My Stepmother’s Aunt Came Down for Coffee with Me

As the child of divorced parents, from the age of eight I lived going back and forth between two houses, two routines, two versions of myself. When I turned eighteen, they finally let me decide, and I chose to go back to the apartment where I’d grown up, with my father. The reasons for the change don’t matter here; what matters is that that return changed everything.

My father lived with his new partner, a woman who would deserve a story of her own. But the real protagonist of this story is Mariela, her sister. Aunt Mariela. Mari, for the family.

Mariela lived in the same building, two floors above us. Mid-forties, divorced a little over a year, with a daughter who was already married. The first time I saw her, at a family dinner, I felt something I shouldn’t have felt. She was one of those women who age like wine kept in storage: firm hips, a defined waist, a round ass that bounced inside her pants when she walked, big tits pressed against her blouse, a look that knew too much. I remember thinking, as I greeted her with a formal kiss and smelled her perfume mixed with the warm sweat of her neck, a phrase that lodged in me like a mantra: you’re going to be mine. I’m going to fuck you until I break you open.

At eighteen, you’re made of hunger and stubbornness. I started looking for her. Not obviously at first, but as the weeks went by I stopped pretending. I’d run into her in the elevator and stare at her without shame, my eyes fixed on her cleavage or dropping brazenly to her ass when she turned around. I’d say things to her in the lobby, compliments a little too suggestive, comments about how a dress fit her body or about the perfume she left hanging in the air when she passed by. I’d rather earn a slap than be left wanting. Better to sin by trying than regret staying silent.

Every woman has her moment, but you have to be standing on the platform when the train stops. If it passes you by, it doesn’t come back. That was my premise.

I devoted myself to studying her like someone preparing for an important exam. Mariela listened to boleros, read erotic novels, drank red wine, and melted for chocolate liqueur truffles. A romantic with fire inside. The building’s doorman, after a tip and a conspiratorial smile, confirmed what I suspected: she’d been alone for months. Nobody had gone up to apartment 12B in a long time. Not a man, not a cock, not a tongue to touch her cunt. A whole year of a woman like that going to waste.

I learned her schedule. What time she left, what time she came back, which days she went to the gym and came home with the leggings tracing the line of her cunt and the sweat sticking her T-shirt to her tits. I started running into her in the elevator with a frequency that was no longer accidental, and she knew it. I could tell by the way she looked at me when greeting me, with a mix of amused resignation and poorly disguised curiosity, and by the way she arched her waist just a little when she turned to press the button, sticking her ass out.

One Thursday afternoon, I finally went all in.

***

The elevator closed with the two of us inside. I had a red rose hidden behind my back and a tight knot in my throat. When the panel marked the twelfth floor, Mariela made the move to get out. I stopped her, resting my hand on her forearm, soft but firm, and held out the flower.

—For you —I said.

She went still. She took the rose by the stem without quite letting go of it, looking at me like someone trying to solve a riddle.

—You’re crazy —she murmured, smiling.

—Come down to nine. I’m buying you a coffee.

—To nine? —she pretended she’d never registered the detail.

—9 C. C for boy who insists way too much.

She laughed. A low, hoarse laugh that raised the hair on my neck and hardened my cock inside my pants.

—I don’t have time to go out.

—I’m not inviting you out. I’m inviting you to go down two floors.

Two eternal seconds passed. The elevator door started closing and my hand stopped it. Mariela sighed, looked at the rose, looked at me, and glanced down for a second at the bulge showing below. She said nothing, but the corner of her mouth curved.

—You’re very persistent, you know that?

—I know. Is that a yes?

—Give me fifteen minutes. I’ll get comfortable and come down.

—I’ll be waiting with the coffee.

—With cream —she added without looking at me, already stepping onto her floor’s landing.

—The way you like it.

The doors closed and I went down to nine clenching my fists. When I got into the apartment, I went through it in a straight line putting everything in place: I dimmed the lights, turned on the stereo with a selection of boleros I’d prepared three days earlier, heated the water, arranged the liqueur truffles on a ceramic plate. My father and his partner were out of town that weekend. I’d calculated it with a surgeon’s precision.

***

The doorbell rang eighteen minutes later.

Mariela had come down in a tight black dress that clung to her hips, high heels, and a touch of fresh perfume. She’d touched up her lips. She’d come dressed for something to happen, and we both knew it. The dress outlined her hard nipples, with no bra over them or maybe a very thin lace one, and rode several inches above her knees.

—Come in —I said—. We’ve been waiting for you.

—Who has?

—The coffee and I.

