What We Did When We Got Back from the New Year’s Eve Party
This is the first confession I’ve ever written, so bear with me. New Year’s Eve has come and gone, and I still laugh to myself whenever I remember it. If someone had told me how I was going to start the year, I wouldn’t have believed them. But let’s begin at the beginning, because that’s how you tell the stories that matter.
We had dinner with the family, as we do every December 31. My partner, Marina, showed up that night in a tight burgundy dress covered in sequins that caught every light in the room. It had a neckline right on the edge of decency and a hemline calculated just as carefully: short enough to drive me crazy, long enough that her mother wouldn’t say anything. Underneath, as I would later confirm with my hands, she wasn’t wearing a thing. No panties and no bra. Just her skin and that shiny scrap of fabric clinging to her ass every time she bent over.
She tormented me all night. And she knew it.
Every time she leaned over to serve something, every time she crossed her legs in the chair opposite me, she sought my gaze to check whether I was still watching. Of course I was still watching. We toasted with cheap champagne, ate too much, laughed at her uncle’s repeated jokes, and between courses she brushed my thigh beneath the tablecloth as though by accident. At one point her bare foot crept up to my crotch and stayed there, squeezing my cock through my trousers while she chatted casually with her cousin.
“Behave,” I whispered to her once.
“I’m not doing anything,” she replied, biting her lip.
Liar.
After dinner came the drinks and the real party. We put on music, someone brought out a bottle of rum, and the living room turned into an improvised dance floor. Marina danced with her cousins, but every few minutes she came over to me, pressed her body against mine, and whispered things in my ear that I’m not going to repeat here in front of her imaginary family. Well, I’ll repeat one: “I’m soaking wet—look what you’ve done to me.” Then she took my hand and led it under her dress in the hallway for a second, letting me brush against her wet pussy before pulling away, laughing. The flirting grew hotter hour after hour until, around six in the morning, people started saying their goodbyes.
At one point, already deep into the night, we ended up alone in the hallway beside the coat rack overflowing with jackets. She pushed me against the wall with one hand on my chest, rose onto her toes, and kissed my neck just beneath my ear, slowly, knowing perfectly well what it did to me. She whispered a single sentence I’ll never forget: “As soon as we get to the car, I’m going to eat your cock all the way down, I don’t care where.” Then she went back into the living room as if nothing had happened, leaving me standing there with an erection I had no way of hiding, trying to put my face back together before following her out.
By then we were both insanely horny. There was no other way to put it. We looked at each other from opposite ends of the room, nodded without speaking, and knew it was time to leave.
We said our goodbyes in a hurry, far too much of a hurry to be polite, and stepped out into the cold of the early morning. Marina walked ahead of me toward the car, and I followed, my eyes fixed on the way the dress hugged her with every step. I couldn’t help myself: I smacked her a couple of times and groped her ass several times before we reached the car. I lifted her skirt a little right there in the street, taking advantage of the fact that no one was around, and slid my hand between her thighs. She was wet, dripping, the lips of her pussy swollen and hot. When I ran my finger over her clitoris, she grabbed my arm and let out a hoarse moan that I had to cover with my other hand.
“You’ve been very naughty all night,” I told her.
“Look who’s talking,” she replied, and kissed me against the car door before getting in.
The moment I started the engine, we began. We kissed at traffic lights, touched each other on the straight stretches, told each other how horny we were and everything we were going to do as soon as we crossed the front door at home. I drove as best I could, one hand on the wheel and the other under her dress, two fingers buried in her pussy while my thumb rubbed circles over her clitoris. She writhed in her seat, spread her legs as far as the seat belt allowed, and bit my shoulder to keep from screaming.
“Put it in me already, please,” she panted. “You’re going to fuck me all the way when we get there, right? All of it, as deep as it’ll go.”
Meanwhile, she gave me no respite. She rubbed me through my trousers, squeezing and tracing with her fingers the shape of the hard cock already poking out above my waistband, and whispered in my ear with a deep voice I hadn’t heard from her during the family dinner. She told me she couldn’t take it anymore, that she’d spent the whole night imagining this moment, that she’d put on the dress thinking about how the night would end, without panties, so I could do it to her wherever and however I wanted.
“Hold on a little longer,” I told her, more for myself than for her. “Five minutes and we’ll be home.”
“I don’t want to hold on,” she replied, and yanked down my zipper.
***
We live in a building with underground parking. I opened the gate with the remote, drove down the ramp, and the automatic door slowly closed behind us. The garage was silent, lit only by the yellowish fluorescent lights overhead, empty at that dead hour between night and dawn. I pulled into our space and, before I even had time to switch off the engine, she had already unbuttoned my trousers and pulled out my cock, hard and clenched in her fist.
“Wait until we get upstairs,” I told her, with almost no conviction.
“Sorry, I can’t,” she replied, running her tongue up and down her upper lip while staring straight at me.
And she didn’t wait.
She leaned across the seat, swept her hair away from her face with one hand, and took my cock into her mouth all at once, down to her throat, as if she’d been thinking about doing it for hours. Which was probably the case. I couldn’t believe it. We were parked in the building’s garage, with the emergency lights off and the engine still hot, and she had her mouth open over my lap, swallowing my entire cock as if the world were going to end at seven in the morning.
