The First Lesson I Gave My Son's Friend

Tuesday. The afternoon was already fading and I still had a thousand things to organize before my favorite hour of the week.

Just when I thought I had everything under control, my phone buzzed. It was a message from Tomás, my son: he was already on his way, and he’d invited two friends over to play video games.

I’d asked him a thousand times not to do that on Tuesdays. He knew perfectly well that Tuesday nights were mine. My mask ritual, my pedicure, my glass of wine. My only moment of peace all week.

I answered briefly, without scolding him. At eighteen, the last thing I wanted was to argue over something stupid.

“Mom, I’m here already!” he shouted from the entryway a little later.

I answered from the second floor without going down. I’d just gotten out of the shower and I wasn’t about to appear in front of his friends in a robe, with dripping hair and not a speck of makeup on my face.

“I left lasagna in the oven!” I shouted. “Three minutes in the microwave and it’s ready.”

“Thanks, ma,” he replied.

Everything went on as normal. I could hear the laughter, the shouts in front of the console, the usual chaos of boys gaming. I stayed in my room, in front of the vanity, applying a green clay mask my sister had brought me from Spain.

But something was buzzing inside me.

Better go down to the kitchen for a moment, I thought. That way I can make sure they haven’t left a mess.

I went down carefully. Tomás and two boys were playing in the living room, sprawled on the couches, completely absorbed in the screen. They didn’t even notice me. Or at least that’s what they made me believe.

“I’m going to be upstairs for a while,” I announced, peeking out from the kitchen. “If you need anything, let me know, sweetheart.”

“Yeah, ma,” Tomás answered without taking his eyes off the TV.

I went back up with a couple of freshly washed cucumbers and a ripe avocado for a second homemade mask. I also took a glass of Malbec and a plate of black olives. I flopped onto the bed in my green silk robe, turned on the TV more for company than anything else, and let myself sink into the silence.

Then, without warning, someone opened my bedroom door.

One of Tomás’s friends.

“Sorry, ma’am, sorry,” he stammered, red all the way to his ears. “I was looking for the bathroom and I think I got the wrong door.”

“It’s fine, it’s fine,” I said, half sitting up. “The bathroom is two doors down, on the right.”

But the boy didn’t move. He stayed there, standing in the doorway as if his feet weighed a ton.

“Hey,” I said, with a soft smile. “I haven’t seen you around here before.”

“I’m Iván’s older brother,” he explained. “Your son’s friend. Tomás invited both of us.”

“Ah, I see,” I replied. “And what’s your name?”

“Damián. Nice to meet you.”

“I’m Marisol,” I said, holding out my hand from the bed. “But you can call me that, without the ma’am. It makes me feel older than I already am.”

He smiled. And so did I. But his eyes didn’t go along with the smile. His eyes were taking in my body from top to bottom, slowly. They stopped without any attempt at subtlety on the opening of my robe, where the silk parted and hinted at the beginnings of my breasts, and then dropped down my crossed legs to the naked thigh peeking out.

It wasn’t my imagination. Damián was undressing me with his eyes with the least bit of shame. And there I was, with my robe barely closed, my legs crossed, my cleavage more visible than I would normally allow in front of someone my son’s age. I felt my nipples harden against the silk and I knew he could see them pressing through too.

At last he reacted. He apologized again, lowered his gaze, and closed the door slowly behind him.

I stayed still for a moment, the glass halfway between the table and my lips. Something in the air had changed. And it wasn’t just the scent of the mask. Between my legs I could already feel a warm, insistent wetness demanding attention.

***

An hour and a half passed, maybe a little more. I was still in my bubble: soft music, dim light, my skin tightening under the mask that was already starting to dry. I rinsed it off with cold water in front of the mirror, put on a little rose cream, and went back to bed.

Then there was a knock at the door.

Two soft knocks. Almost shy.

“Come in,” I said, without thinking too much about it.

It was Damián again.

“Hi,” he murmured from the threshold.

“Hi, Damián,” I answered, with that same smile from before. “Lost again?”

“No, no... this time I really knocked,” he said, half laughing. “Can I come in to use the bathroom for a minute? The other one’s occupied.”

“Of course. You know where it is.”

