My First Time Came When I Least Expected It

I was nineteen when I got to Rosario. My parents paid for a small apartment near the university, and I took care of the rest. That semester I signed up for an evening class in analog photography, Mondays and Wednesdays from eight to ten. The professor—Marcos, in his forties, broad shoulders, a voice that never rose—offered from the first week to drive me home. We finished late, the bus stop was far away, and he passed through my neighborhood anyway.

The first few weeks there was nothing to tell. We talked about apertures, color temperature, what made a photo have something or not. But I started noticing things: that he corrected my posture by brushing my shoulders instead of pointing with his finger, that he lingered longer than necessary leaning over me when he checked my work, that when I laughed at something, he took a couple of extra seconds before looking back at the road.

I noticed. I didn’t do anything about it. But I noticed.

The night everything changed wasn’t any different from the others. We left class, I got in the car, he started driving. But instead of taking the usual avenue, he turned toward the tree-lined streets by the park and slowed down without saying a word. He parked under a huge tree where the streetlights didn’t reach. And before I could ask what we were doing there, I felt his hand slide over my thigh and slip under my skirt with a certainty that left no room for doubt.

I opened my mouth. What I had meant to say didn’t come out.

He kissed me slowly, calmly, like someone who knows exactly what he has in his hands. His tongue entered my mouth without haste, finding mine, and at the same time his fingers slipped under the elastic of my panties and found my pussy already soaked through. One went all the way in, then another, and he started moving them with a slow rhythm that made me spread my legs as much as the seat would allow. With his thumb he found my clit and rubbed it in circles while he kept fingering me. I rested my head against the seatback and closed my eyes. I didn’t want him to stop.

“You’re soaking wet,” he said against my neck. “You’re such a hot little slut.”

Something warmed in my chest when I heard him say that. I didn’t answer: I was too busy trying not to make noise, biting my lip while his fingers went in and out with a wet splashing sound that filled the car. I felt the first orgasm rising from deep in my belly, sharp and quick, and I covered my mouth with my hand so I wouldn’t scream. He noticed and smiled against my ear, not taking his fingers out, waiting until I stopped shaking before pulling them free and bringing them to his mouth to suck them in front of me.

A few minutes later, he took me gently by the nape and guided my head toward his lap. He had unbuttoned his pants while I kept my eyes closed. His cock stood hard against his stomach, thick, bigger than I had imagined. I had never had one that close. I took it in my hand, feeling the weight and the vein running underneath, then leaned in and ran my tongue over the tip, tasting the salty drop already beading there.

“Take it all in,” he said, pressing my hand to the back of my neck.

At first I didn’t really know what to do. I opened my mouth and took him as deep as I could, feeling him press against the back of my throat and make my eyes water. I learned on my own: the pressure, the rhythm, how far I could go before choking. His hand guided me at the nape, pushing me a little farther each time, not rushing me but not letting me pull away completely either. Strings of saliva formed at the corners of my mouth and dripped down my chin; he gathered them with his thumb and ran them over my lips stretched around his cock. When he started moving me faster, I brought one hand up to help with what my mouth couldn’t cover, gripping the base with my fingers while I sucked hard on the tip. I felt him harden even more and breathe shallowly above me.

“Swallow it all,” he growled, and he came inside my mouth in hot spurts that filled my tongue.

I stayed still for a moment, his cock throbbing in my mouth, surprised by the thick salty taste, before swallowing everything. Then I ran my tongue over the tip to clean the last drop.

“First time you’ve done that,” he said. It wasn’t a question.

“Yes,” I answered.

He started the car in silence and took me home.

***

That went on for weeks. Every Monday and Wednesday: class, car, trees. I learned quickly to read his breathing, to know when to speed up and when to keep the tip pressed against my palate until he writhed in the seat. He returned the favor with his fingers first: he’d pull my panties down to my knees, spread my legs against the passenger door, and work me with two fingers inside and his thumb on my clit until I came biting the headrest. But that’s where it ended. I got home burning hot, my panties glued to my pussy from how wet I was, and not really knowing what to do with that.

One night I told him it wasn’t fair.

“What’s not fair?”

“That you’re always the one getting off and I go home like this, wanting you to fuck me.”

He looked at me for a second. Then he turned his eyes back to the road.

“Your family knows my wife,” he said. “There are lines I can’t cross.”

I understood. That didn’t make it stop bothering me.

That same night, in class, we stayed alone after the others left. We were reviewing the week’s photos, or so we said. I ended up with his hand under my skirt between the shelves in the darkroom, his fingers going in and out of my pussy with my panties shoved to one side, and I unbuckled his belt without thinking too much, reaching for his hard cock over his briefs. I pulled it out and started jerking him off, braced against the shelf, and he had his mouth on my neck, biting me hard enough to leave a mark. We were about to do something—I was already lifting my skirt, he already had the tip pressed between my thighs—when the classroom door creaked open and the janitor came in to turn off the lights.

