When I Told Him About My Past, His Reaction Turned Me On

My husband and I have been together for more than twenty years. We met when we were twenty-five, married three years later, and now, settled into our late forties, we still keep finding ways to surprise each other. It isn’t something we deliberately planned; over time, we simply learned that routine can kill a relationship faster than anything else, and that the antidote doesn’t always come from outside or from obvious places.

I’m a woman who has always enjoyed sex, ever since I was very young. I don’t think in terms of comparisons or measurements: when something turns me on, I enjoy it completely and make the person in front of me feel it. That never changed. What did change, over the years and with trust, is that I learned to talk about it without shame. To say cock, cunt, come, fuck, with the same naturalness I use for any other word.

A few months ago, my husband started asking me to tell him about my previous experiences. At first I thought it was a passing curiosity, the kind that appears and disappears. But the third time he asked, looking straight into my eyes and making no attempt to skirt the issue, I understood that it was something he genuinely wanted to know. I didn’t find it uncomfortable. I found it interesting. And I decided to tell him.

***

It was a weeknight, already past eleven. Our children had closed their doors a while ago, and the whole apartment was ours. He was lying back on the bed, and I had come over without saying anything, because there was no need. Over the years, you learn to read those silences, to tell which ones mean tiredness and which ones mean something else.

I began caressing him slowly, taking the time I always take. I pulled his boxer briefs down to his knees and took his cock in my right hand, squeezing it at the base and moving slowly toward the tip, feeling it thicken against my palm. There’s something about that initial moment, when I still have it soft and feel it beginning to fill with blood beneath my fingers, that feels more intimate to me than anything else. I know his cock by heart, and even so I keep taking all the time I want, unhurried, running my thumb over the crown again and again until the first transparent drop escapes at the tip. I collect it with my finger and bring it to my mouth, and he lets out a sudden breath.

When it was completely hard, thick, and hot in my hand, I bent down and ran my tongue from the base to the glans, very slowly, pausing to suck his frenulum with my lips barely closed. His thighs tensed. I took him all the way into my mouth until I felt him hit the back of my throat, held him there for a few seconds, then released him with a wet sound, saliva running down the shaft.

“Tell me something,” he said, gently taking me by the chin.

“What?” I asked, though I had a feeling where this was going.

“About before. I want to know what the others were like. Who you fucked before me.”

The question didn’t make me uncomfortable. What surprised me was his tone: direct, without any pretext wrapped around it, as if he’d spent a while working up the nerve to ask. I looked at him and saw that he was completely serious.

“How much do you want to know?” I asked him, without letting go of his cock, slowly moving my fist up and down.

“Anything you want to tell me. In detail. How they fucked you, how you came.”

I straddled him without letting him enter me, resting my wet cunt on his cock, stretched out against his stomach, and began moving back and forth, sliding my open lips along its entire length, wetting it with my juices. I spent a few seconds thinking about which story to choose. I had a few. Not many, but not just one or two either. And there was one in particular that I knew would turn him on more than the others, precisely because it involved something he couldn’t give me. He had never really minded it, but that night I felt like I wanted him to hear about it.

“There’s one I think you’ll like,” I told him, without stopping my rubbing against him. “Though I should warn you that your first reaction will be disbelief.”

“Tell me.”

***

It was before we met. I would have been twenty-two or twenty-three. I lived alone in an apartment downtown, in a building with many floors and neighbors who barely spoke to one another. A guy named Damián lived on the floor above me. We ran into each other in the elevator two or three times a week, exchanged comments about the heat or the noise from the apartment at the back, those hallway conversations that lead nowhere but gradually build something without you realizing it.

One Saturday afternoon I ran into him in the lobby, loaded down with grocery bags, and he invited me up for a drink at his place. I knew it wasn’t just for a drink. And he knew it too. Neither of us made any effort to pretend otherwise.

I was curious. Until then I had been with two men, and the second had taught me quite a lot—especially how to suck cock well and ask without shame for what I wanted—but I felt like finding out what lay beyond what I already knew. The thrill of being with someone new, someone I still knew nothing about, was enough to make me say yes.

We went upstairs. His apartment was brighter than mine, with a huge window overlooking the rooftops of the buildings across the way. We sat on the couch and talked for no more than twenty minutes, until the conversation began to feel superfluous and we both noticed it at the same time.

He kissed me calmly, without any hurry. He had a large mouth and firm lips, and he knew what he was doing. It was the kind of kiss that starts quietly and heats up on its own, without anyone having to force it. He took me by the nape, slipped his tongue deep into my mouth, and I felt my cunt grow wet in a way I couldn’t ignore. He squeezed one of my tits through my dress, found my nipple with his thumb, and pinched it, and I let out a sigh into his mouth.

As I tell all this, I haven’t stopped keeping one hand on my husband, or my mouth either, alternating between them. I suck him slowly, looking him in the eyes, letting saliva drip onto his balls while I massage them with my other hand. I can feel him getting tenser and tenser, and his breathing is becoming slower and deeper.

