My mother-in-law is 96 years old and had a caregiver, but due to family problems she had to leave her job. Before leaving, she introduced us to a Cuban cousin who could care for my mother-in-law. The only drawback is that my cousin has a slightly developmentally delayed son, but he is very calm. Well, there are two bedrooms in my mother-in-law’s house, and if, as you say, it’s not problematic, everything should work out fine. One Friday afternoon, I went to visit my mother-in-law and saw her taking a nap in the dining room. The caregiver was also asleep on the sofa next to her. I walked down the hall to the bathroom, and just before I got there, I heard gasps and someone saying, “Suck my dick, you slut ... Look what you’ve done to me.” I peeked into the room, and there was who I assumed was the caregiver’s son. He looked about 18 or 20, and in his hands, he held up a huge, stiff cock, the biggest I’d ever seen, pointing straight up at the ceiling. He grabbed a photo of me—one he must have taken from the bedside table in the hall, where I was smiling on the beach in a bikini the previous summer.

“Slut,” he repeated, masturbating vigorously, his eyes fixed on my picture. “What big tits. What a nice ass. Suck my dick, you slut. Suck it all.”

I froze in the doorway, unable to move. The boy—the caregiver’s son, the one who was supposedly “a little slow”—held in his hands the biggest cock I’d ever seen. Black, thick, veiny, with a glans the size of a hen’s egg, glistening with precum.

And he was talking to my picture. Desiring me. Using me for his pleasure.

I should have left. I should have closed the door and left the house. But my feet wouldn’t move. And my hand ... my treacherous hand slipped down to my skirt, finding the instant wetness, the unconfessed arousal.

The boy looked up. He saw me.

He wasn’t surprised. He didn’t cover himself. He smiled, a slow smile, like a big boy in an adult’s body, and reached out for me.

“You,” he said, his voice deep, unexpected for his age. “The one in the picture. The slut. I want you to really suck me off.”

“I ... I didn’t...” I stammered, unconvincingly.

“Mom’s asleep,” he continued, pointing toward the hallway where the caregiver was snoring on the sofa. “Grandma’s asleep. We’re alone. And I ... I need. I need so much.”

He stood up. He was tall, over six feet, with an athletic build despite his condition. His erect penis pointed at me like a weapon, dripping, throbbing.

“Please,” he said, his voice cracking, childlike, needy. “Nobody wants to touch me. They say I’m weird. That I’m big. That I’m scary. But you ... you look at me. You like it. I can see it.”

He was right. I liked it. It excited me. The combination of his innocence and his size, his need and his virility, was driving me wild.

I went into the room. I closed the door. And I knelt down.

The First Time His scent was intense. Masculine. Wild. He didn’t use deodorant or cologne. It smelled of pure sex, of teenage sweat, of concentrated pheromones.

I took his cock in both hands. It was heavy, hot, alive. My fingers barely closed around its circumference.

“Suck it,” he sighed, his hands finding my hair, guiding me. “Like in the picture. Like you’re my whore.”

I put my tongue in first. Licking the head, savoring the salty, intense taste. Then I opened my mouth as wide as I could and started to go down.

It was impossible. Too thick. My jaw strained until it hurt, but I didn’t stop. I wanted to swallow this. I wanted to be the first to take it.

“Fuck,” he groaned, his hips thrusting instinctively. “Fuck, what a hot little mouth. More. Deeper.”

I managed to get half of it in. My throat opened, forced, massaging its length. He shuddered, his legs trembled, and I felt the first spurt of semen hit my throat without warning.

It was abundant. More than any man I’d ever tasted. It filled my mouth, my throat, and I had to swallow quickly to avoid choking. One, two, three spurts, hot, thick, with a sweet taste I hadn’t expected.

When he finished, when it came out of my mouth with a wet sound, he was still erect. Semi-hard, but recovering quickly.

“Again,” he said, grinning like a child with a new toy. “I want it again. But here”—he pointed to my skirt, my crotch—”I want to put it there. Mom says that’s where you put it when you want to make babies. I want to make babies with you.”

“We can’t make babies,” I whispered, even though my body was already undressing, pulling down my panties, opening myself up to him. “But you can put it there. You can fuck me. If you promise not to tell anyone.” “I promise,” he said, serious, and his cock sprang out, fully erect again, ready for more.

I lay down on the narrow bed, legs spread. He positioned himself between them, guiding his monster toward my entrance. The tip grazed my lips, wet and parted, and he pushed.

God, he was in. My body yielded, stretched, opened to receive him. It was thick, impossibly thick, but I was so turned on that Moisture and desire made the impossible possible.

“It’s inside!” he shouted, excited, as if he’d discovered a treasure. “I’m inside the slut! I’m making babies!”

He started moving. Fast, chaotic, without technique, but with a strength and size that made up for everything. Each thrust completely filled me, massaging spots I didn’t even know I had.

I came in minutes. A violent, unexpected orgasm that made me bite his shoulder to keep from screaming and waking the caregiver or my mother-in-law.

He felt my contraction, my tightness, and came again. Inside me, deep, abundant, filling me with his thick, hot, youthful semen.

He stayed on top of me, still inside, still hard, still ready for more.

“Again,” he whispered, kissing my neck with childlike tenderness. “Again, please. No one has ever left me. You’re the first. My first. My slut.”

I hugged him, feeling his weight, his warmth, his size still inside me.

“Always,” I lied, knowing this couldn’t be repeated, that it was too dangerous, too forbidden. “Whenever you want.”

But even as I said it, I knew he would return. That every visit to my mother-in-law would include a slip back into this room. That I would become his secret, his possession, the only one who could handle his size, his need, his perverse innocence.

The Forbidden Routine It became a ritual. Every Friday afternoon, under the pretext of visiting my mother-in-law, I entered that house knowing what awaited me. My mother-in-law asleep in the dining room, the caregiver snoring on the sofa, and him—the son, the young man named Eduardo, but whom I called “Little Boy” in private—waiting in his room with his perpetual erection, his insatiable need, his impossible size.

I learned his schedule. I learned to arrive when the caregiver took her nap from three to five, when my mother-in-law was medicated and asleep, when the house was our temple of furtive sex.

Eduardo was insatiable. He had no inhibitions, no shame, no limits. He wanted to fuck always, everywhere, in every way.