The Afternoon I Got Dressed Up for a Stranger

My name is Bianca when I dress like this, even though that name doesn’t appear on any of my documents. Every few weeks, the same fever comes over me: something shameless rises inside me, a heat that won’t quiet down by itself and won’t subside until I let it out. It isn’t something I decide. It arrives, takes over my whole body, and demands attention. And that afternoon, when I came home from work with the sky already orange, I knew it was time to surrender once again.

I love this secret stage, the closet and the mirror, the woman nobody suspects lives inside me. I left my bag tossed in the entryway, undressed unhurriedly, and stepped into the shower with a clear plan in my head. I shaved my entire body, inch by inch, taking special care around my ass because that area is so delicate and because I wanted to be perfectly smooth there, without a single hair to scrape anyone’s tongue or fingers. I ran my hand over my legs to make sure not one hair remained, and my skin answered smooth, ready. While I was at it, I slipped a soapy finger into my anus, turning it slowly, getting used to the intrusion, imagining what awaited that hole a few hours later.

I left the bathroom and wandered naked around the apartment, letting the air dry me as I rubbed cream all over my body. It smelled like coconut and something sweet. Once I was completely dry, I began the real ritual: an incredibly tight black thong that slipped between my buttocks, a black lace bra, half-cup and front clasp, which lifted what little I had and made it look like much more. A violet garter belt, stockings still to come. Fine strappy sandals that made my ankles look slimmer.

In front of the mirror, I painted my lips an intense red, lined my eyes with a steady hand, and adjusted a long-curled wig that fell to the middle of my back. I looked at myself. I wasn’t me anymore. I was her, I was Bianca, and she was ready to open the door and let herself be fucked.

I have to confess why I went to so much trouble. I’d been chatting with a man for weeks. Long messages, half-naked pictures, promises about the cock he had and everything he was going to do to me with it. That very morning, at last, we had both worked up the nerve to go beyond words: he would come to my house. I had invited him, with a boldness that now seemed foreign to me, and the hour was approaching with no way to stop it.

I was nervous. No, I was terrified. I didn’t know what to expect, didn’t know what I would do when I had him in front of me, whether my voice would come out or whether I’d go mute like an idiot. To calm myself, I decided to make myself even prettier. I took a little black dress from the closet, open at the sides almost to the waist, and slipped it over my lingerie. The mirror gave me back a woman who seemed to know exactly what she wanted. If only I knew.

And then someone knocked on the door.

Everything inside me churned, a mixture of fear and anticipatory excitement that left my legs weak and my thong wet between my buttocks. For a second I thought about not opening, staying still and letting him get tired and leave. But my phone vibrated: I’m outside, are you opening? There was no turning back. I took a deep breath, walked to the door feeling every step, and opened it.

He looked me up and down slowly, without trying to hide it, and lingered for a long while on my tits and on the outline of the garter belt visible beneath the dress.

—Hi, sweetheart. You look gorgeous —he said, his voice hoarse—. You’re going to make me come before I even touch you.

I couldn’t answer. I only smiled and lowered my eyes with that coyness that comes naturally when you feel desired. I stepped aside to let him in and invited him to sit on the sofa. I sat beside him, so close that I could feel the heat of his body, and he immediately put his hand on my knee and began to caress me.

That caress set me alight all at once. His hand was big and warm, moving up and down my bare thigh with a calmness that drove me crazy. I stayed still, letting him do what he wanted, biting my lip so I wouldn’t moan too soon. His hand climbed to the garter belt, to the edge of the thong, and with two fingers he moved it aside and caressed my shaved pussy. I was soaked. He chuckled under his breath.

—Look at you, you slut. You’re already dripping without having done anything.

The word shook me all over. He slipped in one finger, then two, and began pumping them slowly while his thumb pressed my clitoris in slow circles. I spread my legs wider, seeking him, moving my pelvis against his hand, biting my knuckles so I wouldn’t scream.

—I want to see you walk —he murmured suddenly, pulling out his fingers and bringing them to his mouth to suck them—. Stand up. Walk for me.

The order turned me on even more, if that was possible. I felt like a real woman, a sexy female with an audience of one. I stood up and walked as slowly and provocatively as I could, exaggerating the sway of my hips, feeling his gaze fixed on my ass. I made a couple of circuits around the living room, like a model on a private runway, and finally stopped in front of him, legs spread, a silent invitation for him to touch me wherever he wanted.

