That Night I Taught Laura’s Brother Everything

That week had been a complete disaster, and all I wanted was to eat something decent, pleasure myself with my own fingers, and get into bed. Laura had promised me we’d have a quiet dinner, just one girls’ night without drama, lines, or overpriced drinks. But ten minutes into the taxi ride, she changed the destination without even warning me.

“Sebastián texted me that he’s there, and I haven’t seen him since the festival,” she said, as if that were explanation enough.

I looked at her with all the intensity of my irritation, and she simply shrugged and went on looking at her phone.

The place was exactly the kind of place I hated: dark, packed with people shoving past one another without so much as an apology, music loud enough to turn every conversation into pure lip theater. I stationed myself in the only corner of the balcony where the noise was even slightly bearable, holding a glass of something I couldn’t identify and counting the minutes until I had a reasonable excuse to leave.

Empty stomach, foul mood, shoes that were already pinching. It was one of those nights when everything conspires against you.

***

Marcos arrived just before eleven.

I’d known him for years: Laura’s younger brother. His mother used to send him along as an escort whenever Laura went out partying, an arrangement he’d never been particularly enthusiastic about but fulfilled with the quiet resignation of someone who’d accepted that some battles weren’t worth fighting. He’d been our taxi driver on a couple of nights, always with the same stoic attitude of someone who would rather be somewhere else.

I watched him come in, locate Laura in the crowd in less than twenty seconds—that was his special talent—and then turn his head until he found me on the balcony. He walked over without hurrying.

“You look like you’re suffering,” he said, leaning close to my ear so he wouldn’t have to shout.

The air from his mouth brushed my earlobe, and my skin prickled all at once. I’d been close to my period for several days, and on those days my body had agendas of its own, independent of my will. I felt a warm stab between my legs, and my pussy clenched on its own, getting wet enough to make my panties uncomfortable.

“Is it that obvious, or did Laura tell you something?” I asked.

“It’s obvious from a mile away. I’m surprised, because you’re usually the one with the easy smile. That’s one of the things I like about you.”

“Are there other things you notice about me?”

He made a vague gesture with his shoulders, avoiding the question. When I’d met him, he’d been a reserved boy, almost shut inside himself. Over time, he’d gained a natural ease that suited him.

“I had a horrible week, Marcos, and your sister dragged me here when all I wanted was to eat and go to bed”—I paused briefly, gauging him—“and fuck.”

His eyes widened just slightly, enough for me to notice his surprise, and he looked to one side as if searching for something to lean his answer on.

“I can help you with that,” he said, still not looking at me.

I smiled for the first time all night. I gently took his chin and sought his gaze.

“With which part exactly, Marcos? The eating, or fucking me?”

I saw how hard it was for him to maintain eye contact, but he didn’t look away. He drew a deep breath, squared his shoulders slightly, and fixed me with honey-colored eyes that bore a disturbingly close resemblance to his sister’s.

“Both, Clara. Possibly.”

I put an arm around his waist, closed the distance between us, and pressed my tits against his chest. I brought my lips to his ear and lowered my hand until it brushed the bulge over his pants. He was already hard, and I felt him throbbing beneath the fabric.

“I love the idea. And I love what you have waiting for me down there. But we’re going to eat first.”

***

On our way out, we saw Laura dancing with someone. I vaguely gestured that we were going out to dinner, and she gave me a thumbs-up without stopping her movements. What my gesture implied, I kept to myself.

We walked to a burger joint three blocks away. I ordered something for us to share, because I didn’t like having a full stomach when I had plans like that. The anticipation was already doing its work: my pussy was soaked, my panties stuck to my lips, and every time I crossed my legs, the pressure sent a lash of sensation straight to my clitoris.

Marcos didn’t say much. He answered, but in short sentences, and every now and then a quick glance escaped him, never quite landing anywhere.

“What are you thinking about?” I asked.

He gave a little nervous laugh and said he was fine.

I did the math quickly: the nervousness, the silences, the way he sat as if taking up too much space were a breach of etiquette. I moved my chair closer, spread my legs around his knee, and asked him directly if it was his first time.

He lowered his eyes to the table.

“Yes,” he said.

“How can that be, when you’re such a handsome guy?”

As soon as I said it, I heard myself and thought: I sound like an auntie. A very enthusiastic auntie, but an auntie all the same.

“I never really know how to talk to girls I meet. I feel like I’m not what they’re looking for.”

