Confession with My Classmate’s Father

I met Mauro’s daughter in a course I attended in the afternoons. We weren’t close, but we got along well, which was why I ended up going into her father’s clothing store several times, one of the biggest in the area. He was a fully grown man, self-assured, with an easy smile and light-colored eyes. You only had to see him leaning in the shop doorway to understand why so many women stopped to stare at him.

I stopped to stare at him too, even if I pretended I didn’t. Every time I walked along the sidewalk in front of his business, I felt his gaze travel over my legs, my ass, my breasts. He greeted me with a friendliness far too loaded with intention to be innocent.

“Hi, gorgeous. How are you today?”

I would lower my eyes, act shy, and quicken my pace.

“Fine… good afternoon.”

That was how it was at first. Then I stopped hurrying.

The store was on my way to almost everywhere, and I began taking advantage of that. If I knew I was going to pass by, I dressed up more than usual. I wore tight dresses, leggings that outlined my ass, and tops that lifted my breasts. I liked feeling his gaze on me. I liked even more noticing that he wasn’t the only one: the employees noticed too, laughed among themselves, and stared at me shamelessly whenever I crossed the threshold.

One of the saleswomen, Noelia, became my friend. Thanks to her, I started staying longer inside the store. We talked at the entrance, looked through lingerie, and commented on dresses. Mauro always found an excuse to come over. One afternoon, while Noelia was helping some customers, he brought me a tall stool to sit on. When I climbed onto it, he held me around the waist longer than necessary and left his open palm on one cheek of my ass.

“Not like that,” I told him, with a smile that contradicted my words.

He didn’t remove his hand right away. He gave it a slight squeeze, as if testing how much I would let him get away with.

“Then don’t call me ‘sir.’ Call me Mauro.”

I held his gaze for the first time. I wasn’t embarrassed anymore; it turned me on.

“All right, Mauro.”

He looked me up and down without bothering to hide it.

“You look older. You have a woman’s body, and you know it.”

“Do you say that to all of them?”

“No. Only to the ones who try my patience.”

The phrase warmed me more than I wanted to admit. From that day on, the tension stopped being a secret game. Whenever I went to the store, he brushed my hair, took me by the waist, and left his hand far too close to my ass. I let him. Sometimes I even adjusted myself to give him a better view.

One day I went in wearing a tracksuit so tight it showed everything. Noelia began taking my measurements with a tape in front of several employees, laughing at my curves and deliberately making me feel embarrassed. Mauro watched from a few steps away, wearing the face of a man already imagining his hands full. When Noelia moved away, he came up behind me and slipped two fingers beneath the waistband of my leggings, stretching it.

“White,” he murmured when he saw my thong. “It suits you like a sin.”

I slapped his arm, pretending to be indignant.

“Don’t do that.”

He bent down slightly, smiling like a bastard.

“Then stop making it so easy.”

I didn’t stop making it easy. On the contrary.

The first time he saw me almost naked was in the fitting room. Noelia had handed me a red lace bra, and I went in to try it on. I was taking off my top and already had my breasts bare when the curtain opened abruptly. It was Mauro. He stood frozen in the entrance, staring at my tits with a mixture of surprise and hunger that made me burn between the legs.

“Sorry,” he said, without sounding the least bit sorry.

I covered myself with my arms, but not too quickly. I wanted him to look. I wanted to see his face when he realized that everything he imagined was real.

“Noelia was here,” I murmured.

His gaze dropped to my hardened nipples and then returned to my eyes.

“I see.”

He closed the curtain and left, but from that moment on, the way he touched me changed. It was no longer testing the waters; it was a promise.

The following week I came back in a short, loose dress that rode up with every movement. Mauro made me sit on the tall stool again. I slowly crossed one leg over the other and let the dress open just enough to show him the edge of my thong.

“What a coincidence,” he said, coming closer. “You always end up showing me something.”

His hand moved up my knee, advanced along my thigh, and slipped beneath the fabric. He didn’t reach my pussy, but stayed so close that I began breathing differently.

“Slowly,” I told him.

“Do you like it or not?”

I looked straight at him, tired of pretending.

“Yes. I like it.”

