What I Did with My Boyfriend’s Father That Afternoon

I was twenty-two and I still hadn’t done it with anyone. I’m saying it like that, without beating around the bush, because it’s the part of the story that hurts the most to admit and the one that gives me away the most. I’d been with Marcos for almost a year, a calm guy my age, the kind who opens the car door for you and texts you goodnight even if he dropped you off at home ten minutes ago. I loved him. I really did. But between us it never went past hands under clothes, long kisses in his bedroom with the door half open, and a couple of clumsy attempts that I always stopped at the last second.

It wasn’t for lack of wanting. I’ve always been a horny woman, too much so for how quiet I seem. The problem was fear. Marcos had impatient hands and sometimes rough ones, and every time he put his fingers in my cunt I clamped up, my whole body went rigid, and it all hurt more than it should have. So we’d leave it halfway and I’d go home frustrated, with soaked panties and my head full of things I didn’t dare say out loud.

Marcos’s father was called Esteban. And from the very first day I knew he looked at me differently.

It wasn’t a father-in-law look. It was the kind of look that ran over my whole body when he thought no one noticed, that dropped one second too long to my tits when I wore a tank top, that stayed fixed on my ass while everyone at the table talked about something else. In front of his wife and his son he hid it well, played his part of the friendly, joking man. But I noticed. A woman always notices.

Some afternoons when I stayed behind to shower at their house after going running with Marcos, I’d feel Esteban finding excuses to pass near the bathroom. The clean towel, something in the little cabinet, he’d forgotten his charger. He never actually came in. But the air would turn thick when he was hovering around, and I’d end up soaping myself slower than necessary, running the sponge between my legs more times than I needed to, imagining it was him on the other side of the glass with his hard cock in his hand.

This is wrong. He’s your boyfriend’s father. Stop.

But I didn’t stop.

***

Everything went sideways on a Saturday afternoon. I’d gone to Marcos’s house like any other day, and while he was answering a message in his room, I went downstairs to get some water. As I passed the room at the back, I saw the door ajar. And inside was Esteban.

He was standing with his back to the door, his trousers lowered to mid-thigh, and his fist moving slowly up and down over a cock that looked huge from where I was standing. I should have kept walking. I should have acted like I hadn’t seen a thing. But I froze in the hallway, the empty glass dangling from my hand, watching that thick cock rock back and forth, red at the tip, shining with a droplet hanging from the head, much bigger than anything Marcos had ever let me touch over his underwear.

He turned his head a little. And saw me.

He didn’t panic. He didn’t pull up his trousers or make up an excuse. He just kept staring at me, still jerking his cock, only speeding up his wrist a little, as if the fact that I was watching him was exactly what he needed to get even harder. And I, who should have run, felt my legs go heavy and my cunt loosen and get wet deep inside, soaking my panties in one rush.

I wasn’t even aware I’d lowered my hand until I had it pressed against my pubic mound, over my pants, rubbing my clit with my palm while I watched him jerk himself off. I had never done that. I had never touched myself properly, not even alone. And yet that afternoon, standing in someone else’s hallway, I started masturbating without really knowing how, pressing my cunt against my own fingers, biting my lip so I wouldn’t moan. I watched him run his thumb over the tip and spread it over the whole head, watched him drop his other hand and squeeze his balls, watched him open his legs a little more to pin me with his gaze while he pumped himself. I felt everything rush over me at once, a heat that climbed from my cunt to my chest, and I came there on the spot, standing up, clenching my thighs, trembling all over, biting the inside of my cheek so I wouldn’t scream. I stained the fabric of my pants with hot fluid. Thank God they were dark.

He finished at almost the same time, teeth clenched, and I saw a thick jet of semen shoot out, landing on his fist and on the floor, while he kept looking at me. I ran to Marcos’s room, shaking, heart in my throat, my cunt still throbbing, and with the feeling that I’d crossed a line there was no coming back from.

Marcos didn’t notice anything. He asked if I was okay and I told him yes, that the water was cold. Esteban didn’t say a word either. At dinner that night he was the same as always, friendly and joking, passing the salt to his wife. As if nothing had happened. But when he handed me the bread, his fingers brushed mine for a second too long, and I had to clamp my legs shut under the table.

