The First Time I Let Myself Fantasize Without Limits

My name is Sofía, and I just turned eighteen. This is the first thing I’ve written on a site like this, and I’m not really sure why I’m doing it, except that there are things I can’t tell anyone I know. Things I’ve been carrying alone for a long time, not knowing where to put them.

I live in a shared flat with two other girls, near the university. Both of them have boyfriends. On weekends they go off, and I stay behind. It’s not that I never go out, but there’s something in me that still won’t take that step. I’ve never kissed anyone. I’ve never felt someone else’s hands on my skin with that intention. And at this age that feels strange to admit, like some secret I should have gotten over long ago.

What I do have is curiosity. A curiosity that’s been growing for months with nowhere to go. I read a lot about the subject. I lose myself in stories, in forums, in internet conversations where people talk about their experiences without shame. And for a while now I’ve also been exploring myself, with more confidence than I would have if someone were watching. I know what works on my body, I know how to get there. I know how many fingers to put in and at what angle, I know when to press my clit and when to let it breathe, I know the exact rhythm that makes me cum biting the pillow. But there’s something my own fingers can’t replicate, no matter how hard you try: another person’s heat. The unpredictability of someone else making decisions about your skin. A real cock opening you up inside, a tongue that isn’t yours in your pussy, a weight on top of you pinning you down against the mattress.

That night was Tuesday. My roommates had left on Sunday and weren’t coming back until Wednesday. The flat smelled of silence and the candles I’d lit for no particular reason, just because the room looked cold. I got into bed before eleven with a book I couldn’t bring myself to read. I’d been carrying a kind of pressure for days, that tension of wanting something without knowing exactly how to ask for it or whom to ask. My panties had been wet since the afternoon and that wasn’t anything new; lately they were wet almost all the time.

I left the book on the bedside table. I turned off the lamp.

I started without thinking too much about it. The sheet was cool under my palms and my hands already knew the way by heart. I closed my eyes and let my mind build what my body still hadn’t had.

***

At first, I imagined him without a face. Just hands. Hands coming toward me without urgency, as if they had all the time in the world and knew exactly where they were going. I imagined myself lying on a bed that wasn’t mine, in a room with low light, with someone sitting beside me looking at me as if I were the only thing in that room.

He was older than me, not by much, but enough to have learned things I didn’t know. He didn’t talk, he just looked, with that calm that in fantasy felt more disarming than any words.

His hands came first to my shoulders. They didn’t grab, didn’t push. They only rested there, with the exact amount of weight of someone who doesn’t need to prove anything.

“Can I?” he asked.

It was only one word, but it sounded as if it gave me all the time in the world to think about it.

“Yes,” I said.

And in that instant the pressure I’d been building up for days eased a little. Only an inch, but it was enough to breathe.

His fingers found the hem of my T-shirt and lifted it slowly. There was no rush and no clumsiness. When I was left with my top uncovered, I didn’t try to cover myself. I looked at him. I let myself be seen. My nipples hardened all at once from the room’s air and from his gaze on me, and I felt them standing out under the fabric, almost aching.

“You’re fine,” he said, and it wasn’t a question. “You’ve got gorgeous tits, Sofía.”

Hearing my name like that, mixed with that word, tightened something low in my stomach.

His lips came first to my neck, to the curve between neck and shoulder, with a pressure that started out soft and grew firmer. He sucked on my skin with tongue and teeth, marking me, and I felt the heat spread from that point to my arms, to my chest, downward, straight to my pussy. I was surprised by how simple the sensation was and how much I’d needed it without knowing.

He kept going down. To my shoulders, to my collarbone, along my sternum, slowly, not skipping a single inch of skin. When he reached my breasts, my fingers were already tangled in his hair, not quite knowing when that had happened. I didn’t say anything because I couldn’t find the words. Just a soft sound escaped me without meaning to, and I didn’t try to hold it back.

His mouth closed over one of my nipples and sucked it hard, pulling, while his other hand pinched the other one between thumb and forefinger. His tongue traced slow circles around the areola and his teeth barely grazed me, just enough to make a moan slip out and my fingers tighten in his hair. He switched to the other breast and did the same, sucking hungrily, nibbling, tugging the nipple with his lips until it stretched and then let go with a snap. The heat sank to the lower part of my belly and became denser, more specific, harder to ignore. I could feel myself dripping between my legs, soaking the sheet beneath me.

His hands moved over my sides while his mouth kept working my tits. There was no rush. That was the part that baffled me most: that in my fantasy there was no urgency, only attention. As if the only purpose were to learn every part of me before going on, to memorize every inch of skin before fucking me.

