Christina's Adventures Part 13 (The New Friend)
The sofa still held the warmth of Timur's and my bodies—the indentations on the cushions, the barely perceptible scent of his skin mixed with my perfume.
Putting on a short silk robe. I sprawled on the sofa, feeling the soft fabric envelop my hips as the door opened.
Mom entered with a bottle of wine in her hands, her fingers sliding longly over the glass, leaving damp traces.
"Missed my daughter," she smiled, and something in her voice made me shift my gaze more slowly from her lips to the deep neckline of her robe, where a shadow hid between her breasts.
We sat so close that her knee pressed into my thigh, and the scent of her perfume—warm, with a hint of
vanilla—blended with the aroma of the wine. Each sip burned, but not as much as her gaze sliding over my neck when I threw my head back.The TV flickered with unnecessary frames, but we weren't watching. The bottle emptied, and Mom's fingers tangled in my hair as we slid lower, into the sofa's embrace. Her breath was sweet from the wine, and her body—warm and pliant, as if the boundaries between cuddling and something else had melted away with the last drops of Merlot.
I woke from the warmth.
Her hand lay on my waist, her fingers carelessly parted the robe, exposing my breast and the smooth, barely covered skin below, damp with warmth. Mom's breathing—slow, sweet—scorched my neck. Her lips so close that if I just leaned forward a little—they would touch my shoulder…
I didn't move.
I gently ran my palm over her thigh, feeling the silky skin under my fingers. A slight movement, a barely noticeable pressure—and Mom stirred, her breathing changed rhythm. She stretched like a cat before opening her eyes, and her lips stretched into a sleepy smile.
"Good morning," she whispered before touching her lips to my cheek. Her kiss was warm, slightly damp, with a hint of yesterday's wine.
Mom rose and sat on the edge of the sofa, her movements lazy but graceful. When she stretched, the robe slipped even more, revealing the curves of her body. Her back arched, and her rounded buttocks, firm and tempting, became the center of the universe for a moment. The thin fabric of the robe rode up, exposing the lower part to view—smooth, barely covered, enticing.
She stood up, and I couldn't look away. Her gait was unhurried, as if she knew I was watching. The robe swayed with each step, hinting at what was hidden beneath the fabric.
After a lazy day at the beach, where our bodies soaked up the sun and salty wind, the evening promised something more. Mom went to the bar first while I was chatting with Lisa. After talking with her, I decided to go to the bar.
I stood in front of the mirror, assessing every curve. Seamless white thongs hugged my skin, emphasizing every line, sensually cupping my lips, creating a sexy image. The short tennis skirt rode up at the slightest movement, revealing smooth, tanned thighs—high enough to make anyone's gaze linger.
A blue shirt, tied at the stomach, left my chest free—warm, firm, with a slight sheen from tanning oil. The slit allowed my nipples to barely touch the fabric, and I knew how they looked: slightly aroused, pink against the tanned skin.
My makeup was bold: bright lips, shimmering eyeshadow, eyeliner elongating my gaze. Not cute. Not minimal. A challenge.
White sneakers added deliberate innocence—as if I'd just popped in for a cocktail, not consciously gone to catch glances.
I approached the counter, and my gaze immediately landed on Mom. Her scarlet dress, clinging like a second skin, flowed over her slimmer body, accentuating every curve. The vacation clearly did her good—her waist became narrower, her hips—temptingly rounded, and the neckline revealed a full chest that trembled slightly with every laugh. She looked younger, more dangerous, as if she'd shed years along with her clothes.
Next to her stood a Latina—tall, luxurious, and sexy. Their laughter sounded thick, sweet, like the swirls of rum in a glass. When Mom noticed me, her fingers gripped my wrist, pulling me closer.
"Amada, meet my daughter, Christina."
Amada slowly turned, and her dark eyes slid over me—from bottom to top, as if feeling every centimeter. Her lips stretched into a smile, soft but predatory.
"Hi, Chris, just Ama for you," her voice was low, velvety, like a whisper on damp skin. "Mom said you were beautiful… But you're just a bombshell."
I felt a hot wave rise to my cheeks.
"Thanks… You're… amazing too," I forced out, unable to look away.
Ama was a goddess. Her hips, wide, powerful, swayed with every movement. Her waist, narrow like a vase, made her even more appetizing. Her chest, silicone, third size, firm like balls, lifted with every breath. Wavy black hair fell over her shoulders like silk loops, and her lips—plump, moist—sparkled with a smile, revealing flawless teeth.
