What I Did with My Stepfather While He Was Sleeping

Before Damián came home, my life was as simple as it gets. 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 just went through the days without much 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, one of those men who hold a house together without making a fuss. 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 on him without even trying.

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

I went speechless every time. I was hypnotized by his broad chest, the dark hair in his armpits, the bulge that showed without embarrassment beneath his pants. He treated me warmly, messed 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, beside him, I felt small, thin, almost transparent.

Seeing him so self-assured stirred up a hunger in me I didn’t know how to put out, even though I was crystal clear that to him I was nothing more than his wife’s son.

***

What started as simple curiosity quickly got out of hand. 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 him noticing. I learned his routines, the dull thud of his boots when he came home from the shop, the exact minutes it took him to yank off his shirt to cool down.

I couldn’t keep my head straight anymore when he was near. He’d talk to me about anything, a bill or a job 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 went crazy imagining what it would be like to have him close in another 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 about him. I locked myself in my room, pulled down my pants, and grabbed my cock while thinking of him, convinced that, from the bulge that showed in his work pants, he must have a dick that matched the rest of his body. I worked myself slowly, spitting into my hand so I could slide it better, imagining it was his thick, brown one opening my lips. I’d end up shooting over my stomach in hot spurts and lying there panting with my head full of him.

Sometimes I spied on him through the crack in the door when he came out of the shower. Seeing him there with a towel at his waist, his chest still wet and his armpits dark, made me lose every bit of 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 weighed more than any respect.

***

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

I stayed leaning against the kitchen doorway, watching him. After a while the television became a background hum and his breathing turned slow and deep. He’d fallen completely asleep. I approached carefully, feeling like my heart was about to jump out of my mouth.

Half-asleep, Damián made a purely instinctive movement: he slid a hand under the elastic to adjust his cock, and when he pulled it back, the weight of his arm dragged his pants and boxer shorts down a little farther than it should have. I ran out of air. Above the edge of the fabric there was a patch of black, coarse hair that contrasted with his dark skin and disappeared downward, hiding the start of what I had imagined so many times. I managed to make out the thick base of his cock, dark, pressed against his thigh, and one heavy ball pushing against the seam of the boxer shorts.

It was too much. I felt an immediate pull, my cock hard in a second, pressed tight against my pants, already soaking my underwear. I couldn’t stand the pressure and almost ran to my room, closing the door softly so I wouldn’t wake him. I yanked my pants off, lay back on the bed with my legs spread, and grabbed my cock in desperation, eyes closed, trying to hold on to the image of that dark hair and that brown skin. I jerked myself hard, spitting on my fingers so I could slide a middle finger into my ass while I wanked, imagining it was his dick opening me up. I came in less than a minute, shooting cum everywhere, clenching my teeth so I wouldn’t shout his name.

But when I was done, 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 one or two just to ease the need, and it only made things worse. Every time a stranger shoved his cock into my mouth or mounted me face-down against the mattress, all I could think was that he wasn’t Damián. I sucked them down hungrily, taking them to the back of my throat, but while they came over me I imagined Damián’s face, his black beard, his grunts. The hunger didn’t go away; with every чужд dick it sank deeper into me.

***

I promised myself I wouldn’t just stand there watching the next time. The chance came several months later, on a family party night. Damián had had too much to drink, something really unusual for him, and ended up ruined before the night was over. He was so drunk he could barely stand, so some relatives brought him home more or less by force and left him collapsed on his bed. My mother and 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 hallway to his room with my heart hammering in my ears. I saw him there, completely out of commission, 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 been looking for.

I went in with my hands shaking. I moved to the foot of the bed and started taking off his shoes with extreme care, trying not to move him. My cock hurt against the fabric, and every touch of my fingers on his ankles sent a shock through me. But suddenly a cold fear took over. I thought of my mother, of what would happen if he opened his eyes all at once. I backed out in a flash of regret and almost ran to my room.

I sat on the bed trying to calm 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 peeked through the crack in the half-open door.

Damián wasn’t fully awake, but the heat of the alcohol had made him react halfway. I saw him standing, unsteady, wrestling with his pants until he let them fall to the floor. Then he yanked off his shirt and tossed it aside. He stood there for a moment before collapsing back onto the bed, now wearing only dark briefs that, on that solid body, were tight and brutally clear about everything I had imagined for months. You could make out the heavy cock hanging to one side, thick even at rest, and the heavy balls pressed against the cotton.

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

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

The contrast was too much: the serious face of a rough man, the black beard, the heavy drunk breathing, and below, a body that seemed to have a life of its own, calling me. The hair on his stomach rose and fell with every breath, and the smell of his skin, a mix of shop grease, sweaty balls, and alcohol, finished fogging my head.

