No One Knows What I Do When Night Falls

There is no exact moment when you realize your body no longer belongs entirely to you. It happens slowly, like when the smell of rain arrives before the first drops fall. One day I woke with the sheets soaked between my thighs, with my cunt swollen and throbbing as if it had a heart of its own, and I knew something had changed forever.

My name is Valeria. I’m twenty-one, I live in a small town tucked against the Cristal River, and until a few months ago I was, according to everyone, the serious girl. The one who studied. The one who didn’t draw attention. The one who lowered her eyes when someone smiled at her too much in the street.

But that was by day.

At night I was something completely different. At night I slid two fingers all the way in, thinking about cocks I had never seen, and came biting the pillow so my grandmother wouldn’t hear me on the other side of the hall.

I don’t know when it started. Maybe when I found that private group where women described in detail how they’d been fucked for the first time, how many cocks they’d sucked that week, what it felt like to have hot semen sliding down their chins. Maybe when I looked at myself naked in the bathroom mirror and no longer saw the girl I had been, but someone with firm breasts and dark nipples and a tight cunt that knew how to make other people react. What I do remember clearly is the idea. That absurd, twisted, hugely exciting idea that settled into my head as if it had always been waiting there.

What if I auctioned off my virginity?

Not because I needed to. Not for money. But for the pure thrill of imagining there were men willing to pay not just with bills, but with urgency, with hunger, with the desperation of someone who has spent weeks jerking off thinking about a cunt they still can’t have. I imagined men sitting in front of screens in dark rooms, a hard cock in one hand and the mouse in the other, silently bidding on something no one else had ever split open. I imagined their tight faces, clenched jaws, the moment one of them would type a number so brutal it would leave the others with their dicks in their hands and no answer.

And that image would make me wet before I’d even finished forming it in my mind. My lower lips would swell, pressing against the fabric of my panties. My cunt would drip in class.

That was what had me out of control. I didn’t need it to actually happen. It was enough to think it, to build the scene while lying in bed with my legs open or waiting for the bus with my thighs pressed together, or while my accounting teacher explained something about depreciation and I had soaked panties under my skirt. My body responded with a speed that frightened and fascinated me at the same time: a brush of fabric against my nipples, a slow song through my headphones, a stranger’s nape in the supermarket line. Everything turned into fuel. Everything ended with me locked in some bathroom shoving my fingers in up to the knuckles.

That Tuesday night, with the heat stuck to my skin and the town in absolute silence, I decided to do something with all of it.

***

I stood in front of the wardrobe for ten minutes before choosing. Not because I didn’t know what I wanted to wear, but because I wanted to savor that moment: the conscious decision to dress for no one and for myself at the same time. It was a decision that belonged only to me.

I chose a white sleeveless blouse, light, almost sheer under direct light. The kind of garment that looks innocent by day but, at night, when you pass beneath a streetlamp, gives away your erect nipples. Under it, a cream lace bra, very soft, with fabric so fine that when I put it on I felt every point of the lace scraping the tips of my breasts like tiny tongues brushing me. My nipples had gone hard before I even finished fastening it, so stiff they hurt.

The skirt was floral, flared, knee-length but so light the air moved it with no effort. And underneath, a red string thong that sank between the lips of my cunt exactly where I started to feel the pressure building. The string dug into my slit and I felt immediately how it grew damp. I was getting wet just from dressing.

I looked at myself in the mirror. I looked like a girl going out for a walk.

But if someone looked at me for two seconds longer, they’d see what lay beneath that calm appearance: a horny bitch with hard tits and a dripping cunt.

I gathered my hair into a loose bun, put on flat sandals, and stepped into the hallway without making a sound. My grandmother was asleep in the back. The floorboards were old and I knew by heart which ones creaked. I avoided them one by one and went out into the street.

***

The town smells different at night. Of damp earth, of fried food that’s already gone cold, of jasmine climbing white walls. There’s something in that still darkness that makes you feel invisible even though everyone could be watching from behind their closed blinds.

I walked slowly, unhurried. Every step was deliberate. I felt the skirt brushing my thighs, the night air slipping underneath, the string thong shifting with each stride, rubbing my clit with every step as if it had a will of its own. By the time I reached the path that leads down to the banks of the Cristal River, I’d been walking ten minutes, my soaked panties were plastered to my cunt, and I was completely turned on without having done anything yet.

The path had no streetlights past the last block of houses. Only the moon, the ocher dirt between the bushes, and the sound of water in the distance. I’d known this place since I was a child: it was where the town’s men fished on Saturday mornings, where mothers took children in summer to cool their feet. No one went there at night.

