My Sister-in-Law Was Waiting for Me in the Same Clothes from Sunday

This is the second part of a confession I started months ago with my wife’s mother. If you still haven’t read that one, it’s worth doing so: the two stories get tangled more than I’d like to admit, and nothing that comes next makes sense unless you understand why I started looking at that family like a minefield I went back to every Sunday with a hard cock under my pants.

My sister-in-law is called —let’s call her— Tamara. She is my wife’s younger sister and, the first time I saw her, at the lunch where I was introduced as her formal boyfriend, I thought she was going to be a problem. She’s short, with wide hips, a round ass that looks as if it were drawn on purpose to ruin someone’s marriage, and a pair of big tits that fill out any blouse until the buttons strain. My wife looks like her, yes, but she’s a different height and has different hair. And, above all, she’s mine. What’s forbidden always tastes different.

For years I limited myself to looking at her. Every birthday, every Christmas, every barbecue: I ran my eyes over her from head to toe as if it were the first time, imagining what it would be like to put my cock between those tits, how her cunt would open if I ripped her underwear off in one tug. I’m not sure how much she noticed. I suspect more than she let on.

The ground tilted the summer I lost my job. Tamara coordinated a team at a logistics company on the outskirts, and she mentioned, almost in passing, that they needed extra help for a few months. I said yes before she finished explaining the conditions. I didn’t care about the pay or the hours. I was going to see her every day.

I have to clarify something uncomfortable: by then, my affair with my mother-in-law was already underway. We had started months earlier, under circumstances that aren’t relevant now. I mention it because going to work with the daughter of my lover added an extra layer of vertigo, and because from the first day I had to learn how to carry two secrets at once in the same house. I had already come in my mother’s cunt countless times; now I had the daughter two desks away, and it never went half an hour without me getting hard thinking about her.

The first few weeks were disciplined. I tried not to stay too close to her desk. She treated me like any other coworker, with just enough coolness that nobody would think anything of it. Things went sideways on a Sunday, in my in-laws’ dining room.

Tamara arrived late. She was wearing black leggings that outlined even the shape of her thong and a cherry-colored blouse opened two buttons more than any married woman allows herself in front of her husband’s family. You could make out her hard nipples through the fabric every time she leaned over to serve. Every time she got up to fetch something from the kitchen, my eyes followed the rhythm of her hips as if it were an obligation. My wife caught me twice. Her mother, once more —and when our eyes met, my mother-in-law smiled with a crooked mouth, as if reminding me exactly what she had done to me with her tongue the last time—. Tamara’s husband said nothing, but he gripped his wineglass with fingers gone too white.

“Quite the show,” my wife said to me in the car on the way home. “Even her husband noticed. Now he’s laying into her for dressing like that.”

I didn’t answer. Anything I said would have sounded worse. The argument dragged on until dawn and ended with her sleeping on the sofa. I climbed into bed with my cock burning and a single thought, repeated like a mantra: Tamara in those leggings, Tamara in those leggings, Tamara in those leggings. I ended up jerking off twice that night, imagining how I’d yank them down and bury my face between her ass cheeks.

On Monday I got to the office before almost everyone else. And then she walked in. In the same black leggings. The same cherry blouse. The same perfume.

This cannot be a coincidence.

She walked past my desk three times in the first hour, when usually she didn’t even come near it once. The fourth time she pretended to look for a report in the filing cabinet two meters from me and stayed there a long while, bent over, those leggings explaining everything: the high, round ass, the line of her thong marked under the black fabric, a telltale triangle of wetness right between her legs. I got up to go to the bathroom because I needed a couple of minutes alone with my own cock so I wouldn’t lose control. I pulled it out braced against the stall door and came in three hard pulls, biting my fist so I wouldn’t moan.

***

When I came back, the floor was almost empty. Most of the team had gone down to lunch. Tamara was still at her desk, turned away from me, typing slowly. I didn’t think. I walked over to her, covered her eyes with my hands, and spoke right against the nape of her neck.

