My First Anal in the Roadside Hotel

My name is Camila, though back then almost everyone called me Mía. I was twenty-four, living with my grandmother in a small town and working nights selling coffee near the bus terminal. It wasn’t an easy life, but I was already an adult, I knew how to get around on my own, and I also knew that sometimes a bad decision seemed like the only way out.

The man appeared one rainy night, driving a gray pickup with fogged-up windows. He parked in front of my cart, rolled the window down just a crack, and asked for a strong coffee, no sugar. He was over forty, dark-skinned, broad-backed, with that kind of look that didn’t ask permission to stay on you.

He came back the next day and the next one too. At first he only talked about simple things: the weather, work, how empty the street looked at that hour. Then he started asking about me, about my house, my schedule, and I answered because he treated me with a kindness that wasn’t common in that area.

His name was Ramiro. He told me he was married, that he had a settled life in another neighborhood, and that he passed by the terminal after closing a parts deal. I didn’t find him attractive at first, but I did find him self-assured. And that confidence, even though it made me uncomfortable, also kept me paying attention to what he would say next.

A week later he asked for my number. I gave it to him without thinking too much. We started texting almost every afternoon; he asked what I was doing, whether I had eaten yet, whether I was still selling coffee at night. I answered him from my grandmother’s kitchen while she slept with a damp towel on her forehead because of her migraines.

It didn’t take Ramiro long to tell me he liked me. He did it directly, without any frills, like someone who already knew the answer but still wanted to hear it. I laughed, told him he wasn’t my type and not to mistake friendliness for interest. He wasn’t offended. He only wrote: “Someday you’re going to want to try me.”

For a while he kept insisting. I dodged him with jokes, changed the subject, or told him to find someone else. It wasn’t that I was innocent. Far from it. I had been with several men, I liked sex when they got me properly turned on, and I wasn’t ashamed to admit it, but Ramiro was too imposing.

Everything changed when my grandmother got worse. The pills that calmed her attacks went up in price and what I made at the terminal wasn’t enough. One night, tired and with rage in my eyes, I told Ramiro about it by message. He replied quickly: “I can help you, but I want to see you alone.”

I didn’t ask right away how much. I already knew what he meant. I stared at the screen for a long while, feeling an ugly mix of shame, fear, and need. When I finally asked him to be clear, he offered me money to spend a few hours with him in a hotel in a nearby town.

I told him no. Then I looked at my grandmother asleep, listened to her low moans in bed, and went back to the phone. Ramiro sent the money that same night for the medicine and texted me the hotel address. We agreed to meet the next day, after my shift.

***

The taxi arrived at ten-thirty. I was wearing tight jeans, a black blouse, and a light jacket so no one would notice how my hands were shaking. On the way I tried to convince myself I could handle it, that I’d had sex before, that it would only be a few hours and then I’d go back to my life.

Ramiro was waiting outside the hotel, under a flashing red sign. He looked me up and down with a calm smile, as if I already belonged to him before I even went inside. At the desk he didn’t say my name; he only paid for the room, took the key, and told the clerk that I was going in and out with him.

The room smelled of cheap disinfectant and old sheets. There was a large bed, a mirror facing the mattress, and a yellow lamp that made everything look more closed in. Ramiro put the key on the table, poured himself a drink, and offered me one. I shook my head.

“Relax, Mía,” he said, using my nickname as if he had the right to. “I didn’t come here to chat.”

He told me to take off my clothes and walk for him. I felt a rush of heat in my face, but I obeyed. I slowly took off my jacket, blouse, jeans, and bra, leaving each garment on a chair. When I was naked, Ramiro let out a low sigh and leaned back against the wall to look at me better.

I had a slim body, small breasts, and narrow hips, but I had always known my ass drew attention. He noticed it right away. He told me to turn around, to lean forward a little, to spread my legs. His voice didn’t sound eager; it sounded like it was used to being obeyed.

