The BDSM Fantasy That Opened Another Door

My name is Lucía, and although I had been with my partner for quite some time, until that night I hadn’t dared cross a certain line that had been circling through my mind for months. It wasn’t a lack of trust. Quite the opposite. With Damián, there had always been desire, complicity, and a kind of honesty that made late-night conversations dangerous.

It began the way many fantasies do: with jokes, questions tossed into the air, with an “what if we tried it someday?” that is first said while laughing and then doesn’t seem quite so funny anymore. I was turned on by imagining him ordering me around, restraining me, making decisions for me for a while. He went crazy seeing me admit it out loud.

That night I arrived at his apartment and knew instantly that it wasn’t an ordinary night. He had dimmed the lights, changed the sheets, and cleared the room as if it were a stage prepared for something very specific. On the bed I saw padded handcuffs, a black blindfold, a leather paddle, and a small vibrator resting beside a bottle of lubricant.

I stood staring at everything, my throat dry.

“We can still leave it there,” he told me from the doorway, without coming closer. “If you’re not convinced, I’ll put everything away and we’ll have dinner as if nothing happened.”

I slowly shook my head. I was wearing a tight black dress and, underneath it, a set I had bought with that night in mind. It wasn’t to make me look pretty. It was to make me feel exposed before we even started. I swallowed and looked him straight in the eye.

“I don’t want dinner,” I replied. “I want you to do that thing we’ve been talking about for weeks.”

I watched his expression change. He didn’t smile. He didn’t need to. His jaw hardened, and that brutal focus appeared in his eyes—the kind that always made my legs go weak.

“Then come here.”

I approached, and he took me by the nape to kiss me. It wasn’t a sweet or hurried kiss. It was deep, wet, demanding. He opened my mouth with his tongue, and I answered with a muffled moan, feeling my body loosen and tense at the same time. His hands slid down my back to my ass and squeezed it hard through my dress.

“Tonight, you speak clearly,” he murmured against my mouth. “If something makes you uncomfortable, you say so. If you like it, you say that too. I want to hear you.”

“Yes.”

“Not just ‘yes.’ Answer properly.”

I felt a rush of heat between my legs.

“Yes, I want to speak clearly.”

He turned me around and led me in front of the wardrobe mirror. He stood behind me, one hand closed around my waist and the other lifting my hair to expose my neck. He watched me in the reflection as he kissed me there, beneath my ear, slowly at first and then biting hard enough to make me gasp.

“Take off your dress.”

I obeyed without taking my eyes off the mirror. I slid it from my shoulders, and it fell at my feet. I was left in black lingerie, stockings, and heels. He looked me over without touching me for several seconds. That pause was worse than any caress. I felt examined, chosen, offered up.

“Turn around.”

When I did, he hooked a finger into my bra and snapped it against my skin. My nipples were already hard. He looked at them, then caught them between his fingers, first squeezing lightly and then pinching more firmly. I let out the air through my mouth with a short, involuntary moan.

“You like that.”

“Yes.”

“How much?”

It was difficult to say, which was exactly why it turned me on even more.

“A lot.”

His hands descended to my hips, and he made me walk toward the bed. He sat me on the edge and knelt in front of me. Slowly, he removed my heels and spread my knees with his open palms. The gesture was simple, but it left me soaked. He brought his face close to my pussy, covered by the fabric, and breathed deeply before kissing me over my panties.

“You’re already wet,” he said, his voice hoarse. “And I haven’t even started.”

He caressed me through my lingerie, pressing exactly where I needed it most. Every brush was a calculated provocation. I moved, seeking more pressure, and he withdrew his hand only to touch me again when I was already desperate. He made me suffer on purpose, and I opened myself wider for him.

“Lie down.”

I lay back on the bed. Then he tied my wrists to the headboard with the padded cuffs. Not too tightly, but firmly enough that when I pulled, I could feel I wasn’t going to free myself. That certainty churned my belly. Then he put on the blindfold, and the darkness immediately made everything more intense.