“Keep going,” he asks in a low voice. “Don’t stop telling me, and don’t stop sucking.”

Back then I was thinner, though I already had a fairly large chest for my height, defined hips, and legs I had always liked. I was wearing a light, strappy dress, with nothing underneath except a tiny lace pair of panties. When Damián yanked it over my head, my tits fell heavy and free, their nipples already hard and pointing toward him. The way he looked at me made my panties seem completely unnecessary.

He laid me on my back on the couch, crouched down, and took one whole tit into his mouth, sucking it hard and tugging on the nipple with his teeth just enough to make me arch my back. With his other hand he kneaded my other breast, pinching the nipple between his forefinger and thumb. I was already wet, so wet that I could feel the dampness staining the insides of my thighs.

He pulled my panties down with his teeth, very slowly, sliding them down my legs until he had removed them completely. Then he opened my legs with both hands, looked at my open, glistening cunt, and said softly, “You’re so delicious.” And he bent down and ate me.

He began by licking my outer lips, one by one, eyes closed as if he were eating something delicious. Then he spread me open with two fingers and ran his whole tongue from the entrance of my cunt to my clitoris, very slowly, pressing the tip at the end. He repeated it three or four times, faster each time, until he clung to my clitoris and sucked it with his whole mouth, maintaining constant, exact pressure, while he slid two fingers inside me and curled them upward, searching for that spot he knew perfectly well where to find.

My hips bucked against his face. I grabbed his head with both hands and pressed it against my cunt, moving without any shame, fucking his mouth. When I felt I was about to come, he sensed it and increased the pressure just slightly without changing the rhythm, continuing to move his fingers quickly inside me. I came screaming, squeezing my thighs around his head, feeling the orgasm shake me from head to toe. He didn’t stop: he kept licking me with his flat tongue while I trembled, until my clitoris became so sensitive that I had to pull his face away.

***

“Up to that point, it could be the story of any fairly good night,” I tell my husband, giving him a long lick from his balls to the tip of his cock. “What comes next is what interests you.”

He doesn’t say anything, but what I feel beneath my fingers and on my tongue is answer enough. I squeeze him a little harder at the base and hear him hold his breath. I give the tip a wet kiss and take him into my mouth again, this time all the way to the back of my throat.

When Damián got up from the couch and began unbuttoning his pants, I watched him from below, my cunt still throbbing from my orgasm. He pulled down his pants and boxer briefs in a single movement. And I went completely still.

“What happened?” my husband asks. He’s no longer hiding his interest.

“He had a cock like I’d never seen before,” I tell him. “Not so much because of the length, though it had that too. It was the thickness that left me speechless.”

My husband asks me to describe it, and I do without exaggerating a single syllable, because there’s no need to exaggerate anything: it was thicker than any cock I had seen in any man before or since, with a large, purplish head, and the closer it got to the base, the wider it became. The veins stood out, thick and blue, because at that scale they couldn’t help but show. It was completely erect, hard as a rock, pointing at me without the slightest effort, as if it couldn’t be any other way. A thread of pre-cum hung from the glans.

“Imagine something that starts narrower at the top and gets wider toward the base,” I tell him. “But made of hot flesh, with texture, with weight. When I took it in my hand, I couldn’t close my fingers all the way around it. I couldn’t reach.”

My husband exhales slowly, and I feel his cock twitch in my mouth.

“And what did you do?”

“I just stared, I think with a frightened look on my face. And he laughed—not mockingly, but like someone who was used to that reaction and already knew how to handle it. I crawled toward him across the couch and grabbed it with my hand. I couldn’t close my fingers around it. I ran my tongue over the glans, which was the size of a plum, and tried to take it into my mouth. I got the head in and little else. I gagged with only a third of it inside me.”

I sucked it as best I could, with both hands around the shaft moving at the same time, letting saliva run down to his balls. He watched me from above, one hand in my hair but not pushing, letting me do it at my own pace. I licked it all over, sucked his balls one by one, then returned to the tip and plunged my tongue into the slit until his legs trembled.

“Come here,” he said hoarsely, and lifted me off the couch.

He took me to the bedroom, threw me onto my back on the bed, and opened my legs. Before coming closer, he asked if I was all right. I liked that: there was something in his attitude that clearly said he knew what he was carrying and wasn’t going to ignore that fact. He put on a condom as calmly as he had done everything else—the latex stretched almost to its limit—spat into his hand and lubricated himself, then lubricated me, sliding two fingers all the way inside to make sure I was wet enough.

When he pressed the tip against my entrance, I felt the width before he even began to push. The first sound I made was completely involuntary. A mixture of surprise and something bordering on pain without quite being pain. He pushed slowly, very slowly, and I felt my cunt opening inch by inch, stretching in a way I had never experienced before. He stopped with the head inside, waited, and when I nodded, he continued easing it into me just as slowly.

“Oh, fucking hell,” I said, or something like that. I don’t remember exactly.