She laughed again. That laugh.

I led her first into the kitchenette, where the cramped space forced us to stand close, very close. I poured her coffee with cream into the prettiest cup I had. When I handed it to her, my fingers brushed hers a second longer than necessary.

—Is it to your taste? —I asked.

She took a sip. Closed her eyes for a moment. A thread of cream remained on her upper lip and she slowly licked it off, watching me.

—Perfect. Just the way I like to savor it.

I invited her into the living room. I offered her the truffles without saying a word, simply setting the plate down on the low table, and when she took the first one I knew her defenses were starting to give way. She ate a second, a third. She took off her shoes, tucked her legs under her body, and settled onto the sofa with the gesture of a tired cat. The dress rode even higher and showed me a triangle of black lace that made me swallow.

We talked about anything. Then, almost without transition, we talked about us. I told her I’d left a girl in the other city and that since I’d been living in this building I hadn’t looked at any other woman. That she, from the very first dinner, had thrown me off inside. That I’d been jerking off thinking about her almost every night.

Mariela listened without interrupting, lips parted and cheeks flushed. Then she drew a breath.

—I’ve been alone for more than a year —she said—. Alone in every sense. If you know what I mean. A year without anyone touching me. Without anyone fucking me.

I understood perfectly.

I got down off the sofa and knelt in front of her. I took her hands, turned her palms over, kissed them. I pressed my forehead against her knee. We didn’t say anything for a long while. She began stroking my hair with a tenderness I hadn’t expected, and when my hands slowly climbed her thighs, over the dress, I felt her shudder all over. I opened her legs right there on the sofa and ran my palm over her panties. The lace was soaked through. I squeezed her cunt with my whole hand, without taking off her clothes, and she let out a short, muffled moan, throwing her head back.

—You don’t need to take me anywhere —she whispered—. Do it here if you want.

—I want you in bed. I want you comfortable. We’re going to be at this for a while.

***

I picked her up in my arms without asking and carried her to the bedroom. On the bed we looked at each other for the first real time, without masks. What I read in her eyes was exactly what she was reading in mine: hunger. A hunger built up over months in her, over weeks in me, ready to explode.

She stood and undressed for me. She pulled the dress over her head in one slow motion, stockings sliding patiently over her thighs, her clothes falling one by one until she was left only in a black lace bra and panties. She had come prepared. The bra pushed her tits up, round, big, with dark areolas showing through the lace. The panties cut into her broad hips and left a triangle of neatly trimmed hair visible. The set fell to the floor after that and she remained there, standing, letting me look at her. The lamp light outlined the shape of her slightly sagging breasts under their own weight, the dark nipples already hardening, the lightly worked stomach, the full hips, the cunt trimmed with a strip of black hair and the lips peeking out swollen.

—Look at it well —she said, voice hoarse—. Look at all of it. After that, do whatever you want with this body.

Then it was my turn. She undressed me, taking her time, biting her lip. The shirt first. The pants after. When she pulled down my boxers and my cock sprang out, hard and throbbing, she stared at it for a second, almost frightened. She knelt. I didn’t need instructions to understand what was going to happen. She took me with both hands, measured my length with her fingers, looked up at me from below with big eyes, and ran her tongue along the whole shaft, bottom to top, stopping at the tip to lick the droplet of fluid already hanging there. Then she opened her mouth and took in as much as she could. She did it hungrily, with technique, with a surrender that forced me to brace one hand on the wall so I wouldn’t lose my balance.

She sucked me slowly at first, savoring me, letting saliva run from the corner of her mouth. Then she picked up the pace, sucking me all over, using her hand at the base, squeezing my balls with the other. When I felt her take the head down to her throat and make a soft gag without pulling away, I grabbed her head and pushed a little further. She let me. Two, three, four times I drove her mouth against my pelvis, and each time she swallowed, gasped, and opened again to ask for more.

—You’re going to make me cum in your mouth if you keep this up —I told her.

She pulled off with a wet sound, a thread of spit hanging from her lip to the tip of my cock.

—Later. Now I want you to put it in me.

I stopped her before it was too late. I laid her on her back on the bed and took my time. I started with her neck, left a trail of kisses down to her nipples, lingered there longer than she expected. I sucked one tit whole, bit the nipple until she moaned, squeezed the other one with my hand while I had it in my mouth. I went down her stomach, kissed her hips, the inner side of her thighs, skipped her cunt on purpose and kissed her knees. When I came back up, her hands were already on my head, pushing me where she wanted me to be.