He didn’t make me wait. He took me by the buttocks with both hands and pulled me toward him.

—I really like you —he said against my belly as he slowly lifted my dress, revealing the garter belt, the thong, everything I had prepared for him—. Sit facing me. I want to show you what I’ve got for you.

I sat on the edge of the sofa, facing him, my heart racing.

—Do you want to see the cock that’s going to split you open tonight? —he asked, reaching for his pants.

I was so hot I couldn’t think of anything else. I nodded without hesitation. He slowly lowered the zipper, enjoying my impatience, opened his pants, and pulled out an enormous cock, much bigger than I had imagined, thick, veined, hard as iron, its tip already shining with fluid. I looked at it and felt a mixture of awe and a mad desire to have it inside me. More than fear, what I felt was enormous anticipation, an urgency to taste it whole, to feel how far it could reach inside me.

I lowered myself slowly until I was kneeling between his legs. I placed both hands on him and began stroking him from top to bottom, feeling his cock pulse against my palms and the heavy balls hanging beneath it tighten. I bent down and licked his balls first, one and then the other, sucking them completely into my mouth, tugging gently with my lips. He grabbed the wig at the nape of my neck and guided me upward, toward the tip.

—Open your mouth, slut. Suck it like you know how.

I brought my mouth closer, but it wouldn’t fit, not yet. I started with the tip, kissing it, licking around the glans, sliding my tongue into the little groove where the pre-cum appeared. Then I opened my jaw as wide as I could and took it in little by little, keeping one hand around the base for the part that remained outside. I moved it up and down, turning it slowly, sucking hard as it came out, letting a thread of saliva fall to my chin.

I took more of it than I could handle and felt the tip hit my throat and make me choke, but I held on for a few seconds with tears in my eyes before pulling it out coughing and trying again. Over and over, gaining a little more each time. He held my head and thrust his hips upward, fucking my mouth at his own pace, making me swallow that entire cock that bulged my cheeks.

—That’s it, swallow it all. You’re a beautiful cock-sucker.

I kept going for quite a while, saliva and drool running down my chin to my tits, my mascara smeared, my jaw burning, until almost the entire thing began to slide in without so much effort. I licked his veins, sucked his balls while masturbating him with both hands, and took him all the way back into my mouth. His groans escaped more and more frequently, and I felt him swelling in my throat, but I didn’t want him to come yet, not there.

And while I sucked him, I thought about what would come next. If my mouth had managed to tame that cock, my ass would have to do the same with the whole beast. The mere idea made me squeeze my thighs and feel my anus contract in anticipation.

—Get on all fours —he ordered, pulling away and looking at me with a crooked smile, his cock pointed at my face and dripping with my saliva—. I’m going to show you what it’s like for a real man to wreck your ass.

My anus shuddered just imagining it. I climbed onto the sofa, got on all fours, and pulled my thong down to my thighs, offering him my raised ass. I reached for the lubricant I had left close at hand, poured a generous stream between my buttocks, and opened myself for him with my fingers, pulling my cheeks apart, showing him my tight, glistening little hole without shame.

—Look how you’re puckering, you bitch. You’re already watering.

He positioned himself behind me. First he passed the tip between my buttocks, sliding it up and down through all my saliva and the lubricant, rubbing my anus without entering, and those repeated strokes gave me an electric pleasure that made me arch my back and bite the back of the sofa. I wanted more. I pushed backward, seeking him, asking for it without words.

—Easy —he laughed, giving me a sharp smack on the ass that left my skin burning—. It’s coming. I’m going to put it so deep you’ll feel it in your belly.

He pressed the head of his cock against my entrance and began pushing little by little. I felt the glans forcing my ring, felt my anus resist and then give way with a burning that cut off my breath. It went in a couple of centimeters and stopped, letting me feel the heat and the stretching, giving me time. Then a little farther, and another pause. I breathed deeply, relaxing, accepting each length of that hard flesh opening me from within. It took time, but he knew how to wait. And when my body finally yielded, he pushed it all the way in, to the hilt, the entire length and thickness, until I felt his balls bumping my pussy and his hair scraping my buttocks.

I let out a long, animal moan I didn’t even recognize as my own.

—Goddamn… what a tight ass you have.

