My Stepdaughter Proposed a Pact I Shouldn’t Have Accepted

I don’t know at what point sleep beat me, but I opened my eyes when the sun came streaming through the crack in the curtain and the room felt heavy, almost stifling. I stretched my arm to the other side of the bed and found no one. I was alone. The question that hit me next was different: was I alone in the room, or alone in the house?

I sat up slowly. The first thing I needed was a shower. After the night I’d spent with Lorena, my body smelled of alcohol, sweat, sex, and I can’t stand going around like that. My cock was still sticky from coming twice inside her, the last time with Lorena’s legs locked around my waist and her cunt squeezing me to the last drop. The problem was that I didn’t know the house. I didn’t know whether the water heater worked, where the towels were, whether I could open a drawer without seeming like an intruder. I took a deep breath, pulled on last night’s pants and shirt, and crossed the hallway barefoot.

The door to Camila’s room was closed. Nothing could be heard from the other side. I walked to the bathroom, knocked twice, and, getting no answer, went in and locked the door. I pulled down my pants, sat on the toilet, and almost by chance my gaze fell on the laundry basket.

On top of everything, folded any old way, was a black lace-trimmed pair of panties. I had seen her wearing them the night before, when she came out to say goodbye to her mother before locking herself in her room. An electric current ran down my back and went straight to my dick, which started swelling against my thigh without permission. I shouldn’t have. I knew damn well I shouldn’t have. But I reached out and took them.

I spread them between my fingers. They were damp. Not washer-damp: the other kind of damp, the kind that gives a woman away, the kind left by a girl who’s been touching herself or spending the day clenching her thighs around a thought. I turned them over, found the center of the garment—that darker half-moon of fabric where everything gathers—and, without thinking twice, brought them to my face.

The smell hit me. Sweet, acidic, young. A clean musk with a base of sweat and wet pussy that made me close my eyes and breathe deeply, as if I were getting high. I stuck out my tongue and traced the fabric slowly, pressing my palate against the lace, trying to catch what little was left before it dried. The taste was salty, slightly metallic, with that unmistakable tang of an aroused woman’s discharge. I sucked harder. I ran the tip of my tongue over every millimeter, looking for the trail of the clit, the seam where it would have slipped between her inner lips during the day. I felt miserable and, at the same time, completely beside myself. I had never done anything like that. I had never had this kind of fixation, much less for the daughter of the woman I was only just starting something with.

Without realizing it, my right hand was already on my cock, squeezing it through my pants. It was hard, throbbing, and a drop of pre-cum was staining my boxer briefs. I forced myself to let go. I wasn’t going to come there, sitting on the toilet in someone else’s house, smelling my lover’s daughter’s dirty underwear. Or maybe I was, but not yet.

This is wrong. This is wrong and you can’t stop it.

With Camila’s taste still on my lips, I decided I wasn’t showering there. I pulled my pants back up as best I could, my cock still half-hard and folded against my hip, washed my face with cold water, and before leaving I did something that sealed my damnation: I folded the panties in four and slipped them into the back pocket of my pants.

***

I went downstairs and found Lorena in the kitchen. She was already combed, made up, in a straight-cut dress and holding her heels in her hand. She smelled of new perfume, not last night’s.

“I have to get to work,” she said without looking up from her bag. “I’ll call you during the week.”

I came up behind her, wrapped my arms around her waist, and kissed her neck. I felt her tense. Not much, but enough to understand that something had changed between the early hours of the morning and that moment.

“Are you okay?” I asked.

“Yes, yes. I’m just late.”

I didn’t press it. I kissed her on the cheek, she gave me a half-smile, and left first. I stood there for a moment in the entryway, my hand resting on the pocket where I’d tucked that piece of black fabric. Then I closed the door behind me and went home.

***

The taxi ride felt endless. It was Saturday and I was off that day, so nothing forced me to move fast. I could only think of one thing: why had Lorena been so distant when the night before she’d fallen apart under me as if she hadn’t touched a man in years? I imagined scenarios. That she regretted it. That her daughter had said something. That she had heard something. My head spun and every so often my hand went back to my pocket and felt the fabric.

I got to my apartment and went straight into the shower. I let the hot water run down the back of my neck for a long time, until the bathroom mirror disappeared under steam. I closed my eyes and, uninvited, the image came back: Lorena kneeling in front of me, mouth open and tongue out, sucking my cock to the hilt, choking a little every time I shoved it all the way in. Her tits swinging, nipples hard, saliva running down her chin and dripping between her breasts. Me holding her by the hair, setting the pace, while Camila’s bedroom door opened a crack and her daughter’s eye appeared in the slit. Me realizing it halfway through the night and, instead of stopping everything, looking back at her while I kept fucking her mother on all fours, driving my dick into her balls-deep. Camila, in the darkness, one hand under her sweatshirt, two fingers moving between her legs at the same rhythm as my thrusts into Lorena’s ass.

