My Client Asked Me to Be the First That Night

I’ve come back from my vacation with my head full of things to tell. A month away from home, mixing work and pleasure, and the feeling that I don’t have enough words to sum up everything that happened. I’ll start at the beginning, with that Sunday when we decided to get away.

Marcos, my husband, gave me the green light to leave early with Esteban. It isn’t permission in the traditional sense; it’s more a matter of complicity: he knows what I do, supports it, and in a way enjoys knowing that I’m desired, fucked, and filled by other men. Esteban is my oldest client, the one who stopped being just a client a long time ago, the one who sends me a hefty transfer every month in exchange for having me whenever he wants, and the one who learned to fuck me better than almost anyone.

The drive to the northern city was different from any other. We stopped at every intersection, every gas station, every lookout point. We kissed like teenagers who had only just discovered themselves. He drove with one hand and stroked my thigh with the other beneath my dress. I let him. At one of the stops, he put his fingers in his mouth, wet them thoroughly, and ran them over my panties, squeezing my pussy until he felt the fabric was soaked.

“Don’t rush,” I told him when he tried to go farther. “We have the whole week.”

“It’s just that I’ve already turned your panties into soup,” he replied, pulling out his glistening finger to show me. “Look how wet you are.”

I sucked it from the tip to the knuckle, looking him in the eyes, and pulled it out of my mouth with a wet sound. He muttered a quiet curse and put both hands back on the wheel.

We reached the hotel with the sun low in the sky. We had had lunch in an in-between town, unhurried, talking about anything except what we were going to do once we closed the door. Separate rooms, as always. Mine was a double, waiting for Marcos to arrive on Monday.

We walked arm in arm along the main avenue before dinner. People looked at us and couldn’t know whether we were boyfriend and girlfriend, husband and wife, or something more complicated. We had a light dinner, white wine, and a shared dessert. At eleven, we were back at the hotel.

“Let me know when you’re ready,” he told me in the hallway.

I went upstairs, took a long shower, and rubbed lotion all over my body. I spent a while in front of the mirror deciding what to wear. Sometimes you think these details don’t matter anymore, after so many years, but they do. They matter more every time.

I chose the classics: black lace panties, a matching babydoll, and patent-leather shoes with very high heels. My hair pulled tightly back, not a strand out of place. A touch of perfume behind my ear, another between my breasts, and one barely on the inside of my thigh, right near my pussy, so that when he went down to eat me he would find it there.

I called him. Two minutes later, he was knocking on the door.

“You look especially beautiful tonight,” he said as soon as he came in.

He said it the way he always did, without urgency, looking first into my eyes and then at my body. That was one of the things I had learned to value about him. We kissed for a long while, standing beside the door, without speeding anything up. He asked to go into the bathroom to undress, and I sat on the bed to wait for him.

When he came out, he approached slowly. I watched him advance and couldn’t tear my eyes away. The sight of him, still halfway between relaxed and hard, his thick cock hanging heavily, his balls full, his clean, fragrant body, turned me on as if it were the first time. My pussy clenched at the mere sight of him walking toward the bed.

“My favorite girlfriend,” he said when he reached me. “Do you know how lucky I am?”

“Tell me that afterward, when you’ve got me broken in bed.”

He undressed me with the patience of men who know that the journey is what matters. Each piece of lace came off with a kiss or a caress in between. He lowered the babydoll straps, kissing my shoulders, let it fall to my waist, and crouched to suck my nipples, one and then the other, with his tongue spread flat, without hurry. He barely bit the right one, just enough to make me let out a gasp, and kept moving downward. He took off my panties on his knees, pulling the elastic down with his teeth until it caught around my thighs, then using his hands to draw them down to my ankles. Before leaving me completely naked, he buried his nose between my legs and inhaled deeply.

“You’re already wet, slut,” he whispered, then ran his tongue along my entire slit from bottom to top in one long lick that made me grab his head.

