What Happened with My Mother-in-Law When We Were Alone

There are things you keep quiet for years because you don't know how to tell them without sounding like a monster. This is one of those things. I'm writing it now, so many months later, because I need to get it out of me once and for all. Everything I'm about to tell you really happened, at my wife's mother's house, one afternoon in March when fate decided we'd be left alone.

Her name is Marisol. She's in her early fifties, though no one believes it when they see her. She's the kind of woman who grows older without losing anything, with a way of moving that isn't quite innocent. I'd always looked at her a little longer than I should have, I admit it, but it had never gone beyond that. A glance over dinner, a comment that stopped halfway. Nothing that couldn't be disguised.

That day my wife had gone out early to accompany a friend to the doctor, and she asked me to stay and wait for the gas technician, who was coming to inspect her mother's boiler. Marisol was moving around the house in a thin robe, finishing up some tidying, and I sat in the inner courtyard reading something on my phone while I waited for the time to pass.

The courtyard of that house is small and enclosed, with potted plants and a vine that provides shade. It looks directly onto the bathroom window, one of those tall translucent-glass windows that almost never close all the way. I was minding my own business when I heard the shower running.

I'm not going to lie. I looked up.

The window was ajar, barely a hand's breadth, and steam was beginning to escape through the gap. I told myself no, that it was crazy, that she was my wife's mother. I looked back at the screen. But the water kept falling, and imagination is a terrible thing when you let it loose.

Just once. Just to confirm that I'm an idiot and go back to sitting down.

I got up with my heart pounding against my chest and approached slowly, as if the floor might give me away. Through the wet glass I could make out her silhouette, distorted by the steam, a shadow moving beneath the spray of water. Nothing specific was visible, and yet I stood there rooted to the spot, holding my breath. My cock was already hard against the fabric of my trousers, throbbing, and I didn't even dare adjust it.

Then she turned off the tap.

The sudden silence frightened me so much that I leapt back to my chair and pretended to concentrate on my phone. I heard the shower screen, the rustle of a towel, her bare feet on the tiles. And then, nothing. I thought she'd gone to get dressed and that this would remain an embarrassing secret between me and my conscience.

***

I was wrong.

Ten minutes later I went to the kitchen for a glass of water. The bathroom door opened onto the hallway, wide open, and she was still inside, standing before the mirror, wrapped in a towel that barely covered what it had to. She was rubbing cream onto her shoulders. She saw my reflection before I could back away.

—Sorry—I said, noticing that my voice came out broken. —I didn't know you were still here. I'm leaving.

But I didn't move. And neither did she.

She held my gaze in the mirror for a second longer than normal. Then she turned around slowly, in no hurry to close the towel, and lowered her eyes toward me. I was conscious of how obvious my body was at that moment, of how little the trousers concealed, of how my cock stood out like a pole beneath the fabric.

—You don't need to apologize—she said, with a calmness that undid me. —We're both grown-ups. And it isn't the first time you've looked at me like that. —She lowered her eyes to my crotch again and smiled crookedly. —And it isn't the first time you've gotten hard with me standing in front of you, either. Don't think I haven't noticed.

I swallowed. My heart had risen into my throat.

—Marisol, this isn't...

—My daughter will be out all morning—she cut in, taking a step toward me. —And you've been looking at me for two years as if you wanted to ask me something but didn't dare. Ask me now.

I didn't ask anything. The distance between us disappeared on its own. When my hand found her waist over the towel, she didn't pull away. On the contrary, she moved closer until I felt the damp heat of her freshly showered skin against mine, and her hand went straight down to grab my cock through my trousers, squeezing it without the slightest embarrassment.

—Fuck—she murmured. —You're rock-hard. There's no hiding that, darling.

The towel fell to the floor between us.

***

I kissed her the way I'd spent far too long imagining I would. It wasn't a sweet kiss. It was the kind that bites, the kind carrying all the pent-up frustration of dinners, half-finished glances, everything we'd never said. She answered with the same urgency, gripping the back of my neck and pushing me against the edge of the sink while I devoured her mouth and bit her lip.

