the help of the other foot while his mouth searched for mine. Damián was not one to waste time.

The kiss was long, deep, the kind that leaves you breathless, with the tongue shoved all the way in and teeth biting my lip. While he kissed me, his hand went straight down, without asking permission, yanked my dress up in one pull, and his fingers slipped under my thong. When he found my pussy, I was already dripping. He laughed against my mouth.

—Look at you, slut. You’re soaking.

—Shut up and keep going —I shot back, pushing my hips against his hand.

Two fingers slid in at once, and a rough moan tore out of me. He moved them slowly inside, curling them, searching for that spot that’s always hard for me to find. Damián found it in less than a minute, and made sure I knew it by pressing his thumb against my clit at the same time. My vision clouded over.

That was when I fully understood what I’d said before: the hunter had been hunted. I went looking for wool and came away shorn. The very idea of what was waiting for me had put me in a position I’m not used to: the one where I surrender control. And I let myself.

I asked him to take my clothes off. He removed the dress slowly, then the bra, tossing it to the floor, and finally the thong, which was already a filthy mess. He stayed in his boxer briefs, and the fabric barely contained the bulge of his cock straining against the seam. I reached out and grabbed him over the fabric. It was thick, long, throbbing. I licked my lips without meaning to.

—Do you like what you’re touching? —he asked me in my ear.

—You’re driving me crazy. Take it off, let me see it.

He pulled down his boxer briefs and the cock sprang out hard, pointing at my face. Thick at the base, the head swollen and shiny, already with a clear drop at the tip. I sat up without thinking, grabbed it with my hand, and took it into my mouth right away. I sucked it all the way down, letting it hit my throat, and he let out a grunt that made me clamp my thighs together. I ran my tongue along the whole length, played with the tip, sucked him hard, coating him in saliva, listening to his breathing speed up.

—That’s it, slut, suck my whole cock —he said, grabbing my hair and setting the rhythm.

He shoved it down my throat a couple of times until tears filled my eyes, and then he threw me back onto the bed. He parted my legs in one tug, got between them, and kissed me again while his hand kept working my cunt. I came the first time almost without realizing it, my hips moving on their own, trapping his fingers with my inner walls, biting his shoulder so I wouldn’t scream.

—Not yet —he told me when I begged him to fuck me—. Let go. There’s still a long way to go.

***

Damián had patience, and he used it against me. He worked his way down my body, kissing my neck, my tits—sucking my nipples until they were hard and sensitive, biting them right to the edge of pain—my stomach, my mound. He spread my legs fully, hooked them over his shoulders, and buried his mouth in my pussy.

And there I was lost. His tongue was broad, flat, and he licked me from bottom to top with a calm that made me howl. Then he focused on my clit, sucking it, wrapping his lips around it, alternating with quick flicks of the tip of his tongue. He slid two fingers in again and kept working my clit with his mouth. I arched against him, dug my heels into his back like I was spurring him on, grabbed his hair with both hands, grinding my cunt into his face with no shame at all.

—Don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t stop —I kept repeating, my voice gone.

He kept his own pace, never hurrying, alternating between licking, sucking, and slipping his tongue inside until I exploded a second time, my legs shaking and a hot gush sliding all the way to my ass. He pulled back just enough, his face shining with my juices, smiling like a dog.

—I begged him, with not a shred of shame, to end the torture—: Fuck me now, please, put it in me, I can’t take it anymore.

—And what are you going to do if I do? —he teased, holding his cock and running the tip over the lips of my pussy, not entering yet.

—Whatever you want —I told him—. Tonight I’m whatever you want me to be. Your slut, whatever. But put it in me now.

I don’t know when I became that woman. I, who arrive everywhere with calculations in my head, was there begging, surrendered, hypnotized by a stranger in a motel room. And the most incredible thing is that I enjoyed it more than I’d enjoyed anything in years.

When he finally took pity on me, he did it slowly, sinking in little by little, and every centimeter dragged a moan out of me. I felt his cock opening me, felt my pussy stretching to take him, felt him reaching a depth I didn’t know I had. He stayed inside for a second, motionless, letting me get used to the size.

—You’re so tight, slut —he whispered in my ear—. I can feel everything.

Then he started moving. Long pullouts, almost all the way out, and thrusts all the way in, slamming against bone, making me see stars. I came again almost immediately, trembling, squeezing him with my legs while he kept fucking me without changing rhythm. I could hear the wet sound of my cunt swallowing his cock, the slap of his balls against my ass, my own moans that I could no longer control.