But what drove me crazy the most was her black jumpsuit, sleeveless on top like a vest, going down, hugging her butt, the pants flaring at the bottom.
Ama slowly handed me a shot glass, her long fingers lightly touching mine, leaving a slight electric trace on my skin.
"To our acquaintance…" her voice sang like a warm wind, and golden sparks danced in her eyes.
I tossed the rum back—and immediately felt a fiery wave spread across my chest, slide into my stomach, and then spread lower, heating everything in its path.
"Whoa… Hot!" escaped me with a muffled moan. I covered my mouth with my palm, squeezed my eyelids shut, feeling how the alcohol and her gaze affected me with equally intoxicating force.
I opened my eyes and saw her gaze sliding over my lips, stopping at my neck, descending lower.
"It's so strong…" I whispered, feeling the last drops of rum burn my lips, and hastily washed it down with juice. The sweet and sour taste mixed with the smoldering heat inside, and for a moment it seemed as if my whole body was trembling slightly.
Ama laughed, her dark eyes gleaming with a hint of mischief.
"Are you used to drinking something more… gentle?" she leaned closer, and the scent of her perfume—jasmine and something tropical—enveloped me.
"Yes…" I admitted, feeling a hot wave rush to my cheeks. "I'm more into wine or something light."
"Good!" her voice sounded like a promise. She turned to the bartender, softly waving her hand, and her movements were smooth, like a dance. "Amigo, pour her an Aperol!"
The bartender nodded, his gaze sliding over my figure before he pulled out a bottle of bright orange drink.
Ama and I approached the high bar stools. I lifted my skirt, feeling the cool leather cover touch my bare butt. Goosebumps ran over my skin from the temperature contrast—the heat inside and the slight chill outside.
Ama sat down next to me, her hips spread, and I couldn't look away from how the material stretched over her curves.
"Like it?" she caught my gaze and smirked, running her palm over her thigh.
I swallowed, feeling my pulse pounding wildly in my temples.
"Very…" I whispered, feeling the betraying tremor in my voice giving away my state. "Where are you from?"
Ama didn't answer right away. Her fingers lazily traced the rim of my glass before she languidly called to the bartender: "Amigo! Another glass for her!" Her voice sounded thick, like molasses, when she finally turned to me: "I'm from Colombia, my parents met there."
"Ahh, what language do you speak at home?" I automatically looked around, searching for Mom in the crowd. At that moment, her palm—burningly hot—landed on my thigh. Her fingers slowly crept upward, approaching the edge of my skirt, and every centimeter of their movement made my skin burn.
Spotting Mom dancing in the distance, I turned back—and froze. Ama's face was so close that I felt her breath on my lips. Her silicone chest pressed against the thin fabric, outlining tempting curves that now threatened to break free.
"Spanish, my nenita…" she whispered, and dangerous sparks danced in her dark eyes. Ama's lips were moist, slightly parted, and I couldn't look away.
"What… what's nenita?" I forced out, struggling to swallow the lump in my throat. My thighs betrayingly clenched under her palm.
She smiled widely, revealing snow-white teeth, and handed me a glass. "Nenita, that's you!" her fingers deliberately lingered on mine as I accepted the drink. "Little… but so sweet…" she added, and her thumb ran over my wrist, making me shudder.
At that moment, her leg casually touched mine, and I realized—Ama had quite consciously spread her hips, allowing me to see how the black fabric hugged her legs, she slowly adjusted her pants between her legs and looked at me. The bar was stuffy, but now it felt as if all the oxygen had suddenly been sucked out of the room.
"Oh, it's so hot…" Ama whispered, languidly running her palm along the inside of her thigh. Her fingers slid slowly, as if drawing invisible patterns on the black fabric, and her plump lips were slightly bitten—as if holding back a moan. Sweat droplets ran down her neck, disappearing into the shadow of her neckline.
I bit my lip, feeling a hot wave run between my own thighs. "Yes… Could use some air conditioning…" my gaze stubbornly returned to her legs, along which her hand was sliding, for a second I noticed something moving in her pants.
Ama noticed the direction of my gaze and laughed—low, hoarsely.
"Does my outfit bother you, nenita?" she asked with feigned misunderstanding, deliberately spreading her legs wider. The black fabric stretched, emphasizing every line of her body, but still hiding the most interesting part.
Her hand slid up again, now purposefully approaching my skirt.
"Or maybe… you want to see more?" she whispered, and a challenging spark flashed in her eyes.