Once I was naked, he made me turn in the middle of the room, just to look at me. My high heels still on, everything else off. He looked at me from the front, in profile, from behind, then slapped one cheek of my ass with his open hand. The crack sounded loudly in the silence of the room, and I laughed.

We lay facing each other on our sides. My hands on his face, his moving over my back and down to grab my whole ass, squeezing it. We kissed until we lost track of how long we had been like that. He ran his fingers through my hair, and I bit his lower lip. I searched for his cock with my hand and found it already hard, hot, throbbing against my belly. I gripped it at the base and began moving his foreskin up and down slowly, feeling his entire length tense in my fist.

“Tonight will be different,” he said suddenly.

“Why?”

“Because I want it to be different. I want us to talk, for you to tell me things, for the night to last as long as it has to. I want to fuck you five times if necessary.”

He wet two fingers with saliva and passed them slowly between my legs, barely touching me. He opened my pussy lips with his index and middle fingers and left his middle finger resting on my clitoris without moving, feeling me push my hips against his hand in search of it. Then he took my left leg and rested it on his thigh. I was open for him, without him doing anything to put me in that position. The head of his cock touched my pussy entrance and stayed there, waiting.

“I like this situation between us,” he continued. “Knowing you’re married, knowing Marcos knows, knowing I can have you without hiding. Knowing that tomorrow he’s going to fuck you on top of my cum.”

“As long as you keep treating me the way you do, and keep fucking me the way you do, you can always have me.”

A short movement, and the tip slipped barely inside. Then he stayed still, holding himself there without going farther. He kissed me again. I thanked him silently for the transfer that had arrived in my account on Friday. He understood. He always understands.

“You don’t have to thank me for anything,” he said, reading my face.

“Yes, I do. And you know it isn’t because of the money. It’s because of how you make me feel. It’s because of this cock you’re slowly pushing into me, you son of a bitch.”

Another push, and another inch entered me. He set the pace, slow and conversational, almost instructional. I felt myself opening around his cock, felt every prominent vein scraping my walls, and forced myself not to close my eyes so I could watch his concentrated expression. He asked whether Marcos approved of everything between us: our Thursday afternoons, our lunches, getaways like this one.

“Marcos approves of everything,” I told him. “I swear to you, on anything you want. He loves you filling me with cum.”

“I wanted to be sure. I have ideas for later.”

“What ideas?”

“Things with my wife. She’s getting some work done, and she seems more confident with me. And all of that, even though she doesn’t know it, I owe to you.”

I laughed softly against his mouth. He kept entering, millimeter by millimeter, as if the conversation were setting the rhythm. His cock was already inside almost halfway, and I deliberately squeezed my pussy around it so he could feel how I held him.

“We’ll help you however you need,” I told him. “Marcos and I are putting off the pregnancy, so we have plenty of time. We can fuck with you two as often as you want.”

“You’re one of a kind.”

“You’re the one who makes me unique. Put it all the way in, come on.”

One final thrust, and I felt him completely inside me. The head of his cock touched the deepest part of me and made me moan, the sound sticking to his mouth. He stayed there, his balls pressed against my ass, and began moving slowly. His mouth remained attached to mine. Our saliva mixed. One finger slipped toward the back and sought my asshole, wetting it with my own pussy juices and barely dilating it, without committing yet, simply resting the fingertip against the rim. I tightened my ass and let it enter to the knuckle.

“Hey, save me some room back there for later,” he murmured.

“It’s all yours. You know that.”

Then he stopped. He pulled out his glistening cock and concentrated on my breasts for a long while. He kissed my nipples as if they were the only important things on my body. He sucked them whole, bit them at the base, tugged on them with his lips. With one hand he grabbed an entire breast and milked it as if trying to make me produce milk, while with the other he kept two fingers inside my pussy, curled upward, searching for that spot only he knew how to find. I was already on another plane. I was dripping over his hand, feeling the liquid run down the crack of my ass onto the sheet.

