What My Stepdaughter Discovered When She Came Home Early

I've been married to Mariana for twelve years. When we met, she already had a little girl from her previous marriage, an eight-year-old with a freckled forehead who at first didn't even want to look at me. Camila grew up with me in the house, called me Dad when she felt like it, and I never asked her to. I loved her as if she were mine from the very first day.

Until she stopped being a little girl.

I couldn't say exactly when I started seeing her differently. Maybe it was the summer she came back from a trip with her friends and walked through the door in short shorts, her skin golden from the sun. Maybe it was earlier, when she got rid of her bangs and cut her hair to shoulder length. The truth is that one day I looked at her and she was no longer the freckled kid, but a twenty-two-year-old woman with a firm body, a narrow waist, tits that stood up under any T-shirt, and a way of moving around the house that knocked me off balance and made my cock hard without warning.

I started avoiding her. I came out of the bathroom with the towel tied tight because just crossing paths with her in the hall was enough to make everything show. I made sure not to be alone with her in the kitchen. If Mariana asked me to go into Camila's room to get something, I made up any excuse not to walk in there. I felt that if I let my guard down for a second, my head would betray me in front of both of them.

And my head betrayed me anyway. Especially at night, with Mariana asleep beside me and me gripping my cock under the sheets, thinking about the stepdaughter sleeping two doors away.

That Thursday afternoon I got home early from work. A meeting was canceled at the last minute and left me free at five. Mariana was at the salon and wouldn't be back until eight. Camila, supposedly, had gone out to study with a classmate and wasn't due back until later. The house was empty, silent, with that warm five-o'clock light coming in through the living room window.

I left my keys on the entry table and went upstairs to take a shower. When I opened the bathroom door, I saw her phone sitting on the edge of the sink. She'd left it there that morning, probably when she got ready to go out. It was the same phone as mine, same model, same clear case. I picked it up without thinking, planning to leave it on her nightstand so she'd find it later.

But the screen lit up when I picked it up, and I saw a notification from a photo app. One of those dumb alerts that says, 'A year ago today you took this image.' And the image, in the thumbnail, was her.

Just one look, I thought. I'll just see what it is and put it back where it was.

I swiped. The screen unlocked without asking for a password, as if it had been waiting for me.

There were hundreds. Hundreds of photos of her taken in front of the mirror, in her room, on her bed, in some hotel bathroom. Camila in lingerie, Camila naked, Camila trying on lace sets I didn't even know she owned. In some, she was squeezing her tits with both hands toward the mirror, her stiff nipples poking out between her fingers. In others she had photographed herself from behind, on all fours on the bed, ass up, shaved cunt parted between her thighs. There was a series sitting on the edge of the bidet, fingers between her legs, mouth open, eyes half-closed. The most recent date was three days ago.

I sat on the edge of the bathtub with the phone shaking in my hand. I had to stop. I had to turn it off, put it back where it was, and forget what I'd seen. Instead, I kept looking. One photo, two, ten. And my cock got hard against my pants before my brain could stop it.

I came out of the bathroom still holding the phone and crossed the hall to her room. The door was ajar. The air inside smelled like her perfume, a mix of vanilla and something citrusy that had soaked into the sheets. The bed was made. The laundry hamper, half open, stuck out in a corner.

I opened it. I pulled out a black lace thong that was on top. I brought it to my face before I could think about what I was doing. It smelled like her, like her skin, the soap she showered with, and lower down, in the crotch of the fabric, something more intimate, like a used cunt. I felt the blood rush through me and everything I'd been trying to hold back for months come crashing over me at once.

I pulled my pants down right there, standing against the wall of my stepdaughter's room. My cock sprang out, swollen, the tip already wet. I wrapped the black thong around the head and started running it up and down my shaft, rubbing the damp lace against my taut skin. With my other hand I held the phone, sliding my thumb over the photos, stopping on the ones I liked best. In one she was kneeling in front of the mirror, mouth open and tongue out, as if waiting for an imaginary load. In another she had spread her cunt with two fingers, showing the pink inside.

