Chapter 37

On Thursday morning, I shuffled down to the kitchen with my face all messed up and my pussy still buzzing from the night before. Mariana had already left — her tutoring class was way out, she had to take two buses to get there, and she was still dealing with cramps. Poor thing. She got up earlier than me and slipped out without saying goodbye so she wouldn’t wake me.

In the kitchen, everything was set up: stale bread, fresh coffee, and… the asshole.
Sitting at the table like he owned the damn place. Mom’s young stud, Cletus.

He was younger than her, but old enough to be my dad, no problem. Tall guy, flat gut, white teeth, that vibe of someone who jogs in the morning and buys supplements with English names on them. And my mom? She was stunning, like she had a deal with the devil or slept in formaldehyde, for sure. Everyone thought they were hot together. Except me.

He’d stare at me when I was in my sleep clothes, and I went and gave him ideas, and it got worse when he caught me fingering myself in my room.

And me?
Stupid, stupid, stupid. I went and egged him on. Played with fire. Now he wouldn’t leave me alone.

I walked into the kitchen in old shorts and no bra, and the son of a bitch already tossed out his little joke:

“Good morning, sunshine.”

I pretended not to hear. I grabbed the mug with so much attitude I could’ve spread it on the bread instead of butter.

“Good morning.” I spat the words like it cost me to talk to him.

He didn’t even try to hide it. He eyed me up and down like he was fucking me with his gaze.

“Your boyfriend’s really coming over today?”

I froze with my hand in the margarine jar and glanced at him over my shoulder.

“You can’t even wait for me to have my coffee before you start busting my balls?”

He flashed that smirk that made me want to throw hot coffee in his face.

“I haven’t talked to him yet, it’s still early. And please, I’m asking again, don’t hassle the poor guy.”

He didn’t blink. Just stirred his spoon in the glass and dropped it like bait:

“No worries… but you make a deal with me?”

I stopped mid-sip. I side-eyed him, already suspicious.

“Spit it out. What’s the deal?”

“You send me a pic of you… and I’ll be the coolest guy on the planet. I’ll even talk your mom into letting him sleep over, if you want.”

“A photo? What photo?” It came out automatic. My tone was wary, but deep down I knew.

He gave me that gross look guys get.

“The kind of photo like the one I sent you.”

Son of a bitch.

The image hit me right away. That damn photo he’d sent me once. Hard cock, gripped in his hand, with the window light hitting it like it was some holy relic. What did I do when I saw the photo? I liked it. I fucking liked the photo.

And now he was back, asking for payback.

I tried to stay serious. I swear. But my face gave me away, and I let out a crooked laugh, that laugh that only comes when your pussy winks at you.

I’m such a slut.

He got on my nerves, but I liked it. His harassment turned me on. I could say it was gross, that it was wrong — and it was — but the way he looked at me sometimes undid me. Like he could see right through my clothes.

“I’ll think about it.” I said, biting my lip without realizing.

He grinned like he’d won. And I went on with my day.

The day was hectic, and I got home beat. I swapped some texts with the guy, and the poor sap was all excited coming over to my trap without a clue, thinking he’d have me all to himself. I was still kinda pissed about his lame-ass response to the boyfriend story, but what could I do? Mom would start griping if he didn’t show up at the house soon.

He was due around eight. Still over an hour to go, so I headed straight for the shower. I stripped and gave myself the usual once-over in the mirror. I was hairy down there. Diana had said to let it grow a bit before waxing, but holy shit… it looked rough.

I sat on the toilet with the towel behind my back and, for some reason, started thinking about my stepdad’s thing. Curiosity hit: was that photo still on my phone?

I scrolled through the gallery to the hidden folder. That’s where I kept my secrets. It was turning into a whole collection of cocks. There was Matheus’s, one of Pedro’s that I took myself, and at the end… his.

I laughed at my own sluttiness, double-checked the door lock, lowered the toilet lid, and sat down, spreading my legs with a dumb grin on my face.

I propped the phone on my thigh again and opened the photo. The screen glowing, that ridiculous cock stamped there, veiny, throbbing. I trailed the tip of my finger along my thigh, inching up, brushing lightly, like my body already knew the way.

The first touch on my clit made me sigh. I was soaked. Slid easy. My whole body shivered, like it’d been waiting for this since the photo first popped up.

I closed my eyes.

In my head, he was right there. Standing, leaning against the bathroom door, holding that huge dick pointed at me, smiling like he knew exactly what he was doing. Looking at me with that horny gaze he always has when he sees me in sleep clothes. Me, sitting there, legs spread for him without a shred of shame.

In the fantasy, I said:

“That thing’s not fitting in me, no way.”

And he smirked from the corner of his mouth.

“It will. It’s going in all the way.”

And just imagining that cock trying to push into me, forcing its way, making my pussy stretch to the limit — my body shook. The feeling of being split open slow, feeling every inch carve its path inside me. Pleasure mixed with pain. Fear mixed with want.

I pressed my finger harder, slipping inside, one at first. Then two.

My mind was gone. Already him grabbing my waist, pushing in slow, telling me to relax, that he’d get it all in, that he’d teach me to take it. And me saying it wouldn’t fit, that it’d rip me. And that… that drove me totally insane.

I shifted better on the toilet lid, spreading my legs wider, rubbing firm. The wet sounds fired me up even more. Every time my finger grazed my clit, I saw flashes of his cockhead forcing entry, that stretched skin, that fat dick owning me.

I started moaning soft. Those moans you let out alone when you don’t have to fake a thing.

I rubbed faster, feeling my whole body tense up. The bathroom mirror fogged, my chest heaving, skin hot. And the thought locked in: it won’t fit… won’t fit… won’t fit… and still, I wanted to try shoving it all in. And of course, it slid right in easy.

The orgasm hit hard, shaking me, like I’d cum out the full weight of that filthy fantasy stuck in my head. I sat there frozen, panting, feeling the sweat trickle slow between my tits, hearing only my own heartbeat pounding in the bathroom.

When I opened my eyes, the screen was still there. The cock shining, hard, wanting me.

I looked at the photo again and laughed at my own handiwork. Imagining what people would think if they knew what went through my head. That’s when I decided.

I adjusted the phone camera, still with my hairy pussy all slick, spread it as wide as I could with my fingers — no shame — and snapped the pic. One shot, crystal clear.

Didn’t think twice.

Attached it to the message. Hit send.

I laughed. A nervous laugh, the kind that comes when you know you’ve fucked up…

I’m such a bitch, I came thinking about my mom’s boyfriend — and then sent him the photo.

And the worst part?

I was starting to get obsessed with the idea that his cock would fit in me.
All of it. To the hilt.