I Was With My Sister-in-Law Again Ten Years Later

I met Daniela long before I met Camila, my wife. It was at a conference on Andean ceramics at the downtown museum, on a cold afternoon in May. The hall was half-empty and we ended up sitting in the same row. She had her little boy with her and two of the boy’s friends, who were bored in the back row and kept kicking the seat in front of them.

At some point she asked me to watch her seat while she took the boy to the bathroom. When she got up to pass, I watched her walk backward down the narrow aisle and my eyes got stuck on her hips. It wasn’t elegant of me, but it happened. She came back a few minutes later and, once seated again, she smiled at me as if she had read my mind.

We talked about the speaker, the pieces, the way the guide mispronounced the Quechua names. I took advantage of a silence to tell her that upstairs, on the third floor, there was another, smaller exhibit, and that if she was interested we could go up later. She explained that she had to drop the kids off at their homes before six and that her son started school early. She told me, without my asking, that her husband traveled a lot. I wasn’t quite sure why she was clarifying that, but I took note of it.

I wrote my number on the back of the ticket and we said goodbye on the sidewalk. I thought she wouldn’t call.

She called two days later, on a Tuesday late in the morning. She spoke in a neutral voice, in short phrases, as if weighing every word. I understood right away that she wasn’t alone in the house. We agreed to meet on Friday morning, before office hours, to go back to the museum.

She arrived in a flowered dress, V-neck, platform sandals. When she kissed me on the cheek, I caught her perfume and the first low stab, my cock tightening against my pants. Daniela was a few kilos fuller than the women I usually dated, but she had something about her. A strange mix of shyness and body. Small tits, firm legs, a soft waist that made you want to put your hand there. And an ass. A round, high ass that didn’t seem to belong to the rest of her body.

We climbed the three flights of marble stairs and I managed to stay one step behind her. The dress moved with every step and for a second, on the landing, I saw the line of her panties pressing through the fabric. When we reached the top, she turned around laughing, her face red.

—I’m dying of embarrassment —she said—. You’ve seen everything.

—I’m a gentleman —I lied.

We saw the exhibit without paying much attention. Then I took her to the mouth of the subway and left her there, with that strange feeling of having done nothing and, at the same time, of having crossed a line.

We went out three more times that week. A coffee near her office, another exhibit in a private gallery, and a walk up the hill in the center of the city, where you can see the zinc roofs and, on clear days, the mountain range in the distance. That last afternoon I drove her to the subway in my car. The dress had ridden up above her knees and she didn’t do anything to pull it down. I drove looking straight ahead, both hands on the wheel, ears hot and my swollen cock pressed tight against the seam.

When we stopped near the station, I leaned in to say goodbye and we kissed. It was a short kiss that stretched out, and by the second one her tongue was already in my mouth. I brushed her thigh with the back of my hand and she said to me, almost in a whisper:

—You’re very sweet.

That sentence gave me permission for everything. I slid my hand up under her dress, parted her legs a little, and touched her pussy over her panties. She was drenched, the fabric stuck to her lips, warm. I moved the panties aside and slipped in one finger. She sucked in air sharply and dug her nails into my forearm. I touched her like that, my finger going in and out slowly, finding her clit with my thumb, until she started rocking her hips against my hand and panting into my neck.

—Let’s get out of here —she said, her voice breaking—. If we keep going here I’ll lose it.

I don’t remember the drive very well. I know we ended up at some cabins in the upper sector, one of those discreet places where nobody asks your name and the person at the desk doesn’t look you in the eye.

***

Inside the room, Daniela stood beside the bed, not knowing where to put her hands. I took her clothes off slowly, one garment at a time. When I unhooked her bra and saw her tits for the first time —white, with pink nipples hard as little pebbles— I realized something I had suspected: that woman had almost no experience. She let herself be done to. She didn’t initiate. She didn’t suggest. She stayed still, looking at me, waiting for the next instruction like a diligent student.

