Tied Up and Blindfolded: The Fantasy He Prepared for Me
There’s a stage in a woman’s life—after a failed marriage and before she makes the same mistake again—when sex stops being something negotiated and becomes something you simply take. I reached that stage at twenty-nine, freshly divorced and with years of delayed desire after a mediocre marriage to a man who didn’t know where the clitoris was and wasn’t interested in finding out.
For that, I had Rodrigo. Fifteen years older than me, with that calm only well-lived years can give and the experience needed to know exactly when to press and when to let go, when to fuck me slowly and when to leave my throat wrecked from screaming. We weren’t boyfriend and girlfriend, and we didn’t want to be. We were something more honest than that: two people who desired each other, who knew each other’s bodies by heart, who gave themselves without conditions when the other asked.
What we had had been working that way for almost two years, with no friction and no boredom. In part because Rodrigo had an uncommon gift: he knew what I wanted before I knew it myself. He knew when I needed him to lick my cunt for an hour until I was trembling, and when I needed him to grab my hair and shove his cock down my throat without asking me anything.
It started with a confession I read on a forum. It was written by a woman describing how her partner, without warning her at all, had invited strangers to fuck her while she remained tied up and blindfolded. She described with brutal rawness how the three holes had been used without her knowing who was who, how they had left her cunt overflowing with semen and her face covered in loads. She told it with such naked honesty that it was impossible not to spend days with my head spinning, secretly masturbating to that image.
I mentioned it to Rodrigo that same week, between cigarettes and rumpled sheets, still with his semen running down between my thighs after a long session.
“Would you like that?” he asked without taking his eyes off the ceiling.
“I don’t know,” I replied. “It sounds exciting and terrifying at the same time. Being fucked without knowing who they are… being filled up while you watch…”
I never brought it up again. There was no need. With Rodrigo things worked like that: I planted something, and he let it germinate in silence until he found the exact moment to make it real. Sometimes it took weeks. Sometimes months. But it always came.
***
One Thursday afternoon he called me.
“I’ve got something planned for Saturday,” he said. “Dress nicely. And come fully shaved.”
That was all. No details, no clues. It was his style, and I’d already learned how to move through it without anxiety. So on Saturday I devoted myself entirely to myself: hair appointment in the morning, Brazilian wax at noon—my cunt smooth as a little girl’s, my ass and my pussy without a single hair—then a short nap so I’d arrive rested. I put on the dark blue dress I know he likes, the one that cinches at the waist and falls straight, and nothing underneath: no panties, no bra, because I knew they wouldn’t stay on for long.
He picked me up at eight at night. He drove in almost complete silence, with the music low and that smile of his that says he knows something the other person doesn’t. He took me to his apartment, on the twelfth floor of a building near the river. I knew it by heart: the smell of old wood, the green sofa by the window where he had made me scream so many times, the orange light he always left on in the entryway.
That night there was no light in the entryway.
The apartment was almost completely dark. Only the bedroom had light, soft and warm, spilling through the half-open door as if something inside were waiting. Rodrigo led me there and opened the door fully.
On the bed, perfectly arranged, was a black latex set. A bra with a front clasp and a thong with straps that left the crotch completely accessible, open through a slit that exposed the lips of my cunt and the entrance to my ass. To one side, a pair of high-heeled shoes in my exact size.
I put it on without asking questions. While I undressed and settled into that shiny second skin, Rodrigo watched me from the edge of the bed, wearing nothing but his shirt, his arms crossed over his chest and an expression I knew well. His cock was pressing hard against his trousers, and that made me wet instantly.
“Do you trust me?” he asked when I was done.
“Always,” I told him.
Always and without a doubt.
He took from the bedside table some leather cuffs with metal rings, two for the wrists and two for the ankles. He fastened them on me carefully, tightening them without making them too tight. Then he tied my wrists behind my back with a soft rope, gathered my hair into a low ponytail, and as a final gesture, covered my eyes with a black velvet blindfold.
The world disappeared.
