What I Saw in My Father-in-Law’s Shower Won’t Let Me Sleep
My name is Mariana, and I’m the mother of a four-year-old boy. I work all day, pick him up from preschool, share an apartment with my mother, and, theoretically, my life doesn’t have a single free moment in it. But there’s something that got into my head a couple of weeks ago and has been living there rent-free ever since. Something I shouldn’t be thinking about. Something to do with Mr. Aguirre, my boyfriend’s father.
It started one afternoon by pure accident. The bathroom door was ajar, and I was walking past distractedly, my phone in my hand, with no idea he was inside. Steam billowed through the gap. And there he was, under the shower, water running down his shoulders and chest.
I froze in place. It wasn’t a one-second glance, as I’d like to be able to say. It lasted longer. Long enough for the whole image to burn itself into my mind: his big body, his broad hands, and between his legs a cock hanging heavily even like that, at rest. Thick at the base, with full balls resting against his thigh, and a broad head peeking out from a half-drawn foreskin. I swallowed without realizing it. I closed the door slowly and went out to the patio, my pussy already throbbing and my panties wet, praying he hadn’t heard me.
Since that afternoon, I haven’t been able to get it out of my head.
***
Today at the office was torture. I had a stack of spreadsheets to finish before noon and couldn’t understand a single line. My mind was somewhere else. I imagined Mr. Aguirre appearing behind me in the kitchen of his house, lifting my skirt without saying a word, one of those huge hands squeezing my hip to hold me still while the other pushed my panties aside and shoved two thick fingers deep inside me, not asking permission, checking that I was wet for him.
This is wrong. So very wrong.
And still I couldn’t stop. I thought about his low voice in my ear telling me not to make a sound, that his son was in the living room, that I had to take his whole cock even if it hurt. I imagined him opening his pants without even pulling them all the way down, taking out that enormous dick and pressing it between my ass cheeks, rubbing it against my soaked pussy before thrusting it into me all at once. By lunchtime my panties were ruined, sticky, and my legs were clamped tightly together under the desk, as if that could hide the wetness trickling down to the elastic of my stockings. Every time a coworker came over to ask me something, I smiled and nodded without hearing a word, squeezing my thighs together to put pressure on my swollen clit.
I could have texted my boyfriend. He has a nice body, he knows what I like, and normally he’s more than enough for me. But not today. Today even he wasn’t enough. What had gotten into my head was something else, something heavier, rougher, something the size of that cock I’d seen hanging between Mr. Aguirre’s legs in the steam.
On the way home, driving, I fantasized about pulling over on any side street, slipping my hand inside my pants, and finishing what I’d started right there, my forehead pressed against the steering wheel and my fingers buried in my pussy. I didn’t. But I did stop at the market.
***
I bought a cucumber. A big one—I chose it on purpose: long, firm, thick at the base, with that rough green skin. I weighed it in my hand over the crate, mentally measuring it against the memory of what I’d seen hanging between Mr. Aguirre’s legs. While the cashier put it on the scale, heat rose to my face that I couldn’t explain. As if she knew. As if everyone could read my intentions on my face, or smell the wetness between my legs.
I know it’s ridiculous. Nobody knew anything. But doing something forbidden fills me with a guilt that turns me on even more. I paid quickly, shoved the bag into the bottom of my purse, and drove the last few blocks with my pulse pounding in my wrists and my tits pressed tight against my bra, my nipples so hard they hurt from rubbing against the fabric.
I got home, said hello to my mother, and cuddled my son. The usual routine: dinner, conversation, my little boy telling me every detail of his day at preschool with that seriousness that melts me. I nodded and stroked his hair, but inside I was somewhere else, counting the minutes until they were both asleep.
When the house finally fell silent, I locked myself in my room.
***
I took off my clothes hurriedly, leaving everything scattered across the floor. My blouse, my pants, my bra, my soaked panties, which I had to peel off my pussy with two fingers. The cool air in the room raised gooseflesh on my skin, and my nipples hardened almost instantly, tiny and pink, pointing upward as if asking for a mouth. I ran my hands over my tits, barely pinching them, and let out a long sigh. I lay on my back, spread my legs, and picked up the cucumber. I looked at it for a while, turning it over in my hand, imagining it was his cock. That weight I’d seen under the water that afternoon, now hard, swollen, throbbing for me.
Mr. Aguirre, why did you leave me like this?
I ran my tongue slowly over the tip as I returned to the shower scene, the way I do every night. Him with his back to me, water sliding down his spine, his firm ass cheeks clenching beneath the spray. That image alone had kept me alive for the past two weeks, every time I was alone and slipped my hand between my legs. I took it a little farther into my mouth, sucking it slowly, wetting it with my own saliva. I opened my mouth wide, let the thick tip stretch my lips, and pushed it inside until it made me gag. My eyes filled with tears, and I smiled to myself, imagining myself on my knees in front of him, that huge cock gagging me while he grabbed my hair so I couldn’t pull away.
“Suck it properly, daughter-in-law,” I whispered in the voice I put in his head. “Get it all wet, because afterward I’m going to fuck you with the whole thing.”
My other hand went down. I was already wet, much wetter than I’d expected, so much so that I felt the warm thread trickling down the crack of my ass to the sheet. I touched myself over the top first, making slow circles over my swollen clit, feeling every caress pull a sigh from me that I had to swallow so I wouldn’t make any noise. Then I pushed two fingers inside, slowly, opening myself, getting myself ready. My pussy was so wet that my fingers slid in without resistance, making a sticky sound that embarrassed me and turned me on at the same time. I pulled them out dripping and brought them to my mouth to taste myself and, at the same time, imagine I was swallowing his semen.