Then he started undressing. He took off his shirt, his belt, his shoes. When he pulled down his boxers, my mouth went dry. He had a thick, long dick, much bigger than any I had ever seen up close. I couldn’t help taking half a step back.

“That’s not going to fit,” I said.

“Of course it will,” he replied, coming closer. “You just need to stop scaring yourself.”

He sat me on the edge of the bed and positioned himself in front of me. The head of his dick was level with my mouth, heavy and hot against my lips. He grabbed my hair firmly, not like a caress, and told me to open. When I did, he pushed until I felt him filling my whole mouth.

At first I almost choked. He was way too big, brushing my throat and forcing me to breathe through my nose in short gasps. He still wasn’t moving fast; he was enjoying watching me struggle with every inch. He held my head and started fucking my mouth with a slow rhythm, in and out while I drooled over his skin.

The salty taste, the smell of soap and sweat, the weight of his hand on my nape, all of it had me caught between disgust and an arousal that made me furious to feel. When he managed to go deeper, tears filled my eyes. Ramiro smiled.

“There you go, take a little more. Good girl.”

I didn’t answer because I couldn’t. My mouth was occupied, my hands were braced on his thighs, and my throat was burning. He sped up just enough for each thrust to make a wet sound. When he let me go, I turned my face away coughing, saliva hanging from my chin and my chest heaving.

Ramiro opened a condom, put it on, and shoved me backward onto the bed. I still wasn’t wet; my body was tense and my head was full of noise. He pried my legs open with his knees, lowered a hand to my pussy, and rubbed me roughly, as if he wanted to rip the arousal out of me by force.

Little by little my body reacted. I hated myself a little for it, but it was true: between fear, shame, and the pressure of his fingers, I started to get wet. Ramiro noticed the change and sank two fingers into me. He worked them until my breathing broke.

“See? You did want it,” he muttered.

I didn’t answer him. He placed the head of his dick at my entrance and pushed. I felt myself being split open all at once, too fast, burning inside. I cried out and clutched the sheets, but he didn’t stop until he had gotten a good portion of it in.

“You’re so tight,” he said through clenched teeth. “That’s how I like it.”

He fucked me first from above, his chest almost crushing me and his hands holding my wrists down. Each thrust sent a hot sting through my belly. At first it hurt more than it turned me on, but when my pussy really started getting wet, the pain mixed with a thick sensation that made me moan without meaning to.

I asked to change positions so I could control the depth a little. Ramiro agreed, lay on his back, and had me climb on top. I rode him slowly, only lowering myself halfway, feeling my body open around his dick. That way I could breathe better, move my hips at my own pace, and discover that if it didn’t go all the way in, I could like that too.

I rode him with my hands on his chest, letting the wetness make each drop easier. He watched my tits bounce and squeezed my thighs hard. Whenever he tried to thrust up, I slowed him with a grimace. Ramiro laughed, but he let me keep going.

Then he got tired of my pace. He took me by the waist, lifted me like I weighed nothing, and put me on all fours on the bed. The mirror gave us back an image I still remember: me with my hair stuck to my face, my ass spread by his hands, and him behind me, huge, sweaty, looking at me as if he had waited all night for that moment.

He penetrated me again by the pussy, this time from behind. He went deeper than before and drew a deep moan out of me. His thrusts made the bed creak. He held my hips and pulled me against him, driving his dick as far as he could while I bit the sheet so I wouldn’t scream too loudly.

The position heated me in a different way. I felt his pelvis against my ass, his fingers sinking into my skin, and the head of his dick hitting a place that left me breathless. When he started rubbing my clit from behind, I lost control for a few seconds. I came with a hard tremor, clenching around him, ashamed to moan his name.

Ramiro didn’t stop. He kept fucking me while my body was still shaking, and then he pulled his dick out of my pussy. I heard the snap of the condom as it came off. Before I could turn around, he spread my ass cheeks wider and ran his tongue over my asshole.