“Guess who I am.”

She stayed very still. I felt her shiver under my fingers. I took advantage and whispered, my lips almost brushing her ear:

“You look incredible today. And you know it. You dressed the same as yesterday on purpose so I’d get hard just looking at you.”

She let out the smallest sigh, a little sound worth more than any answer. I took my hands away and made her turn in the chair. We faced each other, too close, with our eyes too wide. I looked at her mouth, open and wet, and then blatantly down to her cleavage. I ran one finger along the edge of her blouse, barely touching the skin between her breasts. She closed her eyes and spread her knees a centimeter. We were one blink away from kissing —I already had my right hand searching the inside of her thigh— when the floor door opened and a coworker came in talking on the phone. I stepped away pretending to look for something at the photocopier, my aching cock straining against my fly. She fixed her hair with trembling hands and kept typing as if nothing had happened.

I couldn’t get her out of my head for the rest of the day. At quitting time, in the elevator, I asked her in a low voice:

“How are you getting home today?”

Usually her husband picked her up. But that afternoon, I don’t know if because of Sunday’s argument or pure chance, she told me she was taking a taxi.

“I’ll take you.”

“Didn’t you have class at the university?”

“I’m skipping it. Say yes before I change my mind.”

It took her three seconds to say yes.

***

We went down to the building’s basement. In the car, before starting the engine, I called my wife. I told her I was going straight to the faculty, that if I didn’t give any sign of life it was because I’d run out of battery, and not to wait up for me. The battery part was true: I had two bars left and no charger. The faculty part, not so much.

On the highway we got caught in an endless traffic jam. I took advantage.

“I’ll buy you a beer,” I said, staring ahead.

“You don’t drink.”

“Today I do. The company’s worth it.”

She let out a sly laugh, the kind women let out when they know perfectly well you’re going to fuck them that same night and still don’t quite want to say yes.

“One. Just to wait for the traffic to thaw.”

We went to a small bar near the exit, one of those places where nobody knows anyone else and the light is low enough to lose your shame. We ordered one beer. Then another. Then I stopped keeping count. At some point she leaned across the table, her cleavage pointing at me, her tits pressed against the edge, and asked:

“Does my sister know we’re together right now?”

“She thinks I’m at the faculty.”

“And why did you lie to her?”

“Because I didn’t want to miss this.”

“Miss what?”

I took a breath. This was the moment or never.

“Your sister got pissed yesterday because she couldn’t take her eyes off your ass. And today you showed up dressed the same. Don’t tell me that’s a coincidence.”

She turned red to the ears. And she laughed. That laugh again.

“And why are you looking at mine if my sister’s is practically the same?”

“Because yours is forbidden. And forbidden tastes better.”

Something there finally broke. She looked at me for a long time, biting her lower lip. I asked her if she wanted me to tell her something that hadn’t let me sleep since the day before. She nodded.

“Since yesterday I’ve been imagining you naked, on all fours, and me fucking you from behind. All night. Just that. How your ass would move every time I buried it all the way in, how your voice would slip when I grabbed your hair. I jerked off twice thinking about your pussy.”

She didn’t know what to say. Her mouth fell open for a second, she took a deep breath, and lowered her eyes to the bulge showing under the table. When she looked back at me, her eyes were glassy. I asked her to dance with me. There were almost no people on the dance floor. I stood behind her, hands on her hips, and immediately felt her press her ass against my cock. It wasn’t a brush; it was a declaration. She rubbed her ass against me once, twice, three times, searching for the exact fit. I slid my hand over her thigh, slowly, up until I was covering her crotch over the leggings. It was hot, soaked. I held it there, pressing with my palm, and spoke against her neck.

“Let’s go. I can’t take it anymore.”