We straightened ourselves out in seconds. Marcos took me home with hardly a word. I went upstairs still with my pulse in my throat and my pussy throbbing empty, took my clothes off, and sat on the couch staring at the ceiling, feeling like I was halfway through something unfinished. I ran my hand between my legs and found myself so wet my fingers slipped in on their own. I started touching myself half-heartedly, more out of habit than anything else, knowing it wouldn’t be enough.

***

The intercom rang about twenty minutes later.

It was Felipe.

Felipe lived three floors up. He was also a student in the workshop—in the Wednesday afternoon class—and we’d been crossing paths for weeks in the elevator or in the building’s hallway. He was quiet, a man of few words, with something about his face that gave the impression he was always thinking more than he said.

“I forgot my key,” he said through the intercom. “Can you open up?”

I buzzed him into the building without thinking twice and went back to the couch to find something to put on. Thirty seconds later there was a knock at my door.

When I opened it, Felipe came in without waiting. He shoved the door with his shoulder and pinned me with a look I had never seen on him before: something tight in his jaw, something dark in his eyes.

“I saw you,” he said.

“Saw me what?”

“In the car. A week and a half straight. Always the same spot, and I pass by there when I go out running.” He took a step toward me. “I saw exactly how you were sucking him off. How you opened your mouth wide and he grabbed you by the nape. All of it.”

I didn’t know what to say. He didn’t wait.

He gently pushed me onto the couch and knelt in front of me. I was wearing only a T-shirt and nothing else, and that didn’t last long: he yanked it over my head, and I was left naked with my legs pressed together by reflex. His hands parted my thighs without violence but without hesitation either, and while he did it he accused me in a rough voice of never having expected this from me, of always treating me with respect, and of if I could suck my professor’s cock in a car like some cheap whore, then I could open my legs for him on my own couch too.

I don’t know whether he was right or not. At that moment I cared very little.

He did what Marcos had never done: he lowered his head and buried his mouth between my legs. He started slowly, with long licks that came up from below to my clit, and there he stayed, circling, sucking, nibbling softly. Then he slid two fingers in and curled them upward, searching for a spot inside that made me lift my hips off the couch. At the same time he squeezed my breasts with his free hand, tugged my nipples until the pull hit my stomach, alternating with slaps on my thighs that made me close my eyes and bite my hand so I wouldn’t scream. He made me come twice with his mouth, the second time so hard he soaked my whole face and he cleaned me with his tongue without moving away. I was completely wrecked, my thighs trembling, when he finally lifted his head.

“Spread your legs wide,” he said. “And ask me for it.”

“For what?”

“You know what. Ask me for it.”

I felt the heat climbing up my face. It wasn’t exactly embarrassment. It was something harder to name.

“Please,” I said, barely a voice.

“Clearer. Say it properly.”

“Please, I want you to fuck me. I want your cock inside me.”

He undressed slowly, never taking his eyes off me. When he pulled down his pants and boxers and I saw him fully, something tightened in my chest. It was thick, long, with a swollen tip and a prominent vein running beneath. It was different from having it in my hand or in my mouth. It was real in a different way.

“I’m a virgin,” I said.

He stopped. He looked at me for a second that felt longer.

“I don’t believe you,” he said.

“I don’t care if you believe me or not.”

There was a pause. Then he leaned in, kissed my neck, spread my legs resting them against his chest, and started to enter slowly, with a calm I hadn’t expected from someone who had walked into my apartment like that without an invitation. I felt the tip making its way in, tight, pushing against something that resisted.

The pain came anyway. A sharp burn that made me dig my nails into his shoulders and hold my breath when he finally broke through what had to be broken. I felt something warm sliding between my thighs and knew what it was. He noticed too, because he went completely still with his cock buried to the base, his eyes on mine, and something different appeared on his face from what had been there before.

“Sorry,” he said softly.

“Don’t stop,” I answered.

He didn’t stop.

***

The first minutes were like that: pain mixed with a sensation that didn’t have a name yet, his body over mine, the couch shifting under us, his cock sliding in and out with slow thrusts that gradually opened me up. But the pain eased, replaced by something that began as discomfort and ended up being something completely different. Every time he went all the way in, I arched my back without meaning to, and he leaned harder against that spot that made me see stars. He sucked my nipples while he fucked me, and with one hand he pressed my clit in time with the thrusts.

“You’re so tight,” he whispered in my ear. “I can feel everything.”