I jerked off with the thong pressed against my cock, smelling her cunt through the fabric, imagining it was her hand on me, that it was her mouth opening like that in front of me. I closed my eyes for a second and pictured her kneeling there, watching me do what I was doing, tongue out, begging me to come on her face.

And then I heard the front door opening downstairs.

***

My body froze. For a split second I thought about hiding, closing the door, jumping out the window. I didn't get to do anything. The footsteps on the stairs came fast, and before I could even pull my pants up, she was in the doorway.

Camila stopped dead. She had her backpack slung over one shoulder and her hair tied in a high ponytail. She looked at my eyes, then at the hard cock still in my hand, then at the phone, then at the black thong hanging from my fingers. No one spoke for what felt like forever.

—You got home early —I finally said, my voice breaking.

—So did you —she answered.

She didn't yell. She didn't scream. She didn't run. She dropped the backpack on the floor, closed the door behind her, and leaned back against it with her arms crossed. Her eyes went once more to my crotch, and stayed there a second too long before returning to my face.

—How long have you been doing this?

I wanted to make up an excuse. I wanted to tell her I had come in looking for something else, that the phone was mine, that she was mistaken. But I was standing against the wall with my pants halfway down, my cock hard out in the open, her thong in my hand and the screen still lit with a photo of her with two fingers inside her cunt. There was no possible excuse.

—This is the first time —I said, and it was true—. I found your phone in the bathroom. I wasn't going to look at it. I swear.

—But you did.

—Yes.

She was quiet for a moment. Then she took two steps forward and sat on the edge of the bed. Her thighs were bare, her short college skirt riding high. When she crossed her legs, I saw the hem go up a couple more inches, and out of the corner of my eye I caught a glimpse of white lace between her thighs.

—And what did you see? —she asked, looking at the floor.

—Camila.

—Tell me what you saw.

I swallowed. My voice came out rough.

—I saw everything. I saw you naked, I saw you with your fingers inside, I saw you on all fours with your ass up. I saw everything.

She lifted her head. She wasn't angry. She wasn't scared. She had an expression I'd never seen on her face before, half curiosity, half something else I didn't have a name for. Her lips moistened when she ran her tongue over them.

—And did you like it? —she asked, lower—. Did you like seeing your stepdaughter's cunt?

I could have lied. I should have lied. But it made no sense anymore. And my cock, obscenely, twitched on its own when I heard her say that word.

—Yes.

She looked down again, now straight at my cock, and didn't even try to hide it. She studied it calmly, as if measuring it. Then she stood up slowly and took a step toward me.

—You shouldn't have seen that —she said, almost in a whisper—. But I'm not an idiot. I know how you've looked at me for two years.

—Camila, no...

—Yes. I know how you look at me when I come out of the pool with my bikini stuck to my ass. When I bend down to pick something up. When I'm in the kitchen in short pajamas and no bra. I notice it, Dad. It shows in your pants every time.

The word 'Dad' coming out of her mouth then, with my cock still hard in the open air, hit me like a punch to the chest. I wanted to step back. I wanted to tell her to go. Instead, I stayed still against the wall while she took the last step and stood thirty centimeters from me, eyes fixed on my cock.

—Do you want me to give it to you? —she asked, looking at the hand with the black thong still hanging from it.

—Camila, this isn't...

—I've got a better proposal —she said, her fingers catching on the hem of her skirt—. You throw that in the laundry. I'll give you the one I'm wearing. Fresh out of the cunt.

I felt my breath catch.

—And in exchange —she went on, almost voiceless— you let me try. Just once. I want to know what it feels like. After that this stays in this afternoon. Tomorrow we'll go back to being the same as always.

I nodded without being able to speak. She lifted her skirt just enough to show me white lace against her bronze skin, already with a dark wet stain in the center telling me she was wet too. Then, with a movement that seemed rehearsed a thousand times in front of the mirror, she slid it down until it fell to the floor between her feet.

—Take it —she said.

***

What happened after that can't be told as if it were anything other than what it was.

