My Cousin Took Me Into the Fitting Room Without Warning

That afternoon started like any other. It was Wednesday, or Thursday — one of those weekday afternoons when the city seems to empty out and the streets downtown are left to the people who are in no hurry at all.

I was one of them. I had gone out for a walk with no fixed destination after work, earbuds in and my head anywhere but in the present. I turned into one of those shopping streets around the old market, where the storefronts mix cheap clothes with imitation jewelry and shops that smell of leather and dust that’s built up over the years.

That was when I saw her.

Valeria was walking the other way, a tote bag slung over her shoulder, her eyes fixed on the display window of an accessories shop. My cousin had that way of moving that had always caught my attention without my quite knowing why: slow, confident, as if time didn’t move for her at the same pace as it did for everyone else.

“Hey!” I called, taking one earbud out.

She turned. It took her a second to recognize me, and then she smiled with that crooked smile of hers that I never quite knew whether to read as joy or complicity.

“I can’t believe it,” she said. “What are you doing here?”

We kissed each other on both cheeks and ended up on the sidewalk, asking the usual things: how work was going, whether we had seen the others in recent weeks. Family is that club you belong to without ever asking to join. With Valeria there had always been something underneath the conversation that neither of us named, and there was no need to name it.

We weren’t close, exactly. We were the kind of cousins who see each other at Christmas and weddings, who trade messages in the family group chat and not much else. But there was something in the way she looked at me that made me feel seen, as if she knew things about me I had never told her.

“Come on,” she said suddenly, taking me by the arm. “I need to try some things on and I don’t want to go in alone.”

I didn’t have time to answer. She dragged me inside a small boutique, one of those places with too many clothes crammed into too little space and too little light, smelling of sweet air freshener and new fabric. A girl behind the counter glanced up and then back down without saying a word.

Valeria knew exactly what she was looking for. She went straight to the back of the shop, ran her fingers along the hangers with the concentration of someone who had already chosen before stepping inside, and pulled out two blouses and a pair of black pants.

“Which one do you like better?” she asked, holding the two blouses up in front of me.

“The blue one,” I said, without thinking too much about it.

“Me too,” she replied.

She headed for the fitting rooms without waiting any longer. There were two cubicles separated by a thin partition. The one on the left had its curtain drawn, with a pair of boots visible underneath. Valeria went into the one on the right and left the curtain half open, looking at me.

“Come in. I’m not going to bite you.”

I shouldn’t, I thought. But I went in.

The cubicle was barely big enough for one person. For two of us, it was too much. The mirror at the back reflected a slightly ridiculous image: me with my arms held close to my body, trying to take up as little space as possible, and her with her back to me, hanging the bag on the wall hook with all the calm in the world.

Valeria pulled the curtain shut.

The sound of the shop was suddenly muffled. The background music, voices on the other side of the aisle, the distant squeak of hangers. Everything became farther away, less relevant. Suddenly it was just the two of us in that cramped, enclosed, shared little space.

She pulled off the blouse she was wearing in one quick movement, with no apparent shame. I found myself looking at her back before I could force my eyes away.

“What are you doing?” she said.

“Giving you privacy.”

“I didn’t ask you to stare at the floor.” There was something amused in her voice. “We’re family, aren’t we?”

I looked up. She was wearing a beige lace bra that barely contained two big, round breasts, the neckline strained tight by the cups. The skin of her back was smooth and unmarked, and when she raised her arms to put on the blue blouse, I saw the line of her waist cut out against the light from the ceiling bulb and a shadow of warm sweat at the nape of her neck.

She turned toward me.

“How does it look?”

“Good,” I said. “It suits you.”

I wasn’t lying. But it wasn’t the blouse that had caught my attention.

Valeria took it off and held out her hand, palm up.

“Give me the other one.”

I handed it over. She put it on. She looked at herself in the mirror for a few seconds, turning from side to side, assessing it. And then, without announcing it, without changing her expression, she took my hands and placed them on her breasts, over the fabric.

I froze completely.

“Valeria…”

“Hush,” she said. It wasn’t an insult. It was an instruction.

