My Lover’s Son Caught Me in the Shower

Dating apps have given me many things: fun, stories to tell, and a few men who end up considering me more than I offer them. Rodrigo was one of those cases. I met him almost a year ago on one of those apps—divorced, calm, with a son who lived with his ex in another city. To him, I was his girlfriend. To me, he was one of my favorite lovers: no drama, generous, and with a spacious apartment where I even kept some clothes.

That summer, his son Matías came to stay for the entire vacation. Rodrigo had mentioned him several times, with that mixture of pride and nostalgia separated parents have: that the boy had just finished his first year at university, that he was reserved, that he missed having him close. I listened with just the right amount of attention and thought no more about it until the day I went to visit them.

I arrived without warning, as I often did. Rodrigo opened the door with a smile and led me toward the dining room. Matías was there, sitting in front of his computer with his headphones hanging around his neck. He was tall, broad-shouldered, with slightly messy dark hair and the calm gaze of someone who still doesn’t fully know what he has.

“Mati, this is Valeria,” Rodrigo said.

I shook his hand and called him “sweetheart” from the very first moment, as I do with almost all the young men I meet. It isn’t calculated flirtation—or maybe it is, but it comes naturally to me. Matías answered with a very proper “nice to meet you,” then looked exactly where I wanted him to look.

That morning I had chosen a blouse tied at the center that I wore as a top. The cleavage was generous. Not scandalous, but generous. Matías noticed it immediately and then pretended he hadn’t, which is always the more interesting reaction.

I went to the kitchen to get coffee. When I came back with the coffee pot in my hand and asked whether anyone wanted some, Rodrigo said yes without looking up from his phone. I leaned over slowly to serve him, and from that position I could see perfectly how Matías stopped typing halfway through a sentence. He had his cup raised and his eyes fixed on my cleavage. Young and predictable, in the best possible sense.

“I want some too,” he said just as I was about to sit down. “Could you serve me?”

I went for another cup. When I came back, I leaned over beside him with the same unhurriedness as before, perhaps for one second longer than necessary. I could feel his gaze like heat against my skin. When I straightened up, he took a long, slow sip without taking his eyes off where they shouldn’t have been. His father was still looking at his phone, oblivious to everything.

After a while, Rodrigo got up to look for something in his bedroom. We were alone for less than a minute. I stood behind where he had been sitting and, while looking away as though distracted, tugged one side of my blouse with a finger. The knot loosened just enough. One breast was exposed, the nipple hard and visible without my making any dramatic gesture.

Matías almost spilled his coffee. It splashed onto his shirt, and he let out a kind of cough that wasn’t a cough. When Rodrigo came back asking what had happened, Matías made something up about choking. Rodrigo got annoyed about the stained shirt and went to change it. I adjusted my clothes with a look of absolute innocence.

The boy who, ten minutes earlier, had seemed like a serious student was now looking at me with a mixture of surprise and something he couldn’t quite conceal. I liked that look. I liked it a lot. Under the table, I caught sight of the bulge showing in his pants, a bulge he was trying to cover with the hem of his T-shirt without quite managing it.

***

Rodrigo hurried out shortly afterward. He had stayed longer than expected and was already late for work. He said goodbye to both of us at the door and disappeared almost at a run. Matías stayed in the living room. I went upstairs to the bathroom.

I took off my blouse, looked at myself in the mirror for a moment, and then a message from Rodrigo came through. It said something he never said: that seeing me that morning had put him in the mood and that I should send him pictures for the rest of the day. The tone seemed strange to me, more direct than usual, but I didn’t pay much attention to it.

I took off the rest of my clothes, found the angle that flattered me most, and sent him about eight pictures: some with my arms crossed over my breasts, others from above with the camera held high. A minute later, another message arrived: “More. You’re so fucking hot.” I sent five more pictures, just of my torso, because I had neither the time nor the desire to put together an entire production. Seconds later, a picture came back. It was the tip of a cock, taken in low light and from a strange distance, something that didn’t fit Rodrigo at all.

