The Fantasy I’ve Kept for Him

Marcos came into my life the way the things that change everything do: without warning, from an angle you never expected. It was a video he sent me one Tuesday afternoon, with no preamble at all. It was only a few seconds long, but it was enough to make the hair on my arms stand on end and leave me wet right there, in the middle of the street, with people passing by me without knowing what had just happened to me.

I had to stop. I leaned my back against the cold wall of a building and watched it three more times. In the video, Marcos was gripping himself with his right hand, his dick hard, thick, veined, the head shining, and he was jerking it slowly while looking straight into the camera. At the end he let out a thick stream of cum that splashed across his stomach and whispered my name in a rough voice. The fourth time, I put my phone away and tried to breathe normally. I didn’t quite manage it. My thong was soaked and my legs were clamped tight together.

From that day on, I started fantasizing. Not once. Every night. With variations, with new details, with scenes I built like I was writing a script. Changes in lighting, changes in clothes, changes in the sequence of what we would do to each other. But always the same hotel. Always him. Always that dick I’d seen in the video, in my mouth, in my cunt, in my ass, coming all over my tits.

This is what I imagine.

***

I get to the meeting spot five minutes early. I smooth my dress in the reflection of a storefront window, take a deep breath, and then I see him coming around the corner. He walks with that calm that always throws me off, as if he has time to spare on purpose. When we’re a meter apart, we both stop for a second before hugging.

It’s a long hug. Longer than I’d expected, even in the fantasy. His hands trace my back slowly and settle just at the curve of my waist, and I bury my face in his neck and inhale his smell like I’ve been waiting for this moment for months. Because I have. I feel the bulge of his cock already waking against my stomach, and I press my hips a little harder against his so he knows I noticed.

“Hi,” he says, that’s all, near my ear.

“Hi,” I answer, and I laugh, and he does too.

We walk to the hotel holding hands. We talk about unimportant things: traffic, the cold this month, a movie neither of us saw. What really matters isn’t said in words. I say it with the pressure of my fingers against his, and he answers by squeezing a little harder.

The room has a big bed with white sheets and a window looking out over the city’s rooftops. As soon as the key goes into the lock and the door closes behind us, everything we’ve been holding in lets go at once.

We kiss against the wall. First slowly, exploring. Then with more urgency, with his hands in my hair and mine clutching his shirt. His tongue slips into my mouth and mine goes out looking for it, and he bites my lower lip and tugs a little. His knee slides between my thighs and presses right where I’m already swollen and wet, and I let out a short moan against his mouth. We get our clothes off fast but not clumsily; every piece that falls to the floor is one less distance between us. When I’m down to my underwear and he’s already shirtless with his pants undone, I reach over the waistband of his boxers and grab him over the fabric. He’s rock hard. I lick my lips. I place a hand on his chest and stop him.

“Give me a minute,” I tell him.

And I go into the bathroom.

***

The shower is brief. Just enough to clear my head, to come back to my body and get it ready for what’s next. When I come out, wrapped in steam with my heart racing, the first thing I do is open the bag I brought and take out what I bought three weeks ago and still hadn’t dared to use: an ivory lace babydoll, almost transparent, with a black thong that contrasts with it.

I put it on slowly. I look at myself in the bathroom mirror and hold my own gaze. My nipples show through the lace, dark and hard. The thong barely covers anything.

For him. All of this, for him.

I open the door. I connect my phone to the little speaker on the nightstand and put on the playlist I’d built over weeks: songs I wanted to hear exactly at this moment. The first one starts, deep and slow, and fills the room.

Marcos is stretched out on the bed with his arms behind his head, completely naked, and his cock is rising against his stomach, hard and thick like in the video. I look at it without hiding it. It’s exactly how I remembered it: heavy, veined, the head reddened and already with a clear drop shining at the tip. My mouth waters.

I come closer without hurrying. I do what I rehearsed in my head: walk with intention, keep time with the music through my body, hold his gaze even though it costs me. I reach the edge of the bed and climb on top of him, straddling him, still without direct contact. I look down at him. I lower my hips just a little and let the damp fabric of my thong brush the tip of his cock. We both moan at the same time.

“You like it?” I ask.