He grabbed both my hands, pinned them against the mattress above my head, and sped up. He drove into me from above, putting all his weight into it, giving me hard thrusts that made me bounce on the bed. I closed my eyes and let myself go completely, lost in what he was doing to me.

—Let me ride you —I asked at some point, recovering a little initiative.

We changed positions. He lay down and I ended up on top, in charge of the rhythm for the first time all night. I sank onto him in one move, sitting all the way down, and let out a long moan when I felt him touch me inside at a different angle. I leaned over his chest, kissed him, let my hips do all the work, going up and down, then moving in circles, then grinding my clit against his pelvic bone.

—You move really well —he answered, grabbing my tits with both hands, squeezing them, pinching my nipples.

—You make me melt —I told him, and I wasn’t exaggerating.

I straightened up, planted my hands on his thighs behind me, and started bouncing harder, showing him everything, giving myself a show in the mirror on the ceiling. Seeing my own body fucking him, with my tits bouncing and my mouth open, finished breaking me. I came again, screaming, gushing all over him.

He turned me over without pulling out, I ended up on all fours, and he shoved it into me from behind again. He grabbed my hair, yanked my head back, and fucked me like he hated me. An open palm against my ass, one smack that rang through the whole room, and another, and another, while he drove his cock all the way in.

—Tell me you’re mine —he demanded, fucking me harder.

—I’m yours, I’m your slut, fuck me, don’t stop.

He made me come so many times I lost count. I, who always keep a mental tally of these things, of how satisfying they are and in what way, threw the count out the window that night. Damián, meanwhile, held back, and every time I thought I couldn’t take any more, he found a way to start over. He finished the first round by coming inside me, filling me with a hot spurt I felt rise all the way to my belly while he held my hips and growled like an animal.

***

After a rest, a shower, and a while of stupid small talk watching TV—we were both naked, him idly stroking between my legs—we started again. This time I was the one who took the reins. I moved closer slowly, caressed him, kissed him without hurry, went down his neck, his chest, bit his nipples, kept going down his stomach, and grabbed his cock again with my hand.

He was already semi-hard, and with a couple of caresses he was fully erect again. I took him into my mouth calmly this time, without rushing, tasting him. I ran my tongue over his balls, sucked each one in turn, went back up the shaft, and gave him one of the blowjobs I do best: deep, wet with saliva, looking him in the eyes. I held the base with my hand and twisted it while the tip went in and out of my mouth. I’ve always liked that part, the part where you provoke, the part where you control the other person’s response.

I heard him lose his composure for the first time all night, moan my name, push his hips up looking for the back of my throat. And that was a small victory. I swallowed him down to the balls a couple of times, choking, and when I felt him close I yanked him out and squeezed the base so he wouldn’t finish.

—Not yet —I told him, giving him back the line from the first time—. My turn.

I lay on my back, spread my legs, and asked him to fuck me missionary, but slow, looking at me. He obeyed, and this time it was different: longer, tighter, with our bodies sweating, mouth to mouth, and I came slowly, squeezing him with my legs around his waist, feeling him finally let go and empty himself inside for the second time, trembling, his face buried in my neck.

Because in the end, even though the night had started with me as the hunter and continued with me as the prey, we ended in a kind of draw where we both won.

The rest doesn’t need to be told in such detail. It was, by far, the longest night I ever spent in a place like that. We paid twice to extend our time, and I used every minute. There was a third time, and a fourth, in the bathroom against the sink, with him behind me watching me in the mirror while he fucked me and watched my face warp with pleasure. He didn’t let me rest any more than necessary, and I have to admit I didn’t ask him to either: every time I got my breath back, I was already looking for his cock again.

When we finally decided to leave, we stopped to get breakfast and regain our strength. He dropped me off at the bus terminal that would take me back. I slept the whole ride, exhausted, with my pussy burning, my legs still trembling, and a smile I couldn’t wipe off my face.

I got home around eight-thirty in the morning. I told my mother I was tired because I’d had a lot of work. “Rest,” she told me, suspecting nothing. I took a long bath, washed myself well—semen was still leaking out of me—and threw myself on the bed to recover what I no longer had.

It had been an intense night: hours of dancing and then the whole rest of the night of something much better. I had gone out hunting and ended up being the prey, and honestly, I don’t regret it one bit. Sometimes the best way to regain control of your life is to lose it completely, even if only for one night, with the right person and in the wrong place.

Would I do it again? I don’t know. But every so often, when I remember that dawn, when I touch myself thinking about how he fucked me and how I begged him not to stop, I understand perfectly why I stopped being a prude. Some curiosities have to be scratched. I scratched this one thoroughly.