I stood there in the dark, hearing only my own breathing and Rodrigo’s footsteps moving around me. He took me gently by the shoulders and guided me to the bed. He laid me on my back, tied my right wrist to my right ankle and my left to my left, leaving my knees half-bent, my arms without any real movement, and my cunt completely exposed to the room’s air.
I felt his fingers before I heard anything: tracing my neck, my collarbone, the edge of the bra. The touch was so light it raised goosebumps better than any firmer pressure. He opened the clasp and let my breasts spill free, heavy and sensitive, my nipples already hard, breathing fast under his hand. He started stroking them with his palm, then pressing the nipple between two fingers, pinching just enough to tear a gasp from me, then harder, twisting it until I arched my back.
I writhed. My bound hands kept me from reaching him, and that impossibility made everything more intense. I could feel my cunt wetting itself on its own, without anyone touching it, soaking the latex slit and dripping downward.
Something slow was playing in the background, a song I vaguely recognized but couldn’t identify. Rodrigo sucked one nipple with his mouth open, nipped at it, then moved to the other, alternating with a patience that had me straining against the ropes. He already had me at a thousand. I could feel my clit throbbing beneath the latex, swollen, begging for attention.
I felt him kiss me on the mouth. He was behind my head, holding my nape with one hand, sliding his tongue deep inside. And then I felt another mouth, much lower, kissing the inside of my knees, coming up with a patience that made me arch my back.
I tensed.
That mouth wasn’t Rodrigo’s. Rodrigo’s was busy sucking on mine, deep, slow, open, working his tongue inside me as if he wanted to remind me he was still there, controlling everything.
“Easy,” he whispered in my ear. “It’s all good. Enjoy it.”
I breathed. I slowly released my muscles. The other mouth climbed the inside of my thighs with a patience bordering on unbearable. I could feel the hot breath getting closer and closer, lips kissing the inner flesh of my thighs, the beard—because it was a man, I registered that right there, a short beard scraping my skin—approaching my exposed cunt centimeter by centimeter.
When it reached the edge of the latex slit, it pulled the fabric aside with two fingers and went to work without preliminaries: precise tongue, constant rhythm, no hurry. He licked me from top to bottom, opening my cunt lips with his mouth, pushing his tongue between them, tracing my entire slit before returning to the clit and staying there, sucking it slowly, then quickly, then working it in circles with the tip of his tongue until he tore from me a long, ugly moan—the kind you can’t hide.
I closed my eyes inside the blindfold and surrendered.
The wetness between my legs grew fast, warm, sticky, spilling over my ass and forming a puddle under my cunt. The tongue kept insisting, working into my pussy, drawing the fluids out and then pushing them back in, sweeping over my clit again and again until I was trembling. I felt two fingers forcing their way in, sinking into my cunt with obscene ease—I was drenched, entered all the way—and they started moving, searching for that exact spot inside, curling upward with an insistence that made my whole body clench. Rodrigo kept kissing me above, sucking my mouth hungrily, while one hand returned to work my tits, pinching my nipples until it hurt in the best, unbearable way. I was already soaked, breathing in gulps, my whole body vibrating under the ropes, my cunt contracting around the fingers of a stranger.
***
Rodrigo pulled away from my mouth. I felt him settling on the bed, closer to my head. A moment later I noticed the heat of something brushing my lips. I opened them expecting to find him, but what went in was different: the texture was different, the weight was different, the taste was different. It was a thick, hard cock, hot skin pressing me against the palate.
It wasn’t Rodrigo.
I understood it the very second I heard his voice from the other side of the room:
“Suck it properly. Like you suck mine.”
There were more than two people in that room. And the story I had read weeks earlier came back to me whole, all at once, with perfect clarity. Rodrigo had listened. Rodrigo had decided. And if anyone could know whether I could handle that, it was him and him alone.
I opened my mouth all the way and started sucking everything in front of me with my tongue. It was a hard, hot cock, the head slick with pre-cum brushing my lips as I slid it in and out slowly, forcing me to take more, open wider, suck from tip to base. I felt it hit the back of my throat and trigger my gag reflexes, but I didn’t pull away: I let it keep going in, learning to swallow it. The cock’s owner grabbed my head with both hands and started fucking my mouth slowly at first, driving me down to the balls, leaving my lips stretched around the shaft and saliva streaming from the corners.
