What My Stepdaughter Awakened in Me That Afternoon

My name is Valeria. I’m forty-three years old, I’ve been married to Ricardo for four, and until five months ago, I believed I knew my own desires’ limits pretty well.

Ricardo is a businessman. He travels almost three weeks out of every month, and the rest of the time he spends checking emails and taking calls from the kitchen with that look on his face he gets whenever something goes wrong. When we met, he was already divorced and had two children: Mateo, who lives in another city and hardly ever shows up, and Daniela, twenty-one, who until that year had been living with her mother in Rosario.

I take very good care of myself. I exercise, I eat well, and at forty-three I have the body some twenty-year-olds wish they had. I’m brunette, with honey-colored eyes, wide hips, and a round, firm ass that more than one person has followed with their eyes on the street. My tits aren’t big, but they stand up on their own, and my nipples are a dark pink that shows through my clothes when it’s cold. I dress elegantly without being flashy, and that has an effect.

Daniela arrived one March afternoon with two suitcases and that look of someone who has just lost a battle and still hasn’t decided what to do next. Her mother had caught her with a friend in circumstances that left no room for interpretation: naked in bed, the friend’s face buried between Daniela’s legs. For her mother it was a tragedy. Ricardo, as usual, didn’t know how to handle it and chose the response he knows best: leave on a trip and leave me with the problem.

—You’re the right person to talk to her —he told me before getting into the taxi—. Talk to her. Steer her a little.

I didn’t know what to answer. I stayed at the door watching the car drive away, then went in to see what I was supposed to do with a twenty-one-year-old girl who looked at me as if I were part of the problem.

***

At first it was difficult. Daniela ate breakfast alone, ate lunch alone, went out little, and answered in monosyllables. She wasn’t hostile, just closed off. I’m not the type who gives up easily, so I went at it patiently: I made her breakfast, invited her to walk around the neighborhood, took her to the market on a Saturday morning. Little by little, she started to open the door.

Talking to her was different from what I expected. She was direct, no beating around the bush, with an analytical ability that surprised me. When she finally told me what had happened with her mother, she did it without drama and without shame: she liked men and women, she always had, and she didn’t understand why that had to be a problem. She said it like someone talking about the weather.

She told me more specific things too. That sex with a woman is different, that a woman knows where to touch a cunt because she has one herself, that the first time a woman had eaten her cunt patiently she’d understood that until then she hadn’t known anything about herself. She explained it with that calm, unpretentious voice of hers, describing another girl’s tongue moving over her clit like someone describing a recipe. I listened, paying more attention than I should have, feeling something tighten inside me and suddenly finding my panties uncomfortably tight. I’d never been with a woman. I had never seriously considered it. But something about the way Daniela talked about it was impossible to ignore completely.

***

The fight before Ricardo’s last trip started over something trivial. Daniela asked permission for a classmate from college to stay over for the weekend. He said no before she even finished the sentence.

—This house is not a shelter —he said, in that voice he uses when he’s already decided and no argument matters.

—She’s just a friend, Dad. It’s not what you’re thinking.

—I don’t care what it is. You’re grounded.

Daniela tried to explain. She tried several times, with more calm than I would have had. Ricardo didn’t listen. He told her she’d spend the weekend in her room, that I would make sure she served her punishment, and he went off to get his briefcase. The bedroom door slammed hard.

Daniela locked herself in her room without saying another word.

That afternoon the house was very still. Ricardo left for the airport and I sat in the kitchen with a coffee that went cold while I thought about the look on her face when her father ended the discussion. It wasn’t anger. It was that specific exhaustion of someone who has spent too long explaining herself to people who don’t want to understand.

Three hours passed. I decided to make something to eat and take it to her.

***

I knocked on her door twice. At the second knock she answered with a weak “come in.”

