I Let a Stranger Dominate Me That Night

What single woman doesn’t end up, sooner or later, swiping through profiles on a dating app? I had resisted for months, but boredom and an empty bed weigh heavier than pride. And there she was, among dozens of faces that meant nothing to me.

Her photo stopped me dead. Large honey-colored eyes, a small upturned nose, full lips that seemed to be asking for trouble. A long neck, skin just lightly tanned. The picture only showed her from the shoulders up, but there was something in her gaze, a confidence, that made me put the phone down and take a deep breath.

I’ve never been one to rush headlong into things. In love, I take my time, no hurry, no list of impossible requirements. I let myself be guided by what I feel, not by what I should feel. When someone turns me on, they turn me on, and that’s that, without so much analysis. But that night, looking at that photo, I felt something different: hunger.

And for good reason. It had been two years since anyone had touched me. Two years of a cold bed and long showers. Anyone can imagine the appetite that builds up after so long fasting.

The problem went back further. My last relationship had ended in the worst possible way. We had been together three years and, why lie, I was happy. Until one day the phone rang and an unknown voice greeted me with an insult: “homewrecker.” I didn’t understand a thing. The woman, in tears, explained that she had been with Romina, my partner, for two years and had found one of my messages on her phone.

It took me a while to put two and two together. I told her that the one barging into someone else’s relationship was her, because I had been with Romina for three years. We talked for quite a while, and between the two of us we finally understood the obvious: Romina had lied to both of us. To both of us, and who knows how many others, she had sworn fidelity while jumping from one bed to another.

From that day on I shut myself away. I distrusted everyone, any smile, any kind message. I’m naturally a private person, and casual sex has never been my thing; it just isn’t for me. So I stayed alone, chewing on my anger, convinced it was safer not to get close to anyone.

But loneliness wears you down. The body craves company even when the mind resists. When I couldn’t take it anymore, I forced myself to try: I signed up on a couple of apps and started chatting. I was about to throw in the towel, because hardly anyone ever replies, when she answered.

Her name was Carolina. Her message was direct, no beating around the bush: “Hi, when are we meeting?” I suggested we chat a little first, get to know each other on the app. She cut me off right away: she liked meeting people in person, and I could choose the place.

The first thing I thought was to be wary. She’s probably full of app dates, just one more, why waste time? But her brazenness intrigued me. I suggested the theater and then drinks. She agreed without arguing.

As for me, I’m no Barbie, but I’ve got my own appeal. I’m tall, dark-haired, green-eyed, with strong eyebrows, a big mouth. Generous breasts, good hips. When I make myself up, I like what I see in the mirror.

We agreed to meet at quarter to seven. Seven o’clock came and nothing. Seven fifteen and she still hadn’t shown up. She arrived at seven twenty, with a calmness I later understood: she had done it on purpose, to let the theater start time slip by. And that was exactly what happened. The doors were already closed, no way to get in.

—What a pity —she said, not looking the least bit sorry—. I guess we’ll have to settle for beer.

In person she was even better than in the photo. Medium-to-tall height, curves in all the right places, a smile that knew exactly what it wanted. We sat down in a small bar with amber light, and from the first beer on it was her who steered the conversation. Compliments, flattery, comments that made me laugh and blush in equal measure. You didn’t need to be very clever to see where she was heading.

On the third beer she looked at me steadily.

—What do you like most when you have sex?

—That’s a very personal question —I replied—. Why do you want to know?

—Pure curiosity. Are you shy about talking about that?

—I’m shy.

—And what does shyness have to do with it? We’re not even doing anything. Tell me.

I shrugged and set shyness aside.

—What I like most is being caressed all over, slowly. What about you?

—I like being eaten out —she said without blinking—. I’m very sensitive down there, I enjoy it like crazy. What part of you is most sensitive?

—My nipples.

—Mine too, but lower down. And how do you like them sucked? I love a soft bite.

—Sucked and left wet.

—And your neck? Does it turn you on when someone kisses it? It drives me wild.

—That too —I confessed, in a lower voice than I intended.

We went on like that for a good while, her stripping my tastes bare one by one, me answering with less and less resistance each time. I liked that she wanted to know everything. She was laying the groundwork, obviously, and although casual sex had never been my thing, something inside me was starting to give.

Suddenly she took my hand. She looked me in the eyes, brushed a lock of hair off my face, and told me I was gorgeous. Her fingers slid up my thigh over my jeans. And between the heat of the beers and the touch of her hand, I felt myself getting wet.

—Do you like me? —she asked.

—I think you’re pretty.

—Would you sleep with me?

—I don’t know. Why are you asking?

—Because you’ve got me burning up. I’d want to be with you right now —she said, squeezing my hands.

I stayed silent. Her proposition kept turning over in my head, but my body had already made up its mind long ago. She came at me again.

—Don’t think about it any more. I know you want to too. Let’s go to a motel. I promise I’ll make you feel good.

—We just met —I protested, without much conviction.

—That doesn’t matter. Stop denying what you feel and let’s give in to desire. What do you say?

And I let arousal decide, not my head. I told her yes. The moment I did, she kissed me and buried her hands in my thighs, squeezing.

***

The motel room smelled clean and of cold sheets. As soon as she shut the door, she grabbed the back of my neck and pulled me to her mouth. We kissed deeply, without hurry, and I liked that she wanted that first of all: the mouth first. When she pulled away, she went straight down to my neck and sucked and licked it while she caressed my back beneath my shirt.

