What My Nephew Did When He Thought I Wasn’t Looking

In the previous story I told how I discovered, almost by accident, the pleasure of having my nephew Mateo living with me. Since he came to the city to start university, my apartment stopped being a place people passed through and became the setting for a tension neither of us named, but both of us fed every night.

My life had taken a turn I would never have imagined. The days were the same as always — his classes, my job, dinner together, a while talking with the TV on in the background — but everything orbited around the nighttime silence. That moment when the thin walls let his ragged breathing drift in from the next room, the dull rhythm of his hand, the hoarse groan that escaped him at the end.

We didn’t hide much. We made a show of our bulges at any hour, saying nothing, just exchanging looks that lasted a second too long. When he caught me watching him, he didn’t look away: he spread his legs a little wider on the sofa and, with the tips of his fingers, adjusted his package as if it weighed him down. It was a silent provocation, and I pretended not to notice so I’d have more chances to look.

That week ended with an encounter that changed everything.

***

It was Saturday. We’d spent the day between the gym, cleaning the apartment, and running errands we’d been putting off. That night I had dinner plans with two friends from work, and I mentioned it while we were putting away the groceries.

—Have fun, man — Mateo said, wiping the sweat from his forehead with the hem of his T-shirt—. I’m staying in. I want to try out a new program and get ahead on a college assignment.

We were coming in from the street and had met in the building entrance. He was wearing a T-shirt clinging to his torso and running tights that left nothing to the imagination. He went up the stairs ahead of me, and his broad back and that firm ass had me on the edge of the cliff without him doing anything more than walking.

We put the groceries away and he got in the shower. Then I got myself ready. When I was set, I knocked on his door to let him know I’d be back late. His voice invited me in.

He was lying on the bed, completely naked, his back against the headboard and his legs open in a V. He didn’t move or cover himself. He held my gaze with a calm that raised goosebumps all over my skin.

—There’s dinner in the fridge — I said, pretending that was the most normal thing in the world—. Don’t wait up for me.

—Okay, man. Have fun.

I wasn’t going to have fun. I was going to think about him all night.

***

My friends are great and dinner was one of those that stretches on through laughter and empty bottles, but my head stayed in that room. In that young body I had just seen without shame. I couldn’t stop imagining him alone in the apartment, finally free to give himself pleasure without anyone hearing through the wall.

I don’t remember what excuse I made up. I only know I left early and came back almost running. My cock was hard as steel inside my pants, and my boxer briefs were already wet with precum before I got to the building entrance.

I went in without turning on the light, barefoot, soft as a feather. I wanted to see if what I was imagining was real. And yes, it was.

The living room was dark, lit only by the TV screen. From the speakers came gasps, hip smacks, the unmistakable sound of a porno. I stripped in my room without making a sound and edged along the wall until I reached the doorway.

Mateo was lying on the rug, riding on top of a pillow, pumping his hips up and down in an intense rhythm. He panted with each thrust, biting his lip, keeping time with the images on the screen. Two men. It was gay porn.

My breath caught. Strings of precum dripped from the tip of my cock and wet my feet. He kept moving, oblivious to everything, whispering random words into the pillow.

Suddenly he reached toward the table, uncapped a little bottle, and inhaled. The pace of his hips turned frenetic, almost savage.

—Fuck… —he moaned into the rug—. I’m coming, I’m coming…

The moan echoed through the whole apartment. I pulled back just in time, holding my breath, while I came without being able to stop myself, splattering the doorframe. I went back to my room in silence as I heard him catching his breath.

***

I heard him turn everything off, go to the bathroom, and lock himself in his room. I waited a decent while and went out to clean up the trail I had left myself. In the laundry basket I found something that finished driving me insane: the blue boxers he’d been wearing before my shower were soaked and still warm. He’d come in them, making a mess of them.

