The Visit That Almost Destroyed What I Had with My Stepmother

Helena had given herself to you in a moment of weakness and then asked for patience so she could sort out what she was feeling. The visit from her parents had put everything on edge to the point that it seemed unbearable, and yet, after every blow, the two of you ended up closer than before.

You kiss her again and hold her tightly. You breathe in her perfume, the one you love so much, and bury your face between her neck and shoulder while her hair brushes your cheek.

—I love you, Helena. But I can’t stand seeing you suffer because of me —you tell her, breaking inside.

—I’m not going to allow it, Mateo. We’re going to fight together. I have no doubts left that what I feel for you is real, and no one is going to separate us from now on. Are you willing to fight at my side?

—Of course I am. I’d go to the ends of the earth for you.

The sound of an engine approaching puts you both on alert. The battle isn’t over yet. With a knot in your stomach, you check and see that it’s them, her parents, coming back in the car. Helena sighs, exhausted. She has endured too much tension in too little time.

—Go up to your room and leave them to me —you tell her—. I’m not going to let your mother hurt you anymore. She can say whatever she wants to me; I’m not going to lose my temper.

—You’re right —she murmurs—. I suppose they won’t be long. Put up with whatever you have to, but don’t go up against them, okay? —she asks you, fear in her eyes.

—Relax. I’m not going to let them get under my skin like they did at the restaurant.

***

From the window of her room, Helena watches as they park and go into the house. They look furious, still arguing with each other, probably about you two. She feels like a little girl hiding and waiting for the storm to pass, even though she knows she can’t hide forever. What are we going to do? a voice in her head keeps repeating, over and over.

Meanwhile, you deal with Ofelia’s disdain, the woman who one day could be your mother-in-law. What irony. How did everything go so wrong like this, how did we get off to such a bad start? you think as you try to keep your nerves in check.

—What an outrage, abandoning us like that right in the middle of the restaurant! Where is my daughter? —she asks as soon as she walks through the door.

—She’s very upset. She asked me to help you in any way I can, but to let her calm down in her room —you answer in a measured voice.

—She doesn’t even think to say goodbye to her parents? —Ofelia says, flustered—. What a terrible upset! And it’s your fault —she adds, pointing a finger at you.

—Come on, Ofelia, leave the boy alone for today. There’ll be time enough to straighten out this mistake —Augusto cuts in, in a tone that sounds more like a threat than a truce, not wanting to get into the argument.

—That’s fine with me, Augusto. If I can help you with anything, count on me —you say, not feeding the confrontation, just as you promised Helena.

She looks at you over her shoulder, as if you were never on equal footing in the first place.

—At least you could take our suitcases down for us. I can’t manage them and Augusto’s had knee surgery —Ofelia says.

—Of course. I’ll be glad to help with the luggage —you reply, and you go upstairs with them, because you don’t want to leave them alone near Helena’s room, in case they go in and the argument flares up again.

While they pack away the clothes, Ofelia feels you watching her and takes the opportunity to keep hammering at you.

—Tell me something. When do you plan to start working to support “your family,” engineer?

—That’s enough, Ofelia. I’m sick of you —Augusto snaps, putting his foot down—. At least let us say goodbye to the girls in peace, because I imagine your daughter won’t want to see you for quite a while.

Ofelia gives her husband a murderous look, but holds back. Her anger turns into lament, as if she were the victim and not the one doing the damage.

—After so many years taking care of her, raising her, and look how she repays me now! —she cries out, unable to see the harm her attitude causes everyone around her.

You think of Helena and are moved. How has she managed to survive so many years with a mother like that, so manipulative? It must have been hell for her.

And those thoughts lead you to your own mother, who passed away barely a couple of years ago. How I miss her right now. A tear escapes from your eyes and you turn away to wipe it away discreetly. You’re not going to give that woman in front of you the satisfaction. You pray they finish packing the damn clothes into the suitcases so you can take them down at last.

But Ofelia has no intention of leaving you in peace until she disappears out the door.

