What I Gave Him That Night at the Hotel

My name is Mariana, and I’m twenty-seven years old. I never thought I’d write anything like this, but some nights cling to you, and the only way to get them off is to tell them. This is one of those nights. The night I gave Andrés the only thing I still kept for myself: my ass.

I met Andrés on a dating app almost a year ago. It wasn’t love—never had been—and we both knew that from the very first message. He was what people now call a friend with benefits, someone I saw every so often when my body demanded it and my mind left me in peace. I liked him more than I was willing to admit, and I think he knew it. That was why he agreed to see me even if it was only to fuck me.

There was only one thing I had always denied him. He had been insisting for months, with that way he had of asking for things that seemed like a game but wasn’t. He wanted my ass, wanted to fuck me from behind, wanted what I had decided to save for someone who might one day want to stay with me. It was old-fashioned, I know, but it was mine. I would tell him no, and he’d laugh, squeeze one of my cheeks, and try again the following week, always with that same finger insinuating itself between my ass cheeks while he fucked me in other ways.

That Monday I woke up restless. I can’t describe it any other way: my body burning from the morning on, my pussy wet for no reason, my nipples hard against the fabric of my blouse, my mind anywhere but at work. By midafternoon I couldn’t take it anymore. I locked myself in the office bathroom, slid two fingers inside me, and came biting my lip so I wouldn’t moan. Then I wrote to him.

—I’ll see you at the usual place at seven —he replied immediately, as if he’d been waiting.

—I’ll be there —I told him—. And today I’m yours. All of me.

—All of you, all of you? —he asked, and I felt his cock harden on the other side of the phone.

—All of me —I repeated, and switched off the phone before I could regret it.

The hotel was the same one as always, one of those discreet places on the edge of town, with a white-lit reception desk and corridors that smelled of cheap disinfectant. I went upstairs, opened the room with the key card, and sat on the edge of the bed to wait. An hour passed. Andrés still hadn’t arrived.

—I’m stuck in traffic. I’ll be there in five —he wrote.

—Okay, I’ll wait for you, ready —I replied, and my own answer surprised me.

Ready. Ready for what, exactly?

I took off all my clothes, leaving on only my stockings, and lay on my back with my legs spread. I caressed my pussy slowly, playing with my clitoris, opening my lips with two fingers so he would find me like that when he came in. I was soaked. I could hear the wet sound of my own fingers sliding in and out.

Another ten minutes passed before the door opened. He came in without apologizing, his tie loose and wearing the smile I knew by heart. He looked me up and down slowly, like someone inspecting something he already considered his. He stopped between my legs and ran his tongue over his lips.

—This is how I like to find you —he said—. Pussy spread open and waiting for me.

He kissed me before I could answer. It was a long kiss, unhurried at first and voracious afterward, the kind that leaves you breathless. His hands traveled over my back, moved lower, squeezed my ass hard, spreading my cheeks, and one of his fingers slipped between them and pressed against my still-closed asshole. I shuddered. He smiled against my mouth.

—Today, yes —he murmured—. Today it’s my turn.

—Today, yes —I confirmed, and felt my knees go weak.

He tossed a cushion onto the floor beside the bed and held my gaze as he unfastened his belt and lowered his pants. His cock came free, hard and erect, thick, its tip already gleaming. He held the back of my neck without roughness but without giving me a choice, and I knelt.

I knew him well; I knew his rhythm and what he liked. I ran my tongue along his entire length, from his balls to his glans, slowly, looking up at him. I took the tip into my mouth and played with it, sucking it as if it were candy, circling the frenulum with my tongue. Then I opened my throat and swallowed him whole, until my nose bumped against his belly. A hoarse growl escaped him.

—Fuck, Mariana —he muttered—. That’s it, eat it like that.

I started sucking him hungrily, using both hands, one at the base and the other massaging his balls. I pulled him from my mouth to lick him all over, then swallowed him again to the root, leaving strings of saliva running over his balls. He grabbed my hair and began setting the pace, thrusting his hips against my face, fucking my mouth until I gagged and my eyes filled with tears.

—Keep going —he panted—. Nobody sucks me like you.

He pulled out suddenly, a strand of drool hanging between my lips and his glans. He pulled me up by the arm and pushed me onto my back on the mattress. He spread my legs wide apart and buried himself between them without preliminaries, his mouth directly against my pussy. His tongue slipped between my already-soaked lips and sought out my clitoris. He began sucking it with the same hunger I had used on his cock, tugging at it with his lips and tapping it lightly with the tip of his tongue.

He folded my knees against my chest, leaving me completely open to him, with nothing to hide. He ran his tongue down my slit, pushed it into my pussy, and pulled it out, bringing it back up to my clitoris. Then, without warning, he moved lower and ran the tip of his tongue over my asshole. I screamed into the pillow.

