The First Time I Said Yes to Everything

Exactly two weeks had passed since that night. I counted them. Not the days, but the nights, because it was at night that I thought about him most. I’d lie down and the first thing that came to me was the memory of his mouth moving along my neck, going down slowly, without hurry, as if he had all the time in the world. Damián. Just his name made my stomach churn in a way I didn’t know whether to call desire or addiction.

I’d met him by chance, at a get-together with mutual friends where nobody formally introduced us, but his eyes found mine across the room and there wasn’t much else left to say. What happened that first night was that I ended up with my panties in the hands of a stranger in the bathroom of someone else’s house, with his tongue deep in my cunt and his fingers opening me while he bit the inside of my thigh. He made me come twice against the sink before he turned around, took out his cock, and made me kneel so I’d suck him until he came in my mouth without warning. When I went home in the early hours of the morning, I walked differently. As if something inside me had shifted.

Those two weeks were a delicious torture. I imagined his tongue following the line of my waist, the way he held my head with both hands, firm but never rough, when he shoved his cock into my mouth all the way to the back of my throat. I thought about it at work, on the bus, at three in the morning staring at the ceiling with my hand between my legs, my soaked fingers moving over my clit until I made myself come thinking about him. There were moments when the need to see him became almost physical, like a real hunger that nothing could satisfy. I even started fantasizing not only about what he had done to me, but about what he’d be like with his girlfriend, whether she sucked him off the way I did, whether he asked her for the same things he asked me, whether she knew what I knew, whether she saw him the way I did.

And then the message came.

Just a “hi.” Two vowels and a consonant, but enough to make my hands tremble over the phone and to feel a tug low in my belly, as if my cunt had read the message before I did.

I replied without thinking too much.

—I’m glad you showed up. I thought I wasn’t going to hear from you again.

—Did you miss me? —he wrote.

—Maybe I did. And you?

There was a brief pause. Then:

—Want to grab a coffee?

I told him I couldn’t today, that I already had plans. Which was true: Lucía was waiting for me to go out dancing, we’d been organizing that night for weeks and the black dress I’d chosen looked too good on me to waste it. So I put it off until the next day. My body could hardly believe I was telling him no, with how badly I wanted to see him, feel him, have him inside me. I was already wet just thinking about it.

His reply came almost immediately.

—What plans? Where are you going to be?

I told him I was going out with a friend, that we were almost ready. And five minutes later the phone rang. It was him, calling.

—Come out to the corner —he said, no greeting—. I’m nearby.

My body responded before my head finished processing what I’d heard. I hung up, fixed my dress in front of Lucía’s bathroom mirror, and told her I was stepping out for a minute. She looked at me with that smile of hers, the one that says she already knows everything without anyone having to tell her a thing.

—Watch your mascara —she said, and laughed to herself.

Outside it was cold, but I didn’t notice. I saw him from far away, leaning against the motorcycle, with that posture of his, like a man who was never in a hurry. When he saw me coming, he didn’t say anything for a few seconds. He just looked me up and down, lingering on the dress, on my legs, on my face.

—You look way too good to go dancing —he said at last.

—Same to you and your girlfriend —I shot back.

He laughed. He got off the bike and hugged me before I’d even finished speaking, pulling me against him with a force that left me breathless. I felt it all: the heat of his body, the smell of his clothes, the hands running over my back as if they’d long wanted to do exactly that, and the hard bulge pressing against my belly through his pants. He kissed me with an urgency I hadn’t expected, shoving his tongue all the way in, biting my lower lip, then my neck. And then he yanked my neckline down.

Right there, in the street, in the cold of the night with cars passing a hundred meters away. He crouched and sucked one of my tits directly, his tongue rough and hot over the nipple that hardened instantly against his mouth. He moved to the other, bit it with his teeth until I let out a gasp, while the free hand pinched the one he’d left alone, rolling it between his fingers. I felt my knees go weak and my panties soak through right there, standing on the sidewalk with my tits out and his mouth devouring me like he had two weeks’ worth of hunger built up.

—Come —he said, pointing to a dark lot at the end of the block—. I need to fuck you right now.

I told him I couldn’t, that Lucía was waiting for me, that tonight wasn’t possible. But my voice came out weak, hoarse, betraying me. So he lifted me by the waist, really carried me, and walked over there while I clung to his shoulders without putting up much resistance. I could feel his hard cock pushing against my hip with every step.

***

It was a construction lot, dark, with a concrete wall giving us a bit of cover. It wasn’t romantic. It wasn’t what I would have pictured if I’d planned something. But in that moment I didn’t care about any of that. I just wanted him to fuck me.