My cunt was still being worked with a skill that made it hard to focus on anything else at the same time. Fingers kept sinking in and the tongue alternated with them, licking my clit in furious circles while the fingers searched for the G-spot inside. And the hands massaging my breasts weren’t anyone I had touched before: different fingers, different calluses, a way of pinching my nipples I didn’t know.
It was too much. It was exactly enough.
They lifted me carefully and set me on my knees on the bed. The restraints allowed that position quite comfortably. I felt movement at my sides, bodies repositioning, the mattress creaking under other weights, the sound of someone spitting on his hand to masturbate. Then they took me by the ponytail and began guiding my head from side to side, offering me one and then another. One was long and thin, with soft skin and a pointed head that reached the back of my throat without trouble. The other was considerably thicker, especially near the base, a girth that forced my lips and was harder to fit.
I kept trying until I managed it, with a satisfaction that surprised me. My mouth filled with saliva, my lips stretched around one cock and then the other, while my face was used with a hard cadence that made my eyes water behind the blindfold. I felt the thicker one shove my head down until my nose was pressed against his pubic bone, choking me, and when he let me go I sucked in air through coughs and drool, a thread of saliva hanging from my chin to my tits.
“You suck cock so well, bitch,” said a voice I didn’t recognize.
“More,” I begged, surprised by myself. “Give me more.”
Someone slid between my legs again, this time from behind. I felt the tongue opening my ass cheeks, passing over my hole, descending to my cunt, licking me from back to front with long strokes. This time it alternated with almost methodical precision: licking exactly, then using fingers; stimulating with fingers, then back to the mouth. They opened my cunt with two fingers, then three, pushing them in to the knuckles, searching for the exact spot with an obstinacy that tore from me increasingly desperate moans, moans that were muffled against the cock in my mouth.
They gave me no time to adjust to anything. Every time I thought I was getting used to one sensation, it switched to another. One cock in my mouth, then another. Fingers in my cunt, tongue on my clit, tongue in my ass. Nipples being twisted. A hand in my hair pulling my head back.
I started feeling that deep familiar tingling. The one that begins in the abdomen and slowly spreads outward, filling every corner, clenching my cunt around the fingers. I was getting close to the edge.
And then they stopped everything.
They left me there, suspended, my body tense and with no point of contact. My cunt contracted into the void, asking for what was no longer there. It was only a few seconds, but they felt like minutes. I heard movement around me, breathing, the creak of the bed as someone changed position, the unmistakable sound of a condom wrapper tearing open.
Then they lifted me and placed me over a different body. One I didn’t know: the chest was hairless, the torso slimmer, the heat of his skin against mine intense and strange. Between my legs I felt the brush of something rigid settling into place, the head of a cock searching for my entrance, sliding over my wet folds before finding the opening.
“Easy,” Rodrigo whispered in my ear from behind me. “Whenever you say, we stop.”
I leaned slightly forward and the body beneath mine began to work its way in. I was so wet that it went in without resistance, long and firm, sinking into my cunt centimeter by centimeter until he filled me completely. When I had him all the way in, I stayed still for a moment to get used to the weight, the position, the sensation of having someone inside without knowing who he was. The cock filled me from the inside with a hot pressure that made me moan through clenched teeth, the walls of my cunt contracting around a stranger.
He took my tits from below and started moving slowly, pulling his hips out and pushing back in, rubbing against me inside with an insistence that made my ass clench involuntarily. Each thrust pinned me against him, his pubic bone knocking against my clit with every movement, his cock hitting the back of me with a regularity that heated me layer by layer.
Hands took my hips from behind. I felt the cold of lubricant falling between my buttocks, running down the crease to my asshole.
“Rodrigo?” I asked softly.
“I’m here,” he answered.
“Only you there. Please.”
“I know,” he said. “Relax.”
It was a condition he knew and had never violated. He had been the first one to fuck me in the ass, and he was still the only one who could do that well. That certainty was the only reason I didn’t ask them to stop everything right then.
