My Stepmother Slept in the Room Next to Mine

When my father sat my sister and me down in the dining room to tell us he was getting married again, neither of us objected. The house was enormous, our mother had left years ago, and we assumed Camila would be just another presence we’d have to get used to. That impression lasted exactly until the second she walked through the door with three suitcases and a yoga mat tucked under her arm.

Camila was five foot six, with wide hips and a narrow waist that made every dress fit her like it had been made for a hanger. She was slim but solid, with a dancer’s open shoulders and a long neck that stood out every time she pulled her blond hair up into a bun. When she wore sports tops to train, the line of her abs and the worked curve of her ass stood out clearly.

She was only eight years older than me and ten older than my sister. I was about to turn twenty-seven, finishing my surgical residency and paying off a loan to move in with Lucía, my girlfriend of three years. Camila’s arrival changed several of my habits: I stopped walking around the halls in my boxers, stopped bathing in the jacuzzi tub in the master bedroom, and stopped inviting Lucía over on Fridays so I wouldn’t run into Camila in a robe.

Camila was methodical in an almost military way. She woke up at six, went out for a forty-minute run, had fruit and coffee for breakfast, and headed off to her advertising agency. She came back at seven-thirty in the evening, did an hour of yoga in the game room on the first floor, and only then showered and went downstairs to coordinate dinner. My father traveled often to the cabin he had in the mountains, almost always with her, so we were rarely alone in the house.

Running and yoga kept her body at a hard-to-believe point. She watched what she ate, chose her clothes with a criterion that seemed calculated for mirrors: pants that showed off her long thighs, blouses that cinched her waist, dresses that emphasized her dancer’s legs. She had medium-sized, firm tits, high cheekbones, full lips, and she always left behind a trail of sweet, expensive perfume as she passed. She was polite, didn’t get involved in our business, and didn’t ask more than necessary. An attractive woman who knew exactly what she was.

With my father she had a correct, boring relationship. They went out on Saturdays, accompanied each other to commitments, but the intimacy expired quickly. A few months after moving in, Camila started sleeping in separate rooms. As soon as my father let out his first snore, she would grab her pillow and move to the guest room, which was next to mine, separated by a thin wall through which everything could be heard.

That detail undid me. For two reasons: because her mere presence already unsettled me, and because from that moment on I started calculating everything I did, thinking about whether she could hear me. I began to feel much more than curiosity for my father’s wife. She was only a few years older than me, moved with a sensuality measured to the millimeter, and slept thirty centimeters from my head. In my mind two hypotheses took shape: either she had a secret lover she hid well, or she was building up desire at a dangerous speed. In either case, I didn’t mind being the one to relieve the situation.

Little by little I adjusted my schedule to hers. When she came back from her run and made breakfast, I was already in the kitchen with the “lightly toasted” bread she liked and fresh coffee. I asked her about topics I knew excited her—French cinema, travel, southern wines—so she’d feel I was really listening. And I let drop calibrated comments, without overdoing it: “you’re prettier than ever today,” “that dress is criminal on you,” when she offered to bring me something to eat at the hospital.

Over the months, Camila loosened up. She laughed louder, asked my opinion on things she used to handle alone, touched my arm when she told me something. I was months away from marrying Lucía and, I admit it, I wanted to fire my last shots. And what better setting than my own house, with this woman who was getting closer every day?

***

I made my move on a Friday afternoon. My father was in the mountains, my sister was at a friend’s house, and Camila had started her yoga routine right on time at seven. I went down to the game room with the console controller in my hand, as if by chance. I sat on the sofa about three meters from the mat. Turned on the TV. Kept the volume low.

Camila had on a very thin white pair of leggings that showed, in surgical detail, the folds of her crotch and the two cheeks of an ass that lifted every time she stretched her legs. She was wearing a loose T-shirt, no bra, and her tits moved freely with every pose. With each stretch she stayed still for a few seconds, suspended, as if she knew perfectly well I was looking at her.

I couldn’t take my eyes off her. The erection came without asking permission. I tried to hide it with a cushion in my lap, but the fabric of my athletic shorts didn’t leave much room.

“Tomás, help me stretch?” she asked during a pause.

If I stood up, I’d give away the bulge. But my only objective at that moment was exactly for her to notice. I got up.

When I approached, her eyes dropped to my waist and stayed there longer than necessary. She made no comment. She asked me to stand in front of her and, with a dancer’s movement, lifted her leg and rested her calf on my shoulder. The white leggings clung to her cunt, and my cock brushed against her crotch without either of us saying it out loud.

Camila stretched her arms to take hold of her heel, rose onto her tiptoes, and in doing so pressed herself a little more against me. She let out a soft sigh. She stayed like that for several seconds, then switched legs, and rubbed herself again against my torso under the excuse of stretching. I felt the heat through the fabric. I also felt the leg she was supporting tremble.

I held her by the waist to steady her. I brought her a little closer. Her tits were almost pressed against my chest. She lowered her leg and stood there on tiptoe in front of me, looking up from below. I lowered my hands slowly to her cheeks and squeezed them lightly. My cock found the heat of her soaked crotch again.