He flipped me over without warning. He put me on my knees on the couch, my hands on the backrest and my ass lifted for him. He ran a hand down my back, grabbed a lock of my hair and wound it around his fist. This way it was different: deeper, more direct. I felt him opening me from the inside with every shove, felt his balls hitting my clit at the bottom of each thrust. I started begging him not to stop, to keep going, harder, to shove it in all the way.

“That’s it, slut, that’s how you like it,” he groaned, grabbing my hips and yanking me back to slam into me all the way. “Look at you taking it all.”

He slapped my ass, the sound echoing through the apartment, and then again. The noise we made there in the silence—the thighs hitting my ass, my moans muffled against the backrest, the splashing of my soaked pussy around his cock—was something I had never heard in my life.

When I came, it was with my whole body. I shook all over, clenched my fists in the couch fabric, and felt my pussy contracting in spasms around the cock inside me. He stayed in me feeling the contractions, holding on for a couple of seconds before finishing too, with a low groan I didn’t forget afterward. I felt hot spurts emptying inside me, one after another, and he kept thrusting slowly until the last drop.

We stayed still for a moment. I with my forehead against the backrest, he behind me with his hands on my hips and his cock still inside, slowly going soft. When he pulled out, I felt the warm thread of his cum run down my thigh.

“That was the first one,” he said. “I’ve got more planned.”

When he stood up and looked at himself, his face changed.

“There was blood,” he said.

“I know.”

“I didn’t believe you.”

“I know.”

I took him to the bathroom and cleaned him myself. I ran the damp cloth over his cock slowly, feeling it start to harden again between my fingers, and when I had it firm in my hand once more, I knew what I wanted to do next.

“I want you to fuck me in the ass,” I said.

He looked at me.

“Are you sure?”

“More sure than anything else tonight.”

He took his time. He pressed me against the bathroom wall, made me spread my legs, and lowered his mouth. He lubed me with his tongue first, patiently, licking me there slowly, pushing the tip in and pulling it out, wetting my hole until the muscle gave in on its own. Then he brought up the fingers soaked in my saliva and my pussy and started putting them in one by one, making room. When he had two inside and I felt them scissoring open, I leaned better against the wall and told him I couldn’t hold out any longer.

“Put it in already,” I told him.

He stood behind me, rested the tip there, and started entering me little by little, centimeter by centimeter, while I breathed against the cold bathroom tiles with my arms outstretched to steady myself. The burn was strong at first, a stretching that made me clench my teeth, but he went slowly, stopping each time I tensed. He went all the way in, to the base, and the feeling was completely different from before: more intense, fuller, right on the edge. I started moving on my own because I couldn’t stay still, pushing my ass back to take him all the way.

“Put your fingers in too,” I asked him. “In my pussy. At the same time.”

He did it. He slid two fingers into my pussy while he kept fucking me in the ass, and I felt both things at once, the thin wall of skin between his cock and his fingers, and I realized I was seconds away from coming like never before in my life. He pushed harder, curled his fingers, and with the other hand he found my clit. What came after that I can’t fully describe. It was a long orgasm that started in my belly and rose to my ribs, taking its time to end and leaving me without strength in my legs. I felt him come inside too, holding me by the hip so I wouldn’t fall, groaning low against my shoulder.

We finished under the shower water. He said he was lathering me up, but his hands had other ideas: they ran over my tits, slid down my stomach, slipped between my legs to clean me from the inside with his fingers. When I looked at him, he was hard again. I knelt under the stream and sucked him off right there, with the hot water pouring over us, until he came for the third time that night and filled my mouth. I let him because I no longer had the energy to protest, and the truth was I didn’t want to anyway.

When he left, it was past two in the morning. I stayed on the couch wrapped in a towel, my body sore in a way that didn’t bother me at all, my pussy and ass pulsing softly, still feeling his semen slowly leaking inside me. I stared at the ceiling and thought of nothing and everything at once.

***

That week, Marcos looked at me in class with narrowed eyes.

“You’re different,” he said.

“I grew up,” I replied.

I don’t think he fully understood. But that night, when he parked under the trees, it was me who took the lead. I unbuttoned his pants, pulled out his cock, and took it into my mouth with a calm he didn’t know in me. I worked him slowly, looking him in the eye, until I had him on the edge. And then I stopped. I climbed on top of him in the driver’s seat, pulled my panties to the side, and drove myself down onto him, lowering myself little by little until I felt him all the way in. I rode his cock right there in the car, with my skirt hiked up to my waist and my hands braced on the roof. He grabbed my hips trying to set the rhythm, but it was me who decided how and how much. I told him in his ear, while I fucked him, that he wasn’t the only one who could ask for things anymore. That now I asked for them too.

Felipe, three floors up, already had my number that same week. And he used it often.