He came in. He walked to the inner bathroom, and from where I was I could see him through the mirror’s reflection. His hands were shaking. He splashed water on his face. He took two deep breaths before stepping out. I also saw him discreetly adjusting the bulge in his pants, trying to hide an erection that wouldn’t fit in his jeans.

“Is something wrong?” I asked when he crossed my room again.

He stopped. Looked at the floor. Then at the ceiling. Then at me.

“Yes,” he admitted, his voice tight.

“Tell me. Don’t be shy.”

He fell silent for a long moment. Swallowed a couple of times. And then he blurted out, almost without breathing:

“Tomás said you don’t have a partner... and I wanted to invite you for a drink.”

“Really?” I said, biting my lip so I wouldn’t laugh. “And where do you plan to take me?”

“Well... someplace quiet. To a hotel, if you want.”

I bit my lip harder. I wanted to see how far this boldness would go.

“Just like that, straight to a hotel?”

“I mean... that’s what you do when you like someone, right?” he said, with a mix of conviction and innocence that left me speechless for a second.

“And you want me to be your girlfriend, Damián?”

“Yes,” he answered, and this time he looked me straight in the eyes without looking away.

I drew a deep breath. Set the glass on the nightstand. Pat the bed beside me.

“Come here, sit down for a second.”

He sat on the edge. His legs were trembling as if he were cold. His hands were clasped tightly between his knees, covering the bulge that was clearly outlined beneath the fabric.

“How old are you?” I asked, even though his face had already told me.

“Twenty.”

“I’m thirty-nine, Damián. I’m almost twice your age.”

“I don’t care. I want a woman like you.”

“Why?”

He lowered his gaze. His lower lip was trembling. And when he finally spoke, it was almost a whisper:

“Because... because I’ve never been with anyone. And I want to learn with someone who knows what they’re doing.”

I went still. I hadn’t expected that honesty. And that confession — a twenty-year-old kid, a virgin, looking at me as if I were a miracle — made my cunt clench hard all at once. I felt it tightening inside, felt my pussy dampen again between my thighs.

I stroked his cheek with the back of my hand. It was hot. He had that faint stubble of boys who still haven’t resigned themselves to shaving every day.

“We don’t need to be boyfriend and girlfriend for that,” I said softly. “It can be between friends.”

His eyes went wide. They shone.

“Really?”

“Of course. If you really want to learn, I can teach you. Everything. From how to touch a woman to how to make her come. But we do it my way. Understood?”

“Yes,” he whispered, and swallowed so hard I saw his Adam’s apple move.

“Now?” he asked, almost choking.

“Not now, Damián. The boys are downstairs. But tonight, later, you can come back.”

“What time?”

“At ten.”

“Yes,” he replied, and a smile escaped him that he couldn’t hold back.

I gave him my number. Told him to text me from outside when he arrived. He left my room walking as if he were floating, tripping over his own feet.

As soon as he closed the door, I lay back on the bed, spread my robe open, and slid two fingers between my legs. I was soaked. Dripping. I touched my clit thinking about how he would look at me when he saw me naked, the face he’d make when I grabbed his cock for the first time. I came like that, biting my arm to keep from crying out, with the boys still gaming in the living room downstairs.

***

At exactly ten, my phone buzzed on the table.

“I’m outside already, Miss Marisol.”

I answered with a steady hand:

“Come in, nice and slow. Straight to my room. Don’t make any noise.”

I finished getting ready in front of the mirror. Nothing over the top. Just a touch of blush, dark red lips, my hair loose over my shoulders. I put on my black silk robe, the one I saved for occasions when I wanted to feel powerful. Underneath, nothing. No panties, no bra, no stockings. The silk brushed my nipples with every breath and kept them hard as stones.

I poured myself another glass of wine. Drank it slowly.

I heard footsteps in the hallway. Slow, careful. My bedroom door opened with only a faint creak.

Damián came in, closed the door behind him, and stayed pressed against the wall, as if he had no idea what to do next.

“Come here,” I said from the edge of the bed.

He approached. I took his hand and made him sit in front of me. He was shaking all over: hands, jaw, knees.

“Breathe,” I whispered. “Tonight you don’t have to do anything. I’ll take care of it.”