—At least my late son-in-law had ambitions. You, on the other hand…

Far from crushing you, what catches your attention is that piece of information you hadn’t known until now about Helena’s first husband.

—Wait. Wasn’t your daughter divorced? —you ask, more out of curiosity than anger.

—Of course she divorced him. And that’s what killed him. After that, he gave himself over to drink and the bad life. With her he had a house, a home, and a family, but after that, one night he got drunk and drove off the motorway. That was the end of it.

The fact hits you hard. You had no idea Helena had buried her ex-husband. The girls don’t have a father who loves them: they only have her. Now you understand the weight your arrival has had in this broken family, how the little girls have always looked at you like an older brother, that figure who became even more necessary because of their father’s absence.

—I didn’t know that, ma’am. But I very much doubt the divorce caused everything else —you dare to say—. The divorce was the consequence of his life, not the cause. The rest was a tragedy.

—You can think whatever you want; after all, he’s not here to contradict you. But tell me, what kind of life are you going to give my daughter?

You can’t stand her sarcasm, but in very little time you’ve learned that she can only hurt you if you let her. Whatever she says, it’s nothing more than her opinion. You are not what she claims in order to despise you.

—I don’t know, ma’am. You’re talking about the past, and we all carry sad things back there. Now I understand what your daughter and your granddaughters have been through, and there’s nothing worse than losing a father. I know that very well. I also know you worry about her future, and that’s what a mother does, I don’t blame you for that. But the future is an enigma, always in motion. I prefer the present, which is called that for a reason. And the only thing that truly matters to me right now is your daughter and your granddaughters. Believe me or don’t.

You say it with a calm that does not go unnoticed by Helena, who is secretly listening with her ear pressed to her bedroom door.

—See, Augusto? I told you —Ofelia lets out with astonishing calm—. He’s a dreamer, an innocent who’s never going to amount to anything in life.

That woman tests every nerve in your body. It’s hard to keep yourself in check, but you decide not to be aggressive. Cutting, though, yes.

—I have nothing more to say to you, ma’am. No answer is going to change the contempt you feel for me, and even so I don’t bear you any grudge. I know you’re her mother, that deep down you love her and want the best for her. But sometimes love becomes toxic, possessive, and ends up poisoning the person. I only hope your daughter can forgive you someday, because there’s nothing sadder than growing old without a daughter’s warmth. Think about it.

—What insolence! To say that to me, you, who aren’t even a father yet —she snaps back, choking with rage.

—Come on, son, leave her alone —Augusto intervenes—. The suitcases are ready. If you put them in the trunk, we can say goodbye to the girls.

—Of course, sir. If anything, I’ve got youth and strength to spare —you answer with an irony that can’t hide the bitterness of the whole scene.

***

Helena has heard everything. Now she’s crying in her room, partly because of your words and partly because she knows you’re right. Your age doesn’t match your maturity. You lost your mother, and she knows it. Maybe that’s what transformed you from head to toe.

You wait outside, breathing in a little air away from Ofelia. When they finally come out, you open the car door courteously so she can get in. Augusto lights a cigarette and, before getting behind the wheel, gives you a final set of words. Not exactly words of encouragement.

—Son, look at the mess you’ve made for not knowing how to keep it in your pants, huh? —his words, apparently kind, cut you deeper than any shout from his wife—. Couldn’t you have just masturbated thinking about her? Now you’ve got two broken families, mine and yours —he says it with disconcerting calm, almost without malice, and yet it hits you harder than Ofelia’s threats—. Anyway. Let’s see how you explain this to your father. Have you thought about what you’re going to say to him yet?

He drops the half-smoked cigarette, crushes it under his shoe, and gets into the car. He fastens his seat belt unhurriedly, releases the handbrake, and the vehicle rolls away purring like a cat, even though it’s a jaguar that gleams on the hood.

You go into the house with the echo of those words booming in your ears. Each one has landed like a direct blow. They’ve taken you out of the fight. Your hands are trembling, desolation is written on your face, and you feel your legs barely holding you up when you see Helena come down the stairs at a run and throw herself into your arms.

