My brother-in-law wanted to see the photos my husband took of me

The cursor slid clumsily across the screen, making little detours, as if the hand moving it wasn’t much steadier than the rest of my body. Tomás breathed slowly, weighing each click, and I understood he was just as frightened as I was of what we were about to do.

—I don’t know. I’d like to start with something less intense —he said, haltingly, without daring to look at me.

—Then start with that folder —I suggested, pointing at one my husband had christened with a name that said it all.

It was Hugo’s catch-all drawer: a collection of stolen photos, taken without my knowing, almost always while I was asleep. Images that, far from upsetting me, had always stirred a mix of tenderness and kink in me. Knowing my husband needed to catch me off guard in order to preserve a memory that was slipping through his fingers seemed to me the most honest form of desire. That now it was his brother opening them one by one was something very different.

The first images hit us with a wave of nostalgia. Four very low-quality captures, taken from a video call back when cameras were bad and the connection even worse. We must have been between twenty and twenty-two, no more. On the screen I appeared so young, wearing a cheap white T-shirt and nothing underneath. The fabric, almost transparent, made out my tits and the dark shadow of my nipples pressing against the cotton.

Tomás moved on to the next one, where I had tied the shirt in a knot under my breasts to make them stand out even more. And then, the reveal: the T-shirt disappeared and my younger self was shamelessly on display before the camera, tits out and one hand pulling down my panties. My brother-in-law went through the photos backward, lingering over the blurry details, fascinated by that version of me he had never known.

He’s looking at what his brother watches alone to jerk off to, I thought, and felt heat rising up my neck.

The cursor jumped forward years in one go. The quality leapt to high definition. Now they were photos from an ordinary night. I was asleep, wearing only a tank top and black lace boyshorts. A close-up of my ass, split by the seam, my legs, the soles of my feet, since I was lying on my side. While he zoomed in on the parts he found most interesting, I split my attention between what I saw on the screen and what it was doing to him. For the moment he was only using one hand to brace himself on the armrest, but the other half of his body couldn’t hide it: beneath his trousers a bulge could be made out, growing with each image, and I surprised myself by measuring it with my eyes, calculating the thickness of that cock straining against the fabric.

The sequence continued. More sleeping photos, this time completely naked. A top-down shot of my tits falling outward. Tomás enlarged the area around the nipples, not knowing the next photo was a macro shot of one of them, so close you could make out the pores in the skin and the rough texture of the areola. And to finish, my pussy in ultra-high definition. Two images of almost clinical quality, the shaved mound, the lips parting just enough to show the pink, shining entrance, and a third in which the clit could clearly be seen peeking out between the flesh.

His arousal was now impossible to hide. The pressure distorted the fabric of his trousers, and he squirmed in the chair, looking for an impossible position.

—Do you like what you see? —I asked, my mouth dry.

—I like it —he admitted, almost voiceless.

—So do I. Turns out my sister is very lucky to have you at home.

—Would you like to touch me? —he proposed without thinking twice.

—I’d love to. But you know I’m not going to do that —I declined, with more regret than conviction—. What I do want is for you to pull it out. Take your cock out and let me watch you stroke it.

The little guilt I had left evaporated the moment he unfastened his pants and set it free. And it was a good cock, long, with taut skin and a swollen purple head like a plum. He took the base in his left hand, pulled the skin down, and began a slow, familiar back-and-forth that made transparent drops well up from the tip and slide down the shaft. I looked away for a second, not out of modesty, but because the comparison with Hugo flashed through my mind unbidden, and genetics can be very capricious. Tomás’s was different from my husband’s, thicker at the base, with a pronounced vein running underneath, and I found myself imagining how it would feel carving its way inside me.

—Do you want to keep going? —I urged him, sinking into the chair.

—And you? —he shot back, breathless, without stopping.

—I do —I managed to say, bringing my knees together to hold in what was beginning to spill out between my legs. My panties were already heavy, soaked, clinging to my cunt like a second skin.

The album ended with a different image: my feet trapping an erection, me face down. One of those times when I ask my husband to put lotion on me and indulge his hobby of massaging the soles of my feet. A pastime that is almost always the excuse I end up using to finger-fuck him with my toes until he comes all over my insteps.

—How good are you at that? —Tomás asked, gesturing at the photo with his chin.

—I feel a little awkward, but your brother loves it. He always comes. And I can’t get enough of having my feet touched. It’s one of my most sensitive spots —I confessed.

—Can I ask you to do it to me? —he insisted, with the longing of someone pursuing a fixed purpose.

—You know what I’m going to answer, right?

—Yes. But maybe one day you’ll make a mistake. Or you’ll regret saying no —he added, breathing hard.

—I don’t blame you for keeping on trying —I conceded, almost silently begging him to do it.

