The days following the bathroom incident blurred into a haze of unspoken tension for Elena. She moved through the mansion like a ghost, her mind replaying the scene over and over: Aslan's lithe, feminine form contrasting with that monstrous appendage swaying between his legs. It haunted her waking hours, infiltrating boardroom calls where she'd zone out, staring at her laptop screen, or during her solitary yoga sessions in the home gym, where her body betrayed her with a persistent ache. She tried to rationalize it—chalk it up to loneliness, to the sabbatical stirring dormant desires. But deep down, she knew it was more. Aslan had awakened something primal in her, a hunger she'd buried under layers of work and motherhood.
Aslan, bless his innocent soul, noticed nothing. At 19, he was a virgin in every sense—never had a girlfriend, never even kissed anyone beyond a chaste peck in high school back in his small Midwestern town. He'd been too focused on studies, too shy amid the teasing about his androgynous looks. Girls giggled, calling him "pretty boy," while boys eyed him warily. Here in Mexico, under Elena's roof, he threw himself into the internship with boyish enthusiasm, oblivious to the charged air. He'd chat animatedly over breakfast about market forecasts or cultural quirks, his hazel eyes sparkling with genuine interest. "Elena, have you tried deep-dish pizza? I miss Chicago sometimes!" he'd say, flashing that disarming smile. She'd nod, forcing a laugh, while her gaze flickered to his soft lips, wondering how they'd feel.
The tension simmered, unspoken. Elena avoided being alone with him when possible—lingering at the office longer, excusing herself early from shared meals. But the mansion was vast yet intimate; their paths crossed inevitably. A brush of hands while passing plates, his faint cologne lingering in the hallway. Each encounter sent a jolt through her, her voluptuous body responding despite her resolve. Her nipples would harden under her blouse, her full ass clenching as she walked away. She caught herself stealing glances at his crotch during movie nights on the couch, wondering if that bulge was always there or if her imagination was playing tricks.
It culminated on a sultry Wednesday evening. The city lights twinkled beyond the windows, a distant thunderstorm rumbling like a warning. Aslan had retreated to his guest room early, citing a headache from poring over spreadsheets. Elena busied herself in the kitchen, overseeing the chef's preparation of mole poblano—rich, spicy, a comfort food from her childhood. But as the clock ticked toward eight, she realized he hadn't emerged. "Better check on him," she murmured, wiping her hands on a towel. Dinner was ready, and she didn't want it to get cold.
She climbed the stairs, her heels clicking softly on the marble. The guest room door was ajar, a sliver of warm light spilling into the dim hallway. She approached quietly, intending to knock gently. "Aslan? Dinner's—" The words died in her throat as she peeked through the gap.
There he was, sprawled on the bed, pants shoved down to his ankles, his hand wrapped around that enormous BWC. It was fully erect now, a towering pillar of flesh—thick as her wrist, veins pulsing along its length, the head flushed an angry purple and slick with precum. Aslan's eyes were squeezed shut, his free hand clutching the sheets, face contorted in ecstasy. He stroked with frantic urgency, like a man possessed, his slim hips bucking into his fist. Soft whimpers escaped his lips, breathy and high-pitched, almost girlish. "Oh... Elena... yes..."
Her name. He was fantasizing about her. Elena's heart hammered, rooted to the spot. She should leave—turn away, pretend she saw nothing. But she couldn't. Her eyes drank in the sight: his delicate features twisted in pleasure, long lashes fluttering, those full lips parted in silent pleas. His cock throbbed in his grip, precum dribbling down the shaft, lubricating each furious pump. In his mind, she imagined, it was her—her curvaceous body kneeling before him, those massive tits enveloping his length in a warm, soft embrace. He'd thrust between them, her tongue lapping at the tip, sucking greedily while she titfucked him. "Suck me dry, Elena... your mouth, your curves... so perfect..."
The words tumbled from his lips in a whisper, fueling her trance. Heat bloomed between her thighs, her pussy clenching involuntarily. She felt a trickle—her arousal leaking, soaking her panties. Her hand drifted unconsciously to her breast, squeezing the heavy mound through her blouse, nipple peaking hard against the fabric. She bit her lip to stifle a gasp, thighs pressing together for friction. How long had it been since she'd seen such raw, unfiltered lust? Carlos had been passionate, but nothing like this—this youthful frenzy, this forbidden fantasy centered on her.
Aslan's pace quickened, his hand a blur. "Fuck... your tits... swallow it all..." His body arched, muscles tensing under his smooth skin. Then, with a strangled cry, he erupted. Cum shot from his cock like a fountain—thick, white ropes arcing high, splattering his chest, the sheets, even a stray drop hitting the headboard. It seemed endless, pulse after pulse, his balls contracting as he milked every last drop. Elena watched, mesmerized, her own body on fire, clit throbbing with need.
The sight snapped her back. She retreated silently, heart racing, slipping down the hall to her room. Splashing cold water on her face in the en-suite sink, she tried to compose herself. "Get a grip, Elena. He's just a boy." But the image was seared into her brain—the way his cock jumped, the sheer volume of his release. Dinner would be awkward, but she had to act normal.
Half an hour later, Aslan appeared in the dining room, freshly showered, hair damp and tousled. "Sorry I'm late! That report took longer than expected." He smiled innocently, digging into the mole with gusto. Elena forced a nod, her fork trembling slightly. She stole glances at him—those same lips that had moaned her name, now savoring the sauce. Did he notice her flushed cheeks, the way her eyes lingered? If he did, he gave no sign, chattering about a new app idea for the company. She murmured responses, her mind elsewhere, the dampness between her legs a constant reminder.
That night, sleep eluded her once more. The mansion settled into quiet, but Elena's body buzzed with unresolved tension. She slipped under the covers naked, as she often did, the silk sheets cool against her heated skin. Closing her eyes, she tried to summon memories of Carlos—his strong hands, his loving touch. "Think of him," she whispered, fingers trailing down her belly to her slick folds. She circled her clit slowly, imagining Carlos's mouth there, his cock filling her.
But the fantasy shifted, unbidden. Carlos's face morphed into Aslan's—those hazel eyes gazing up at her from between her thighs, his soft lips sucking her clit while that huge BWC stood at attention. "No," she gasped, but her body didn't listen. Her fingers plunged deeper, two then three, stretching herself as she pictured Aslan's cock instead. "So big... it would split me..." She rolled onto her stomach, ass in the air, humping her hand frantically. Visions assaulted her: riding him, her massive tits bouncing, his hands kneading her curves; on her knees, worshiping that shaft with mouth and breasts, just as he'd fantasized.
Orgasm built quickly, crashing over her in waves. "Aslan... oh god..." The name escaped her lips in a moan, loud enough to echo in the room. But it wasn't enough. She reached for her nightstand drawer, pulling out a long-forgotten vibrator—a thick, veined toy that paled in comparison to what she'd seen. Switching it on, she pressed it to her entrance, thrusting it in while her other hand pinched her nipples. Again, Carlos faded; Aslan dominated. She imagined him behind her, pounding relentlessly, his innocent facade shattered by lust. "Fuck me... use me..."
She came again, squirting onto the sheets, body shuddering. Still, the fire raged. All night, she masturbated—fingers, toy, even grinding against a pillow—each climax punctuated by moans and whispered pleas. "Your cock... I need it... Aslan..." Words slipped out, uninhibited, filling the air. By dawn, exhausted and spent, she passed out amid the tangled, soaked linens, her body finally surrendering to sleep.