“It looks so delicious. I wish you were here so I could put it in my mouth,” I wrote without thinking too much.

I left the phone on the sink and stepped into the shower.

I had been under the water for perhaps a minute when I heard the bathroom door opening. The squeak was almost imperceptible, but I always hear that kind of thing. I told myself I hadn’t closed it properly. Then came one step. Then another, closer.

I pulled aside the shower curtain.

Matías was leaning against the back wall, his pants down around his ankles, holding his cock in one hand and his father’s phone in the other. It was hard, pointing upward, thick, with the foreskin already pulled back, leaving the shiny red glans exposed. He looked at me without moving, without saying anything, without letting go of either item.

We stared at each other in silence for a few seconds that seemed longer.

“Ahhh,” he said at last, with the calm of someone who knows he has nothing left to lose. “The one who sent that message saying ‘I wish you were here’… that was me.”

I didn’t answer immediately. The water kept falling. He held my gaze without moving, then slowly began masturbating again while looking straight at me. He stroked himself up and down calmly, squeezing his glans at the end of each stroke, and a clear drop dangled from the tip and ran down the shaft. He set the phone on the edge of the sink and took one step forward.

“Then maybe…”

“What?” I asked, though I already knew exactly what.

He reached his fingers toward the shower curtain.

“Let me in. Let me fuck you.”

I took a second. Not because I was hesitating, but because that second was part of what I wanted to enjoy. I looked him in the eyes and said:

“Come here. And bring that cock.”

***

He came out from behind the curtain unhurriedly. I took him by the cock before he could say anything and began jerking him off slowly, with the curtain still between us, covering half my body. It was hot in my hand, throbbing against my fingers, and every time I squeezed his glans, he let out a breath through his mouth. I ran my thumb over the tip, pushing the pre-cum up and down the shaft and using it as lubricant. His eyes rolled back almost immediately, the kind of over-the-top reaction young men have when something overwhelms them. He was tall, uncircumcised, and got hard without any effort at all.

Then I let go of the curtain.

“Do you like what you see? Do you like your dad’s girlfriend’s wet tits?”

“Yes,” he said, his voice slightly muffled.

“Say it properly. Say what you like.”

“I like your tits. I like your pussy. I like everything.”

I stepped out of the shower without letting go of his cock. He asked if he could touch me, with that strange mixture of politeness and urgency I found charming. I told him yes, that he could touch anything he wanted. He put both hands on my tits and grabbed them fully, fingers spread, squeezing them as if he needed to prove they were real. He bent down and sucked one entire nipple, tugging with his lips and running his tongue over it. Then the other. Then both at once, his face buried between them as though he had been waiting years to do exactly that. I ran a hand over the back of his neck and pushed him harder against me. He bit me, softly at first, then harder, and when he lifted his face, both my nipples were stiff and red, gleaming with his saliva.

He slid one hand between my legs without asking this time. He opened my pussy with two fingers and began rubbing my clitoris in clumsy, hurried circles. I took his wrist and set the rhythm for him, slower, steadier.

“Like that. Not so fast. Feel it.”

He put in one finger. Then two. I was soaked, and it wasn’t from the shower water. His fingers sank all the way in with a wet sound, and he muttered “fuck,” watching as he pulled them out and pushed them in again. He brought his fingers to his mouth and sucked them without taking his eyes off me.

I pushed him against the wall, knelt in front of him, and said:

“This is all you’re going to get. And you’re going to get it properly.”

I put his cock in my mouth.

It went all the way in without any trouble. I sucked him quickly, rhythmically, tightening my lips around the shaft and using my tongue to wrap around the glans each time I came back up. I ran my free hand over his balls, took hold of them, and massaged them slowly while I kept sucking him. After a few seconds, he put his hands on my head and began setting the pace himself. First gently, then more firmly, until he pushed me forward and his cock touched the back of my throat. I gagged, my eyes filled with tears, and a long strand of saliva hung from my lip before falling to the floor. He let me go. I spat more saliva onto the bathroom floor, grabbed his cock with my hand, and put it back inside.

