The Night I Discovered What My Body Had Been Keeping

By then I had been carrying that desire for months. I didn’t really know what to call it, but I recognized it every time I looked at myself in the bathroom mirror: a feeling that there was a version of myself waiting on the other side of the glass, more real than the one the world saw every day.

I was nineteen. My brown, wavy hair fell to my shoulders; I had let it grow on purpose over the past two years. I was slender, with hips that were beginning to widen thanks to months of squats at the gym, and when I stood in profile in front of the big bedroom mirror, I liked the silhouette I saw: a curve in the small of my back, my ass rounding out slowly, my long legs.

My classmates told me they were jealous of that ass. I laughed without saying anything.

The exploration had begun months earlier, shyly, with my fingers, in the dark and in silence. At first it was just a finger wet with saliva, pressing barely against the closed little hole, and it hurt so much I pulled away before the first knuckle had even gone in. Then it was two, three, coated in cream, twisting inside while I bit the pillow so I wouldn’t moan out loud. But fingers were no longer enough. My mind wanted more, demanded more, and my pussy and my ass were learning fast, a little more elastic every night, a little greedier.

In my mother’s bathroom drawers there were all kinds of containers: conditioner bottles, body lotion tubs, mask tubes. Cylindrical, smooth, different sizes. I started looking at them with different eyes, like someone looking at a row of plastic dicks waiting to be used.

There was one small shampoo bottle I used almost by memory: about three centimeters in diameter, twelve long, easy, versatile. I would put it in my mouth first to practice, imagining it was something else, learning to relax my throat, to control my gag reflex, to let a thick thread of saliva run down my chin while I pushed it all the way to the back. Then I would slide it, lubed up, between my ass cheeks and sink it in slowly until it disappeared completely. It was manageable and familiar, and it no longer hurt at all; on the contrary, every time I pumped it inside I felt the muscle clench around it, sucking it, begging for more.

But the one that kept me awake was another: a glass container my mother had kept without knowing what I would do with it. Four and a half centimeters in diameter, eighteen long. I had held it in my hand several times before using it, calculating, measuring with my palm, biting my lip and clenching my thighs because just thinking about it made my pussy wet.

Someday, I thought. And that day came.

***

My mother left on a Saturday afternoon to visit my aunt. Before she went, she told me she’d be back after dinner. My sister was at her boyfriend’s place. I figured I had four hours, minimum.

I locked the door, lowered the bedroom blinds, and opened the drawer where I kept the things no one knew I had.

There was a schoolgirl uniform I had put together piece by piece over months: a white long-sleeved shirt I had borrowed from my sister without her knowing, knotted just above my navel. A green-and-blue plaid skirt that fell just below my ass. A pair of black half-calf stockings. And a pair of five-centimeter black heels I had bought from an online store with my card, my heart in my throat while I waited for the package every day.

I also had a pink satin panty, with white lace in the back. It was new. I had kept it unused, waiting for the right occasion.

I dressed slowly in front of the mirror.

First the shirt, then the panty, then the skirt. I pulled the stockings up carefully, stretching the fabric slowly so they’d sit smooth. Then the heels, and suddenly my legs looked different: longer, more defined, with that arch at the ankle I liked so much on other women.

The makeup took the longest. Black eyeliner around the eyes, with a small flick at the outer corners for that cat-eyed effect I wanted. Dark, smoky shadow. Wine-red lipstick, which I applied twice to make sure it covered well. I put my hair up in a high bun and left a few strands falling loose over my ears.

I looked at myself.

I didn’t recognize myself. I mean it: there was a second when I saw another person, and that second was the most beautiful I had had in a long time. I saw a young slut in a uniform, with a face that looked like it wanted to be used, and it was me.

Hello, I told the mirror silently.

***

I got on all fours on the bed with the hand mirror resting on the pillow so I could see myself. I took the small container and began sucking it slowly, the lipstick staining the plastic, leaving a bright red trail around it. I licked it from top to bottom like it was a real cock, running my tongue over the tip first, then down the side, soaking it completely with saliva. I imagined another situation, another body in front of me, someone standing with a hard dick against my face, and I let myself go.

I shoved the container to the back of my throat until my eyes watered and I felt the gag reflex rising. I held it. I kept it in there counting two, three, four seconds, feeling my throat squeeze around the plastic. When I finally pulled it out, a thick string of saliva and drool fell between my mouth and the container, and another thread hung from my chin to my shirt. The eyeliner started running in two black streaks down my cheeks. I took it again, this time faster, setting a blowjob rhythm, going in and out of my throat with wet noises filling my ears: glup, glup, glup. In the mirror I saw what my face looked like: ruined, the makeup marking the passage of time, the lips red and swollen, the mouth open like a bitch in heat.

I looked exactly the way I wanted to look.