I looked at her whole body, without the towel, and nearly lost my breath. Her breasts were still firm, her dark nipples erect, pointing at me as if they already knew what was going to happen. Her belly was soft, her hips wide, and her pussy, neatly trimmed, still gleamed wet from the shower. I put my hand there without thinking, between her legs, and she opened her thighs a little to let me in.

—Look at you—I whispered in her ear, burying two fingers inside her at once. —You're soaking wet, Marisol. You're like this because of me.

—I've been like this all fucking morning—she gasped, pressing herself against my hand. —Ever since I knew you were the one coming.

I moved my fingers slowly inside her, curling them and searching for the spot that made her tremble, while my thumb worked her clitoris in slow circles. She moaned against my neck, biting it so she wouldn't cry out, and her pussy began to gush so much that it ran down my wrist.

—Take your clothes off—she told me in a husky voice. —I want to see you. I want to see that cock that gets hard every time I have dinner with you two.

I yanked down my trousers and boxers without taking my eyes off her. She bit her lip when she saw my cock emerge hard and throbbing, the tip already wet, and that reaction alone aroused me more than any words could have. She lowered her hand, gripped me firmly, and began jerking me off slowly, gauging me, squeezing at the base and sliding up to the glans, spreading the thick drop oozing from the slit.

—What a cock you've got, you son of a bitch—she murmured, never taking her eyes off it. —I've been dreaming about this for months. Let's make the most of being alone.

She knelt before me on the bathroom rug. I didn't have to ask her for anything. She took me into her mouth all at once, swallowing me halfway down, and I had to brace myself against the wall to keep my balance. She sucked hungrily, with years of accumulated hunger, her lips tight around my dick as she moved up and down in a rhythm that was killing me. I held her still-damp hair, moving it away from her face so I could watch her, and she looked up at me while she kept sucking, her mouth full and her cheeks hollow. That image will never leave me.

She pulled my cock out for a moment, gripped it with her hand, and licked my balls one by one, taking them into her mouth, sucking them and tugging gently with her lips, then went back to swallowing me whole until the tip touched the back of her throat and she gagged for a second. A strand of saliva hung from her chin down to her breasts. No one had ever sucked me like that in my life.

—Marisol, stop—I asked, pulling her face away. —Stop or I'll come in your mouth right now.

—I could swallow it without blinking—she replied, licking her glossy lips. —But I want that cock somewhere else first.

—Come here—I said, helping her to her feet.

I turned her gently and put her facing the mirror, my chest against her back. Seeing her like that in the reflection, with my hands roaming over her breasts and belly, was almost more intense than the touch itself. I pinched both nipples at once, rolling them between my fingers, and she threw her head back onto my shoulder with a long moan. My cock was wedged between her buttocks, hard as stone, and she began moving her ass against me, rubbing herself against me, searching for me.

—Are you sure?—I asked, because despite everything I needed to hear it.

—More sure than I've ever been—she answered, finding my hand and guiding it between her legs. —It's been a long time since anyone fucked me the way I want. Put it in already. Don't be an asshole.

***

I bent her forward against the sink, her hands braced on the fogged mirror, and opened her legs with my knee. I ran the tip of my cock over her soaked pussy, up and down, rubbing it across her swollen lips and clitoris until she thrust her ass backward desperately.

—Don't play around—she growled. —Put it all the way in.

I drove it into her in one thrust, all the way to the hilt, and she let out a muffled moan that bounced off the bathroom tiles. She was so wet that I slid inside without any resistance, and I felt her pussy close around my dick in a ring, gripping me and sucking me inward. I stayed still for a second, buried completely inside her, enjoying the way she pulsed around me.

—Fuck, you're tight—I told her in her ear, biting the nape of her neck.

—Fuck me already—she begged. —Hard. Make it loud.

I began to move, pulling nearly all the way out before driving back in with a hard thrust. I held her hips with both hands and fucked her mercilessly, watching her face in the mirror every time my cock plunged all the way inside. Her breasts bounced against the marble sink, her hands slipped across the fogged glass, leaving long marks, and I couldn't stop looking at her, mouth open, eyes half closed, tongue showing between her teeth.

