My Lover’s Son Caught Me in the Shower

Hello again, my darlings. Today I’m bringing you a story that happened to me some time ago, and I know you’re going to like it, because the protagonist was a young man who had the face of such a good boy and turned out to be anything but.

To give you some context: I’ve been using dating apps for years. I have a husband and two children, but that doesn’t stop me. On those apps I meet men of all ages. I tell many of them that I’m married, and that turns them on even more. Others get scared and disappear. And I use most of them for sex and, when the opportunity arises, to get some extra benefit.

I met the protagonist’s father there. I’ll call him Andrés. Divorced, in his early fifties, with an only son who lived with his mother in another city. To him, I was his girlfriend. To me, he was just another lover, one of several I rotated between. Every time we saw each other, he talked to me about his son and how eager he was to see him during the holidays. Summer arrived, and the boy traveled to stay with him for a couple of weeks.

That morning I had arranged to stop by and say hello before going out to do some shopping. My day was packed. My plan was to stay ten minutes, take a quick shower—I always shower before going out; it’s a compulsion—and head downtown. When I rang the bell, Andrés opened the door with the face of a child on Christmas morning.

—Come on, I’ll introduce you—he said, taking my hand.

We walked to the dining room. Sitting at the table, with an open book in front of him, was a boy of about nineteen. Thin, with messy hair and dark eyes. He looked up, and his surprise was obvious: Andrés clearly hadn’t warned him that a woman in high heels and a tied-up shirt would be showing up at the house that morning. I smiled at him.

—Hi, Tomás. I’ve heard a lot about you—I said, because from the very first second I decided to treat him as my property.

He stood up awkwardly, kissed me on the cheek, and sat down again. I moved into the kitchen under the pretext of making myself a coffee. I filled three cups on a tray and came back. As I set the tray on the table, I leaned over as far as I could. The shirt I was wearing that morning—tied at the waist like a top—opened enough to give Tomás a front-row seat. I saw his face: he froze, mouth half-open, a tent forming beneath his sweatpants. Andrés didn’t notice a thing; he was still talking about an exam.

—Do you want some too?—I asked Tomás, lifting the coffee pot.

—Uh… yes, yes—he replied.

—Since when do you drink coffee?—Andrés asked, looking surprised.

—Since the subjects got hard— the boy replied, glancing at me.

I leaned over again to serve him. This time, with less attempt at pretending. Tomás wasn’t looking at the coffee; he was staring fixedly at my tits, following the nipple outlined against the fabric. When I straightened up, I gave him a faint smile. It was clear that my plan to spend ten minutes in that house was beginning to get complicated.

While Andrés continued his monologue about the boy’s university studies, I positioned myself behind him and gave him a superficial massage on the shoulders. Taking advantage of the fact that his father couldn’t see him, I tugged the edge of my shirt down a little. One of my tits slipped out completely, nipple exposed and hard as a little stone. Tomás was taking a sip of coffee at that moment. He spat it out.

—Tomi, what are you doing?—Andrés complained, looking at his stained tie. —Now I have to change it.

—Sorry, Dad, I choked— the boy stammered.

Andrés got up grumbling and went upstairs. With the expression of an innocent, surprised woman, I pretended to notice only then that my tit was out and slowly tucked it away, biting my lip and pinching my nipple for a second longer than necessary so he would see. Tomás had stopped breathing.

—We should clean up this mess—I said, approaching the table to collect the cups.

I leaned over again, exaggerating my cleavage. He looked at me as if he were about to faint.

—Someone seems pretty distracted—I said as I passed.

Without giving him time to answer, I picked up the cups and went upstairs to Andrés’s room. I always kept a couple of my clothes there. Andrés was already putting on his new tie, so I took off my shirt, slipped into a thin silk robe, and began tying it. Just then, the door flew open. Tomás. Without knocking. He went rigid when he saw me with the robe open, my tits exposed, and his father’s hand still on my waist.

—Tomi! Don’t you know how to knock? Mariana is getting dressed—his father scolded him.

—Sorry, I thought you’d already left—he said, without taking his eyes off me.

—I’m leaving now. What do you need?

—Money.

—There’s some in the drawer. Don’t overdo it.

The three of us went downstairs together. Andrés said goodbye to me with a long kiss at the door and rushed off to the office, late as always. Tomás remained standing in the hallway, still holding his father’s wallet. I went straight to the bathroom, closed the door, and turned on the faucet. I needed to wet the back of my neck so I could get my head straight.

