My First Time with Him Was on Three Kings’ Night

What I’m about to tell you is real, although I still find it hard to believe that I was the one who did everything I did that night. It was my first truly intimate encounter with Andrés, the man I’m still with today. I’m writing it because some memories burn more fiercely between your legs the longer you keep them buried.

It was Three Kings’ Night. We had spent the afternoon wandering around the city, looking at the lights, eating sweet things from street vendors, laughing at silly stuff. By the time he offered to drive me home, it was already incredibly late, and the streets were impossible, packed with cars and people coming back from the parades.

It took us almost an hour to cover a journey that normally took fifteen minutes. I watched him out of the corner of my eye as he drove, carrying weeks’ worth of nerves and desire that I hadn’t dared to act on. Every time he changed gears, the tendons in his forearm stood out, and I thought about those hands grabbing my hair, squeezing my tits, pushing their fingers all the way inside me.

We had been seeing each other for just over a month. We had done everything except fuck: dinners, walks, incredibly long kisses at my front door that always ended with him leaving and me going upstairs to my room with my panties soaked and my hand between my legs before I even closed the door. He was considerate, never pressured me, and I liked that and found it maddening in equal measure. I wanted him to stop being a gentleman once and for all.

That afternoon, at some endless traffic light, his hand had reached for mine on the gearshift and stayed there. A small gesture. But I felt that something had been decided without either of us needing to say it, as if we both knew the night wasn’t going to end like the others.

When we finally reached my building, I noticed something strange. The lights at home were off, and my parents’ car was gone.

“Wait,” I said, and called them.

My mother told me, over the background noise of someone else’s after-dinner gathering, that they had stayed at my aunt and uncle’s house and wouldn’t be back until the next day. I hung up slowly. My heart was beating in a way that had nothing to do with the conversation. My pussy clenched at the mere thought of what I was about to do.

Andrés was already saying goodbye, with that chivalry of his that completely disarmed me.

“Well, then I’ll leave you to it. Get some rest.”

“Don’t go,” I blurted out too quickly. “It’s very late and the traffic is awful. It’s dangerous.”

Neither of those things was the real reason. The real reason was that I wanted his cock inside me that very night.

He stared at me for a second, as if gauging whether I was saying what it sounded like I was saying. Then he nodded and switched off the engine.

***

I brought him into the living room and sat him down on the sofa. I poured him something to drink and switched on just one lamp in the corner, the one that bathed the room in warm half-light. The tree lights were still blinking in one corner.

“Wait here,” I told him. “I’m going to get comfortable.”

I went upstairs to my room with my legs trembling. For weeks I had kept a black lace set hidden away, bought while imagining a night like this without fully admitting it to myself. A bra that lifted my tits until they almost spilled out, tiny panties, stockings with a garter belt. I put it on in front of the mirror, let my hair down, and took a deep breath. I looked at myself and, for once, didn’t criticize a thing. I only thought: Tonight I’m the one who decides. Tonight I’m going to fuck him.

I touched up my lips and dabbed a little perfume on my wrists, my neck, and between my tits—the one he had once told me drove him crazy. While looking at myself in the mirror, I slipped my hand between my legs to check, and I was already dripping, the lace stuck to my pussy, my nipples hard against the fabric. I was in my twenties and felt as though I was only just beginning to understand how horny I could really get.

I went slowly down the stairs. When I entered the living room, Andrés looked up and went completely still, his glass halfway to his mouth.

“Oh my God,” he murmured. “You’re good enough to eat.”

I said nothing. I walked over, took the glass from his hand, and set it on the table. Then I sat on top of him, straddling him, feeling the hard bulge of his cock pressing against my pussy through his trousers. I moved slowly, rubbing myself against him, and he let out a hoarse moan that made me even hotter.

His hands immediately rose to my waist, and from there, unhurriedly but without hesitation, to my tits. He caressed them over the lace at first, slowly, then pinched my nipples through the fabric until he drew a gasp from me. I loved that initial gentleness. I loved it even more when he stopped being gentle and yanked my bra down, leaving my tits bare.

“Fuck, what tits,” he murmured before taking them into his mouth.

He sucked my nipples one after the other, biting them carefully and licking them until they were hard and shiny. I threw my head back and grabbed his hair to pull him tighter against me. Every time his tongue brushed me, I felt a jolt shoot straight down to my pussy, and I kept moving on top of his cock, seeking friction through our clothes.

“You have no idea how long I’ve imagined this,” he said against my skin. “All the times I’ve jerked off thinking about you.”

“I’ve touched myself for you too,” I confessed, and it was true. “Many nights. Thinking about exactly this.”

One of his hands began descending over my stomach, slowly tracing the path. When it finally reached between my legs and felt how soaked my panties were, I heard him suck in a sharp breath.

“God, you’re dripping,” he whispered.

He moved the lace aside and thrust two fingers into my pussy at once. I moaned loudly, unable to hold it back, and dug my nails into his shoulders. He began moving them inside me, curling them upward, while his thumb rubbed my clitoris with a precision that made me lose my mind. He was fucking me with his hand, and I rode his fingers, mounting them like a desperate woman.

“Yes, like that, don’t stop,” I panted. “Put them deeper inside.”

He added a third finger and quickened the pace. My mouth was open against his neck, biting him and leaving marks. It was too much. Too good, too new, too everything.

I was surprised by how different it was to feel him for real after so many nights imagining it. Reality had texture, temperature, a breath quickening against my neck. It had the detail of his beard scraping my skin and the weight of his hands opening me, invading me, fucking me with his fingers as if he knew exactly how my body worked.

“Look at me,” I asked, taking hold of his face.

