The Rules My Wife Imposed Between My Sister and Me

My sister Noelia and I had been involved in something for years that no one was supposed to know about. To avoid arousing suspicion, I let her go out with guys, but with one strict condition: nothing touching. When she came back home, I checked for myself, in my own way, and she accepted it the same way she accepted everything else.

Traditional sex had become too limited for us. We started experimenting with ropes, floggers, and a collection of toys that kept growing in a locked drawer. I set the pace and she obeyed. It had always been that way since we were kids: I decided and Noelia followed.

Since I liked fuller women, I asked her to put on a few pounds, and she did it without arguing. I also took her for the first time to a private club where these things were practiced. She liked it more than I expected. She loved being tied up and marked in front of strangers, and it was there that a couple invited us to their gatherings.

At those parties the women had to crawl and behave like domesticated animals. Most wore collars; some had phrases painted on their skin. Noelia was one of the thinnest women in the room, and I showed her off as if she were a trophy. One night a guy asked me if mine could do tricks, and I ordered her to imitate that man’s submissive.

***

Until then I had only ever allowed one stranger to touch her, because I caught her looking at one of them a little too intently. I asked the man if he wanted to go into one of the rooms with her, and he agreed.

I ordered Noelia to please him with her mouth, and she did it until she was choking, without complaining, like the disciplined submissive I had turned her into. Then he took her from behind, holding her by the hips, and I had never heard her come so hard.

—I’m cumming! —she screamed, and the man finished inside her seconds later.

I watched from a corner, aroused and proud of how obedient she was. That night I knew I could take her even further.

***

Back then I was twenty-three and Noelia was twenty-one. I met Bianca at the anniversary of some distant relatives; she was the daughter of someone the family knew. I asked her out that very afternoon. Noelia got angry, but I promised her I would never push her aside.

Things with Bianca got serious fast, and she was sharper than I had thought. She started making jokes about whether my sister slept in my bed, about whether Noelia would mind sharing me. I understood she suspected something, so one day I told her everything.

Bianca stayed quiet for a long while. Then she said something I hadn’t expected: that since Noelia was my sister, she didn’t really consider her a rival deep down, and that I could keep seeing her as long as it was clear that she, Bianca, came first.

That night I told Noelia while I held her. Things would stay the same, I said, but now there was a new rule: I was going to be with both of them, and she would have to accept Bianca above herself. It took little convincing; it never took much.

***

The arrangement worked better than expected. The nights I didn’t see Bianca, I spent with my sister. Noelia wasn’t bothered by what Bianca and I had going on, but Bianca kept asking nonstop what we did when we were alone.

Bianca tried the club once and it wasn’t for her, but she was fascinated by the power it implied. She wanted to understand the game, not take part in it. And little by little she started wanting it for herself.

A few weeks later she suggested a weekend in the camper her parents had on the coast. She asked that Noelia come too. I thought it was to keep up appearances with her parents, but the real plan was something else.

We arrived in the afternoon. Bianca decided everything: the big bed was ours, my sister would sleep in the single beds in the adjoining room. After dinner, when Noelia refused to do the dishes that very night, Bianca went into the bedroom, came back with a thin belt, and ordered her to bend over.

Noelia looked at me, silently asking whether she should obey. I nodded. Bianca cracked the belt across the small of her back and repeated the order with a calm that surprised me.

—Wash the dishes —she said, and hit her again.

—Yes! I’ll do them now! —my sister answered.

***

While Noelia scrubbed the dishes, Bianca and I went out for a walk. She confessed how turned on she was after punishing her. We found a secluded spot and I took her right there; from her moans I knew she had discovered something new in herself.

The next day she was looking for any excuse to punish Noelia. She made her crawl, checked her marks, and every time she was done with her, I had to take my sister to bed because she was impossible to calm down. Bianca watched, gave orders, and enjoyed herself. That weekend was the beginning of everything.

***

We got married about seven months later. When my parents were gone, Noelia moved in with us, but Bianca made her conditions clear from day one. My sister was under her command. I would only be with her when Bianca allowed it. Noelia would use whatever Bianca chose for her, and answer to her in everything.

They weren’t many rules, but they were absolute. And, contrary to what anyone would think, Noelia was happy: she no longer felt alone, and an odd but real friendship grew between her and Bianca. The three of us lived as one thing, ruled by my wife.

Some time later Noelia announced that she was pregnant. It was mine, of course, but she decided to end it. I suspect Bianca, who couldn’t have children, was already dreaming then of keeping my sister’s baby. That idea would come back later.

***

One afternoon Bianca told me her father had been admitted to the hospital. Nothing serious, but he would be staying there for a week. Her mother, Marta, casually mentioned that the bathroom sink was leaking and the faucets needed replacing. Bianca immediately offered me to fix it.

I went the next day. Marta came into the bathroom to say she was stepping out for a moment; when she turned, her skirt rode up and from the floor I caught more than I should have. For a woman her age she had a firm body, and I admit the image stuck with me the rest of the morning.

