My Brother-in-Law Stripped Me on the Screen That Afternoon

The day started the way only a spring holiday can start, with sunlight pouring through the dining room window and lighting up the breakfast Bruno had prepared. It’s the only good thing I can say about him working the afternoon shift: those slow, unhurried mornings with toast and freshly squeezed orange juice. We were in that pointless Sunday chat when his mobile rang from the bedroom.

He went to answer it. I barely caught a couple of phrases, nothing that sounded urgent. He came back scratching the back of his neck.

“Who was it?” I asked, finishing my coffee.

“My brother. He says there’s a scheduled power cut in his street this afternoon and he needs to finish some designs for his portfolio before tomorrow. He’s asking if he can come by and use our computer.”

“You told him we’re not here, right?”

“I told him I’m going into work and you were going to the book fair with the girls from the office. But that, if he came before four, you’d still be here to let him in.”

“Fine. Then when he’s done he can shut the door behind him and somebody will get here eventually,” I said, ending it there.

Adrián, Bruno’s brother, is three years older than him. Taller, broader in the shoulders, but with the same eyes and the same crooked smile. As children they didn’t get along too well; it was distance, once each went their own way, that soldered the bond between them. He’s been married to Lorena, his first and only girlfriend, for almost ten years. They don’t have kids and don’t plan to, and they look good that way. He works as a programmer for an online training company, but in his spare time he does graphic design, photo retouching, and creates scenarios for video games that he sells in a community store.

We spent the morning tidying the house and putting together something simple to eat. We had lunch around half past one and, at half past two, Bruno kissed me goodbye until night. As soon as I closed the door I got in the shower and got ready at my own pace.

But at quarter to four a sharp clap of thunder burst over the roof and, with it, the afternoon. The fair was canceled. I spoke with my friends to find another plan, but the rain and our lack of enthusiasm convinced us to stay in our own homes, warm and dry. Right then the door buzzer sounded. I put away the clothes I’d laid out to go out and went downstairs to let my brother-in-law in.

“Hi,” I said, inviting him in.

“Hey,” he answered, giving me two kisses on the cheeks. “You weren’t going out?” he asked, looking me up and down.

“I was. We canceled because of the weather, so I’ll use the time to go over a presentation I have tomorrow. Make yourself comfortable, I’ll put out something to snack on and keep you company. And Lorena, wasn’t she coming?”

“She stayed on standby for the breakdown, in case we had to empty the freezer,” he replied, already heading down the hall.

I put some soft drinks and a bowl of nuts on a tray and took it to the room we use for teleworking. It’s the smallest room in the house: a double desk with the desktop computer, where he sat, and an extra chair that was the one I was going to use. The window, dressed with a sheer blind, let in a gray storm light, and the posters of our series gave it a cozy feel despite everything.

“Need anything else?”

“Nope. Thanks for the rescue, let’s see if I can finish soon and get out before dark.”

“Don’t worry. Your brother won’t get back until nine-thirty. If it drags on, we’ll order pizzas and you can stay for dinner.”

He pulled an external hard drive with his work on it and a couple of portable programs out of his backpack. He got started right away. I put on my headphones, opened the company portal, and sank into spreadsheets and bar graphs for longer than a Sunday deserves. When I could stand it no more, I saved the project and closed the laptop.

“How’s it going?” I asked, setting the headphones in their case.

“Good, actually. Blessed artificial intelligence tool Adobe put in the latest update. It almost does the job by itself.”

“Artificial intelligence?” I frowned.

“Look,” he said, turning the monitor toward me. “I’m finishing some backgrounds for a developer’s settings. See these mountains, this road winding through them? Boring. So I select this area, type ‘cabin with the fireplace lit,’ hit Enter… and ta-da. There you have a cabin with smoke, perfectly blended into the light of the rest. And if I don’t like it, I expand it and it gives me other options.”

“Seriously?”

“Seriously. It saves all the mechanical work. The idea, the composition, that still has to come from you.”

“And it works with anything?”

“With anything. Wait, let me upload this scene to the client and I’ll show you.” He uploaded the work to the cloud, sent the invoice, and gestured at me. “Come closer.”

