Chapter 3

That old guy my mom calls her boyfriend was back at our house again. It was midweek, and now he was heading straight there, doing chores around the place to keep her happy. He kept eyeing me like he wanted something. The one time he tried to strike up a conversation, I made sure he heard me loud and clear:

“Old man, if you open your mouth to talk dirty to me, I’ll scream RAPE for the whole building to hear. Let’s see if you like being the little bitch in jail, you limp-dick old fart.”

He didn’t have the balls to stand up to me. I laughed at how flustered he got, the cold sweat dripping down his face whenever I was around. And I was about to mess with him again, just waiting for my mom to show up in the living room.

The kitchen was open-plan, with a counter separating it from the living room where he was chopping veggies. My mom, sitting on the couch, was as checked out as ever, eyes glued to her phone. From the hallway, I watched them chatting. Neither of them seemed to have spotted me. Like a cat, I crept forward slowly, ducking down behind the counter to the old man’s horror.

“Fuck, now you’re wearing my dad’s shorts too? Isn’t it bad enough you’re fucking my mom?” I whispered, pissed as hell.

“Crazy bitch, slut, get… get out of here…” he tried to shoo me away, without taking his eyes off my mom.

The Flamengo shorts, Adidas, with the number 10 from ‘82, were a relic to my dad. Even he didn’t wear them anymore, and now they were there, barely holding back my stepdad’s dick. I yanked them down and laughed, watching his cock spring free.

“Don’t move too much… I wanna see you explain this to my mom if she sees me here.” I said softly, crouched at his feet.

I grabbed him by the balls, my pinky finger right there, threatening his manhood. My face must’ve looked like a demon’s at that moment. He tried to kick at me with his feet, trying to be discreet, but he gave up when I wrapped my lips around that fat-headed cock. The guy was huge, and I gave him the sloppiest, most intense suck he’d probably ever had.

“Talk! Chat with my mom, I don’t know… Don’t just stay quiet!” I ordered.

“Babe… I was gonna make chicken with okra… But I think I’ll just stew it with a little tomato…” he stammered.

His dick swelled in my mouth. I focused on the head, drooling slowly, feeling the power at the tip of my tongue.

“Sure… Have you made that new rice yet?” my mom asked, without looking up from her phone.

I massaged his balls under the counter, squeezing his ass, pulling back the skin that kept covering the cockhead. I started licking that fat head with more intensity, now filling my whole mouth.

“Hmmm… Fuck…” he tried to hold it together, but his voice cracked.

“You gonna give it away, idiot?” my mouth pulled off to speak, but my hand didn’t stop. The handjob was steady, slick with spit and precum.

“What is it, babe? What’s with that face? Your tooth acting up again?”

“I think so…” he winced, covering his face with one hand.

“I’ll grab you some meds, hang on…” my mom said, getting up.

As soon as she left the room, I frantically started sucking the old man’s half-hard cock, switching between strokes and deep sucks. In a furious rhythm, I tried to milk out what I wanted from him.

“Come on, cum already, fuck! Before she gets back.”

One hand on his balls, the other jerking him while my mouth did the work. I felt his body tense up. He got rock hard and let out a muffled, repetitive groan. I couldn’t even see his desperate face from down there. I pulled my mouth off. Didn’t want his load down my throat. When it hit, he slumped forward, weak, and the spurt shot straight at the wall.

I stood up, grabbed a glass of water, and took a sip, watching him fix himself, still in shock. From the bedroom, I heard my mom’s footsteps. She was rummaging through some pills, muttering to herself about expiration dates.

“Huh, girl… You were there?” she asked, surprised.

“Yeah, Mom… You crazy?”

“Watch how you talk to me, girl!” she snapped, face stern, as she handed him the pill — he was still trying to hide his hard-on.

Oscar-worthy, I put on the most innocent face I could muster. I stared right at the wall and pointed, showing the almost colorless streak running down the paint below the counter.

“Uh oh, Mom… Looks like while cooking, he spilled something on the wall there. I’ll grab a rag to clean it up.”

And I walked out laughing.