The Fantasy That Began with a Blindfold

It was Friday, the last weekend of summer, and I left work with that gentle weariness that only appears when you know you have two days ahead of you all to yourself. I said goodbye to my coworkers amid hugs, jokes, and the usual spur-of-the-moment plans that almost never actually happen. I said I had nothing set in stone, but inside I was only thinking about getting home and finding you there.

The same thing always happens to me at the end of summer. The heat is still clinging to the skin, the city still smells of outdoor terraces and long nights, and I get an almost childish urge to stretch those days out a little longer. I like the way everything changes when it’s hot: lighter clothes, more exposed skin, people more open, as though everyone carried desire a little closer to the surface.

And with you, it multiplies.

On the drive home, I caught myself thinking about the beach, the diving mask that always makes you laugh, our sunset walks, and the way you looked at me when you saw me coming out of the water with my soaked hair plastered to my neck. I realized I had arrived home without hardly registering the journey. My mind had been ahead of me, imagining that you would be waiting.

And you were.

You heard the car and came out before I even got out. I saw you leaning against the door, wearing that half smile of yours that never announces anything innocent. You gestured for me to stop coming forward, and just from the way you did it, I already felt a tingling low in my belly.

“Stay still,” you said when I approached.

I obeyed.

You came closer unhurriedly, gently turned me around, and I felt fabric slide over my eyes. You tightened it securely behind my head until I was completely in the dark. My breathing changed at once. Not being able to see disorients me, but with you it also arouses me. You tilted my head slightly to one side, and your voice brushed my ear.

“Do you want a real adventure?”

I swallowed and nodded with a silly smile you must have noticed even though I couldn’t see you.

“Then you obey. You don’t take off the blindfold. You don’t ask questions. And you do exactly what I tell you.”

“Yes.”

The word came out almost too quickly. You liked that. I could feel it in the small, satisfied silence you made before guiding me to the car.

You helped me into the passenger seat. Then I heard the trunk open and close. You had prepared something, and the simple fact that I didn’t know what it was made me even more nervous. I heard your door, the click of the seat belt, the engine starting. The car began to move, and I stayed motionless, my hands on my thighs, feeling every turn, every traffic light, every second as though my whole body had become one single nerve ending.

“You look so good when you obey,” you murmured.

Your hand landed on my left thigh. The caress was slow, heavy, deliberate. You moved up my bare skin until you found the edge of my skirt and pushed it upward. I spread my legs by reflex, and I heard your brief laugh.

“That’s it. Like that.”

You stroked the insides of my thighs, still without touching me where I needed it most, and the waiting made me gasp. Not being able to see amplified everything: the brush of your fingers, the sound of the engine, the air coming through the half-open window, the thought that any car might pull up beside us and find us like this.

“Take off your thong.”

I did it immediately. I moved my hips, lowered it as best I could, slipped it off my ankles, and left it on the floor of the car. The gesture made me feel obscenely exposed. I couldn’t see whether we were stopped at a traffic light, whether someone might be looking from another car, whether you were watching me with that hungry calm you use when you know you already have me.

Your hand came back, and this time it did touch me. You opened my lips with two fingers and let out a short breath when you found me wet.

“Fuck. You’re already dripping.”

You thrust one finger in, then a second. My back arched against the seat. I squeezed my legs together, but you pushed them apart again with authority. You drove your fingers in and out forcefully, burying them while rubbing me with your palm. I let out short moans, biting my lip, not knowing whether anyone outside could hear me, not even knowing where we were going.

“That’s what I like. Getting you wet just by making you obey.”

When you withdrew your hand, I felt a sudden emptiness, an almost painful frustration. But right away I heard a different movement, the sound of a small zipper, something plastic. Then I felt a cold, hard tip between my legs.

“Don’t move.”

You inserted the vibrating bullet very slowly. The contrast made me shudder. First the tip went in, then the rest, settling inside me until I was filled with that smooth, invasive, delicious object. I let out a longer, open moan, and you stroked my knee as a reward.

The first pulse of vibration tore a full-body tremor from me.

“Fuck...” I whispered.

You increased the intensity, and the buzzing began to pound inside me with precise cruelty. I felt every vibration dig into my pussy, spread through my belly, and climb up my spine. While you drove, you continued brushing me with your other hand, spreading my legs farther apart, touching my clit through the fabric, just enough to drive me crazy.