I went rigid.

“No, not there,” I said, turning my head. “I’ve never done that.”

“Exactly why,” he answered.

I repeated that I wasn’t ready, that that part scared me, that with his size it was going to hurt too much. He didn’t want to talk. He held me against the mattress, wet me with saliva, and put the tip at my ass. I felt the hard pressure, closed off, impossible.

“Breathe,” he ordered.

I breathed, but it wasn’t enough. When he pushed, the pain cut through me like a deep burn. I screamed into the pillow and tried to pull away, but his hands kept me in position. He went in little by little at first, opening me with cruel patience, until the ring gave way and part of his dick was inside me.

I cried from rage and pain. Ramiro was panting over me, turned on by the tightness. My asshole was burning, every movement seemed to split me open, and even so my body started to understand the rhythm. It wasn’t clean or comfortable pleasure; it was a brutal, invasive sensation that left me empty of thoughts.

He pushed farther. He tucked a pillow under my stomach to lift my ass and started thrusting again. His dick went in another stretch, slow, thick, forcing me to open around it. I moaned with my face buried in the bed, fists clenched, feeling how each inch changed my breathing.

When he finally started moving, he did it with short thrusts. He was only barely coming in and out, as if he were measuring how much I could take. Then he let loose. His hips slammed against my ass and the sound filled the room, wet and obscene, mixed with my whimpers and his low curses.

“What a tight ass you have,” he growled. “I knew you’d feel like this.”

I didn’t know what I was feeling. It hurt, it burned, and at the same time every deep rub sent a dark current through my belly. I slipped a hand between my legs and touched my clit, looking for something to help me bear it. Ramiro saw me in the mirror and smiled like he’d won.

He fucked my ass for several minutes, faster and faster. I pushed my hand against my wet pussy, rubbing myself desperately while he opened me from behind. The anal pressure, the pain, and the friction on my clit came together into a strange wave, intense, almost filthy. I came again, quieter this time, my body stiff and my legs shaking.

Ramiro felt my spasms and lost his rhythm. He pulled his dick out of my ass with a rough groan, turned me around on my knees on the floor, and pointed himself at my face. I closed my eyes just as he started coming. The cum splashed hot across my cheeks, my lips, and my chin in thick spurts that made me shiver.

He finished breathing hard, one hand braced against the wall. I stayed on my knees for a few seconds, smeared and sore, not knowing whether I wanted to insult him or disappear. Then I slowly got up and went to the bathroom. When I wiped my asshole with toilet paper, I saw a pink stain and felt a burn that made me clench my teeth.

I washed my face, my neck, and between my legs. My pussy was sensitive, swollen, still throbbing from what I had felt. My ass, on the other hand, burned with every movement. I looked at myself in the bathroom mirror and didn’t quite recognize the woman looking back at me.

When I came out, Ramiro was already getting dressed. He didn’t say anything sweet, didn’t ask if I was okay. He just counted out the money that was still missing, left it on the table, and told me to hurry because he still had to drive me back. I put my clothes on in silence, my legs weak and my throat dry.

In the car we barely spoke. The road was empty, the lights passed over the windshield like yellow smears. Before we reached the terminal, Ramiro rested a hand on my knee and said only two hours had passed, that I still owed him time. I looked out the window and didn’t answer.

I got out in front of the coffee cart with the money hidden in my bra and my body wrecked. That night I sold little, but I couldn’t leave. Every time I bent down to take a cup, the burning reminded me of the hotel, the bed, the mirror, and the way Ramiro had taken me as if he had already decided everything for both of us.

I’m not going to pretend it was a beautiful story. And I’m not going to say I came out of it the same way I went in. It was my first anal, it was rough, it was filthy, and it was one of those experiences you keep in memory with an uncomfortable mix of rage, shame, and desire. The other two hours I supposedly owed him came later; but that’s another confession.