Then I grabbed his wrist and pressed it against my crotch for a moment, showing him exactly where I wanted him. He let out a low laugh. I got off the stool before anyone noticed, and he gave me a sharp slap on the ass as I passed. The smack turned me on even more.

It could have remained a matter of looks, brushes, and dirty phrases. It didn’t, because a few weeks later he organized a trip with the store staff and his daughter, and sent word that I was invited. My mother let me go because she thought I would share a room near Noelia and because, deep down, she already suspected I wasn’t exactly a saint.

Before the trip, Mauro sent me a box. Inside were several thongs, a lingerie set, and a transparent nightgown. There was also a brief, direct note saying he wanted to see me wearing each of those items. I read it twice with my pussy throbbing. By the time we arrived at the seaside hotel, I was already prepared.

***

The place had a pool, a restaurant, and spacious rooms. I was given a room of my own, which seemed to me like an invitation from fate. As soon as we settled in, Mauro came close enough to speak into my ear without the others noticing.

“Put on the black swimsuit I sent you.”

I went upstairs to change, my heart racing. The bikini was tiny. It barely covered my breasts, and the thong disappeared between my ass cheeks as if it had been designed to put me on display. When I came down to the pool, I felt several gazes pinning me in place at once, but the only one that mattered was his. He looked me over slowly, without shame, and smiled as if he had already stripped me with his hands.

We spent much of the afternoon in the water. I stayed close to him and brushed against him beneath the surface every so often. Once he grabbed me around the waist and left his hand resting right on the curve of my ass. Another time, he squeezed one of my tits while pretending to disguise it with a laugh. I acted as though nothing was happening, although my pussy was already wet.

At one point we ended up somewhat apart from the group. He came up behind me, held me by the hips, and slid his hand beneath my thong, between my legs. His fingers found my wet slit immediately.

“Fuck,” he whispered. “You’re soaking.”

I bit my lip while he rubbed me slowly, barely slipping the tip of one finger between my lips.

“Not here,” I said, even as I opened my legs wider in the water.

“I’d touch you here all afternoon.”

I turned to look at him. His jaw was tense, and the bulge beneath his trunks was obvious. There was no room left for misunderstandings.

“Then do it properly tonight.”

His smile was pure possession.

Later, after a silly jealous scene because he had seen me flirting with other men in the pool, we ran into each other alone in a hotel corridor. I was wearing a short dress, no bra, and only a tiny thong underneath. He grabbed my arm, pinned me against the wall, and kissed me hungrily, as if he had been holding himself back for weeks. I opened my mouth to his tongue at once. He tasted of beer, salt, and a grown man who had been aroused for hours.

“You’re coming to my room tonight, or I’m going to yours,” he said, kissing my neck.

I slid one hand between his legs and squeezed his hardness through his trousers.

“I’ll be waiting. But don’t leave me wanting.”

I went up to my room practically trembling. I showered slowly, did my hair, and put on the transparent nightgown he had given me. I wore nothing underneath. The fabric barely outlined my body: raised nipples, a smooth belly, the dark triangle between my legs. I looked at myself in the mirror and knew I wasn’t going to sleep alone.

When someone knocked at the door, I opened it immediately. Mauro stood motionless when he saw me. His gaze traveled down my neck, paused at my breasts, and continued to the pussy veiled by the fine fabric.

“Fuck,” he said. “Look at you.”

I pulled him inside by his shirt. As soon as I closed the door, I kissed him. He responded by grabbing my ass with both hands and squeezing hard, while I rubbed myself against him shamelessly, pressing against his erection. The kiss lasted only as long as it took us to lose the little patience we had left.

He pushed me against the door and slipped his hand beneath the nightgown. He found my open, wet pussy and let out a hoarse laugh.

“You’ve been waiting for this all night.”

“Yes. So stop talking and touch me.”

He thrust two fingers into me at once. I moaned against his mouth, arching my back. He pulled them out and plunged them in again, deeper, opening me with a firm rhythm while his thumb worked my clit. I felt an immediate spasm in my belly.

“Mauro…”

“Say it again.”

“Don’t stop.”

He pulled me away from the door only to yank the nightgown over my head and leave me naked. He stepped back half a pace to look at me in my entirety. There was no tenderness in his eyes; there was raw desire, finally satisfied at having what he had been seeking for so long.

