What Happened That Night at My Father-in-Law's House

My name is Sofía. I’m twenty-two years old, I’ve been seeing Andrés for eight months, and until that night I thought I knew the line between what I wanted and what I was willing to do. Andrés is sweet, patient, the kind of guy who believes love has to be earned slowly. Only once, in the back seat of his car parked by the river, I unzipped his pants, pulled out his cock, and took it all the way into my mouth until he came between my lips, feeling him tremble and grip my hair while I swallowed every drop of his warm semen. But nothing more. He wants me to be special.

That night there was no way to get back to my apartment. The storm hit all at once, with no warning, turning the highway into a river of water and flashing emergency lights. Andrés insisted I stay. His father, don Ernesto, had been living alone in that big house on the outskirts since he was widowed four years earlier. “No problem,” Andrés told me. “My dad’s quiet.”

Don Ernesto was fifty, but he carried those years differently. He was a man who had worked with his hands for much of his life before starting his own construction company, and his body didn’t lie: broad shoulders, strong arms with prominent veins, a physical presence that filled any room without needing to raise his voice. When he opened the door for us, with the rain pounding behind us, his dark eyes swept over me from head to toe with a calm that felt more unsettling than any brazen stare.

—Sofía —he said, pronouncing my name slowly, as if he already knew it from before—. Welcome.

At dinner he spoke little. But when he did speak, he did it with a confidence that suddenly made Andrés’s words sound much too young. I caught myself looking at him more than once, and more than once I caught him looking at me. At one point, when I stretched to reach the salt, I felt his gaze drop from the neckline of my blouse to the swell of my breasts, and something hot clenched between my legs without permission.

After dinner, Andrés took me to the guest room at the end of the hall. He kissed my forehead, one of those kisses of his: pure tenderness, little urgency.

—Get some rest —he said—. Hey, one thing. My dad sometimes sleepwalks. It doesn’t always happen, but if you see him wandering around the hall, don’t wake him abruptly. He can get very scared, it’s involuntary. Just guide him slowly back to his room.

—Really? —I asked.

—He’s been like that for years. The doctor says it’s accumulated stress. —He kissed me again—. He won’t bother you, don’t worry. Good night.

I was left alone in the room. The bed was big, the sheets smelled like lavender, and the rain kept striking the windowpanes in a rhythm that made sleep impossible. I put on what I had in my backpack: a thin sleeveless T-shirt and cotton panties. Nothing else, because I hadn’t planned to stay.

I turned off the light and slipped between the sheets. Sleep wouldn’t come. The house felt strange, too silent between flashes of lightning. My mind kept returning, without my asking it to, to don Ernesto’s figure seated at the head of the table with the way he looked at me, as if he knew something about me that I didn’t yet know myself. Without meaning to, my hand slid under the sheet and found my cunt already wet through the cotton.

Enough, I told myself. I squeezed my eyes shut and pulled my hand away.

I don’t know how long it had been before I felt the mattress dip behind me.

At first I thought it was a dream, that sensation of falling that sometimes jolts the body at the edge of sleep. But the weight was real. Warm. A person.

—Andrés? —I whispered, turning my head just a little.

No one answered. Only a deep, steady breathing, the breathing of someone asleep.

Then I knew.

I remembered the warning. Don’t wake him abruptly.

My body went tense, but I didn’t move. Logic told me I had to get up, calmly guide him back to his room, solve the situation like an adult. Instead, I stayed still, my heart beating too fast, feeling the warmth of his body inches from mine under the sheets.

His leg brushed mine.

It was a brief touch, almost innocent. But the effect was immediate: a jolt that shot straight to my stomach, lower than my stomach, right between my legs, where the cotton had already stuck to my wet lips.

I have to get up.

I didn’t get up.

He moved again, like someone shifting for comfort without fully waking. His large hand fell on my hip, first over the sheet, then sliding beneath the fabric. The contact against my skin made me close my eyes. That hand was rough, work-worn, nothing like Andrés’s.

—Rosa… —he murmured, his voice thick with sleep. The name of his dead wife.

Hearing that name should have brought me back to reality. Instead, something inside me gave way.

His hand moved slowly upward, as if he still believed he was in another time, another body. When it reached my breast and covered it completely with his palm, a sound escaped my throat before I could swallow it. His fingers squeezed, explored, pinched, and his thumbs found my hard nipples with a precision that had nothing unconscious about it. He rolled them between finger and thumb, tugging, and I felt my cunt clench hard, releasing more moisture that soaked my panties completely through.

—I still can’t sleep when you’re not here —he murmured, and the sadness in his voice did something strange to my chest.

I had drifted toward him without realizing it. My back pressed against his torso, his arm around me as if it were the most natural thing in the world. When I felt his cock against my ass, hard, thick, and much bigger than I’d imagined, throbbing through the fabric of his pants, I bit my lip to keep from making a sound. Unable to stop myself, I pushed my ass back, rubbing against that hot bulge, and heard his breathing break for a second.

