Andrea’s Mother and the Door I Shouldn’t Have Opened

I was eighteen and had the social problem of someone who doesn’t know how to start a conversation without going red. I was in my final year of high school and, although I got along well with almost all my classmates, it was different with the girls. Something in my chest froze every time I tried to get close to one, and that showed more than I cared to admit.

That’s why, when Andrea arrived at the school in October, the first thing I did was look at her from a distance and say nothing.

She was new. The principal brought her in on a Tuesday morning, introduced her with that awkwardness adults have when they do these things, and she crossed the classroom with black hair down to her shoulders and an expression that wasn’t exactly shyness, but rather studied indifference. The teacher pointed her to a seat in the next row and she walked past me without looking at me, leaving behind a trail of perfume I couldn’t identify but didn’t forget for several days.

Over the following weeks I kept the kind of distance that felt comfortable and cowardly in equal measure. I watched her in class, in the hallway, in the cafeteria. Sometimes our eyes met and I looked away too quickly, like an idiot who knew perfectly well he was one.

Until one Friday, just before the bell, Andrea came over to my desk and left a piece of paper with an address written by hand.

—Lucas, I’m celebrating my birthday at my house on Saturday —she said—. I invited the whole class. I hope you come, so we can get to know each other better outside school.

I managed nothing more than a “sure, I’ll be there” that sounded less awkward than it felt. I spent the rest of the day trying not to think too hard about what had just happened.

***

On Saturday I arrived at eight in the evening with a bottle of red wine bought at the corner supermarket and the hope of not making an idiot of myself. The address was a villa in a quiet area on the outskirts. I rang the bell and Andrea herself opened the door.

She was wearing a red dress that hugged her in all the right places, her hair loose, and a smile that made it hard to remember why being near her made me nervous.

—Lucas! —she gave me two kisses—. Come in, everyone’s already inside.

—Happy birthday —I managed to say.

Inside there were six or seven classmates scattered around the living room. I said hello, got a beer in my hand, and let myself be carried along by the current of conversation. It was easier than I’d expected. Away from the classroom atmosphere, without the pressure of the teacher’s eyes or the silence that forms when someone speaks too loudly, I could also be a halfway normal person.

When the last guests arrived, Andrea took us out to the garden.

As I crossed the back door I saw a woman from behind, setting trays on a long table. She was wearing black leggings that perfectly outlined her legs and a white blouse with a neckline that didn’t go unnoticed. When she turned around, I had to make a conscious effort not to keep staring for more than a second.

She was tall, blonde, with sharp cheekbones and the kind of figure that comes from constant exercise and years lived without neglect. She had to be in her early forties, but she moved with a confidence that made any number irrelevant.

—Hello everyone, I’m Elena, Andrea’s mother —she said with a broad smile—. I’ll finish this in a moment and then I’ll leave you in peace so you can have a good time.

As she turned to look for something at the other end of the table, I allowed myself one second too many. Her back was straight, shoulders back, that way of moving that belongs to people who know exactly how much space they take up in a room. Her ass was outlined under the leggings, round and firm, two half-moons that parted and came back together with every step. My mouth went dry.

A real mature woman, I thought, and then I felt stupid for thinking it while I was at her daughter’s birthday party.

***

Dinner was more than good. Pizza, cold beer, conversations jumping from one topic to another with ease. At some point I realized I’d spent more than an hour talking without planning a single sentence in advance, and for me that was almost a miracle.

At one point in the evening, Andrea sat down on the bench next to mine.

—I wasn’t expecting you like this —she said.

—Like what?

—Quieter. In class you’re so serious I thought you wouldn’t talk to anyone.

—In class I’m thinking about other things.

She smiled.

—Then you should think about this more often. —She raised her glass—. I’m really glad you came. Really.

I was about to answer something that wasn’t completely stupid when the beer reminded me I’d gone too long without looking for the bathroom. I stood up, crossed the garden, and went inside the house.

The inside was silent. The living room, the dining room, everything calm and half-lit. I looked for a door that seemed likely to be the bathroom and got the first one wrong.

I opened it without knocking.

I froze.

Elena was lying on the bed, completely naked, with her head hanging off the mattress and her neck thrown back at an angle that left her throat open like a cannon barrel. A man —her husband, I assumed— was standing in front of her, his pants lowered to his knees, and he was fucking her mouth in a slow, very deliberate rhythm. I could see his entire cock each time he pulled it out: thick, shining with saliva, sinking all the way in with a dull thrust that made Elena’s tits tremble every time it bumped against her face.