I knelt to pick up the garment. It was warm and damp, a little piece of fabric with the mark of her cunt in the center. I brought it to my nose without shame, inhaled deeply, and she watched me do it with the faintest half smile. When I looked up, she'd sat back down on the edge of the bed, skirt hiked to her waist and knees slightly apart. Between her thighs I could see her shaved cunt, shining with moisture, lips just slightly open.

She stared at me without blinking. She didn't invite me with words; she didn't need to. Her knees opened a little wider, and I stayed there below her, kneeling on the rug in the room where I'd watched her grow up, with my cock still hard and hanging out of my pants.

I moved closer on my knees. I placed my hands on her thighs. Her skin was warm, soft, with a slight tremor she was trying to hide. I slid my palms upward slowly, waiting for her to tell me to stop at any moment. She didn't. All she did was close her eyes and spread her legs wider when my fingers reached the edge of her hips.

I ran my tongue along the inside of her right thigh, then the left, barely biting the skin. I felt her shudder. I kissed the top of her leg, so close to her cunt that my breath brushed her lips, and I heard her suck in air sharply, as if she'd been holding it since the moment she entered the room. I climbed higher. When my mouth reached where she'd been waiting for it, I laid my tongue flat over her whole cunt, from bottom to top, in one long stroke, and felt her whole body tremble.

—Oh, Dad... —escaped her, and she had to bite my shoulder to muffle herself.

I pried her lips open with my thumbs and buried myself in her. I sucked her clit slowly, circling it with the tip of my tongue, feeling it harden beneath me. Then I went lower, slipped my tongue inside her, pulled it out, pushed it back in. She was soaking wet. She tasted salty, a little sweet, so different and so exactly like I'd imagined her. She buried her fingers in my hair and tugged gently inward, pressing my face against her cunt as if she needed to confirm it was me there.

—Don't stop —she murmured—. Don't stop, don't stop, keep going.

I didn't stop. I slid two fingers into her while I kept sucking her clit, and found that spot inside where the skin feels a little different and started massaging it with my fingertips. She began moving her hips against my face, without rhythm, faster and faster. Half-formed words slipped out of her, 'like that,' 'there,' 'I'm coming,' and I sped up my tongue and fingers at the same time. When she came, it was with a low, long moan, biting the back of her hand so she wouldn't make noise in a house where no one could hear us. I felt her cunt clamping around my fingers, her wetness ran down my wrist, and she let herself fall back onto the mattress, her legs still trembling.

I kept my tongue there for a while, barely brushing her, until she moved my head away herself because she couldn't take it anymore.

—Come here —she said, her voice roughened—. Up. I want to see it.

I got up. I finished pulling off my pants and boxer briefs, which were hanging from one ankle, and knelt on the bed between her legs. She propped herself up on her elbows and looked at my cock, hard, throbbing, the tip shining.

—God —she murmured—. I had forgotten how big it looked when you were the one coming out of the bathroom in a towel.

She reached out and grabbed it. She closed her fingers around it and worked it slowly, up and down, looking me in the face while she did it. Then she leaned down and ran her tongue all around the tip, in a slow circle, tasting me without hurry. She opened her mouth and started taking me in little by little, first halfway, then more, until I felt it hit the back of her throat and saw her squeeze her eyes shut.

She pulled off, took a breath, and took me in again. She sucked me off looking up at me, with the high ponytail bouncing with every movement, with her tongue dancing under my glans every time she came back up. I grabbed her head and started moving too, slowly, pushing into her throat, and she let herself be carried along, eyes watering, a thread of spit running down her chin. I saw her arm slip between her legs and knew she was touching herself while she sucked me.

—Enough —I told her, tugging lightly at her hair—. Enough or I'm going to come.

She pulled my cock out of her mouth with a wet sound and wiped her lips with the back of her hand.

—Don't come yet —she said—. Put it in me.

She shoved me back against the mattress and sat on top of me, still in her blouse, still with her skirt bunched around her waist. She kissed me for the first time on the mouth. She tasted like mint, like a lozenge she'd probably popped into her mouth before coming up, mixed with the taste of my own cock. She settled over me, grabbed my shaft with her hand, and rubbed it over her soaked cunt, up and down, getting it nice and wet.