I found her lying back on the bed, staring at the ceiling. She was wearing dark lingerie: a little top that outlined her tits and left her nipples visible, hard through the thin fabric, and lace panties so tiny you could see the shadow of the mound and part of the lips of her cunt peeking out from one side. Her hair was loose, slightly messy, and she had the expression of someone who has been thinking about the same thing for hours. She was beautiful in a way that was intimidating. Narrow waist, wide hips, long firm thighs, a round ass resting on the bed without flattening. The kind of body that stops conversations. I hadn’t noticed it like that before. I mean, I knew she was attractive, but that afternoon, in that light, I looked at her the way you look at something you want.

I set the tray on the desk and turned to leave.

—Don’t go —she said.

I sat in the armchair beside the bed. She looked at me from where she was, without moving, and after a moment asked:

—Do you like what you see?

She didn’t say it aggressively. She said it with an almost scientific calm, as if she genuinely wanted to know the answer.

—I brought you something to eat —I replied, dodging the question.

She barely smiled, propped herself up on her elbows —the movement pressed her tits tighter against the top and made her nipples stand out even more— and pointed to the edge of the bed.

—Sit here. That chair is too far away.

I sat on the edge. She scooted toward me and rested her head on my shoulder. It was an apparently unambiguous gesture, the kind someone makes when they simply need company. She smelled like something warm, a soft perfume I hadn’t noticed before, mixed with something more intimate that came from her skin. Outside, a car passed slowly down the street.

—You’re angry —I said.

—I’m tired —she corrected—. It’s different.

Silence. The room’s light was dim. I heard my own breathing and noticed, with a dull shame, that my panties were getting wet under my dress.

—Can I ask you something? —she asked.

—Depends what it is.

—When I’m really down, there’s a game that helps me calm down. I’d need you to play it with me.

I asked her what it consisted of. She explained it slowly, searching for the words. She would play the child. I would play the mother.

There was a long pause between her explanation and my answer. In that silence I thought about several things. I thought about Ricardo at the airport. I thought about everything Daniela had told me about being with women, about tongues and cunts and fingers that know what they’re doing. I thought about my nipples, which had already hardened under my sleeveless dress without anyone touching them, and the wet throb I felt between my legs.

—All right —I said.

***

She lay back across my lap with a naturalness that completely disarmed me. I was wearing a light sleeveless dress, without a bra, and when she settled herself, I felt the simple contact of her cheek against my thighs send a shock straight to my cunt. I could feel my own wetness staining the fabric of my thong.

—Mommy —she murmured, her voice a little smaller—, will you give me your titty?

Before I could react, she pulled the left strap of my dress down. She did it slowly, without any hurry, as if she had all night. When she exposed me, my nipple was fully erect, pointing out hard as a little pink stone.

Daniela looked at it for a second. Then she took it into her mouth.

Her tongue does not improvise. That was the first thing I understood. First she licked the whole thing, with her tongue flat and hot, circling the areola without touching the tip, until I felt my stomach tighten waiting for contact that wasn’t coming. Then she closed her lips over my nipple and began to suck with a slow, deep rhythm that tugged at something inside me. Every time she sucked, I felt a direct pull between my legs, as if mouth and cunt were connected by an invisible thread. I let out a sound I hadn’t planned to make, a low moan that escaped my throat. She noticed and smiled without taking her mouth away. Then she gently nipped my nipple with her teeth and I arched my back without meaning to.

She lowered the other strap with the same calmness. My dress ended up around my waist and her free hand took my second breast. Her fingers squeezed the flesh firmly, then found the nipple and pinched it with a precision that made me open my mouth. She rolled the nipple between her thumb and forefinger while continuing to suck the other, alternating suction with quick licks that made me gasp. It was precise, deliberate coordination that left me unable to think about anything except what I was feeling. I could feel liquid gathering between my thighs, my thong sticking to my already soaked lips.

She stopped for a moment to look at me. Her lips were shining with saliva, and a thin thread hung from her lower lip to the nipple she had just let go.

—Had you ever been with a woman before?

—No —I said, my voice hoarse.

—And you’re wet?

I ran out of breath. I nodded.

—Say it.

—I’m wet.