“You talk to me without any trouble.”

“With you it’s easier. Like with Laura, like with my mother.”

There it was. Maternal-figure status confirmed.

“Look, you don’t have to get anxious about this,” I said. “I’m going to teach you everything. How to eat a pussy, how to put your cock inside, how to make a woman come. It’ll be good for both of us. Order something to drink, because we’re going to need it afterward.”

***

The hotel had a discreet vehicle entrance and a few-words-only receptionist. Marcos fumbled a little with the forms, but the woman behind the desk was all efficiency, and when she saw me smile, she did the same with an expression that said, “I’ve seen it all.”

The room was quiet: warm lighting, a double bed with clean sheets, and a small sofa beside the window. Marcos stood in the middle as if waiting for instructions.

I turned toward him. He tried to say something. I put a finger over his lips.

“Breathe,” I said.

I moved closer slowly, studying his face, looking for the angles he shared with Laura—and he had them, he definitely had them—and calmly placed my lips over his. A soft kiss, without pressure, just to let his body understand there was nothing to fear. Then I bit his lower lip, sucked it, and when he opened his mouth, I slipped my tongue inside slowly, winding it around his and teaching him the rhythm.

“Relax,” I murmured against his mouth. “Like this. Kiss me as if you’re hungry.”

I guided him to the sofa. Tonight I wanted to be on top, to set the pace myself, so he wouldn’t have to shoulder the responsibility of getting it right on his first attempt. I straddled his lap, wrapped my arms around his head, and felt his moan when the weight of my hips landed exactly on the hard bulge pressing inside his pants. The fabric scraped against my swollen pussy through my panties, and a gasp escaped both of us at the same time.

I began rocking on top of him, up and down, rubbing my soaked pussy over his clothed cock. I could feel his dick twitching beneath me, searching for me. His head was thrown back, his mouth slightly open, and every time I passed over the head, he squeezed his eyes shut as if the pleasure hurt.

“Help me with my blouse,” I asked.

He took the fabric between his fingertips, pinching it a little by accident, which made me laugh. We alternated kisses, looks, and touches while the blouse fell to the floor.

When the bra followed it and my tits were free, his palms took hold of them almost instinctively. I felt my nipples harden immediately, so hard they seemed to tug from the inside. I offered them to him by leaning closer, and he lowered his mouth without waiting for instructions.

“Pay attention to this kiss,” I told him, capturing his lips slowly, tracing the corner with my tongue, moving with precision. “Because I want you to repeat it exactly down there, on my clitoris, just like that.”

He nodded without saying anything, his eyes wide.

When I released his mouth, he went straight for one nipple and sucked with considerable enthusiasm, applying more pressure than I liked. He sucked hard, as if he wanted to tear it off.

“Gentle,” I corrected, pulling his hair so he would ease up. “As if it were something you could break. With your tongue first. Circle it. Now suck slowly. That’s it, that’s it.”

He learned quickly. A minute later, both my nipples were throbbing, one wet from his mouth, the other pinched between his fingers with just the right pressure. My pussy clenched eagerly, and I felt a fresh gush of wetness soaking my panties.

I stood up and tugged on his shirt so he would sit upright on the edge of the sofa. I pulled it over his head. I slipped my legs between his so he would spread them, leaving us facing each other. I lowered the zipper on my skirt, which fell with a sway of my hips. I was left wearing only my soaked black panties, and I watched his throat move as he swallowed when he noticed the dark stain in the center of the fabric.

“See how wet I am?” I said, taking his hand and guiding it between my legs. “Touch me. All of this is because of you.”

I slid his fingers over my panties, up and down, and he let out a muffled sound when he felt them sink into the wetness. I made him press my clitoris with his fingertip, twice, three times, until my hips began searching for his hand on their own.

“Time to practice,” I said, sliding the elastic downward until my panties fell around my feet.

I stood completely naked in front of him. I spread my legs, propping one foot on the sofa so he could see me properly: my shaved pussy, my swollen, glistening lips, my clitoris peeking out between the folds. A quiet “fuck” escaped him, making me smile.

I arched my body toward him, took his hair gently, and guided his lips where I wanted them. At first he kissed my outer lips clumsily, and I directed him with my hand at the back of his neck, showing him where to press his tongue. When he found my clitoris, the sound that came out of me wasn’t voluntary; it was a long moan rising from my stomach.