I pulled my trousers down a little farther to get comfortable and let my head fall against the headrest. The sensation of her lips squeezing my base, the wet heat of her tongue winding around my glans, the cold of the garage against the warmth inside the car, and the absurd danger that someone might come down to get their car right then made everything more intense. At first she moved up and down unhurriedly, setting a slow rhythm, sucking from top to bottom, pausing at the tip to lick circles around it, spitting a little so my cock would slide more easily between her hand and her mouth.
“Fuck, Marina,” was all I managed to say.
She liked that. She sped up. She took me all the way down and left me there for a few seconds, her nose pressed against my belly, until her own breathing forced her to come back up with a strand of saliva hanging from her lip, and then she started again. With her free hand she stroked my balls, squeezing them carefully and gauging the effect. There was nothing elegant about it, nothing of the girl in the sequined dress who had smiled politely at her uncle during dinner. It was pure urgency, desire accumulated over an entire night of touches and whispered promises. She was an unleashed slut in the passenger seat, swallowing her boyfriend’s cock in a garage.
“Look at my face while you fuck my mouth,” she asked in a hoarse voice, pulling off for a second to breathe. “Grab my hair. Hard.”
I did as she asked. I grabbed her hair with both hands, wound it around my fists, and began setting the pace myself, thrusting upward from below. She opened her mouth and let me, let me take her completely, eyes open, searching for mine every time my cock reached the back of her throat and made her gag. The sounds were saliva, impacts, muffled moans. The windows of the car were fogging up.
I let go of her hair for a moment and reached my hand into her cleavage. I pulled one breast out of the dress, pinched her hard nipple, and watched her close her eyes and moan with her mouth full. With my other hand I reached down and slipped two fingers between her legs again. She was wetter than before. Soaked. She was coming almost just from sucking me.
“You’re dripping,” I told her, pulling out my glistening fingers and holding them up for her to see.
She took them into her mouth and sucked them too, without letting go of my cock in her fist.
“If you keep this up, I’m not going to last,” I warned her.
In response, she did the same thing, only faster. She took my cock all the way down again, tightened her lips, and began bobbing frantically, her hand moving at the same rhythm around the base, leaving not a single inch untouched. With her other hand she lifted her dress and began rubbing her clitoris herself, coming almost at the same time as I did, moaning with her mouth still full.
I began to realize I wasn’t in control of anything anymore. The garage, the car, the exhaustion of the night—all of it blurred until only that existed. I warned her, my voice breaking, that I was about to come. She didn’t pull away. On the contrary, she squeezed my balls with her hand while continuing with her mouth, setting the ending herself, deciding how and when this would finish. “Come in my mouth,” she murmured for a second, without pulling all the way off. “All of it. Inside. I don’t want to lose a single drop.”
I finished with a gasp and a curse, gripping the steering wheel with one hand and the back of her neck with the other. I felt the first spurt fill her mouth, and she didn’t let go. She kept sucking, swallowing, squeezing with her tongue, drawing out everything that remained inside me with slow, firm movements until the very last drop. When there was nothing left, she gave me one final lick from base to tip, cleaning me as if checking her work.
She slowly straightened up in her seat with a smile she didn’t bother to hide, then opened her mouth to show me it was empty. She had swallowed everything. Then she kissed me, and I could still taste myself on her tongue.
***
“What a way to start the year,” I said, still catching my breath.
Marina laughed, a frank, tired, happy laugh, and wiped the corner of her mouth with the back of her hand.
“I told you I couldn’t wait,” she replied, shrugging as if she’d just explained the most natural thing in the world.
We stayed like that for a moment in silence, the engine finally switched off and the cold beginning to seep through the cracks in the car. I brushed a lock of hair away from her face and kissed her, slowly this time, without rushing—the kind of kiss you give when there’s nothing left to prove.
“You’re crazy,” I told her against her lips.
“And you love it,” she replied.
She was right, of course. We’d been together for years, and she could still throw me off balance like that, turning an ordinary New Year’s Eve into something I would remember for the rest of the year. That’s the truth about couples who have been together a long time: the difficult part isn’t the desire of the first day; it’s keeping that desire alive when you already know each other by heart. And we managed it, in our own way, with a dress worn without panties and a blowjob in the garage at seven in the morning.
We got out of the car with our legs a little shaky and walked toward the elevator with our arms around each other, laughing like two teenagers who had just done something they shouldn’t. The garage was still empty, indifferent to everything, with its concrete silence and yellow lights. For a second I wondered whether there might be a camera, and then decided I didn’t care. Let them watch, if they wanted.
“Shall we go up?” she asked, pressing the button while adjusting her dress and running a hand through her tousled hair.
“Let’s go up,” I said. “Although after this, I don’t know what I have left to offer you.”
She looked at me with one eyebrow raised, that look of hers I knew so well and that never announced anything good. Or nothing good, depending on how you looked at it. She pressed herself against me in the elevator, took my hand, and slipped it back under her dress. She was still wet. Still hot.
“Relax,” she said when the doors opened, pressing herself against my fingers. “That was only the appetizer. Upstairs you’re going to fuck me until I can’t walk.”
What happened upstairs, at home, I’ll tell you another time. For now, I’ll hold on to this: the memory of a cold garage, a burgundy dress tossed onto the passenger seat, and the certainty that no year has ever started better for me. I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed living it.