Her fingers softly but insistently wrapped around my wrist. "Relax, nenita…" Ama whispered, guiding my palm over her thigh. I felt myself trembling—a fine, betraying tremor running through my whole body. My fingers slid up her leg, feeling every muscle, every curve under the thin fabric of her pants.
When my palm reached the inner fold of her thigh, it paused for a moment. Ama took a deeper breath, her stomach tensed.
She pressed my hand harder, and I felt a firm, pulsating bulge under my fingers. My heart pounded wildly—this was not at all what I expected. Ama's cock tensed under my touch, as if responding to my confusion.
My fingers involuntarily clenched, feeling the pulsation under the fabric. My head buzzed, my body burned. I didn't know what to answer, only felt a responsive fire igniting between my own legs.
Ama smirked, seeing my confusion.
"Don't be afraid, nenita… I'll teach you everything…" Her hand slid onto my thigh, fingers digging into my skin. "But first… keep going…"
She pressed my palm to her arousal again, and I felt a vein throb under the fabric. The world around ceased to exist—only this pulsation, this heat, and her dark, promise-filled eyes remained.
"So magical, it just beckons me…" she ran her fingers over my pussy, making me jerk—"Wet… I love that," she said with satisfaction. Her fingers slid under the edge of my skirt, the soft fabric lifted, revealing thin white panties that had already betrayingly darkened with moisture. Ama froze for a moment, her dark eyes slowly sliding over every curve, stopping at the clear outline of my pussy showing through the thin fabric.
Ama smirked, watching my fingers dig into her shoulder skin.
"So responsive… And so wet…" Her finger slid over me again, this time harder, leaving a hot trail behind.
"You smell like a tropical fruit—sweet, ripe… Makes me want to taste."
I couldn't answer—only dug my fingers deeper into her shoulder, my hips themselves straining toward her touches. Ama laughed—low, deep, and in that laugh was so much promise that another hot wave ran between my legs.
"Silence is a sign of agreement…" she whispered, and her fingers finally slid under the fabric, touching bare skin. The world narrowed to this touch, to her dark eyes full of hunger, to the hot whisper promising something more.
Her finger curved with predatory grace, hooking the thin fabric of the panties. I felt the firm nail bed press against my parted pussy, beginning measured circular motions. Each touch sent shocks through my tense nerves, making my thighs involuntarily tremble.
"Quiet, nenita…" Ama whispered, catching my gaze. Her dark pupils dilated, reflecting my innocent look. I bit my lip until it hurt, trying to hold back moans, but betraying whimpers still broke through clenched teeth.
Her smile widened when she felt my inner muscles convulsively clench around her finger. "Dios, you're so tight…" her voice sounded admiring, "You're so innocent… I love fucking girls like you!"
A sharp thrust made me scream. Her finger went deep, with shameless confidence of a lover who knows their worth. My legs spread wider on their own, my heels slid over the leather upholstery of the stool.
Ama pressed her lips to my neck, her tongue slid over the sensitive skin, making me shudder.
"Come to my place?" her voice sounded low, seductive, like a whisper in the semi-darkness. "It's quieter there… cooler… and no one will disturb me from having fun with you properly."
Her finger inside me curved, deliberately touching that very sensitive spot that took my breath away. I gripped her shoulders, my legs trembling, ready to buckle.
"Ye-es… let's go…" my voice broke into a moan as her finger slowly withdrew, leaving me empty and trembling with desire. Ama smirked, her eyes burning with hunger. She deftly slid off the bar stool, one hand grabbing my waist, the other pressing my palm to her chest—I felt how hard her heart was beating.
"Just imagine…" she leaned to my ear, her lips barely touching the lobe, "I'll lay you out on my bed, spread your legs, and finally taste that sweet pussy…"
Her words sent shivers down my spine, and between my legs pulsed with wet desire again.
"Let's go…" I whispered, already unable to wait.
Ama laughed, leading me through the crowd, her fingers tightly gripping my hand—as if afraid I'd change my mind. But I wasn't going to.
Entering the room, I stopped in the center, and Ama headed to the shower.
"Make yourself at home, gatita, I'll be back soon…" The door closed, and I was left alone.
Running my hand under my panties, I felt how wet it was there. I was shaking as if from a fever. I didn't know what to expect—and I'd never been involved with someone like Ama before.
I sank onto the sofa, waiting for her with trepidation, as if she were my first partner. Inside, everything tightened with a strange tension—a mix of fear and curiosity. To distract myself, I turned on the TV, leaned back on the cushions, and put my feet up on the