The Fantasy My Girlfriend Proposed to Even the Score

After ten years with Mariela, we reached that conversation almost no one really wants to have. The one about the past. About how many people there had been before each of us. The one that seems harmless until someone says a number out loud and the air in the room changes.

It started as a game, sprawled out on the couch one Sunday afternoon, with the television playing in the background and two half-finished glasses of wine. She rested her head on my chest and tossed out the question as casually as someone commenting on the weather.

—How many were there before me? —she asked—. The truth. Don’t round it off.

I made the mistake of believing honesty was always rewarded. I’m thirty-four, and I confessed that before her I’d been with twelve women. I said it without drama, almost with foolish pride, as if it were a neutral fact.

Mariela sat up slowly. She’s twenty-nine, and over the years I’ve learned to fear the way she looks when something bothers her: she doesn’t yell or get offended—she calculates.

—I’ve had two —she said—. Not counting you.

Ten more. The number hung between us like an outstanding debt.

—It’s not a competition —I told her, which is exactly what people say when it has already become one.

She smiled crookedly and didn’t answer. I know that smile. It’s the same one she wears when we lose at cards and she promises a rematch, the same one she had the day she learned to drive better than I did just to prove it. Mariela has been competitive since birth. And without realizing it, I had just handed her a game she had no intention of leaving unfinished.

***

That same night, before going to sleep, I understood it better.

We were in bed, the lights off, when I suddenly felt her mouth on my neck. Not our usual good-night kiss, but something slower, more charged. Her tongue moved down my chest without hurrying, drawing a warm line that raised gooseflesh on my skin. She paused at each nipple, sucking them with the tip of her tongue, barely nipping them until they hardened. I said nothing. I could barely breathe, waiting.

She kept going down. She ran her tongue over my navel, bit the skin of my lower belly, and with both hands yanked down my boxers. My cock was already hard, pointing at her face, and she stared at it for a few seconds as if studying it, wearing a half-smile I’d never seen before. She wrapped one hand around the base, squeezed it, and stuck out her tongue to lick me from my balls to the tip, slowly dragging her saliva along its entire length.

—Look at me —she said, without letting go.

I looked down and watched her open her mouth. She took the tip first, playing her tongue around the glans, barely sucking the head while keeping her eyes locked on mine. Then she opened wider and suddenly swallowed it whole, all the way down, until I felt her throat brush against the tip. She gagged for a second, coughed without pulling off, and continued. When she withdrew, a strand of saliva hung from her lip to my cock, and she gave a low laugh before taking me back into her mouth.

She did it with a devotion I’d never known in her, as if she were proving something, as if every movement were an argument in a debate only she understood. Her head moved up and down at an even pace, cheeks hollowing as she sucked hard. With her other hand she stroked my balls, weighing them, squeezing them lightly. Every so often she stopped, looked at me, and spat on me, using the saliva to jerk me off quickly while sucking my balls one at a time.

Just when I felt I couldn’t hold out any longer, she stopped. She came up to my ear and whispered hoarsely:

—I’m going to fulfill one of your fantasies. But afterward, you’ll fulfill mine.

I didn’t get a chance to answer. She went back down and took me whole again, faster now, her hand pumping the base in time with her mouth. I felt the orgasm rising from my balls, unstoppable. I tried to warn her, moving my hips backward, but she planted her hand in my groin and wouldn’t let me. She took me deeper and swallowed the tip all the way down just as I exploded. I felt every spurt burst under pressure inside her mouth—one, two, three, four—and she swallowed only the first few before pulling me out, letting the last spurts land on her lips and chin.

There was something that had never happened between us in ten years: Mariela had never wanted to finish that way, with everything in her mouth. It was one of her boundaries, and I respected it without arguing. That was why, when she not only allowed it that night but seemed to seek it out, I understood that the deal had been sealed long before I said yes.

Afterward she spent a moment looking into my eyes without fully swallowing, opening her mouth so I could see my semen on her tongue. She stuck out her whole tongue, coated with it, and let a few thick drops fall onto her chest. She spread them slowly with two fingers over her skin, between her breasts, around her nipples, smearing herself as if applying cream, and only then closed her mouth and swallowed with a long moan.

Finally, she bent down again and ran her tongue once more along my entire cock, gathering up what remained without stopping her gaze from meeting mine. She sucked it from tip to base, cleaned it completely, and gave me a soft kiss on the head before letting go.

—I’ve already fulfilled yours —she said, giving me a brief kiss on the mouth, a kiss in which I tasted my own cum—. Now it’s your turn. Tomorrow I’ll tell you what mine is.

Then she settled against the pillow, turned her back to me, and fell asleep—or pretended to—leaving me awake for hours, staring at the ceiling and wondering what I had gotten myself into.

***

The next day I worked terribly. I couldn’t concentrate. Every time my phone vibrated, I thought it was her, announcing her fantasy. But she didn’t write anything all day. Absolute silence, which with Mariela is the worst of threats.

I got home around eight. The door was unlocked. The lights were off. Only a low lamp in the living room was on, and she was waiting for me, standing in the hallway, wearing a black lace outfit I’d never seen before and that she had clearly bought for the occasion. Her bra pushed her tits up until they spilled over the edge, and her thong was barely a lace triangle outlining the lips of her pussy.

—Go take a shower —she said without saying hello—. When you come back, I’ll tell you. While I do it to you.

I showered faster than I ever had in my life, caught between arousal and a knot in my stomach. I didn’t know what to expect. When Mariela’s imagination catches fire, it knows no brakes, and the night before she had made it clear she was serious.

