What I Did to My Stepfather While He Slept

Before Damián came home, my life was as simple as could be. I lived with my mother and my younger brother, and I was a pretty ordinary guy, except for one detail I never quite understood: unlike my friends, no woman stirred anything inside me. It didn’t worry me too much. I simply went through the days with little interest in anyone, as if that part of me were waiting for something.

That something arrived the day my mother introduced him. Damián was the kind of man she had always wanted: hardworking, calm, the sort who holds a house together without making a sound. But for me, his arrival meant something else. It meant discovering, all at once and without warning, that I liked men. And not just any men: I liked them with that raw masculinity he carried around without even trying.

Damián was tall, dark-skinned, with a solid body that came not from any gym but from years hauling bricks and, later, working on engines with his hands. He had a thick beard, an old tattoo on his forearm, and that air of a mature man that showed even in the way he rested his elbow on the table. At home, with the heat we had, he was almost always shirtless, or he’d walk from the bathroom to the bedroom wrapped in a towel, with no shame at all.

I’d go mute every time. I was hypnotized by his broad chest, the dark hair under his arms, the bulge that showed without apology under his pants. He treated me with easy familiarity, mussed up my hair, sat down to eat with me as if nothing were happening. I, on the other hand, couldn’t take my eyes off him. I had just turned nineteen and, next to him, I felt small, skinny, almost transparent.

Seeing him so sure of himself stirred up a hunger in me that I didn’t know how to extinguish, even though I knew perfectly well that to him I was nothing more than his wife’s son.

***

What started as simple curiosity got out of hand fast. At first I only looked at him out of the corner of my eye when he crossed the living room. Soon I became an expert at watching him without his noticing. I learned his schedule, the dull sound of his boots when he came back from the shop, the exact minutes it took him to yank his shirt off so he could cool down.

I couldn’t keep my head on straight anymore when he was near. He’d talk to me about anything, about a bill or some job that was running late, and all I could register was the way the muscles in his arm moved or the trail of hair climbing up his neck. I drove myself crazy imagining what it would be like to have him close in a different way, to touch that skin, to feel the scrape of his beard against mine.

Curiosity turned into need. Many nights I stayed awake on purpose, just to think of him. I locked myself in my room, pulled down my pants, and grabbed my cock thinking about him, convinced that with that bulge you could make out in his work pants, he had to have a dick that matched the rest of his body. I stroked myself slowly, spitting in my hand so it would slide better, imagining it was his—thick and dark—that was opening my lips. I ended up spurting hot ropes over my stomach and lying there panting, my head full of him.

Sometimes I spied on him through the crack of the door when he came out of the shower. Seeing him there with the towel at his waist, his chest still wet and his armpits dark, made me lose all shame. I’d jerk off holding my breath, biting my lip so I wouldn’t moan, imagining it was his rough hand gripping my cock, or even better, that he was stuffing his thick fingers into my mouth so I could suck them while he fucked me from behind. It stopped mattering that he was my mother’s husband, the man who paid for everything in that house. The urge to have him close outweighed any respect.

***

One afternoon we were alone. My mother and my brother had gone out shopping, and the silence in the house felt different, heavier. Damián had come back wrecked from the shop and flopped on the sofa to watch a game. It was sticky-hot, the kind of heat that makes you want to wear nothing at all. As always, he was shirtless, with his pants loose and his body surrendered to the lethargy.

I stayed leaning in the kitchen doorway, watching him. After a while the television became just a low murmur and his breathing turned slow and deep. He had fallen completely asleep. I approached carefully, feeling my heart about to jump out of my mouth.

Half asleep, Damián made a purely instinctive movement: he slid his hand under the waistband to adjust his cock, and when he pulled it back the weight of his arm dragged his pants and boxer shorts a little farther down than they should’ve gone. I nearly stopped breathing. Over the edge of the fabric a patch of black, rough hair peeked out, contrasting with his dark skin and disappearing downward, hiding the base of what I’d imagined so many times. I caught sight of the thick root of his dick, dark, pressed against his thigh, and one heavy ball pushing against the seam of the boxer briefs.

It was too much. I felt the immediate jolt, my cock hard in an instant, pressing against my pants, already wetting my underwear. I couldn’t stand the pressure and almost ran to my room, closing the door slowly so I wouldn’t wake him. I ripped my pants off in one tug, lay back on the bed with my legs spread, and grabbed my cock with desperation, eyes closed, trying to hold onto the image of that dark hair and that brown skin. I jerked myself hard, spitting on my fingers so I could slide my middle finger into my ass while I worked myself, imagining it was his cock opening me up. I came in less than a minute, shooting semen everywhere, clenching my teeth so I wouldn’t scream his name.

But when it was over, no relief came. On the contrary: the need to know what he was really like became torture. I started using a dating app, looking for guys who resembled him, dark-skinned, mature men with that same energy. I hooked up with some of them just to satisfy the craving, and it only got worse. Every time a stranger shoved his dick into my mouth or pinned me face-down against the mattress, all I could think was that it wasn’t him. I sucked them off hungrily, swallowing them to the back of my throat, but while they came on me I imagined Damián’s face, his black beard, his groans. The need, instead of fading, etched itself deeper into me with every other cock.