When his lips started moving down my abdomen, my hips shifted on their own, seeking his mouth. He looked up for a second and smiled when he saw the wet patch that had already soaked through my panties.

“You all right?”

“Yes,” I answered. “Don’t stop. Please don’t stop.”

One corner of his mouth curved slightly. He kept going down.

He finished taking off whatever clothes I still had on with the same calm as before. When he yanked off my wet panties, he brought them to his nose for a second, closed his eyes, and took a deep breath, as if the smell of my pussy mattered more to him than anything else in the world. I’d never thought that could turn me on so much. Then he parted my knees with his hands, not forcefully, just as a suggestion, and opened them fully, leaving me exposed under the little light in the room. I took a second to breathe deeply.

“Fuck,” he muttered, looking down at me. “You’re soaked.”

He ran two fingers all the way through my slit, from bottom to top, very slowly, gathering my wetness. He held them up to the light so I could see them shining, then put them in his mouth and sucked them clean without taking his eyes off mine.

“You taste good.”

What came next was something no reading had fully prepared me for. He buried himself between my legs and his mouth found my clit without much searching, as if he already knew it. His tongue started out flat, licking me from top to bottom, tasting all of me, from my ass to my clit in long, slow strokes that made me moan louder than I ever had before. Then he pointed it and started circling the bud, changing the rhythm every few seconds: fast, slow, pressure, relief. The combination of his moving tongue and the intermittent pressure made my back arch almost on its own.

He slid two fingers into me at once, curling them upward, searching for that inner spot I had only ever reached halfway with my own. He found it right away. He started pumping them while his tongue kept working my clit, and I felt my pussy clenching around his fingers on its own, sucking them in. My hands went looking for something to hold onto and found the sheet, which I twisted between my fingers while he kept going, steady and precise, not hurrying even though I could no longer think clearly.

“That’s it, good girl,” he said with his mouth still pressed to my pussy, and the vibration of his words went through me completely. “Ride my face. Don’t hold back.”

My hips lifted on their own against his mouth. I grabbed his hair with both hands and pressed his face against me without being able to help it, grinding myself against his tongue, and he didn’t pull away or protest. On the contrary: he moaned against my flesh and sped up.

The sounds coming out of me didn’t even register as mine at first. They were rawer, more urgent than anything I’d ever made alone. Smothered cries, gasps that sounded like pleading.

When I felt myself getting close, when everything in my belly was starting to tighten and my legs were shaking, he stopped.

Not completely. Just enough to look at me.

“Not yet,” he said.

Bastard.

He left me there, right on the edge, my body taut and my pussy throbbing with emptiness. He pulled his fingers out with a wet sound and ran them over my lips, forcing me to open my mouth and suck them, to taste myself. Then he started again from the beginning, even slower, as if he’d taken note of everything I liked and decided to repeat it in pieces. He brought me to the edge three more times, and each time he left me there, trembling, until I was already asking him out loud, with no shame at all:

“Please. Please let me cum. Please.”

***

I sat up, slightly trembling. He lay down and I understood what came next without anyone needing to explain it to me. I positioned myself between his knees, unsure of the details but not of the purpose. His cock was hard against his stomach, thick, with a bright drop at the tip. I’d never had one so close. I took it in my hand and felt it hot, pulsing against my palm.

I went slowly. I ran my tongue over the tip first, gathering that drop, and the salty taste surprised me less than I’d expected. Then I took it into my mouth, just the head at first, sucking with my lips closed around it. He let out his breath sharply. I got bolder and went lower, trying to take more, noticing how my whole mouth filled.

More awkwardly than I would have liked, but he said nothing, didn’t show a trace of impatience. On the contrary: his hand came to the back of my neck gently, without pushing, without guiding. Just resting there, as if to say there was no rush. That calmed me more than any words.

“Like that, very good. Use your tongue too. Suck me however it comes to you.”

I found a rhythm. I went up and down with my mouth, helping with my hand for what wouldn’t fit, running my tongue underneath, sucking the head every time it came out. His little sounds told me whether I was doing well, and when I started hearing them more often, something in me lit up in a different way. When I dared to go down to his balls and take one into my mouth, sucking it slowly while I kept stroking his cock with my hand, a long moan escaped him.

“Fuck, Sofía. You learn fast.”

It wasn’t just physical. It was the awareness that I could give something too, that I wasn’t only the receiver in that situation. That I had a whole man trembling because of what I was doing to him with my mouth. Saliva was dripping down my chin and I didn’t care. I started taking him deeper, until the tip hit the back of my throat and gagged me, and even so I kept going.