I gently pushed her until she sat on the edge of the bed and knelt between her legs. I opened her thighs with both hands and looked at her pussy up close for the first time: plump lips, a little dark at the edges, the hair trimmed, everything shiny from how wet she was. I ran my tongue over all of it, from bottom to top, and she jolted as if I had given her a shock. I grabbed her hips so she wouldn’t get away and started licking her for real, burying my tongue inside her and then moving up to suck her clit with my lips. She put a hand over her mouth so she wouldn’t scream.

—Does your husband never kiss you here? —I asked her after, my face between her legs, my chin wet with her.

—Never —she said, and covered her face with her forearm.

—Take your arm away. I want to see you.

She obeyed. I shoved my mouth back into her pussy, this time sliding two fingers into her at the same time, curling them upward, looking for the spot. I sucked her clit hard, in rhythm, and after a few minutes her whole stomach started trembling. She came with a long, hoarse moan, squeezing my head with her thighs, soaking my face.

I climbed onto the bed and brought my cock to her mouth. She looked at it as if she had never seen one up close. I brushed the head against her lips and told her to open. She timidly slid in her tongue, gave it a couple of short licks, and pulled back.

—Not like that —I said—. All the way in. No teeth. And look at me.

I took her hair gently and guided her. I taught her to suck slowly, without rushing, to circle me with her tongue, to go down as far as she could and come back up. I also asked her to look at me while she did it, and when she finally lifted her eyes and pinned me with that embarrassed look while my cock was halfway in her mouth, I almost came right there. I pulled back before that happened.

I told her to turn over, and at first she refused. She stayed on her back with her knees together, biting her lip. I explained in simple words that facedown felt different, that the position changed everything. When she finally gave in, her face buried in the pillow and a cushion under her waist, her ass lifted and her pussy open at the level of my hip, she let out a deep sound that didn’t seem like hers.

I grabbed her hips and shoved my cock in all at once, to the hilt. She choked for a second and then started clenching around me, rhythmically, unable to control it. I started fucking her like that, slowly at first, each thrust pulling out to the head and then going all the way back in. I watched her round ass open every time I entered her, her back dipping, her hands gripping the sheets. I pulled her hair back to see her face, and she had her mouth open, eyes half-closed, a thread of saliva at the corner of her lips.

—Tell me how you like it —I asked.

—Harder —she whispered—. Fuck me harder, please.

It was the first time I heard her talk like that. I lifted her a little more by the hips and started fucking her mercilessly, my body slamming into her ass with a dry sound, her tits hanging and bouncing below her. She came twice like that, one right after the other, and on the second one she clenched so hard I had to pull out so I wouldn’t finish. I turned her over, spread her legs, and went back in, this time looking into her eyes, her pussy dripping against my stomach. When I was about to finish I asked her where, and she told me inside, inside, and I came in long waves while she dug her heels into my ass.

We kept coming back to that same position for the rest of the afternoon.

We saw each other for almost three weeks, twice a week in the same place, always in the morning, always before noon. She learned fast. One afternoon I made her finish just by biting her nipples and rubbing a wet finger around her clit. Another time I spent half an hour on my knees, eating her out, until she came four times in a row and asked me to stop because it hurt. She learned to suck me while looking me in the eye, to swallow when I finished in her mouth, to ask me to pull her hair. One morning I tried to take her anally —I wet the hole with saliva and barely rested the head against it— and she clamped shut completely. She told me she was afraid, that other women did those things, that with her husband she had never even talked about it. I apologized and didn’t push it.

What we had ended in the most obvious way possible. Her husband started asking questions in the mornings, she got nervous, the calls got farther apart. A month later she sent me a short message: “better leave it here.” I didn’t argue. I was tired of having to be careful too.

What was curious came a few years later. Daniela, with no idea what was going through my head, told her younger sister about me. She said I ran some workshops at the university and that it was worth signing up. Camila signed up. Camila ended up in the front row. Camila invited me for coffee at the end of the third class. Three years later, Camila married me.

***

Camila has a narrower waist than her sister and wider hips. But there are things they share: the small firm tits, the long back, the full thighs, the skin smelling of vanilla. And an ass. The same ass. As if their mother had designed it and then repeated the mold with slight corrections.

