The First Time I Had Him Whole in My Mouth

When Mateo and I first started going out, we had a routine we defended as if it were sacred. Almost every afternoon he’d come by my house after work, we’d eat whatever in the kitchen, and then we’d lock ourselves in my room to waste time. I was twenty-two and had my head full of things I didn’t dare say out loud.

What started as a stupid conversation always ended the same way. We’d kiss until we ran out of breath, his hands would find their way under my clothes, and before we knew it we were both burning up and breathing hard. Mateo would squeeze my tits over my bra, pinch my nipples until they went hard, and I could feel my cunt soaking wet just from hearing him breathe close to my ear.

Mateo was the kind of man who never rushed. He had patience, a patience that drove me crazy and made me like him all at once. He’d kiss my neck, talk softly in my ear, and laugh every time he saw me lose control. I acted tough, but inside I was always on the verge of giving in, with my panties wet and my legs shaking.

We’d only been seeing each other for a few months. Everything was new: the first boyfriend I felt really mattered to me, the first relationship where I dared to explore without so much fear of what people would say. And even so, there were things I still hadn’t done. Things I was curious about and embarrassed by at the same time. I’d never had a cock in my mouth, for example. I’d never worked up the nerve to suck anyone off, though more than one night I lay there fantasizing about Mateo’s while I touched myself alone.

Some afternoons we managed to make it all the way. Others got cut short because my mom was wandering around the house or because the phone rang at the worst possible moment. Mateo would leave my place turned on, with that sweetly annoyed look men get when you leave them hanging, his dick outlined under his jeans and no clue how he was supposed to get rid of that kind of heat before he got back to his apartment.

I imagine he got to his apartment, pulled down his pants, and jerked off thinking about me more than once that night.

But that afternoon was different. It was raining outside, my mom had gone out to run errands, and we were alone for the first time in weeks. We made out for a long while on the couch, unhurried, letting the heat build slowly. He slipped his hand under my skirt, stroked my cunt over my panties, and felt how wet I was. He smiled against my mouth when he noticed the fabric was already soaked through.

—Look at how you are —he whispered, moving his finger up and down, tracing my slit over the cotton—. If I stick it in now, it’ll go in by itself.

I bit my lip and grabbed his bulge over his pants. I could feel it pulsing under my hand, hard, thick, asking to come out. I couldn’t hold back.

***

We moved to a corner of the living room, the one you can’t see from the front door, almost out of habit, to keep ourselves from being caught. There, pressed against the wall, I felt him go fully hard. I put my hand over his pants and held him there for a second, feeling him grow under the fabric, thick and hot, the full shape pressed against the denim.

That turned me on more than I’d expected. My stomach clenched with pure desire, my nipples went hard as rocks, and I felt a gush of wetness run down my thigh.

—I like feeling you like this —I told him in his ear, with a honesty I didn’t even know I had—. So hard, so big.

He smiled sideways and looked straight at me, eyes half-lidded.

—It’s yours —he murmured—. Do whatever you want with it.

He unbuckled his belt and pulled his pants down to his knees, and with the pants down came the boxer briefs too. His cock sprang out, hard, pointing upward, the tip already glistening with a thick drop of pre-cum hanging from the head. I stood there looking at it closely, surprised to have it so within reach. By then I’d touched it a thousand times, but I’d never stopped to look at it like this, without clothes in the way, the veins running along the shaft and the balls swollen and taut underneath.

I started slowly, with my hand. I closed my fingers around it and felt it throb against my palm. I stroked him gently, up and down, pulling back the foreskin, uncovering the head and covering it again. With my thumb I spread the thick drop all over the tip and used that moisture to slide more easily along the shaft. Mateo let out a long sigh and threw his head back, and his cock got even harder between my fingers.

—Like that, come on, like that —he panted softly—. Squeeze tighter, don’t be scared.

I did as he said. I gripped him firmly and started pumping his dick with my whole wrist, going up to cover the head and down to the base, where I could feel his balls brushing the back of my hand. A rough growl slipped out of him and made me clench my thighs.

