The Night I Became His Prayer

The room still held the humid heat of the steam bath. Outside, the world still existed—the noise of the street, the traffic lights, the people hurrying; but in there, time had stopped like the water in a pond. The candles drew trembling circles across the tatami floor, and from the stereo came a murmur of running water, so faint it seemed like the pulse of a river hidden beneath the floor.

I knelt in front of Adrián. Not like someone surrendering out of fear, but like someone laying an offering on an altar. My body trembled, and it wasn’t from nerves: it was pure anticipation, the kind that climbs up your back before something important begins.

“Order me around,” I said, my voice coming out steadier than I expected. “Ask for whatever you want, and it will be yours.”

He didn’t answer right away. He studied me from the edge of the armchair like someone discovering a place he hadn’t known existed. He rose slowly, without haste, and each step across the tatami sounded like a slow drumbeat. When his hand brushed my chin, his voice came like a burning whisper.

“I don’t want you to ask for it,” he said. “I want you to beg. I want you to plead for it with every fiber of your body, until your desire becomes a prayer and the rest of the world disappears.”

I didn’t pull away. I didn’t break. On the contrary, I felt something inside me straighten. I arched my back, parted my lips, and looked at him as though I were about to utter a spell that couldn’t be spoken with words.

“I will,” I answered. “But not with my mouth. With every gesture. With every tremor. With every part of me that opens to receive you.”

Adrián closed his eyes for an instant, as if my words were incense. When he opened them, the courtesy of the man who had invited me over that night was gone. Something else was there, something older and hungrier.

“Then come,” he said. “And become that.”

***

We had arrived at this after months of circling around it. We met at a ceramics workshop, of all places, and for weeks we pretended that what we had was nothing more than conversation and coffee. But every goodbye grew longer, every brush of our hands at the worktable lasted a second too long. One night, over a couple of drinks, I confessed a fantasy I had never said out loud: giving myself completely, without reservations, to someone who knew how to read me, who would fuck me as though he had a right to my cunt. He didn’t laugh. He only looked at me for a long while and said, “Then we’re going to do it right.”

That was why the candles. That was why the silence. That was why the room he had prepared like someone building a temple, with fresh tatami and a single scent floating in the air, cedar and something sweet I couldn’t name.

That same afternoon we had gone together to the steam bath, quiet nearly the whole time, letting the heat soften our shyness. I remember looking at him through the mist and seeing his hard cock outlined beneath the towel, and thinking there was no turning back, that tonight we were going to touch the bottom of something we had spent months skirting. When we came out, our skin still glowing, he took my hand and led me to the room without saying a word. The simple firmness of his grip told me everything I needed to know.

I stopped for a second in the doorway. Not because I was uncertain, but to preserve the image: the candles already lit, the pale tatami beneath the trembling light, the cushion in the center waiting for me like a reserved place. “I chose this,” I repeated to myself. No one was dragging me anywhere. I had walked there with my eyes open, and that certainty gave me a calm I hadn’t expected.

I knelt in the center of the room, my body offered, not as an object but as a silent plea. Adrián watched me from the armchair with the calm of someone who knows the moment will arrive precisely when he decides it should. I didn’t move. I didn’t tremble. I waited. And that waiting, that enforced stillness, was already a kind of pleasure I had never known before.

When he finally stood, he did so with purpose. He approached from behind, and as he knelt, the air seemed to stop along with me.

“Beg now,” he said.

I didn’t answer at once. I drew breath from deep inside, as if gathering words that weren’t spoken with the tongue but with the chest.

“My body is yours,” I whispered. “But don’t simply take it. Claim it. Fuck my cunt with your mouth before anything else, open me completely with your fingers, make me beg for your cock until I’m drooling for it. Not out of whim. Out of need.”

Adrián closed his eyes again for a second. When he opened them, he no longer looked like an ordinary man.

“Get ready,” he said. “Because what I’m going to give you won’t be a caress.”

***

His hands settled on my hips, firm and sure, as if marking the beginning of something ancient. My whole body trembled. Not from fear: from the certainty of being read, not merely touched. He lowered his head, and in his breath against my skin there was something more than desire. There was recognition.