—It’s over, darling. It’s all over now. Don’t worry —she tells you, holding you up with nearly all of her body.

The tears burst from you as if someone had turned on a tap. You can’t stop them. She keeps comforting you while you sway slowly together, like in a sad waltz.

—I need to sit down —you tell her in a thin voice, afraid your body might give out.

—Come to the living room, Mateo —she replies, fearing the same thing.

With her help you make it to the sofa in the large living room and sink down carefully. You feel wrecked.

—What your father said to me… —you begin, and discover you can’t repeat his words. They hurt too much.

Helena sits beside you and hugs you again. She wraps you in her arms, protecting you from that poison still echoing inside you. Her lips kiss your forehead, then your cheek, and then your mouth. Your dulled lips don’t return the kiss the way she deserves, but she insists, determined to erase the sadness from your eyes.

—Shhh, Mateo, listen to me. Nothing they said to you is going to change what I feel for you, do you hear me? Nothing —her eyes are swollen from crying, but her voice is steady. She hugs you tighter, her fingers tangling in your hair—. You’re good. You’re strong. And I love you, I love you so much…

Her embrace comforts you, her words are a balm. Her body presses against yours and lets you breathe in that perfume you love so much again, the same one you found so sensual the only night you ever became intimate. That night that now seems so distant, even though it was recent. That memory does matter to you, because the caresses and kisses from then will never die.

—I’m scared, Helena. Your father has really shaken me and I don’t know if I’m going to be able to… —you confess, and you feel your voice break, feel yourself collapsing inside like a house of cards.

She strokes your hair, trying to calm you. Her fingers stop right at your temple, where a crease of worry has formed.

—Mateo… —her voice is little more than a whisper—. You’re more capable than you think. You’re more than enough for the three of us. But if you need to hear it again: yes, I trust you.

She looks at you with those honey-colored eyes that mesmerize you, that soothe you, in which you could lose yourself like in desert dunes at sunset. They give off an infinite peace, and you understand that you can’t imagine a tomorrow without the chance to look into them.

—The question, Mateo, is whether you trust yourself. Because that’s what this is really about —she continues, without stopping stroking you—. Everything is born inside you. Just as you were drawn to me and crossed that line, just as you threw yourself into the void knowing you could crash and you didn’t. The courage is in you, and you’ve already proven more than enough that you’re brave just by having gotten this far.

—I trust you, I trust us —you tell her—. The rest doesn’t matter to me right now. The only thing that matters is you… and the girls, of course. I’d give my life for you all.

***

Helena stands up, takes your hand, and makes you get to your feet. She invites you to follow her upstairs, quietly, while the little girls play in their room. She gets you into her bedroom, closes the latch, and pushes you onto the bed, so you fall onto your back. There’s a new glint in her eyes, a fire you had sensed before but had never seen so openly.

Despite the mascara smudged by tears, there is no woman more beautiful than her at this moment.

—You’re gorgeous, Helena —you whisper as she begins to undress, revealing to you her fully grown woman’s body.

—I can’t take it anymore, Mateo. I need you —she answers, her voice husky, and she takes her hands to the buttons of her blouse one by one, unhurried, letting you savor every new inch of skin—. I need you to fuck me until I forget everything else. Until there’s only this left, you and me.

You’d never heard her speak like that before. The word cuts through you like a jolt and you feel your blood rush between your legs. She slips off her blouse and lets it fall to the floor. The black lace bra hugs her full, heavy breasts, which move every time she breathes. She reaches behind her back, unfastens the clasp, and her tits spill free, with the dark nipples already hard, pointing straight at you.

—Come here —you ask in a rough voice, and she shakes her head.

—Not yet. I want you to look at me.

She unbuttons her skirt, lets it slide down her broad hips, and kicks it aside with her foot. She stands before you wearing only black panties, sheer, and you can see the wet patch already darkening at her crotch. She runs a hand over her belly, strokes herself slowly, lowers her fingers, and slips them inside the panties. She touches herself without taking her eyes off you.