—Soaked —she corrected, and slipped a hand between my legs over the rolled-up dress. She pressed her palm against my cunt through the thong and felt the puddle already there. She smiled.— Soaking.

I tried to cover myself with an automatic gesture. She took my hands gently and moved them apart.

—Don’t cover up —she said—. There’s nothing to hide.

She leaned toward my mouth. She kissed me slowly at first, giving me time to decide. I didn’t pull away. The kiss deepened, her tongue entering my mouth and seeking mine with contained urgency, and while she kissed me her fingers kept working over the thong, pressing my clit through the fabric, tracing slow circles that made my hips push against her hand without me even noticing. I started stroking her back without thinking, following the curve of her waist, down to her ass, squeezing her cheeks over the tiny bit of fabric of her panties. She moaned into my mouth when I grabbed her like that.

***

She helped me stand. She finished pulling the dress down to the floor and I was left in front of her in my thong, tits bare and nipples shining with her saliva. She looked at me for a long, clear moment, without urgency, like someone who finally has in front of them something they’ve been imagining for a long time.

—I’d been thinking about this for months —she said—. Months of masturbating while thinking about your ass when you bend over in the kitchen. About how your nipples show when you come out of the shower. About what your cunt must taste like.

That she had wanted me in secret. That she’d had fingers in herself thinking about me in the next room. That confession turned me on more than anything that had happened up to then. I felt a fresh surge of wetness between my legs.

She guided me to the bed. I lay back and she positioned herself over me. She yanked her top off and her tits came free, smaller than mine but perfectly round, with dark, erect nipples. She leaned down and rubbed her nipples against mine, skin against skin, and that single sensation tore another moan out of me. Then she started going down my body with her mouth, not skipping anything: the collarbone, the space between my tits, the sternum, the ribs, the navel, where she slipped in her tongue and circled slowly. Every pause was deliberate. She knew exactly where to stop so I would have time to anticipate what was coming.

When she reached my hips, she took off my thong calmly, sliding it down my thighs until she got it off and tossed it to the floor. She stood there for a second, looking between my legs. I had my cunt shaved and I could feel my lips parting on their own with arousal, wet, shining in the dim light.

—God —she murmured—, what a beautiful cunt you have.

She opened my legs all the way with her hands, holding my thighs and spreading them apart. Then she lowered her head and began.

First she ran her whole tongue from bottom to top, slowly, collecting everything that was there. I felt her moan against my cunt when she tasted me, a moan of satisfaction that vibrated through my flesh. Then she started licking my lips one by one, sucking them between her own, tugging at them gently. When she reached my clit, she didn’t attack it directly: she circled around it, getting closer and closer until I was lifting my hips, searching for contact. Only then did she take it between her lips and start sucking softly, alternating with the tip of her tongue drawing shapes I couldn’t identify.

She knew every angle, every variation in pressure, every tiny change in rhythm that takes someone right to the edge without letting them go over too soon. When she felt me about to burst, she eased off and went back to the outer lips, leaving me panting with my hands clenched in the sheets. Then she came back up. And again she eased off. Three times she took me to the brink and left me there, trembling.

Then she put a finger inside. She did it slowly, feeling how my cunt closed around it, and started moving it, searching for that spot inside that made me arch. When she found it, she added a second finger and began curling them upward, pressing with a steady rhythm while she kept sucking my clit. I felt like the ceiling was crashing down on me. She alternated tongue and fingers with a precision that didn’t seem learned, but innate. She paid attention to my reactions, adjusted what she was doing based on what I was showing her without meaning to. She increased the pace of her fingers until they made a wet, obscene sound every time they went in and out.

—Come for me, Mommy —she murmured against my cunt—. Come in my mouth.

When I came, it was so intense that I squeezed my eyes shut and bit my lip to keep from screaming. I convulsed all over, my legs closing around her head without me being able to control it, my cunt spasming around her fingers and shaking me from the stomach out. She didn’t stop: she kept licking and sucking while I came, stretching it out until I started pushing her head away because I couldn’t take any more. Only then did she lift her face. Her chin and cheeks were wet with me, shining, and she slowly wiped the back of her hand across her mouth without taking her eyes off me.