When I came out, I found her in bed. She had taken off her thong. Her legs were spread wide, and she was stroking herself slowly, eyes half-closed, two fingers moving in and out of her already-wet pussy, deliberately putting on the show for me. With her other hand she pinched one nipple through the lace. On the sheet beside her she had left a toy: new, thick, black, larger than any man could take as a compliment. She said nothing about the toy. She only looked at me, pulled her fingers from her pussy, and held them out, glistening.

—Suck —she said.

I obeyed. I licked her fingers one by one, tasting their salt, while she watched me with a new, satisfied smile. Then she gave the mattress a light slap.

—Lie on your back.

I obeyed again. She settled between my legs and started with her mouth again, with the same dedication as the night before. She sucked my cock slowly, soaking it in saliva, then went down to my balls, took them into her mouth one by one, licked underneath them, ran her tongue over my perineum, always returning to suck the tip above. And while she did it, between pauses, she told me her fantasy word for word, as if she were reading it from somewhere in her head where she had stored it all day.

—To even the score —she said, lifting her head for a moment, her hand slowly jerking me off— I made a list.

—A list of what? —I asked, my voice breaking.

—Ten. —She smiled and licked my tip—. Ten profiles I created on a dating app. If I fuck each one, we’ll be even. Twelve and twelve. Fair.

I wanted to say something, but nothing came out. She took me back into her mouth, all the way down, leaving me to process the blow, knowing perfectly well what effect her words had. She sucked and talked, sucked and talked.

—Don’t worry —she continued after a while, her lips shining—. I’ve already chosen them. There’s a bit of everything on the list. Tall, blond, dark-haired, an older one with a fat cock you can see in the picture, one who looks shy but will surely fuck me like an animal. —She paused deliberately, sucking me again—. And a girl.

—A girl? —I repeated stupidly.

—A girl —she confirmed, amused by my expression—. I want to know what it feels like to have another woman eat my pussy. You said it wasn’t a competition. I’m just tying the score.

She took her time before continuing. She came up for a moment, lay down beside me, rested her head on my shoulder, and jerked me off with her hand slick with saliva, unhurried, as if we were chatting about vacation plans instead of this.

—I thought about it all day at work —she said, squeezing my cock in her fist—. Every time I went to the bathroom, I touched myself thinking about it. I came twice sitting on the toilet, imagining myself with them. It’s not revenge, just so we’re clear. I need to understand what you had that I didn’t. Twelve people, twelve different cocks, twelve ways of having your mouth fucked. I want to know what it feels like to spread my legs for a stranger, to have one whose name I don’t know put it inside me, without it being serious, without anything between us coming to an end. I want to tell you about it afterward. Every detail. What they were like, how they came, where they came on me.

—What if I can’t handle it? —I asked, my cock dripping in her fist.

—That’s why we’ll take it slowly —she replied, kissing my shoulder—. That’s why we’re starting tonight, just the two of us. So you’ll know how much you can take before the first one on the list appears.

The most disturbing thing wasn’t the list itself. It was the calm with which she had planned it, the detail, the cheerful coldness with which she had turned my foolish Sunday confession into a project with names and faces. Mariela didn’t improvise. Mariela executed.

And worst of all—the thing it was hardest even for me to admit—was that instead of frightening me, the idea had me more aroused than ever. I imagined her with each of those ten men, riding them, on her knees, on all fours, telling me the details afterward, looking into my eyes the way she was looking at me now. The fantasy alone clouded my judgment.

***

—Are you really going to do it? —I asked when I managed to put together a complete sentence.

Mariela stopped. She rested her chin on my stomach and fixed me with that look that wouldn’t tolerate being lied to, her hand still wrapped around my cock.

—That depends —she said—. On how well you fulfill your part first.

—I haven’t agreed to anything yet.

—You agreed last night —she replied—. When you let me swallow your cum the way you’d never let me before and didn’t stop me. When you watched me play with your semen on my tits and didn’t move. That was the deal. I fulfill one of yours, you fulfill one of mine. And mine is only just beginning.

She was right, and we both knew it. The game had already begun the night before, in the dark, when I thought she was merely rewarding me, while in reality she was buying me.

—Then —I said, surrendering—what exactly do you want tonight?

She smiled, that revenge smile, and reached for the toy on the sheet. She held it between us for a moment, measuring it against my cock so I could see the difference, as if showing me a promise and a warning at the same time. Then she brought the toy to her mouth and sucked it slowly, lubricating it with saliva, watching me as a long strand dripped down to the tip.

—Tonight —she said, moving slowly toward my ear so every word would carry weight— I want to fuck you. With this. To practice. I want to know what it feels like to be on the other side, to be the one putting it in, before I start my list. I want to open your ass slowly and push this all the way in, and while I do it, I want you to think about each of those ten names. Imagine each one putting it in me the way I’m going to put it in you.

My mouth went dry. My heart pounded in my chest in a new way, a mixture of fear and a desire I didn’t recognize in myself. Mariela switched off the low lamp with a lazy gesture, and the room was left almost dark, lit only by the light coming in from the street. I felt her hands separate my legs, lift them, fold them against my chest, and then felt the cold lubricant running between my buttocks, followed by her finger probing, entering carefully, twisting.

—Relax —she whispered with a tenderness that contrasted with everything else as she inserted a second finger and slowly opened me—. We’ll take it slowly. We have all night. And tomorrow —she added as I felt the tip of the toy press where her fingers had been, pushing lightly— I’ll show you the pictures from the list, one by one, so you’ll know who I’m going to start with.

I didn’t say yes. I didn’t say no, either. I only moaned when I felt the head of the toy forcing its way in, and she gave a low, satisfied laugh before continuing to push, millimeter by millimeter. In the darkness, with her breath on my nape and ten strangers circling through my mind, I understood that what I said no longer mattered. Mariela’s revenge had begun, and I was only the first round.

To be continued.