“Stay still,” you ordered when I began to writhe.

I tried to obey, but it was impossible. My breathing was already one continuous moan. The blindfold kept me suspended in a hot void where only your voice, your hand, and that fucking toy vibrating inside me existed.

“Tell me what you feel.”

“That... I’m going to come.”

“Not yet. Hold it.”

You lowered the intensity just when I was about to break, and I complained with an almost desperate sound. You laughed. Then you grabbed one of my tits through my blouse, squeezing the nipple between your fingers, while at the same time turning the vibration back up to maximum.

The orgasm hit me with no elegance whatsoever. My thighs closed, my back arched, and I came trembling, my head falling back and my mouth open. I don’t know how long it lasted. I only remember your low, satisfied voice.

“Good girl.”

You gradually lowered the bullet’s intensity until you left it still. I was still trembling, my legs weak, my pussy throbbing around the toy. I heard the turn signal. You turned. You braked. The engine idled for a second and then switched off.

“Don’t take off the blindfold.”

Your door opened. Mine followed. You took my hand and helped me out. The air outside was warm, though the evening breeze had already begun to cool my sweaty skin. It smelled of hot earth and vegetation. I had no idea where we were, and that was exactly what sent my arousal even higher.

You turned me around and pressed me against the car. The metal still held the day’s heat. You brought my wrists behind my back and held them with one hand. With the other, you lowered your zipper. The sound alone was enough to make me spread my legs wider.

“Don’t move,” you said again.

You moved my skirt aside, brushed away the wetness running down my thighs, and drove your cock into me in a single thrust. You went all the way in. Not slowly, not testing the waters. All at once. Hard. Completely.

A muffled cry escaped me.

You stayed inside me, motionless, buried as deeply as you could go. That pause killed me. I felt every inch of your cock filling me while my pussy was still sensitive from the orgasm in the car and from the bullet still inside me, shifted against an inner wall.

“This is how I wanted you,” you whispered in my ear. “Open and desperate.”

Then you began to move.

Your first thrusts were deep and slow, striking with a firmness that made me swallow air. Then you sped up. The car rocked with every blow. I tried to remain standing, my hands trapped behind my back, my cheek pressed against the roof, feeling you fuck me in the open air without being able to see whether someone might appear at any moment.

“More,” I heard you say to yourself, almost, as though you were getting off on the scene too.

You gripped my wrists more securely and began thrusting in short, violent strokes, pulling almost your entire cock out before driving it hard back in, again and again. The wet sound between my legs was obscene. Every blow made me collide with the car, every blow tore a moan from me louder than the one before.

“Fuck me...” I finally begged, unable to think about anything else.

“That’s what I’m doing. And you love it.”

The vibrating bullet came alive inside me again. I jerked so hard my legs almost buckled. You took advantage of it and drilled into me with an even faster rhythm, mixing the internal vibration with your cock and your filthy voice pressed to my ear.

“Look at you coming from anything I put inside you. My cock, my fingers, a toy... Always ready.”

I couldn’t argue even if I had wanted to. Pleasure had emptied my head. I felt my clit throbbing, my pussy squeezing you, my knees weak. I came again against the car, my whole body shaken by little convulsions. You didn’t stop. You kept fucking me while the orgasm tore through me, taking advantage of the way I clenched to thrust even harder.

When you pulled out of me, I had barely a second to regret it. Then you ordered:

“Get on your knees.”

I searched for the ground blindly and obeyed. The gravel scraped my knees a little through my gathered skirt. The night air struck my face, and then I felt your cock brushing my lips.

I grabbed it with my hand and was surprised by how hard it still was, thick, hot, wet with my own lubrication. I guided it to my mouth and began by slowly licking the head, circling it with my tongue, tasting you. I heard you let out a breath through your teeth.

“That’s it. Suck it.”

I took more of it. I lowered myself as far as I could, feeling the weight of your cock on my tongue, the salty taste, the effort in my throat as it received you. I pulled back and took you in again, helping myself with one hand at the base, letting saliva run down the shaft so it would slide more easily. Your hand tangled in my hair and began setting the pace.

You weren’t forcing me. You were using me exactly the way I liked: guiding me, pushing as much as necessary, making my mouth work for your pleasure. Every time you pushed me a little deeper, I moaned around your cock, and the vibration made you growl.