I laid my open palm on his chest. His heart was pounding like a drum. I slowly slid my hand down, following his sternum, his tense stomach, until I rested it over the bulge in his pants. He muffled a moan the moment I touched him. He was hard as iron, so tight his cock outlined itself completely against the fabric.

“Easy,” I repeated. “Let go.”

I unzipped his pants slowly, never breaking eye contact. I pulled his jeans down, underwear and all, and when his cock sprang free it nearly hit his stomach. It was stiff, thick, with a red tip and a bead of thick pre-cum already beading at the head. I wrapped my hand around it and he let out a long gasp, as if I’d hurt him.

“No one’s ever touched it like this?” I asked.

“Never,” he whispered. “Only me.”

“Now you’re going to learn the difference.”

I started to stroke him slowly, my hand tight, sliding from the base to the tip and back down. I worked him calmly, measuring the weight, feeling him swell even more between my fingers. I ran my thumb over the glans and spread the hot liquid already trickling out in little spurts.

“Marisol...” he gasped. “Wait... wait, I’m going to...”

“Not yet,” I cut him off, squeezing hard at the base to stop him. “You’re not coming yet. Learn to hold back.”

I finished stripping him. I pulled his shirt off over his head, lifting his arms like a child being changed. When he was naked in front of me, I saw what he’d been holding back all those hours: a hard, tense, impatient erection, his cock visibly throbbing in time with his heart.

I imagined the torment it must have been to sit through dinner with his brother and my son knowing what was waiting for him.

I gently pushed him until he was lying down. I knelt on the floor between his open legs and grabbed his cock again with my hand. He lifted his head to look at me, not understanding what I was about to do.

“Look at me carefully,” I said. “You need to learn this too.”

I ran my tongue from the base to the tip, slowly, tasting his hot skin and the salt of his pre-cum. He jerked so abruptly that he nearly hit my face with his hip.

“Marisol!”

“Shh. Hold on.”

I took him all the way into my mouth. So far down I could feel the tip bumping my throat. I started sucking him hard, blowing him with gusto, moving up and down with my lips sealed around him. I ran my tongue over his frenulum, licked his balls one by one, brought his cock back into my mouth and worked it with hunger. His fists were clenched in the sheets, his jaw tight, moaning softly as if afraid someone might hear him.

“Marisol, please,” he begged. “I’m going to come... I swear I’m going to come...”

I pulled his cock from my mouth with a wet sound. The tip was soaked in saliva, shiny, throbbing.

“Not yet,” I said, wiping the corner of my mouth with my thumb. “You still haven’t tasted the best part.”

I stood at the foot of the bed and untied the belt of my robe. I let it fall to the floor, slowly, with no hurry.

His eyes widened as if he were seeing something impossible. He took in every inch of my naked body: my heavy breasts with the hard nipples, my soft stomach, the neatly trimmed hair between my legs, my parted thighs.

“Marisol...” he whispered.

“No talking,” I ordered. “Just look.”

I climbed onto the bed. I straddled him, feeling his accelerated breathing against my skin. Before lowering myself, I grabbed his cock and rubbed it along the lips of my cunt, dragging it over my clit. I was so soaked the tip slid with a wet sound that filled the room.

He moaned and his whole body trembled, looking at me like I was a vision.

“See how I am, Damián?” I whispered. “That’s how wet you’ve got me.”

“Yes... I see it...”

“Touch. With your fingers.”

I took his hand and placed it between my legs. I made him run two fingers over my open lips, slide them in, feel the warm moisture inside. I taught him to rub my clit with the pad of his thumb while I moved his fingers inside me. He learned fast. I corrected him only slightly: softer, rounder, like this.

“Now,” I said, pulling his hand away.

I leaned down and kissed his neck, his collarbone, his chest. He didn’t dare move. He barely breathed.

I guided him. With one hand I helped him enter me, slowly, centimeter by centimeter. When he was finally all the way inside, I let out an involuntary sigh and he gave a muffled moan that seemed to come from his soul.

His face was worth the wait. Eyes squeezed shut, mouth half open, lips trembling as if he were praying in silence.

“Can you feel how tight I am?” I whispered in his ear, without moving yet. “Can you feel how hot it is in there?”

“Yes... oh God, yes...”