“A lot,” he says hoarsely. “I want to eat you whole.”

He puts his hands on my hips and presses me down, forcing me to grind against him. I feel his cock throb beneath the wet lace.

***

His hands slide up my sides and decisively push the lace upward. When he peels the babydoll off me and lets it fall beside the bed, he looks at me in a way that makes me want him to start right now, but also never start so I can keep being looked at like that.

He lowers his head and takes one breast into his mouth. What follows is anything but gentle: he bites the nipple, sucks hard until I’m gasping, runs his tongue slowly in circles, and bites again, tugging just a little with his teeth. Every time he does it I have to bite my lip so I won’t scream. The other breast gets the same treatment, the same attention, no rush. He pinches the free nipple with his fingers, stretches it, rolls it. He doesn’t stop until my hands are tangled in his hair, my thong is a puddle between my legs, and I’m trembling and rubbing my cunt against his stomach, looking for any kind of friction.

“Marcos,” I gasp, “please.”

“Not yet,” he murmurs against my breast. “I want you to suck me off first.”

So I go down. I kiss his neck, the sharp line of his collarbones, his chest, the edge of his ribs. I keep going down, licking the trail of hair that runs below his navel until I reach the base of his cock. I wrap my hand around it and feel it pulse against my fingers, thick, hot, alive.

I start softly: kisses at the base, a slow lick from bottom to top, following a marked vein all the way to the head. I lick the clear drop I saw shining there and taste the salt. I feel the way his breathing changes, how it grows shorter. He takes my hair in one hand, not pressing, just resting it there.

“Look at me while you suck my dick,” he asks.

I lift my eyes and open my mouth. When I finally take him all the way in, I do it slowly. So slowly I can feel every inch go in, open my mouth, press against my palate and then against my throat. My eyes fill with tears when I reach the bottom and stay there for a second, swallowing around him. Marcos lets out a deep growl that makes my legs squeeze together.

I start moving. Up and down, first calmly, sucking with hollowed cheeks, then with more rhythm, drawing him out to the tip to lick the head in circles and then swallowing him whole again. I use my hand on the part I can’t reach with my mouth, twisting him, squeezing him. My other hand slips underneath and I stroke his balls, weighing them, tugging very gently. He lets out another low sound from his throat and grips my hair harder.

“Like that, my love. Just like that.”

He doesn’t stop looking at me. That’s what throws me off the most: he doesn’t close his eyes for a second. He watches me drool all over his cock, watches me swallow, watches me with tearful eyes and flushed cheeks, and he likes it. His hips start moving a little, meeting my mouth halfway. He lets it go deeper. I relax and let him do it, letting myself be used.

“I’m going to come,” he growls. “Inside. I want to come inside.”

I tighten my hand at the base and suck faster. I take him all the way. I feel him tense, feel him swell against my tongue, and when he comes it’s with a long moan that goes through me. The first spurt fills my mouth at once, hot and thick, and the second does too, and I swallow what I can and let the rest spill down my chin and onto my tits. When I look up, his breathing is ragged and his eyes are dark. I swipe a finger across my chin, collect some of his cum and put it into my mouth without taking my eyes off him. Another moan slips out of him.

***

We lie back, both of us on our backs. The ceiling is white and smooth. The music keeps playing through the speaker. We don’t talk. I stroke his chest with my fingertips, feel his breathing settle again slowly.

After a while, his hand starts moving over my stomach. It slides down unhurriedly, fingers spread. He passes over the elastic of my thong, slips beneath it, and when he reaches between my legs and parts my lips with two fingers, he finds a puddle. I can hear, when he slides one finger inside, how ready I am for him: a wet, obscene sound that mixes with the music.

“You’re soaked,” he says against my ear. “All this water is from sucking my cock, right?”

“Yes,” I gasp.

He adds the second finger and curls them upward, searching for that spot that makes me see white. With his other hand he strokes my breast, pinches my nipple, and I close my eyes and focus only on what I feel. His fingers go in and out in a slow, torturous rhythm, and his thumb climbs to my clit and starts making circles. My back arches.

“Please,” I whisper, “with your mouth.”