“This isn’t right, Tomás,” she said, and pressed herself harder.

I ran my fingers along the edge of her leggings, pulled them down a couple of centimeters, and opened her legs with my knee. Camila hooked her arms around my neck.

“You’re making me way too horny,” she whispered, and gave me a short bite on the earlobe.

I turned her face and ate her mouth. I felt her knees go weak and her nails dig into my nape so I’d kiss her deeper. I slid a hand under her leggings and for the first time touched her skin directly: hot, firm, perfect. Camila moaned against my mouth.

She turned around and pressed her ass against my bulge. I kneaded her tits under her shirt. I pinched her nipples, which were already hard. She brought a hand down and grabbed my cock over my shorts, starting to move it with a slow, almost vindictive rhythm. I pulled her shorts down to her thighs. The head of my cock brushed her bare waist and reacted as if I’d touched it with a bare wire.

I lowered her leggings a little more. I separated her legs with my knee. I positioned my torso between her thighs, right beneath her crotch, and let her lean onto me. Camila started moving her hips, rubbing front to back. Every time the head of my cock touched her clit, she stopped and stayed still, waiting for me to put it in. I made her wait.

“I need you to fuck me, Tomás,” she begged. “You’ve got me so fucking horny. I want all of it.”

But I kept rubbing her from the outside, letting her get desperate.

“Fuck me, asshole, don’t be a dick,” she asked again, and grabbed my cock with her hand and guided it herself.

When the lips of her cunt surrounded the head, she lifted her ass slightly and pressed downward. My cock slid in without resistance, as if it had been waiting for that hole all afternoon. I started thrusting slowly. Camila, with her free hand, found her clit every time I pulled out halfway.

“Fuck me good, asshole, make me come,” she said, and leaned forward with her hands on the sofa. I grabbed her hips and started fucking her hard, listening to the slap of her ass against my thighs with every thrust.

I held back my orgasm. I wanted to finish somewhere else. I spread her cheeks with my thumbs to go deeper and she started screaming without shame, with her face half-buried in the sofa cushion.

“Fill me up, kid. Your father hasn’t fucked me in months. I’m sick of it. I need to feel it all the way in,” she said, and again my cock sank in a little farther. I felt her walls start sending me little shocks and her juices overflowing between her thighs. I had to stop myself from coming.

“Split me in half. You like fucking your stepmother, don’t you?” she said to me, and that finished frying my brain. I thrust again, this time with my pelvis pressed against her ass, rubbing her clit with the base.

“There, there, keep going, you’re making me see stars,” she panted. And a few seconds later she fell apart against the sofa, trembling, head hanging, her back soaked.

***

When her first orgasm passed, with my cock still inside her, she asked me to sit down. She knelt between my legs and took my whole dick into her mouth. She wrapped her lips around it, ran her tongue over it, spat a strand of saliva, and took it down her throat. I grabbed her nape and pushed slowly. She coughed once against my belly, then went back down.

“I love it when you choke me with that thick cock,” she murmured when she came up for air. “Give your stepmom her cream, come on.”

I pumped in her mouth with the same force I’d used to fuck her cunt. Camila massaged my balls with two fingers, reading my body like a map. When she felt the base start to harden, she squeezed. I came in her mouth in a long, thick stream that she swallowed without opening her eyes. Then she kept sucking me for a few more seconds, slowly, making sure not a single drop was left.

She gave me a short kiss on the lips, picked up the clothes from the floor, and walked to the master bathroom without saying a word. My cock had gone down halfway. I waited ten minutes. Then I went upstairs.

Camila was in the jacuzzi tub, eyes closed and head resting against the edge. I moved to one side to make room for myself, without asking permission. She half-opened her eyes and smiled. The stream of warm water hit me right at the waist. My cock was hard again in less than a minute.

It was the first time I was seeing her completely naked, with her skin lit up by the water. When she saw me like that, she stood up and bent over my cock to suck it again. Then she turned and offered me her ass at face level. I buried my tongue in the tight, perfumed little button.

“I’m not giving that ass to your father,” she told me, her voice broken when I slid two fingers in to start opening her. “I’ve been denying him that for years.”

Camila sat literally on my cock. She relaxed her knees and my dick slipped into her ass slowly, millimeter by millimeter, until she was impaled on me with the head pressing against the bottom. I brought my fingers to her clit to keep her hot while she moved.

She started going up and down as if she’d been planning it for months. Every time her cheeks hit my thighs, she separated them with her hands to feel herself deeper. I kept rubbing her clit. That drove her crazy.

“You’re going to make me come again, asshole,” she said, and collapsed on me with all her weight. I felt her back trembling, her thighs loosening. Three more movements with my hands on her hips and I let a second load go inside her. Camila came at the same time, moaning softly against my neck.

“You split my ass, you son of a bitch,” she said afterward, laughing, still sitting on top of me. “Not even your father had given it to me.”

After the bath she sent me off with a short kiss on the lips and went to take a nap. I went downstairs to the living room, poured myself a whisky, and sank into the sofa.

The weekend had barely started. My father would stay in the mountains until Monday. And Camila, by all appearances, was no longer exactly my father’s wife.