When she came back, she offered me tea. My head was still somewhere else. Marta was attractive in a way I shouldn’t have admitted, and for a few days I couldn’t think about anything but my mother-in-law.

***

I finished the job two days in a row. The second day I found her in the garage, bent down between the car and the wall, trying to reach something under a workbench. She hadn’t heard me come in.

What happened next was quick and not right. I came up behind her and took her without warning. She tried to pull away, asking over and over what I was doing, but I didn’t answer until I was done.

—I needed this —was all I said when I let her go.

I stood up, gathered my tools, and told her I’d come back the next day for the faucets. Marta stayed on the floor, silent, without looking at me.

***

That same night at home, Bianca mentioned that her mother had called to say she’d be out when I came to finish the bathroom. It was obvious she had backed her mother into a corner, and that she preferred to avoid me. I, on the other hand, was already thinking about how to see her alone again.

The next day I went anyway. Marta told me the best thing was to forget what had happened in the garage. I didn’t let her finish the sentence. This time, I also did something I’m not proud of: I photographed her, and warned her that if she didn’t do what I asked, those images would go to her daughter and her husband.

Marta started sobbing. She didn’t say anything else, and I left feeling like I owned something that wasn’t mine. What had begun as an impulse had become blackmail, and there was no going back.

***

Around then, one night, Bianca dropped another one of her decisions: she wanted Noelia to have the baby she herself couldn’t conceive, raised as her own. My sister had no say in it. For a month Bianca controlled what she ate, watched every detail of her cycle, and sent me to her bed at the exact right moments.

Eight weeks later, Noelia was pregnant. After that Bianca stopped looking for me; all her energy was devoted to caring for my sister’s pregnancy. Sex at home became almost nonexistent, and I, used to the opposite, looked for the easiest and worst escape: going back to Marta.

I called her to the garage, to an old friend’s warehouse, anywhere. At first she answered with a no, but it was enough to remind her of the photos for her to show up. Every encounter left me with the feeling that I had crossed one more line.

***

Over time I noticed something I hadn’t expected. Marta stopped struggling. One afternoon at the warehouse, I realized I no longer had to hold her by force: she was wrapping her arms around me, returning my kisses. She wasn’t smiling, but she wasn’t staying still either, and that had a thrill of its own.

I made her repeat phrases I wrote down on a piece of paper, things she found hard to say. At first she resisted; later, under pressure and because of something she was starting to feel for real, she said them. One of those afternoons she ended up admitting, without the paper, that this had stopped being only an obligation.

Later I introduced her to Diego, a big friend of mine, all muscle, who had told me his fantasy of being with a woman like her. I set it up without telling Marta what was waiting for her. When she understood the plan she refused, horrified, but the photo did its job again.

***

Diego didn’t take long. And to my surprise, Marta ended up responding to him, lifting her hips, letting herself go in a way she had never shown me when I forced her. When he was done, I took his place, and after that he asked for his turn again without me having to order anything: she positioned herself on her own.

When it was over, Marta lay there for a long while and confessed something that surprised even her first: she had had that fantasy for years. What had begun as an abuse on my part had gotten mixed up with a desire of her own she didn’t know how to name.

I took her home in silence. I felt powerful and miserable at the same time, still not measuring the damage I was leaving behind me. But then all I cared about was the next time.

***

I thought of going further. I booked her a room in a hotel and convinced her, again with the photos, to dress the way I liked and go down alone to the bar next door to flirt with strangers. Marta looked like another woman in that dress, and she had no choice but to play along.

A man bought her a drink before I went downstairs. I sat with them, introduced myself as her husband, and explained that we went out like that because I could no longer perform, a lie that opened the guy’s eyes. From there the compliments became shameless, and Marta, to my surprise, enjoyed them.

The three of us went to the back of the parking lot. What happened there happened under pressure, I know that, but I also noticed that something in her had changed forever. When the stranger left, thanking us, she spat on the ground and looked at me with a mix of anger and something else that was not just anger.

***

Back in the room I lost my head for a second and slapped her across the face. I regretted it immediately, but it was already done. What came after was different: this time she took off my clothes, came to me, and we ended up in bed without me having to force anything.

Lying there, Marta confessed that the stranger’s compliments had turned her on, and she asked me, almost shyly, if she could see Diego again. The woman I had started blackmailing was now asking me for things. I didn’t know whether to feel triumphant or lost.

We kept seeing each other. Every so often Diego showed up. And at home, meanwhile, the clock kept ticking toward the day I would become a father and, according to Bianca’s rules, could go back to my sister.

***

I tell all this without pride and without asking for forgiveness, because that would be false. I became someone who used three women’s desire like pieces on a board: my sister, my wife, and my mother-in-law, each tied to me for a different reason.

The baby will be born soon. Bianca is already talking about a second one, and Noelia, as always, will not say no. Sometimes I wonder at what point I stopped deciding and my wife started deciding for all of us. But that, perhaps, is another confession.