“Stay still,” I told myself, pretending it was his hoarse voice giving the order. “Don’t move, slut. Spread your legs wide and wait.”
I shuddered. Heat rose from my pussy to my chest, hardening my nipples even more.
***
I placed the tip of the cucumber at my pussy’s entrance and pushed lightly. It was so thick it was difficult, pressing against my swollen lips and forcing me to breathe deeply to relax. The rough skin of the cucumber caught on the edge, and I had to lower my hand again and smear more of my juices around it so it would slide. I pushed little by little, feeling it open me centimeter by centimeter, the cool vegetable colliding with the heat inside me. My pussy sucked at it on its own, tugging it inward.
“Oh, slowly…” I murmured into the pillow, biting my lip to keep from raising my voice. “It’s so big, sir, it’s so big…”
It hurt and I liked it at the same time, that strange mixture I wouldn’t know how to explain to anyone. I closed my eyes and imagined it was him pushing, all his weight on top of me, his big hands holding my thighs open so I couldn’t get away, his cock slowly stretching me as he looked into my eyes and whispered filthy things to me.
Take it. Take the whole cock. I won’t let you go until you beg me through your tears.
I pushed it deeper, slowly and patiently, letting my body get used to every millimeter. By the halfway point I could already feel the burning, that sting at the entrance, but farther in everything throbbed, begging for more. I began moving it, pulling it almost all the way out and sinking it back in, finding a slow rhythm that made me arch my back against the mattress. Every time I buried it to the hilt, I felt it strike me inside, somewhere my boyfriend never reaches, and a hoarse moan escaped me, muffled against the sheet.
I imagined the whole scene. Him standing beside the bed, his robe open and his cock aimed at me, looking down at me, the hint of a smile on his face as he watched me fuck myself with the vegetable for him. I told him to come closer. I begged him to replace it with his own, to really do it to me. The guilt of fantasizing about him specifically, the father of the man I sleep with, turned me on like nothing else. That was the worst and best part of it all: that it was so forbidden.
“You’re awful,” I told myself in his invented voice. “Look at the state of your pussy because of your father-in-law. All wet, all open, waiting for me to put it in.”
With my free hand I squeezed one tit, tugged at the nipple, pinched it until it hurt. Then I lowered that hand and rubbed my clit in fast circles while I kept fucking myself with the cucumber, two different rhythms at once, my pussy dripping around the vegetable, the sheet soaked beneath my ass.
***
I didn’t stop. I sped up, thrusting all the way in, feeling every ridge of the cucumber’s skin rubbing inside me, touching a spot that made me clench my teeth to keep from screaming. The room was silent except for my ragged breathing and the wet, obscene sound of the cucumber sliding in and out of my soaked pussy—slosh, slosh, slosh—a sticky noise that embarrassed me even more. My forehead and chest were covered in sweat, my hair stuck to my face, my mouth open as I panted into the pillow.
I raised my knees, spread my legs wider, shoved the cucumber in as far as it would go, and twisted my wrist so it would rub against me inside. Then I pulled it out completely, ran it over my clit, and barely pressed it against my asshole, playing with the idea, wondering if he would do it there too, if he would spread my cheeks with those broad hands and put his tongue there first, if he would ask me in that low voice while he held me face down. The mere thought made me tremble.
I pushed it back into my pussy, this time in one hard thrust, all the way to the bottom, and let out a muffled cry. I dug the nails of my other hand into the sheet. My legs began trembling on their own, a signal I knew well. I was close. I chased it with every thrust, faster and faster, silently repeating his name inside my head as if it were a backwards prayer, while I pounded my clit with two fingers.
Mr. Aguirre, don’t stop. Please, don’t stop now. Fill me, fill my pussy, come inside me, load me up with your milk.
And then it came. It hit me all at once, a wave that began in my pussy and swept through my entire body, leaving me rigid for one second and trembling the next. I had to press my face into the pillow to smother my scream. My pussy clenched around the cucumber again and again, squeezing it so tightly I couldn’t move it, while my legs shook uncontrollably and a warm gush escaped around the sides, soaking my thighs, my ass, and the sheet. I’d never come that hard, not with my boyfriend, not with anyone.
I stayed like that for a long while, panting, my whole body limp and my skin prickling with the final aftershocks of my orgasm, tiny spasms shaking my belly every few seconds. The sheet was wet beneath me, a complete mess, with a dark stain stretching from my ass to my knees. I pulled the cucumber out slowly, very slowly, feeling every inch leave me, and set it aside, shiny and dripping with my juices, feeling ridiculous and satisfied in equal measure. I brought a finger to my still-open, throbbing pussy, pushed it inside to caress myself one last time, and sucked it clean.
***
Now I’m here, sprawled across the bed, catching my breath and writing this on my phone to tell you, people who don’t know me and never will. It’s the only way I’ve found to get a little of what I’m feeling out of me. To say it out loud without having to look anyone in the face.
Because tomorrow I’m going to see him again. On Sunday we’re all eating at my in-laws’ house, as usual. I’ll greet Mr. Aguirre with a kiss on the cheek, pass him the bread at the table, and smile at him while my boyfriend holds my hand. And I’ll have to pretend that every time he gets up to fetch something, I’m not remembering that cock hanging beneath the water, the cucumber sliding all the way inside me tonight, and that my mouth goes dry while my pussy gets wet again beneath my skirt.
I know this shouldn’t be happening to me. That it’s wrong from every angle. But desire doesn’t ask whether it’s right before it appears. For now, I’ll settle for this—for my nights alone, my hidden cucumber in the drawer, and my imagination working overtime. It’s the only thing I have to get through this without actually crossing the line.
Does anyone else carry a fantasy they know they should never confess? Maybe reading yours will help me feel a little less alone with mine.