“Exactly,” I whispered. “There. Don’t let go. Suck it slowly, like I taught you with my mouth. Yes. Now flatten your tongue, up and down. Perfect.”

I took his hand and pushed two of his fingers into my pussy. I was so wet they slid in without resistance.

“Move them. Curl them upward a little, toward my navel—there’s a spot there. Yes, that one. Exactly that one.”

He began pumping his fingers while eating my clitoris with his whole mouth, and I had to brace one hand against the wall so I wouldn’t lose my balance. The tension accumulated throughout the week began dissolving in electric waves that rose from my legs. It was his first time, but he had instinct: when I gripped his hair harder, he sped up; when I loosened my hold, he slowed down.

“Don’t stop,” I told him, my pussy beginning to tremble. “Keep going like that, don’t stop, don’t stop…”

My first orgasm hit me suddenly, with his tongue licking me without pause and both fingers buried to the knuckles. I squeezed his head between my thighs and came over his mouth, soaking his chin. I felt my contractions squeeze his fingers inside me, and he kept licking me, learning to read my tremors, until I had to pull his head away because my clitoris couldn’t take any more contact.

***

When I didn’t want to wait any longer, I asked him to stand up. I kissed him deeply, savoring my own juices in his mouth and on his wet beard, while my hands searched for his belt. I undid his pants with urgent clumsiness and yanked his boxers down.

His cock sprang out, hard and throbbing, quite thick, with a purple head and a drop of pre-cum hanging from the tip. When he instinctively tried to cover himself, I let him do it until I calmly redirected him, moving his hands aside without hurrying.

“Don’t cover it. It’s beautiful,” I told him, taking it in my right hand. “And it’s mine for tonight.”

I sat down on the sofa again, this time facing him, and made him spread his legs. I knelt between them. I looked up at him, holding his dick with both hands, and ran my tongue from the base to the head in one long stroke. His whole body shuddered.

“Relax against the backrest,” I said.

He leaned back, gripping the edge of the sofa with white knuckles. I licked the tip slowly, circling the head, savoring the salty fluid already there. Then I took him all the way into my mouth, as deep as I could, until I felt the head bump against my throat.

“Oh, fuck…” was all he managed.

I began a slow rhythm, sealing my lips tightly around the shaft and letting my saliva run down it to lubricate the whole thing. With one hand I caressed his balls, weighing them gently, while with the other I pumped the base and my mouth worked the upper half. Every time my tongue circled the head, he let out a broken gasp.

I sped up, sucking harder, letting his cock slide in and out with an obscene, wet sound that filled the room. I let him see everything: I pulled it from my mouth, held it in front of my face, and rubbed it over my lips and cheeks before swallowing it again. He watched me from above, mouth open, not quite believing what was happening.

I wanted him to enjoy it without coming too soon. When I felt him swelling more in my mouth and the muscles in his abdomen tightening, I stopped abruptly. I released his cock with a wet pop, blew cool air over it, and he let out a frustrated whine that made me laugh.

“Not yet,” I told him, climbing up his body. “I can’t wait any longer. I want you inside me. I want to feel that cock in my pussy.”

I climbed onto him astride. I took his cock in my hand, rubbed it a couple of times between my pussy lips to coat it thoroughly with my wetness, ran it over my clitoris until I trembled again, and then positioned it at my entrance.

I lowered myself slowly. The head entered first, opening me, and I paused for a second, breathing through the sensation. Then I kept going down, inch by inch, feeling my pussy stretch around him until it accommodated him completely. When I had him all the way inside, buried to the hilt, his hips against mine, I stayed still for a moment, simply breathing.

“My God,” he murmured, his hands trembling on my waist. “It’s…it’s…”

“Shh. Feel it. Feel how you have me.”

I deliberately clenched my pussy around his cock, and I watched his eyes roll back. Waves rose from the base of my pelvis and traveled upward through my entire body.

I began to move. First I rocked back and forth, rubbing my clitoris against his pubic bone with every pass, then I started rising and lowering myself little by little, pulling him halfway out and sinking him all the way back in. His hands were on my hips, learning the rhythm, helping me lift and fall with more weight each time.

“Like that,” I instructed between gasps. “Put it all the way in. Push upward when I come down. Yes, like that.”

I gradually increased the pace. His eyes watched my tits bouncing in front of his face as if he were memorizing every detail. I took one of his hands and placed it on one breast, making him squeeze it, and with the other I guided him to find my clitoris so he could rub it while I rode him.