Daniela looked at me with a calm smile, like someone who has just finished a job well done.

—Your turn —she said, and moved upward.

***

She straddled my chest for a moment, letting me feel the wet heat of her cunt through her panties against my skin. Then she stood up, slipped off her panties, and settled back down, this time lifting herself until her cunt was right over my face. She held on to the headboard and lowered herself slowly.

—Stick out your tongue —she said.

I stuck out my tongue. She lowered herself until her cunt barely brushed the tip and then started moving over me, rubbing herself against my face, giving me her smell and taste all at once. She was as wet as I was. I could feel my mouth filling with warm, slightly salty fluid.

I expected to feel clumsy. I didn’t. I started licking her by instinct, going for her clit first, sucking it with the same patience she had shown me. I heard her respond, noticed what pressure made her squeeze her thighs against my cheeks, what variations drew involuntary sounds from her. When she moaned louder, I pressed on. When she slowed down, I slowed down too. I put my hands on her ass and spread her cheeks, feeling how she tightened against my mouth. Then I moved my tongue down to the entrance of her cunt and pushed it inside, as far as I could, and she let out a cry that cut off halfway.

—Yes, like that, Mommy, like that.

I alternated my tongue between her clit and her entrance, up and down, sucking, nipping gently, until I felt her trembling over me. I dug my nails into her ass and pressed her face closer to her cunt. She started moving on top of me, riding my tongue, hands locked on the headboard and head thrown back. When she came, it was with a long moan that filled the room and a surge of wetness that bathed my mouth and chin. I felt the contractions against my tongue, watched her arch over me, and didn’t let go until she herself collapsed onto her side, panting.

She fell down beside me.

We were both breathing hard. My face was soaked; she was still trembling slightly. She turned my head toward her and kissed me, sucking her own taste out of my mouth, and that kiss made me feel the pull between my legs all over again.

The room was still except for that.

***

I don’t know how long we stayed like that, in silence, looking at the ceiling. The light outside had changed. It was night already, and the hallway was dim. Daniela had one hand resting on my stomach, her fingers absently brushing the hair of my pubic mound, and that tiny contact was keeping me lit up.

—Are you okay? —she asked.

—Yes —I answered. It was true, even though I didn’t entirely know what to do with that truth.

Daniela turned toward me. She had a serious expression I hadn’t expected.

—You don’t have to make a big deal out of this.

—I’m not making a big deal out of it.

—Good.

Her hand slid a few centimeters lower and her fingers began to caress the lips of my cunt, still sensitive, still wet. I closed my eyes.

—Again —she murmured—. Before sleep.

She slipped two fingers inside without taking her eyes off me and started moving them slowly, searching for the spot she had already memorized. With her thumb she rubbed my clit in small circles. I opened my legs without saying a word, surrendering to the rhythm she set. This time it was quieter, longer, an orgasm that rose slowly and left me helpless, biting the inside of my cheek, gripping her wrist with both hands so she wouldn’t stop.

When I was done, she pulled her fingers out, brought them to her mouth, and sucked them one by one, watching me. Then she stretched out her arm and turned off the bedside lamp.

—Stay a little longer —she said.

I stayed.

***

I don’t have a name for what started that afternoon. There isn’t one that sounds simple enough or dramatic enough for what it was. What I do know is that something rearranged itself inside me in a way that could never be undone. That when Ricardo called the next day and asked how things were going, I said, “Don’t worry, nothing new,” in a completely steady voice, while Daniela had her hand between my legs under the kitchen table, working me with two fingers inside and smiling at me from the other side of the tablecloth. That when Daniela knocked on my door again the following week, I opened it without asking myself questions that had no answer and let myself be stripped against the hallway wall.

And that something in me, which for years had been closed without my knowing it, that afternoon decided not to close again.