He kissed me against the wall, his hands on my waist, hiking my dress up to my hips, and I noticed how tense his pants had gone, how his cock was pushing at the fabric, trying to get out. I knelt down without him asking, because it was what I wanted to do, because I’d spent two weeks thinking about this exact moment and the body doesn’t lie. I undid his belt, lowered the zipper, and pulled his cock out in one tug. It was hard, thick, throbbing in my hand with a clear drop showing at the tip.

—You ask me with that voice? —he asked quietly, looking down at me.

I didn’t answer with words. I ran my tongue along the full length, from base to tip, tasting that salty drop, and then took him all the way into my mouth.

I took him slowly at first, exploring, learning again what I already knew but wanted to learn all over again. I sucked the tip with my lips closed, let it go with an audible pop, took him halfway back in. I ran my tongue underneath, where I knew it made him lose control, and felt him tense, felt his hands search for my hair. He grabbed it in a fist and started setting the pace. I took him all the way, moving with a rhythm that sped up on its own, guided by his hands that pushed first gently and then more decisively, pulling my head toward him until the tip hit the back of my throat and my eyes filled with tears.

—That’s it, slut —he murmured—. That’s how you suck it.

I pulled off for a second to breathe, a strand of saliva hanging from my lip, and went down to suck his balls while giving him a slow hand job. Then I went back up, took him all the way in, and started moving faster, letting him fuck my mouth, feeling his thighs tense.

—Stop —he said suddenly, his voice changed—. Stop or I’m gonna come right now.

I stopped. Looked up at him from below with his cock resting against my cheek. His eyes were half-lidded and his breathing ragged.

—If you leave some room, I’ll show you something after that you’re gonna like —he said.

I didn’t quite understand what he meant. But I kept sucking him slowly, rationing him, until his hands tightened in my hair and I felt the first hot spurt hit the roof of my mouth. He came in my mouth like he had the first night, with that thick heat that had been burned into my memory over those two weeks, and I swallowed everything while looking him in the eye, not losing a drop. I kept sucking the tip until the last twitch, until he was left trembling.

I stood up. Kissed him, running my tongue over his lips so he could taste himself. He savored the kiss with everything that had just happened.

—Well —I said—. Now I’m really going.

He grabbed my arm before I could take a step.

He turned me with my back to him, very slowly, one hand on my hip and the other sliding up my neck until it wrapped lightly around my throat, a pressure that left me speechless. His mouth was at my ear.

—It’s time I show you what I want —he said—. What I think every time I see you.

I felt him hard again against my back, his cock pushing through my dress, and something in me lit up in a different way. His fingers climbed my thigh, moved my underwear aside, and started exploring. First he ran two fingers through my cunt, which was soaked, dripping, and slid them inside without resistance. He moved them slowly, curling them, while his thumb made circles on my clit. I had to bite my lip not to scream. Then he pulled his fingers out, shining with my wetness, and moved them higher. Further up. Further back. He started smearing me with what I’d gotten myself wet with, insisting right there, on the other hole.

I tensed all over.

—Wait —I said.

—Easy.

—No, Damián, that doesn’t...

—Listen to me. —His voice was low, steady, unhurried—. Do you trust me?

I didn’t answer. But I didn’t move either.

His fingers were still there, patient, sliding in my own wetness, and the sensation coming was strange. It wasn’t what I expected. It was something between fear and a curiosity I still didn’t dare name. The tip of a finger started to enter, barely, and I held my breath. He kissed my neck while he worked slowly, preparing, opening a path that no one had traveled before. The finger went a little deeper and I squeezed my eyes shut. When it wanted to pull out, another one slipped between my legs and found my clit, and then the two sensations crossed and I arched against him without meaning to.

—No one’s ever done that to me back there —I said very quietly.

—I know —he said—. That’s why.

I felt his mouth on my shoulder, his teeth barely grazing my skin, his free hand holding mine against the wall. And with the other he kept going, now with two fingers, opening me slowly, with a patience that contrasted with everything before it. He pulled them out, wet them again in my cunt, pushed them back in. A little deeper each time. I was trembling, my dress bunched up at my waist, my panties pushed aside and my tits out, breathing against the cold concrete.

When he pulled his fingers out I felt the tip of his cock resting at the entrance, seeking that opening, and fear was real. A moment of pure panic that made me clench my teeth.

—Stop —I said—. Stop, it’s going to hurt. I don’t want to.

He stopped. Not completely, but enough to turn and look at me straight on, one hand still on my waist and his cock resting between my ass cheeks, throbbing.

—Are you sure you don’t want this? —he asked.

And at that moment something happened to me that I can’t quite explain: I reached for his hip with my free hand, and pushed him toward me.