I felt every inch with brutal clarity: my body took a moment to adjust, and throughout that time he didn’t move, only looked at me and caressed my tits to help me relax. When he finally got all the way inside me, until his balls touched my ass, I lay still for a few seconds, feeling full in a way I had never felt before. I could feel every vein throbbing inside me.

When I relaxed, he began to move. Slowly at first, with short strokes that gave me time to get used to it. The sensation was unlike anything I knew: constant pressure against my inner walls, friction reaching places that had been asleep until then. I felt his veins moving inside me with almost unreal clarity, and every time he pulled out almost to the tip and then drove all the way back in, a moan escaped me that I couldn’t control.

“Faster,” I begged, barely recognizing my own voice. “Fuck me faster.”

He held my tits with both hands so they wouldn’t bounce too much with the movement, and the consideration in that gesture almost made me feel tender toward him. He gradually picked up the pace, and I matched my rhythm to his, lifting my hips to receive him, seeking him out. The sound of his balls slapping against my ass mingled with the wet squelch of my soaked cunt and my moans, and at some point I began to feel something building very deep inside me, different from the orgasms I knew, as if it were coming from farther in than usual.

It didn’t take long. The friction of that thickness was doing work that didn’t require much extra effort from either of us. I clung to his back, digging my fingers in until my nails sank into him, bit his shoulder, and came with an intensity that surprised even me. My legs really trembled, not as a dramatic expression, but because my body did what it wanted without consulting me. I felt my cunt contracting around his cock, and he had to remain still for a moment, holding himself back, because he had almost come too.

“And him?” my husband asks, his voice strained.

“He asked me to turn over,” I say, moving my fist over his cock with more rhythm. “And I asked him for a second to recover.”

“And did you give him that second?”

“I gave him two. It was the least I could do.”

I got down on all fours, ass held high and face against the pillow, and felt him settle behind me with one firm hand on my hip. He spread me open with his thumb and looked for a moment, then spat onto my open cunt and rubbed the spit with the head of his cock, grinding it against my lips before pushing it in. This time there was no such gentleness: he drove almost the whole thing in with one thrust, and I screamed into the pillow.

He began moving with an energy he hadn’t shown before, gripping my hips with both hands and pulling me toward him with every thrust. The position made everything deeper; I felt him reaching a place no one had reached before, and with every stroke his thick head pounded against my cervix in a way that was half pleasure and half something else. I could only concentrate on breathing and enduring, because my body no longer had much room left.

He slipped one hand underneath me and found my clitoris with his middle finger, beginning to rub me at the same rhythm with which he fucked me. With his other hand he grabbed my hair and pulled my head back.

“Tell me you like it,” he said close to my ear, without stopping his thrusting.

“I like it,” I said, panting. “I love your cock. Don’t stop. Fuck me hard.”

I didn’t have to ask twice. He began fucking me with all his strength, balls against my ass, while his finger worked my clitoris in circles. The second orgasm rose from below, like a wave beginning in the soles of my feet and traveling up my legs until it shook the center of my body. I heard myself making sounds I normally don’t make—grunts, curses, things I wouldn’t repeat in the cold light of day. I didn’t care. My cunt closed around that enormous cock in spasms I couldn’t control.

I felt his hands tightening around my hips, his thrusts becoming shorter and more erratic, and then he pulled out abruptly, tore off the condom, and finished on top of me, thick, hot jets splashing from the nape of my neck to the small of my back, running down my sides. It was an amount I had never seen before either, gathering in the hollow of my waist and trickling down to my ass. He stayed there for a moment, kneeling, breathing hard, his cock still hard in his hand and dripping the last remnants onto me.

Afterward he cleaned me with a towel, very slowly, without any hurry, as if that part was sex too.

***

I fell silent for a moment. My husband’s breathing was ragged, and beneath my fingers I could feel that he was completely at the limit. His cock throbbed, hard and swollen, the tip wet with pre-cum.

“That’s all,” I told him, squeezing him at the base so he wouldn’t come yet.

“All?” he repeated in a hoarse voice.

“For now,” I told him. “There’s more. But I’ll tell you that another day.”

I climbed on top of him, took hold of his cock, and positioned it at the entrance of my soaked cunt. I lowered myself slowly, feeling it open me, until I had taken it all the way inside. I began moving slowly, my hands braced against his chest.

“Imagine me with Damián,” I told him, looking into his eyes as I moved my hips. “Imagine me spread open, with that huge cock inside me, coming like a bitch.”

He didn’t last a minute. I felt him trembling beneath me, grabbing my hips with both hands and thrusting upward, and he came inside me with a force I hadn’t felt from him in years, letting out a long moan from deep in his chest. I kept moving until he had finished emptying himself and until I came again, on top of him, squeezing his already-sensitive cock with the contractions of my cunt.

I collapsed beside him, sweaty, and draped an arm across his chest. His reaction was exactly what I had expected, and that night we discovered that memories, told well and at exactly the right moment, can be the best game of all between two people who know each other by heart.