The Confession of My First Time with His Mouth

My name is Daniela, and for years I kept this story as a secret I only repeated in my head when I was alone and touching myself, remembering how it all began. It wasn’t a perfect night or a scene from a movie. It was clumsy, hot, intense, and above all, it was the first time I truly understood just how far desire could take me.

We were two young adults, just out of that stage when you think you’re in control of your body, until someone touches you where your pulse beats hardest and you realize you’re not in control of anything. I’d been dating Mauro for months, a man who drove me crazy just by brushing my back when he said goodbye. Kissing him already left me wet, and that scared me as much as it aroused me.

I didn’t consider myself experienced. Quite the opposite. I’d kissed men, let them paw at me a little, fantasized a great deal, but I still hadn’t taken the step of letting a man fuck me. That afternoon I was still clinging to that idea, even though inside I was already burning with the need to do something that would change me.

I went to his apartment on the excuse of watching a movie. It was a comfortable lie, the kind we both accepted without arguing. We knew we weren’t interested in the screen. What we wanted was to sit together on that narrow sofa and find out how long it would take us to put our hands all over each other.

The place was almost silent. His roommate had shut himself in his bedroom with headphones on, and the woman who helped with the cleaning had already left. We weren’t completely alone, and maybe that was precisely why everything felt more dangerous, more urgent. Every sound from the hallway made my heart race, but not enough to make me back away.

“If you want, we can still watch the movie,” Mauro said with a smile that was anything but innocent.

“Put it on if you want,” I replied, setting my purse aside. “I don’t think I’ll pay much attention anyway.”

He chuckled under his breath, as if he’d been waiting for exactly that answer. He sat beside me, very close, and at first we pretended to be interested in the first few minutes on the screen. I crossed and uncrossed my legs, feeling heat rise between my thighs, aware of his presence beside me like a constant pressure against my skin.

I gave him the first kiss. I turned my head slightly, saw his mouth so close, and stopped thinking. I kissed him slowly, tasting him, and he answered by slipping his tongue into my mouth with a confidence that made my whole body go slack. Within seconds he had me by the waist, pulling me against his chest.

We kissed hungrily. No conversation. No pretending to be calm. His hands slid down my back until they settled on my ass, squeezing it through my pants. I moaned into his mouth, and that turned him on even more. He began kissing my neck, gently biting beneath my ear, and I felt the first clear lash of wetness soaking my crotch.

“Fuck, you drive me crazy,” he murmured.

His fingers slipped beneath my blouse and touched the skin of my belly. I arched slightly, giving him room, letting him continue. When he brushed beneath my bra and caught one of my nipples between two fingers, a gasp escaped me, embarrassing and pleasurable at the same time.

“Don’t stop,” I told him, hardly recognizing my own voice.

He obeyed. He lifted my bra just enough to free my tits and began pawing at them with a mixture of clumsiness and eagerness that aroused me more than any delicacy could have. He caressed me, squeezed me, rubbed my nipples until they were completely hard. I kissed him more and more wildly, my legs restless, seeking friction without yet daring to ask for it.

His hand moved slowly down my belly. First he touched me over my pants, right where I was most sensitive. I felt his palm pressing against my pussy through the fabric and had to spread my knees. He immediately noticed my reaction and smiled against my lips.

“You’re trembling,” he whispered.

“Because you’re making me really hot.”

That was enough for him to slip his hand inside my pants. Then inside my underwear. When his fingers touched my truly wet pussy, not over the fabric or in passing but directly, between my lips, my breath caught. My heart was pounding hard in my chest. I couldn’t believe how wet I was.

“Fuck,” he said when he felt me. “You’re soaked.”

I was embarrassed, but I didn’t want to push him away. Quite the opposite. I spread my legs wider on the sofa and let him explore me. His fingers moved carefully at first, testing, parting my lips, gathering my wetness. Then he found my clitoris and began rubbing it in short circles that made me clutch his shoulders.

“Like that… like that…” I babbled.

I don’t know how long he touched me, but to me it was an eternity of minutes. Every caress melted me a little more. I moved against his hand, seeking it, feeling my pussy throb with a need I could no longer hide. When he finally slipped a finger inside me, it went in easily, sliding through all the wetness I had released myself.

I let out a hoarse moan and pressed myself against him. Feeling him inside me, even if it was only a finger, completely disoriented me. He began slowly pulling it out and pushing it back in while continuing to rub me above with his thumb. Then he added a second finger, opening me a little wider, making me feel full in a new and addictive way.

“Mauro…”

“Tell me to keep going.”

“Keep going, but… only that far.”

He paused just long enough to look at me. I knew what he wanted. I’d felt him hard against my thigh for a while, and part of me wanted to surrender, lean back, and spread my legs until I felt all of him inside me. But another part, the more nervous one, still wasn’t ready to lose my virginity that way, all at once, afraid someone might come out of the other room.

“I don’t want you to penetrate me,” I told him, breathing hard. “Not yet.”