I relaxed as much as I could. Rodrigo was meticulous as always: one finger first, then two, slow and patient. He opened my asshole with exact dedication, lubricating the entrance well, sinking his fingers in to the knuckles and scissoring them open to stretch me. Meanwhile the man beneath me kept moving softly, fucking my cunt with short thrusts that kept me burning, and the mix of those two sensations—the cock in my cunt, the fingers in my ass—left me in a state I couldn’t describe exactly. I wanted more of both at the same time.
When Rodrigo finally settled in and began pushing his cock into my ass, the pain was brief and familiar. That exact point where it hurts for a second, where the asshole resists and then gives, and then turns into something else. I felt him enter slowly, gaining ground millimeter by millimeter, until his balls were pressed against my ass cheeks and his pubic bone against my back.
When I had him inside too, both began moving at the same time, finding a rhythm I recognized as perfect after only a few seconds. One was fucking my cunt from the front with long thrusts, the other was fucking my ass from behind with controlled drives, and I was trapped in the middle of that delicious tension, double-penetrated, the air catching in my throat and my body opening under the force of both. I could feel the two cocks rubbing through the internal barrier, one going in while the other came out, alternating in a beat that was destroying me from the inside in the best possible way.
My moans started escaping before I could do anything to hold them in. I was screaming things I didn’t understand, stray words—more, like that, don’t stop, fuck me—mixed with sounds that weren’t words. Someone came to my mouth and filled it too, the thickest of them all, shoving me down to the back of my throat, and instead of drowning out the sounds it multiplied them from inside. I had all three holes occupied, three cocks working me at the same time, three men moving in me in a rhythm that seemed coordinated by something bigger than them.
I wanted more. I wanted them never to stop. I wanted all of it to stay exactly like that until my body couldn’t take any more.
And that was what happened.
***
I don’t know the exact moment I lost track of where my body ended and everything else began. I only know there was a point where the contractions started so deep inside me they felt almost foreign, as if they belonged to another body I was watching from far away. My cunt clenched around the cock inside me with a force that tore a groan out of the man beneath me, and at the same time my ass contracted around Rodrigo, and the third cock kept going in and out of my mouth, drowning my screams. The orgasm hit me in long waves, each one stronger than the last, until all I could manage to say was stop.
“Stop!” I managed to yell, pulling the cock out of my mouth. “Stop!”
Rodrigo reacted immediately. He came out first, carefully, and the others followed. He took me and set me on my side on the bed. The emptiness left by everyone leaving was almost as intense as their presence had been: I felt my cunt left open, my ass stretched, my mouth wrecked. He freed my wrists. He tried to hug me but I couldn’t stand the touch of anything. I curled in on myself, trembling, making a sound I couldn’t classify or describe.
When I came back to myself I no longer had the blindfold on. I was covered with a blanket, I was cold, and Rodrigo was sitting beside me, carefully stroking my hair, looking at me with that expression of his that mixes genuine concern with something like relief.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
“Yes,” I said. “I think so.”
I looked around the room. It was only the two of us.
“The others?” I asked.
“They’re gone,” he replied. “That’s part of the experience. You don’t know who they are, and they don’t know who you are.”
He brought me a cup of very sweet hot tea. I drank it slowly, feeling the warmth travel through me and begin to straighten out something that was still tangled. I could still feel my cunt throbbing, my ass burning in a pleasant way, my nipples sore from hours of touching. Then I lay back on his chest, he turned off the light, and I fell asleep listening to his breathing.
***
It’s been several days since that Saturday and I still think about it when I shouldn’t. On the bus, in the shower, at work. I masturbate remembering how the three cocks felt inside me at the same time, how my body clenched when I came, how they left me wrecked and happy. My body took a while to recover fully: I spent two days with my ass burning and my cunt swollen. But what stays with me most is not the physical memory, but the certainty of something that night proved: Rodrigo knows me better than I know myself.
It all started with the confession of a stranger I read by chance. A woman who told something intimate without knowing it would land exactly where it needed to land.
I owe her one.
