What My Wife Taught My Boss’s Son

It was a Friday afternoon when Rodrigo, my boss for almost four years, called me into his office and closed the door more carefully than usual.

He offered me a seat with a gesture and started talking without beating around the bush, as he always did when something bothered him. His son Marcos was turning eighteen the next day. The boy, apparently, had asked for something specific as a birthday present: that his father take him somewhere where he could be with a woman for the first time.

—I’m not taking him to any brothel —Rodrigo said, staring straight at me—. But I don’t want him to hit twenty without knowing what fucking is. You follow me?

I understood perfectly. The implied question was whether I knew someone trustworthy who could handle the matter discreetly. I told him I’d talk to my wife Sandra, that she had a friend—Laura—whose husband had been out of the country for work for months. It wasn’t the first time I’d heard Laura complain about being lonely and about how much she missed having a cock inside her.

Rodrigo thanked me with a pat on the shoulder and went back to his papers. I left the office with my head full of how I was going to bring this up to Sandra that night.

***

My wife took it with more calm than I expected. She listened to me sitting on the edge of the bed, a cup of tea in her hands, and when I finished speaking she nodded slowly.

—I’ll call Laura —she said—. But I’m not promising anything yet.

We didn’t talk about it anymore that night. The next day, while I was eating breakfast, Sandra told me everything was arranged and to bring the boy over at noon. I didn’t ask for details. I was never very good at asking questions when things seemed to be moving along.

***

I went to pick up Marcos at the agreed time. I found him waiting for me at the entrance to his building, dressed in new clothes that smelled like they’d been taken out of the drawer that same morning. He was tall, broad-shouldered for his age, with that mixture of confidence and nervousness boys have when they want to seem calmer than they are.

During the ride he barely spoke. He asked me a couple of direct questions—what was she like, what exactly was going to happen—and I answered him just as frankly. I told him she was a mature woman, that she had beautiful tits, a firm ass, and knew how to suck a cock like very few women could. That he should just go with it and not try to play the expert. There was no point mincing words with someone who was turning eighteen that very day and had spent weeks beating his dick thinking about little else.

When we got home, I brought him into the living room and poured him something to drink. Marcos sat on the sofa with his back straight, looking around with that exaggerated attention you get when you don’t know where to look.

I went to find Sandra to make sure Laura had already arrived.

I pushed open the bathroom door and found her alone.

She was wearing a little skirt that ended well above the knee and a tight T-shirt with no bra underneath: her nipples stood out hard against the fabric. Lips painted a whore-red she didn’t wear to work. She looked at me through the mirror as she finished running the curling iron through her hair.

—Where’s Laura? —I asked.

—She can’t come. She had a family problem.

—Sandra…

—Either you let me take care of blowing the poor kid’s mind myself —she said, not taking her eyes off the mirror—, or you tell him to find another solution and go back home to jerk off.

There was a silence that lasted longer than it should have.

—You can stay in the living room if you want —she added—. Or you can watch from the bedroom on the camera. Your call. But I’m warning you, I’m going to fuck him properly.

It took me a few seconds to answer. Then I left the bathroom without saying anything else and went back to Marcos.

***

Sandra appeared a few minutes later. She came in with that way of moving she has when she knows someone is watching her: unhurried, unaffected, as if it were perfectly natural for an eighteen-year-old boy to be sitting in her living room waiting for her to fuck him.

She introduced herself, shook his hand, and then asked if he wanted a glass of cava. Marcos said yes in a voice that came out a little higher than normal. They went to the kitchen together. I heard them talking, laughing about something. I stayed on the couch staring at the back wall.

When they came back to the living room, Sandra was carrying both glasses and wearing a calm smile. They sat together on the sofa and she toasted Marcos’s birthday as if that were the most natural thing in the world.

I got up and went to the bedroom.

***

There are things you know but have never seen with your own eyes. I knew perfectly well what Sandra was like when she wanted to fuck. I’d had her like that with me for years. But seeing it through the phone screen, in silence, was an entirely different experience.

The bedroom camera was set at an angle that covered the bed and part of the small sofa by the window. When they got there, Sandra guided him toward the bed with a hand on his arm, unhurried. Marcos sat on the edge and she stayed standing in front of him, talking to him with a calm that, from outside, seemed almost pedagogical.

What happened next I watched in silence, with the phone resting on my thigh and my cock starting to harden against my pants.