—Don’t make me wait any longer, please —she panted—. Eat my pussy, come on.

I spread her legs and stared for a second at her swollen cunt, shiny, the lips opening on their own, the clit peeking out. Then I buried my face between them. I felt her arch as soon as my tongue touched the center. She tasted salty and a little sweet, and she had a cunt-in-heat smell that stuck to my beard all night long. I ran my tongue all the way from bottom to top, from the opening to the clit, and stayed there, sucking it, wrapping my lips around it, gently tugging it with my teeth. I slipped in one finger, then two. I curved them inside, searching for that spot that makes women jump. I found it when she cried out and pressed my head against her cunt with both hands.

—There, there, there, don’t stop, don’t stop for anything in the world…

Mariela came like that, with two fingers of mine inside her and my tongue working above, her first orgasm shaking her whole body. She came screaming, not caring about the neighbors, clamping her thighs against my ears until she almost made me deaf, her stomach contracting in waves and her cunt dripping over my hand. I gave her no respite. I kept licking her while she trembled, sucking on her hypersensitive clit, until she pulled my hair to get me away from her.

—Enough, enough, I can’t take it anymore like this, it hurts.

I came up to find her mouth. We kissed, sharing her own taste, tongues tangled, her nails marking my back. My cock ended up resting against her belly, she found it with her hand, ran it through her wet cunt from side to side, wetting her clit with the tip. When I settled between her legs and felt her open to receive me, she said something in my ear I wasn’t expecting.

—Do whatever you want with me. Tonight I’m yours. Fuck me however you want to fuck me. Break me.

I sealed the sentence with a long kiss and entered in one thrust, all the way to the bottom. She muffled a cry in my mouth. She was tight from disuse but soaked, and her whole body received me as if she’d been waiting for me for a whole year. I felt every centimeter inside her, the hot flesh closing around my cock, the pubic bone hitting me, the cunt biting the base.

—My God, how big you are —she panted with her eyes closed—. You fill me up completely.

—I’m going to fill you all night.

We fucked like that for a while, holding each other, her moving her hips to meet me, our two skins glued together by sweat. I slid in all the way and pulled out all the way, slowly, so she’d feel every stroke. Then I changed the rhythm. I shoved her against the mattress, took her wrists with one hand above her head, and started hammering into her harder, to the hilt, my balls slapping between her cheeks with every thrust. Something lit up in her. She dug her heels into my kidneys.

—More —she begged—. Harder. Fuck me hard. Don’t stop.

I lifted her legs, took her ankles, rested them on my shoulders. I folded her almost in two. The penetration grew deeper and she started screaming without restraint, broken words, beautiful insults, yes, like that, more, give me more, split me in two. I looked at her wrecked face with pleasure, her open mouth, half-closed eyes, and I fucked her mouth with two fingers while I was wrecking her below. She sucked them. I changed positions, put her on her side, slid one leg over my shoulder and went into her again, at a different angle that made her roll her eyes back. She came a second time, scandalously, writhing all over, her cunt biting me so hard it almost dragged me over the edge too. And she still asked for more.

—Don’t finish yet —she panted—. I want to fuck you for a while.

I let her. I flopped back. She climbed on top of me, adjusted my cock with her hand and let herself sink down slowly, all the way in, moaning as she sat. Then she started moving, up and down, her tits bouncing in my face, leaning on my chest to get momentum. I held her hips and helped set the pace. She bent down, put one tit in my mouth, and kept fucking my cock as if she were riding it. The smell of sex filled the room. The bed creaked. She bit her lip and looked down at me with a flushed face, hair stuck to her forehead with sweat.

—I’m going crazy —she murmured—. It’s been a year since this happened to me.

—You’re not going to be alone for another year. From now on I’ll fuck you.

—Yes, yes, fuck me always, only you…

***

We stayed wrapped around each other for a while, both of us spent, sticky, laughing softly like two recent accomplices. But neither of us wanted to disengage. I stayed inside her, feeling her pulse, and after a while the urgency came back. My cock hardened again inside her cunt, and she felt it, smiled, and tightened her inner walls to tease me.

She turned over without being asked. She ended up face down, arms stretched out, her ass lifted a little. I stayed like that for a while, looking at her, running my hand over her. I squeezed her ass, spread it slowly, saw her dark puckered hole between her cheeks, and lower down her cunt once again offered, dripping. I pushed my cock back into her from the front, with her face down, and fucked her cunt like that for a while, pulling her hair, biting her shoulder. When I ran a finger between her cheeks, she sucked in a sharp breath but didn’t say a word. I made circles over her hole, pressing just a little. I took some cream from the nightstand, applied it patiently, spread it well, and slowly presented the finger. It went in to the knuckle. Mariela pressed her face into the pillow.