I heard the rustle of his clothes, the mattress sinking beside me, his breathing close by. Then I felt his hand on one thigh, moving slowly upward to the edge of my panties. He pushed them aside and slipped two fingers between my lips, gathering my wetness. He ran them over my clitoris slowly, with a precision that made me arch.

“Stay still.”

The order went through me like a lash. I tried to obey, but every circle of his fingers shook my hips. He was touching me exactly as I needed, alternating firm pressure with cruel pauses. When I was moaning shamelessly, he pulled his hand away.

“No,” I protested, tugging at the cuffs.

I heard his low laugh.

“That’s it. I want to hear you ask.”

I bit my lip. I felt shy, even though he couldn’t see me. Maybe that was why I ended up saying it.

“Touch me again.”

“Are you being that polite? I don’t believe you.”

The next sensation was his tongue between my legs. Direct, hot, wet. He gave me no time to answer. He opened me with his mouth and began licking me from bottom to top, slowly at first, as if savoring every reaction. Then he found my clitoris and sucked it with exactly the right pressure to tear a long, brazen moan from me.

“Fuck...” escaped me.

He kept going, plunging his tongue in, drawing it out, returning to my clitoris to punish me with quick licks that made me writhe. I pulled at the cuffs, spread my legs wider, sought his face with my hips. Then he slid in one finger, then two, and began fucking me with his hand while eating my pussy mercilessly.

The bed creaked beneath me. My breathing grew dirtier, more broken. I heard him swallow my wetness, lick it, suck it. I felt his fingers moving in and out with a firm rhythm, curling inside me exactly where they made me see white even with my eyes covered. When he realized I was about to come, he pulled away again.

“Damián... don’t fucking do this.”

He gave me a sharp smack. Not hard, but abrupt enough to make me cry out in surprise.

“You come when I let you.”

My body went cold and hot at the same time. I felt the leather of the paddle sliding over my thighs, my belly, the insides of my legs. He didn’t strike me yet. He only traced the path, as if drawing where the next step of the night would land. When he finally brought the first blow down on one of my buttocks, I let out a gasp that turned into a moan.

It wasn’t pure pain. It was heat, impact, skin set alight. And afterward came his hand caressing the struck area, or his mouth kissing my ass with an obscene tenderness that mixed everything together. Another smack. Then another. Some with his hand, others with the paddle. He kept asking me if I was all right, and I answered yes, my voice trembling more and more.

“More,” I said without thinking.

There was a brief silence.

“That’s what I wanted to hear.”

He freed my wrists only to turn me over. He put me facedown and restrained me again, this time with my hands behind my back. My face sank into the pillow, my ass raised, completely exposed. I heard the sound of his belt opening, and a second later I felt the palm of his hand slam into my left cheek.

I moaned louder. The right received another just like it. Then came a series of measured blows that heated the whole area until every brush of air felt like a scorching caress. Between smacks he spread my ass with his fingers, squeezed the flesh, slipped his hand between my legs to check how wet I was.

“Look at you,” he said, even though I was still blindfolded. “Dripping from a few smacks and orders.”

He grabbed my hair, not to hurt me, but to force me to lift my head.

“Answer me.”

“Yes... I’m soaked.”

“Because you like me giving you orders.”

“Yes.”

“Because it turns you on to be used.”

Blush rose up to my chest, but there was nowhere to hide.

“Yes. It turns me on so much.”

He slipped two fingers into my mouth from behind. I sucked them instinctively. They came out wet, and immediately I felt them descend between my legs to rub my clitoris in small circles while his other hand gripped my hip. The contrast between the mild humiliation of that position and the direct pleasure left me trembling.

“Now you can come,” he whispered. “But you’re going to come when I say.”

Then he really fucked me with his fingers, hard, moving in and out with an obscene rhythm while continuing to rub my clitoris. I stopped trying to hold myself back. I moaned into the pillow, said his name, said “like that,” said “don’t stop.” My pussy tightened around his fingers more and more strongly.

“Count.”

“What?”

He gave me another sharp smack.

“Count or I’ll stop you again.”

“One...” I panted.