“Put it all the way in,” I said hoarsely. “Don’t be afraid.”

We stayed like that for a while. He wanted control, and for the first time someone had given him that kind of permission, he handled it well: pulling my hair, holding my head, setting the pace. He pushed all the way in, held his cock buried in my throat for two seconds, and let me go just before I had to push him away. I used those seconds of respite to breathe through my nose and open my mouth again. I drooled all over his cock, right down to his balls, and his entire pubic area was wet with my saliva.

At one point he lifted me by the shoulders, stood up, and placed his cock between my tits. He squeezed them together with both hands, forming a channel, and began thrusting slowly while looking down at me with narrowed eyes. Every time the tip emerged above them, I lowered my face and licked it, and he shuddered as though he were about to come right there.

When he let me go, I grabbed him by the hair and pushed him to the floor.

“Now it’s your turn. And you’re not stopping until I come in your mouth.”

I squatted over his face with my back to him and lowered myself until I was sitting completely on him. He understood immediately. He stuck out his tongue and licked my pussy from bottom to top, slowly, sucking my lips and pushing his tongue inside. While he licked me, I leaned forward and put his cock in my mouth again. That was how we ended up, both of us on the bathroom floor, amid the steam from the shower that was still running and the sound of water hitting the tiles.

He licked me steadily, opening my pussy with his hands, searching for my clitoris with the tip of his tongue and staying there, making tight, slow circles. Then he pushed his tongue deep inside, pulled out, moved upward, and returned to my clitoris. He learned quickly. I sucked his cock faster than he licked me, but we both took the time we needed. I ran his balls over my tongue, put them in my mouth one at a time, and moved back up to the tip.

At one point he lifted his hips and began fucking my mouth from below, thrusting rhythmically while I stayed still with my mouth open. I let him do it until he went in too far and I had to pull my face away to breathe. I stayed like that for a second, recovered, and let saliva drip onto his cock, watching it run down the shaft to his balls. At the same time, I felt him squeeze my clitoris between his lips and suck hard, and I had to bite my lip to keep from coming right then. I squeezed his thighs with my knees and dug in my nails so he would ease up.

“Not yet. I don’t want to come in your mouth. I want to come with your cock inside me.”

***

I stood up, grabbed him by the arm, and made him get to his feet. I pushed him against the sink cabinet and climbed onto him in a squat, with my back to him. I took his cock in my hand, pressed it against the entrance to my pussy, and lowered myself little by little, feeling it open me, feeling the glans push inside, feeling the rest follow until it filled me completely. I let out a long moan and stayed still for a few seconds, all of his cock inside me, getting used to it.

Then I began bouncing. I rose almost to the tip and dropped hard, using my whole body weight, feeling his cock reach deep inside me each time. He didn’t stay in that role for long. Immediately he grabbed my hips, lifted me slightly, and began thrusting up into me, with the energy men his age have and that sometimes seems almost unfair to me. He drove into me quickly and hard, and every time our bodies collided, the sound echoed off the bathroom walls like a wet applause. In the vanity mirror I could see my tits bouncing with every thrust, his cock sliding completely in and out of me, drenched and shining beneath the bathroom light.

“Like that, fuck me like that,” I said, panting. “Break my pussy, come on.”

He growled and thrust harder. He brought one hand to my clitoris and began rubbing me at the same time, coordinating his fingers with the thrusts of his cock. I came the first time right there, without entirely expecting it, my arms braced on his knees and my eyes closed. I felt my whole pussy tighten around him in waves, and he let out a “you’re milking me,” which made me clench even harder. I had to lift myself so he could slide out and wait a moment, breathing, with his cock still pointing up at me from below, wet and throbbing.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

“Perfect,” I told him, and turned around.

I got on all fours on the floor, my face pressed against the cold tiles. I raised my ass high, arching my back, and opened my pussy with one hand so he could see it wide open and red. He approached and entered slowly this time, almost carefully, until I told him he didn’t need to be so careful, that he should put it all the way in.

