The Stranger Who Made Me Cross My Red Line

It’s been almost four years since the dirtiest experience I’ve ever had in my life, and I still remember it in such detail it almost scares me. I’ve lived in Valencia for a long time, but my family is from a village in the north, and I’m not going to give any more clues than that. Back then, with lockdown still dragging on, I was working from home full-time and I moved in for a long stretch, alone, into an empty apartment the family had in my hometown.

In Valencia my sex life had never been much to write home about. I shared a flat with two other people and the lack of privacy shaped everything. There, though, being alone and with no one to explain myself to, I went through a period of real wildness. The options weren’t anything special: on the apps it was the same profiles as always, a lot of discretion, hardly anyone showing their face. But having an apartment to myself made things easier, and I met guys who got me incredibly hot.

There was one who had had me obsessed for weeks. The profile was just called “XXL,” it said thirty-four years old and little else. The information was minimal, but enough to drive me crazy: a single photo with black boxer briefs, a sleeveless hoodie unzipped, a dark chest covered in hair, sharply defined abs, arms like someone who seriously hit the gym, and hanging around his neck, a chain with a silver fang. He didn’t show his face, but everything else was pure filth to me.

I had him saved in favorites. Every so often I’d send a nudge or some stupid little message, and I’d never gotten a reply. That morning I tried again with a random greeting, with no hope at all. And for the first time, he answered.

—Submissive little slut? —was the only thing he wrote.

—A little —I replied. I was embarrassed to admit more. It’s true that I like the other guy to take the lead and I’m almost always the passive one, but I’d never really explored what it was like to be properly submissive. It was a fantasy I’d kept tucked away in a drawer.

Without giving me time to say anything else, two photos of his cock came through. Huge, the kind that look edited and aren’t. In one it hung over his belly, and in the other he was holding it with his hand, as if measuring it. I got hard just looking at it, and I felt that tingling rush you get when you’re suddenly turned on and everything else stops mattering.

—Send me a naked video, with your face —he wrote.

I never send anything with my face, for fear it’ll end up circulating around. But I was in good shape and, privately, I felt less awkward about it. I tried to dodge him by sending separate photos: my face on one side, my naked body on the other.

—Whore, I told you a video. Don’t make me say it twice.

That was when I understood he meant business. I went into the bathroom, filmed myself in front of the mirror, slowly turning my body, and sent it to him. Then I waited, my heart pounding in my chest.

It took a little while. Then:

—That’s good, whore. Want cock? I’ll come to your place and fuck you raw.

I stopped breathing. The idea of doing it that way turned me on like an animal, but I’m one of those people who gets seriously hung up about diseases, and with strangers I always, without exception, use a condom. I told him that way wasn’t possible, that if he wanted I’d give him a really good blowjob.

—No. Slut, the only way I’m fucking you is bareback. If that doesn’t work for you, don’t bother me again.

That should have been the end of it. My usual red line, the one I’d never crossed for anyone. But I was hornier than I’d been in ages, my pulse racing and my head filled with a single fixed idea. I stared at the screen for a long while. And in the end I could only manage to type three words.

—Whatever you say.

—Where do you live? I’m leaving in half an hour. Be ready.

I sent him the address. I showered in a rush, put on tight briefs, jeans, and a T-shirt. I sat on the sofa waiting, a nervous wreck, almost trembling, fully aware that I had just given in on something I had never given in on before and that from that point on I was no longer in control of anything.

At last my phone buzzed: “I’m downstairs. Which floor?” I gave him the number, the intercom rang, and I let him into the building. I heard the elevator go down first and then come up, with that slowness that at that moment felt eternal. Someone rang the bell.

I opened the door and there he was. Dark, with a trimmed beard, defined, and even hotter than the photos had promised. He walked in without saying hello, shut the door behind him, and looked me over from head to toe like someone assessing a purchase.

I offered him a beer to break the ice, more out of nerves than anything else.

—I didn’t come here to chat with you —he said, with a calm that raised the hairs on the back of my neck—. I came here to wreck that slutty ass of yours. You understand, bitch? The only thing you’re going to do now is strip. I’ll pour my own beer.

He went straight to the kitchen, which was visible from the entrance, opened the fridge, grabbed a can, and came back to sit on the sofa as if the apartment were his. I stayed standing there in my briefs, not really knowing what to do with my hands.