—No, not there —I protested, but it sounded more like a moan than a refusal.

—Yes, there —he replied, and did it again—. There, there, and everywhere. Today there won’t be a single part of you I don’t taste.

He began alternating. My pussy for a while, my ass for a while. His tongue went in and out of places I had never let him touch like that, and I writhed between embarrassment and pleasure. It was a strange, almost uncomfortable mixture of shame and desire, and he noticed immediately. He slid two fingers into my pussy while sucking my clitoris, and with his thumb soaked in my own juices he began massaging my asshole in circles.

—Today everything is going to be mine —he said against my skin—. Say it.

—It’s yours —I answered, not knowing where that surrendering voice had come from.

—What’s mine? Say it clearly.

—My ass —I blurted out, my face burning—. My ass is yours, Andrés.

I came in his mouth with those words. My whole body convulsed against his tongue, squeezing his head between my thighs, and he didn’t stop until the last wave passed through me and left me trembling.

***

What came afterward I remember in fragments, as if my memory had decided to protect some parts and leave others perfectly clear. He put me facedown and lifted my hips, forcing me onto my knees with my face buried in the pillow and my ass held high. He spat between my cheeks, and I watched a warm thread run down my slit. I felt his fingers spreading my cheeks, exposing me completely. Then I felt his tongue again, and then a finger entering slowly, all the way to the knuckle.

—Relax —he murmured—. Push against me as if you were trying to shit me out.

I obeyed. The finger went all the way in. I stayed still, feeling it inside a place where I had never had anything. He began moving it slowly, making small circles, and after a few minutes he added a second one. It burned. It burned, and at the same time it made me squeeze my thighs from sheer nervousness.

—You’re ready —he said, pulling out his fingers.

I heard the bottle of lubricant, felt the cold stream falling into my crack, and then felt his weight settling behind me. He placed the tip of his cock against my asshole and pushed gently. At first it wouldn’t go in; my body resisted instinctively.

—Slower, please —I asked, my face buried in the pillow.

—You’re very tight —he replied, breathing unevenly—. Hold on a little, relax, open up for me.

He pushed again, more firmly, and I felt my asshole give way, felt the glans force its way through and enter with a burning that made me scream into the pillow. He stayed still there, with only the tip inside, giving me time to adjust.

—The worst is over —he whispered—. It’s inside you now.

He wouldn’t let me bite the pillow. He turned my face to one side, saying he liked hearing me, that every sound that escaped me turned him on even more. I wavered between asking him to stop and asking him not to, because the uncomfortable truth was that part of me wanted to continue, wanted to see how far that night I had sought out myself would go.

—You told me I was yours —he reminded me at my ear, pushing in another centimeter—. I’m not backing out now.

—But it hurts —I insisted.

—It’ll stop hurting. Trust me. Feel how I’ve got you.

He guided one of my hands behind me and made me feel the place where his cock disappeared inside me. I felt how stretched and open I was, and shame pierced me again. And, despite everything my mind was screaming, I trusted him. I closed my eyes, drew a deep breath, and stopped fighting the sensation. I pushed back against him and felt the rest of his cock sink into my ass until his balls slapped against my pussy.

—I’m all the way inside —he moaned—. Every inch, my love.

He began to move. Short withdrawals at first, then slow, deep thrusts. At some point, I couldn’t have said when, the pain began transforming into something else, a dense, hot pressure that rose up my back and reached the nape of my neck. I no longer knew whether I liked it or feared it, but I was completely surrendered to him. He felt it. He knew by the way I stopped tensing, by the change in my breathing, and by how I began pushing my ass backward to meet his thrusts.

—There it is —he whispered—. You’re enjoying it now. Look at how you’re moving your ass for me.

I didn’t admit it aloud, but I didn’t deny it either. My silence, and the hand I lowered to my pussy to rub my clitoris in time with his thrusts, were all the answer he needed.

***

He sped up. He began fucking my ass with long, deep thrusts, gripping my hips with both hands and leaving the marks of his fingers on my skin. The wet sound of his cock entering and leaving me mixed with my muffled moans against the pillow and the sharp smacks of his hand against my ass. Every blow shook my whole body.

—Tell me you like it —he panted—. Tell me how I’m fucking you.

—I like it —I confessed, surprised to hear myself—. I like the way you fuck me in the ass, Andrés. Don’t stop.

—That mouth. That filthy mouth you’ve got now.

He laid me flat, crushing me against the mattress, his weight on top of me and his cock still buried in my ass. In that position I couldn’t move, only take him. He fucked me with his hips pressed against my ass, using short, rapid thrusts, while he bit the back of my neck and whispered things in my ear that I wouldn’t repeat aloud even now.