***

In the car, in the bar parking lot, I didn’t wait to get anywhere. I locked the doors and yanked at her blouse until two buttons popped. I fumbled her bra down, leaving her tits free, and threw myself at them as if I’d been holding back for years. Which, in truth, was exactly right. I sucked her hard nipples, bit them, ran my tongue all over them while she clung to the headrest and arched her back. I slid my hand inside her leggings, under the thong, and shoved two fingers into her cunt in one stroke. She was soaked before I even touched her, her lips swollen, her clit throbbing under my thumb. I started working her hard, with just the right rhythm, while I kept sucking her tits.

“Oh, brother-in-law, don’t stop, please don’t stop…”

She came all over my fingers in less than two minutes, covering her mouth with her other hand so she wouldn’t scream, shaking all over in the seat, clamping down on my fingers with her cunt as if she didn’t want to let them go. When I pulled my hand out it was shining all the way to my wrist. I made her lick it clean. She licked my fingers slowly, looking me in the eye, and something inside me finally gave way.

“Let’s get a hotel,” I said. “I don’t want you in a rush. I want you naked all night.”

The hotel we found was one of those roadside places, cheap and discreet. The receptionist didn’t even look us in the eye. In the room, we didn’t even make it to turning off the bathroom light. I ripped off her leggings by the ankles, pulled her thong down with my teeth, and shoved her backward until she fell onto the bed. I took my time. I stripped her completely, slowly, and ran my mouth over her from ankles to neck, stopping where I knew nobody had ever stopped before. I licked the inside of her thighs until she started trembling. I blew on her cunt without touching her, just to watch her writhe.

“Please,” she murmured, “please, eat me already.”

When I spread her legs and ran my tongue through her she begged me to stop because she was going to come again. I told her that was exactly what I wanted. I sucked her lips one by one, pushed my whole tongue inside her, and gently pinched her clit between my teeth. She came into my mouth screaming her sister’s name softly, which at that moment made me even harder. I kept licking her while she shook, not letting her come down.

When I finally climbed up, she was on the verge of begging. I dropped my pants and pressed my cock to her mouth. She opened without me even needing to ask. She sucked me whole, with both hands, looking up at me from below, eyes wet and lips shining. She took me out, licked me from base to tip, then took me back down her throat. She spat, got me nice and wet, worked me like she’d been waiting for me for years. I was about to come in her mouth. She noticed and stopped.

“Put it in me,” she said. “Now. I can’t take it anymore.”

I laid her on her back, spread her legs wide, and drove my cock into her in one thrust. I felt her tighten around me, close her eyes, and stifle a cry against my shoulder. I started fucking her slowly, all the way in, pulling out almost entirely and then driving back in whole. She dug her nails into my back, bit my neck, asked for more, harder.

“Brother-in-law, harder, like that, like that, like that…”

I fucked her with her legs lifted over my shoulders, folded in half, to get in as deep as possible. Then I turned her on her side, one leg up, entering her from behind while I squeezed one breast. Then I sat her on top of me. Let her do the work. Let her ride my cock herself while I watched from below, her hair falling over her tits and her mouth open.

We lost count of how many times she came. At some point she was leaning against the headboard, exhausted, cunt dripping and her legs still trembling, and I was running my hands over her ass. I squeezed it, kissed it, bit it carefully. I ran my tongue along her crack, slowly, from top to bottom. She shuddered all over. I went back up, then back down, this time stopping there. Until she turned on her own, got on all fours, and said in a low voice, looking away:

“There. I’ve never done it.”

“Are you sure?”

“I want you to be the first. Tear my ass up, brother-in-law. But slowly.”

I didn’t quite believe her at that moment. I knelt behind her, pulled her ass cheeks apart with both hands, and started licking her hole. She hid her face against the pillow and let out a long, tight moan, as if nobody had ever done that to her before. I circled it with my tongue, teased it at the tip, soaked her thoroughly while with two fingers I kept working her cunt so the heat wouldn’t ebb. Then I spat, rubbed saliva over her, and pressed the tip against her.

