My Father-in-Law Decided I Was His Servant

The doorbell rang three times in a row, with an impatience that shattered the calm of the afternoon. Lorena dried her hands on the dish towel, almost without thinking, and went to the entrance. Standing in the doorway was Hernán, her husband’s father, taking up more space than his body really needed. He was smiling, but the smile didn’t reach his eyes.

—Hernán, what a surprise. I thought you were still traveling —she said, making an effort to keep her voice cordial.

—The deal closed ahead of schedule. I thought I’d stop by to see my son and his family —he replied, walking in without waiting for an invitation and setting his briefcase beside the door. His eyes swept over the living room like those of an appraiser sizing up a property—. The house is spotless, as always. You’re very meticulous.

—Thank you. I try to keep everything in order —Lorena answered, already feeling that familiar knot tightening in her stomach.

Hernán moved into the living room. He ran a finger along the edge of the mantel, inspecting nonexistent dust.

—I’ve always been fascinated by the woman who has control over her house. Tell me, Lorena, do you do all this… by yourself? Or do you have help?

—I take care of almost everything myself. A woman comes once a week for the heavier cleaning.

—Ah, someone to help. Of course. So useful. And so predictable —he said, turning to look her up and down—. Women who devote themselves to this have something special, you know? They understand what their place is. They know their function is to serve, to obey. It makes living together much easier.

Lorena clenched her jaw.

—I suppose everyone has their job.

—Exactly. Their job. And they do it well when the boundaries are made clear. They only need to know who’s in charge to feel perfectly comfortable.

The comment left her breathless. She didn’t know what to answer. Hernán took a few steps and stopped beside the dining table, where she had left the ingredients for dinner half prepared.

—Speaking of serving and uniforms… a personal question, Lorena. Do you wear an apron when you cook? And gloves when you wash up?

The question was so specific and so odd that it threw her off.

—Y-yes, sometimes I put on an apron so I don’t get dirty. And gloves, of course, to protect my hands.

—Good. Very good. I like that. Order, discipline. The apron and the gloves aren’t just there to protect you —he said, lowering his voice—. They’re a symbol. They mark you. They prepare you for your function.

He came closer until he completely invaded her space. The murmur of his voice carried intention.

—You’re not wearing them now. But I want you to imagine something. Go to the kitchen, put on your whitest apron, the one that fits you nice and snug, and the rubber gloves, the ones that go up to your elbows. Then come back and stand in front of me.

Lorena froze, caught between fear and a dark curiosity she didn’t want to acknowledge.

—Come on, daughter-in-law. Obey. Do your duty.

This is wrong. This is very wrong.

But her legs moved on their own. She walked to the kitchen with shaky knees. Her hands trembled as she tied the apron strings behind her back. The latex gloves brushed her skin with a soft sound that raised goosebumps on her arms. She returned to the living room feeling naked despite being dressed.

Hernán watched her with a slow, almost animal approval. For the first time, a genuine smile crossed his face.

—That’s prettier. Much prettier. Stop being Lorena, the daughter-in-law, and become something else. Do you understand the difference?

—Y-yes —she whispered.

—No. You don’t say it like you understand. Tell me your new name.

She swallowed. The air had grown thick, hard to breathe.

—I’m… the maid.

—Perfect. And what’s the first duty of a good maid?

—To serve.

—Whom?

—Y-you, sir.

Hernán’s hand slid up her arm, tracing the texture of the latex over the fabric of her dress. His breath warmed her ear.

—Exactly. And today your service is very special. Today you’re not going to cook or scrub. Today you’re going to let me do whatever I want with you. You’re going to be a good girl, docile and quiet. An obedient whore for your father-in-law. Do you understand me?

She could only nod, eyes closed, surrendering to the authority of the man who, in that instant, had stopped being her father-in-law and become something else.

***

Hernán leaned against the kitchen doorway and crossed his arms. He was smiling like an owner admiring his most valuable possession.

—Very good. You obeyed. Now go to the sink. The lunch dishes are there. I want you to wash each one. I want to hear the water running and see your gloved hands working. Show me what you’re capable of.

Lorena walked like an automaton to the sink. Hot water splashed against the stainless steel. The stream and the scrape of the scouring pad against the dishes filled the silence. She focused on the task, on the repetitive motion, as if scrubbing a plate could cancel out the electric current running through the room.

She felt his presence before he touched her. His shadow covered her back. Then his hands settled on her hips, firm, possessive. His palms slowly traveled up the fabric of the apron, to her waist, and a little higher.

—That’s what a proper woman feels like —he murmured behind her, his voice rough—. A body made for work and for pleasure. Feel this. The hips, the waist. A whole woman.

His hands kept moving upward until they found her breasts. He squeezed them hard, without delicacy, kneading them over the apron, searching for her nipples with his thumbs and pinching them until she felt them hard beneath the fabric. Lorena stifled a moan and pressed her forehead to the cold tile. He yanked down the neckline of her dress and freed her tits, which hung heavy over the white apron. He weighed them in his palms, squeezed them, crushed them with rough fingers, and went back to the nipples, twisting them until she let out a whimper.