He didn’t like hearing it. I could see it in his face, in his tense jaw, in the abrupt way he pulled his hand from my underwear. I thought everything was going to cool off right there, that he would become distant or pushy. But I was too aroused to leave like that, with my pussy throbbing and my thighs wet.

Then I did something I’d been imagining for a long time and hadn’t dared to try until that moment.

“Sit up properly,” I told him.

He frowned, surprised. Even so, he settled on the edge of the sofa. I knelt in front of him, my pulse racing. Seeing him from below gave me a strange rush, half power, half submission. My hands trembled as I opened his pants and pulled down the zipper.

I slipped my hand inside his underwear and pulled him out. The first thing that struck me was the heat. The second was how hard he was. I held him clumsily, as if he were something too alive between my fingers. I swallowed. Mauro watched me without saying a word, breathing heavily, his eyes fixed on me.

“Are you sure?” he asked me hoarsely.

I nodded. I wasn’t sure of anything except that I wanted to try it.

I stroked him up and down, imitating what I’d seen once and what my body told me to do. My hand slipped only a little because he was already wet at the tip, which made the movement easier. I felt him shudder and spread his legs a little farther to give me room. Simply having his cock in my hand turned me on even more. I felt a fresh gush of wetness between my thighs.

I leaned down and kissed the tip. Just a brush. He let out a low growl, and that reaction gave me confidence. I brought out my tongue and slowly ran it around him, tasting him for the first time. The flavor seemed strange to me, salty, masculine, but not unpleasant. It was intimate, dirty in the best sense, and that only made me hotter.

“Put it in your mouth,” he told me, not quite ordering me, but not asking permission either.

I obeyed. I opened my lips and took him in little by little, feeling him fill my mouth. I couldn’t take much of him at first. I lacked practice and the sensation was overwhelming. So I did what I could: moving my head up and down, using my tongue, squeezing with my lips. My hand kept working the part that wouldn’t fit, matching the rhythm.

He took hold of my hair with one hand. At first he didn’t pull hard, just held me, guiding me. I began moving with more confidence, letting myself be carried away by his moans. Every time I pulled him from my mouth, a thread of saliva stretched between my lips and his cock. I put him back in, and the wet sound made me hornier than I could have imagined.

“That’s it, fuck… just like that…” he kept repeating.

He caressed my cheek with one hand while continuing to hold my hair with the other. I looked up at him from below while I sucked him. His expression finished undoing me. He looked surrendered, aroused, almost incredulous. It gave me a sense of control that I liked tremendously.

I wanted to do better. I took more than the tip, more of the shaft, breathing through my nose and relaxing my throat as much as I could. It was difficult. At one point my eyes watered and I had to pull him out for a moment to catch my breath. Mauro gave a brief laugh, not mocking, more aroused than anything.

“Easy. Little by little.”

But I didn’t want to go so slowly anymore. I wanted to feel capable; I wanted to watch him lose his head. I went back to sucking him with more enthusiasm, circling the tip with my tongue and squeezing the base with my hand. Then I alternated: mouth, hand, mouth again. I had more saliva now, and this time I slid him more easily. The wet noise filled the room along with his ragged breathing.

On an impulse, I spread my legs and slipped my free hand inside my pants. I needed to touch myself. My pussy was swollen, soaked, and throbbing. While I kept sucking him, I rubbed my clitoris with two fingers. I nearly came from that alone. Having him in my mouth while touching myself at the same time pushed me out of my mind.

He noticed immediately.

“Look at you,” he said, his voice wrecked. “Sucking my cock and touching yourself like a hot little bitch.”

The phrase hit me directly between the legs. Far from offending me, it turned me on even more. I moaned with his cock in my mouth, and the vibration made him curse. Then he moved my hand away from my pants for a second and slipped it back inside himself. He touched my clitoris while I kept sucking him. My legs went weak.

“Don’t stop,” he begged. “I want to come in that mouth.”

I didn’t know whether I wanted that. Part of me was curious; another part felt repulsed by the unknown. Even so, I continued. I kept sucking him with almost desperate dedication, because I was close too. He gripped my hair a little harder now, setting the pace with his hips. He wasn’t hurting me, but he was no longer pretending to be gentle.

At one point he stood up in front of me. I remained kneeling. From that position everything became more intense. He grabbed my hair and brought his cock back to my mouth. I opened my lips and took him in. Then he began moving his hips, sliding in and out with short thrusts at first, then more determined ones.

Every time he withdrew, I felt saliva run down my chin. Every time he pushed back in, the tip struck deeper and drew soft gags from me that only seemed to arouse him more. I grabbed his thighs to steady myself and let him set the pace. I felt used in a way that embarrassed me a little and aroused me immensely.

“Fuck, what a mouth,” he growled. “Look at me.”

I looked at him. His face was tense, his lips parted, his chest rising and falling quickly. He kept fucking my mouth while I tried to match his rhythm, relaxing my jaw and letting my tongue receive him whenever I could. The wetness was already running down my neck. I didn’t look like a shy girl at that moment; I looked like a woman surrendered to swallowing the whole experience in one go.

