The Stranger from the Group Invited Me to Her Place That Night

I never thought I’d end up accepting a proposition like that. I’d spent weeks scrolling through a social network a friend had added me to more or less as a joke, one of those where people post whatever they’d never dare say out loud. The group was called something like “No-Strings Encounters,” and after reading half a dozen posts, it was clear to me that almost all the profiles were fake. Landscape avatars, generic names, pictures stolen from the internet. I was one of the few idiots there with my real face and my real name.

I have no idea what the hell I’m doing here, I thought as I scrolled with my thumb. And right then her post appeared.

It was brief, direct, with no emojis and no detours. She was looking for a physical encounter, one time only, no prior small talk, no promises of anything. She specified that she didn’t want to meet the guy, know his story, or exchange numbers beyond what was strictly necessary. Just sex. I read it thinking it was the kind of post anyone could write, but the detail was in the last paragraph: she described with precision the profile she was looking for, and by chance that profile was mine. Twenty-eight years old, tall, fit, dominant, no interest in long-term relationships. Too precise to be coincidence.

I wrote to her.

—Hi, I read your post and I’m interested. Are you the girl in the photos?

—No, the photos are from the internet. Are you the one with the profile asking?

—Yes, that’s me. My name and my photo are real. I joined the group a few days ago.

She sent me her phone number and I added her. I asked for something that would reassure me it wasn’t a prank from a friend or, worse, a scam. What she sent left me speechless: a short video of her looking at the camera, saying my name and the date of the day. There was no way that had been doctored. It was her, real, in her room, with a yellow lamp behind her. She had loose brown hair and very full lips, and an accent I couldn’t quite place.

She introduced herself as Mariela. She told me she was thirty-two, that she had just come out of a relationship of nearly ten years in which sex had become a formality, and that she wanted to try, just once, something other than missionary with the lights off. She laid down her entry conditions: only oral sex and traditional penetration, nothing weird, and I would leave as soon as it was over. I told her that sounded fine to me. I also told her that when two people get naked, rules tend to evaporate, but she didn’t answer that.

We agreed she’d let me know if things moved forward.

***

That same night I met up with two friends at a neighborhood bar. We drank beer, ate badly, and talked even worse. Around one in the morning, just as we were paying, I felt my phone vibrate in my pocket.

—I had a few drinks. I’m really turned on. Can you come over? I just want you to fuck me and leave.

I read the message twice. My friends looked at me and knew, without asking, that something had happened. I told them I was leaving without giving details. In the taxi on the way to her place, while the city slid by blurred in the window, I couldn’t stop thinking about one thing: what Mariela didn’t know was that in bed I was anything but gentle. Her plan for proper missionary and a cordial goodbye was going to last exactly as long as it took her knees to open.

I got to her building in under an hour. It was a complex of old apartments, with an intercom that rang three times before she answered. Her voice sounded different from the one in the video. Deeper, with the words dragged out a little.

—Come up, seventh floor, C.

The elevator smelled of damp. When I reached the seventh floor, her door was already half open. I peered in and saw her from behind, walking barefoot toward the living room. She was wearing a very short summer dress, white, with nothing underneath that would show through when she moved. Her legs were pale, long, and the way she swayed made it clear she’d had quite a bit to drink.

—Come in —she said without turning around.

I closed the door behind me and locked it.

When she finally turned, the first thing I thought was that the video did her no justice. She had huge breasts for her size, two cup sizes more than one would expect in a woman that slim. Her face was barely made up, with a sheen on her lips that gave her a deliberately brazen air. A face of something not quite admitted out loud.

—I don’t know what I’m doing —she told me.

—You’re doing exactly what you wanted to do. You just need to stop thinking about it.

I sat down on the sofa. She stayed standing in front of me, toying with the hem of her dress between her fingers. I asked her to bring me a glass of water and watched her walk to the kitchen. When she came back, she handed it to me without sitting down. I took her wrist, pulled her toward me, and sat her astride my lap.

I kissed her.

It took her two seconds to respond, and when she did, she opened her mouth with an urgency that had nothing to do with the original plan. While we kissed, I took her hand and guided it between her own legs, under the dress. She wasn’t wearing underwear.

—I shaved —she murmured against my mouth—. In the chat you said you liked it like this.

—Don’t tell me. Show me.