—Don Ernesto —I whispered, so softly I could barely hear myself—. Don Ernesto, I’m Sofía.

He didn’t answer. Or he didn’t want to.

His fingers slid down my stomach, slow, deliberate, until they reached the waistband of my panties. He slipped them underneath. When his rough hand covered my cunt and his middle finger sank between my lips, we both went still for a second: me, because I had to bite my own hand to keep from moaning; him, because he must have felt what he found.

I was completely soaked. So wet that his fingers slid without effort, and when he found my clit and began to rub it in slow circles, my hips started moving on their own against his hand.

—Rosa —he murmured again, but this time with a smile in his voice that was anything but asleep—. You’re dripping, my love.

And then I understood that he knew too. That he knew exactly where he was and who he was with. That it was a game. And that I was choosing to play along every second that passed without moving, with every push my hips made against his fingers.

He sank two fingers into my cunt at once, slow but all the way in, and I had to bite the pillow to keep from screaming. He curved them inside, searching, and when they found that soft spot no boy had ever known how to touch, my thighs trembled all over. He started pumping them, thick, firm fingers, while the base of his palm kept pressing against my clit with every thrust.

I turned to face him. His eyes were still closed, but the corner of his mouth curled slightly, his fingers never leaving me.

—What are you doing? —I asked very quietly.

—Sleeping —he said, without opening his eyes, curling his fingers again inside my cunt.

A tiny laugh escaped me, cut off at once by a moan. And then he did open his eyes, and in them there was no sleep, no confusion, only that same calm of his, and beneath it, a dark hunger that made me clamp my thighs around his hand.

—Tell me to stop —he said—, and I’ll stop.

I said nothing.

He lowered his head and kissed my neck, my collarbone, and kept going down. I put one hand on his chest, and I didn’t push him away. I slid it up to the back of his neck and tangled it in his hair when his mouth closed over one of my nipples and started sucking it like he was hungry for it. He sucked, licked, bit carefully, while his fingers kept fucking me from the inside with a rhythm that no longer let me think.

—Please —I moaned, not really knowing what I was asking for.

—Please what —he murmured against my breast, sucking it again.

—I don’t know… don’t stop.

***

What happened over the next few hours was unlike anything I had ever lived through, even though I thought I had imagined something similar. Don Ernesto had none of the urgency or clumsiness of boys my age. He took his time like someone who knows the road well and knows there’s no need to rush.

He took off my shirt slowly, running his hands along my sides before doing it. Then he yanked off my soaked panties in one sharp pull and threw them to the floor. He watched me naked in the darkness with an attention that made me feel exposed in a completely different way than simply being undressed. He spread my legs with his palms on my knees, slid between them, and before I could even understand what he was about to do, his mouth was pressed to my cunt.

The first lick arched my whole back. He ran his tongue flat from my entrance to my clit, slowly, his whole face buried between my thighs. Then he started sucking me with patience that didn’t seem human: slow circles with the tip of his tongue over my clit, then sucking it whole between his lips, then pushing his tongue inside me and fucking me with it while his thumb kept rubbing the swollen little bud.

—Jesus Christ —I gasped, gripping his hair with both hands—. Jesus Christ, don Ernesto…

—Ernesto —he corrected against my cunt, and the vibration of his voice made me shudder—. When I’m eating your pussy, call me Ernesto.

—Ernesto —I repeated, and came at that instant, in his mouth, with my legs clamped around his head and a muffled scream in my throat.

He didn’t pull away. He kept licking while I came, drinking it all, holding my hips against his face until I stopped shaking.

When he lifted his head, his chin was shining and he wore a slow smile.

—You’re very young —he said, climbing up my body, kissing my navel, my breasts, my neck.

—Yes —I answered, still out of breath.

—Are you scared?

—No.

That wasn’t entirely true. But fear and desire felt exactly the same in that moment, and I had no way to separate them. I reached down between our bodies and grabbed his cock over his pants. It was rock hard, so thick I could barely fit my hand around it. I undid his belt with clumsy fingers, pulled down his pants and underwear in one yank, and when his cock came free and slapped against my stomach, a gasp slipped out of me.

It was much bigger than Andrés’s. Thick, heavy, the head swollen and already wet with pre-cum. I grabbed it with both hands and felt it pulse against my palms.

—Suck me —he said, with that same calm as always but a rougher voice.

I lowered my head and took him into my mouth. I had to open wide to fit the girth. I sucked him as well as I could, helping myself with my hand at the base, moving up and down, licking the tip, feeling it throb against my tongue. He grabbed my hair at the nape, not to force me, but to guide me, setting the rhythm, pushing a little deeper each time until I felt the tip brush my throat and tears rose to my eyes.

—That’s it, my love —he murmured—. Look at me while you do it.

I looked up without taking him out of my mouth. Seeing him looking down at me from above, with that dark expression, with his cock going in and out between my lips, made me clamp my thighs again. I felt my cunt dripping onto the sheet.