My wife is, on top of that, much hotter than her sister. She has mileage, she likes games, she says things without beating around the bush. She loves anal sex —she gets on all fours and asks me to fuck her in the ass with the same naturalness another woman asks for a coffee— and she sucks cock like she needs it to live, swallowing everything down to her throat, one hand playing with my balls. It’s hard to ask for more. And even so, for years, I carried around the image of Daniela under my body, facedown with the cushion at her waist and her pussy soaked through. Sometimes I brought her to mind at the worst moments, just before finishing inside my wife, and I never told anyone.

With Daniela, after the wedding, we reached an unspoken agreement: we greeted each other at parties, talked about the weather, avoided being alone in the kitchen. It worked for a decade. Until last summer.

Camila bought, with her father’s inheritance, a house on a beach in the north. It was her dream. And her first plan, as soon as she signed the deed, was to invite her sister, her brother-in-law, and the two kids to inaugurate it. I told her I’d rather it be just the two of us the first time. She told me I was stingy. I didn’t insist.

They arrived on a Friday in midafternoon. Daniela got out of the car with a robe over her bathing suit and didn’t want to take it off. Her husband was teasing her a little, laughing. “Come on, love, let’s get in the water, what’s wrong with you?” Camila yanked the robe off and told her sister to stop being silly. Daniela obeyed. When I saw the two sisters standing side by side in bikinis, I almost lost my breath.

They were two versions of the same woman. I remembered Daniela’s smell. I remembered the texture of her back. I remembered how her thighs trembled when she was about to finish, how her pussy tightened around my cock, how her ass arched when I grabbed her hard by the hips. And all of it came back at once, right there on the beach, with my nephews playing paddleball three meters away. My cock started swelling inside my bathing suit and I had to get into the cold water.

That afternoon the four of us had lunch on the terrace. Brother-in-law conversations, white wine, a badly made barbecue by her husband. I couldn’t stop glancing sideways. Neither could Daniela. Every time our eyes met, she dropped hers to her plate and I poured myself more wine.

At night, Camila came looking for me in bed. She sucked me first, kneeling between my legs, with that technique of hers of going all the way down and staying there for a few seconds, swallowing me, before slowly coming back up. I put her on top and rode her, holding her hips, watching her tits move in the dim light. We were trying not to make the bed frame creak, and while I was inside her I heard the same thing happening in the next room: the unmistakable sound of a bed against the wall, a sharp pant, the muffled voice of a man. My head went somewhere else. It wasn’t my wife I was fucking that night. It was her sister, ten years earlier, facedown with the cushion at her waist, in a cabin on the hill. I grabbed Camila by the hair and bent her over the pillow and shoved it in her from behind and fucked her thinking about Daniela, imagining it was the same ass, the same back, the same tight pussy I had had under my body the first time. I finished inside with a long, silent release, biting my lip.

Camila finished and fell asleep at once. On the other side of the wall, the sounds didn’t stop. I got up in silence, went barefoot out onto the terrace, and peeked through the gap between the curtain and the frame of the window in the neighboring room. Daniela was lying on her back, naked, legs open and feet braced against her husband’s chest, and he —that thin, quiet man who seemed shy at the table— was penetrating her with a force I hadn’t imagined, his cock going all the way in and out, shiny with her wetness. He had both her tits in his hands. She was biting her finger so she wouldn’t scream. Then he pulled out, got up over her chest, and started jerking himself off fast, the head of his cock a centimeter from her mouth. He came all over her face, thick ropes falling on her cheek, her lips, her chin, and she, eyes closed, smiling just a little, stuck out her tongue to lick what had landed on her lip. I went back to my bed trembling, my cock hard again.

***

The next morning we had to go out for bread, the two of us alone. We walked along the narrow sidewalk in silence until I couldn’t hold it in anymore.

—I heard you last night —I said without looking at her—. And I was jealous. You’re exactly the same as before.

—Shut up, please.

—I don’t want to shut up.

We walked another block. When we were already coming back with the bags, she spoke without lifting her eyes from the ground.

—I heard you too. And I saw you spying on me through the window, don’t think otherwise. I’m nervous. Let’s not do anything stupid.

—I’ve got such a hard-on for you it won’t go away —I told her—. I spent the whole night thinking about fucking you.