“Breathe. Push out when I put it in.”

I went in little by little, one centimeter at a time, waiting for her to loosen. I felt how tight she was, felt her holding her breath as if holding back a scream, and convinced myself it was true, that I was the first. When I had her all the way inside, I stayed still for a long while, giving her time, while I stroked her back and spoke in her ear.

“That’s it. All the way in. Hold it like that.”

I started moving slowly. I grabbed her hair, lifted her head so she’d arch her back, and whispered in her ear things I’m not going to write here, things about her sister, things about her mother, things that drove her insane in that moment. When I felt her loosen completely, I sped up. I grabbed her ass with hunger, holding her by the hips, slamming her cheeks against my pelvis. With my right hand I found her clit from the front and started rubbing it while I kept fucking her from behind. She came like that, with my cock buried in her ass and my fingers in her cunt, shaking, biting the pillow, clenching around me so hard she made me lose control. I came inside her, all the way, in long spurts, clinging to her like my life depended on it. I remember it with obscene detail and even today, writing it, I feel the same pressure in my chest and the same jolt in my cock.

We stayed like that for a while, her lying face down and me on top of her, still inside, breathing against her nape. When I pulled out, I saw her close her eyes and smile with her mouth smashed against the sheets.

“Again,” she murmured. “In a while. But in my pussy.”

There was another time. And another. I lost count. We ended with her sitting on top of me, riding my cock at her own pace, touching her tits, while I kept her ass open and whispered filthy things in her ear. She came one last time crying with pleasure, and made me finish in her pussy that time too. No asking. No protection. We never used any.

***

When we looked at the clock it was almost midnight. We got dressed in a hurry, barely speaking, with our legs still shaky. She wiped the semen running down her thigh with a hotel towel and tucked her torn thong into her pocket. I dropped her three blocks from her house and drove home praying my wife had fallen asleep. Luckily, she was still angry about Sunday and had gone to bed without waiting for me.

What came after lasted months. We did it in the car —on her knees in the passenger seat while I drove, her mouth sucking me until we nearly died twice—, in the work bathroom —her against the wall, a legging pulled halfway down, my cock buried deep while someone washed their hands on the other side—, at lunchtime in a nearby motel where they already knew us by sight and asked for my card without a word. Some Thursdays, after leaving her with my cock still wet from her cunt, I’d stop by my in-laws’ house and end the day in her mother’s bed, fucking her with the taste of her daughter still on my fingers. I’m aware of how that sounds. I’m writing it anyway.

My contract ended. A few weeks later, Tamara quit the company. And two weeks after that, without telling anyone, she moved with her husband to another city more than an hour away. Visits to my in-laws became biweekly and, with her sister far away, a door closed that neither of us wanted to say out loud we missed.

Months later, at a family dinner, my wife dropped the news: Tamara was pregnant. We never used protection. I counted the days in my head, and the dates matched the months when her husband had been away on work trips. I called her the next day, as soon as I could. She swore to me on her mother’s life that the child wasn’t mine.

Two years later, my second daughter was born. And that’s where the alibi ended.

They were identical. Tamara’s boy and my daughter looked like twins. Same eyes, same expression when they slept, same way of furrowing their brows when they got angry. Everyone commented on it at every birthday. Every time I saw them together, I felt a lump in my throat. It took me another year to confront Tamara. When I did, she didn’t bother lying. The only thing she said was:

“I knew from the beginning. That’s why I left.”

***

We still see each other whenever we can. Every few months she comes in for work, or I pass through her city with some cheap excuse. We lock ourselves in some hotel room and go back to the same thing: mouth, cunt, ass, semen inside. It’s less frequent, more careful, and at the same time more intense, because there’s nothing left to discover and because between us we carry a secret that binds us in a way no marriage could ever imitate.

The story with my mother-in-law, by the way, is still ongoing too. But that’s for the next confession.