—Take off my sneakers and lie on the floor, face up —he ordered—. You like feet? Because that’s where you’re starting.

I knelt down, untied his sneakers, and lay on the floor. He dragged his feet over my face with the socks still on, slowly, staking his claim. I was beyond myself already and, without thinking, I slid my hand inside my briefs to touch myself.

He grabbed my wrist and yanked it away with a bit of violence.

—Don’t even think about touching yourself unless I tell you to, whore. You’ll come and the party’s over before it starts.

He took off his socks and pushed his toes into my mouth. I sucked them like my life depended on it.

—Keep going, this is just the appetizer —he said, amused.

A couple of times he brushed his cock against me with the sole of his foot, over the fabric. I was on the verge of coming just from that. When he got bored, he unfastened his pants and grabbed my arm.

—On your knees, bitch.

Up close, I could see the huge bulge straining his black briefs. He held my head with both hands and pressed it against the package, unhurriedly, so I could feel the heat through the fabric.

—This is what you’re going to suck now —he murmured.

He pulled out his cock and slapped my face with it a couple of times, almost contemptuously.

—You’re drooling, huh? I still don’t know whether to let you suck me off or to split that slutty ass of yours open right now. If you’re sucking me, you’re sucking all of it. None of that playing with the tip nonsense.

He stood up, stripped off all his clothes in one motion, and looked around.

—Where’s the bed?

I pointed toward the bedroom. My voice was barely working from nerves. He grabbed me by the arm again and dragged me in there.

—Lie on your back, with your head hanging over the edge of the bed.

I obeyed. He pushed his cock into my mouth and forced it to the back of my throat. I couldn’t breathe, I gagged, and I felt tears fill my eyes. He didn’t let up.

—Very good. That’s how I like little whores like you —he said, watching my upside-down face.

He didn’t let me enjoy it for long. He flipped me over, got me on all fours, and yanked my briefs down.

—Slut, next time I see you I want you wearing a jockstrap. I want that ass ready at all times, understand?

I felt his beard brushing my cheeks and, suddenly, his tongue. He ate my ass like no one had ever done before. First just a light lick, then I felt him going in a little, opening me up. He spat, then started working a finger in, then two, until they slid in without resistance. Once I was a bit stretched, at last I felt the head of that enormous cock pressing against me.

—I hope you can take it, whore, because I’m going to fuck this tight little ass hard.

He started slowly, pushing in only partway. I was so close to the edge that if he’d brushed my cock with one finger I would have come on the spot. When I made a move to reach down, a sharp slap landed on my ass cheek.

—I already told you. You don’t touch yourself unless I tell you to.

He kept fucking me, picking up the pace, gaining a little more ground with every thrust. I handled that first round pretty well. My body opened up to take him, and the mere idea of being filled completely had me out of control. Every now and then he slapped me or pulled my hair to remind me who was in charge.

Without warning, he stopped, turned me over, and threw my legs over his shoulders. From that angle he started driving it into me to the hilt, and that was when I truly understood what it means to have something that size inside you all the way. Every thrust felt like he was about to split me in two. It wasn’t a sharp pain, but a constant being right on the edge, right on the border between pleasure and unbearable. I moaned without being able to help it, half from pleasure, half because I couldn’t take much more. I think he enjoyed it too: he could feel my tight ass trying to close around his cock, and that made him even rougher.

—Filthy little bitch, with how tight you are you’re going to make me cum already.

He sped up, planted his hand over my face to hold me still, and spilled inside me with hoarse groans. I felt him throbbing as he finished. When he emptied himself completely, he pulled out his cock and brought it to my mouth.

—Clean it off. Now you can come, bitch.

With his cock still between my lips, it only took a couple of shudders for me to come harder than I can remember ever having come, with a tremor running through me from head to toe.

He got up without another word, went to the living room where he’d left his clothes, and dressed in silence, hardly even looking at me. He left without saying a thing and left me sprawled on the bed, naked, with his cum sliding down inside me and my breathing still all over the place.

Four years later, I still go back to that afternoon whenever I want to get properly turned on. By a huge margin, it was the most intense thing that has ever happened to me. And there are still nights when I check the app, without much hope, in case I run into that faceless profile again.