He pushed me forward until I was on all fours on the tatami, my ass raised and my cunt already wet, glistening between my thighs. I heard his clothes falling behind me, then felt the heat of his naked body pressed against my back. His hard, thick cock brushed my thighs for the first time, and that contact alone made my knees shake.

The first touch of his tongue wasn’t to my mouth but to my cunt. He licked me from behind, from bottom to top, one long, firm stroke that tore a filthy, drawn-out moan from me, one I couldn’t silence. The second was deeper, his tongue slipping between my wet lips, searching for my clitoris with obscene patience. The third made me squeeze my eyes shut and bite my lip, because my body understood there was no turning back. He wasn’t touching me: he was devouring me, slowly, patiently, licking, sucking, pressing his whole face against my cunt as if drinking from a spring only he knew.

“Claim what’s yours,” I begged, my voice broken by surrender, pushing my ass against his mouth without a trace of shame.

He smiled against my wet lips, and I felt the vibration of that low laugh throughout my cunt. Then two fingers plunged into me, firm, and began fucking me while his tongue kept working my clitoris. I moaned and bucked like a bitch, pressing his face against me, unable to keep still. The wet sound of his fingers entering and leaving my cunt filled the room, and that filthy, unmistakable noise heated me as much as the contact itself.

“Come in my mouth,” he murmured, and it wasn’t a suggestion. It was an order.

I came. I came with my face pressed to the tatami and my ass in the air, trembling all over, clenching my fingers against his tongue, screaming at him not to stop, to keep eating me. He didn’t stop. He drank every drop, cleaned my cunt with his tongue, and only when I was completely limp, my body loose and my breathing broken, did he let me go.

He turned me onto my back and laid me down faceup. He knelt between my legs, his huge cock hard, already wet with my anticipatory saliva and his own desire. I reached out and took it: thick, hot, throbbing against my palm. My mouth watered.

“Put it in my mouth,” I asked him. “Before my cunt, my mouth. I want to feel all of it.”

He didn’t keep me waiting. He came closer, opened my lips with the tip of his cock, and slowly fed it into me, looking me in the eyes, until I felt the hard head against my throat. I sucked him hungrily, eagerly, without pretending to be delicate, letting saliva spill from the corners of my mouth. He grabbed my hair and began moving himself, fucking my mouth at his own pace, sliding in and out while I moaned around his cock. Every thrust made my eyes water, but I didn’t loosen my grip. I swallowed him to the root, sucked his balls, ran my tongue along his entire length as if memorizing it.

“Enough,” he gasped, pulling it from me abruptly. “If I keep going, I’ll come all over your face, and I haven’t even put it in you yet.”

He spread my legs wide. He positioned himself at my entrance and, with a slowness that was nearly unbearable, began pushing his cock into my cunt. He wasn’t forcing it: he was inviting me. He wasn’t invading: he was claiming me. My body, which had tensed instinctively, gradually gave way, not out of weakness but through an acceptance that surprised even me. I felt the heat, the pressure, the way every inch of his cock became a small conquest inside me.

“It feels incredible,” I gasped, squeezing my thighs around his hips. “Put it all the way in, fuck, all of it.”

He understood. He savored every moment: not only the contact, but the complete surrender, the exact instant when something forbidden becomes almost sacred. He drove all the way in with a single thrust, and I screamed, not from pain but from fullness, because I had never felt anything so deep inside me. He stayed there, motionless, letting me feel every throb of his cock inside my cunt. Then he withdrew almost completely, leaving me empty for a second, and plunged back in hard, all the way to the balls.

He did it several times: out, back in, out, back in, each time harder, as though my cunt were a verse being reread aloud, over and over, until it was memorized. And I kept opening, not from exhaustion but from desire. Adrián felt it. And like someone who finally recognizes his equal, he began fucking me for real.

The rhythm became steady, deep, brutal, like drums in a dance that had come from far away. Every slap of his hips against mine made a wet smack in the silence of the room, and my tits bounced with every thrust. He lowered his head and caught one nipple between his teeth, sucking it hard while he kept fucking me. I arched, sank my fingers into his back, dug in my nails. I stopped thinking. For the first time in a long while, I stopped being on guard.

“Look at me,” he ordered, and I turned my head just enough to meet his eyes. There was no cruelty in them. There was fierce attention, as though nothing in the world existed except his cock sliding in and out of my cunt.