I slipped a hand under my skirt and touched myself over the satin panty. It was soaked through. The pink fabric clung to the lips of my pussy, outlining them, and when I moved aside the lace covering my pubis, a thread of clear slick stretched between the fabric and my flesh. I ran two fingers along the slit, from top to bottom, feeling how wet I was, and put them in my mouth along with the container, sucking them at the same time, tasting myself.

I took off the panty. I pulled it slowly down my stockings until I could slip it off over my heels, and I left it to the side like a little pink flag stained with moisture. I took the large glass container, lubed it well with saliva and with the slick dripping down my thighs, and set it against the little hole in my ass.

I pushed.

Pain. I closed my eyes and strained, and the pain was stronger than I was. The muscle clamped down in a stubborn ring around the tip and refused to give. I let out my breath slowly and waited. I took the small container first, worked it into my ass slowly until I felt the muscle give way, going in and out patiently, turning it, letting my body begin to open with less resistance. I felt the hole relax, felt it start sucking the plastic on its own, felt my pussy dripping with pure desire while I fucked my ass with the smaller thing. When I felt ready, pulling it out with a wet sound, I went back to the big one.

I aimed again. I breathed.

This time something was different. I felt myself opening centimeter by centimeter, a new pressure I had never known, the ring of my ass stretching around the cold glass to a limit I had thought impossible. I pressed my chest against the bed and buried my face in the pillow, biting it, holding back a scream climbing up my chest.

The first five centimeters went in and the pain mixed with something I still didn’t know how to name: a feeling of being opened, forced, filled, and of wanting it. I held it still for a moment. I breathed. I pulled it out slowly and felt the void it left, a throbbing emptiness that made me clench and open my hole around nothing, searching for it.

I lubed it again, this time first taking it into my mouth and bathing it completely in saliva, and I started over.

This time it went in more easily. And this time I let it go all the way to the bottom.

A shiver ran from my knees to the nape of my neck. I stayed motionless for a few seconds, processing what I felt: full, open, with eighteen centimeters of hard glass occupying a space that had been only mine until then. I started moving slowly, first cautiously, pulling two or three centimeters out and pushing them back in, then faster, fucking my ass with my own hand, and the sounds coming from my mouth were involuntary, genuine, without acting. Deep moans, grunts, a broken little “ah, ah, ah” that matched every thrust.

With my other hand I went for my pussy. It was so swollen that even a slight brush against my clit made me jump. I started making quick circles with two fingers while I kept pumping the container in and out. I could feel both holes working at once, the thin wall between them vibrating with every movement, my pussy gushing over my hand and soaking my wrist.

I had never felt like that before.

***

At some point I got out of bed, with the container still inside me halfway, turned around, and stood in front of the full-length mirror leaning against the wall. I looked at myself: the knotted shirt open enough to show the beginning of my breasts, the skirt hiked up to my waist, the stockings, the heels, the glass container sticking out of my ass like a shiny tail. The makeup completely smeared, the eyeliner running down my cheeks like black rivers, the lipstick spread beyond the outline of my lips, mixed with the saliva that had dried on my chin.

I liked myself so much I slapped my ass a couple of times with my open hand. The sound was dry and clear in the silence of the room. My skin turned red where my palm landed, and I felt the container move inside me with each slap, pushed by the tremor of the cheek.

—I’m a bad girl —I said out loud, to nobody, to the mirror—. I’m a dirty slut and I love it.

I liked how it sounded.

I pulled the container out with a slow tug and stood it upright on the bed, holding it with my hand so it wouldn’t fall, and I rode it. Lowering myself was a slow process, knees bent, breath held, small adjustments until I found the right angle and the cold tip rested once more against my hole. When I got it, when all my body weight pushed it inward and I felt the glass making its way deep inside, I closed my eyes and let go.

The ride was slow at first, careful, learning the rhythm. I rose, bracing my hands on my knees until the container came almost all the way out, and lowered myself again, feeling it sink into me. Then faster. Then without thinking, bouncing, letting gravity impale me again and again. Every drop was a wave and I rode it without control, with my hair falling loose over my face, my breasts moving beneath the shirt, the skirt spread around my hips. I could hear the wet sound of my ass swallowing the glass, the splashing of my pussy wetting my thighs and stockings.

Then I lay down on my back.

I opened my legs, took a pillow and hugged it tight to my chest with my arms and knees, and imagined a body on top of mine. Someone big, with heavy hands, pinning my wrists to the bed without brutality but without gentleness either. Someone looking down at me with that expression of someone who knows exactly what they’re doing, someone whispering in my ear, “Do you like the way I’m fucking you, little slut?” while he opened my ass with his cock.