She had listened to every single thing I’d told her at the bar and used it to the letter. She traced my skin with her fingertips, slowly, exactly the way I’d said I liked it. I was already trembling. I gave it right back to her, sucked her neck, ran my wet tongue under her ear.

She took off my shirt. She turned me around and kissed the back of my neck, my shoulders, my spine. She unclasped my bra and, without stopping the kissing, took my breasts in her hands and stroked them. Then she pushed me firmly and I fell onto the bed, just as I had confessed drove me crazy. She climbed on top of me and sucked my breasts, giving them little bites.

I reached up and pulled off her shirt, then her bra, but she pushed me back against the mattress again and returned to my neck.

—Do you like being here with me? —she murmured—. Do you like my tongue on your skin?

—A lot —I gasped—. I love your lips when they touch my skin.

—You’re so hot I get turned on just looking at you. You can’t imagine what I feel when I touch you.

Every word made me hotter. She was focused on giving me pleasure, and every time I tried to sit up and cling to her body, she dominated me and laid me down again. And I let her, because being dominated has always turned me on.

She unbuttoned my jeans and took them off, leaving me only in my thong. She let spit fall onto my nipples and then sucked them, while pressing her fingers over my sex through the fabric. The saliva fell again, she sucked again, pressed again, bit again. She put her hand on my throat and kissed me, making it clear who was in charge.

I took advantage of a kiss to reach her chest. I unclasped her bra and stroked her breasts, pinched her nipples. We were both moaning: she with her hand between my legs, me kneading her breasts.

When she lifted herself for a moment, I unbuttoned her jeans and pulled them down. I pressed myself against her and sucked her breasts; her nipples were swollen, hard, and that turned me on even more. They spoke for her, telling me how aroused she was. I could hear her moaning while I slid my hand down and touched her sex, never stopping sucking her.

—Now you’ll know what it means to come —she warned.

Those words took me to the edge. The same fire I felt showed on her face. She yanked off my thong and threw me back onto the bed. She kissed me with her hand once again on my sex, went down to my neck without stopping touching me, came back to my breasts, and from there stuck out her tongue and dragged it over my stomach to my pubis. She spread my legs and started kissing my thighs.

She went almost all the way to the center and stopped. She switched thighs and kept going. I was dying for it, and she teased, made me think yes, now, and then no. She had me in her hands.

And in one of those thoughts that flash through your mind in a blink, I realized just how completely a total stranger had reduced me to nothing. A woman I had seen for the first time two hours earlier was dominating me utterly, and I was opening my legs as if I had known her all my life. Instead of being ashamed, that thought only lit me up more.

At last she gave me a tiny kiss exactly where I needed it most, stuck out her wet tongue, and ran it over me from top to bottom. She kept her promise. I was coming like I hadn’t in what felt like forever. After two dry years, I felt almost virgin again, and there was that stranger stripping me of that invented virginity while I moaned like a teenager.

How good her fingers felt sliding up my belly, over my breasts, always with the fingertips, never stopping licking me. She took me to the edge with cruel patience and from there, without mercy, to orgasm. I’m sure she tasted how wet I was.

***

I yanked her hair until her mouth met mine and kissed her. I confirmed I hadn’t been wrong: she had so much of me on her lips that I could taste it on mine too. Now it was my turn to take the lead. I was desperate to explore her, to make her come just as hard.

I moved her off me and laid her down. I started with her mouth, as everything should start. I went down to her neck —God, how she moaned—, stroked her breasts. And since she had made me wait, I was going to make her wait even longer. I went down to her feet, sucked her toes, the soles, and slowly worked my way back up her legs, over her thighs, to her pubis.

That wait felt long even to me, for how badly I wanted her. But when I got there I didn’t hold back: there wasn’t a single part of her sex my tongue didn’t travel over. She moaned nonstop, and I was as turned on as she was. I had a stranger melting in my mouth.

I decided to penetrate her. If there’s one thing that drives me crazy, it’s sliding my fingers into a wet woman, and she was wet, there had been no stopping it. I slid in two fingers while sucking her clit, focused on both things. I sucked it, stretched it when I let go, and my fingers went in and out in the same rhythm. She moaned, I didn’t stop, until I made her explode. She moaned like never before: delicious.

—Now climb onto my mouth —she ordered, taking back control—. Sit down.

And I obeyed. I sat on her. She stuck out her tongue, grabbed my ass, and moved me back and forth so I would glide over her. Sometimes she stopped me with a squeeze, sucked, stuck out her tongue again, and pushed me once more. Now I was the one who couldn’t stop moaning. That woman had talent. And who wouldn’t come with being treated like that? I came again on top of her, trembling.

And as if that weren’t enough, we pressed our sex together. She ended up on top and started moving against me, hard and fast, nonstop. While she rubbed herself against me she grabbed my head and kissed me. We were both moaning like cats in heat, and after a good while of that back-and-forth, we came together. What a way to finish.

—Did you like it? —she asked, still out of breath.

—Do you doubt it after hearing me moan like that?

—I don’t doubt it. I want to hear it from your mouth.

—Well, just so you know, you sent me straight to the clouds —I confessed.

That was when she revealed her little plan: she had arrived late on purpose so there wouldn’t be time for the theater and we’d end up drinking. Ever since she saw my photo on the app, she told me, she had been dying to do exactly this. And I, who two years earlier had sworn never to trust any woman, surprised myself by thinking I wouldn’t mind seeing her again.