“Turn around.”

I obeyed. He grabbed my hair to move it away from my neck and kissed the nape while one hand kneaded a breast and the other moved down to my pussy again. He spread my ass cheeks, ran his fingers between my drenched lips, and delivered a sharp smack to one cheek. The blow made me gasp.

“You like me pawing at you, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“And you like me talking dirty to you?”

“Yes, fuck.”

He pushed me toward the bed. I fell to my knees on the mattress, and he remained standing in front of me, unbuttoning his trousers without taking his eyes off my face. When he pulled out his thick, already-hard cock, I felt a stab of hot anxiety between my legs. I had imagined it for long enough.

“Suck it.”

I obeyed without hesitation. I gripped it with one hand and ran my tongue from the base to the tip, savoring him slowly before taking the head into my mouth. He exhaled through clenched teeth. I continued, taking more and more of him inside, sinking my head until I felt him at the back of my throat. He tied my hair back in an improvised ponytail and set the pace with his hips.

“That’s it. Good girl.”

I pulled away for a moment, saliva running down my chin, and looked at him.

“Don’t treat me like a good girl if you want to fuck me the way you’ve been imagining.”

His jaw tightened.

“Then get into position.”

He made me lie on my back at the edge of the bed and knelt between my legs. He didn’t give me time to tease him any further: he spread my thighs and buried his entire face between my legs. His tongue moved from my clitoris to my opening again and again, slowly at first, then more firmly. I grabbed his hair without restraint, opening myself to him while he licked me as if he were truly hungry.

“Fuck… yes… like that…”

He sucked my clitoris, barely bit it, then slipped two fingers inside me while continuing to use his tongue. Pleasure climbed up my legs like a tremor. I began moving on his face, unable to keep still. He held me by the thighs and sped up until he drew short moans from me, each one higher than the last.

“I’m going to come,” I warned, already breaking apart.

“Do it.”

I kept sucking air through my teeth, my back arched, until the orgasm exploded through me all at once. I came trembling, squeezing his head between my thighs. He didn’t pull away; he kept licking while I shook, sensitive and disheveled, until he left me without strength.

When he lifted his face, his mouth was shining.

“Now,” he said. “I want to fuck you.”

He stood, grabbed me by the hips, and dragged me to the center of the bed. He put on a condom without breaking the rhythm or the tension. Then he lifted one of my legs, positioned the tip at my entrance, and rubbed it there for a second, making me moan with pure need.

“Put it in me now.”

He did it in a single thrust. He entered all the way, stretching me. I let out a cry and dug my nails into his arms. Mauro stayed still for just a moment, enjoying the sight of me full of him, and then began to move. At first they were slow, deep thrusts. Then they grew harder and harder.

The bed struck the wall with every thrust. I opened my legs wider and matched his rhythm with my hips, feeling his cock fill me and empty me again and again. It didn’t take long for him to reach that exact point where every blow stole my breath.

“This is how I wanted you,” he growled. “Open for me.”

“Harder.”

He obliged. His hips collided with mine with a wet, indecent sound. He leaned over me, grabbed one of my tits, and kissed me while he fucked me. I bit his lip and slipped one hand between our bodies to rub my clitoris in time with his thrusts.

“Don’t stop, don’t stop…”

My second orgasm came that way, with his cock driving all the way inside and my fingers squeezing exactly where I needed them. I came with a broken moan, contracting around him. Mauro cursed and kept thrusting, aroused by feeling me squeeze him.

He turned me over without fully withdrawing, put me facedown, and lifted my hips. I felt the cold air on my wet skin before the next blow of his cock entering me again. From that position it felt even deeper. I clung to the sheet and buried my face in the pillow while he spread my ass cheeks and fucked me with brutal, steady force.

“Look at yourself,” he said, giving me another smack on the ass. “This is how I imagined you.”

Each slap turned me on more. It wasn’t pain that I liked; it was the mixture of strength, possession, and pure vice. I slipped one hand beneath my belly to touch myself again while he continued drilling into me from behind. The sound of his pelvis against my ass filled the room.

“Yes, like that… you’re going to make me come again…”

He slipped one hand between my legs and began rubbing my clitoris with two fingers while continuing to thrust. That combination undid me. The orgasm came more savagely than the one before. I came screaming, soaking him, my legs trembling.