“What a good mouth you have,” you said. “Look at you. On your knees, blindfolded, swallowing my cock in the middle of nowhere.”

The words made me even hotter. I kept sucking you eagerly, alternating deep sucks with long licks from the base to the tip. I felt your balls tense, your breathing quicken, the tug on my hair growing more urgent.

“Don’t stop. I’m going to come.”

I tightened my mouth, harder, wetter. I pulled you almost all the way to the tip and swallowed you again in one sudden movement. You made a rough, guttural sound and pulled me away just moments later to come across my face.

The first release landed hot on my cheek and lips. Then another spurt hit my chin, and another my cleavage. I kept holding you as you finished, licking the sensitive tip and swallowing what I could gather with my tongue. You breathed heavily above me, your fingers still buried in my hair.

“Fuck,” you said at last. “What a fucking sight.”

I smiled beneath the blindfold, aroused by the filthiness of the scene, by the possibility that we might have been seen, by the sticky sensation on my skin. I tried to stand up and touch my face to clean myself, but you stopped me immediately.

“Stay still. I’m not finished with you yet.”

You wiped my face with a wet wipe. The cool contrast made me laugh between gasps. That mixture of brutality and tenderness of yours always undoes me. You cleaned me slowly, with absurd delicacy after making me swallow your cock on my knees beside the car.

“You can get back in now.”

We returned to the car. I kept the blindfold on, my legs spread from sheer inertia, the bullet still inside me, reminding me with every movement that this wasn’t over. You started the engine and we got back on the road. I was still wrecked, hot, my body soft after two orgasms and after letting you come on my face.

“Do you like not knowing where you’re going?” you asked.

“Yes.”

“Do you like not being able to control anything?”

“With you, yes.”

You stroked the back of my neck. Then you told me, almost as though sharing a naughty secret, that you had recorded part of what happened outside the car. Another wave of arousal went through me. Imagining us watching it later, in private, hearing my moans and seeing my body bent over the car, tightened my belly again.

“Another video for the collection,” you said.

“You’re going to make me addicted.”

“You already are.”

We talked from time to time. You asked whether I could imagine what was in the trunk, how long I thought we would be gone, whether I believed the night would end soon. Your questions weren’t looking for answers. They were meant to keep me aroused. They worked.

When the car stopped for the second time, it was completely dark. You got out, opened my door, and took my hand again. I heard the trunk once more. Then your footsteps approached and your calm voice spoke.

“Walk.”

I moved forward slowly, feeling my way carefully across the ground. Everything was very quiet. The only sound was running water nearby, a soft, steady murmur. The air was cooler there, clean, smelling of damp wood. Then you stood behind me and untied the blindfold.

I blinked several times.

And was left speechless.

In front of us stood that glass-walled cabin we had seen online months earlier and saved as a distant dream. Secluded from everything, beside a narrow stream shining beneath the moon, surrounded by trees with the dark mountain in the background. It was even more beautiful than I remembered.

I brought my hands to my mouth and looked at you with a mixture of emotion and arousal still throbbing beneath my skin.

“It can’t be.”

“Yes, it can.”

I hugged you tightly, my legs still weak. Inside, the cabin looked as though it had been pulled from a fantasy made to order: pale wood, warm lights, a large bed facing the windows, the river visible from almost every corner, and the open sky above us, full of stars.

I went to the little kitchen and opened the refrigerator. There was a bottle of white wine chilling inside. On top of it lay a folded note in your handwriting.

“Ready for the second stage?”

I turned toward you with a smile, but your expression had already changed. There was tenderness, yes, but also that firmness that had kept me obedient the entire journey. Then I saw what you had taken from the trunk: a bag of soft ropes, another blindfold, lubricant, the bullet’s charger, and a small camera.

“Don’t tell me all this was just for the drive.”

“No. The drive was the warm-up.”

My mouth went dry at once.

You approached slowly, took off my blouse, and let it fall beside the sofa. Then you lowered the straps of my bra until my tits were bare. Your hands covered them immediately, kneading them calmly, squeezing my already-hard nipples between your fingers. I moaned as I felt your mouth on my neck again, your hot breath, your tongue tracing an area that always makes me weak.

“I want to see you obey here too,” you said. “And I want to hear you beg.”

Then you kissed me properly. A deep, wet kiss, hungry. Our tongues sought each other with the filthy familiarity of couples who already know every inch of each other but still know how to make each other lose their minds. Your hands moved down to my waist, you turned me around, and bent me over the wooden table in front of the window.