She stood up, took a step back, and pulled her dress up to her waist. The kitchen light fell at an angle and left her exposed from the navel down. She was wet. So wet it showed from that distance. Her pussy gleamed open, pink and damp, with the lips swollen with need and the skin already warm from alcohol and from the shame she was losing at the same speed as her clothes. She ran two fingers through her slit and showed them to me as if to make sure I understood the image too.

—Come here —I ordered.

She obeyed.

I turned her around, took her back to the sofa, and spread her legs. She let me, breathing through her mouth, her chest rising and falling beneath the neckline. I slid my hand between her thighs, parted those slippery lips properly, and touched her with the tips of my fingers. She was burning. I ran my tongue over her slowly, from bottom to top, tasting the salty, sharp flavor of her arousal mixed with the alcohol. Mariela let out a short, embarrassed moan, and then another when I pushed two fingers inside her while still licking insistently, searching for the exact spot that made her hips tense and her nails dig into the arm of the sofa.

—Like that —I said, lifting my head just enough to speak to her—. That’s how I want to hear you.

She was looking at me with her mouth slightly open, her neck flushed red, and every time I pushed my fingers deeper she told me not to stop. I sucked her clit until one of her legs began to tremble, and then I let her go, because I still wasn’t interested in giving her everything. I wanted to hear her ask. I wanted to see the last bit of politeness in her disappear.

I unbuttoned her dress completely and pulled it off over her head. She stood there naked, heavy breasts falling to each side and hard, dark nipples pointing at me. Her skin was warm, her belly slightly hollowed, and she had the air of a woman who hadn’t been looked at with real hunger in a long time. I looked at her unhurriedly, making it clear she was mine for that night and only for that night.

—Do you like being looked at like that? —I asked.

—Yes —she said, and the word came out more broken than she wanted.

—Then don’t look away.

I made her open her legs again and knelt in front of her. My tongue went back to the wet flesh, slow at first, then firmer, parting her lips with my mouth, sucking her until the sound of her gasps began to fill the living room. I pushed a finger inside while still licking and she clutched the back of the sofa to keep from falling forward. When I found the exact rhythm, a barely audible “fuck” slipped out of her, and that was enough for me to press her face harder against my mouth, eating her without delicacy, enjoying the trembling of her thighs and the way the skin around her pussy grew slick.

I wanted her more exposed, more open, so I made her lean back and she ended up on the sofa, legs spread and ass at the edge, gasping like a well-bred bitch who’s only just understanding what she’s asking for. She pulled my head down with one hand and whispered:

—I want you to fuck me now.

I stood up. I stripped slowly. I wanted her to wait. I wanted her to watch my cock getting hard, thick, heavy, while she breathed faster and faster. When I got near the bed, she reached out to touch me and I told her no, not yet. I told her to move to the edge of the mattress and open her legs wider. Then I placed mine on either side of her face.

—Before I fuck you, show me how you suck cock.

She obeyed. She did it well, better than her chat talk had suggested. Her lips closed around the tip and then she went lower, taking me in little by little, wetting my cock with her tongue and saliva until it shone under the dim room light. She had technique that couldn’t be improvised, a way of looking up that said far more about her last decade than any explanation could. I leaned down, spread her legs with both hands, and started giving her oral while she kept on with me. Every time my tongue hit the right place, she lost the rhythm and let out a moan muffled by my own flesh inside her mouth.

I licked her pussy patiently at first and then with force. I ran my tongue over her clit until her back arched. I pushed in two fingers, then three, and moved them inside her with a rough back-and-forth, enough to hear the wet sound of her arousal filling the room. Mariela moaned with her mouth still trying to adjust to my cock, alternating saliva and air, eyes closed and hands gripping the sheets.

—Look at me —I ordered.

She opened her eyes. Her face was wrecked with pleasure, her makeup a little smeared, her breathing uneven.

—Do you like it like this? —she asked, her voice thick with desire.

—Like this. Harder.

When she was close, I stopped her. I wanted her for me, not for herself alone.

I turned her over. I arranged her face down, hips raised and face buried in the pillow. I entered her slowly, all the way. She let out a muffled cry and had to bite the fabric so as not to wake half the floor of the building. The sensation of her pussy clenching around my cock was fucking glorious: hot, tight, soaked, as if it were sucking me in with every thrust. I spoke to her ear as I moved. Things that aren’t repeated outside a bed. Things she thought she wouldn’t like and ended up asking me to repeat. I grabbed her hair with one hand and, with the other, squeezed her neck without cutting off her air, just enough for her to understand who was controlling the pace that night.