I grabbed them without thinking. I brought them to my face and inhaled deeply, drunk on his scent. I went back to my room with them pressed against my nose and took a suction-cup dildo from the drawer, the one I kept for my private moments. I fixed it to the headboard and started fucking myself on it, slowly at first, then out of control.

I couldn’t take it anymore. I was hitting the wall without meaning to, and even so I couldn’t stop. I was so lost, so utterly given over to it, that I didn’t hear the door. When I looked up, Mateo was standing in the doorway, jerking off while watching me get off.

He didn’t say a word. He crossed the room, held my face with one hand, and brought his cock to my mouth. It was hard, thick, throbbing, veins standing out and the head shining. An impressive weight for such a young body. Under it, two balls full despite the recent release, already recovered.

I took it all the way in without saying anything, hearing only his rough breathing. I grabbed his ass, which tightened with every shove against my throat.

—It’s poppers, man —he murmured, offering me the bottle—. It’ll heat you up more. Try it.

I did it without hesitation. The room tilted, heat rushed up my neck, and I became something else. I devoured him, taking him deep again and again.

—Stop… I’m gonna come —he gasped, his legs trembling.

He inhaled again, I did too, and I felt his whole body go taut: his ass tight, his balls drawn up to the base, the veins beating as if they were about to burst.

—Fuck, fuck… I’m coming —he growled.

He exploded in my mouth and collapsed onto the bed. I had come a second time without touching myself, just with the dildo pressed against my prostate.

***

We spent a few minutes breathing hard. Then Mateo sat up, kissed me slowly, and spoke against my lips.

—I’ve been waiting for this since I moved in with you —he confessed—. I’ve been dropping hints the whole time. I thought it would never happen. And I want you so bad, man…

I didn’t know what to say. I wanted to act authoritative, to tell him this wasn’t right, that we were family, that there was a line we shouldn’t cross. But then I saw his cock hard again and all my reasons fell apart. I only managed to turn around, lift my ass, and offer it to him.

Mateo didn’t hesitate for a second. He took the lube from the nightstand, slicked my entrance — already loosened by the dildo — and carefully coated his cock. He sank into me all the way, slowly, like someone sliding into a custom-made glove. We inhaled again and he started a ride that gave no mercy.

He didn’t let up. The sound of his hips against my body filled the room, steady, relentless. His newly turned twenty showed in every thrust. After a good while he rolled onto his side, holding the headboard, and kept wrecking me without a pause.

I was dying of pleasure. It was incredible. We changed position and I ended up sitting on top of him. I lowered my mouth and joined it to his in a wet, ravenous kiss, like my life depended on it. Braced on his feet, he fucked me from below and filled me completely.

I stopped him for a moment, inhaled again, and started riding him with deep, furious seated strokes until, amid shouts, gasps, sweat, and semen, we both came at the same time.

It was my third orgasm since I’d gotten home. For him, as he later confessed to me between laughs, it was the sixth of the day.

***

That night set a new rhythm in the apartment. We kept up with our responsibilities to the letter — his classes, my job, the household chores — but we gave each other pleasure in every spare moment of the day.

Since then we’ve slept together. In the mornings I drive him to university on my way to work, and it’s become a ritual: he sits with his legs wide open and, as soon as I can let go of the gearshift, I slip my hand into his boxers and stroke him while I drive.

We eat breakfast, lunch, and dinner with him inside me whenever we can, and at dinner I have to move around a little so he can finish unloading. He never skips a good fuck when we go to bed, and if we don’t have to get up early, there’s another, longer one in the middle of the night.

We shower together and soap each other up, lingering on the most sensitive spots. We wear the same kind of boxer briefs and sometimes swap them: he gets off on his uncle being his, on only he being able to ride me and have me at his disposal.

And when he travels to his parents’ house, it doesn’t stop either. Every night, in that silence that binds us so tightly, a video call connects us across the distance and makes us finish each other off until we find each other again. The reunion is always unbeatable.