Or so I thought.

That uncertainty, that tiny doubt that maybe some man might cross my path, see me from behind a tree with my skirt hiked up and my hand in my panties, made my pulse race in a way I hadn’t expected. My cunt tightened with almost painful force.

I went deeper among the trees, pushing aside low branches with my hand, until I reached a spot where the trunks were thick and the ground was covered in flattened grass. The river sounded close but couldn’t be seen from there. Only heard: a constant, low murmur, like the breathing of something alive.

I leaned against one of the trees and stood still for a moment.

I listened.

Nothing. Only the water, crickets, a night bird calling from far away. My heart hammered in my temples. And between my legs, another smaller, crazier heart was beating inside my cunt.

***

I pulled my blouse up to my neck and yanked my bra down. My breasts sprang into the cool night air and my nipples hardened even more, so much that a gasp broke from me. I pinched them with two fingers, first one then the other, pulling hard, twisting them until my legs weakened. I licked one finger, ran it over the left tip, then the right, and that cold wetness on my hot nipple made me squeeze my thighs together hard.

Then I slowly lifted my skirt, as if someone were watching me. That was exactly what I needed: to act as if there were a pair of eyes among the trees, hidden in the dark, following every movement with a cock already in hand. I helped myself believe in that image until it felt real, until I could almost hear the weight of a held breath behind a nearby trunk, the faint rustle of a hand moving quickly over a hard cock.

I slid my thong to one side.

The night air reached where the fabric was gone. My cunt lips were so swollen and soaked I felt them part on their own the second the pressure disappeared. I stayed like that, motionless, for a few seconds, just feeling that temperature against the most sensitive skin I had, with my juice dripping slowly down the inside of my thigh. Then I closed my eyes and began.

First I dragged one whole finger along my slit, from bottom to top, very slowly. The finger came out gleaming. I brought it to my mouth, sucked it, tasted my own hot slick, and lowered my hand again. This time with two fingers. I pressed them to my swollen clit and started making small, tight circles, not pressing too hard, learning again what I already knew as if for the first time.

There is something about being outside, in the dark and the smell of damp earth and the sound of the river, that changes everything. The same gesture that, in a closed room with a pillow over your face, becomes something bigger, more obscene here, as if the space amplifies every sensation and gives it back to you multiplied. I lowered my fingers to my cunt’s entrance and felt it open, asking to be filled. I slid one in. Then two. I curved them upward, searching for that spot that always made me lose control, and there it was, waiting for me, soft and swollen.

My fingers began moving faster. They went in and out with a wet, filthy, obscene sound that was clearly audible over the river’s murmur. Each thrust made a sucking noise that made me even wetter.

I pressed my back harder against the tree and tilted my head back. Rough bark through the thin fabric. The moon through the leaves. With my free hand I pulled on one nipple, then the other, while the other hand pumped inside my cunt, my thumb buried against my clit. The heat gathering in my belly began to become unbearable, like a rope pulled taut to the point where it could no longer be tightened.

—Valeria wants to be seen —I whispered—. Valeria wants to be seen fucking herself with her fingers.

I don’t even know why I said it out loud. But hearing my own name in that silence, spoken like that, with a rough voice and a dry mouth, pierced me in a way I hadn’t anticipated. I imagined there was a man behind a trunk, five meters away, who had come down that path by chance and frozen when he saw me with my skirt hiked up and my tits bare. That he was staring at me without daring to breathe, his cock out of his pants, his hand stroking the hard length in time with the same darkness that held me up.

—Look how this whore gets soaked —I muttered to that ghost—. Look how my fingers go in.

That image pushed me to the edge.

I held back. I pulled my fingers out, tapped quickly over my clit, and shoved them back in, this time three. My cunt made a sucking sound as it accepted them. I wanted to stay there a little longer, on that precise edge where the body trembles and the mind can’t think of anything else. I thought about the auction. I thought about the first bid. I thought about the moment someone decides a virgin cunt is worth what it costs and claims it with the urgency of a man who’s spent too long jerking off to the idea.

And then I let go.

***

The first orgasm hit from the inside out, like a wave that starts deep down and reaches the surface with more force than expected. My cunt clamped around my three fingers in brutal spasms, contracting over and over, sucking them inward. I bit the back of my left hand so I wouldn’t scream. Not because I was afraid someone might hear me. But because I wanted to keep something, even if it was just that sound, for myself alone.

It took me a moment to catch my breath. My fingers were still inside, motionless, feeling my cunt pulse around them, expelling little waves of hot slick every few seconds.

The body didn’t want to stop.