From there, I could see the dark reflection of the water beneath the moon.

You pushed up my skirt and found the bullet still inside me. You pulled it out slowly, and a thin trickle of wetness ran down my thigh. You looked at it for a moment, soaked, and brought it to my lips.

“Clean it.”

I took it and licked it without looking away from you. Then I smiled as I handed it back.

“Very good.”

You spread my legs wider and pushed two fingers inside me without warning. They slid in easily through all the accumulated wetness. You began fucking me with your hand while holding the back of my neck with the other, forcing me to look at my faint reflection in the glass.

“Look at yourself,” you told me. “Look at how you open for me.”

You added a third finger, and I had to brace both hands on the table to hold myself up. Your fingers moved in and out with an increasingly distinct wet sound in the silence of the cabin. Then you pulled them out and ran them over my clit, pressing in precise circles until I gasped again.

“I want your mouth again, but this time in here.”

I knelt on a rug beside the bed. I lowered your pants, and your cock was in front of me again, hard once more, as though the road and the dirt beside the car hadn’t been enough. I sucked it more slowly than before, enjoying the luxury of being able to see your face while I did it. Your parted lips, your tense jaw, that fixed gaze on me that makes me feel used and adored at the same time.

I masturbated you while licking your balls, while moving up along the base, while swallowing you as far as I could. Then you pulled me away and gently pushed me onto the bed.

“Now it’s my turn.”

You positioned yourself between my legs and opened me completely. I felt your thumbs spreading me apart, and a second later your tongue sank between my lips. I moaned loudly, no longer holding back. Licking from bottom to top, sucking my clit, pushing your tongue inside me and then returning upward to make me shudder, you slowly undid me inch by inch.

You weren’t just playing at getting me aroused. You were eating me with the intention of making me come again before fucking me. And you succeeded. You held my thighs open while your mouth worked me with that cruel patience that only comes from knowing another person’s body by heart. I ended up trembling, thrusting my hips against your face, moaning your name as I came on your tongue.

You sat up, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand, and smiled.

“Now.”

You turned me onto my stomach and buried your cock inside me in one thrust. The bed creaked beneath us. You began with a firm, steady rhythm, letting me feel the full thickness of every penetration. I dug my hands into the sheet and threw my head back, feeling you fill me again and again.

Then you grabbed my hair and lifted my head slightly.

“Tell me what you want.”

“I want you to fuck me harder.”

I didn’t have to repeat myself.

You gave me exactly that. Your hips began pounding me harder, faster, deeper. Every thrust pushed me up the mattress. You held me by the waist, spread my legs farther apart, fucked me without any tenderness, and I could only take you, push back, and moan like a bitch in heat.

“That’s it, fuck, that’s it,” you murmured. “Take all my cock.”

You rolled me over again and continued facing me, looking at me. Seeing your face while you penetrated me changed the atmosphere of the scene. It was no longer only rawness. It was also that animal intimacy that comes from knowing exactly how to drive the other person wild. You lifted one of my legs, rested it on your shoulder, and went even deeper. I cried out and clung to your arms.

“Do you like my fantasy?” you asked, panting.

“Yes.”

“I can’t hear you.”

“Yes, I love it. I love the way you fuck me.”

That pushed you to the edge. You began thrusting into me quickly, wetly, brutally. I felt another orgasm approaching from the way pleasure tightened my belly and closed my legs around your waist. You touched my clit with your thumb at exactly the right moment, and everything exploded.

I came squeezing you inside me, with a long, broken moan. You held out for only a few more thrusts. Then you pulled out, masturbated over my belly, and came in hot spurts across my skin, breathing with your forehead pressed to my shoulder.

We stayed like that for a moment, sweaty and naked, with the river sounding behind the glass and the stars spread above the bed. Then you lay down beside me and pulled me against your chest.

My body was still trembling.

“If that was the second stage,” I said, still not fully recovered enough to speak, “I don’t want to imagine the third.”

You laughed and kissed my forehead.

“The third isn’t imagined. It’s lived.”

I looked at the cabin, the night, the bottle of wine still unopened, the camera on the table, and the blindfold resting there like a promise. And I thought you were right. Some people accompany you through life. And some people set it on fire. You were both kinds at once.

I pressed my thigh against yours and smiled.

I was ready for anything with you.