***

I promised myself that next time I wouldn’t just stand there watching. The chance came several months later, on a family party night. Damián drank too much, which was incredibly rare for him, and ended up wasted earlier than usual. He was so drunk he could barely stand, so some relatives brought him home more or less dragging him and left him sprawled on his bed. My mother and my brother stayed at the party, promising to come back later, and all at once the house was empty: just him and me.

I heard the front door close and silence swallowed everything. I walked down the hall to his room with my heart pounding in my ears. I saw him there, completely out cold, breathing heavily. This time there was no one to interrupt us and he wasn’t in any condition to react. This was the moment I had wanted for so long.

I went in with trembling hands. I moved to the foot of the bed and started taking off his shoes with extreme care, trying not to move him. My cock was aching against the fabric, and every brush of my fingers against his ankles sent a current through me. But then a cold fear seized me. I thought about my mother, about what would happen if he opened his eyes suddenly. I backed out in a flash and almost ran to my room.

I sat on the bed trying to steady my breathing, hating myself for being a coward.

I can’t do this, I kept telling myself, even though my body wanted exactly the opposite.

***

Then I heard noises in the next room. Fabric dragging, the creak of the bed. I thought he’d woken up and froze, but curiosity won out. I walked on tiptoe and peered through the crack in the half-open door.

Damián wasn’t fully awake, but the heat of the alcohol had made him stir half-conscious. I saw him standing there, swaying, wrestling with his pants until he let them fall to the floor. Then he yanked his shirt off and tossed it aside. He stood there for a moment before collapsing back onto the bed, now only in dark briefs that, over that solid body, fit him tightly and outlined with brutal clarity everything I had imagined for months. You could make out the big cock hanging slightly to one side, thick even at rest, and the heavy balls pressed against the cotton.

I stayed glued to the crack, unblinking, until I went in again. This time without fear. I planted myself beside the bed and just watched him. And then I saw something that left me speechless: even though he was sleeping deeply, his body seemed to react on its own. Maybe the heat, maybe a dream he’d never tell anyone about, but the bulge under the fabric started moving, slow and steady.

Without my touching it, it began to harden. The cotton stretched more and more, drawing a long, thick shape, exactly like I’d pictured it so many nights. Watching it grow like that, on its own, until the head pushed out from one side of the waistband, already shiny with pre-cum, drove me wild. I saw a clear drop slide down the dark skin of the glans and disappear into the pubic hair.

The contrast was too much: the stern face of a rough man, the black beard, the heavy drunk breathing, and down below a body that seemed to have a life of its own, calling me. The hair on his stomach rose and fell with each breath, and the smell of his skin, a mix of shop grime, ball sweat, and alcohol, finished clouding my head.

***

I knelt slowly between his open legs, feeling the heat pouring off his crotch, and moved close until I was a few inches from that bulge that no longer fit inside his clothes. No more pictures of strangers or fantasies in the dark. It was him, the man I admired every day, right there, with his hard cock pushing at his boxer briefs and demanding release.

I slipped my fingers into the waistband with absurd care, scared to death that he’d wake up, but Damián didn’t even stir. The alcohol had him sunk deep. I began pulling the fabric down little by little, and the first thing that hit me was the heat coming off his groin, that thick haze of sweaty man. As the garment gave way, that brown cock I’d kept me awake over began to appear, a dark coffee color that contrasted with the black, thick hair surrounding it. Long, slightly curved upward, with an swollen, shiny glans, and heavy balls hanging between his thighs, also covered in rough hair.

It was hard, pointing toward his navel, throbbing on its own. It smelled strong, like men’s sweat and old soap, that harsh scent of someone who works around engines and doesn’t wash properly. Seeing it at last naked, right in front of my eyes, felt almost unreal. I reached out and wrapped my hand around it. I went cold at the thickness: my fingers barely closed around it. It was a hot piece of flesh, laced with veins throbbing under my palm. When I moved it just a little toward the base, the skin slid back and the glans was left even more exposed, wet at the tip.

I brought my face close to the glans, dark and shiny under the dim light. I saw another clear drop welling up, proof that his body, even if he was out of it, was reacting to my nearness. I stuck out my tongue and ran it slowly along him, from where the foreskin began to the slit at the tip, and that salty, almost bitter taste confirmed that I wasn’t dreaming. I licked the drop off with the tip of my tongue and swallowed it. I stayed still for a second, looking at his face. Damián let out a heavy snore, but he didn’t move an inch.

Seeing there was no danger, I lost the last trace of fear. I settled myself better between his open thighs, feeling the rough hair brush my chin, and opened my mouth wide. I took him in all the way, or as much as I could, letting that thick glans force my palate open. I started sucking him hungrily, bobbing my head slowly up and down, tasting every inch of that brown skin, my tongue pressed against the edge of the corona. One hand gripped the base so he wouldn’t slip out of my mouth, while the other weighed his hot balls in my palm, feeling them tighten there. I pulled him out completely, spit a thread of saliva over the glans, and took him back in, now sliding him deeper, until the tip scraped the back of my throat and made me cough softly. Damián let out a longer sigh, moved his hips up just a little, and I took the opportunity to swallow him until my nose sank into the patch of black hair at his pubis. There I stayed for a few seconds, my throat locked, the smell of man blowing my mind apart, with only one thought in me: that at last I had the stud of the house exactly where I’d always wanted him.