He lowers himself between my legs. He yanks my thong off from one side with both hands, no ceremony, and throws it to the floor. He parts my legs with his shoulders and stays there looking at me for a second, his face right there, breathing over my cunt. Then he lowers his head and licks me from bottom to top, long and slow, and the first moan escapes me uncontrollably.

He takes his time. He puts my legs over his shoulders and works with care, unhurried, as if he had nothing else in the world to do. He sucks my clit between his lips, lets it go, runs his flat tongue over the whole opening, slides it inside, pulls it out, returns to my clit. His fingers go in again, two of them, curled, while his tongue never stops. He licks my lips, sucks one and then the other, and goes back to the center. He holds my spread thighs apart with his hands so I won’t close around him.

“Marcos,” I gasp, “I can’t take it.”

“Come in my mouth,” he says, and sucks my clit harder.

I hit the edge much faster than I want to, and when I come I do it with my hand pressed over my own mouth, with my legs trembling around his head, with my hips moving against his face without me being able to control them. He doesn’t stop. He keeps licking, softer now, milking my orgasm down to the last contraction. When he finally lifts his head, his chin is shining and he has a slow smile.

We rest again. Outside, the city doesn’t know we exist.

***

I wake up before he does. For a few minutes I lie still, listening to his breathing. Then I move downward, slowly, and start waking him up the only way I know works: I grab his cock, still soft but already reacting to the heat of my hand, and put it in my mouth like that, all of it, letting it harden on my tongue. I feel it growing inside me, filling my mouth centimeter by centimeter, until there’s no room left. When he opens his eyes, he’s fully awake in every sense.

“I have a surprise,” I tell him, my voice still rough, pulling him out of my mouth.

I pick up the phone from the nightstand. There’s a new message: “I’m here. Which room?”

I send back the number. Three minutes later, there’s a knock at the door.

Valeria has dark, long hair, and beneath the coat hanging on the rack she’s wearing a little lace set that does exactly what lace does when it’s put on right: lifts her tits, slips between her ass cheeks, turns sheer where it’s supposed to turn sheer. I met her two weeks earlier in a chat, one of those conversations that start out of curiosity and end up becoming something much more specific. I told her the fantasy I had. She said yes without hesitation.

She greets me with a kiss on the cheek that drifts to the corner of my lips and keeps going until it reaches my mouth. Her tongue comes in without asking. She tastes like mint. Her hands are already on my waist, then they slide down to my ass and squeeze.

“You’re naked,” she murmurs against my mouth, smiling.

“You were taking too long,” I answer.

Marcos watches us from the bed without saying a word, his cock hard again, resting against his stomach. That silence of his is worth more than anything he could have said in that moment. I see his hand go down and grab himself, jerking slowly while he watches us kiss.

***

The two of us start standing by the bed. We kiss slowly, exploring without rushing. Her hands slide over my back, mine go into her hair. I unhook her bra with one hand and it falls away. Her tits are smaller than mine, with very dark, very hard nipples. I lower my head and take one into my mouth, suck, bite softly, and she lets out a gasp and grips my shoulders.

Little by little we take off the rest of our clothes, and when we’re both naked in front of him I feel the heat of his gaze like something almost physical. He puts his hand between my legs and finds I’m wet again already, and he sinks two fingers into me without warning while I do the same to her. We masturbate each other standing up, in front of Marcos, watching him jerk himself faster on the bed.

We climb onto the bed and settle into sixty-nine. Her underneath, me on top. I part her lips with my fingers and find a pink, small, very wet cunt. I run my whole tongue from bottom to clit and she moans beneath me. At the same time her mouth takes me from below, and her hands grab my ass and pull me toward her face, burying me against her tongue.

I focus on what I have in my hands and at the same time on what I feel where her mouth touches me, and at some point I lose track of which sensation belongs to which part of my body. I slide two fingers into her and curl them while I suck her clit. She does the same. We move together at the same pace, gasping into each other.

From the chair in front of the bed, Marcos watches us. I hear him move, get up.

“Come closer,” I tell him, without fully taking my mouth away from what I’m doing.