***

I knelt slowly between his open legs, feeling the heat coming off his crotch, and moved closer until I was just a few inches from that bulge that no longer fit inside his clothes. These were no longer photos 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 briefs, asking to get out.

I slid my fingers into the waistband with absurd tenderness, terrified he’d wake up, but Damián didn’t even stir. The alcohol had him sunk deep. I pulled the fabric down little by little and the first thing that hit me was the heat pouring from his crotch, that thick haze of sweaty man. As the garment gave way, that brown cock I had kept myself up over appeared, a dark coffee color that stood out against the black, thick hair surrounding it. Long, just slightly bent upward, with a swollen, shiny glans, and heavy balls hanging between his thighs, covered in coarse hair too.

It was rock hard, pointing toward his navel, throbbing on its own. It smelled strong, like man-sweat and old soap, that rough scent of someone who works on engines and doesn’t wash properly. Seeing it finally naked, 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 only slightly toward the base, the skin slid back and the glans became even more exposed, wet at the tip.

I brought my face close to the dark, shining glans under the dim light. I saw another clear drop bead up, proof that his body, even if he was out of it, was reacting to my closeness. I stuck out my tongue and gave it a slow lick, from where the foreskin began to the slit at the tip, and that salty, almost bitter taste confirmed I wasn’t dreaming. I caught the drop on 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 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 against my chin, and opened my mouth wide. I took him all the way in, or as far as I could, letting the thick glans force my palate open. I started sucking him hard, moving my head up and down slowly, savoring every inch of that brown skin, my tongue pressed to the edge of the crown. With one hand I held the base so he wouldn’t slip out of my mouth, and with the other I weighed his hot balls, feeling them tighten in my palm. I pulled him out all the way, spat 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, barely lifted his hips upward, and I took the chance to swallow him until my nose sank into the mat of black hair on his pubes. I stayed there a few seconds, throat tight, the smell of man blowing my mind apart, with nothing in my head except that I finally had the stud of the house exactly where I had always wanted him.

***

Suddenly he let out a deep groan and shifted violently. I jumped with the scare, heart in my throat, as his body rolled onto its side. But he was so far gone that it was only a reflex. I grabbed him by the shoulders and, using force, put him back on his back. I needed him like that, exposed, fully given over, with his legs fallen open and his brown cock pointed at the ceiling, shining with my saliva.

I put him back in my mouth. I no longer cared about anything. The taste and smell had me completely out of my mind. I started sucking hard, cheeks hollowed, feeling it get even harder against my tongue. I sucked him with hunger, with noise, letting saliva drip 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 stroking his cock with my hand. Damián let out rough, low grunts from deep in his throat, so deep they seemed to make the bed vibrate. Hearing that turned me on even more, I sped up and took him back to the back of my throat, fucking my own throat with my stepfather’s brown cock.

With my free hand I pulled my pants down. My cock shot out, hard and wet from holding back for so long, and I started jerking off to the same rhythm I was using to eat his cock. I licked his swollen balls, nibbled the skin of his pubes, went back up and swallowed the glans with long sucks. I put a wet finger of saliva against his hole and rubbed it gently in circles, not quite pushing it in but feeling the muscle tighten. His body responded to everything: his thighs tensed, his balls shrank tight against the base, his breathing got rougher and rougher. I had his cock buried to the back of my mouth, my nose smashed into his hair, and I was jerking myself too, ready to burst.

His body tightened all at once. I saw his fists clench in the sheets and he let out a longer groan, almost a muffled roar. Without opening his eyes, he reached the end: I felt his cock swell a little more, jerk violently a couple of times inside my mouth, and release the first hot jet of milk against my palate, thick, salty, so abundant I almost choked. Then came another, and another, up to six or seven heavy shots that 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 last taste of all that masculinity melting on my tongue. I came at the same time too, unable to hold back any longer, shooting hot streams 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 cum still warm in my throat.

***

I stayed there 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, collecting the drop that was left, and licked my lips. I wiped myself with the back of my hand, pulled his boxer shorts back up carefully so he wouldn’t suspect anything when he woke with a hangover, and covered him with the sheet up to the chest, leaving him exactly as his relatives had left 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 walked quickly 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 milk at the back of my throat. I went into my room and dropped onto 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 in —I replied, with the most normal voice I could fake.

I lay there staring at the ceiling in the dark, listening to the sounds of my family sliding back into routine. I knew that from then on nothing would ever be the same. Every time I saw him fixing 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 load bursting down my throat. I was no longer the boy watching from the shadows. Now I was the keeper 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 his 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 had managed to feel something and decided 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 took care of my mother and the house. Me, the guy who helped him now and then with a tool. But ever 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 only desire on my side anymore. There is 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 his balls are empty. He is 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, I will too.