I saw him exaggerate the motion, holding at the bottom for a moment, as if he wanted to sink into his own hand. He was producing so much fluid that, if it weren’t transparent, I would have sworn he’d already come. His knuckles dragged strings of clear liquid that stretched without breaking and dampened his fingers, and he used that natural lubricant to speed up the stroking, squeezing the head with his palm on each upward pass until a groan escaped him. As for me, I was sure I wouldn’t need any help to straddle him if I set my mind to it, to lower myself onto that cock and drive it all the way to my womb. And the desire to do it was beginning to overpower what little willpower I had left.

I spread my legs and slipped my right hand under my underwear, desperate to ease the agony caused by the mere friction of the fabric. I was so wet the fingers slid in without resistance. I stroked my clit with the tips of two fingers, drawing tight circles, while the wetness invited them to explore deeper. I pushed them in as far as I could, two full finger joints inside my cunt, and a muffled moan escaped my throat when I felt my own walls closing around them, asking for more.

—Can I watch you do it? —he asked, in a thread of a voice.

His words snapped me back to the living room, to the gray afternoon behind the window, just barely preventing me from coming too soon. And that only made me even more desperate.

—What more do you want to see that you haven’t already seen on that screen? —I asked, struggling.

—What’s on the screen is years old. This is now. And you’ve already seen my cock. It would be fair, wouldn’t it?

—Your sense of fairness is a little warped. Must be because all your blood is far away from your brain —I replied, and despite everything, I laughed.

—Please… —he whispered, and his hand didn’t stop, shining with pre-cum.

That “please” hit me with so much tenderness that I couldn’t refuse him. I stood up to slowly remove my leggings and underwear, and my panties dropped to the floor with a wet weight neither of us could ignore. I took off my T-shirt too, leaving myself in a white bra with sheer cups that left my nipples fully visible, hard as stones. I sat back down, dragged his chair around to face mine, and put my heels on his armrests, completely exposed to his gaze, my cunt spread wide open less than a meter from his face. I parted my lips with two fingers and started again, slowly, letting him see the hood pull back from my swollen clit, the hole contracting and opening in time with my breathing. He mirrored me, now with both hands: one on his cock and the other massaging his balls, tugging them gently.

—Do you like what you see? —I asked, letting my head fall back, giving myself over to it.

—It’s much better than on the screen —he assured me, quickening the pace—. You can see everything. You can see how wet you are.

—I’m dripping for you, asshole —I blurted out, surprised by the rawness of it—. And you? Do you like it?

—A lot. At first it scared me a bit. But once I got past that, I can’t stop thinking about how I’d have to do it to eat you out. To shove it in my mouth all the way to your throat.

—And have you found the way? —I teased, cunningly.

—Didn’t you want to keep looking at photos? —I cut in before we lost control completely.

—All right —he agreed, slightly disappointed—. Which one do you recommend?

—Depends what you want to see me doing.

He turned back to the screen and, in doing so, my left foot slipped off his armrest and fell onto his lap. My toes came to rest on his hot stiffness, feeling the cock pulse against the sole of my foot. I curled my toes almost by instinct, trapping the head between my thumb and forefinger, and felt a warm drop stain my skin. I pulled away as soon as I fought off the temptation to bring the other foot over and start really masturbating him, but not before taking the pleasure of applying a little pressure, dragging the sole from the base to the tip, until I felt his whole body shudder and a long gasp escape him.

—Please —I scolded him, in a tone much closer to pleading than anger.

—Sorry —he apologized, trying to concentrate on choosing. His cock shone all over, with the trace my foot had left on it.

In his place I wouldn’t have known what to choose either. The folder names were so suggestive it was hard to decide, but I understood why he picked the only one promising video instead of still photos. And that was what he found: another compilation folder, this time of recordings my husband had made of me over the years.

—Huh —he panted at the thumbnails.

—Huh, yeah —I echoed, exaggerating, at what was appearing on the monitor.

—Any advice? Right now I’m incapable of judging anything clearly.

—The one with the weird name and the numbers. You’ll like that one for sure.

The choice wasn’t random. The name referred to the room and the date it was recorded: our bedroom, the day of our wedding anniversary. I hit play and reclined again, legs open, ready to enjoy the projection as much as his company, two fingers sunk in my cunt and my thumb circling my clit.

The video was recorded from the side of the bed, with the phone propped on a stack of books serving as an improvised tripod. The frame closed in on my head, resting on Hugo’s abdomen, and on his erect cock, which my left hand held steady, pointing it toward my mouth. I stared straight at the camera before brushing my cheeks with the head, savoring the softness and the heat, feeling him shudder and arch his hips, trying to hurry things along. I stuck out my tongue and licked the base, went slowly up to the frenulum and paused there, circling the tip as if I were drawing something on it. Then I used my mouth as a vessel, let it sink all the way in until my nose bumped against my own hand, and held it there, my throat closing in spasms around the head, until my eyes filled with tears. I withdrew slowly, leaving it shining with saliva, a long strand hanging from my lower lip to Hugo’s pubis. I took it back into my mouth and, this time, started a rhythmic back-and-forth, bobbing relentlessly, while the free hand stroked his balls and a timid finger sought out the perineum.