He began fucking me quickly and hard, his hands on my hips, keeping a steady rhythm. His balls slapped against my clitoris with every thrust, and I felt another orgasm building. When he began to slow down, I pushed my ass back against him, seeking more. He grabbed my hair with one hand and pulled my head backward until my back was completely arched.

“Stay still,” he said, his voice changed. “I said stay still.”

I stayed still.

He thrust harder again, and with his free hand he slapped one ass cheek. Then another. My skin was left burning, and the sting mixed with the pleasure of his cock going all the way inside me. I began moaning loudly, and he didn’t stop. He pushed his thumb into my ass while continuing to fuck my pussy, and I felt everything inside me clench. I came again, screaming against the tiles, and he held me by the hair and hips so I wouldn’t fall.

He continued like that until I changed positions on my own: I stood up, pushed him onto the vanity, and sat on top of him facing him, my legs spread on either side of his body.

I put his cock inside me again and began moving on my own, raising and lowering my body while looking him in the eyes the entire time. He put his hands on my tits and squeezed them while looking at my face. Every so often he pulled me toward him and kissed my neck, collarbone, and shoulder. He bit my neck without care, sucking hard, and I knew it would leave a mark. I didn’t care. Then he grabbed my hips and took control again, thrusting up into me with a strength that no longer surprised me.

That was how the rest went: him taking control, me taking it away, both of us yielding and reclaiming it. I changed positions again, leaned back against the mirror, and asked him to lift me. He grabbed me by the thighs, raised me off the floor, and pinned me against the fogged mirror. My back stuck to the cold glass, my legs closed around his waist, and he fucked me standing up, thrusting from below and pressing me against the mirror with every blow. I watched myself in the reflection of the bathroom door: my red face, my open mouth, my tits bouncing between our bodies, his cock sliding in and out of me completely wet.

“I’m going to come again,” I warned him, panting.

“Come,” he whispered in my ear. “Come all over me.”

I came. Hard. With my mouth against his shoulder so I wouldn’t scream too loudly, digging my nails into his back. He held on, gritting his teeth without stopping his movements.

Then he lowered me to the floor. My legs were trembling.

At one point I made him stand in front of me and knelt again. I sucked his cock, slowly this time, tasting myself on him, looking into his eyes as I lowered my head until I took his cock to the back of my throat. He held my head with both hands, and I did it several times in a row, pausing between each one to breathe. His cock became even harder, thicker, and the veins stood out along the shaft.

“I’m going to come,” he said hoarsely. “I’m going to come, I’m coming.”

I pulled his cock from my mouth and jerked him off with my hand, quickly, squeezing the shaft and twisting my wrist when I reached the glans. Three long spurts shot out in succession, covering me from my lips to my forehead. The first landed in my mouth, the second streaked across my cheek and over my eye, and the third stuck in my hair. I kept jerking him while the last drops fell, my tongue out, collecting what I could. I felt the thick, hot semen sliding down my face, running over my neck and onto my tits.

Then I ran the tip of his cock over my cheek to clean myself a little, mixing the semen into my skin, and put it back in my mouth for a few seconds, sucking slowly and squeezing out every last drop. He looked down at me with his eyes almost closed, breathing heavily, his legs trembling just like mine.

I was doing that when his father’s phone rang on the sink.

Matías pulled away without my saying anything, went to get the phone, and looked at it.

“It’s him,” he said.

“Answer it,” I told him, with semen still running down my chin.

I watched him pick up the phone and move aside. I climbed down from the vanity, turned on the shower tap, and stepped back under the water, letting it wash my face, my hair, my tits—everything of him that had remained on me.

***

I never found out exactly what his father said to him on that call. I didn’t ask, either. What I do know is that when Rodrigo arrived at the apartment that afternoon, he found his son watching television in the living room and me reading in the bedroom as if nothing had happened.

When Rodrigo asked whether the pictures had reached me properly, I told him yes, though I’d thought it strange that he had asked for them in that tone. He replied that he had no idea what I was talking about, that he hadn’t sent me any messages that morning, and that he had left his phone at home.

I looked at him and said nothing else.

Matías, from the living room, said nothing either.