“Two fingers, in circles, not too hard. Yes. That’s it, that’s it, that’s it…”

The sound of my buttocks slapping against his thighs filled the room. His cock slid in and out with a wet squelch every time. I felt it reach deep inside, touch something profound, and every thrust sent a jolt from my clitoris to my chest.

On the seventh or eighth deep movement, the overload arrived without warning: I tensed completely, wrapped my arms around his neck, and the orgasm lasted longer than I expected, rippling in slow waves that took time to fade. I squeezed his cock inside me with every contraction, feeling him grit his teeth so he wouldn’t come with me. I screamed against his shoulder, biting him a little, until my legs gave out and I clung to him, breathing against his neck, his cock still buried to the hilt.

“Are you okay?” he asked, worried.

“Better than okay,” I said against his shoulder. “You just made a woman come for the first time. And it wasn’t once—it was twice. Come on, let’s go to bed.”

***

My legs trembled a little when I tried to stand. When I pulled him out, I felt a thread of my own wetness run down my thigh. Marcos held me up. We reached the bed, and I fell onto my back, spreading my legs to make room for him between them.

“I’m fine,” I said. “Seriously. Come here. Now I want to feel you on top of me. Fuck me however you want to fuck me.”

He settled between my thighs. I took his cock, still shiny and wet with my juices, and guided it myself. It went in again more calmly than before, sliding all the way inside in one long thrust. After an orgasm, the sensation is different, duller, almost on the boundary between pleasure and exaggerated sensitivity, but I wanted him to make it to the end on his own merit.

He took his time. His hands traveled over my curves, he watched my tits move with the rhythm of his thrusts, sucked my nipples when he bent down, and bit my neck without leaving a mark. He began slowly and found his rhythm, bracing himself on his arms, sinking deep each time, his buttocks tightening with every push.

“That’s it, my love,” I whispered. “Fuck me like that. Put it all the way in. That’s it, that’s it. Don’t stop.”

I wrapped my legs around his waist, and he gained another angle, even deeper. His cock touched a spot inside me that made me arch my back. I dug my nails into his shoulder blades.

“Faster. Harder. Break me.”

He sped up. The bed began banging against the wall in time with his thrusts. He propped himself on one elbow and used his other hand to grip my jaw, making me look at him while he fucked me. His eyes were shining, he was panting, and his forehead was slick with sweat. I was beginning to enjoy it again, feeling my third orgasm forming in the distance but drawing closer, when he let me know he was near.

“Clara, I’m…I’m going to come…”

I wasn’t worried: according to the app, I’d ovulated days ago.

“You can finish,” I told him, grabbing his buttocks with both hands and pulling him against me. “No problem. Inside. Come inside me; I want to feel everything.”

His breathing caught. He gave three or four final thrusts, each one harder, driving himself in to the base, then he wrapped himself around me and I felt the first hot spurt pulsing deep inside, mixing with my own fluids. His whole body trembled. I felt another spurt, and another, and another, his cock throbbing inside me as he emptied everything he had. I rhythmically clenched my pussy around him, milking him down to the last drop, watching his face contract with every pulse.

He remained on top of me with all his weight for a moment, breathing hard against my neck, his cock still inside, still hard, still throbbing every so often. I stroked his back, damp with sweat.

When he finally pulled out, I felt a warm stream of his semen trickle from my lips onto the sheet. I stayed there for a moment with my legs spread, letting it run out, enjoying that very specific sensation of the aftermath.

***

We stayed like that for a while, speaking softly as we caught our breath and opened the sports drinks we’d brought. I had that peaceful post-sex warmth I liked more than anything else.

I told him that sometimes, with the light falling that way and my eyes closed, his face blended with Laura’s, and that it had aroused me more than seemed sensible to admit. He laughed, a little uncomfortable and a little flattered.

I confessed that now that I’d eaten and had those orgasms, all I wanted was to sleep. He thanked me for the night with a seriousness I found endearing.

“I’ll drive you,” he offered. “I’ll wait for Laura parked somewhere near there.”

We agreed not to tell her anything, for now. It was a secret the two of us could keep without any effort.

“We’ll do this again,” I promised him as I got out of the car. “And next time I’ll teach you how to eat my ass.”

I saw his expression when he heard that, and it was clear to me that this had also been the best part of his week.