What Nahia Did to Me After Our First Kiss

I met Nahia in a bookstore downtown one Saturday afternoon. I was looking for something I couldn’t find; she was sitting on the floor in the poetry section, wearing a white shirt buttoned all the way to the neck and a smile that seemed to know too much. Three months later, that same shirt was draped over the back of a chair in her kitchen, and I still didn’t quite understand how I had ended up there.

She had made dinner. Pumpkin risotto, a salad I barely touched, and two bottles of chilled white wine that she opened before I crossed the threshold. We laughed for hours with that easy laughter that only appears when one has had just enough to drink. I had sat beside her, not across from her, because I asked her to. I asked seriously, not as a joke, and she held my gaze a moment too long before agreeing.

From my chair I could see the cleavage of her blouse, buttoned just enough to keep the fabric from spilling open. She wasn’t wearing a bra. She never did. She loved letting the small metal ring show through whenever she leaned forward. Big tits, much prettier than mine, with nipples that grew hard whenever they brushed against the fabric. Comparisons like that had never done me any good, but that night I realized my mouth watered just imagining myself sucking them.

“What are you thinking about?” she asked.

“Nothing,” I lied.

I was thinking about many things at once. I was thinking about how I had arrived at her apartment at ten on a Friday night without anyone knowing I was there. I was thinking about my girlfriend, or my ex-girlfriend, depending on the day. I was thinking about what would happen if Nahia came one centimeter closer. I was thinking that my pussy had been wet since before I pressed the buzzer.

She finished her wine. I watched her stretch her neck, the long, deliberate movement, her eyes turned toward the ceiling. When she lowered her gaze, she caught me staring at her tits. I didn’t look away in time. I felt the blood rush to my face before I could process the embarrassment, and turned my eyes toward the other end of the kitchen, like a little girl caught doing something she shouldn’t.

“Would you like some more, Miss?” I asked, reaching for the bottle as if refilling our glasses could disguise anything.

“Yes, I want more, sweet girl.”

She had invented the names during our second meeting. I hadn’t objected. I also hadn’t objected when she started calling herself “Miss” in her messages, or when she asked me, in that café beside the museum, whether I had ever done what I wanted without asking permission. I told her no. She smiled as if she had won something.

It wasn’t that she grabbed my wrist to stop me from reaching the bottle. It was the tone. A word can change the rhythm of your heart if it’s spoken by the right voice. Mine began skipping beats, not like an arrhythmia, but as if it were trying to adjust to a new rhythm.

I raised my eyes but lowered my chin. Her pupils held my gaze for barely a breath. Her free hand had settled on my thigh, right where my skirt ended. The other traveled slowly up my forearm, measuring every inch as if she wanted to memorize it.

I didn’t know where to put myself. I didn’t know where to look. I was aroused and terrified, and I couldn’t contain both things in my body at once. Why does something I’ve wanted for months frighten me so much?

Her eyes were shining. She touched my cheek with her fingertips, a tiny, almost accidental brush. She made me feel fragile and welcome at the same time. When she leaned in, I let my lips meet hers. Her mouth tasted of chilled wine and something thicker, something that was hers. Her tongue touched mine for a second, our lipstick mingled, and then I pulled away.

I didn’t push her away violently. I just lowered my head slowly and let her black locks tickle my face with their warmth. I felt her breath stop for an instant. I didn’t know what was happening to me either. I had spent months imagining that kiss, and when it came, I no longer knew what to do with it.

I curled up in her arms. It was the only thing I could think of. I wrapped my arms around her and pressed myself against her neck, against the scent of citrus perfume and faint sweat, against that soft place where the collarbone leaves a hollow. She didn’t move. She didn’t ask me anything. She hugged me tightly, patiently, as if she knew I was waiting for something only I could give her.

An irrational part of me would have preferred her to demand an answer, to force me to explain myself because our first kiss had tasted like a goodbye. I wanted to tell her how much I liked her, that she wasn’t the problem, that she had never been the problem. But the words stuck in my throat like badly swallowed pills.

“I’m afraid I won’t be enough,” I managed to say, so quietly that I doubted she had heard me.

“And that’s why you trip yourself up, soft girl?” She took my chin and gave me a delicate kiss, barely a brush, on the lips. “I know what you’re missing. Give me a moment. I’ll be back with you in a minute.”

She stood up. I heard her open a drawer in the living-room sideboard, one of those low drawers I had never poked my nose into. She returned with a thin raw-cotton cord coiled in her hand like a rosary. She laid it on the table beside my half-empty glass.