“Fuck, you squeeze so deliciously,” he growled.

He withdrew for a moment and turned me over. I was already wrecked, my chest rising and falling at top speed, but I still wanted more. I sat up and removed the condom so I could jerk him off with my own juices before taking him back into my mouth. I sucked him greedily, swallowing him as far as I could. He held the back of my neck and let me do it, panting.

“You really like this cock.”

I gave him a faint smile, pulling away to speak with the still-wet tip in front of my lips.

“I like you putting it inside me.”

I pushed him down on the bed and climbed on top. I guided his cock to my entrance and sat down slowly, feeling him open me again. Once he was completely inside, I began to move. Slowly at first, enjoying the exact friction. Then faster, dropping my hips hungrily, my hair stuck to my neck with sweat.

He grabbed my waist and then my breasts, watching me bounce on his cock as if he couldn’t believe the scene before him. I knew what I was showing him, and I made the most of it: breasts moving, mouth half-open, my pussy swallowing him again and again.

“Did you want to see me like this?” I panted.

“Yes. For months.”

“Then look at me properly.”

I sped up until I nearly lost control. Every rise and fall drew moans from me. I felt pleasure building again beneath my navel, dense and boiling. Mauro helped me by lifting my hips so he could drive deeper into me. That was enough.

I came on top of him, trembling, and had to brace myself with my hands against his chest so I wouldn’t fall. He sat up suddenly with me still impaled on him, wrapped his arms around my back, and continued fucking me from below with short, violent jerks until his whole body went rigid. He moaned against my neck and came inside the condom in a series of spasms I felt unmistakably.

We stayed like that for a few seconds, pressed together, breathing hard.

But we weren’t finished.

***

After a while in bed, between slow kisses and less urgent caresses, he became hard again. He took me by the chin and smiled with that dangerous calm of men who are still hungry.

“Get on your knees again.”

I did. This time he positioned me on all fours at the edge of the bed and kissed my entire back, from the nape to the beginning of my ass. Then he lowered his hand to my pussy, checked how wet I still was, and chuckled to himself.

“I thought I’d left you satisfied.”

“Don’t underestimate me.”

He slipped in one finger, then two, just to open me a little before entering me himself. When he drove his cock into me again, protected once more, the sensation was less surprise than pure, satisfied need. He moved in and out with a sustained, forceful rhythm, never losing depth. I pushed my ass back to receive him better, increasingly surrendered to the motion.

“Fuck me hard,” I asked him. “Don’t be gentle.”

That was what he did. His thrusts became faster, dirtier, noisier. I moaned without trying to hold myself back. I knew they could hear us in the other rooms, and for the first time that night, the thought turned me on even more. Mauro grabbed my hair and pulled gently backward to arch my back farther. With his other hand he held one of my breasts while continuing to drive deep.

“That’s how I like it. I like you asking for it.”

I didn’t last long. My body was sensitive, hot, exhausted, and still hungry. When he brought me to the edge again, I could barely warn him. I came with my face buried in the mattress, moaning his name while he didn’t let up. A minute later he came too and collapsed beside me, sweaty, satisfied, and still half pressed against me.

We slept for barely a while. Near dawn we touched and kissed again, and fucked more slowly, with the happy exhaustion of people who had nothing left to prove. The next morning at breakfast, Noelia laughed and commented that a woman had moaned so much during the night that she had barely let her sleep. I lowered my gaze to my coffee cup so no one would notice my smile. Mauro, across the table, didn’t say a word. He only looked at me as if he were still seeing me naked.

He came back to my room on the next two nights of the trip. Not always with the same urgency, but with the same vice. In the shower, against the wall, in bed, with the lights off or in half-shadow. I no longer had to pretend anything, and neither did he. When we returned to the city, we continued seeing each other for a while, always under some excuse and behind closed doors.

It wasn’t love. Nor was I interested in it being love. It was desire, daring, and the kind of story that clings to your body long after it ends. If I’m telling it now, it’s because I still remember the first time he slipped his hand beneath my swimsuit in the pool and I knew that sooner or later I would end up naked in a hotel bed, open for him and with no desire to regret it.