—Look how wet I am just thinking about you —she pants—. All afternoon putting up with my mother’s poison, and the only thing I could think about was coming up here and eating you whole.

She pulls her shiny, wet fingers out and brings them to her mouth, sucking them one by one. You’re so hard it hurts in your pants. You sit up to yank your shirt off and she finally comes close, kneels between your legs, and unfastens your belt with feverish hands. She pulls down your pants and your underwear at the same time, and your cock springs free, so tense it almost touches your navel.

Helena stares at it for a moment, as if recognizing it after a long time. And she smiles.

—Look at how hard you are for me —she murmurs. She wraps her hand around the base and squeezes slowly, measuring you, feeling how it throbs against her palm. She lowers her head and licks you from top to bottom, from your balls to the tip, with a broad, flat tongue, and you throw your head back groaning, your hands gripping the bedspread.

—Fuck, Helena…

—Shh, quiet. The girls —she reminds you, her mouth already brushing your glans—. Hold on as best you can, darling, because I’m not planning to let you go.

She opens her mouth and takes you all the way in. You feel the wet heat of her throat envelop you and think you’re going to come right then and there. She starts sucking you with a slow, deep rhythm, tightening her lips every time she rises, sucking hard every time she goes down. With her other hand she caresses your balls, rolling them between her fingers, squeezing them carefully. She lifts her eyes and looks for your gaze while she has you all the way inside, and that image—the lips stretched around your cock, the mascara smeared, those honey eyes locked on yours—almost finishes you off too soon.

—Stop, stop —you beg—. I’m going to come and I don’t want to. Not yet.

She lets you go with a wet pop and a naughty smile. A strand of saliva connects her lip to the tip of your cock, and she wipes it away with the back of her hand.

—Seeing you this hard for me turns me on so much —she whispers.

You grab her by the arms, pull her toward you, and turn her over on the bed. Now you’re the one on top. You rip off her panties in one sharp tug that makes the seam split, and she lets out a surprised gasp. You spread her legs wide and find her cunt soaked, swollen, with the lips open and the clit already showing, glossy. You lower your head without thinking and sink your tongue into her to the root.

—Oh God! —she moans, biting the back of her hand so she won’t scream.

You lick her from bottom to top, long and slowly, tasting her whole. You drink her wetness, breathe in the scent of aroused woman between her legs, and feel it go straight to your head. You suck her clit with your lips, tugging at it gently, and she arches her back off the bed, lifting her hips against your mouth. You drive two fingers into her cunt while you keep sucking her bud, and you feel how she tightens around you like a hot fist.

—Yes, yes, yes… like that, Mateo, like that… don’t stop, please…

You move your fingers inside her, searching for that soft, spongy spot that swells when she’s close, and when you find it you attack it, pressing on it while your tongue gives her clit no relief. Helena writhes beneath you, grabs a pillow, brings it to her face, and bites it to muffle the cry when she starts coming. Her cunt contracts rhythmically around your fingers, and you feel a gush of hot wetness soaking your hand and your chin.

—Fuck, how hard you came —you pant, climbing up her body, kissing her belly, her breasts, her neck, until you reach her mouth. She tastes herself on your lips and devours you, seeking your tongue with hers.

—Now you —she asks, nearly out of breath—. Put it in already, I can’t take it anymore. Fuck me, Mateo, fuck me like that night.

You grab her knees and spread them wide. The tip of your cock slides against the soaked entrance of her cunt, and when you push, it glides inside without resistance, all the way in, in one motion. You both gasp at the same time. She digs her nails into your back and you stay still for a moment, feeling how she grips you, how she throbs around you.

—This is our moment —she pants—. I’m never letting you go away from me again.

You start moving. You come almost all the way out and go back in slowly, very slowly, so she feels every centimeter. She closes her eyes and parts her lips in a silent O. You repeat the thrust again, and again, setting a slow rhythm that lets you hear the wet sloshing of her soaked cunt, the creak of the bed frame under each drive. You suck on one nipple while you fuck her and she grabs your head against her chest.