—Only once did someone do this to me —she said in a muffled voice—. And it hurt. But I want you to. I want you to do it too.

—If it hurts, I’ll stop.

—Don’t stop. Do it already, before I change my mind.

I pulled the finger out, settled behind her with her on all fours, ass up, head resting on the pillow. I put more cream on her hole, put cream on my cock, lined it up against the tight entrance. I pushed slowly. The head wouldn’t go in. I pushed more. It gave all at once, with a small snap, and she let out a muffled cry.

—Stay still, stay still —I told her—. The worst is over. Breathe.

I went in slowly, millimeter by millimeter, stopping every time I felt her tense. I ran my hand over her back, over her neck, reading her body as I went. I could feel how tight she was, a ring of muscle closing around my cock that made me clench my teeth so I wouldn’t cum right then and there. Every couple of centimeters I stopped. She breathed deeply, relaxed, and I advanced a little more. When I was finally all the way in, my balls pressed against her cunt, she let out a long groan that ended in a nervous laugh.

—Don’t move for a second —she begged—. Let me feel it.

—I’m not moving.

Thirty seconds passed. Then she started searching for me with her hips, setting the rhythm from below, pushing her ass against my pelvis in small motions. I let her, followed along. I slid my free hand underneath and found her there, wet, swollen, ready. I started rubbing her clit with my fingers while I moved my cock inside her ass with short thrusts. She started moaning differently. Softer, more muffled, as if her voice were coming from somewhere else.

—You’re making it huge for me —she murmured—. I don’t know how it fits. You’re tearing my ass apart and I love it.

—You can take anything —I told her in her ear.

—I can take anything if it’s you. Fuck me more. Fuck my ass harder.

I did as she asked. I began to pound her with rhythm, faster and faster, deeper and deeper, feeling how her ass both loosened and clenched around my cock. I squeezed one cheek with my free hand, marked it with my fingers, gave her a sharp slap. She cried out and arched even more. I kept rubbing her clit with my other hand, two fingers circling rapidly over the swollen skin. Both holes were clenching me at the same time, one with fingers, the other with my cock, and she trembled between my hands like a high-voltage wire.

—I’m going to cum like this, I’m going to cum with your cock in my ass, my God…

—Come. Come. Come like that with me inside you.

I came inside her, abundantly, feeling the load rise from my balls and spill in hot bursts into Mariela’s depths, and she came almost at the same time, biting the pillow to keep quiet, her ass tightening in spasms around my cock and milking me to the last drop. I stayed inside her for a long while, until I started to soften and came out on its own, with a thread of semen leaking from her open hole to her cunt and running down her thighs. We collapsed there, both of us sweaty, with no strength left to talk.

***

We showered together a little later, laughing about stupid things. Under the hot water she sucked me again on her knees, hair soaked and mouth full of foam, and I came on her face. She licked her lips and ran her fingers over her cheeks, taking every drop into her mouth. We ate something in the kitchen, she wrapped in one of my T-shirts and nothing else, showing her ass every time she stretched to reach something. We went back to bed and slept for a couple of hours wrapped around each other, with my hand trapped between her legs. Then we made love again, this time slowly, patiently, face to face, looking into each other’s eyes while I came in and out without hurry, as if we’d known each other forever. I came inside her cunt, without pulling out, and we stayed stuck together a while longer. In the morning she woke me with her mouth, sucking me under the sheets, and I answered by climbing on top of her and going inside her while she still hadn’t fully opened her eyes. I fucked her slowly, on her back, with the first rays of sunlight hitting her tits, until both of us finished one last time.

Mariela left my apartment with the sun already high, walking differently, smiling to herself. She went back up to her floor, to her routine, to that loneliness of those days that was suddenly a little less lonely.

But what happened between us didn’t end that night. Whenever I go back to my father’s house, I always pass by her door. Sometimes she opens it with a face of fake surprise; other times she’s waiting for me with coffee ready and boleros playing softly, and other times she opens it wearing only panties, her nipples showing under an old T-shirt, and we don’t even make it to the sofa. There are stories you keep like trophies and others that keep being written in the present tense. Mariela’s and mine is still conjugated in the present tense, even though the years have gone by.

And every time I see her open the door, in her robe, barefoot, with that smile that’s still the same, I remember the eighteen-year-old boy who saw her for the first time at a family dinner and thought: you’re going to be mine.

He was right.