I dragged my chair until it was right up against his. He went online, found the cover of a gossip magazine, and downloaded a photo of a celebrity who’d been caught walking her dog with no makeup on and whatever she grabbed first from the wardrobe. He loaded it into the program.

“I round off the blouse, tell it to make it red… and accept.”

It didn’t just change the color. The program respected the highlights, the shadows, the reflections, every wrinkle in the fabric. Witchcraft.

“Shall we change the hairstyle?” he didn’t even wait for an answer.

From long, messy hair it became a sleek mid-length cut, even filling in the background that the hair had been covering before.

“And look how far it goes,” he selected the dog, and the animal turned into a chicken with its shadow and everything.

“This is insane. It must have some filter, right?” I asked, caught between laughter and unease.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean censorship. It won’t let you do just anything.”

“As far as I know, there’s no limit. For example, if instead of changing the blouse’s color I tell it to remove it… this happens.”

And suddenly I saw the woman left naked from the waist up in the middle of the street, walking her chicken. Breasts out, nipples perfectly drawn, the bra mark that was no longer there still visible on her skin. I swallowed.

“And that’s legal?”

“Apparently, yes. It’s so new there’s almost no law. And what little there is says that, once you alter something like that, that person stops being that person and becomes a kind of very realistic drawing. There’s no way to pin anything on it.”

“I don’t even want to think about the filthy ideas you must have had with this,” I joked, rolling my chair back to my spot.

“None without permission, believe it or not.”

“Without permission? How do you mean? Tell me.”

I leaned closer again. Adrián laughed, a little awkwardly.

“A girl hired me to retouch some photos from a shoot a friend did for her. They were meant to be a gift for her boyfriend. She wanted some of them to be sexy, but when the time came she was embarrassed to undress in front of the photographer, so they stayed suggestive. She asked me to take her clothes off with the program. She ended up thrilled.”

“But that has to stand out a mile. With the model right there, you compare it and the edit shows.”

“I have no idea. I’ve never checked.”

“Show me?”

“I suppose… wait.” He navigated through folders. “Here.”

He flipped through the photos one by one, stopping at the ones where the girl appeared “naked.” It was impressive. You could see the post-edit work, much finer than the magazine celebrity’s. The skin looked like skin, the nipples had their own shadows, the cunt showed a triangular patch of trimmed hair that responded to the window light as if it were real. You could see everything, and yet it still looked natural.

“It’s almost scary how real it is,” I said, and noticed my voice had gone lower without meaning to.

“Like I said, I haven’t been able to compare it with the original in front of me. I don’t know if it fools you that much in person.”

And then I said it. I don’t know where it came from, but I said it before I could bite my tongue.

“I’ve got an idea… Make one of me. And I’ll tell you whether the result comes close to reality or not.”

The silence that followed was so dense I heard the rain drumming on the blind. Adrián looked at me as if he wasn’t sure he’d heard me right.

“Marina…”

“What? It’s for science,” I blurted, pretending at a lightness I didn’t feel. My heart was racing. “You take the photo, strip me, and we compare. No one has to know. It’s just a drawing, right? That’s what you said.”

He ran his tongue over his lips. I saw the idea gain ground on his face, saw curiosity beat common sense. He was my husband’s brother. We were alone. Outside, it was pouring. And I had just offered to let him strip me.

“Stand there, against the wall,” he said at last, his voice rougher. “I need flat light.”

I got up. My legs were trembling a little. I leaned against the white wall, between two posters, and he lifted his phone. The click of the shutter sounded like a gunshot.

He sat back down and loaded the photo into the program. I stayed standing behind his chair, my hands on the backrest, looking at the screen over his shoulder. There I was: jeans, a gray T-shirt, hair tied up. Normal, ordinary.

“I select the shirt… and tell it to remove it.”

It processed for a couple of seconds. And then there I was, in the same pose, with the same expression, but with my breasts out. My breasts. The exact shape, the mole I have under the left one, the color of the nipples, even the slight asymmetry between one and the other. As if I’d really been photographed without a shirt on.