I turned off the water. Dried off. Walked naked into the bedroom and collapsed onto the bed. My cock was hard again already, pressed against my belly button, gleaming at the tip. I pulled the panties out of my pants and laid them over my chest while I tried to catch my breath. I didn’t last long before starting to touch myself.

I brought the garment to my face and inhaled deeply until Camila’s pussy scent filled my lungs. I spat into my palm and took hold of my cock, stroking from base to tip, slowly, feeling every vein, every pulse. I imagined her on top of me in a sixty-nine, riding backward, her young ass opening over my face while her warm mouth wrapped around my cock. I’d spread her ass cheeks with both hands and run my tongue from pussy to asshole and back again, licking every crease, thrusting my whole tongue into her ass while she moaned with my cock filling her mouth.

I sped up my hand. I licked my fingers and with the other hand stroked my balls, squeezing them gently. My fantasy changed every few seconds: now I had her on all fours at the edge of the bed, in those gray leggings I’d imagined split open down the center, and I drove into her in one brutal thrust until she screamed and arched her back. Now she was sitting on top of me, riding me, the nipples that had stood out that morning under her black top bouncing in my face, and I bit each one while sinking my fingers into her ass. Now it was Camila and Lorena together, mother and daughter devouring each other’s mouths over my cock, taking turns sucking it, tongues playing at the tip, spitting into each other’s mouths while I came undone.

I brought the panties to my face again and ran my tongue over them once more, sucking the darker patch as if I were eating her pussy live. I felt I couldn’t take it anymore. My balls tightened, my thighs went rigid, and I let out a hoarse groan that bounced off the empty apartment walls. I arched over the bed and shot a thick rope of semen onto my chest, then another that stained my hand and groin, and finally several shorter spasms that went straight onto the black fabric resting on my stomach. I came fast, too fast. I emptied everything onto the cloth itself and left it there, mixed with what she had left hours before, soaked with me and with her, a small dirty map of the two sides of the same story.

I fell asleep with the panties still on my belly, with Camila’s smell and my cum drying together.

***

The phone woke me. It was Lorena.

“Sorry about this morning,” she said. “I had a stupid fight with Camila right before I came downstairs and I didn’t know how to tell you. It’s all sorted out now. She wants to get to know you properly. Would you be up for dinner with us?”

I swallowed. I said yes before I even had time to think about it. I suggested we eat out somewhere and, if there was time, catch a movie. At eight they were showing one at the mall cinema. Lorena said she’d check with her daughter and confirm with me.

I showered again. I looked for something that would make me look presentable, but not too teenage. A blue shirt, dark jeans, comfortable shoes. Anxiety started sweating through my hands. I sat on the edge of the bed and said out loud what I already knew:

“This isn’t normal. I’m forty-four. I’m not looking for an affair with a girl who’s half my age.”

And yet there I was, choosing which underwear to wear, my cock already half-hard again just from thinking about seeing her.

The phone rang again. A message from Lorena: “Camila said yes. See you at Galerías at six. The show’s at eight, so there’s time.” Something inside me told me to cancel, to fake a stomach ache, to not go. But desire weighed more. I grabbed my keys and went down to the parking garage.

***

I got to Galerías an hour before the date. I didn’t know what to do with the time. I wandered through stores without going into any. I looked at mannequins and didn’t see them. Any girl with long hair and a narrow waist made me turn my head. My nose searched for that teenage floral perfume, the kind that always ends up becoming something more intimate, a young, clean cunt waiting underneath the clothes.

I texted Lorena saying I was already at the mall, to let me know when they arrived so I could go down and meet them. I sat on a bench, put in my earbuds, and turned the volume up. Nothing playing pulled my head away from where it had gone.

The message came twenty minutes later: “We’re downstairs, by the bank area.” I took out my earbuds, smoothed my shirt, and started walking. I tried not to hurry so I wouldn’t arrive sweating.

I saw them before they saw me. They were leaning against the bank’s glass on the ground floor. Lorena was wearing black jeans, a V-neck blouse, and a short sweater over her shoulders. Beside her, Camila. Gray leggings clinging like a second skin, outlining the hollow between her legs, a black top so thin it was almost see-through, a hoodie unzipped. I didn’t want to stare, but I caught what my eyes were looking for: under the top, her nipples showed shamelessly, hard, small, pointing at me like two warnings. She wasn’t wearing a bra. The leggings also drew every curve of her ass, and when she turned a little, you could make out the outline of her pussy against the center seam. My mouth went dry.