I loved the silence of that afternoon. All you could hear was the rain against the window and his breathing, getting deeper with every movement. I watched him as if I were learning a new language, paying attention to every gesture, to every time he squeezed his eyelids shut or bit his lip.

I wanted to see his face while I did it. I wanted to know that I was the one making all that happen, that it was my hand keeping his cock on the verge of bursting.

***

I’m not exactly sure how I went from using my hands to using my mouth. It was almost an impulse. I knelt down slowly on the rug, with Mateo’s cock at face level, and I could smell the man on him, warm skin mixed with his own scent. I leaned in and gave the tip a soft kiss, then another a little lower, over the vein running underneath. The skin was incredibly warm and delicate against my lips.

I looked up at his face while I dragged my tongue slowly from the base to the head, and back down the other side. I licked his balls with the tip of my tongue, one and then the other, and felt them tighten in appreciation. He held my gaze, and in his eyes there was a mix of astonishment and pleasure that gave me a confidence I didn’t know I had. Seeing him enjoy it made me want to keep going, to find out how far I could take it.

I ran my tongue broad and flat along the whole underside of the shaft, up to the frenulum, and there I stayed for a while, playing with the tip of my tongue just under the head, in that sensitive spot that made him tremble. I let the drop run along the tip and gathered it with my lips, tasting it. It was salty, a little thick, and it made me want more.

All at once I had him in my mouth. It was the first time. I’d never done anything like that before, and the sensation overwhelmed me: the weight, the heat, the way it took up all the space. I felt my lips stretching around the shaft and the head pressing against the roof of my mouth. I started lowering my head slowly, trying to take a little more each time, until the tip brushed the back of my throat and I had to stop myself from gagging.

I lifted my eyes and saw him biting his lip to keep quiet, his hands braced against the wall, fingers flexing as if he were holding his breath. That image was what finally let me go.

I kept going with more eagerness, sucking him off in rhythm, bobbing my head up and down, wrapping the shaft with my lips closed tight so not even a millimeter could escape. Every time I pulled his cock out of my mouth I held it with my hand and ran my tongue over the head in circles, then took it back in to the hilt. I played with my tongue while it was inside, curling it around the shaft, feeling out blind what he liked most. With one hand I caressed the backs of his thighs, with the other I held him at the base and kept pumping him while I sucked the upper half. Every time I found a motion that made him tremble, I repeated it.

—Jesus fucking Christ, baby —he panted, voice rough—. You suck it like you’ve been doing this your whole life.

I blushed without stopping. Saliva dripped from the corner of my mouth and soaked his balls, and I used it to give him a wet handjob while I kept my mouth on the tip.

I’d never measured it, but there I understood why it always showed so clearly through his pants. It was big, thick, and I was a complete beginner. I went carefully, not rushing, wanting to stretch the moment as long as possible. When I tried to take him deeper, my eyes watered a little and I gagged, but I didn’t want to stop. I wanted to prove I could do it, I wanted him to remember that afternoon for the rest of his life.

I was a little scared, I won’t deny it. Scared of doing it wrong, of it showing that it was my first time, of not being good enough. But every time I looked up and saw his face, that fear dissolved. He wasn’t judging me. On the contrary: he looked at me as if I were the best thing that had happened to him in a long time, with a mix of desire and tenderness that melted me.

Maybe that’s why I let myself go so much. Because for the first time I didn’t feel like I had to fake anything. I spread my legs there on my knees, without him even asking, and with my free hand I slid two fingers under my panties, into my soaked cunt, while I kept sucking his cock.

***

There was one detail that made me nervous and turned on in equal measure: on the other side of the house, out in the street, you could hear people. Neighbors chatting under the eaves because of the rain, someone shuffling past. The idea that my mom could stick the key in the lock at any moment sped up my pulse and made me suck harder, as if danger itself were pushing me along.

Mateo rested a hand on the back of my neck. He didn’t shove, he barely set the rhythm, keeping pace with the movement of my head. At times he got deeper than I thought I could handle, and I breathed through my nose so I wouldn’t have to stop, swallowing the gag reflex, letting the tip brush my throat over and over. Saliva streamed down my chin and fell onto my tits inside the neckline.