I felt the weight of her breasts in my hands. They were bigger than they had looked under her clothes, full and warm even through the fabric, and her nipples stood hard against the lace. I squeezed her slowly, first with my palms and then with my fingers, sinking them into the firm flesh. My thumb brushed the edge of the bra, slipped underneath, and she tipped her head back a centimeter, just enough for me to notice. I yanked the cup down and bared one breast. The nipple was dark, broad, swollen. I pinched it between my thumb and forefinger and she let out a short, dry moan, swallowing it by biting her lip.

“Keep going,” she whispered. “With your mouth.”

I leaned down and sucked her nipple. I nibbled it, licked it in circles, took it fully into my mouth until the areola disappeared between my lips. With my other hand I freed the other breast and kneaded it without stopping sucking on the first one. Valeria grabbed the back of my neck and pressed me against her, snorting through her nose so she wouldn’t make noise.

This is happening, I thought. This is really happening and no one is going to stop it.

She turned slowly until she was facing me. Her eyes stayed fixed on mine, with that expression I had never been able to decipher for a long time. With the same calm she had shown in everything up to that point, she lowered her hand to my belt buckle.

“Valeria,” I said again, and even I didn’t know whether it was a warning or a question.

“I know exactly what I’m doing,” she said. “The question is whether you do too.”

I didn’t answer. She took my silence for what it was.

She unbuckled my belt. Then the button on my pants. The zipper slid down centimeter by centimeter and I could feel the heat of her fingers through the thin fabric of my underwear, already stretched tight by an erection that barely fit. What had started as discomfort had become a hard bulge that she palmed from top to bottom, gauging it.

“You’re hard as a rock,” she murmured, sounding almost amused. “Look at you, getting it up for your cousin.”

She slid her hand inside my underwear.

She took hold of my cock confidently, without hesitation, as if she had done it before. She closed her fist around the base and started jerking me off slowly, her wrist twisting on every stroke, squeezing the head and loosening on the way down. She pulled my dick out through the gap in my underwear and paused to look at it, her tongue grazing her upper lip.

“What a thick cock you have,” she whispered. “God.”

She pulled my pants down to my thighs and knelt.

What she did next, she did slowly. Without rush, without theatrics, with the same deliberate calm with which she had chosen the blouse twenty minutes earlier. She took my cock at the base with one hand and licked it from bottom to top, from balls to tip, in one long, wet pass that made my back arch against the wall. Then she sucked my head, only the head, wrapping her lips around it and circling her tongue around it, and the only sound that escaped me was one I tried to hold back and couldn’t quite.

She took me into her mouth little by little. First half, then more, until I felt the tip pushing at the back of her throat. Her eyes watered a little and she kept going anyway, moving her head back and forth in a tight rhythm, sucking hard on the way out and easing off on the way in. When she pulled off, a thread of saliva hung from her lip and dropped onto her hand, which never stopped pumping the base of my cock wetly.

“Look at me,” she asked, not taking me out all the way, her voice thick. “I want you to look at me while I suck you off.”

I looked down. Seeing her kneeling between my legs, my cock disappearing between her pale pink lips, with her tits out of the bra and her dark nipples swaying with every movement of her head, tightened something in my stomach I couldn’t tell was pleasure or panic.

I braced myself against the back wall, my fingers searching for the edge of the mirror so I wouldn’t lose my balance. She took my balls into her mouth one by one, sucking them with her lips closed, and moved back up the shaft with her tongue flat. Every so often she lifted her eyes to me, and every time our gazes met something tightened further in my chest, something that had as much to do with desire as with full awareness of what we were doing and who we were.

When I felt I was too close to the edge, I put a hand on her shoulder.

“Stop,” I said. “Wait a second. You’re going to make me come.”

“Not yet,” she said, pulling off with a little pop. “I want you inside me first.”

She stood up. Her lips were swollen and shiny, and her expression wasn’t exactly a smile, but it was close enough. She unbuttoned the pants she was wearing and slid them down along with her panties to her knees. Underneath, a black thong hung caught on one thigh. She moved it aside with two fingers.