He raised his head and held my gaze while he kept thrusting his fingers all the way inside me. I didn’t look away. I wanted him to see exactly how much of a slut he made me, how far he took me with every thrust of his hand. I think that was the first time in my life I didn’t feel a trace of shame in front of someone. I let him see everything: my open mouth, my vacant eyes, the moans I no longer tried to hide.

***

“Let’s go to my room,” I whispered in his ear, with a hoarse voice I didn’t recognize as my own. “I want you to fuck me in my bed.”

I took him by the hand and led him upstairs with my panties soaked and him behind me, unbuttoning his shirt along the way. In my bedroom everything became more intimate, quieter. I lay down on the bed and he leaned over me. He finished taking off my bra, pulled my panties down my legs with a slowness that raised goosebumps on my skin, and stood there looking at me naked and open, still wearing my stockings and garter belt.

I felt a silly stab of embarrassment when he spread my legs wide and stayed there, looking closely at my pussy.

“I didn’t have time to tidy myself up,” I said, half-covering myself with my hand.

He gently moved my hand away and kissed the inside of my thigh, very close to my pussy, so close that I felt his warm breath against my wet lips.

“I like you this way,” he said, looking at me from below. “Natural. And all wet for me.”

Then he spread my legs wide open and lowered his head. His tongue ran all over me, from bottom to top, from the entrance of my pussy to my clitoris, without hurrying, and I gripped the sheets with both hands. I didn’t know anything could feel like that. He began licking me slowly, drawing circles with the tip of his tongue around my clitoris, moving up and down, sucking my lips one by one, pushing his tongue inside me and pulling it out to move back up. Every movement drew a sound from me that I tried to contain and couldn’t.

“Don’t stop,” I begged, almost voiceless. “Eat my pussy like that, don’t stop.”

He didn’t stop. He put two fingers inside me again while sucking my clitoris, fucking me with his hand and mouth at the same time. He found a rhythm and held it, and I felt everything building inside me, a tension growing and growing until it became unbearable. I grabbed his hair and pressed his face against my pussy, moving my hips against his mouth, fucking his tongue without a shred of shame.

“I’m coming, I’m coming, fuck,” I moaned.

I held out as long as I could. When I couldn’t anymore, I let go with a cry that I muffled against the pillow, coming in his mouth, trembling from head to toe, my legs closing around his head without me being able to stop them. He kept licking me slowly through the final spasm, sucking every last drop from me and prolonging it until I couldn’t stand the contact anymore.

He moved up my body, kissing his way along it, and looked at me with a proud smile, his chin shining with my juices. He kissed me on the mouth and made me taste myself. It filled me with tenderness and desire in equal measure.

***

I spent a few seconds catching my breath, but I didn’t want to stop there. I wanted to give him back at least half of what he had made me feel. I gently pushed him until he was lying on his back on the bed.

I unbuttoned his trousers without taking my eyes off his and pulled them down along with his underwear. His cock sprang out, hard and thick, pointing straight at me. I had been curious for weeks, imagining it, and when I finally saw it in front of me, I thought it was exactly the size I liked: thick, long without being exaggerated, the tip swollen with a transparent drop already forming. Neither too much nor too little. Perfect.

I didn’t hesitate. I grasped it at the base, licked it from bottom to top like an ice pop, from his balls to the tip, and then slowly took it into my mouth, setting an up-and-down rhythm that made him close his eyes and clench his jaw. I liked the control I felt having him like that. I sucked him while looking into his eyes, my lips stretched around him, my tongue circling the tip every time I came up. I took a deep breath and swallowed him all the way down to my throat, helping myself with one hand at the base and attentive to every reaction of his.

“Yes, exactly like that, fuck, you suck it so well,” he murmured, his hand tangled in my hair. “Keep going, don’t stop.”

I drove him crazy. I knew it from the way his body tensed beneath mine, from the way air escaped between his teeth, from the way his thighs contracted every time I licked his balls and moved back up. I spat onto the tip and used the saliva to jerk him off with my hand while sucking only the head. After a while I sat up for a moment, wiped my chin with the back of my hand, looked at him, and lowered myself again.

He held my head with both hands and set the pace, fucking my mouth slowly at first and then faster, and I let him, surrendering to the urgency building inside him. I felt his cock hitting the back of my throat, and my pussy was dripping again from sheer arousal. Just a few minutes later I felt him tense completely and grip my hair more tightly.

“I can’t hold back anymore. I’m coming,” he panted.

He finished like that, with me not pulling away, shooting streams into my mouth. I felt the hot lashes of his semen against my palate, one after another, and swallowed it all while continuing to suck his tip to draw out every last drop, holding his gaze until the final tremor. When I was done, I stuck out my tongue to show him that I had swallowed everything, and he let out a hoarse moan that made me laugh. Then I collapsed beside him, both of us breathless, both of us laughing with pure, foolish happiness.

***

That was our first time. The night when we stopped being two people who liked each other too much and spent too much time circling around it, and became what we are now.

We stayed awake until dawn, speaking softly and telling each other things I had never told anyone, his lazy hand drawing circles over my bare hip. At some point he hugged me from behind, squeezed my tits with one hand, and whispered that it had been the best Three Kings’ gift of his life. I laughed, feeling his cock waking up again against my ass, and inside I thought exactly the same thing.

That was quite a while ago, and we’re still together. Sometimes, when January arrives and the lights come on in the streets again, I watch him from across the table and we both know what we’re thinking. There’s no need to say it. That very night, when we get home, he’s going to end up eating my pussy on the living-room table.

Some first times are forgotten. This one isn’t. I carry all of it with me, and every time I remember it, my pussy gets wet just as it did that Three Kings’ Night when I dared to come down the stairs in black lace and decide for myself.