She didn’t answer. But before pushing open the gate to the house, she squeezed my arm for a second. Nothing more was needed.

The three nights they stayed over, I made love to Camila all three. Not out of love —though that too— but because the idea of being with her sister again left me hard for hours. I fucked my wife face down, on her side, with her on top, shoved it up her ass the last night thinking about the time Daniela had clamped shut, imagining that this time it was she who was yielding, opening her hole and asking for more. My wife noticed something and said, laughing, while I felt myself finish inside her for the third night in a row, that the beach was doing me good. Daniela didn’t meet my gaze during the whole stay. On the last day, while they loaded the car, she brushed my hand as she handed me a bag and held my eyes for a second longer than necessary.

***

We went back to the city and exactly a week later the phone rang. It was her.

—A coffee —she said—. One morning. That’s all.

We met downtown, in one of those old cafés with worn leather armchairs. She arrived in a straight dress, no neckline, almost office-like. But her face betrayed her. Her eyes were bright and she had a nervous smile she couldn’t control.

—I don’t know what’s happening to me —she told me—. This is madness. Let’s not tell anyone, but I wanted to see you.

We had left our cars in the same underground parking garage. We went down together, without touching, and when we got to the corner where hers was, I pressed her against the door and kissed her. Ten years disappeared in that kiss. I slipped my hand under her dress, pulled her panties aside, sank two fingers in at once and found her exactly like that afternoon in the car on the way to the subway: drenched, trembling, biting her mouth so she wouldn’t make a sound. I took her hand and brought it to my fly, and she squeezed my cock over the fabric without taking her eyes off mine.

We left her car there and went in mine to the same place from a decade earlier. The cabins were still in the same area, painted a different color but identical. We were there for two hours.

Daniela was forty-eight years old and, even so, seemed more woman than she had then. She undressed by herself, without waiting for me to ask. She stood in front of me in panties and took off her bra from behind with her hands, without shame, offering me her tits. She came over, unbuckled my belt, knelt down, and took my cock out with both hands. She started sucking me with a technique she hadn’t had the first time: all the way down, her tongue circling me as she came up, spitting a little to wet it, tugging me with her hand at the same time, looking up at me with shining eyes. She had learned how to ask.

—Come here —I told her—. I want to eat you out.

I put her on the bed and put her on my face, sitting on my mouth. I grabbed her ass with both hands, buried myself in her pussy, and started licking her clit the way she kept asking, up, slower, like this, like that. She crushed my head between her thighs, moving on my tongue, wetting my face and neck. She came hard, with a cry she tried to swallow by biting her fist, her whole stomach trembling.

I laid her facedown, like that first time, and shoved my cock all the way in. I fucked her like that for a long while, watching her ass open, holding her by the hair, giving her soft slaps on the cheek of her ass that made her squeeze around me. And then, on impulse, I ran my wet thumb over her asshole and rubbed it slowly. She didn’t pull away. On the contrary: she spread her legs a little more and looked back at me over her shoulder.

—Can I? —I asked in her ear, with my cock still inside her pussy.

—Slowly —she said—. But yes. With you, yes.

I spit on it, ran the head over it several times, and pushed in patiently. She opened gradually, breathing deeply, gripping the pillow with both hands. When I got all the way in, I heard her let out a long moan I’d never heard before. I started fucking her in the ass slowly, pulling out and going in slow, while with two fingers I went in and out of her pussy at the same time. In a few minutes she was already coming, squeezing me from inside with a force that almost made me finish. She bit the pillow, muffled the cry, and when she was done trembling she asked me without turning around to finish her in the mouth.

I lay back and she knelt beside me. She took my whole cock into her mouth —that same cock that had just been in her ass a second earlier— without asking or hesitating. She sucked me with both hands, playing with my balls, squeezing the base, and when I warned her that I was about to finish she locked eyes with me and took me to the hilt. I came with a series of thrusts against the back of her throat, and she swallowed it all, without letting go, sticking her tongue out at the end to lick the last drop. Then she stayed looking up at me, with her mouth still close to my cock and a smile that was not that of a married woman.

—Let’s not do this again —she told me in the parking-garage elevator.

—No —I answered.

We both knew we were lying.