***

From then on I started going over more often. I told myself it was for Marcos, but that was a lie and I knew it. I went for the possibility of crossing paths with Esteban in a hallway, for the way he held my gaze one second too long when he poured me coffee, for the tension that worked its way into my body every time we were in the same room. I couldn’t stop thinking about that cock, the way his hand moved along the shaft, the burst of cum that had come out of it. I masturbated in my bed every night, sliding two fingers inside me and thinking about him. I was turned on all the time, my cunt swollen, and with Marcos I still couldn’t get there, more closed up than ever.

The day it actually happened was a Sunday. The family was organizing a big lunch and the house had to be put in order. Marcos’s mother was at work and would come back later with the things that were missing for cooking. I’d offered to help with the cleaning, so I was in the living room sweeping, half distracted. That’s why I barely paid attention when I heard the conversation in the kitchen.

—Son, come to the shop for a minute —Esteban said—. I need you to bring me these spices and a couple of other things. Here, for the bus, and let me know when you’re ready and I’ll go pick you up.

—Okay, Dad, I’m coming now —Marcos answered.

I didn’t connect the dots. I heard him leave, heard the door, and kept sweeping as if nothing. The house fell silent. And then, while I was bent over gathering dust into a corner, my ass lifted, I felt his bare skin against my back and something hard and hot pressing between my butt cheeks over my pants. His mouth against my ear.

—If you wanted to see it that badly, all you had to do was ask —Esteban murmured—. We’re alone. Not for long, but long enough to fuck you properly.

I should have moved away. I should have said no, that this was insane, that Marcos would be back in half an hour. But I spread my legs without thinking when his hand slipped under the waistband of my pants and panties and found my soaked cunt. His fingers sank into the wet flesh, two at once, and a sound escaped my throat that I didn’t recognize as mine.

—Fuck, you’re so wet —he growled against my neck, working his fingers inside me—. You’re dripping, girl. You’ve been like this for months, haven’t you? Hot thinking about me.

I didn’t say anything. I just pushed my ass back to rub against the cock I could feel through the fabric. Silence was all the answer he needed.

He got my clothes off with a hurry that left me breathless. The T-shirt first, then the bra, and he caught my tits in both hands, squeezing them, pinching my nipples until they hardened and hurt. He pulled down my pants and panties in one yank, all the way to my ankles, and shoved his fingers in me again, now three, moving them fast while he bit my shoulder. I braced my hands against the wall, panting, legs spread and ass in the air, feeling those thick fingers opening me wider inside than Marcos ever had.

—To the sofa —he ordered, pulling his fingers out and taking them to his mouth to suck them—. You taste fucking good.

He led me to the living room sofa and laid me on my back. He took off his shirt, pulled down his trousers and boxers in one go, and there it was in front of me, closer than I’d seen it in the hallway. Thick, long, veins standing out, the head glossy. He wrapped his hand around his cock and jerked it a couple of times while looking at me, like he was showing it off.

—You wanted to see it? There you have it. And now you’re going to suck it.

He climbed onto the sofa on his knees and rested the tip against my lips. I opened my mouth without thinking. I had never sucked anyone off, not even Marcos, but I took it in as best I could, wrapping my lips around the shaft, letting him push it deeper into my mouth. He grabbed my hair and started moving my head, setting the rhythm, and I choked a couple of times, eyes watering, saliva dripping down my chin. He’d pull it out and shove it back in, to the hilt, until I gagged.

—Like that, suck that cock —he panted—. Look at you sucking it, and you used to say you were a good girl.

He yanked it out of my mouth, shining with my own spit, and spread my legs wide open with both hands. He stared at my cunt for a moment, just like he had that afternoon in the hallway. I was soaked. No need to explain it. I’d been dripping since I felt his skin against mine.

And then he lowered his head.

Nobody had ever done that to me before. Marcos had never dared and I had never asked. Esteban’s tongue moved slowly, flat and broad, licking from the entrance of my cunt to my clit with a patience that was killing me. He licked my lips one by one, pushed his tongue inside, pulled it out, went up to my clit and trapped it between his lips and started sucking it slowly, reading every reaction in my body. I grabbed the sofa cushion with both hands because I didn’t know what else to do with so much sensation.

—God —I gasped—. I didn’t know it felt like this. Don’t stop, please, don’t stop.

He didn’t stop. He slid two fingers into me while he kept sucking my clit, curling them upward, hitting a spot that made my back arch off the sofa. He kept going until I stopped controlling the volume of my own voice, until my whole body tensed like a rope and then let go all at once, again, just like in the hallway but a thousand times harder. I came in his mouth in bursts with a long shudder that left my legs weak and my breathing ragged. He kept licking, swallowing everything, until I pushed his head away because I couldn’t take any more.