His hand sped up.

“Two...”

My thighs were already trembling.

“Three...”

My orgasm exploded over me. I came with a violent spasm, squeezing my legs as tightly as his hold allowed. I screamed helplessly and felt him keep touching me for several more seconds, forcing me to feel every complete shudder, every unbearable pulse of my clitoris. I ended up crying a little from the excess, my breathing wrecked.

He removed the blindfold, and the dim light slowly returned the room to me. I saw him standing behind me, his shirt open, his hard cock outlined by his pants. The sight made me wet again despite my recent orgasm.

“I want your mouth,” he told me.

He sat on the edge of the bed and made me kneel between his legs. I opened his pants and lowered them just enough to free him. He was hard and heavy, the tip wet. I ran my tongue over the head, and he let out a breath through his teeth. I repeated the motion more slowly, enjoying the way his thighs tensed.

I wrapped my hand around his cock and began licking him from bottom to top, leaving saliva, looking him in the eyes. Then I took him into my mouth. First only the tip, then more, until I felt his weight against my tongue. He held my hair back with one hand, without pushing me yet, letting me set the pace.

I wanted to please him, and I also wanted to provoke him. I sucked him hungrily, sinking my mouth down, drawing it out slowly, circling him with my tongue. My hand helped with what I couldn’t take in. His cock slid hot and hard through my mouth, growing wetter with my saliva. The moans he made were low and tense, and that turned me on even more.

“That’s it, fuck... don’t stop.”

He took a little more control and began moving my lips over him with gentle but firm pressure. He didn’t force me, but he guided me. I held on to his legs while he fucked my mouth slowly, only a few inches at first, then a little deeper. I felt arousal wetting me again between my legs simply from having him like that, from letting him use my mouth and hearing his breathing break apart.

When he pulled me away, my chin was wet. He wiped it with his thumb and put it in my mouth. I sucked it while holding his gaze. He gave me a crooked smile.

“To the bed. On top of me.”

I climbed astride him and positioned his cock at the entrance to my pussy. I was still sensitive from the orgasm, the fingers, everything. That was exactly why the first pressure made me close my eyes. I lowered myself slowly, feeling him open me, feeling him enter inch by inch until he was completely inside. The moan came from both of us.

I stayed still for a moment, savoring the fullness. Then I began to move. Short and gentle at first, searching for my body’s rhythm again. Then broader, more decisively. I rose and fell over him while his hands gripped my hips and guided me only slightly, letting me take control during that stretch. My tits bounced with every movement, and he alternated between squeezing them and playing with my hardened nipples.

“Look at yourself,” he said, pointing to the side mirror. “I want you to see how you fuck my cock.”

I turned my head, and the image hit me full force: my body on top of his, my hair disheveled, my skin still reddened from the smacks, my hips rising and falling again and again. The sight set me alight even more. I clenched my pussy as I rose, then dropped down harder, wrenching a growl from him.

“That’s it. Don’t hold back.”

I leaned forward and kissed him while continuing to ride him. Our bodies collided with a wet sound, and every thrust rubbed inside me exactly where I needed it most. He took advantage of the change in angle to slip his hand between us and rub my clitoris with two fingers. I almost came instantly.

“Damián... I’m going to come again.”

“Not yet.”

He grabbed me by the waist and, with an ease that always impressed me, lifted me to turn me around. I ended up with my back to him, sitting on his cock again, now watching myself in the mirror from another angle. He held my neck from the front, without squeezing too hard, just enough to make me feel dominated, supported, enclosed within his rhythm.

He began thrusting into me from below, hard and deep. Every blow made me bounce on his thighs. I moaned openly, without a trace of shame now, my head resting on his shoulder. His free hand moved down my belly, then to my clitoris, and touched me with an exact, brutal insistence.

“Now. Come.”

The second orgasm folded me in half. I came on his cock, trembling all over, squeezing him so tightly that he let out a hoarse curse against my neck. I continued to feel his thrusts while the orgasm moved through me in waves. He didn’t stop. On the contrary, he shifted me forward until my knees were on the mattress and my chest was nearly pressed against the bed.