He pulled out of my mouth when he was about to come and laid me on my back in the center of the bed. He positioned himself between my legs, grabbed my ankles, spread me wide open, and guided the tip of his cock to the entrance of my cunt.

When he finally penetrated me, he did it slowly, pushing centimeter by centimeter, reading my body as if he had all the time in the world. It was the first time I’d been with someone for real, beyond that thing in the car with Andrés, and the difference wasn’t just physical. It was the way he was present in every movement, never rushing, never losing himself in his own rhythm, attentive to every reaction of mine. He stretched me in a way I didn’t know was possible, every new inch a sweet burn that made me writhe.

—Relax —he murmured against my ear, when he was already halfway in—. Breathe. Let it all in.

I breathed. And he pushed all the way in, until I felt his balls knock against my ass and his pelvis press against my clit. I stayed still for a second, adjusting, feeling him throb inside me, so deep it seemed to reach my navel.

And after that, I stopped thinking.

He started fucking me slow, pulling almost all the way out and then driving back in all at once, with long, deep thrusts that wrung a moan from me every time he came down. Then he picked up the pace. He grabbed one of my legs and hooked it over his shoulder, changing the angle, and his cock began to rub against a spot inside me that made me see stars.

—There —I gasped—, there, don’t stop, please…

—I know exactly where —he said, and kept slamming into that exact place over and over until I came again, clenching around him in spasms that tore a growl from his throat.

He kept me in his arms for hours. He moved me, turned me, held me against the wall with a calm strength that left me no options even though I wasn’t looking for any. He put me on all fours and fucked me from behind, gripping my waist, then my hair, forcing me to arch my back while the skin of his hips slammed against my ass with a wet sound that filled the room. He got on top of me and made me ride him, his hands squeezing my breasts, his teeth in my neck while I went up and down on his cock until my legs shook and I collapsed against his chest.

Every time I thought he was done, he found some detail in me he still hadn’t explored and started again, unhurried, as if the night were limitless and he knew it. He licked my ass while he shoved three fingers into my cunt. He made me come on his face a second time, and then a third with only his fingers and his voice in my ear saying filthy things.

When he finally got close, he put me face down again, sank into me to the hilt, and his hands held my hips firmly. His rough voice against my nape murmured things I never fully made out, but whose tone said everything. His thrusts got shorter, faster, more brutal, and I felt him swell deeper inside me a second before he came. A hot jet filled me from within, and another, and another, while he growled against my hair and his fingers dug into my flesh.

When he pulled out of me, I felt his semen running down the insides of my thighs. I stayed face down, wrecked, with the pillow wet with saliva and tears of pleasure, and he collapsed beside me and draped an arm over my back without saying a word.

***

At four in the morning I woke up alone in the bed. The storm had passed. A grayish light came in through the window and the silence was complete.

It took me a moment to remember where I was and what had happened. When I remembered, I stared at the ceiling for a long while, waiting to feel guilt or regret. Instead I felt an odd calm, my thighs sticky with his now-dry semen, and the weary muscles of someone who has slept deeply after something intense.

I took a shower with the water as hot as it would go. I got dressed slowly. I looked at myself in the bathroom mirror longer than I would have wanted.

When I went downstairs, don Ernesto was in the kitchen. He was wearing the same clothes as the night before and making coffee with unnecessary concentration for the task. At the sound of my footsteps, he looked up.

Neither of us said anything for a second.

—Good morning —I said at last.

—Good morning, Sofía.

He set a cup of coffee in front of me without asking if I wanted it, and leaned against the counter with his arms crossed.

—Andrés will be down in a while —he said—. He sleeps late on weekends.

—I know.

The silence between us had weight, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was the silence of two people sharing a secret and deciding, in real time, how they were going to carry it.

—Are you okay? —he asked, with a directness that wasn’t the kind you use for politeness.

—Yes —I said—. And you?

He considered the question more seriously than I expected.

—It’s been a long time —he said simply.

I didn’t know how to answer that, so I took a sip of coffee.

A few minutes later, we heard Andrés’s footsteps on the stairs. Don Ernesto turned back to the coffeemaker. I wrapped my hands around the cup and kept them still.

Andrés came into the dining room rumpled, in an old T-shirt and half-closed eyes.

—Already having breakfast without me? —he said, walking behind me and kissing the top of my head—. Good morning, Dad.

—Morning —his father answered, not turning around.

—Sleep well, love? —Andrés asked me, sitting beside me.

I looked up at don Ernesto, who was still turned away. I saw the exact moment his shoulders tensed slightly.

—Yes —I said—. Very well.

Andrés smiled, satisfied, and reached for the coffeemaker. Don Ernesto turned then, cup in hand, and his eyes met mine over his son’s head. There was no triumph or shame in those eyes. Only that same calm of his, and beneath it, a question neither of us was going to ask out loud.

I lowered my gaze to my cup.

It only happened once, I told myself.

But even as I thought it, I already knew it was a lie.