—That’s it, my love, just like that —he whispered, fingers tangled in my hair—. Keep it in there, stay there.

I obeyed. I held his cock at the back of my mouth for as long as I could, until I had to pull it out to breathe, and then I’d spit it out with a string of saliva hanging from it and shove it back in right away.

Every sound drifting in from outside made me more alert and, paradoxically, more aroused. The risk of getting caught gave everything a different flavor, an urgency we’d never had in the comfort of a closed bedroom. We were doing something forbidden, in broad daylight, a few feet from the door: me on my knees, my skirt bunched up over my waist and my hand in my panties, sucking my boyfriend’s cock against the wall of my mom’s living room.

I heard him hold back a moan and I knew he was holding back for me, so he wouldn’t scare me, so he wouldn’t break the spell. That gave me an unexpected tenderness in the middle of all the heat. I focused on him, on his pleasure, completely forgetting my own nerves. I sped up, sucked him harder, deeper, closing my lips around the shaft and sucking hard every time I got to the tip.

I grabbed him by the ass and pulled him toward me, shoving his cock deeper into my own mouth, as if I wanted more than I already had. For a moment I felt like one of those actresses in the videos you watch in secret and swear you’ll never imitate. And yet there I was, giving myself over completely, sucking greedily, spitting, jerking him with both hands between sucks, discovering that I liked it far more than I’d ever admit.

If someone had told me a week earlier that I’d be kneeling in front of a man with his cock down my throat and my fingers in my own cunt, I would have laughed in their face.

Mateo was breathing faster and faster. His body tightened, his legs trembled, his balls drew up against the base of his cock, and I knew, without him saying it, that he was about to come.

***

—I’m coming —he managed to say, voice breaking—. I can’t hold it anymore, I’m coming, I’m coming.

I didn’t have time to think what to do. It all happened too fast and was too new. I tried to stay there, hold the moment as best I could, keep sucking while he finished, but inexperience beat me. The first spurt hit the roof of my mouth full on, hot, thick, with a strong taste I hadn’t expected. I swallowed as best I could, but the second shot escaped the corner of my mouth and ran down my chin. The third ended up on my lips and cheek, and by the fourth I had him in my hand, squeezing him while the last threads of cum dripped onto my fingers.

We both ended up laughing at the mess, breathless, still pressed against the wall. I had cum all over my face and he had his cock dripping between my fingers, still hard, pulsing slowly.

It was the first time I’d ever tasted something like that. The first time I’d had semen in my mouth, on my lips, on my skin. The first time I’d taken a situation that far and discovered I could do it, that I liked the power I felt watching someone fall apart because of what I did to him with my mouth.

Mateo crouched down, wiped my face with the hem of his T-shirt, and lifted me off the floor with both hands. He gave me a long, grateful kiss, not caring about the rest of the semen still on my lips, one of those kisses that says more than any words ever could.

—You have no idea what you just did to me —he said, smiling, still not quite catching his breath—. You’re going to kill me, seriously.

I laughed, red-faced and still sticky, feeling clumsy and powerful at the same time.

***

That afternoon was marked forever. Not because it was perfect —it was anything but perfect—, but because of what I discovered about myself. That curiosity can be stronger than shame. That desire, when it’s genuine, pushes you to do things you never imagined. That I liked having a cock in my mouth a lot more than I was willing to admit out loud.

Over time, Mateo stopped being my boyfriend and became my husband. We learned together, making mistakes and laughing at every one of them, until we found our own rhythm. I learned to swallow his load without spilling a drop, I learned how to make it last for hours, and I learned to ask without shame for what I wanted him to do to me. But that first rainy afternoon, against the living room wall, with the fear of being discovered and my heart racing a mile a minute, is still one of my favorite memories.

Sometimes, when the two of us are calm at the end of the day, he reminds me of it with that same smile from back then. And I feel, for a second, the same mix of nerves and boldness as that twenty-two-year-old girl who, without really knowing how, dared to kneel down and try something new.

Some confessions are hard to write. This one isn’t. I tell it with a smile, because it was the beginning of everything that came after.