“I want to come,” I begged. “Put it back in and make me come.”

He settled over me, opened my legs with his knees, and shoved it in all at once, right up to the balls. He increased the pace. Not much, just enough. Each thrust made me slide a little higher up the mattress, and he held my face in both hands, forcing me to look at him. I let go. I let go completely, holding nothing back, restraining none of the noise.

“There, there, there, don’t stop, son of a bitch, don’t stop!” I shouted, digging my nails into his shoulders.

The orgasm came over me in long waves while he held my face in both hands and kept fucking me at the same pace. I felt my pussy close around his cock in spasms, squeezing him so hard it nearly expelled him, while he held himself inside. I felt him unload inside me almost at the same time, a long, deep ejaculation, jet after jet, filling me completely and leaving me still trembling. He stayed inside until the last drop, his mouth open against my neck, breathing heavily.

“Come here,” I told him when I caught my breath.

I carefully pulled myself off him, squeezed my legs together so nothing would spill, then climbed up his body until I was sitting with my soaked pussy over his mouth. I pressed my lips, full of semen and juices, directly onto his tongue.

“Suck it all out, then give it back to me.”

He did it without hesitation. He licked me as if it were the most natural thing in the world, his hands on my breasts and his tongue inside me, drawing out his cum by the spoonful. I felt the semen and juices running down, felt him swallow some and keep the rest in his mouth. I rubbed my pussy over his face until I soiled his nose and chin. When he touched my back, I knew he was ready.

I let myself fall beside him, opened his mouth with mine, and received everything he had collected. A long, dirty, thick kiss, the cum passing from his mouth to mine and from mine to his, back and forth, until it became one single viscous thing between us. I swallowed without thinking, eyes closed, feeling it go down my throat. There’s no way to explain the intimacy of that moment.

***

Then came the time for questions. We lay there, still dirty, with the bedside lamp on. His cock lay limp and glistening on his thigh, while my cum trickled between my thighs toward the sheet.

“I’ve always wanted to know what it was like with your father,” he said, staring at the ceiling.

He knows that part of my story almost exclusively. It’s one of the most intimate things I ever told him, and he knows I tell no one else. The idea had been Marcos’s, long before. I had already been with his father, my father-in-law—that was another story. And one day Marcos suggested the fantasy that I do it with my own father too. It took me a long time to accept it. It took me longer to seduce him.

“Do you want me to read you the account I wrote about that first time?”

“Yes. Please, yes.”

I reached for the tablet on the bedside table. I found it among my files and began to read. I read it almost as if I were acting it out, giving it inflection. Esteban kissed my neck from time to time, caressed me without urgency, and made the occasional low comment. When I reached the part about the photograph that finally convinced my old man, I felt his cock wake up again against my hip, thickening and slowly hardening. I lowered my hand and gripped him, beginning to masturbate him slowly while I kept reading.

“I want to see that photo.”

“I don’t have it with me. I can ask Marcos for it.”

“Ask him. Now.”

I called him. It was close to midnight. Marcos answered the video call and saw us like that in bed, our faces flushed and our bodies still sticky, dried cum on my chin. I explained what Esteban wanted, telling him in a single sentence how Esteban had fucked me, filled my pussy with cum, passed it into my mouth, and how I had swallowed it all. I assured him that when he arrived, he would receive the same. Marcos laughed, pulled down the sheet, and showed me his own erection on the other side of the screen, stroking his cock against the camera.

“Take good care of her, Esteban, because tomorrow I have to load her up three times,” he told him before we said goodbye with a kiss.

The photo arrived a little while later. Me, years earlier, on satin sheets, with my back to the camera, my torso raised on one elbow, looking over my shoulder. My legs stretched out. My ass held high, round, split in two by the dark crease. An image I still consider one of the best pictures anyone has ever taken of me.