Her nipples had gone hard and dark. One hand was between her legs, two fingers moving over her shaved cunt in slow circles, while the other sank into her own hip with her nails dug in. A thread of saliva ran from the corner of her lips down to her hair and dripped onto the carpet. The husband was grunting softly and holding her head with one open hand over her neck, like someone holding something fragile he doesn’t intend to let go of.

Three or four seconds passed before she opened her eyes.

She looked straight at me.

Face down, with her husband’s cock going in and out of her mouth, with her throat open and her tits moving with every thrust, she held my gaze as if she were slowly checking the expression on my face. She didn’t move. She didn’t make any sign of surprise or shame. She just held my gaze for what must have been five seconds but felt like much longer. She didn’t even stop touching herself: her fingers kept moving over her cunt, slower now, almost more eagerly because she knew I was watching her.

Then, without taking her eyes off me, she slowly lifted one hand and slapped the man on the thigh.

He stopped. He pulled his cock out of her mouth with a wet sound and a strand of saliva hung for a second between the tip and her lower lip before snapping.

I closed the door.

I stood on the other side, my back against the wood, not really knowing whether to breathe or run. My cock had gone rock hard inside my jeans, so suddenly it almost hurt. From inside came Elena’s voice, calm and husky:

—Now I want you to put me on all fours. And don’t stop until I tell you to.

I heard the bed creak and the sound of skin slapping against skin starting again, this time faster, drier. A low moan from her, sustained, with no attempt to keep the volume down.

I left the house without saying goodbye to anyone. I gave a wave to a classmate who saw me cross the garden and didn’t wait for him to answer.

***

At home I tried to shower with cold water. It did absolutely nothing. My cock had been hard since the moment I closed that door and the freezing water barely distracted me for a few seconds.

I ended up in bed thinking about the scene with a clarity that didn’t help me sleep. Elena’s body under that dim light. Her tits moving with each thrust from her husband. The cock disappearing all the way down her throat. The fingers sunk into her shaved cunt. And above all her gaze, held without a trace of discomfort, as if getting caught fucking your husband while your daughter’s friend looked on from the doorway was something that happened every day. The calm with which she’d ordered to be put on all fours after I closed the door.

I pulled down my pajama pants and grabbed my cock. It was so hard that the first stroke made me gasp. I imagined I was the one standing in front of the bed. That it was my cock going all the way down her throat. That I was the one putting her on all fours afterward, hands on her hips, those two firm cheeks parting against me. I imagined her shaved cunt waiting for me, glistening, and my cock sinking all the way in with a single thrust.

I jerked off for much longer than usual, stretching it out, holding off the climax until I couldn’t take it anymore. When I came, I did it with a moan smothered against the pillow, shooting semen over my stomach in spurts that reached my chest. And even then, after coming, I was still half hard and my head was still on her. It took me hours to fall asleep.

The next morning, Andrea texted me:

—Did something happen? You disappeared and I didn’t see you again all night.

I told her I’d gotten an upset stomach and had preferred to go home. She replied with a “Poor thing! I hope you get better” that I didn’t deserve at all.

I couldn’t tell her the truth.

***

On Monday I decided not to go to school. I didn’t feel up to sitting two meters from Andrea knowing what I knew about her mother. I went to the gym instead, thinking that a long sweaty workout would clear my head.

I’d been on the stationary bike for twenty minutes, headphones on and my eyes fixed on the wall across from me, when I heard them come in.

I recognized them before I saw them. There are voices you don’t forget.

—Valeria, there are free bikes over here —said Elena.

I stayed still. I took one earbud out slowly, without making a sound, and pretended to look at the bike’s control panel while they settled in right behind me.

Her friend spoke first.

—So? Tell me about Thursday, you left me hanging yesterday.

—It was incredible —answered the other voice, which wasn’t Elena’s—. He took me out to dinner and then to his apartment. We didn’t even make it to the couch. He shoved me against the hallway wall and tore my blouse off before I’d even closed the door. He slipped his hand under my skirt right there, pulled my panties aside, and kept fingering my cunt until my knees were shaking. When I knelt down to suck him, he had a cock that wouldn’t fit all the way in my mouth. I took him as best I could, and he held my hair and fucked my face without any rush.