—And the best part is still to come —he said, straightening up with my wetness shining on his mouth and his cock harder than ever.

***

He ran his hand over his cock a couple of times, spat on the tip and spread it around. He lined the head up with the entrance to my cunt and rubbed a little up and down, playing with my clit with the head. And I honestly think he never imagined I was a virgin, because he went in without warning, driving his hips forward in one go, all the way to the hilt, slamming his balls against my ass. The scream I let out I’m sure could be heard all the way out in the street.

—Wait! —I gasped, eyes full of tears—. Wait, it hurts, it’s too big, wait.

He went still when he felt my cunt tightening around his cock, when he saw my face. It took him a second to understand.

—You were a virgin? —he asked, and for the first time all afternoon he sounded taken aback—. I thought my son had already broken you in… —he didn’t finish the sentence—. Easy. Slowly. Look at me.

I looked at him. He pulled his cock out slowly, halfway, and pushed it back in, this time calmly, letting me feel every inch. And little by little, as he moved with a slowness I wouldn’t have expected from a man like him, the pain started to give way and something else took its place. A heat rising, a pressure that stopped hurting and became unbearable from sheer intensity. I could feel his cock filling me completely, rubbing inside places I didn’t even know existed. I clung to his back and started moving too, seeking him out, lifting my hips so he’d push deeper, completely lost.

—That’s it —he murmured against my neck, speeding up—. The moment I saw you in that hallway I knew that one day you’d be like this, under me, with my cock inside you. What a tight cunt you’ve got, fuck.

He grabbed my legs behind the knees and opened them wider, folded against my chest, and started fucking me faster, with long thrusts that made me slide across the sofa. I dug my nails into his arms, into his back, and begged him for more between gasps, not recognizing my own voice. The quiet, scared girl who had stopped her boyfriend at the last second had disappeared. In her place was a woman with her cunt open, asking for cock, repeating his name without shame.

—Put me on my knees —I told him, not knowing where the words were coming from—. I want you to fuck me from behind.

He gave a hoarse laugh, pulled out, and turned me on the sofa. He put me on my knees on the cushions, my hands on the backrest and my ass up in the air. He slapped my right cheek, making me jump, and then did it again. He grabbed his cock, lined it up with the entrance to my cunt and drove into me again all the way to the hilt. From that angle it went in differently, deeper, and I moaned against the backrest with every thrust. He grabbed my hair, yanking my head back, and kept pounding into me, harder and harder, until the sofa creaked and my tits bounced to the rhythm of his hips.

—Look how it goes in —he panted—. All the way in, to the balls. Tell me you like it.

—I like it —I moaned—. I like your cock, don’t stop, fuck me harder.

I know it was wrong. I know there were photos of Marcos all over the room upstairs and that he could come back any minute with the grocery bag. But on that sofa there was no one else but the two of us and the time slipping through our fingers.

—I’m not going to last much longer —he said, speeding up even more, his hand sunk into my hip.

—Don’t come inside me —I managed to beg, with the last shred of sanity I had left.

He pulled out just in time, with a rough grunt, turned me around in one motion and climbed on top of me. He jerked his cock fast, fist tight around the head, and came over my stomach and tits, thick hot ropes splashing onto my skin while I came for the third time that afternoon, squeezing my cunt around the emptiness he’d just left, exhausted, undone, face pressed to the sofa arm, breath broken. He ran a finger through a line of semen that had landed near my nipple and brought it to my mouth. I sucked it off without thinking.

We stayed quiet for a moment. Then he handed me a towel from the bathroom, saying nothing, and I wiped his semen from my stomach and the juices from between my legs with shaking hands. We picked up the clothes, straightened the cushions, I opened a window. By the time Marcos called to say he had everything, the house was in order and I was sitting in the kitchen, dressed, with a glass of water in my hands, as if nothing had happened. I could still feel his father’s cock inside me every time I squeezed my thighs together.

Esteban went to pick him up in the car. When they got back, father and son were joking about the afternoon match. I helped set the table. And at that family meal that day I smiled, talked to Marcos’s mother, told my boyfriend I loved him.

The worst part isn’t that it happened that one time. The worst part is that it happened again. Several times, in the months that followed, whenever the house was empty and I found an excuse to show up. But that’s another story, and this confession ends here for today.