***

All of a sudden he let out a deep moan and shifted violently. I jumped in fright, my heart in my throat, as his body rolled half onto its side. But he was so far gone that it was only a reflex. I grabbed his shoulders and, pushing hard, rolled him back onto his back. I needed him like that, exposed, completely surrendered, with his legs falling open at the sides and his brown cock pointing at the ceiling, shiny with my saliva.

I put him back in my mouth. I wasn’t careful anymore. The taste and smell had me out of my mind. I started sucking hard, cheeks hollowed, feeling him get even harder against my tongue. I sucked him with hunger, with noise, letting saliva run down my chin and over his balls. I licked the thick vein running underneath him, from the base up to the glans, and then I took one of his balls into my mouth, all of it, sucking it carefully while I kept jerking his cock with my hand. Damián gave off a few hoarse, low grunts from deep in his throat, so deep they seemed to make the bed vibrate. Hearing him got me hotter still, I picked up the pace and took him down to the root again, fucking my own throat with my stepfather’s brown cock.

With my free hand I pulled my pants down. My cock sprang out, hard and slick from being held back for so long, and I started jerking off in the same rhythm as I devoured his dick. I licked his swollen balls, nibbled the skin of his pubis, went back up and swallowed the glans with a long suction. I pressed one saliva-wet finger against his hole and rubbed it gently in circles, never quite inserting it but feeling the muscle clench. His body responded to everything: his thighs tightening, his balls shrinking up against the base, his breathing growing ever rougher. I had his cock driven deep in my mouth, my nose smashed against his hair, and I was working myself too, on the verge of bursting.

His body tensed all at once. I saw his fists clench in the sheets and heard a longer groan, almost a muted roar. Without opening his eyes, he reached the end: I felt his cock swell just a little more, give a couple of violent jumps inside my mouth, and blast the first stream of hot cum against my palate, thick, salty, so abundant I nearly choked. Then came another, and another, until six or seven heavy shots emptied his balls into my throat. I didn’t let a drop go. I swallowed it all, pressing my lips around the base, savoring the final taste of all that masculinity dissolving on my tongue. I came too at the same time, unable to hold out any longer, shooting hot spurts against the edge of the bed, my legs shaking. Then he relaxed all at once, let out a heavy sigh, and sank back into the silence of his drunken sleep, leaving me there, kneeling and finally satisfied, with the biggest secret of my life burning my mouth and my stepfather’s semen still warm in my throat.

***

I stayed a few seconds savoring the moment, watching his body go limp again as if nothing had happened. My legs were trembling. I licked the tip of his cock one last time, gathering the last drop on it, and licked my lips. I wiped myself with the back of my hand, pulled his boxer briefs back up carefully so he wouldn’t suspect anything when he woke with a hangover, and covered him with the sheet to his chest, leaving him just as the relatives had found him. I looked at him one last time: the bearded face, relaxed, as imposing as ever, with no idea of what his stepson had just done to him.

Just as I was tiptoeing out, I heard keys in the lock. It was them. I hurried to the bathroom, splashed water on my face, and looked at myself in the mirror. My eyes were shining differently. I could still taste his cum in the back of my throat. I went into my room and lay down on the bed a second before hearing my mother’s voice asking if everything was all right.

—Yes, Ma. Damián hasn’t woken up since they brought him home —I answered, with the most normal voice I could fake.

I lay staring at the ceiling in the dark, listening to the sounds of my family settling back into routine. I knew that from then on nothing would ever be the same. Every time I saw him working on an engine, sweaty and shirtless, or every time he patted my shoulder and called me “son,” I would remember the taste of his secret, the weight of his cock on my tongue, the hot stream bursting down my throat. I was no longer the boy who watched from the shadows. Now I was the owner of his most vulnerable moment.

***

I never told anyone. It stayed inside me like a hot weight, something that belongs to me alone. Sometimes, in the mornings, when we have breakfast and I see him there with coffee in hand and that serious-man attitude, I wonder how much he really knew.

There were days when I thought I noticed a different look, a silence that lasted a little longer when our eyes met, a smile that hadn’t been there before. I never knew whether that night, between the alcohol and the sleep, Damián actually felt something and preferred to believe it had all been a very vivid dream. But the truth is he never said a word. Not a complaint, not an awkward question, not a change in the way he treated me.

Everything stayed the same. Him, the kind man who cared for my mother and the house. Me, the boy who helped him now and then with some tool or other. But since that night, every time I see him come out of the bathroom in a towel or take off his shirt because of the heat, there isn’t just desire on my side anymore. There’s also a quiet satisfaction, and sometimes the urge to do it again, to kneel once more between his legs and swallow his cock again until I empty his balls. He’s still the pillar of the family, and I’m the only one who knows what happened in that bed. And as long as he keeps the secret without knowing it, so will I.