—Stop, you’re getting me wet.

—Then to bed. He spread my legs and spent a long while with just his mouth. Completely focused. He licked my clit with a patience I’d never felt before, without that franticness men have when they want to glorify the finish. He’d slide two fingers in and circle with his tongue on top, pressing hard, nonstop. When I came I pulled his hair without meaning to and he kept going just the same, unfazed, his face soaked, swallowing everything that fell onto his tongue. He made me come two more times before he put his cock in me.

—Jesus. —It was Elena’s voice—. That’s exactly what you need.

—And then, when he fucked me, he didn’t stop all night. He fucked me from the front, from behind, put me on all fours against the headboard, had me on top. I finished with my legs trembling and he came inside me with a growl that shook me right through. You should try someone like that too. A young man with desire and without his ego above everything else.

—I’m married.

—And I have a boyfriend. That has nothing to do with what I’m telling you.

There was a long pause.

—My weekend wasn’t bad either, to be honest —said Elena—. It was Andrea’s birthday. She brought her classmates home, they were out in the garden all night.

—And what did you do?

—Roberto and I took advantage of a moment while they were outside. I took him to the bedroom, took my clothes off before closing the door, and lay down at the edge of the bed with my head hanging off. You know I love being fucked in the mouth like that, with my throat open. I was giving him a proper blowjob, with his whole cock inside, while I was fingering my cunt with two fingers. —Another pause—. But one of Andrea’s friends opened the bedroom door without knocking and caught us in the act.

—Seriously? And what happened?

—He saw me. With Roberto’s cock deep in my mouth, my tits out and one hand on my cunt. And I saw him. He just stood there for a few seconds looking at me and then closed the door and left. —A longer pause—. The funny thing is it turned me on like crazy. The boy is eighteen, and the expression on his face wasn’t one of horror. It was the exact opposite. You could tell from his eyes and his pants that he was enjoying what he was seeing.

—What did you do?

—Kept going, obviously. I told Roberto to put me on all fours and not stop. But with my head on him, on the boy. I imagined it was him fucking me from behind. That it was his cock sinking all the way in. That he was the one grabbing my hair and pounding me without mercy. I came like a whore, twice in a row, biting the pillow so the kids wouldn’t hear me from the garden. It was one of the best times I’ve had in months.

—And you say you’re the serious one of the two?

They both laughed.

I kept pedaling, or pretending to, for another fifteen minutes. My heart was racing like mad, my cock hard under my shorts, and the conversation playing on a loop. When I decided I’d had enough, I got off the bike, took the towel from the hook, and headed for the exit.

—One moment.

I turned.

Elena was standing two meters from me. She was wearing a very thin tank top, no bra, and her nipples were visible through the fabric. Her colorful leggings clung to her legs and pubis with a precision that was almost cruel. Her hair was tied up in a messy bun and her expression was completely calm, as if we were talking about the weather in a supermarket line.

—You listened —she said. It wasn’t a question.

—I heard some of it, yes.

—How much?

—Enough.

She nodded slowly, as if that confirmed something she already knew. Her eyes dipped for a second to the bulge showing in my shorts and came back up to mine without the slightest shame.

—And on Saturday? How long were you looking before you closed the door?

I felt the heat rising up my neck.

—More than I should have.

—And what did you see?

I swallowed.

—Everything.

—Say it.

—I saw Roberto fucking your mouth. I saw you touching your cunt while he shoved it all the way in. I saw you look at me without taking your eyes off me.

She smiled. It wasn’t an apologetic smile or an uncomfortable one. It was exactly the same expression she had held in that room, direct and with no visible effort.

—And what did you do when you got home?

—What you’re imagining.

—I want to hear it.

—I jerked off thinking about you. For a long time. I came thinking about you.

She drew in a deep breath, very slowly, and for the first time since the conversation had started, something different showed in her eyes. A glint. Her nipples pressed a little harder against the fabric.

—That’s what I thought —she said—. I’m not going to make things more complicated than necessary. But if you ever want to talk, or whatever, you know where I live. You have the address.

She turned and went back to her friend without looking behind her. I allowed myself one last second to watch her ass move inside those leggings as she walked.

I left the gym with legs that weren’t quite mine, my cock hard and pressing against my pants, and the image of Elena burned into my mind with a clarity that wouldn’t let me sleep peacefully.

To be continued.