He slid one hand beneath me and found my clitoris. He began rubbing it quickly with two fingers while continuing to drill me from behind. I had stopped thinking. There was no work, no Monday, no idea I had defended for so many months about saving myself for someone. There was only that hotel room, his voice, his cock inside me, and the feeling that I had crossed a line I could never cross for the first time again.

I came. I came with his cock buried to the hilt in my ass and his fingers squeezing my clitoris, and I screamed so loudly that he covered my mouth with his other hand. My asshole tightened around him in spasms, and that finally pushed him over the edge.

—I’m going to come, I’m going to come —he panted—. Where?

—Inside —I blurted out without thinking—. Come inside my ass.

He sank into me one last time, all the way, and I felt him unload in hot spurts deep inside me. He stayed still on top of me, trembling, his forehead pressed to the nape of my neck and his broken breathing against my skin.

When he finished, he collapsed beside me while I remained facedown, feeling his semen begin to slide slowly down my crack, my body wrecked and a dull ache running through me. I could hardly believe what had just happened, what I had just allowed.

—You’re incredible —he said, stroking my back with a tenderness I hadn’t expected from him—. Are you okay?

—It hurts —I admitted in a thread of a voice—. A lot.

—It’ll pass —he replied, kissing my shoulder—. I promise.

I got up with difficulty and went to the bathroom. I sat down for a moment and felt the rest of his cum trickling out of me. I washed slowly, and when I touched myself I felt a burning that made me clench my teeth. I hadn’t enjoyed all of it, not in the clean, easy way he seemed to have. For me it was more complicated: a mixture of pain, vertigo, surrender, and something resembling pride at having managed to let go of control. I looked at myself in the mirror and barely recognized myself.

When I returned to the room, he was stretched out on the bed with one arm behind his head, his cock still gleaming and half-hard, watching me.

—Come here —he said, opening his arm so I could settle against his chest.

I hesitated for a second. Then I went to him.

We stayed like that for a long while in silence, listening to the hum of the air conditioner and the cars passing occasionally along the road. His hand moved slowly up and down my arm, and I thought about how strange it was to feel so cared for right after feeling so vulnerable. Andrés wasn’t the man I was going to marry. He wasn’t anything like what I had imagined for the moment I had protected for so long. And yet there I was, my ass full of his semen, giving it to him.

—What are you thinking about? —he asked.

—That I denied you this for months —I said—. And that I don’t understand why I said yes today.

—Because you wanted to —he replied, without a trace of doubt—. Everything else was just an excuse.

Maybe he was right. Maybe I had spent months building a romantic idea so I wouldn’t have to admit how simple it all was: that I wanted him, that I wanted him like this, with his cock splitting me in two wherever he pleased, and that the story I told myself about saving myself for someone special was only a way of refusing to acknowledge it.

***

Later we showered together. The hot water soothed the burning, and beneath the spray he embraced me from behind with a calm he hadn’t shown before. I felt his cock, already soft, resting against my sore ass, without demanding anything this time. Just his arms around me and his chin resting on my shoulder while the steam fogged the mirror. One of his hands moved lower and caressed my pussy slowly, asking for nothing, almost as if he were apologizing.

—Next time will be easier for you —he said quietly.

—Who said there’s going to be a next time? —I replied, although we both knew there would be.

He laughed against my neck and didn’t insist. He didn’t need to.

He drove me home once it was already dark. The ride was quiet, the radio turned down low and his hand resting on my knee at every traffic light. We didn’t talk much. We didn’t have to. When I got out in front of my building, he leaned toward the window.

—Let me know when you get upstairs —he said.

The gesture surprised me. Andrés never asked for things like that. I went upstairs, sent him a short message, and collapsed onto my own bed, alone this time, my ass still aching and my head spinning.

The burning stayed with me for almost two weeks. Every time I sat down, every time I walked too quickly, I remembered it. And instead of regretting it as I thought I would, I found myself smiling at the least appropriate moments—in the middle of a meeting or while grocery shopping—with the memory of his cock opening me from behind appearing without warning and forcing me to squeeze my thighs beneath the table.

Months have passed since then. Andrés and I are still seeing each other, and there’s no part of me left that I haven’t given him. Something changed between us that neither of us dares to name. That night I stopped being the woman who held herself back and became the woman who allows herself things. I don’t know whether it was a good decision or a bad one. I only know it was mine, completely mine, and that for the first time in a long while I didn’t ask anyone’s permission to desire what I desired.

Another time, if I work up the nerve, I’ll tell you about the first time we were together. But that’s another story, and I’m not sure I’m ready to tell it yet.