“Do you trust me?” she asked.

I nodded. I couldn’t say anything else.

“If you want to stop, say ‘red.’ However you say it, I’ll stop. Okay?”

“Okay.”

***

She took my right wrist and brought it to where the chair leg began, just beneath the seat. The cord went around twice, a flat knot that barely tightened but didn’t come loose. Obedient, trembling, and ecstatic, I let her repeat the process with my other hand. Her calm looks, each time she raised her eyes to make sure I was still with her, were the only thing keeping my heart inside my chest.

She moved behind me. She gathered my hair, first from the nape of my neck, then from my forehead, and tied it into a firm ponytail. I felt the slight tug, that sensation of being organized by someone else, like when you’re a child and your mother does your hair before school. But this was nothing like that.

By the time I finally found the courage to speak, it was too late. She straddled me, trapping me against the back of the chair, crushing my tits with hers. She passed one arm over my shoulder, took hold of my ponytail, and pulled down gently. My neck was exposed and my mouth fell open without my deciding to open it.

“Much easier this way, isn’t it?” she said.

She took a metal ring about four centimeters wide from her trouser pocket, covered in black leather, with a strap hanging from each side. She had carried it all night. Through the entire dinner. While she told me about the last book she’d read, while she asked about my sister, while she laughed at my imitation of my boss. It had been in her pocket, patiently waiting for me to finish being afraid.

“Open,” she said. It wasn’t an order. It was an invitation in the tone of an order.

I opened my mouth. She placed the ring between my teeth, adjusted the strap behind my neck, and fastened the buckle. She drew back for a moment, just long enough to look at me. This is how she imagines me when I’m not in front of her, I thought. This is how she’s wanted to see me for months.

“Let me take care of everything,” she said.

She took me by the hair with one hand and by the chin with the other, and kissed me with all the passion I hadn’t been able to give her on the first attempt. Her tongue entered without obstacles, without the barrier of my closed lips or my doubts, and explored the hollows of my mouth as if she were looking for a map. A lively, hot tongue, far too sure of itself. I couldn’t close my mouth. I couldn’t swallow. I drooled involuntarily and she laughed inside my mouth, a soundless laugh, a vibration that ran down my spine and lodged between my legs, where my pussy was already throbbing without the slightest attempt to hide it.

Something unlocked. I don’t know how to describe it. My initial nervousness, that tight thing in my sternum I had been carrying for months, dissolved like a lump of sugar in hot water. My tongue returned her kiss with the same fervor. I pushed everything I could toward her, as far as the chair and the cord allowed me to push. All I wanted was more. More mouth, more weight on top of me, more hands in my hair, more of everything.

She noticed. Without releasing me from her grip, she laughed again, this time aloud, never stopping the kiss for even a second. She enjoyed me as she pleased, and I allowed it with a gratitude I had never felt before in my life. Exactly as I liked it, even though until that night I hadn’t known how to name it.

When she drew back just a few centimeters, she kept her fingers in my hair. With the index finger of her other hand, she traced the entire wet inside of my mouth, slowly, as if checking something. She pushed her finger all the way in, pressing down on my tongue, and I sucked it as if my life depended on it, soaking it in saliva that streamed down my chin and fell onto my cleavage.

“I expect many more kisses like this from you,” she said. “And now that you’re so accessible, I’m in the mood for other things too.”

She leaned her hips back, without getting off my lap, and began to unbutton her blouse. Button by button, unhurried, without taking her eyes off me. The piercing appeared first, a silver ring through her left nipple, then the whole curve of the breast, then the other one, heavier, with its dark nipple already erect and pointing directly at my face. I stared at her with my mouth open—literally—unable to make a comment, barely able to swallow my saliva.

“The night is young, sweet girl,” she said.

She held one breast in her hand and brought it toward my open mouth. Her nipple brushed my lips stretched around the ring, and the metal piercing struck my teeth with a sharp click that made me close my eyes. She moved it slowly, painting my lips with her own flesh, letting my tongue stretch as far as it could to lick the tip. I stuck out my tongue like a thirsty bitch, searching for her nipple, choking on want.

“Suck me, sweet girl. Suck it properly,” she whispered, and pushed her breast against my mouth until she buried it inside the ring.