—Was this what you wanted? —I asked.

—Yes —she said, her voice broken.

—Ask me properly.

She asked properly.

She asked me to turn her over, and I put her face up, legs spread wide and heels sunk into the mattress. I slid my cock in again, this time harder, deeper, marking every thrust against the back of her pussy until she was gasping uncontrollably. She asked me to bite her, so I sank my teeth into one breast and then the other, not hurting her, just enough to raise gooseflesh on her skin and make her tighten around me even more. She asked me to tell her in her ear everything nobody had told her in ten years, and I told her filthy, without restraint, talking about how well she sucked cock, how her ass opened when she arched, how delicious it felt to have her soaking my cock completely.

The woman who had written me shyly in chat turned into someone else. Someone who knew exactly what she wanted but needed someone to give her permission to ask for it. I gripped her hips, made her ride my cock when she wanted to get on top, and let her bounce on me until her hair fell loose, her forehead grew damp, and she started letting out short, ugly, delicious little cries. I watched her take me with desperation, with that mix of hunger and relief that only appears when someone has spent years swallowing their desires.

—That’s it, like that —I told her—. Fuck me too.

She obeyed better than I expected, clenching around me with her pussy as she moved on top of me, rubbing against my pelvis with almost savage urgency. I grabbed her ass, guided her to my rhythm, and gave her a few sharp slaps on the backside that made her moan with her face hidden in my shoulder. The room filled with wet sounds, broken breathing, sheets crumpling under our weight, and the creak of the bed every time the mattress protested.

When she was close, I laid her down again, made her open herself with her hands, and drove my cock all the way in, pushing with a force that left her breathless. Her legs tightened, she clutched my back with both hands, and started saying my name as if it were a plea. I held her there, buried in her body, until the trembling ran through her from head to toe. She felt the orgasm reach her first in her mouth, then in her belly, and then in her pussy, which clenched convulsively around my cock while she writhed on the sheets, soaking the base of me with her release.

I held on a little longer, long enough to feel her shudder beneath me again and again, and then I pulled out just enough to finish over her stomach and breasts, marking her with a second spill of warm semen that ran down her skin. Mariela stayed there gasping, one hand over her mouth and the other buried in her hair, looking at me with that expression half ashamed, half fascinated that women have when they discover they’re much dirtier than they thought.

***

I came on top of her, I came inside her, and when I pulled away I took a quick shower in her tiny bathroom. I came out with a towel tied around my waist and found her still face down, hugging the pillow, looking at me with a goofy smile I hadn’t seen before.

—You were supposed to leave after this —she told me.

—I was. But you’re still looking at me like you want another round.

She bit her lip. I walked to the bed, lowered her arm off the pillow, and turned her face up. I kissed her neck. I kissed her breasts, those absurd breasts that looked designed for sleeping on. I felt her breathing start to break again and, in less than a minute, I was hard again, she was wet again, and the two of us were back in the same place.

I spread her legs with my hands, sank back into her already sensitive pussy, and made her come again, slowly at first, then with a more brutal rhythm that forced her to bite the sheet so she wouldn’t scream. It left her trembling from head to toe, with weak knees and her face lost in the mattress. When I finally emptied myself inside her again, I did it in a heavy, hot spill, feeling my semen fill her completely before escaping in white threads down her thighs when I pulled away.

—Stay the night —she told me at some point, when the first two times were already history and the clock read four-thirty.

I looked at her for a long time. It wasn’t the plan. Nor was it hers.

—I’ll stay —I answered—. But on one condition.

—Anything you want.

—Tomorrow, before I leave, I fuck you again. And this time you decide everything. Whatever comes to mind, no filters, no shame. Anything you never dared ask for in ten years.

She nodded in silence, as if she were finally understanding that the script hadn’t belonged to her for a while now.

I’m going to tell that part in another confession. What happened at dawn in Mariela’s kitchen, with the coffee going cold on the counter and her kneeling there with her nightgown half lowered, deserves its own space. What I can say is that I went back home a week after that night, with the feeling I’d crossed a door I no longer know how to return through. And that the social network group, that very same dawn, before I fell asleep beside her, I deleted from my phone.

Not out of regret.

Out of survival instinct.