Just a little. Barely.

But it was enough.

The head of his cock started to open me up and I stopped breathing. The initial burn made me hold my breath and cling to the wall until my knuckles went white. I felt myself stretching, felt a muscle that had never yielded give for the first time, in a slowness that was almost worse than if it had been fast. But his hands didn’t stop: one running over my tit, squeezing it, pinching the nipple, and the other moving between my legs, two fingers rubbing my clit in wet circles. His mouth on my shoulder was saying things I could barely hear but that still reached me, low and constant, like an anchor.

—Loosen up —he murmured—. Breathe. That’s it. All mine.

And the pain began to ease, or transform, or mix with something else that still had no name. The fingers on my clit didn’t stop, and I started to feel a different pleasure, deeper, rising from somewhere new.

—More —I heard myself say.

And I surprised myself by saying it.

He moved forward slowly, centimeter by centimeter, stopping each time he noticed me tense, kissing me until I loosened again. When he was all the way in, I stayed still for a few seconds, pressed against the cold wall, feeling something completely new. A different fullness, deeper, occupying a space I hadn’t known I had. I felt it throbbing inside me, thick, beating against my walls.

He started moving. Slowly at first, with an almost careful rhythm. Short withdrawals, slow entries, giving me time to get used to it. I was breathing in broken gasps, cheek against the concrete. Then faster, hands on my hips, dragging me toward him, slamming me against the wall with each thrust. His mouth was on my nape, on my shoulders, biting me. My own hands searched for the wall, something solid to cling to while the world shrank to that feeling of having him in and out of a place that just a while ago had scared me.

—That’s it —he said, his voice rough in my ear—. Just like that, don’t stop. Move, fuck me.

And I wasn’t thinking anymore. I was only feeling. I started pushing my ass back, meeting each thrust with one of my own, arching my back, offering him everything. His hand went back down between my legs and slipped two fingers into my cunt while he kept fucking me from behind, and the feeling of being filled on both ends at once made me moan out loud, not caring if someone walked by on the street and heard me.

—Shut up —he said, covering my mouth with his other hand—. They’ll hear you.

But he kept fucking me harder, deeper, and I moaned into his palm, biting it, pushing my ass back to take him better. What had started in fear had become something I didn’t want to end. The fingers of his other hand kept moving inside my cunt, searching for that spot, and my clit rubbing against the base of his thumb with every thrust.

—I’m gonna come —I panted against his hand.

—Come all over me —he said—. Like that, I want to feel you.

The orgasm hit me like a jolt that started in my belly and burst all the way to my fingertips. I felt the walls of my cunt tightening around his fingers and my ass clenching around his cock at the same time, and he growled low, tightening the rhythm, fucking me harder while I was still trembling.

—Don’t stop —I begged, voice wrecked—. Come inside. Now.

When it happened, he did it with a low grunt, his hands dug into my hips, driving all the way in, and I felt the heat of him inside me in a way I’d never felt before. Hot spurts filling me from within, contraction after contraction, while he held me against the wall with all his weight. A surrender I hadn’t planned, total and without turning back.

We stayed still for a few seconds, with him still inside me, throbbing. His forehead against the back of my neck. Our breathing mingling in the cold air. When he slid out slowly, I felt a hot stream run down the inside of my thigh, and I had to grip the wall so I wouldn’t lose my balance.

***

We got ourselves together in silence. He buttoned up, I fixed my dress and underwear as best I could, feeling the fabric stick to my damp skin. We kissed one last time, slowly, without the urgency from before, as if there were something softer underneath everything that had happened.

—You’re late for dancing —he said.

—Lucía’s going to kill me —I replied.

He smiled. It was the first time I’d seen him smile like that, just because.

I walked back to the building entrance feeling different. Not just physically, though that too: I walked with my legs a little apart, feeling every step, feeling something of him leaking between my thighs with each movement. But in another way that’s harder to explain: as if I had crossed a boundary that had been there for a long time, waiting for me to decide whether I wanted to cross it or not. And I had crossed it. Not because anyone forced me to, but because in the end it had been me who pushed him toward me.

Lucía opened the door with a sour face.

—Twenty minutes —she said.

—I know.

—Was it worth it?

I looked at her. Thought about Damián leaning against the motorcycle when I arrived, his low voice telling me to trust him, the way he had waited for my signal before going on. Thought about everything I hadn’t planned and how I’d ended up asking for more anyway, how it had been me who pushed him inside.

—Yes —I said—. It was.

I grabbed my purse and we left. Outside it was still cold, but I didn’t notice it anymore. I only felt, with every step, the warm memory of him inside me.