I pulled my fingers out with a wet sound and brought them to my mouth. I sucked them one by one, tasting myself all the way to the knuckle. Then I lowered my hand again and started over, this time differently: deeper, slower at first and harder after, with a determination I hadn’t known I had. I slid two fingers in and with the other hand spread my cunt lips wide so the night air would hit the exposed clit directly. Then I spit on my fingers and attacked again.

The muscles in my thighs were trembling. The bark of the tree stayed against my back like an anchor. The river kept sounding, indifferent and constant. I fucked myself with my fingers as if they were a cock, going in deep, almost all the way out, then back in again, each thrust faster than the last. The wet sound mixed with my ragged gasps.

—Fuck me —I whispered to the ghost I’d invented—. Fuck me, you son of a bitch, come here and put it in me.

I imagined the man finally stepping out from behind the tree, his tight cock pointed at me, and I imagined opening my mouth. I imagined sucking him off right there, kneeling on the grass, tits bare and skirt hiked up, while he grabbed my hair and shoved it down my throat. I imagined the taste. The texture. The smell.

When the second orgasm came, it was different. Longer. Wetter. There was a moment when I felt the whole body emptying outward, as if something I’d been building up for days had finally found a way out. I came in gushes. I felt a hot liquid burst out in waves and soak my whole hand, my forearm, my thigh, the inside of my leg all the way to the knee. It had never happened to me before. I had never come like that, with so much water pouring out of my cunt as if I were pissing but not really, with that release that empties you completely.

I folded over forward, hands on my thighs, breathing hard in silence, with strands of fluid hanging from my lower lips and dripping onto the grass.

It took me a while to straighten up.

***

I let myself fall onto the grass. My skirt spread around me like an open flower. My thong was still off to one side, twisted into a soaked cord. My nipples pressed hard against the lace of the bra I’d pulled back up without noticing, with an insistence that was no longer urgency but total satisfaction. I looked up.

The stars, between the treetops, seemed closer than ever. There was no light pollution in that part of the river. Only black sky and points of light scattered without order, as if someone had thrown them at random.

I laughed. Without meaning to, unable to stop myself. A short laugh of relief and of something I didn’t know how to name. Pride? Amazement at myself? Maybe just the certainty that there was something in me I still didn’t know how to use, but that existed and was real and was mine, completely mine.

—No one knows what I do when night falls —I told the trees—. No one knows what a whore I am.

No one answered. And that was exactly what I wanted.

I lay there a good while, eyes open, letting my body return to its normal temperature. Far off, very faintly, a dog barked. The wind moved the branches over my head and for a moment the moon hit me full in the face. I closed my eyes and felt it warm me. With my right hand I idly stroked my belly, went down over my pubis, and brushed a fingertip over my still-swollen clit. A post-orgasmic lash of pleasure shot through me and tore out a short moan.

So this is what I am too, I thought. This is part of me too. A horny bitch who comes alone in the woods thinking about cocks bidding on her cunt.

***

I went home with my clothes back in place and my hair a little loose. My panties stuck to my soaked cunt with every step, sending little jolts to my still-throbbing clit. The hallway floorboards creaked in exactly the same places as always. I washed my hands in the bathroom without turning on the big light. I smelled my fingers before putting them under the water. Then I lifted my skirt in front of the mirror, pulled my panties down to mid-thigh, and looked at myself: the swollen cunt, shiny, with red, parted lips, the inside of my thighs still sticky. I wiped a damp towel between my legs. I looked at myself in the mirror with the only light coming in from the street, that orange strip from the lamppost crossing diagonally through the half-open window.

I recognized the girl looking back at me.

She was the same as always. The same dark hair, the same eyes that looked down when someone stared too long, the same hands politely greeting the neighbors. But she was no longer only that. She was also the one who had walked alone to the river at midnight, the one who had whispered her own name in the dark with three fingers sunk into her cunt, the one who had imagined an auction and come twice, the second time in gushes, thinking about it.

That second person wasn’t hidden. She was just waiting for night to come out.

I went to bed without putting on panties, my fingers still warm and the smell of my cunt on my fingertips. I dreamed of men in rows, behind screens glowing in dark rooms, with hard cocks in one hand and fingers hovering over keyboards with the other, waiting for the moment to bid. I saw them from above, as if I were what everyone was looking at and no one could take yet. Calm. Whole. With my cunt untouched. Completely in charge of what I had not yet given away.

In the morning I got up early, dressed in normal clothes, and went to buy bread for my grandmother.

No one saw anything different in me.

But I felt it: something that had awakened among the trees by the river and had no intention of going back to sleep.