Raúl's wife is caught having a passionate encounter with her stepson. Will she be able to keep her secret, or will the truth come out?
The air in the house smelled of freshly brewed coffee and that expensive perfume Clara always wore, somewhat floral but with a spicy touch that clung to his skin like a second layer. Raúl recognized it instantly, that scent that had excited him for years, but now, mixed with the fresh morning sweat, provoked something more: a pang of forbidden lust. He stood still by the half-open door to the master bedroom, his knuckles white around the porcelain cup he held. It wasn't the first time he'd lingered there, pretending to walk on by, but today something stopped him. A sound. A stifled moan, almost a sigh, but with that husky cadence that only came from his wife's throat when she was about to come.
Inside, the room was dim, the thick curtains filtering only golden threads of light that tangled around Clara's body. She was still wearing her tight lawyer's suit, the one that outlined her hips as if painted on her skin, but her jacket lay on the floor, next to the high-heeled shoes that had left imprints in the carpet. The black corset that held her generous breasts was undone, her heavy breasts swaying slightly with each movement, her nipples hard as rocks beneath the thin fabric of her blouse. But what really caught Raúl's attention was her round, firm ass peeking out from under her wrinkled skirt, her panties—a black lace pair he had given her himself—ripped at one side, hanging from one thigh like a trophy. Between her buttocks, something wet glistened, something other than sweat.
Kevin was there, kneeling on the bed, his large, calloused hands—the hands of a young man who worked out at the gym—squeezing that abundant flesh while his mouth devoured Clara's with an urgency that made her lips look swollen and shiny. It wasn't a chaste kiss, no. It was the kind of kiss that left marks, the kind that made Clara arch back, exposing even more of that ass now receiving the slow, deep thrusts of his adopted stepson, who was now 23. Raúl could see the exact moment Kevin's cock—thick, throbbing, veined—sank to the hilt inside his wife's soaked pussy. The wet sound of contact, the obscene squelch of flesh against flesh, reached him like a whiplash.
"God, Kevin..." Clara gasped, her nails digging into his shoulders as he nibbled on her earlobe. "Just like that..."
Kevin didn't respond with words. Instead, his hips moved in a slow circle, pushing his cock all the way in, causing Clara's lips to part in a silent scream. Raúl could see the young man's glans swell inside her, stretching the walls of her vagina, which were already adapted to receiving him daily, according to what he had deduced over the past few weeks. Clara moaned as if each thrust ripped her soul out, but her hands didn't push Kevin away; on the contrary, they drew him closer, as if she wanted to merge with him.
"I feel you so deep inside me," she whispered, her voice cracking, as one of her hands slid back to squeeze one of Kevin's buttocks, encouraging him to move faster. "Fill me up, baby. I want all your cum in me."
Raúl felt his own cock harden painfully against his pajama pants. This wasn't the first time he'd spied on them, but it was getting worse. Or better. Depending on how you looked at it. He brought the mug to his lips and took a sip of cold coffee, his eyes glued to the spectacle: Clara, his wife of forty-five years, her legs wobbly and her makeup already smeared, being fucked like a teenager in heat by the stepson they'd adopted and raised together, now a grown 23-year-old. This stepson had taken a mental interest in his stepmother, my wife. But did it matter now? Kevin had called her Mom for years, but the way his lips stuck to hers, the way his fingers tangled in her brown hair—now tousled and sticky with sweat—had nothing filial about it.
The guy grabbed her hips and pushed her forward, making Clara rest her hands on the headboard, her ass in the air, her skirt wrapped around her waist like a useless belt. From that angle, Raúl could see everything: his wife's swollen pink pussy, glistening with arousal, her lips open like a carnal flower, and Kevin's cock sliding in and out with a hypnotic rhythm. Every time the young man sank in up to his balls, Clara let out a high-pitched moan, her fingers white from how tightly she gripped the sheets.
"Harder!" she demanded, her voice choked with a moan as Kevin complied, slamming his hips against that bouncing ass with every impact. "That's it, that's it, that's it! Give me that cock, my love!"