After a while I couldn’t have measured, he took my shoulders and made me sit up.

“Come here. If you keep going like that I’m going to cum in your mouth and I still don’t want to.”

***

I lay back. He positioned himself over me, supporting his weight on his elbows so he wouldn’t crush me. For a second neither of us moved. We just breathed, listening to the silence of the room. I felt his cock, wet with my saliva, resting between my thighs, sliding against my wet slit without entering.

“Are you sure?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“If at any point you want to stop, you tell me.”

I nodded. He meant it, and we both knew it.

He took his cock in his hand and rubbed the head up and down against my pussy, soaking it well in my juices, sliding it over my clit until I moaned. Then he set it at the entrance.

I felt him press gently. There was an instant of resistance, a sharp, precise pain that made me clench my teeth when the head opened me for the first time. He stopped at once, with only the tip inside.

“Breathe.”

I breathed. He sucked one of my nipples to distract me and pushed another inch. I clenched my teeth. Another inch. Another. The pain lessened. It turned into something bearable, then into something different, then into something I didn’t want to stop.

“All of it,” I begged him. “Put it all in.”

He pushed slowly until he was all the way in. I felt his hips against mine, his balls resting against my ass. When he was completely inside, neither of us moved for a moment. I was trying to take in the sensation: the pressure, the heat, how full I felt, how strange and perfect it was to have someone else so deep inside me. He waited, with no urgency, until my body adjusted to that new reality and my pussy stopped clenching around him in spasms.

Then he started moving, and everything else simplified. There were no thoughts, no doubts about what to do with my hands or how to breathe. Only the movement that slowly built, my back against the bed, my hands on his back without my even noticing when they’d gotten there. He came almost all the way out and then drove back in to the hilt, and with each thrust I let out a moan I didn’t bother swallowing.

I asked for more without using words. A lift of my hips, a push with my heels into his ass. He understood. The rhythm grew wider, more determined. He grabbed one thigh and opened it wider, until he almost pinned my knee to my shoulder, and with that he went in even deeper. He fucked me with long, loud thrusts, and I felt the tension I’d been holding for days starting to gather into a single point.

“Do you like it?” he gasped in my ear. “Do you like it when I put it in like that?”

“Yes,” I managed. “Yes, more, harder.”

He sped up. The headboard started hitting the wall with every thrust. My sounds were involuntary and I didn’t care anymore. The bed was noisy. The collision of our bodies was something real and physical I could feel not only in my skin but in my bones. I could hear the wet noise of my pussy dripping around his cock, and that sound made me as ashamed as it did horny. He lowered his forehead to my shoulder and I heard his breathing quicken alongside mine.

He slid one hand between us and found my clit with his thumb, pressing fast circles while he kept pounding into me. It was too much. Everything I’d been holding back, all the orgasms I’d denied myself before with my mouth, let go all at once.

I came without warning. An explosion from within that shot up my back and left me breathless for a second. I clung to him with my arms and legs and let myself go, without trying to control anything or hold back any sound. I screamed against his neck. I felt my pussy clenching in waves around his cock, spasming on its own, sucking him in.

“Fuck, Sofía, you’re cumming, don’t stop, squeeze like that, squeeze.”

He kept going for a few more moments, thrusting faster and more unsteadily, and finished with a deep sound I felt more than heard. I felt him throb inside me, unloading in hot waves that filled me completely. He stayed still on top of me, breathing into my neck, his cock still hard buried to the hilt.

***

I opened my eyes.

The ceiling of my room was the same as always. Streetlight came in through the slats of the blind and drew faint lines on the wall. The candles had burned themselves out while I wasn’t looking. My fingers were completely wet, still sunk between my legs, and my heart was pounding as if I’d run up four flights of stairs.

I lay still for a moment, still breathing hard. The sheet was tangled under my body and there was a wet patch under my ass that had soaked through to the mattress. I felt hot even though the room wasn’t. My nipples were still hard and my pussy kept throbbing in small aftershocks, clenching around nothing.

Is it really like that?

I wondered whether reality could even remotely resemble what I’d just imagined. Whether another person could read my body that well without words, whether there would be that much patience in a flesh-and-blood person. Whether a real cock would feel like the one I’d invented. Whether the pain would be like I’d imagined. Whether the pleasure would, too.

I still didn’t know. But what I did know was that fear was much smaller than desire, and that was something new. Before, the two had weighed the same. Now they didn’t.

I wiped my hand on the sheet, turned toward the wall, and closed my eyes. This time to sleep.