“That’s right,” I whispered. “Do nothing. Stay still and feel it.”

I began to move. Up and down, setting the rhythm myself. Slow at first, just so he could get used to it. I could feel his body adjusting to mine, how he stopped trembling and started to respond. I drove him in all the way every time I came down, feeling the tip reach deep inside me.

“Miss Marisol...” he gasped.

“No miss,” I whispered. “Just Marisol.”

“Marisol...” he repeated, and something in his voice broke.

I sped up. A little. Then a little more. I braced my palms on his chest and started riding him for real, rising almost to the tip and then burying his cock all the way inside me in one stroke. Each downward thrust drew a moan from me that I no longer bothered to hold back. The boys downstairs, with the console music, weren’t going to hear a thing.

His breathing turned short, broken, hot against my chest. I leaned forward and slipped a nipple into his mouth.

“Suck them,” I ordered. “Hard.”

He obeyed without hesitation. He nipped at me, licked me, sucked me desperately while I kept riding his cock. A gasp escaped him every time I had him inside.

I clung to the headboard for more control. I rode him harder, feeling his body arch beneath mine. His cock swelled even more inside me, throbbing against the walls of my cunt.

He would have liked to last longer. I knew that. He wanted it with all his soul. But his body was young and had no idea how to hold out.

“Marisol...” he let slip. “I can’t... I’m not going to last...”

“Don’t last,” I said, never slowing down. “You don’t have to. Come inside. Fill me up.”

“Inside?” he gasped, eyes flying open.

“Inside. I want to feel you come in my cunt.”

His hands, which had been gripping the sheets, came free and went to my hips. He squeezed hard. Very hard. As if he were afraid I’d disappear. His fingers dug into my flesh, marking me.

“It’s going to come out,” he whispered. “Marisol, it’s coming out...”

“Let it go,” I said. “That’s exactly what I want.”

I quickened the pace once more. I speared myself down hard, again and again, clenching his cock with my cunt muscles every time I rose. I could feel he had nothing left. Neither did I. I took one hand to my clit and rubbed it at the speed I needed.

He went rigid beneath me. Every muscle in his body locked. A rough, deep sound came out of his chest. His back arched and I felt the hot pulse filling me completely, shot after shot, so much that it spilled out at the sides and soaked his balls.

That heat, that cock vibrating inside me as he emptied himself, was what finally pushed me over. I came on top of him, squeezing his shaft in spasms, biting my lip so I wouldn’t howl. I felt the orgasm shake me in waves, my cunt clenching over and over around him, milking him for the last drop.

I stayed still, letting him finish inside me. His fingers relaxed. His breathing slowly settled. His cock was still throbbing inside, still hard, still filling me.

When he opened his eyes, he looked at me as if he had just witnessed something sacred.

I leaned down and gave him a brief kiss on the lips. Then I got up slowly, feeling his warm semen trickle down the insides of my thighs. I didn’t even bother to wipe it off.

“For your first time,” I said, “that wasn’t bad at all.”

“First time?” he asked, breathless. “Wasn’t that...?”

“That was an introduction,” I explained, smiling. “The first lesson of many, if you behave and you’re a good student.”

His eyes lit up as if I’d promised him heaven.

“Many?” he asked, his voice trembling.

“Many,” I confirmed, stepping out of bed and picking up the robe from the floor. “I’m going to teach you how to eat a cunt until you make a woman cry. I’m going to teach you how to last. I’m going to teach you how to fuck in every way there is. But that’s for the next lessons.”

I glanced at his cock again. It was already starting to rise once more, with twenty years on him and semen still fresh over it.

“Save that energy for next Tuesday,” I said, laughing. “Get dressed. And leave the same way you came in: slowly, quietly. And don’t tell anyone.”

“Not even my brother?”

“No one, Damián. This is between you and me.”

He dressed with still-awkward hands. Before leaving, he came over carefully and kissed me on the cheek, like a boy thanking his teacher.

“Thank you, Marisol,” he whispered.

“You’re welcome, my love,” I replied. “See you soon.”

He left. I locked the door. I leaned against the wood and closed my eyes, my heart still racing and my cunt still dripping hot semen between my legs.

I smiled.

Tuesday nights were definitely going to stop being just about masks and pedicures.