—Look at these well-kept whore’s tits you’ve got hidden away. Firm, with these nipples going hard as stones the moment they feel me behind you. My son, the idiot, couldn’t last five minutes with tits like these.

One hand slid down her belly, slipped under the skirt of the dress, pushed aside her underwear, and made its way between her thighs. Two thick fingers sank into her cunt without warning, and the wet slap they made gave her away before any words could. She was soaked.

—Look at this. Look how you’re dripping, daughter-in-law —he whispered in her ear, moving his fingers inside her with cruel slowness, pulling them out glistening and pushing them back in—. The whole house spotless, the perfect little woman, and down here a cunt turned into a fountain. This cunt already knows who it’s for. Before your head does.

He rammed in a third finger and started pumping them hard, his palm striking her clit with every thrust. With his other hand he kept twisting one nipple. Lorena bit the inside of her cheek so she wouldn’t scream, her legs opening on their own, her hips pushing back in search of those fingers.

—I’m sure my dumb son doesn’t touch you like this, right? —he said with obvious contempt—. He kisses you on the cheek, asks if you’re tired, turns off the light. But he doesn’t grab you like this. He doesn’t shove his hand all the way in. He doesn’t make you feel like you’re his. He doesn’t remind you who’s in charge. He treats you like an equal. What a huge mistake. A woman like you needs a firm hand. She needs her cunt wrecked every once in a while.

He pulled out his fingers and shoved them into her mouth, pressing them against her tongue.

—Taste yourself. Taste how you taste when you’re treated like you deserve.

Lorena sucked her own juices with her eyes closed, tasting the salty, thick flavor, humiliated and on fire at the same time. He caught her chin with his wet hand and tipped her head back.

—I do treat you like you deserve. Like what you are today. Mine.

He let her go and stepped back. He unbuckled his belt with slow, calculated deliberation and let his pants fall. His underwear dropped next. His cock sprang free, thick, hard, red at the tip, with veins running along the shaft. He gripped it at the base and jerked it slowly in front of her face.

—Kneel.

The order was sharp, leaving no room for doubt. Lorena turned. Her knees trembled as she lowered herself onto the cold kitchen floor, the white apron falling between her legs. Her father-in-law’s cock ended up at the exact height of her mouth. The man’s scent, dense, masculine, went straight to her head and clouded any attempt to think.

—Open your mouth. Stick out your tongue. My son is a child; he gives you caresses. I’m going to give you what you really need. A grown man’s cock deep in that good-wife mouth of yours.

She parted her lips and stuck out her tongue, obedient. He laid the hot tip on her tongue, rubbed it over her lips, painted her mouth with the thick drop already leaking from it. Then he grabbed her hair with one hand and guided himself in with the other. He pushed in with a growl of satisfaction, first only the head, pausing, watching her close her lips around it.

—That’s it. Suck. Use your tongue. Like it’s the only important thing you do all day.

Lorena started to suck. She ran her tongue over the head, taking advantage of every moment he let her breathe to lick the underside, to take his balls into her mouth. When she came back up, he shoved her head and pushed his cock deeper, halfway in, until she gagged. He held her there for a moment, feeling her choke on it, before letting her breathe.

—You’re going to learn to take all of it. Today. Relax your throat.

He started moving, using her for his own pleasure, going deeper and deeper. He slammed her nose against his belly in one thrust and she felt his balls against her chin. Saliva streamed from the corner of her mouth, falling in thick threads over her tits still exposed and over the apron, staining it.

—That’s it… that’s how it’s done —he panted—. Look at you eating it. Look how well the whore in you comes out. Your husband makes love to you with permission, apologizing. I don’t ask. I take. And you thank me with that obedient mouth, huh? With this daughter-in-law mouth that’s mine now.

He pulled out and rubbed himself across her face, over her cheeks, leaving shiny spit on her chin. She panted, eyes watery, mascara smeared, her mouth swollen and red.

—Say it. Tell me whose mouth that is.

—Yours, sir.

—Louder.

—Yours. It’s yours.

—Good girl.

He shoved himself back in and kept fucking her mouth a while longer, unhurried, savoring every time she gagged and every time she stuck out her tongue to lick his balls. Lorena heard him from some distant place inside herself. One part of her screamed for her to stand up, to throw him out, to call her husband. The other part, the one keeping her on her knees with her cunt dripping down her thighs, burned with a shame that felt far too much like desire. She didn’t know which of the two was her.

After a while, he withdrew with a gentle tug on her hair. He looked down at her, his cock gleaming with saliva pointed at her face.

—Get up. Lean on the sink. Stick your ass out.

She rose trembling, her legs numb, and bent forward, her gloved hands on the wet edge of the sink. Hernán yanked the skirt of her dress up to her waist and shoved her underwear down with a brusque motion, pulling it to her knees. He slapped one ass cheek hard, the sound echoing in the kitchen and leaving the red imprint of his hand.

—Look at that ass you’ve got. Round, white, shaking for me. Open wider. Wider. Show me everything.

He slid two fingers through the folds from back to front, playing with the wetness dripping from her. He bent down and spat on her open cunt. He landed another slap, this time on the other side.