“Tell me you like it,” he hissed, never stopping his thrusts. “Tell me how you like me to fuck you.”

“Like this,” I moaned. “Like this, hard, all the way in. Don’t stop, please, don’t stop.”

He pulled his cock out abruptly and turned me over like a doll. He put me on my knees again, my chest against the tatami and my ass held high, then shoved it back into me from behind in a single thrust. From that angle he went deeper, touching places that made me moan uncontrollably, and he knew it. He gripped my hips with both hands and began fucking me like a machine, fast, hard, without mercy. The sound of his balls slapping against my cunt was obscene, perfect.

“Touch yourself,” he ordered. “Touch your clitoris while I fuck you. I want to feel you come with my cock inside you.”

I obeyed. I slid my hand between my legs and began rubbing my swollen clitoris while he kept thrusting. Pleasure rose through me in waves, one after another, until I felt something release deep inside and trembled all over, helplessly, shamelessly, my mouth open around a moan I didn’t recognize as my own. My cunt clenched around his cock in spasms, squeezing and sucking him, and he let out a low growl but didn’t stop. He held my hips and took me beyond the limit I thought I had, until my own body no longer belonged entirely to me and became part of what we were fucking.

There was a moment when I completely lost track of time. I didn’t know whether we had been there for minutes or an entire hour in that half-light. Only his heavy breathing near the nape of my neck existed, the heat of his hands squeezing my buttocks, the wet splashing of his cock entering and leaving me, and that rocking motion that had become the center of everything. Every time I thought I had reached the limit, he found a way to push me a little farther: changing the angle, lifting one of my legs, pinching a nipple, putting his thumb in my mouth for me to suck while he kept fucking me.

He put me on my back again, lay over me with all his weight, and drove his cock as deep as it would go. He seized both my wrists and pinned them to the tatami above my head, leaving me exposed, open, unable to move. And like that, immobilized, he fucked me as if he wanted to leave a mark. I wrapped my legs around his waist and begged him for more, more, always more.

“Don’t hold anything back,” he told me in my ear, his voice hoarse from holding himself back so long, and that order was all I needed. I stopped holding back. I let my voice fill the room, let my body respond without a filter, let every tremor be as honest as a confession made in the dark. I screamed at him to come inside me, to fill my cunt, not to dare pull out.

He sped up. His thrusts became erratic, brutal, and suddenly I felt him sink all the way in, go still, and a wave of heat flood me from within. His come, thick and abundant, filled me completely as he moaned against my neck, trembling on top of me. I came again with him, feeling every spurt of semen inside me, squeezing him with my cunt so I wouldn’t lose a drop.

I had never shown myself like that to anyone, so defenseless, so completely fucked, and I discovered that in that total nakedness there was a freedom I hadn’t known existed.

***

When he finally withdrew, a thread of his semen mixed with mine slid down my thigh. I let myself fall onto my side on the tatami, breathing unevenly, my skin covered in a fine sheen of sweat and my cunt still throbbing, swollen, alive. The candles were still burning, indifferent, drawing their circles on the ceiling. Adrián sat beside me and brushed a lock of hair from my face with a tenderness that contrasted with everything that had come before.

“Are you okay?” he asked, and the question, so simple, moved me more than anything else that night.

I nodded. I still couldn’t find the words. I had the strange feeling that I had left something in that room and, at the same time, taken something new away with me. For years I had believed that surrender meant losing. That night I understood that giving in, when you choose whom to open your legs for and how, is also a way of taking control. My control. The control of my pleasure. The control of my own desire, which had finally stopped asking permission.

I curled up against his chest. His heart was still beating fast, and mine answered in the same rhythm, like two drums that had fallen into time without meaning to. Outside, the world kept turning—the traffic lights, the people hurrying. But in there, among the candles and the murmur of water, time remained stopped, and I had no desire to return.

“Shall we do it again?” I asked after a while, half joking, half praying he would say yes. I lowered my hand and took hold of his cock, still warm, still sticky with both of us. “I want it again. In my mouth, in my cunt, wherever you want.”

Adrián laughed softly, that deep laugh I had liked since the first day, and kissed my forehead as his cock began hardening again in my hand.

“We have all night,” he said. “And many more, if you want them.”

I did. I wanted them all.