I stood in front of the mirror and let my robe fall open. A message arrived on my phone. It was from Andrés—or at least that was what the contact said:

“Seeing you like that left me so horny. Send me pictures so I can make it through the morning.”

The tone caught my attention—Andrés always wrote with periods and semicolons, like an office clerk—but I didn’t dwell on it. I took off my robe and snapped about eight pictures. From top to bottom, full-body shots, one where I squeezed my tits with one arm until they spilled over, another sitting on the edge of the toilet with my legs open and my shaved pussy fully on display, and another where I spread my pussy lips with two fingers, my swollen clit visible. I sent them. A few seconds later, the phone vibrated again.

“More, mommy, you’re so delicious. Show me that pussy up close, mommy. I want to see everything.”

Mommy. Andrés had never called me that. But I was so turned on by the idea of a fifty-year-old man drooling over me from his office that I sent five more. This time, close-ups of my pussy, my lips shining with wetness, and one where I shoved my middle finger in up to the knuckle, showing how it went in and out dripping wet. I received a picture in return: a hard cock, from the glans to halfway down the shaft, against what looked like a rumpled sheet. Thick, with a prominent vein running underneath it and a wet, shining glans at the tip. I answered with the first thing that came to mind.

“It looks so delicious. Too bad you’re not here to put it all inside me.”

I left the phone on the sink and stepped into the shower. As soon as the water covered my back, I heard the bathroom door creak. I thought I hadn’t closed it properly. Then I heard footsteps. Slow ones. I peeked out from behind the curtain and stopped breathing. Tomás was pressed against the partition blocking the entrance. In his underwear—or almost; he had it pulled down to his thighs—with his cock out, hard and pointing at the ceiling, slowly stroking it with one hand while holding his father’s phone in the other, my pictures on the screen.

—What are you doing?—I asked, more astonished than angry.

He panicked. He ducked behind the partition. But two seconds later, he stuck his head out, wearing a mixture of panic and boldness.

—You wrote, “Too bad you’re not here”—he said. —That was me.

I stood there for a second without reacting. His cock was still hard between his fingers, a thread of pre-cum running from the glans. The shameless little bastard had grabbed his father’s phone while he was changing, sent the messages, downloaded all my pictures, and now he was jerking off while watching me in the shower, without a trace of modesty. And the thrill won me over. It won me over completely. I felt my pussy tighten on its own, throbbing beneath the spray.

—Come here—I said softly.

—Seriously?

He set the phone beside the sink and walked to the curtain. He tried to pull it aside. I held it closed.

—Wait. This is too good to be true.

—Tell me about it—he replied with a crooked smile.

I reached my hand through the curtain and lifted his T-shirt. He understood and took it off himself. Then I yanked his underwear down to his ankles. I wrapped my whole hand around his cock and weighed it for a second—hot, hard as a stone, foreskin already retracted and the glans purple—and began stroking him slowly, still protected by the wet fabric. With my thumb, I spread the fluid from the tip all over the slippery glans and made tight circles around his frenulum. He let out a hoarse moan and bent his knees.

—Do you like the way Mommy holds your cock?—I asked.

—You’re… you’re incredible.

I let go of the curtain and stepped out of the shower, dripping wet, my hair clinging to my shoulders and water running down my tits to my navel. I knelt on the rug. I shoved him with both hands until his back hit the tiles. His cock was right at the level of my mouth, pointing at my face, veins standing out, his balls tight and hanging against the skin of his thigh.

—This is all you’re going to get—I told him, gripping his thighs with both hands.

And I took him all the way into my mouth. In one thrust, without warning, until my nose hit his pubic bone and I felt the glans pressing against my throat. It was an average cock, neither big nor small, straight, uncircumcised, with a pink glans. I could take all of it without effort. I started slowly, pulling him out to the tip, giving the glans a wet kiss, and then swallowing him whole again, letting a strand of saliva hang from my chin down to my tits. Then I increased the pace. I sucked him with my cheeks hollowed, making noise on purpose, circling my tongue around the glans whenever I reached the top and running it over the frenulum with the tip. Tomás had both hands against the wall, his knuckles white.

—My God—he murmured. —My God.

I popped him out of my mouth and ran my tongue all along his underside, from his balls to his frenulum, slowly, looking him in the eyes. Then I spat a thick gob onto the tip and used my own saliva to jerk him off quickly with my hand, twisting my wrist on every upstroke, while sucking only his glans with my mouth, squeezing my lips like a ring around the crown.