“Jesus,” I whispered. “That is… that’s me.”

“Not quite,” he murmured, without taking his eyes off it. “The program made this up. It didn’t see it. It has no way of knowing what you really look like.”

There was a question hanging in the air, and we both knew it. I leaned a little more over his shoulder. He smelled of his cologne, the same one Bruno uses but different on his skin. I felt my nipples hardening under the fabric, my cunt getting wet without anyone having touched me yet.

“Want to know if it got it right?” I asked.

Adrián slowly turned the chair until he was facing me. He said nothing. His jaw was clenched and his eyes were locked on mine, searching for the signal that would give him permission to cross the line we’d been brushing for the last ten minutes. In the crotch of his jeans there was a bulge that hadn’t been there when he arrived.

I gave it to him. I put my hands at the hem of my shirt and pulled it over my head in one yank. I dropped it on the floor beside the chair. I reached behind me, unclasped my bra, and dropped that too.

The cool air in the room raised goosebumps on my skin. I stayed there, tits bare in front of my husband’s brother, while he looked me over and silently compared me with the image on the screen. My nipples hardened instantly, pointing at his face. I saw him swallow.

“So?” I asked, barely above a whisper. “Did the program get it right?”

“Almost,” he said, getting up from the chair. “It was missing this.”

He put a hand on my waist. It was warm, broad, nothing like Bruno’s. He slid it upward slowly, deliberately, until it covered one whole breast. His thumb brushed my nipple, pinched it, and a moan slipped out of me before I could stop it.

“The program doesn’t know this,” he murmured against my ear. “How you react. How you breathe. How your nipples stand up when someone touches them.”

I closed my eyes. I knew perfectly well what we were doing and who each of us belonged to. And still, I went looking for his mouth.

The kiss was anything but timid. It was direct, hungry, the kind that has been stored up for a long time without a woman even realizing it. His tongue came into my mouth and I took it, sucking on it as if I hadn’t tasted one in months. He pinned me against the wall, between the posters, and I felt his hard cock pressing into my belly through his jeans. I yanked at his T-shirt until I got it off. His chest against mine, my hard nipples rubbing against his skin, his breathing speeding up, his hands going down toward the button of my jeans.

“Wait,” I gasped, and for a moment he thought I was about to recover my senses. But it was only to unfasten my pants myself and drag them down in one pull along with my panties. I kicked out of all of it and stood completely naked in front of him, my wet cunt shining under the gray storm light.

“Fuck, Marina,” he muttered, swallowing. “You’re much better than the drawing.”

I took my hands to his belt. I fumbled it open, unzipped him, and yanked his pants and briefs down in one go. His cock sprang out, hard, thicker than his brother’s, the tip already wet with pre-cum. I stared at it for a second, and he let out a nervous laugh.

“Did the program invent that too?” he joked.

“Shut up,” I said, and knelt.

I grabbed his cock with my hand, squeezed it at the base, and took it into my mouth in one go. I sucked him down completely, pushing him against my palate, letting the tip hit the back of my throat until tears filled my eyes. He let out a groan and put a hand on the back of my neck, not to force me, just to feel me moving up and down. I pulled off, ran my tongue from his balls to the tip, lightly bit the sides, and swallowed him again. Saliva dripped down my chin and wet his balls. I sucked his balls too, one and then the other, while I gave him a slow handjob.

“Stop,” he panted, tugging my hair up. “Stop or I’m going to come in your mouth right now and I don’t want to.”

He got me to my feet, turned me around, and shoved me against the desk. He swept the tray of nuts aside with one hand, sending them spilling across the floor, and sat me on the edge. The monitor was still on beside me, with that invented naked version of me the program had made, while the real version spread her legs wide for her husband’s brother.

He knelt between my thighs. He parted my cunt lips with two fingers and looked closely, breathing on me, as if comparing that image with the one on the screen.

“The program didn’t know this either,” he murmured, and put his tongue all the way in.