I walked up with the best smile I could manage.

“Hi,” I greeted Lorena with a hug and a small kiss on the lips. Then I turned to her daughter: “Hi, Camila.”

“Hi,” she said, extending her hand.

I took it and, before I could pull away, she leaned in and kissed me on the cheek. Too close to the corner of my mouth. Out of the corner of my eye I felt her press the tip of a hard nipple against my arm for just a second, then withdraw as if nothing had happened. Her smell stuck to my face: jasmine, vanilla, something sweet and young that wasn’t sold in any store.

“Nice to meet you, officially,” I said, and a nervous laugh slipped out.

“I already met you last night,” she replied without hesitation. “You wouldn’t let me watch my movie. Or sleep.”

She winked. Lorena burst out laughing and wedged herself between us, hooked an arm through each of ours, and dragged us toward the food court.

“Behave yourselves, both of you,” she said, with no idea what she was saying.

***

We ordered burgers. While we waited at a table off to the side, Lorena stood up.

“I’m going to the bathroom before the food gets here. I won’t be long. Behave yourselves.”

The bathroom line looked long: two women waiting outside, a little girl tugging at her mother. There was going to be time. Camila waited until she turned the corner, then turned to me and shot the question point-blank:

“Did you like the gift I left you in the laundry basket? I guess so, because when I got back home it wasn’t there anymore.”

My breath caught halfway up my throat. I stammered something that didn’t even become a word. She went on, as if she’d been rehearsing the speech for hours.

“From the moment I saw you come out of the bathroom this morning I knew you’d opened the basket. I wanted to make sure. That’s why I left the panties on top, wet, to see if you’d notice them. I wore them all day yesterday, without changing, even though I touched myself twice thinking about what you two were doing in the room next door. I wanted them to be really soaked by the time you found them. What I didn’t imagine was that you’d take them with you. But you know what? I like you. I want you. They’re a gift. The show you gave me last night no one had ever given me before.”

I couldn’t believe how casually she spoke. That was what scared me most: she didn’t say it with shame, or with malice. She said it like someone talking about what they had for breakfast.

“Look, Camila, I don’t want to have a problem with your mom. What happened last night was…”

She covered my mouth with her index finger. The universal silence gesture.

“If you don’t tell my mom, I won’t either. It’ll be our secret. I’m going to tell you something. I’ve been watching my mom with men for a long time. Always through the crack in the door. Always without them noticing. Until last night, I’d only ever been a spectator. I’d never had any contact with any of them.”

She paused. Lowered her voice even more.

“I always had the fantasy of getting into what she does. I’d never seen my mom come like that, or suck a dick like that, or open her legs that wide so a guy could drive into her to the hilt, and when you looked back at me while she was sucking you with both hands wrapped around your cock, I couldn’t help touching myself. I slid in two fingers and pulled them out soaking wet. It was the hottest thing that’s ever happened to me. I came biting the pillow while I watched you fuck her.”

“Your gift,” I said, trying to keep up, my voice rough, “already has my mark on it. I emptied my whole load over it. Every thread has something of mine on it.”

We both laughed, softly, like accomplices. I saw her cheeks flush and, under the top, her nipples stiffened even more. I didn’t know what I was getting into, but I hadn’t felt anything like it in years.

“I want to propose something,” she said.

I leaned in a little. She kept talking, her voice almost pressed against my ear, so close I could feel her warm breath on my lobe.

“Tonight you come over after the movie. We bring beer. You two fuck. Fine. Like last night or harder. I want to hear her scream again when you stick it in. I want to hear the noise her wet pussy makes when you pull it out and shove it back in. When she falls asleep—because with two beers she’s dead to the world for an hour, I promise—you go to my room door. I’ll leave another thong outside, in the basket. You take it, stand in the doorway, and watch me. I’ll be naked on the bed with my legs open, and I’ll be fingering myself while I look at you. You’ll be standing there with your cock out, giving it to yourself. We’ll masturbate like that, without touching, looking each other in the eyes. I’ll show you everything. The nipples, the cunt, how I open my lips with two fingers so you can see where you’d slide it in. I only want one thing: that you fill the thong. Every thread. That you come in ropes all over it. And leave it right there, wet and hot, so that when you leave I can put it on to sleep, with your fresh semen stuck to my pussy all night long.”

I stared at her without blinking, my cock hard beneath the table, crushed against my jeans, throbbing. The burger arrived. So did her mother, with freshly washed hands, smiling as if nothing had happened, sitting down between the two of us as if nothing at all had just happened.

“Did you talk about anything interesting?” Lorena asked.

“Nothing important,” Camila replied, and took a bite of her burger.

I held her gaze for one second longer. I was already counting the hours until I got to her house.