The Night My Stepmother Stopped Saying No

When my parents split up and my father started a new life with a woman quite a bit younger than him, I had just turned eighteen. I could have stayed with my mother, but I decided to move into the new apartment with my father and Daniela.

Daniela had just turned thirty when we started living together. I was nineteen and my hormones were raging. Sharing a roof with a woman that young, that beautiful, and who, on top of that, was not my mother, sparked an immediate attraction in me. From the very first day I couldn’t look at her any other way.

I masturbated thinking about her almost every day. And, over time, I stopped settling for imagination.

I would go into her bedroom when no one was around, open the dresser drawer, and take her underwear. Thongs, lace panties, bras that still carried her scent. I would cum holding them in my hand and then, with my heart pounding, put them back folded exactly where they had been.

My father traveled a lot for work, so we spent whole days alone together. That closeness wove a trust that at first seemed innocent.

We talked about my studies, the girls I was seeing, some casual fling I had going on. They were normal conversations. Sex entered our conversations later, and it came in because of the pool.

***

That July afternoon we were playing with the ball in the water, as we had so many times before. I hugged her from behind to take it away and, not entirely by accident, pressed my erection against her ass. She felt it. And instead of moving away, she stayed pressed against me longer than usual, rubbing herself slowly.

We didn’t say anything at the time. But that night, on the terrace, she brought it up.

—It’s normal for that to happen to you —she told me, without looking me in the eye—. You’re a man, I’m a woman. There’s nothing strange about it.

From that point on we talked about sex with total freedom. About tastes, quirks, what turned us on. Until one afternoon she let slip something I had never imagined she knew.

—I don’t mind if you use my underwear to masturbate —she said, amused—. I just ask one thing: don’t leave them full of semen.

I froze, red to the ears. And instead of scolding me, she came closer, pulled down my tracksuit pants, and gave me a slow hand job, looking me in the face, until I came all over her hand.

***

After that, everything sped up. I started spying on her when she changed, when she came out of the shower with her towel barely in place. The tension between us was already so thick you could cut it with a knife.

One ordinary night, while we were having dinner alone in the kitchen, she held my gaze for a second too long over the rim of her glass. She said nothing. There was no need. We both knew that this had an expiration date, and that date was approaching.

One dawn I woke up thirsty and, passing through the living room, I saw her. She was lying on the sofa, wearing a black silk nightgown and a white lace thong, masturbating in the dark. She had one leg resting on the backrest and the other hanging down toward the floor, and between muffled gasps, she kept repeating my name as if she were praying.

I didn’t hide. I stayed in the doorway until she opened her eyes.

—Come —she said, instead of covering herself up—. Sit here, next to me.

I sat down. My heart felt like it was going to burst.

—I like you a lot, Daniela —I confessed in a thin voice—. I’d like to do it with you.

—I like you too —she replied, and I was surprised by how calm she sounded—. I’ve liked you for a long time.

That was the first time. She climbed on top of me on the sofa, I sat there and she wrapped her arms around my neck, and we did it slowly, holding back every moan so we wouldn’t wake anyone, even though there was no one to wake.

I could not believe what was happening.

***

From that dawn on, we fucked every time we got the chance. And the places were the most varied: the car, the kitchen, the bathroom at home, public restrooms, and even once at some relatives’ house during a family meal, while the others were having coffee in the garden.

We tried everything. Doggystyle, right side up and upside down, her on top riding me facing forward and backward, sixty-nine —my favorite—, standing against the wall. Coming inside her was never a problem, because she was on the pill.

Over time I discovered her secrets. That she kept toys in the nightstand drawer, suction toys and dildos of different sizes. And that she liked a heavy hand: being given soft slaps on the face, hard spanks on the ass, being held by the hair while I drove into her.

I was amazed to discover that side of her. Out in the open she was a serene, elegant woman, the kind no one would imagine with her wrists tied to the headboard. But in bed she transformed, and that double life drove me crazy. The more I discovered her, the more addicted I became.

To this day we still have the same energy as on the first day. We go to sex shops together to buy new things, laughing like co-conspirators while we choose. I even gave her a double penetration: the dildo in her ass and me inside her pussy, feeling the toy through the thin wall separating us.

But there was one thing, just one, that she would not let me do to her.

—Not there —she would always say, moving my hand away—. Yours is too big. You’re going to hurt me.

***

I insisted for months. Until one night I got into bed with her, hugged her from behind, and brought it up again in her ear.

—I don’t want to —she murmured, though she no longer sounded so firm.

—I’ll be extra, extra careful —I promised, kissing the back of her neck—. Slowly, with lubricant. If it hurts, we stop. I swear.

I kept whispering to her, caressing her, until I felt her breathing quicken. She was wet even before I touched her. And in the end, between sighs, she gave in.

—All right —she said—. But if you hurt me, we never do it again.

I started with what I knew made her crazy: anilingus. I parted her buttocks and worked her with my tongue, slowly, in circles, until I felt her dripping and trembling against my mouth.

—I’m going to put the dildo in first —I warned her.

I lubed it well and slid it in gently. It went in without resistance, as if her body had been waiting for it for a long time. I stayed there for a good while with a slow in-and-out motion, opening her little by little, speeding up only when I heard her ask for more.

She came with the toy in her ass and my fingers in her pussy. She trembled from head to toe, clutching the sheets, biting the pillow so she wouldn’t cry out.

—Now I want yours —I said, my voice hoarse.

—Wait. Let me get it nice and slobbery for you —she replied.

She turned around and sucked me for a few minutes, unhurried, coating me in spit, looking up at me with those eyes that made me melt. When she had it how she liked it, she got on all fours and arched her back, offering me what I had been chasing for so long.

I rested the glans at the entrance to her half-virgin ass. I poured a generous stream of lubricant on her and another on myself. I pushed carefully, holding my breath, and suddenly she gave way with a ridiculous, perfect sound, like a stopper popping out: plop.

I was nervous too. I had my cock inside her ass after months of imagining it, and I could hardly believe it.

—Keep going? —I asked, stopping halfway in.

—Yes —she panted, with a grimace halfway between pain and pleasure—. Don’t stop. Put it all the way in.

I kept pushing millimeter by millimeter until my hips bumped against her. Then the real fucking began. First very gently, pulling almost all the way out and sinking back in slowly. Then I picked up the pace, and her body adapted to mine faster than I expected, until I could go in and out without any difficulty.

Between the excitement and the thrill of finally doing what was forbidden, I didn’t last long. I came inside her ass a few minutes later, emptying myself completely while she moaned my name into the pillow.

She collapsed, face down, and I fell apart beside her, breathless. I grabbed her thong from the nightstand and cleaned the mess off with it, because some habits never die.

***

The next morning, while we were having breakfast as if nothing had happened, she confessed that she had loved it. That she wanted to repeat it that very night, and every time her body would allow it.

I had something to confess too. Months earlier I had told Marina, a cousin of mine with whom, as teenagers, we had been a lot closer than is convenient to admit, our story. I thought she would get angry. Instead, she smiled.

—And what did your cousin say? —she asked, amused, handing me the coffee.

—That now she wants to too —I replied.

Daniela burst out laughing and kissed me with her mouth full of toast. That very afternoon I met up with Marina, without telling her yet that I might not be going alone. But that, of course, is another story.