Yes, that's it, go ahead, baby, I'm all yours now. Mommy knows what you need. It's okay, no one needs to know. Our little secret, just you and me.
I know you've been watching me when you think I'm not paying attention. It's perfectly normal, baby. You're a growing boy and you're bound to have fantasies. And honestly, I've been watching you too. I've noticed what a handsome young man you're becoming, how big and strong you're getting.
Anyway, we're here together all day, no plans, no reason to get dressed, all the time in the world to explore and have fun. Mommy has fantasies too, you know, and now that you're such a big boy, there's nothing keeping us from making them real...
Yuna wasn’t one to stay still. Not since she turned twenty and realized the world wasn’t going to give her anything just for being “the good daughter.” She had moved back home after two years in student housing, and although her mother called it “temporary,” Yuna knew it was a way of saying “until you get married or die.”
But she didn’t count on him.
Juno—her mother’s new boyfriend—was younger than the previous ones. Thirty-nine, divorced, with a way of looking at her that wasn’t exactly paternal. He moved in three months after dating her mother, and since then, the house smelled of his cologne during the week, and of silence on weekends when her mother traveled for work.
Yuna noticed it from the first day: the way he lingered a second too long at the bathroom door when she came out wrapped in a towel. How his eyes slid over her waist when she bent down to take something out of the fridge.
In short, his eyes couldn’t look away from her, that gaze that said everything in just one second... that gaze full of desire and longing to do the forbidden with his current girlfriend’s daughter.
Saturday, 6:42 a.m.
The house still smelled of freshly brewed coffee and the detergent her mother used for the kitchen tiles. Outside, the sun was just peeking through, filtering through the blinds and drawing golden lines on the floor. Yuna slowly opened her eyes, feeling the weight of the duvet on her bare legs. She hadn’t put anything on to sleep: just an old cotton T-shirt that rode up to her waist when she moved, exposing her round, taut hips, and the start of her ass—the one she trained so hard at the gym, the one Juno stared at so much when he thought she wasn’t looking.
She stretched slowly. The first rays of sunlight touched her thighs, highlighting the softness of her skin, barely tanned, without a single mark. She touched her stomach, ran her fingers down to the edge of the T-shirt, feeling the warmth of her own body. And she smiled.
6:55 a.m.
She went downstairs barefoot. There was no one on the ground floor yet. Her mother had left the night before on a business trip. Two days. Just the two of them in the house.
She knew Juno got up early. He was one of those men who got up to run, to exercise, to shower, and then sit down to read the newspaper with his shirt open and his feet bare. She liked his ritual. She liked interrupting it even more.
She stopped on the last step. Juno was in the kitchen, his back turned, pouring himself coffee.
Yuna didn’t say anything. She just leaned against the doorframe, crossing her arms under her chest. The T-shirt tightened slightly, and she wasn’t wearing anything underneath. She could feel the cool air of the kitchen raising goosebumps on her nipples, how the cotton brushed her skin with every breath.
Juno turned slowly. The coffee cup in his hand, his eyes still sleepy, but when he saw her, he blinked. He stood still. He didn’t speak. He just looked at her.
She took a step closer. Then another. Her bare feet made barely any noise on the cold tiles. She stopped in front of him, close enough for him to smell her freshly awakened skin, but far enough that he couldn’t touch her yet.
—Did you run? —she asked, her voice still hoarse with sleep.
Juno nodded. He didn’t take his eyes off her mouth.
—And did you sweat a lot? —she continued, tilting her head slightly.
He swallowed. The movement was visible in his throat. She took another step closer, close enough for her nipples to almost brush his chest, but without touching him. Her hands rested on the kitchen counter, on either side of her hips. She circled him without touching him.
—You smell like exercise —she whispered, moving closer to his neck without touching it. And she smelled him. Slowly. From the hollow of his collarbone to the line of his jaw. She stopped near his ear. —I like it.
Juno closed his eyes. He clenched his fists on the counter. He didn’t move.
She took a step back. She turned, showing him her back. The T-shirt had ridden up slightly, just to where her buttocks began to curve. She wasn’t wearing anything underneath. She slowly bent down to open the fridge, arching her back, spreading her legs slightly. The cotton tightened over her buttocks, outlining every line, every muscle, every curve.