—Like that, like that, like that—she repeated between gasps. —Don't stop, you bastard, don't stop.

I pulled all the way out to watch it shine with her juices, then slammed it back in, listening to the wet smack each time my balls struck her pussy. The bathroom smelled of sex, wet skin, hot woman. I slapped her ass, leaving it red, and she moaned louder.

—Again—she asked. —Give me another one.

I smacked her again, and once more, and with each slap she squeezed tighter around my cock. I reached around her and grabbed one breast with my whole hand; my other hand went down to her clitoris, rubbing it while I kept thrusting. She began to tremble all over, clenching her teeth.

—Change positions—I said, pulling out abruptly.

I turned her around, sat her on the edge of the sink, grabbed her legs behind the knees, and spread them wide. I pushed my cock into her again in one motion, and she dug her nails into my back. Like that, face-to-face, looking into each other's eyes while I penetrated her, it was something else entirely. She wrapped her legs around me, crossing them behind my ass, forcing me to bury it deeper with every thrust.

—You're going to make me come—she whispered against my mouth. —You're going to make me come like a filthy bitch.

—Come—I answered, thrusting into her faster. —Come on my cock, Marisol. Soak it.

I bit her neck, sucked hard on one nipple, and felt her whole body tense. Her pussy began squeezing me in waves, closing and opening around my dick like a fist, while she came with muffled moans against my shoulder, biting me so she wouldn't scream. I felt a hot trickle running over my balls.

—I can't hold out much longer—I confessed, my cock about to burst.

—Come inside me—she told me in my ear, squeezing my buttocks with her heels. —Don't pull out. Come inside me, darling. I want to feel it.

It took four more thrusts, all the way in, and I let go. My cock exploded inside her in long, thick spurts, one after another, and I held her tightly against the mirror while I emptied myself completely inside her. She trembled and gasped, squeezing my buttocks so I wouldn't pull out, so I'd leave every last drop inside her.

We stayed like that, joined together, slipping slightly against the sink, holding each other up so we wouldn't fall. Still inside her, I felt my cum beginning to trickle down her thigh.

***

We remained like that for a few seconds, catching our breath, my forehead resting against her damp nape. Neither of us said anything. The mirror was covered in handprints, the rug was in disarray, and the ordinary sounds of the street came through the half-open window, as if the world hadn't noticed a thing. When I finally pulled my cock out, a thick white strand fell from her pussy, and she gathered it with two fingers, brought them to her mouth, and sucked them without looking away from me.

Marisol climbed down from the sink and gave me a short, almost tender kiss, different from all the others. She picked up the towel from the floor, cleaned herself inside without the slightest embarrassment, and wrapped it around her body again with such naturalness that it left me speechless.

—Get dressed—she said with a half-smile. —The gas man won't be long. And wash that cock; you stink of me.

Then she went to the bedroom to get dressed, leaving me standing there, my dick still gleaming and dripping, still trembling, trying to understand what I had just done.

The technician arrived twenty minutes later. He inspected the boiler, signed a form, and left. My wife came home at noon, told us how her friend had fared at the doctor's, and her mother set the table as if nothing had happened. The three of us ate together. Marisol passed me the bread, asked me about work, and smiled at her daughter. No one would ever have guessed what had happened in that bathroom a couple of hours earlier.

Since then we've seen each other at family dinners, birthdays, Christmases. We greet each other with two kisses and talk about the weather. And only sometimes, when no one is looking, she holds my gaze for a second too long, just as she did that day in front of the mirror.

We never spoke about what happened again. There was no need. Two people who share a secret like that don't need to remind each other of it aloud. We wear it, like a mark beneath our clothes, every time we meet.

I don't know whether it's right or wrong. I know it happened, that neither of us entirely caused it, and that neither of us regrets it. Sometimes the guilt weighs on me, especially when I look at my wife. Other times, though, I close my eyes and return to that March afternoon, to the steam escaping through the window, to a towel falling to the floor between two people who had kept silent about the obvious for far too long.

And, God forgive me, I can't bring myself to regret it.