I projected it with the portable projector I always carry when I travel. It appeared life-size on the wall of the room. Esteban let out a sound somewhere between a sigh and a moan and kissed the nape of my neck while squeezing his cock in his hand.

“Now I understand how you convinced him,” he said softly. “Not even a saint could say no to that ass.”

I finished reading him the account. The whole story. How Dad waited for me that night. How he gave in. How, ever since, every week had become something none of the three of us wanted to lose.

“Do you still do it often?”

“Almost every week. He fucks me differently from the others. With an owner’s calm, you know? As if he knows that pussy belonged to him first, before anyone else. It’s difficult to explain. It’s knowing that the same person brought you into the world and now fills you in another way. There’s something there I can’t put into words, and I don’t really want to try too hard.”

“You’re a slut and a saint at the same time. That’s why I love you.”

I laughed. I ran my tongue down his neck to his navel. I took it lower, along the line of hair on his lower belly, until I reached the base of his cock. I gripped it with both hands and put it in my mouth down to my throat, swallowing around it. I sucked the head with tightly closed lips, licked his balls one by one, took both of them into my mouth while stroking his shaft with my fist. He buried his fingers in my hair and guided my pace, gently pushing my head so I would swallow him whole every now and then. I let the tip touch the back of my throat and held it there for a few seconds, eyes watering and saliva running down my chin, before pulling it out with an obscene noise.

Then he returned the favor and spent a long while entertaining himself with everything between my legs—and behind them too. He opened me with his thumbs and put his tongue inside my pussy, pulling it out and running it up to my clitoris, making circles, sucking, then going down again. When he had me trembling, he made me raise my legs and moved down to my ass. He ran his tongue slowly over my asshole, loosening it, then pushed the tip inside. I arched on my own. He licked me patiently, without hurry, as if he had to learn me all over again, alternating between both holes and wetting me thoroughly.

I finished turning him on by rubbing my sex against his, the short hairs against his skin, my clitoris against the head of his cock, grinding myself against him until the tip turned purple and my entire lower belly was slippery. When he was close, I mounted him without asking permission. I gripped his cock, positioned it at my pussy entrance, and lowered myself in one movement until I had buried it completely.

“There it is, back home,” I told him, biting his lip.

I changed the rhythm whenever I felt like it. Slow, fast, slow again. I bounced on top of him with my tits jumping in his face, and he grabbed them roughly, squeezed my nipples between his fingers, and tugged on them. I leaned down to kiss him when I saw him nearing the edge, then straightened up to slow him again, holding his cock inside without moving, simply squeezing it with my pussy. Then I turned around, ended up with my back to him, and rode him facing the wall, supported on his knees, impaling myself all the way down every time I lowered myself. He watched my ass opening and closing around his cock and drove a thumb into my asshole to match my rhythm.

“Put it in, come on, put your whole finger in,” I begged.

He buried it to the knuckle and moved it to the rhythm of his cock inside my pussy. I felt the two things separated by a thin layer of flesh and went crazy. My second orgasm seized me like that, on top of him, impaled, his finger in my ass, screaming as if no one could hear us in the rooms next door. He came inside me again, and I felt the jets strike deep, one after another. Once more I climbed onto his face to finish the ceremony, let him eat it all, passed it from mouth to mouth, and we swallowed it together.

“I’m dead,” he said when he caught his breath. “But I want to ask you for one more thing. Something special.”

“Tell me now.”

He brought his mouth close to my ear, as if the walls could hear, and whispered it. He asked for my ass. He asked to be the one to break in my ass. He said he wanted to be the first to fuck my asshole, that he knew neither Marcos nor Dad nor my father-in-law had done it yet, and that he wanted to claim that distinction.

***

I immediately remembered a conversation I’d had with Patricia, a friend, about exactly the same thing. She had done it and loved it. I smiled.

“Do you want to wait for Marcos and do it all three together?”

“I want to be first. After that, whatever you want.”

“Then just the two of us.”