Sandra started by taking off his T-shirt. She did it slowly, letting him process each step. When his torso was bare, she ran her fingers over his chest and down his stomach to the waistband of his pants, brushing his bulge with the back of her hand. The boy gave a tiny jolt. His arms were slightly away from his body, as if he didn’t quite know what to do with his hands.

She took one of his hands and put it directly on one of her tits, over her T-shirt.

That’s when he got it.

Marcos started groping her with the specific clumsiness of someone with a lot of enthusiasm and little experience. He squeezed her tits harder than necessary and Sandra smiled, slowed him down with a slow kiss, taught him how to stroke her nipples through the fabric until they stood out hard. She guided him without correcting him, letting him find his way for himself. At one point she took off her T-shirt and her tits fell free, full, with her nipples already stiff and pointing at his face. Marcos stayed frozen for a full second, mouth slightly open. Sandra let him look without saying a word, then grabbed the back of his neck and shoved his head against her breasts.

—Suck them —I heard her say softly for the first time, almost a whisper—. Slowly, don’t bite.

The kid went at one of her tits like a calf, tongue nervous, searching for the nipple and not quite finding it. Sandra corrected the angle with her hand, showed him how to suck it whole, how to play with his tongue, how to move from one tit to the other. On the screen you could clearly see how the nipple came away shining with saliva each time he let go.

***

I didn’t take my eyes off the screen. I undid my belt and pulled out my already hard cock, grabbing it without much thought.

Sandra led him from one point to the next with a patience I hadn’t anticipated. She pulled down his pants and underwear herself in one tug, and the boy’s dick sprang out hard as a rock, stiff against his stomach. Sandra laughed softly, satisfied, and took it in her closed hand.

—Look at how pretty it is —she told him, moving it slowly up and down—. And so thick for how young you are.

Marcos moaned with his mouth shut, holding it in. She kept jerking him off with a firm hand, unhurried, while she licked his neck and whispered things in his ear that I couldn’t hear but could guess. At one point she ran her thumb over the tip, gathering the drop of fluid that had appeared, and put it in his mouth.

—Taste how you like it.

She knelt in front of him on the rug. She spread his legs with both hands and settled herself between them. She took his cock by the base and shoved it into her mouth all at once, halfway down, without ceremony. Marcos threw his head back with a rough moan and put his hands on the mattress at his sides, not knowing where to rest them, not wanting to move for fear it would stop.

Sandra was in no hurry. She knew exactly what she was doing and did it at her own pace. She sucked his cock until it came out gleaming with saliva, licked his balls one by one, ran her tongue under the glans, and took him back into her mouth. Every so often she looked up at him, with his cock deep in her throat, and pulled it out with a wet sound to ask if he liked it. Marcos told her yes in a broken voice, almost voiceless.

She took one of his hands and put it on the back of her neck, guiding the rhythm with the hand he used to grip her hair. The kid learned fast: he started bobbing her head, fucking her mouth slowly, and Sandra let him, opening her throat wide each time he pushed. I was jerking off hard on the other side of the wall, one hand wrapped around my own cock, watching my wife’s cheeks hollow every time she sucked.

When he was about to come—his stomach went taut, his legs rigid—she noticed and stopped. She squeezed the base of his dick with two fingers, cutting him off just in time.

—Not yet —she said, laughing softly—. Hold it.

She stood up, unbuttoned her little skirt, and let it fall to the floor. She wasn’t wearing panties. Her pussy was shaved, the pink lips shining wetly. She stood in front of him letting him look. Marcos’s eyes were wide and his breathing quick, his cock twitching against his stomach with each pulse.

—Lie down —she ordered.

The boy obeyed, lying back against the mattress. Sandra climbed on top astride him, grabbed his cock with her hand, and ran it through the lips of her pussy, soaking it well. Then she drove him into her in one slow motion all the way to the hilt, sitting down fully on him. They both moaned at once. So did I, silently.

She waited for him to get used to the sensation—the hot tight pussy squeezing him, the first time he really felt one wrapping around his cock—before she started moving.

She went slowly at first. A gentle rocking, swaying on him, letting the boy’s dick slide in and out of her cunt calmly. Then not so much. She started riding him with her hands braced on his chest, going up and down faster and faster, her tits bouncing against his face. Marcos grabbed her hips, learning on the fly, and started pushing from below, trying to keep up with her rhythm.