My back arched against the desk. He licked my cunt from top to bottom, drove the tip of his tongue into my clit, sucked it, and bit it slowly until a long moan escaped me. He slipped two fingers inside and started moving them fast, curling them inward, while he kept sucking my clit. With his other hand he squeezed a breast and pinched the nipple. I bit my hand to keep from screaming, because the rain drowned a lot out, but not enough to drown what was slipping out of my mouth.

“I’m going to come,” I panted. “Adrián, fuck, I’m going to…”

I came in his mouth with my legs shaking, squeezing his head between my thighs, feeling him suck my clit all the way through without letting go. When he lifted his face it was shining with my juices, and he wiped the back of his hand across his chin with a sideways smile, the same smile as Bruno’s but meaner.

When he straightened and grabbed his cock to line it up, I stopped him for a second with my hand on his chest.

“This didn’t happen,” I said.

“Didn’t happen,” he repeated.

And he drove it all the way in with one thrust just as another thunderclap burst over the roof. A muffled cry escaped me. It was thicker than Bruno’s, longer, and stretched me inside in a way I wasn’t used to. He held still for a second, feeling how my cunt tightened all around his cock, and then he started fucking me.

He shoved it in to the hilt, pulled almost all the way out, and slammed it back in. The desk creaked under me with each thrust. I grabbed his shoulders, his back, dug my nails into him, bit his neck. He lifted my legs and rested them on his shoulders, folding me against the table, and from that angle he drove into me all the way to the balls. I could feel him hitting my back wall, hear the wet sound of our bodies colliding over the sound of the rain.

“Look at me,” he ordered. “Look at me while I fuck you.”

I opened my eyes. I stared straight at him while he pounded into me, while my husband’s brother filled my cunt over and over again on top of the desk where he was supposed to have just finished some designs.

He lifted me off the table, turned me around, and bent me over it, my breasts crushed against the wood and my ass raised up. He got behind me. He grabbed my hips and shoved back into me. In that position he buried himself even deeper. He slapped my ass each time he drove in, and I could feel the flesh trembling with every strike. He took one hand to my hair and tugged, arching my back.

“Tell me you like it,” he panted against my ear, never stopping. “Tell me you like being fucked by your brother-in-law.”

“I like it,” I moaned. “Fuck, I like it, don’t stop, keep going, harder.”

“Harder?”

“Harder, please.”

He sped up. It wasn’t fucking anymore, it was smashing my cunt apart on the desk. He put a finger in my mouth and I sucked it while he kept pounding me from behind. Another orgasm was coming back up on me; I could feel it rising through my legs, tightening in my belly.

“Again,” I whimpered. “I’m going to come again.”

He lowered his hand to my clit and started rubbing it in fast circles, never stopping fucking me from behind. I came screaming into my arm, clenching around his cock in spasms, and he had to hold me by the hips because my legs had gone weak.

“Me too,” he panted. “Marina, I’m going to…”

He pulled out in time. He turned me in one quick movement, laid me back on the desk again, jerked himself off twice over my breasts, and came all over me. Hot ropes of semen fell between my breasts, over my nipples, down my neck, one drop even reaching my chin. He came a lot, groaning under his breath, and when he finished he stayed standing there, cock dripping, looking at me naked and covered in his cum on the table where half an hour earlier we’d been talking about artificial intelligence.

He collapsed onto me. We stayed still, catching our breath, not daring to speak. I could feel the warm semen sliding down one side of my body. On the screen, my digital version was still there, tits out and half-smiling, indifferent.

He was the first to move. He took some tissues from the box on the desk and cleaned my neck, my breasts, my stomach slowly. Then he picked my shirt up off the floor and held it out to me without meeting my eyes.

“I’m going to delete the photo,” he said.

“Delete it,” I answered.

But both of us knew what needed deleting wasn’t on any hard drive. There were three hours left until Bruno came home from work. Adrián gathered his things in silence, put the hard drive back in his backpack, and before leaving he turned at the doorway.

“Lorena can’t find out.”

“Neither Lorena nor anyone else,” I said.

I closed the door and leaned against it, my heart still pounding and my cunt still throbbing. On the computer screen, before I shut it down, my digital self was still smiling, half dressed, holding a secret that was no longer just a program’s.