We fell asleep in each other’s arms, like two people who had known each other for years, his soft cock resting against my ass cheek. I calculated afterward that we slept for about three hours. I was already dreaming about what was to come.

We woke almost at the same time. Without saying much, Esteban went down. He opened my legs and licked me for a long time, skipping no corner. He started with my pussy, cleaned up what was left from the night, devoured my clitoris until I arched, and then moved down to my ass. He licked it eagerly, pushed his tongue in as far as it would go, pulled it out, and put it back in. He dilated me with one finger first, wet with saliva, moving in and out slowly until I stopped clenching. Then with two, turning them inside me and spreading them like scissors to stretch me. I breathed deeply and imagined what was about to happen. I could feel my asshole throbbing.

“You’ll see, it’ll go in fine,” he told me. “Easy, easy.”

I got on all fours. My ass held high, my face buried in the pillow, my knees spread. There was no patience this time. He spat down from above, a thick gob that landed right on my asshole and ran toward my pussy, wet his cock with the same saliva, positioned himself, and pushed. He really pushed, without measuring. I felt the head forcing its way in, a brief burn, and then the shaft entered all at once until his testicles struck me below, against my pussy.

“Oh, fuck,” he let out. “So tight.”

I screamed into the pillow, more from surprise than pain. I waited a few seconds to adjust, feeling my ass stretch around his cock, then told him to continue. The pumping was intense, eager, almost desperate. He pulled my hair backward as if it were a rein, clung to my breasts hanging beneath him, and moaned against my nape. Every thrust shook my whole body. I followed his rhythm as best I could, pushing my ass backward to receive him, surprised by how little it hurt after the first minute, by how different it felt, by how full and pressurized everything became when he had himself buried inside me.

“Fuck my ass, fuck my ass, you son of a bitch,” I told him, pressing my face into the pillow. “Tear it apart.”

He reached underneath me with one hand and put two fingers into my pussy, curling them upward. I felt his cock in my asshole and his fingers in my pussy moving against the same wall, separated by almost nothing, and I nearly came right then.

I realized immediately that he wanted to finish soon. His breathing began to speed up, his thighs tensed against mine, and his thrusts grew shorter and deeper. I wasn’t willing to stop, but I understood.

“Stay still,” he told me.

He pulled out, and I suddenly felt the enormous emptiness. He waited a few seconds for my body to close again, then jerked off above me, stroking his cock rapidly with his fist and aiming at me. He came across my lower back and into the crease, long, thick jets falling one after another. I felt the hot liquid slowly slide toward my open asshole and from there to my pussy, and I laughed into the pillow.

“Come here,” he said, taking my hand.

We ran to the shower hand in hand, both sticky, both smiling at each other like newly discovered accomplices. Once beneath the water, I knelt on the floor. What happened next was something I had never done either. I felt the warm, powerful stream first across my back. Then over the area he had just broken in, falling directly onto my still-dilated asshole. I cleaned myself with my fingers, inside and out, and the sensation felt better than I expected. He watched me from above, his cock half-awake again, smiling.

It was done. And I had liked it.

We showered together, talking about all of it as if it were nothing, soaping each other’s bodies with our hands. I took his soapy cock and masturbated him a little more, just for fun, while he ran the sponge over my tits. I told him I wanted to repeat it with Marcos. Without saying it, I thought that I also wanted to offer it to Dad and my father-in-law. Esteban kissed my forehead and promised me a trip to the coast to thank me for letting him be the first.

“Nothing to thank me for,” I told him. “I really liked it. You’ll have to do it again before I close up.”

We went downstairs to breakfast dressed like normal people. The people passing through reception looked at us like any ordinary couple, never suspecting that twenty minutes earlier he had broken in my ass under the shower. Two hours later, Marcos arrived. He had left the capital in the early hours, driving fast, eager to get there. It was obvious the moment he got out of the car, the bulge pronounced in his trousers.

But I’ll tell you about that second part in the next story.

Kisses.

Camila.