—Like that —I whispered to my brother-in-law, intensifying the rhythm of my fingers inside my cunt.

—L-like what? —he managed, without looking away from the screen.

—The answer to your question from before. Whether I’d found a way to eat you out —I clarified, looking at his cock, which was now moving with a different kind of violence—. Like this. Like I’m eating your brother out there. I’d eat you out like that. All the way. Swallowing you whole. Until you came in my mouth.

Tomás let out a guttural moan and had to let go of his cock for a moment, squeezing the base hard so he wouldn’t cum. On screen, my other self accelerated, pulled Hugo’s cock out, spat on it and took it back in, shook it over my stretched tongue so the camera could catch everything. My brother-in-law alternated his gaze between the video and my body, as if he didn’t know which of the two was going to make him cum first.

—Please. I need to touch you, or have you touch me. Something —he goaded me, on the edge.

—Wait a second. I’ve got an idea —I granted, taking pity on him. And on myself.

I stood up and went over to the bag I’d left in the hall. Inside I kept my favorite toy, the one controlled from my phone. I was so wet it slid in without any trouble: the silicone went in with one push, gliding along the soaked walls of my cunt, and I left only the antenna outside, pressed against the swollen clit. I turned it on to the minimum and went back to him, reclaiming my seat in the chair, the red light blinking between my legs like a warning signal.

—Look at your phone —I told him, fiddling with mine.

—What is it? What did you send me?

—A link so you can control this —I clarified, pointing at the light—. I can’t let you touch me. But this isn’t touching me, is it? It’s something else. You’re going to fuck me without putting a finger on me.

Tomás opened the link with trembling fingers. It took him a second to understand it, and when he did, a slow smile crossed his face. He cranked the intensity all the way up, and the toy came alive inside me with a brutal vibration that made me arch my back until my ass lifted off the chair and tore a cry from me I didn’t bother to hide. The antenna pounded my clit nonstop, the inner part hit the G-spot dead on, and I felt the orgasm approaching at a speed I couldn’t stop.

—Wait, wait, stop —I panted—. I’m going to come right now, asshole.

He lowered the intensity to minimum just in time, and laughed with the cruelty of someone who had just discovered a new power. He was looking at me from his chair, phone in one hand and the other busy with his own cock, finally in control of something of mine without breaking the one rule I had set for him.

He played with me for several minutes, raising and lowering the intensity as he pleased, learning which pattern made me arch my back and which left me on the edge without quite pushing me over. He had me like a marionette: the instant he noticed I was starting to come, he dropped it to zero and left me trembling, my cunt pulsing around the switched-off toy, moaning through clenched teeth and begging without words. I spread my legs even wider, pushed my bra up over my tits and started pinching my nipples, twisting them between my fingers, without taking my eyes off Tomás’s cock. He watched me work myself at the same rhythm, his hand sliding up and down the whole length, his thumb rubbing the head on every pass, his balls taut and drawn up tight against his body, unmistakable proof that he was about to go.

—Come with me —I begged him, my voice broken—. Turn it all the way up and come with me.

When he finally let me go, he did it with a long, steady setting that gave me no reprieve. Full blast, no changes, no pauses, pounding my clit and G-spot at the same time. The orgasm shook me from head to toe, a spasm that ran down my spine and folded me forward, my legs closing around the toy as it slipped between the walls of my contracting cunt. I screamed his name without realizing it, and the contractions were so strong they forced the toy out and a warm stream soaked my thighs and the panties fallen on the floor. The last thing I saw before closing my eyes, shaken by aftershocks, was Tomás spilling over his own belly in long, thick ropes, semen sliding down his fingers and the shaft of his cock, looking at me and not at the screen, repeating my name in such a low voice I could barely hear it.

We stayed silent for a long while, catching our breath, not daring to name what had just happened. We hadn’t done it. Not entirely. And at the same time we had crossed something that could no longer be undone.

—My brother will never know about this afternoon —he said at last, still breathless, his stained hand resting on his thigh.

—No —I answered, gathering my clothes from the floor—. But you and I will. And that, from now on, is going to be the hardest part.

I closed the laptop carefully, leaving all those images asleep inside it. I knew that folder would never be looked at the same way again. And deep down, I also knew that this would not be the last afternoon my brother-in-law and I spent alone, nor the last time his cock and my cunt would seek each other out without quite touching all the way. Or touching. We’d see.