—Suck it, Mommy, suck it like that—he panted.

He grabbed my head with both hands and began setting the rhythm himself. I relaxed my jaw and let him do whatever he wanted. At one point he pushed me all the way down and pressed my face against his pelvis. I gagged, my eyes filled with tears, snot escaped, and a line of saliva dripped down to my tits. The bastard kept going for two more seconds, feeling my throat squeeze his glans, before letting me go. I coughed and spat. I lowered myself to suck his balls, one first and then the other, taking them fully into my mouth and playing with them with my tongue while jerking him with my free hand, squeezing the base firmly and looking up at him with my eyes swollen and mascara running down my cheeks.

—You suck like nobody else—he said, almost voiceless. —You’re an incredible slut.

—I’m your slut—I answered before taking him back into my mouth to the back of my throat.

I returned to his cock. I dropped another thick spit onto the tip and spread it around with my hand before swallowing him again. Now I licked along the sides, ran my tongue over the vein beneath it, wrapped my lips around him, and let him slide out with a wet pop. He grew bolder: he grabbed my hair with both hands, wound it around his fists, and began moving, fucking my mouth for real, driving into my throat as if it were a pussy. I let him. My eyes watered, my mouth filled with saliva and drool that spilled onto my wet tits, and every so often I felt the glans strike the back of my throat hard enough to make me gag. When he tried to lower his hand to touch my pussy, I stopped him.

—Stay still. You stay right there.

I stood up and pushed him to the floor. He landed sitting on the rug, his cock standing straight up toward the ceiling, shining with saliva and my drool. I stepped over him, turned my back, and squatted until the tip brushed my pussy lips. I was so wet that I didn’t need to guide him with my hand: he slid inside me in one long movement. I felt him opening me, filling me inch by inch until he reached the end. I placed my hands on his chest. I rose and lowered myself once, slowly, to feel him deep inside. The second time, I slammed down hard, squeezing him with my pussy walls to wrench a moan from him. I got one. Then he lost patience: he grabbed my waist with both hands and began thrusting up from below, fast and without restraint, as if he had never touched anyone in his life. Maybe he hadn’t.

—That’s it, that’s it, come on, fuck me—I moaned. —Good boy. You treat Mommy well.

—Mommy—he repeated, his voice breaking. —What a pussy you have, what a pussy, Mommy, I can’t…

I didn’t know whether he meant it as a game or something else. I didn’t care. Both possibilities made my legs tremble. When he tired and slowed down, I took control. I braced myself on his thighs and began bouncing hard on him, letting every descent sound like a dry clap against his pelvis. My ass slapped against his legs with a wet smack each time I came down, and he grunted whenever he reached the bottom. My nipples were level with his face, and he stretched his neck to suck them as I passed, taking them whole into his mouth and tugging them with his teeth until he made me moan with pain and pleasure at the same time. I grabbed his head with both hands and crushed it against my tits, rubbing them all over his face.

—Suck them, suck them properly, choke yourself there—I ordered.

When my legs began to tire, I turned around without pulling him out. I rotated slowly on his cock, feeling it inside me, turning and pressing against every wall of my pussy. I ended up straddling him face-to-face. I placed my hands beside his head and offered him my mouth to kiss. I didn’t really kiss him: I stuck out my tongue and let him suck it as if it were another cock. He sucked it, filling my mouth with his saliva. I returned the favor: I spat into his open mouth, and he swallowed without hesitation, his eyes locked on mine.

—You’re a filthy boy—I whispered, moving my hips in slow circles.

—And you’re crazy—he replied, laughing for the first time all morning.

I pressed myself against him so my clitoris rubbed against his pubic bone and began moving my ass back and forth, splashing. I was so wet that I dripped down my thighs and stained his balls and the rug. A scorching wave rose from my belly. I hadn’t come yet, but I was close.

I got off him, and his cock came out with a suction sound that made us both laugh. I pulled him by the hand to the sink. I sat on top, spread my legs, and hooked my heels around his waist, crossing them against his ass to keep him pressed tightly against me.

—Now put it in properly—I ordered.

He did. He thrust inside in one motion and stayed still for a second, breathing against my neck and lightly biting my shoulder. I felt the glans bumping deep inside me, so deep it hurt slightly. Then he started. Slowly at first, pulling almost all the way out and thrusting back in to the bottom every time, with that wet-pussy smack that drove me crazy. He tapped my clitoris slowly with his thumb while fucking me, drawing tight circles over the swollen hood. I gripped the edge of the sink with both hands and bit my lip to keep from screaming. Andrés could come back at any moment if he remembered something, and the thought made me even more aroused.