—Faster —she begs—. Harder, Mateo. Don’t treat me like I’m made of porcelain. Break me.

You do as she asks. You grab her hips and start pounding into her with force, pulling all the way out and driving back in to the hilt. The sound of your bodies colliding fills the room and forces both of you to bite your lips so you don’t wake the girls. She looks at you with her mouth open, breathing like she can’t get enough air, and her tits bounce with every thrust.

—Make me yours, Mateo. Like that first night —she asks, rising and falling her hips to meet you with such visceral surrender that your arousal grows without restraint.

You pull out and turn her over, put her on all fours. The sight leaves you breathless: her ass lifted, her back arched, her tousled mane falling over one shoulder, and between her legs the pink, shiny cunt waiting for you. You give her a soft, almost affectionate slap on the ass, and she moans, pushing her ass back, looking for you.

—Put it in like this —she asks, her voice broken—. Fuck me from behind.

You grab her ass with both hands, spread her cheeks, and slam into her with one thrust. Helena buries her face in the pillow and lets out a muffled cry. You start hammering into her hard, each удар driving your belly against her butt, and you notice that from this angle she feels even tighter, hungrier. You run a hand down her spine, up to her hair, and take a fistful, tugging gently. She arches even more, offering you every last inch.

—Like that, like that, like that… don’t stop… put it all in…

Every time you drive down into her, you feel her clench around you, and the muffled moans she lets out tell you more than any of the words that afternoon had tried to use to destroy you. Fear, Ofelia’s resentment, Augusto’s coldness, Augusto’s humiliation in the car: all of it dissolves in the friction of her skin against yours, in the smell of sex now filling the room, in the wet sound of your cock entering and leaving her dripping cunt.

You bring one hand around to the front, lower it to her belly, and find her clit with two fingers. You rub it in circles to the rhythm of the thrusts, and she melts. She grips the sheets with her fists, starts trembling from her knees upward, and her cunt clamps down on you so hard it almost forces you to stop.

—I’m coming again, Mateo, I’m coming again… —she whispers desperately, and bites your forearm when the second orgasm shakes through her entire body. You feel her cunt contracting around your cock in waves, squeezing you dry, and you have to bite your lips not to finish with her.

When she finally catches her breath, she turns beneath you, lies on her back, and pulls you on top of her. She wraps her legs around your waist and looks up at you from below, her cheeks flushed, her eyes shining with tears and pleasure mixed together.

—Look at me —you ask her, and she does, her eyes gleaming—. We’re not going to let anyone take this away from us.

—No one —she swears—. Now come inside me. I want to feel it. I want to carry you inside me all night.

You thrust into her again and you can’t go slow anymore. You pound her with everything you have left, every push bringing you closer to the edge, and she digs her heels into your back so you can’t pull out. Her tits bounce against your chest, her hands squeeze your neck, her tongue seeks your mouth.

—Come on, baby, come on now, come inside me —she pants in your ear—. Fill me up completely.

Three more thrusts and you explode. You feel your orgasm rise from your balls and gush in hot streams inside her, long, warm, endless. You growl against her neck as you empty everything you have into her cunt, and she pulls you against her, rocking her hips to squeeze out the last drop. The final shudder leaves you sprawled on her chest, helpless, your cock still inside her and throbbing.

Helena kisses your temple, strokes your sweat-soaked back. You feel the cum sliding slowly between her legs when you finally pull out, and she crosses her legs to keep it in. She looks at you and smiles, exhausted and happy.

Helena kisses you again, buries her fingers in your hair, and gives herself over completely. And as you hold her, as you feel her still trembling against you, you understand something you’re never going to forget: in this life, what matters isn’t so much what happens to you as what you tell yourself about it. That, exactly that, is what separates those who give up from those who keep standing.

Because after the storm, the sun always comes out, and when its rays cut through the clouds that are already dispersing, there is nothing more beautiful on earth. You feel her warmth again. And, for the first time all day, you are comforted.