“I want to fuck you like this.”

He said it, and he was already entering me from behind. The first thrust was slow and deep, the kind that forces the body to surrender to the size and rhythm. The second was harder. The third tore a short cry from me. He gripped my hip with one hand and my hair with the other, keeping me where he wanted me as he penetrated me with an increasingly forceful cadence.

The sound of sex filled the room: skin striking skin, the complaining mattress, my unfiltered moans, his broken breathing. He was really fucking me, without softening it, driving all the way in and pulling almost completely out before thrusting back in with controlled violence. Between thrusts he smacked my ass, stoking the heat already burning there.

“You let yourself be used so beautifully,” he murmured. “Look at how you take every blow.”

I had no mental space for anything except feeling. His cock entering me. The tug of my hair. The smacks. My clitoris rubbing against the sheet with certain movements. I spread my legs wider by instinct, and he took advantage of it to thrust into me at an even better angle. I felt myself going crazy.

“Harder,” I asked hoarsely.

He answered with a series of brutal thrusts that made me bite the pillow so I wouldn’t scream too loudly. Each one pierced me with a mixture of pleasure and submission that emptied my mind. I wasn’t thinking anymore. I was only receiving. Only opening myself. Only wanting more.

His hand returned to my clitoris and rubbed it quickly, without tenderness, while he continued fucking me from behind. It was too much. My whole body tensed.

“Come again,” he ordered.

And I obeyed. I came with a dirty, drawn-out moan, clutching the sheets between my fingers as my pussy spasmed around his cock. He continued for several more thrusts, taking advantage of my contractions, groaning now without holding back. I knew he was close from the way he lost his perfect rhythm, the way his jaw tightened, the deep growl that rose from his chest.

He pulled out suddenly and took me to the edge of the bed. I ended up on my knees on the floor, still dizzy from the orgasm, looking at him with my mouth open. His cock gleamed wetly. He gripped my chin.

“Open.”

I obeyed, but he shook his head.

“No. Tonight I want to watch.”

He stroked himself a couple of times, quickly, staring straight at me, and came over my breasts with a rough, thick, drawn-out moan. I felt the heat of his cum on my skin, the weight of the drops slowly running between my tits. The sight turned me on so much that I squeezed my thighs without thinking.

He was still breathing heavily when I leaned forward. I ran two fingers over my chest, gathered his semen, and brought it to my mouth without breaking eye contact. Then I licked another drop directly from my skin. His expression changed completely. He had that look of disbelieving desire that appears only when someone sees a fantasy become real.

“Fuck, Lucía.”

I smiled, still on my knees, and repeated the gesture more slowly, savoring the effect it had on him. At last, he cleaned me with a warm towel himself and helped me onto the bed. He completely unfastened me, massaging my wrists where the cuffs had been, kissing my shoulders, my reddened buttocks, my sweaty back.

We stayed wrapped in each other’s arms for a while, both of us still breathing hard. My body was exhausted and awake at the same time, as if I had been emptied of tension and filled with something more dangerous. I stroked his chest in silence until he brushed a strand of hair from my face.

“How are you?”

The question made me smile. It wasn’t a formality. He genuinely wanted to know. I thought about the blindfold, the smacks, his mouth on my pussy, the way he had fucked me until he made me come several times, how much it had turned me on to obey and to ask for more.

“Very well,” I told him. “Too well.”

He gave a low laugh and kissed me softly, completely unlike his earlier kisses. That one was tender. Almost domestic. And yet, beneath that calm, we both knew something had changed.

“This is only the beginning,” he murmured.

I rested my face against his neck and closed my eyes. I was no longer afraid to admit it, either to him or to myself. That night I hadn’t discovered merely a new game. I had discovered that it turned me on to surrender control into the right hands, to hear orders with my pussy soaked, to feel my body used until I was left trembling and then return to the arms of the same person who had made me lose my mind.

And what turned me on most of all was knowing that next time I wouldn’t arrive nervous. I would arrive hungry.