—This ass is for the one in charge to see. And today the one in charge is me.

He positioned himself behind her. He placed the tip of his cock at the entrance to her cunt, rubbed it up and down, made her wait.

—Ask me for it. Ask me like a maid who needs her master.

—Please…

—Please what.

—Please, sir, fuck me.

—How?

—Fuck me. Break your daughter-in-law. Put it all in.

—Now I’m going to fuck you the way a maid gets fucked. Here, in the kitchen, smelling like soap, with my balls slapping your clit. So you never forget who was in charge in this house today.

He drove in with a single thrust, deep and domineering, all the way to the hilt. Lorena screamed, a hoarse cry, part pain from the roughness and part pleasure that shamed her to feel. She felt him stretching her walls, touching places her husband had never reached. He stayed still for a moment, buried to the balls, letting her feel the magnitude of what he had just shoved inside her.

—Feel that? All of it. All the way in. My son doesn’t even know what this is.

He began moving with a hard, relentless rhythm, gripping her hips with both hands to drive in harder. Every thrust made their hips crash together with a wet, fleshy sound that filled the kitchen. Lorena’s tits shook free beneath the stained apron. The edge of the sink dug into her hip.

—Do you feel it? Feel how I open you, how I take you? My son gives you the quiet life. I give you this. I give you cock. I give you order.

He grabbed her hair and pulled her head back, arching her. His other hand went to her breasts and pinched a nipple while he kept fucking her.

—Say you like it. Say it.

—I like it —she panted, the sound coming out broken by the pounding.

—Say you’re a whore.

—I’m a whore.

—Whose whore?

—Yours. Your whore.

—Your father-in-law’s whore. Say it in full.

—I’m my father-in-law’s whore.

—That’s what I like.

He let go of her hair and grabbed her hips again, picking up the pace. His fingers dug into Lorena’s skin; he was going to leave bruises. She felt the orgasm begin to build from inside, from that point he kept hitting over and over, and she couldn’t stop it. She started pushing her ass back, seeking his cock, fucking him back.

—There it is. There’s the whore daughter-in-law I wanted. You’re going to come with your father-in-law’s cock inside you. Say it.

—I’m going to come. I’m going to come, sir.

The thrusts turned wilder, the cock going in and out with an obscene slap. He leaned over her back, crushing her against the sink, his lips at her ear, never stopping fucking her.

—And you know what the best service you could do for me would be? —he panted—. Maybe, if you keep obeying me this well, I’ll leave you pregnant. I’ll fill you up inside. I’ll make you mine, with my seed, with a real child, one who understands who’s in charge here. Would you like that? Your belly growing because of me, behind your stupid husband’s back? Nursing your father-in-law’s son while everyone thinks he’s yours and his?

The word, the image, the humiliation, and the promise were too much all at once. Lorena’s body convulsed in a violent orgasm that left her weak, clutching the edge of the sink, her cunt walls clenching around the cock still fucking her. She cried out against the tile, a long scream that he muffled by covering her mouth with his filthy gloved hand.

Hernán pushed three, four more times, each time deeper, and emptied himself inside her with a rough roar, pinning her against the steel as if marking her forever. She felt the throbbing of his cock inside, how it filled her, how his hot load rose to the deepest part of her. He stayed there, pressed against her ass, finishing the last drop.

—Inside. All inside. As it should be.

He came out slowly, carefully, and put two fingers at the entrance of her cunt so nothing would escape.

—Hold it. Keep it in for a while. Let it stay where it’s supposed to stay.

Lorena obeyed, clenching, feeling the thick semen inside her. He knelt for a moment behind her and ran his tongue along the line that still leaked down her thigh, cleaning it off.

***

The silence that followed was unlike any silence she had ever known. Only her own ragged breathing and the dripping of the faucet, which had been left open, could be heard. Hernán slowly pulled away, pulled up his pants, and adjusted his belt with the same calm with which he had arrived.

—Good girl —he said, almost tenderly, giving her hip a pat—. Turn off the tap before everything floods. I don’t want my son to find the kitchen a mess. And don’t wash yourself down there until he’s asleep. I want you to lie beside him with my cum inside you.

Lorena straightened. She took off the gloves slowly, finger by finger, and set them on the counter. Her hands were trembling, but no longer from fear. She looked at her blurred reflection in the oven door: the white apron still tight and stained, her hair disheveled, her cheeks flushed, her lips swollen. She felt the warm stream sliding down the inside of her thigh and squeezed her legs together.

—I’ll be back in a couple of weeks —Hernán said from the doorway, picking up his briefcase—. Have the apron ready. And the gloves.

The door closed. Lorena was left alone in the kitchen, listening to the car engine fade down the street. She turned off the tap. Silence filled the house again, her house, the one she kept so immaculate. That night, when her husband came home and hugged her from behind with his usual tenderness and asked if she’d had a good day, she felt the familiar touch of his hands and, for the first time, found it unbearably soft. She still had her father-in-law’s cum inside her.

—Your dad came by —she said, without turning around—. He said he’ll be back in a few weeks.

And I’ll be waiting for him.