I sucked it as if I had never done anything else. I circled her nipple with my tongue, tugging carefully on the piercing, feeling it grow even harder against my palate. She moaned for the first time all night, a low, guttural moan that confirmed I was doing something for her too. She moved to the other breast and repeated the process, pushing it in until I could barely breathe through my nose. Saliva poured from my mouth, soaking her skin and running down toward her belly.

When she pulled it from my mouth, she bent down and licked my chin, cleaning the drool away with her tongue, and, at the same time, slipped a hand beneath my skirt and yanked my panties aside. Her fingers found my soaked pussy without needing to search. She laughed again.

“Look at you, you little pig. Dripping all over my chair. All this just from sucking my tits for a while?”

I nodded, unable to speak. The ring kept my mouth open, and she took advantage of it to slip two fingers inside and make me suck my own flavor. Salty, thick, mine. She pulled them out and pushed them back in, fucking my mouth with her fingers while her other hand opened my pussy and pinched my clit with the pad of her thumb.

“I’m going to fuck you until you come all over this chair,” she said. “And you won’t be able to close your mouth or your legs or anything. You’re going to stay like this, open, until I say so.”

She got off my lap and knelt on the floor between my knees. With both hands she pulled my skirt up to my waist and finished tearing off my panties, leaving them hanging from one ankle. She looked closely at my pussy without touching it yet, breathing over me. I tried to close my legs out of pure reflex, and she opened them firmly, planting her hands against the insides of my thighs.

“Still. This is mine.”

And she licked me. One long, flat stroke, from my perineum to my clit, unhurried and without courtesy. I arched against the cords and let out a moan muffled by the ring that sounded more like a growl than anything else. She laughed against my pussy, and the vibration made me lose the little control I had left. She began sucking my clit with her lips, nursing it as if it were a tiny nipple, tugging at it with short, precise sucks. She pushed her tongue inside me and drew it out, alternating with her fingers—two at first, then three—until the sloshing of my own wetness could be heard throughout the kitchen.

“Listen to yourself,” she said, lifting her face for a second, her chin shining. “You’re soaking my chair, little pig. They can hear you from the street.”

She lowered her head again and fucked me with her fingers while sucking my clit without pause. She curled her fingers upward, searching for a place I had never managed to find by myself, and when she found it, she pressed there with her fingertip as if she knew exactly which button she was pushing. I felt the floor drop away. The first wave rose through my legs, settled in my belly, and exploded between my hips. I came tied to that chair, my mouth impossibly open, dripping all over her face and hand, moaning like an animal I didn’t recognize as my own.

She didn’t stop. She kept sucking and fingering me while I trembled, stretching my orgasm to the edge of pain. When she finally pulled out her fingers, she held them up for me to see, soaked to the knuckle, and slowly put them in her mouth without taking her eyes off me.

“Delicious,” she said. “And that was only the appetizer.”

She stood up, finished removing the blouse hanging from her shoulders, unbuttoned her trousers, and let them fall. She wasn’t wearing anything underneath. She climbed onto the chair again, this time with her knees level with my shoulders and her shaved pussy directly in front of my face.

“Now you’re going to return the favor, sweet girl. And since the ring will get in the way, I’m going to take it off. But if you bite, I’ll put it back on for two full hours. Are we clear?”

I nodded as best I could. She undid the buckle and carefully removed the ring. My jaw hurt, drool ran down my neck, and even so, all I wanted was her pussy above me. She grabbed my ponytail and shoved my face between her thighs without giving me time to breathe. I stuck out my tongue and began sucking her the way I had just learned to do, imitating everything she had done to me. I licked her from bottom to top, sucked her clit, pushed my tongue inside, and moved it as if I were fucking her.

“That’s it, sweet girl. That’s it, good girl. Suck it well. Let me know you’ve learned.”

She rubbed herself against my face without care, setting the rhythm with her hand at the nape of my neck, fucking my mouth with her pussy. I couldn’t use my hands, couldn’t move; I could only suck everything she gave me, swallow her taste, soak my face with whatever she released. When she came, she pressed my head against her with both hands, moaning my name for the first time, and I stayed still with my tongue inside her, feeling her whole body contract around it.

She let herself fall onto my thighs, her pussy still resting against my belly, and kissed me on the mouth, smearing both of us with what remained of her on my lips.

“I’m not untying you yet,” she whispered, biting my lower lip. “The night is young, I told you.”

And I, tied to her pine chair, with my aching jaw and soaked pussy and her tits hanging in front of my face, couldn’t object to anything. I didn’t want to.