I pushed it in like that, held up by the weight of my thighs, as deep as I could, and started moving it with both hands, in and out with violence, fucking my little hole with the container while I bit the pillow. With my tongue I licked my free palm and spat on it, and spread the saliva over my clit so I could rub it faster, softer, without dry friction. Fantasy and sensation fused into one thing: I felt the imaginary man’s imaginary cock and the real glass at the same time, and I no longer knew which was which.

***

I had read something about the prostate. That it was like the G-spot in other anatomies: hard to find, easy to ignore, impossible to forget once you discovered it. That the only way to reach it was from the inside, and that you had to look for it patiently against the front wall.

I changed the angle.

I got back on all fours, ass lifted high and my face resting sideways on the pillow, aimed the container upward toward the front wall, and started moving it around looking for that zone. It took a while. There were moments when I almost found it and then lost it. I pulled the container out, touched myself inside with two fingers making circles, pressing forward, until I felt more sensitive, more awake at that exact point, as if something were starting to swell there, and I started again.

When the container touched the right place, I knew it without a doubt.

It wasn’t gradual pleasure. It was an electric signal that shot up my spine and reached the base of my skull. My eyes closed on their own. I stuck out my tongue without meaning to and stayed there drooling onto the pillow. My knees started shaking and didn’t stop; I kept moving, sped up, pushing the container with short, precise strokes right against that point, and the pressure kept building like something that has no exact name in any language.

—Oh God, oh God —I started repeating without realizing it, in a breathless whisper—. Oh, like that, like that, like that...

I didn’t make it happen. It just happened.

A long, deep spasm, starting in the center of my body and spreading outward like water spilling. I felt a gush come out of me, hot, run down my thighs and soak the sheet, and another one came after it, and another. I collapsed onto the bed unable to hold myself up, with the container still inside me, clenched by the spasms in my ass. My legs were trembling in a way I had never felt before, an involuntary shaking I couldn’t control even if I wanted to. I lay still, face in the pillow, breathing through my open mouth with a thin thread of saliva running down from me.

What was that?

It took me several minutes to think clearly. I sat up slowly. The container slid out of me on its own, with a small sound, and came to rest on the soaked sheet. There was a small mess on the bed, on my stockings, on the skirt: a large dark stain where my pussy had been, scattered drops beyond it. I stared at it without shame, only wonder.

I knew what had happened. I had read about it too. The body, when it is awake enough and free enough, does things the mind never ordered it to do. It releases on its own.

I went to the bathroom, cleaned myself between the legs with a damp towel, and looked at myself in the mirror. The makeup was a total disaster. The eyeliner had run halfway down my cheeks. The lipstick was no longer there as such, only a pink trace at the edges of my mouth. The bun had nearly come undone completely, and a few strands had stuck to my forehead with sweat.

I liked myself anyway. Maybe more.

***

I went back to the room.

I still had an hour before my mother got home. My legs were still shaking a little when I walked, that soft tremor that doesn’t go away quickly, and I felt my ass open, throbbing, as if I still had something inside me. I leaned against the wall next to the mirror, my ass pushed out in a pronounced curve, and reached for the glass container one last time. I soaked it well with saliva, licked the whole thing, and aimed it at the little hole that was still loose and receptive from everything before.

It went in in one smooth pass, without resistance, all the way to the bottom.

In this position the angle was different: more direct, more precise. The tip pressed itself against the right point and I didn’t need to search. After a few movements the pressure came back, faster than the first time, as if my body had learned the path and didn’t want to waste time. I pushed with one hand, in and out, pulling it almost all the way out just to drive it back in hard, while with the other I worked my clit in quick circles. I felt the sloshing, felt it run down my wrist, felt every thrust against the prostate like a lash running up my spine.

—Yes, yes, yes, give it to me, give it to me... —I murmured against the wall, talking to someone who wasn’t there, to the fantasy, to myself.

My legs gave out before I could finish. I held myself up against the wall with my palms spread, forehead pressed to the cold plaster, my ass still pushing back against the glass, and let go again.

This time the gush was longer. I felt it run down my legs, wetting my stockings to the knees, splashing onto the floor between my heels, the container slipping from my hand and falling onto the carpet with a dull sound. Wet legs, wet floor too, the room’s air thick with the smell of sex. I slid down the wall slowly, controlled, until I was sitting with my back against the plaster and my knees bent, my stockings bunched up, my pussy and ass throbbing in the same rhythm.

I breathed.

Outside, the birds were making noise in the tree in the courtyard. A dog barked in the distance. The world was still the same as always, knowing nothing about what had happened in that room over the last few hours.

I sat there a little longer, not moving, still feeling the last echoes of the trembling in my thighs, with the uniform rumpled and the makeup ruined and my hair loose covering half my face, and a thin thread of slick slowly running down the inside of my thigh.

Happy, I thought. The word came on its own, without effort, without searching.

Just that: happy.