He stands over the bed, his cock at my face level. I take him into my mouth while Valeria keeps going underneath me. I suck and lick, and at some point Valeria reaches over and grabs his balls, and then she lets go of my clit to suck the tip of his cock while I have the rest in my mouth. We take turns, mouth to mouth, with his cock between the two of us. We lick him at the same time, one on each side, and he moans hard and grabs both our hair.

The three of us end up tangled in a rhythm no one is fully directing, a rhythm that forms on its own between us.

We change positions. Valeria gets on her knees with her back to me, and I eat her cunt from behind while Marcos gets behind me and slams into me. I scream against Valeria’s cunt when I feel his cock go all the way in. He pushes into me to the hilt and stays there for a second, letting me feel him. Then he starts fucking me with long, firm thrusts while I keep licking her. The sound of his hips hitting my ass mixes with Valeria’s moans and my own broken breathing.

Then again. Valeria sits on my face, and Marcos enters from the front while I’m lying on my back. Time in that room works differently: longer and shorter at once. I come in her mouth and she in mine, soaking my face, and Marcos reaches the edge between my lips for the second time that night, warning me with a growl before he comes, and I swallow almost all of it while Valeria licks what slips from the corner of my mouth.

***

We three rest on the bed, not talking much. The music keeps going. Someone turned off the main light and only the bathroom light remains, spilling in through the half-open door and bathing everything in a soft glow. Valeria strokes one of my tits with her fingertips, absent-mindedly, and Marcos has one hand resting on my thigh.

When Marcos is ready again—and it doesn’t take long, with Valeria kissing his neck and playing with his balls until he’s hard again—he asks me to get on my knees. I get on all fours in front of Valeria, who lies on her back in front of me and opens her legs. I bury my face between her thighs. Marcos enters me slowly from behind, letting me feel every inch again, and starts with a steady rhythm. One hand grabs my hip and the other slides up my back to my hair, which he pulls firmly.

Valeria positions herself right in front of me exactly where I need her. I slide my tongue into her every time Marcos slams into me, and her clit rests between my lips when he pulls back. The three of us find the pace together almost without trying. Marcos speeds up, fucks me harder, his hips crashing into my ass, and I suck harder, and Valeria starts gasping and grabbing my hair from the other side. The noise we make—skin on skin, muffled moans, my mouth working on her cunt, his cock pulling out of me and sliding back in—didn’t exist before tonight and won’t exist after it.

“I’m going to come inside you,” Marcos growls.

“Yes,” I gasp against Valeria, “inside, all of it.”

When I come, I do it with my whole body, clenching him inside me in waves, my face buried in Valeria’s cunt and her screaming over me. He finishes shortly after, driving deep and staying there, emptying into me in hot spurts that I feel all the way to the bottom. Valeria isn’t far behind, moaning against my tongue, squeezing her thighs around my head. When Marcos pulls out, I feel his cum running down the inside of my thigh. Valeria sees it and, without thinking, reaches out and licks the drop as it falls.

***

The three of us get into the shower. There’s something strangely comfortable about washing your hair while someone soaps your back: laughter, an elbow against the tiled wall, cold water when someone turns the handle without warning. Valeria ends up on her knees on the shower floor, doing to me with her tongue what I’m doing to him with my hand and mouth. He’s back to responding easily, hardening between my lips while hot water falls over the three of us. The shower ends in a way nobody planned: Valeria against the wall, me on my knees eating her cunt with my hands pulling her ass cheeks apart, and Marcos behind me fucking me one more time, coming across my back before the water washes everything away.

We come out wrapped in the hotel’s white towels. Valeria dresses with the quick efficiency of someone who knows how this kind of encounter works, and she kisses each of us before leaving. She drags her tongue over my lower lip before pulling away. The door closes with a soft click.

Marcos and I stay behind.

I lie back against his chest and listen to his heartbeat slowly settle down. The city is still out there beyond the window, knowing nothing about what happened in here.

“Did you imagine it like this?” he asks after a long silence.

I think about Tuesday’s video. About the cold wall of the building. About the weeks of nighttime rehearsals, every variation, every detail I built and rebuilt until I had memorized it.

“Better,” I say.

And even though it’s still only a fantasy, there are nights when I swear I can feel the heat of that room, the weight of his arm over me, and the echo of his cock throbbing inside me long after the light has gone out.