—Harder—I begged. —Break me, come on.

Tomás changed his rhythm. He grabbed the back of my neck with one hand, pushed me against the mirror, and began moving in earnest. Every thrust made my shoulder blades strike the glass. The mirror fogged against my back every time I breathed. He dug his fingers into my buttocks to lift me higher and fuck me deeper. I dug my nails into his shoulders until I left red half-moon marks. I felt his cock strike a precise spot inside me, one no man had found in years, and my back arched on its own. I came there, against the fogged mirror, screaming uncontrollably, squeezing his cock with my pussy muscles as wave after wave washed over me. The first tremor rose from my feet and exploded in my belly. The second made me close my eyes and drive my heels into his ass so he wouldn’t stop. I didn’t recognize myself. There was no way that was me, a forty-two-year-old woman drenched in sweat, split in two by her lover’s young son, dripping over the sink in his father’s house.

—Turn around—he told me, with an authority I hadn’t heard from him all morning.

I obeyed. I climbed down from the sink, my legs trembling, and leaned against the bathtub with my back to him, hands against the wall, ass arched far behind me. He pressed himself against me from behind. He grabbed my buttocks, spread them with his thumbs, and stared for a second, breathing through his mouth. Then he ran the glans along my cleft, up and down, soaking it in my pussy juice, passing it over my asshole and lowering it again until he drove himself back inside. This time he did it slowly, watching, as if he wanted to burn the scene into his memory forever. I looked down between my legs and saw his balls striking me every time he drove all the way in.

—Faster—I begged again.

He slapped one cheek, hard and dry, the sound echoing against the tiles. Then he slapped the other, even harder. My skin burned. I loved it. He grabbed my hair and arched my head back until I saw his face reflected in the gleaming tiles. He fucked me quickly and deeply, breathing raggedly. Every thrust shook my tits against the bathtub’s cold porcelain and tore a guttural moan from me. I moaned against the tiles, pressing my wet palms against them, letting the boy do whatever he wanted to me.

—Tell me you like it—he demanded, giving me another slap that left the mark of his hand on my buttock.

—I love it—I told him. —I love the way you fuck me. Don’t stop, come on, fuck me like I’m yours. Ruin this pussy.

—Tell me I’m better than my dad.

A laugh escaped me. And at the same time, without thinking, I answered:

—You’re better than your dad. You put it in me much better than he does. He’s never fucked me the way you’re fucking me.

He went wild. He grabbed both my hips and began pounding me brutally, so hard I could hear his balls bouncing against my clitoris and wet pubic mound. My feet slipped on the flooded floor. I felt his entire body tense, felt his cock swell inside me, and knew he was about to come. A few seconds later, he did. He pulled his cock out quickly with a sucking sound, pushed me by the shoulder so I would kneel, and stood in front of me, stroking himself with both hands, aiming at my face. He came in my mouth, on my chin, my neck, and the top of my tits. Three long, hot, thick streams fell in a cascade one after another. The first struck me across the nose and upper lip. The second stained my cheekbones and forehead. The third ran down my chin to my tits, leaving a sticky thread hanging from my nipple. I opened my mouth to receive it, looking into his eyes and sticking out my tongue so he could watch it fall. When he finished, a thread still hung from the tip. I grabbed his cock and wiped it all over my face, rubbing the soft glans against my cheeks and lips, then sucked my fingers one by one without taking my eyes off him.

Just then, his father’s phone, resting beside the sink, rang. Tomás startled. I gestured for him not to move. I slowly swallowed what remained in my mouth so he could watch it pass down my throat.

—Leave it—I said, arranging my wet hair. —Let it ring.

It rang twice more. By the third time, the boy’s cock had gone soft, still shining with semen and drool, and fear was obvious on his face. I ran my hand over his cheek, deliberately leaving a smear of semen there so he would have to clean it off while looking at himself in the mirror.

—Go. Answer it. I’ll finish showering.

He carefully picked up the phone, left the bathroom, and closed the door without making a sound. I stepped back into the shower. The water was cold. I remained under the spray for a long while, letting it carry the dried orgasm from my face and neck down the drain, laughing to myself as I imagined the look Andrés would have when he called me that night, as he did every night.

Well, my darlings, that’s where the story ends. I know you’re going to ask whether I went back to Andrés’s house. Of course I did. But that’s another story, and I’ll tell you about it next time. Kisses.