—Look at me —she said—. Look at me when I take it.

I looked at her. She rested the tip against the entrance to her cunt, lowered herself slowly, and I saw her close her eyes and open her mouth when she felt herself being stretched. She came down a little more, and a little more, and inch by inch she took me all the way in until she sat completely on me. I felt her cunt tight, hot, throbbing around my cock.

—Oh, fuck... —she murmured—. Oh, Dad, it's so big.

She started moving. First slowly, up and down, eyes closed and hands on my chest. Then faster, shaking her ass against my thighs, her skirt still around her waist and her blouse already damp with sweat. I grabbed her waist and helped her move, lifting my hips too so I could drive into her to the hilt each time. I pulled up her blouse and found her tits, a little smaller than I'd imagined, with dark stiff nipples. I squeezed them, sucked them, bit one. She arched over me and sped up the rhythm.

—Turn around —I told her—. I want to see your ass.

She laughed softly and turned without taking me out, ending up with her back to me, skirt still bunched high. She put her hands on my knees and started moving again, front to back, up and down. I watched her firm ass shake against me, my cock going in and out of her glossy cunt, and I grabbed one cheek in each hand and spread it slightly so I could see it better.

—Come on, get on all fours —I asked her after a while.

She shifted and got on all fours on the bed, face down on the pillow and ass lifted for me. I knelt behind her. I yanked her skirt up to her waist, adjusted her hips, and drove into her again in one hard thrust. She grabbed the sheets and muffled a cry into the pillow.

I fucked her there, on all fours, in the bed of the girl I had raised, pushing hard, harder every time, watching my cock sink all the way into Camila's cunt over and over. I grabbed her high ponytail and tugged a little, not much, and she arched her back and started pushing back against me.

—Harder —she said, her voice muffled by the pillow—. Fuck me harder. Like you've been imagining.

I gave it to her harder. I grabbed her hips with both hands and drove into her to the hilt with every thrust, until the wet slapping of her cunt echoed through the whole room and her ass bounced against my thighs. She started trembling again, clamping around my cock, and I felt her cum a second time, biting the pillow so she wouldn't scream.

—I'm coming —I said, feeling everything building—. I'm coming, Cami.

—Outside —she said, panting—. Outside, on my stomach, don't put it in me.

I pulled out at the last second, made her turn around fast, and finished on her with my hand over her, thick spurts landing on her stomach and staining her lifted blouse. She grabbed my cock with her hand and squeezed out the last drop, looking me in the face while she did it, mouth slightly open and cheeks flushed red.

I collapsed beside her, breathless. We stayed like that in silence, listening to each other's breathing. She ran two fingers over her stomach, scooped up some of the semen, and brought them to her mouth, sucking them slowly without taking her eyes off me.

—It's good —she said, with a half smile.

I didn't know what to answer. I sat on the edge of the bed with my back to her and buried my head in my hands.

—Your mom gets home at eight —I said without turning around.

—I know.

—This can't happen again, Camila.

—I know —she repeated—. That's what I just told you.

But we both knew, there in that room as the six o'clock light slid through the blinds and the smell of sex still hung in the air, that promise wasn't going to last. That tomorrow we'd pass each other in the hallway and both look away, but the next time we found ourselves alone in the house, both our heads would be in exactly the same place.

I gathered my clothes from the floor, picked up her phone where it had fallen, and set it on her nightstand. Before I left the room, she called me by my name. My first name, not 'Dad.'

—Go take a shower —she said—. And throw the other one in the hamper. Keep this new one.

I closed the door behind me and went downstairs shaking, the white thong clutched in my fist and my cock still sensitive, throbbing inside my pants. I got to the bathroom, turned on the shower, and stepped under the hot water without quite believing what I'd just done.

At a quarter to eight, the door rang. Mariana came home loaded with shopping bags and salon gossip. Camila was already downstairs in different clothes, a loose T-shirt, barefoot, helping her put away the groceries. When she saw me come into the kitchen, she smiled at me like any other day.

—Hi, Dad —she said.

And in that second, I knew we were going to spend the rest of our lives carrying that secret between us.