Raúl couldn't help it: his free hand slid down, brushing his erection through the fabric. The heat was unbearable. He knew he should leave, that this was a line he shouldn't cross, even as a voyeur, but he couldn't move. Not when Clara began to contract around Kevin's cock, her thighs trembling, her back arching like a taut bow.
"I'm going to cum," Kevin announced, his voice hoarse, the muscles in his arms marked by the effort of holding himself at that angle. "Inside you, Clara. I want to fill your womb."
"Yes, yes, do it..." she begged, turning her head just enough to look at him over her shoulder, her eyes glazed with lust. "Give me your cum, Kevin. I want to feel you inside me for days..."
That was what broke what little remained of Raúl's restraint. Seeing his wife, the woman who had been his for two decades, begging for another's milk—worse yet, his stepson's—filled him with a mixture of anger and arousal that left him breathless. His hand moved faster over his cock, imagining it was him there, sinking into that ripe body he knew so well, but now responding to another with a passion no longer given to him.
Inside the bedroom, Kevin grunted, his thrusts becoming erratic, until he finally slammed into Clara with a violent spasm. Raúl could see the exact moment the young man's semen began pumping into his wife: Clara's fingers clenching against the wood of the headboard, her mouth open in a silent scream, the walls of her vagina squeezing Kevin's cock as if they wouldn't let go. A jet of white fluid slicked between her swollen lips, dripping onto the comforter, but the boy didn't stop. With a swift movement, he pulled out his cock—glistening with Clara's juices and his own ejaculate—and guided it into her tight anus, which was already lubricated by both of their fluids.
"Ah!" Clara gasped, but didn't resist. Instead, she pushed back, helping the head of Kevin's cock slide into her ass. "Give me everything, my life..."
Raúl held his breath. He knew Clara liked it in the ass, but seeing her take Kevin's cock there, after having swallowed it whole in her pussy, was too much. His own hand was moving frantically now, the coffee forgotten on the floor, the cup shattered. It didn't matter. Nothing mattered except the sound of bodies colliding, Clara's guttural moan as Kevin began to fuck her ass with the same intensity he had her pussy.
"You're going to kill me!" she screamed, but her hips moved in time with him, betraying her words. "But don't stop, don't stop!"
Kevin didn't stop. And when he came again, this time inside Clara's tight anus, Raúl felt his own orgasm hit him like a train, his semen staining the inside of his pajamas, his legs shaking. He leaned against the wall, panting, while inside the room, Clara and Kevin collapsed onto the bed, their bodies intertwined, sweaty and satisfied.
It was then that Raúl heard footsteps approaching the door. With a quick movement, he stepped away, but not before the door swung wide open, revealing Kevin, still inside Clara, his hands caressing her breasts as she smiled at him with a happiness Raúl hadn't seen in years.
"Raúl," Clara said, unfazed, her voice still hoarse from moans. "Did you need something?"
He swallowed, feeling the semen cool in his underwear. Lie, he thought. He needed this. He needed to see them.
"Nothing," she lied, forcing a smile. "I just wanted to remind Kevin to look after you while I'm at the office."
Kevin nodded, but his eyes—dark, bright—never stopped looking at him with a mixture of defiance and complicity. He knew, Raúl thought. The bastard knew he'd seen everything.
"Sure, Dad," Kevin said, the word "Dad" sounding like a mockery. "I'll take good care of her."
The door closed again. Raúl stood there, listening to the moans restart on the other side, louder this time, as if his presence had rekindled the fire. He wiped his hand on his pants, his heart still beating fast, and then he saw it: on the hall table, an old photo of Clara, young, smiling, wearing the wedding dress he had helped her fasten. He picked it up with trembling fingers, running his thumb over her face, so different and yet so similar to hers now.
"What do I do?" he muttered to himself, but there was no answer. Only his wife's moans, growing louder, and the certainty that, whatever he decided, nothing would ever be the same again.