He released one hand from my hair to squeeze one of my tits through my blouse. The other kept guiding me. He began to speed up. The sound of his skin striking my lips and my saliva was obscene. My pussy was pouring inside my pants. Unable to stop myself, I slipped two fingers between my legs again and rubbed myself frantically while he pushed his cock into my mouth.

The pleasure surged all at once. My breathing became chaotic. Mauro realized I was about to come, and that drove him harder. He held me with both hands on either side of my head and thrust faster, deeper, swearing under his breath.

I moaned thickly, my mouth full, moving my fingers over my clitoris harder and harder. I felt the orgasm coming like an electric jolt through my belly. I came like that, kneeling in front of him, sucking him and touching myself, my legs trembling and a broken moan caught in my throat. My pussy throbbed several times, soaking me even more.

My orgasm seemed to drag him along with it. Mauro let out a kind of growl and gripped my hair tightly.

“I’m going to come. Don’t stop.”

I tried to keep his rhythm, though I was trembling from my own climax. I sucked him as best I could, my mouth very wet and my breathing short. First I felt the change in his body, that brutal tension of someone who could no longer stop himself. Then the first hot spurt hit my tongue and the inside of my mouth.

The sensation completely surprised me. It was thick, hot, too much all at once. He kept releasing his cum with broken moans while I barely pulled my head back so he wouldn’t fill my throat completely. Some landed on my tongue, some on my lips, and I spat part of it out immediately because I couldn’t handle it all.

Mauro was breathing as if he’d run a marathon. I stayed still for a few seconds, kneeling, my mouth full of saliva and semen, looking at the mess between us. Then I pulled him all the way out, wiped myself as best I could with the back of my hand, and ran to the bathroom with my heart racing.

I closed the door and looked at myself in the mirror. My lips were swollen, my eyes bright, my hair tousled, and I had the face of someone who had just crossed a line. I turned on the faucet, rinsed my mouth several times, and spat out everything that remained. Then, almost without thinking, I slipped my hand inside my pants.

I was still soaked. Not wet—truly soaked. My fingers slid between my lips and found my clitoris, still sensitive from my recent orgasm. I barely touched it before I had to brace myself against the sink. I watched myself, my breathing unsteady, remembering the pressure of his cock in my mouth, the way he had grabbed my hair, the heat of his cum. And I got turned on all over again.

I didn’t come in the bathroom, though I wanted to badly enough. I just stayed there, touching myself for a few more seconds, knowing I was no longer the same woman I’d been an hour earlier. I hadn’t lost my virginity as I’d feared I would. But I had discovered another way to surrender, another way to give and become aroused, and it left its mark on me.

When I came out, Mauro was sitting on the sofa, straightening his clothes. He looked at me with a mixture of guilt and satisfaction. I walked toward him slowly, still feeling slightly weak in the legs. We didn’t speak right away. Sometimes after sex, words only get in the way.

“Are you okay?” he asked at last.

“Yes,” I replied. “I just needed a minute.”

He watched me in silence, as if he wanted to guess whether I regretted it. I stayed silent too, because the truth was complicated. I didn’t regret it. But I couldn’t pretend it had been a small thing either. For me, it had been enormous. I had entered that apartment as a woman full of inhibitions and left with a new image of myself: someone capable of kneeling, opening her mouth, and genuinely enjoying it.

We kissed once more before I left. A slower, heavier kiss, tasting of goodbye and a shared secret. When I went down to the street, the afternoon was exactly as it had been before, as if nothing had happened. But my lips, my pussy, and my head were still burning.

***

That night, in my bed, I thought about everything again in sickening detail. I remembered the feel of his hand inside my underwear, the two fingers opening me up, the wild throbbing of my pussy begging for more. I remembered the weight of his cock on my tongue, the way my saliva left it shining, the dirty, addictive sensation of him fucking my mouth while I came touching myself.

I also thought about how close I’d come to letting him penetrate me that afternoon. And how much I truly wanted to do it once I felt ready. Because something in me had changed. The fear was still there, yes, but now it was mixed with a fierce curiosity. It was no longer an abstract fantasy. Desire had a body, a taste, a sound, and a memory.

I slipped my hand beneath the sheet and touched myself slowly, reliving every moment. This time I came alone, imagining his voice ordering me not to stop, feeling in my memory the tension of his hand in my hair. When the orgasm curled my toes, I knew that experience would never be erased.

It was my first time doing something like that, my first true confession about sex, and for a long time it was also the image that accompanied me whenever I wanted to arouse myself in the dark. There was no perfect romance or eternal promises. There was desire, saliva, fear, semen, and a brutal discovery of my own body.

And if I’m telling it today, so many years later, it’s because I still remember exactly the moment when I stopped wondering what it would be like and began to know—with my mouth open, my knees on the floor, and my pussy trembling with desire.