She stayed like that a few seconds longer than necessary. She knew he was watching her. She could feel it. The silence was thick, charged with something they didn’t dare name yet.
When she stood up, she had a glass of juice in her hand. She turned to him. Juno was still in the same place, but now his eyes were darker, wetter. He looked at her with a mix of desire and guilt, as if he had already crossed a line in his mind.
She approached him again. This time, she stopped right in front of him. She leaned forward slightly, letting the edge of her T-shirt brush his skin. Her nipples, hard and visible under the fabric, almost brushed his chest.
—Do you want to try my juice? —she asked, without parting her lips from a smile.
Juno didn’t answer. But his breathing had become heavier. She raised the glass, took a sip without taking her eyes off him. Then she licked her lower lip slowly.
—It’s very sweet —she whispered. —Do you want some?
He nodded slightly. She moved closer. She put the glass to his lips. He drank. One sip. Two. She didn’t take her hand away. Her fingers brushed his knuckles. Juno trembled slightly.
—Do you like it? —she asked.
—Yes —he replied, for the first time. His voice came out hoarse, broken.
She smiled. She took a step back. Then, without saying anything more, she turned and left the kitchen. She went upstairs slowly, letting her hips move with each step, knowing he was watching her. Knowing he wouldn’t move for a while.
She went into her room. She closed the door quietly. She leaned against it. She took a deep breath. She smiled.
Yuna spread her legs wider, sliding her fingers between the wet folds of her vagina. The heat was intense, sticky, delicious. Her clitoris was already swollen, sensitive, and every touch of her fingers sent a wave of pleasure through her spine. She pressed her lips together to keep from moaning too loudly, even though she knew Juno was downstairs, just one floor away, and the idea that he might hear her excited her even more.
She imagined him coming in without knocking, with that dark look she had seen before, the look of a man who no longer asks himself if he should, but when.
—Do you like this, you little slut? —she whispered in her mind, imitating his hoarse voice—. Do you like me seeing you like this, open, wet, thinking about my cock?
Yuna writhed against the sheet, arching her back. With one hand she continued rubbing her clitoris in circular motions, faster and faster, more precise. With the other, she slid two fingers inside her vagina, which received the entry with a small wet click. She squeezed inside, feeling her own warmth, her own tension. It wasn’t enough. She wanted more. She wanted to fill herself up.
She took her fingers out, brought them to her mouth, and licked them slowly, savoring her own taste. Then she brought them back down, this time further back, to the edge of her anus, which pulsed with every beat of her heart. She brushed it with the tip of her finger, barely, and her whole body tensed. She closed her eyes, biting her lip.
—Do you want me to touch you here too, you whore? —she imagined Juno saying, while she nodded, begging him to do it.
She pressed a little harder, feeling how her anus relaxed slightly, how desire clouded her judgment. She didn’t want softness. She wanted him to use her. To see her for what she was: a bitch in heat, who masturbated thinking about her mother’s boyfriend.
She went back to her vagina, now wetter than before. She inserted three fingers, stretching, feeling how it opened for them. The pleasure was dense, deep, as if every thrust of her fingers brought her closer to the edge. But she didn’t want to finish yet. She wanted to prolong it. She wanted desire to burn her.
She got on her knees on the bed, resting her chest on the pillow, her ass in the air. With one hand she reached her clitoris from behind, with the other she supported herself on the bed. She imagined Juno was behind her, holding her buttocks, spreading them, looking at her whole body.
—Looking at you like this… it drives me crazy —she imagined him saying—. I want to break you, Yuna. I want to fill you with cum while you call my name like the little slut you are.
She moaned, louder this time. Her fingers moved faster, more precisely. She felt how her vagina contracted, how her anus pulsed with every imaginary thrust. She squeezed harder, faster, until pleasure took her by storm, like a wave that drowned her. She grabbed her buttocks with one hand, squeezing them, while her orgasm ran through her whole body, leaving her trembling, gasping, with her fingers still inside, soaking wet.
She fell on her side, her legs trembling, her chest rising and falling hard. Her skin was covered in sweat, her T-shirt stuck to her body, her mouth slightly open.
reblogging this to add that I often think about the old man yaoi mangaka on bluesky who said "the phrase that finally convinced me that the English language is truly beautiful was 'this shit is so ass'"
janainaart
jacobvanloon
origamiaround
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