Chapter 7
The nude swap went down on a Friday night, and I already knew that weekend was gonna be quieter. Mom had warned me she didn’t want anyone bothering her, ‘cause her boyfriend was coming over. I’ve mentioned him before, right? The “young guy,” eight years younger than her. He was a good dude, liked to cook, and that made me happy ‘cause it helped Mom around the house. At least that way she could get some rest.
On Saturday morning, I texted Mariana to spill the news about Matheus. She laughed and cheered me on like crazy, full of ideas. I felt kinda shy about sending her the pic he’d sent me and made up that I’d deleted it. Deep down, I was worried he might show my pics around. You couldn’t recognize me right away, but anyone who came over to our house would know it was me in two seconds flat.
Mariana, wild as always, already wanted me to set something up right away. But that was impossible. No way at my place, and I wasn’t about to lose my first time out in the woods. We still talked about Pedro, my cousin I’d been crushing on for a while. But he was slow as fuck. Matheus was smarter, and that made me feel more at ease about doing something with him.
I didn’t tell Mariana about the thing with Carla. Just thinking about it made me embarrassed. And honestly, I don’t think she’d even believe me if I came clean.
The idea of giving it up wouldn’t leave my head since last week. Weird, ‘cause before I didn’t think about it like that. I mean, I fantasized, liked the idea, but never made plans for it. After the laundry room day, when I sucked off Carla and her boyfriend, it felt like something in me had changed. I don’t even know how I got the guts to do that. Just remembering the feeling of dominating them both, how my body reacted, it drove me nuts.
Still in bed, after gossiping with Mariana, I opened the pic of Matheus’s cock. That shit got me fired up. I slid my panties to the side; the shorts from my set were loose enough not to get in the way. My hand went straight there, and I was soaked in seconds. I loved feeling my own touch, my texture. The smooth, soft skin. Wet, my fingers slid easy, and that turned me on even more.
But I wanted more. Wanted to shove my fingers in, feel it inside. But every time I tried, it hurt. I pushed a little to see if it’d give, but nope. The pain was right at the entrance, like something tearing every time I pushed. It was frustrating. My body was on fire, but in the wrong way. The pain got in the way, wouldn’t let me go as far as I wanted.
I kept imagining what it’d be like with a real cock. Just thinking about it, I felt a clench, an anticipatory ache, like my body already knew what was coming. In the back? Not even a finger could get in. But I couldn’t stop thinking about it. I fantasized that maybe I could do it in the back and stay a virgin, some ridiculous fix for the fear of getting caught. If Mom asked the gyno something, I’d be screwed. She’d wanna know who I’d fucked, and I couldn’t come up with an excuse.
I tried again to put a finger in. It was quick. An unbearable, gross discomfort made me stop. When I pulled it out, it was dirty, and just imagining him seeing that made my stomach turn. Plus, everyone said it hurt way more in the back than up front.
Tired of frustrating myself alone, I got up, washed my face in the sink, trying to shake off the thoughts. Brushed my teeth, took my morning piss, washed my hands, and headed down to the kitchen in the clothes I’d slept in. Old shorts, loose shirt, no bra. It was Saturday, and I figured the place was empty. Mom had gone out, but he was there, my stepdad, right where he always hung out in the morning, making coffee.
When he saw me, he smiled and came over to kiss my cheek, like he did every day, natural, almost automatic.
“Hey there, little one? Sleep okay?”
“Yeah, I did, Uncle,” I replied. I’d always called him that. It was habit.
He took a sip of his coffee and commented casually:
“Matheus asked about you yesterday.”
The mention caught me off guard.
“Oh, yeah?” I played it cool, not sure how to react. “I dunno…”
I got nervous. Matheus was his son. I didn’t know they’d talked about me.
“Grab a seat and eat,” he said, opening the bag with the bread. “I got it fresh this morning.”
I tried to calm down and sat. The morning seemed normal, but I felt something different in the air, even if I couldn’t put my finger on it.
I was making my coffee, same old routine. He made small talk, casual, trying to be nice. I liked him, I admit. My dad was an unbearable old prick, always complaining, distant. This guy was the opposite, attentive and polite. But something was off that morning. It was just us two in the kitchen. My siblings must’ve headed out early to hit the beach. Still, the space felt too tight, suffocating even. As I stirred my coffee, I felt that unexplained unease. The kind of thing you don’t see but you feel. His gaze was there, heavy, locked on me.
I pretended not to notice, turned my back, trying to hide the discomfort. I ran my hand lightly along the hem of my shirt, like I was fixing something out of place. Maybe it was paranoia. Or not. “Fuck, my nipples are hard… That’s it!” I hated when that happened. I’d left the room without a bra, and now the headlights were on, like two rocks, pointing for no reason. It wasn’t even cold to blame it on. I took a deep breath and forced myself to relax. Couldn’t drink coffee with my arms crossed. Besides, he was my stepdad. No reason to care.
I sat at the table, trying to ignore it. As I chewed slowly, he was leaning against the sink, facing me. He held the mug in one hand and his phone in the other, like he was distracted. But I knew he wasn’t. His eyes went up and down toward my tits, and this time I saw it. Our gazes met, and he choked on his coffee, coughing like he was trying to recover from his own embarrassment. I don’t know what I expected to feel in that moment. Shame, maybe. But no. What hit me was an unsettling curiosity.
I’d always thought my body didn’t do shit to any guy. Small, plain. Incapable of sparking desire. But there he was, an older man, clearly fighting an internal battle to keep looking without getting caught. I hid a smile, a weird satisfaction rising in my chest. I admit it got me a little turned on. Seeing him so bothered, so out of control, brought back that familiar feeling from the laundry room the other day: domination.
I decided to test it. I stretched with my eyes closed, more than needed, enough to arch my back and extend my arms in a way I knew made my tits look good. I knew my body. Knew exactly how it moved, how the shirt fabric would hug the curve of my breasts. Then, casual as hell, I let the strap of my shirt slip down a bit. It was almost innocent, but it showed the edge where the skin of my nipples started to change tone. I pretended to be distracted, like my phone was way more interesting than anything around, but I knew. I felt the weight of his stare, hot, hesitant. It was like he was devouring me in silence, trying to convince himself he wasn’t doing anything wrong.
For a second, I thought about Mom. She’d kill me if she knew. But all I could do was laugh inside. She’d never believe I was egging on my own stepdad. And worse, that I was doing it on purpose.