My Boyfriend’s Brother Was Waiting for Me in the Kitchen

That night the party filled my house with people, music, and half-finished drinks. My uncles had been arguing about soccer in the patio for hours, my cousins were laughing in a circle in the living room, and no one even knew who had put on the song playing through the speakers. My name is Catalina, and that night, I’m not entirely sure why, I had gotten up in the mood to provoke.

I have brown hair, wavy, long enough to reach the middle of my back, and that night I wore it loose on purpose, knowing the way it moves when I walk fast. I’m short, with a narrow waist and wide hips, with legs that look longer if I wear the right heels. I had painted my lips a dark red I hadn’t worn in months.

I picked a tiny white top, one of those that leaves part of your midriff showing, and a blue satin skirt that barely covered my ass. Underneath, what nobody could see: a red lace bralette that was almost transparent and a matching thong. Over all of it, red fishnet stockings that came up to mid-thigh. Every time I crossed my legs on the couch, I knew someone was looking at me.

Tomás, my boyfriend, had started drinking beer as soon as we arrived, and by eleven he could barely stand. I settled him on the living room sofa, head thrown back and mouth half open, snoring softly. He had gone weeks without touching me properly. That night I had a sticky heat between my legs that wouldn’t go away, and he was asleep as if nothing was happening.

The one who couldn’t stop looking at me was Bruno, Tomás’s older brother. He was twenty-four, broad-shouldered, with a shadow of beard Tomás still couldn’t grow and dark eyes that followed me every time I crossed the room. Every so often our eyes met and he didn’t look away. Neither did I.

“Want to dance?” he asked as he passed by, with a smile that was no accident.

“Later,” I answered, and headed toward the kitchen with the excuse of getting more ice.

I knew he was going to follow me.

As soon as I crossed the doorway, I felt footsteps behind me. The kitchen was dim; only the range hood light gave the marble a half-lit glow. Bruno came in, shut the door with his foot, and planted both hands at the sides of the counter, trapping me against it.

“Catalina,” he said, very close to my neck. “You’ve been asking for it all night.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I murmured, but my nipples were already hard against the fabric of my top.

“Yes, you do.”

He looked at my stockings, looked at my skirt, looked at my waist. Then he dropped one hand and slid it under the blue satin. His fingers brushed the red thong and I clamped my thighs together, too late: I was already completely soaked.

“Look at that,” he murmured. “Your little boyfriend sprawled out over there and you like this.”

“Bruno, the whole family is out there,” I whispered. “Your brother is…”

“Your boyfriend hasn’t noticed anything for months. Or are you going to tell me he has?”

I didn’t answer. He grabbed my waist and sat me on the counter, prying my legs apart with one knee. My skirt rode up on its own. He kissed me the way Tomás never kissed me: wide, with his whole tongue, biting my lower lip until I was breathing hard.

His hands slid up my sides and pushed my top upward, leaving my breasts bare. He tugged my red lace bralette down with two fingers and bent to suck on them without urgency, eyes closed, as if he had all the time in the world. I had to bite the back of my own hand to keep from making noise.

“Please,” I whispered. “Someone could come in.”

“Let them come in.”

He undid his belt with one hand. When he pulled out his cock, I stared at it: thicker than Tomás’s, longer, with a vein running along the top. He pushed the red thong aside and, without asking permission, drove into me in one go, all the way to the hilt.

I let out a moan he muffled with his palm over my mouth.

“Shh.”

He started fucking me right there, standing between my legs, the cold counter digging into my ass. Every thrust shook me to the core. I dug the heels of my red stockings into his lower back and bit into the heel of his hand. The music kept playing on the other side of the door, oblivious to everything, and the wet sound of his cock going in and out seemed deafening.

“You’re tighter than any girl I’ve ever fucked,” he told me in my ear. “And look how fucking slutty you are: with the whole family right next door.”

He lifted me down from the counter, turned me around, and pushed me forward. I ended up leaning with my forearms against the marble, my skirt bunched at my waist, my ass bare between the elastic edges of the stockings. He grabbed my hips and came back in, this time from behind, deeper. With his other hand he reached around to the front and started drawing circles over my clit.

I couldn’t last at all. I came in less than a minute, biting my own forearm so I wouldn’t scream, feeling myself clench around him until my legs were shaking. Bruno let out a low grunt, grabbed my hair, and came inside me in thick, hot spurts that filled me completely.

As soon as he finished, he didn’t give me a second to breathe. He took me by the elbow and practically shoved me out of the kitchen and into the hallway, avoiding the living room. He opened the laundry room door, pushed me inside, and threw the latch.

“On your knees.”

I looked at him. His cock was still shining with my wetness and his own cum, standing up again inches from my face. I knelt on the cold tiles. I felt the red stockings sliding against the floor.

“Open your mouth.”

I obeyed. He grabbed my hair with both hands and shoved it down my throat in one go. I gagged, my eyes filled with tears, and a string of saliva ran down my chin to my breasts. He didn’t let me pull away: he started moving my head to the rhythm he wanted.

“That’s it, like that,” he panted. “Your little boyfriend will never fuck your mouth the way I do.”

I pressed my lips around the base and tried to breathe through my nose between thrusts. Every time he went too deep I gagged again and my mascara started running down my face. But I didn’t stop. I didn’t want to stop.

He sped up. He slammed my head against him and let out a long growl. I felt the thick spurts filling my mouth, hot, too much to swallow at once. Some spilled out the corners and dripped down my chin.

“Don’t swallow,” he ordered, pulling out of my mouth. “Stay still.”

He hauled me up off the floor by one arm, opened the latch, and pushed me into the hallway. I walked in a daze, mouth full, lips smeared, while he straightened my skirt and top from behind.

“To the living room,” he murmured.

When we got back, Tomás was still the same: sunk into the sofa, head tilted, mouth open. The party was still going on outside as if nothing had happened, voices muffled by the distance.

“Kiss him,” Bruno said under his breath, behind me.

I looked at him in horror, but his hand was already on my waist, pushing me toward the sofa.

“Kiss him properly.”

I bent over Tomás, trembling. I parted his lips with mine. He murmured something in his sleep and returned the clumsy kiss, eyes closed. I felt his brother’s semen move into his mouth. Tomás took it without understanding anything and kissed me harder, tongue sliding in, not knowing he was tasting Bruno’s release.

Behind me, Bruno had slipped his hand under my skirt and was squeezing my ass while I kissed his brother. When I pulled away, a white thread hung between Tomás’s lips and mine. I wiped it away with my thumb and he sank back into the sofa, asleep again.

Bruno grabbed my arm and led me back into the hallway.

“Good girl,” he whispered in my ear, and slapped my ass over my skirt. “Tomorrow, when he’s in his room, I’m going to fuck you the way you deserve to be fucked. And you’re going to come.”

He left me there, against the hallway wall, curls tousled, top crooked, skirt hiked up, red stockings slipped down. Bruno’s taste was still in my mouth, and Tomás’s on top of it.

I fixed myself as best I could. I walked to the bathroom with shaky legs, washed my lips, adjusted my hair in the mirror. The face staring back at me was that of someone who had just done something unforgivable.

I went back to the living room. Tomás was snoring. The party went on. Bruno was looking at me from the far end of the living room, a glass in his hand and a steady smile on his face, as if nothing had happened.

Guilt tightened my chest. But between my legs, something had already started pulsing again. And the worst part was that I knew, with a disturbing certainty, that tomorrow I would open the door for him.