There was a moment when he came before either of them was fully expecting it. His whole body tensed, he grabbed Sandra by the hips, sinking his fingers in, and unloaded inside her with a long grunt, thrusting upward four or five times while he emptied himself. Sandra kept rocking slowly, milking him, not moving away until the boy had finished emptying himself. When he finally pulled out, a white strand of semen ran down the inside of her thigh.

She didn’t react with anything I could read as disappointment. She waited, lay down beside him, kissed his neck, ran her hand over his chest, and kept talking to him in a low voice while she stroked his soft cock, smeared with his own cum and her juices.

She was better at teaching than I remembered her being with me at the beginning.

Marcos recovered quickly. He was eighteen, and his dick got hard again between Sandra’s fingers in less than five minutes, while she jerked him off slowly and nibbled his earlobe.

***

The second time was different. He already knew how to move, though still mechanically, without the nuance that comes with accumulated experience. Sandra got on all fours in the middle of the bed, arching her back, showing him her raised ass and her cunt already well open, still dripping from the first load.

—Come here —she told him, looking over her shoulder—. Put it in like this.

The boy knelt behind her, grabbed her hips with more confidence than he’d had twenty minutes earlier, lined up, and drove into her with a shove. Sandra let out a guttural moan that could be heard even through the phone. Marcos started fucking her at a steady pace, hands gripping my wife’s waist, watching his own cock go in and out, shining with her juices.

—Harder —she told him—. Give it to me, don’t be afraid.

And he did. The blows of his hips against Sandra’s ass made a dry, rhythmic sound that echoed through the camera. She leaned on her elbows, lowered her head to the pillow, and started returning the thrusts, moving back so he could penetrate deeper. What had started slowly gained intensity until, at a certain point, he stopped thinking about what he was doing and simply did it: he grabbed a handful of her hair with one hand, dug the fingers of the other into her hip, and started fucking her as if he’d been doing it for years.

I was stroking myself to the same rhythm on the other side of the wall.

At one point Sandra asked him to rub her clit while he kept pounding into her. She took his hand and brought it herself between her legs, teaching him the exact motion with two fingers of her own. The kid learned fast. I saw her close her eyes and let her open mouth fall against the pillow, pressing into his fingers, into the cock that went in and out of her. She came before he did, with a long shiver running down her entire back and a muffled moan against the sheet. Her cunt clenched in spasms around the boy’s dick and that finished him off.

I saw when he finished for the second time, with his forehead pressed against Sandra’s back and his arms trembling slightly from the effort, unloading another long spurt inside her. They stayed still for a moment, locked together, breathing hard. When he finally pulled out of her, cum was running down her thighs to the sheet. Sandra got up, went to the bathroom, and Marcos lay on his back staring at the ceiling with that expression some people have after doing something that changes something.

I turned off the phone screen, wiped my hand with a tissue, tucked away my cock, still half-soft, and left the phone on the nightstand.

***

I left the bedroom before Sandra came back from the bathroom. I put on my jacket and waited in the living room. When Marcos appeared a few minutes later, his hair was mussed and there was a new calm on his face, as if something that had been tight for months had suddenly let go.

He didn’t say anything. Neither did I. I gestured toward the door and we left together.

On the way back he talked more than he had on the way there. Not about what had happened, but about other things: his summer plans, whether he was going to study or work first, whether I thought his father would let him take a year off. It was the conversation of someone who has just come out of something that took up too much space in his head and finally has room to think about the rest.

When I dropped him off at the entrance to his building, he shook my hand firmly.

—Thank you —he said, and he meant it.

Rodrigo called me that same afternoon. He didn’t ask for details. He told me Marcos had come home in a good mood and that he owed me one. I told him he owed me nothing.

***

I got home when it was already night. Laura’s car was parked on the street, right in front of the building.

I rode up in the elevator thinking about what I was going to find when I opened the door. When I went in, Sandra and Laura were sitting in the kitchen with an open bottle of wine between them, talking in that low, fast tone women have when they’ve been alone for a while and the conversation has gotten interesting.

They both looked at me at the same time.

—You’re right on time —Sandra said.

Laura got up to fetch another glass without anyone asking her to. Sandra smiled at me from her chair with that expression I know well: the one that means the night is nowhere near over, and that I wasn’t going to bed with a quiet cock either.

I took off my jacket and hung it behind the door.

I’ll tell you that part of the story another day.