He began rocking back and forth, slowly at first, pulling almost all the way out and then sinking back in slowly, gradually picking up the pace. He fucked me so well, with the confidence of someone very experienced, a man who had already broken in many asses like mine and knew exactly how. Every thrust shook my whole body and tore a hoarse moan from me. I deliberately tightened my anus every time he came out, to feel him better when he went back in, and he let out pleasure-filled growls that turned me on even more.

He changed my position without pulling all the way out. He put one leg over his shoulder and went deeper, giving me long thrusts that reached my soul. He turned me onto my side, my legs together to squeeze him tighter, and thrust into me from that angle, biting my neck and grabbing my tits over the bra. He bent me face-down against the sofa, my ass raised and my face crushed against the cushion, and drove into me relentlessly, all his weight on top of me, fucking me like a bitch in heat. The sound of his hips slamming against my buttocks filled the living room, an obscene smack-smack mingling with my muffled moans.

—Tell me you love having your ass broken. Say it.

—I love it… I love you breaking my ass, give me more, harder, daddy, like that…

Then he lifted me by the torso and sat me on top of him, impaling me astride him, letting his own weight sink him all the way in. I gripped the back of the sofa, riding him, bouncing on that cock, feeling it open me wider with every downward motion. He sucked my tits through the lace, bit my nipples, and fingered my pussy with two fingers while he fucked my ass, giving me a double pleasure that made me see stars. Completely lost. I screamed, moaned, said things I wouldn’t remember afterward, obscenities that came out on their own: slut, fuck me, more, all yours. My eyes rolled back and my head drifted to another world, somewhere that exists only in those minutes when you stop being a person and become pure body and pure desire, a wide-open hole for a man.

—That’s it, that’s it —he panted, setting my rhythm with his hands on my hips, helping me slam down—. Don’t stop. You’re going to make me come inside that filthy ass.

I didn’t stop. I couldn’t have, even if I’d wanted to. I felt an orgasm climbing from my pussy to my throat, my clitoris about to explode between his fingers. Suddenly my whole body convulsed, I clenched my ass around his cock, and I came on top of him with a long scream, trembling all over, soaking his hand with my fluids.

He held me against his body and sped up to an impossible pace, thrusting upward harder and harder until I felt his whole body tense, felt him grip my hips tightly and explode inside me in several warm spurts of semen. It was madness. I felt his cock swell with every release, pulsing inside my anus, emptying itself again and again, filling me with milk. I lost count of how many times he spilled. My body received it all gratefully, as if that were what I had dressed up so carefully for.

He stayed still for a few seconds, breathing against my nape, his cock still buried in me, still hard. Then he withdrew slowly, and I felt a thread of his come escape from my dilated ass and run down to my thighs.

He turned me around so I was facing him and, without saying anything, brought his face close to mine, his cock shining with lubricant, semen, and me. I understood the order before he gave it. I opened my mouth and took him again, without disgust, cleaning him with my tongue, tasting the mixture, kissing him, sucking him slowly, all of him, from base to tip. I licked his balls again, ran my tongue along his shaft, put the tip in my mouth, and relaxed my throat so he could move. He grabbed my wig with both hands and began fucking me again, now without care, thrusting into my throat until he made me tear up.

—I’m going again, slut. Pull it out. I want to stain your face.

I pulled it out just in time and masturbated him quickly, mouth open and tongue out, aiming him at my face. He came a second time, this time on my face, in hot spurts that struck my forehead, cheek, tongue, and lips. Some landed on my tits, still squeezed inside the black lace. I licked what reached my mouth and ran a finger over what dripped from my chin so I could take that too.

I loved feeling that way, marked, stained, my face and mouth full of him, warm semen sliding down my neck. I felt completely like a woman, a woman capable of making a man come like that, twice, without him barely moving a finger the second time. I closed my eyes and enjoyed the moment like a trophy, his cock still resting against my lips, their red lipstick smeared.

We finished and lay on the sofa for a while, catching our breath, our legs tangled, his lazy hand caressing one buttock reddened by his smacks. We didn’t talk much. We didn’t need to.

When he got dressed to leave, he leaned over and kissed one of my buttocks, like a signature, like a promise.

—I’ll call you —he said from the doorway.

And he did. But that second time, when he came looking for me again and fucked me just as well or better than that afternoon, is another story. One that’s worth telling, too.