The fitting room wasn’t big enough for much, but we managed. She leaned against the side wall, back to the mirror, lifted her hip a little and spread her legs as far as the lowered clothes allowed. I ran my hand between her thighs and found her soaked, her cunt swollen and hot, the lips sliding beneath my fingers. I slipped one finger in, then two, and she closed her eyes and clenched her teeth so she wouldn’t moan.

“Fuck me already,” she whispered. “I can’t take it anymore.”

I entered her slowly.

Valeria closed her eyes and pressed her lips together. I felt her cunt opening around my cock, taking me centimeter by centimeter all the way in, felt an inner muscle close around the tip as if it wanted to suck me deeper. I held my breath too, for a moment. We looked at each other in the mirror for an instant, both in profile, and something about that image — my cock buried in my cousin’s cunt, her tits out of her bra trembling with each thrust — seemed completely unreal to me, as if I were seeing it from the outside.

I started to move. Slowly at first, adjusting to the space and the silence we had to keep. I pulled almost all the way out and sank back into her to the hilt, feeling her flesh fit itself to mine with less and less resistance and more and more wetness. She put a hand on my hip, not to stop me but to set the rhythm. Her fingers tightened each time I shoved deeper.

On the other side of the curtain, someone came out of the other fitting room. Footsteps, the squeak of a hanger, a voice asking the sales assistant something about a size. Neither of us stopped. On the contrary: Valeria dug her nails into my ass over my lowered pants and forced me to fuck her harder, deeper, biting my shoulder over my shirt so she wouldn’t scream.

“More,” she panted in my ear, almost voiceless. “Deeper. Break me.”

I grabbed one of her ass cheeks and lifted one leg, hooking it against my hip to spread her wider. I drove into her from that angle and the moan that escaped her was the first one she couldn’t fully control; I swallowed it in a kiss, kissing her for the first time, my tongue between her lips while I kept hammering into her against the wall. She tasted of saliva and of me.

Valeria rested her cheek against the wall and her breathing sped up even though she was holding it together well, just a thread of air escaping between her teeth. I grabbed one breast with my hand and squeezed it until she moaned through her nose.

“Here,” she said very softly, shifting slightly to show me the exact angle. “Right there. Don’t stop.”

I sped up.

I drove into her with short, hard thrusts, looking for the point she had marked for me. I heard her hold back one moan after another, felt her cunt start clenching around my cock in waves, felt a shiver climb from her thighs to her hips. Her nails sank into my hip. I buried my face in her neck to muffle what was about to spill out of my throat. She smelled citrusy, like cream or perfume I couldn’t identify, and that smell stayed etched somewhere in my memory without my choosing it.

“I’m coming,” she gasped against my ear. “I’m coming, fuck, I’m coming…”

I heard her hold her breath. Her cunt clenched shut around me all at once, throbbing, milking me without meaning to. Then she let it go in a thread so faint it was almost imperceptible while she shook against the wall, her thighs trembling beside my hips. And then I hit my own limit too.

I pulled out before crossing over. I came out of her with my cock shining and ready to burst, and she understood without me saying a word. She knelt again in a hurry, took me in her hand, and jerked me fast, fist tight and mouth open beneath the head. I finished between her tits and her chin, the first spurt landing on her lips and tongue, the second on her sternum, the third sliding down the slope of her chest to her nipple. She didn’t stop jerking me until the last drop was out, then she ran a finger along the corner of her mouth, took it to her lips, and sucked it while looking at me, breathing hard, time suspended for a moment that could have lasted ten seconds or ten minutes.

“Fuck,” she whispered. “What a load you had in you.”

***

It took us four or five minutes to put ourselves back together. She was calmer than I was; I was a little clumsy, my mind still processing everything that had happened in that cramped little space. She wiped her breasts and neck with a tissue she took from her bag, straightened her bra, and buttoned her pants as if she had just tried on a jacket. We left the cubicle separately: first her, with the blue blouse she had decided to buy; then me, without having bought a single thing.

At the counter, Valeria paid. The salesgirl slipped the blouse into a small bag without looking up from the terminal.

Outside, the street smelled of hot asphalt and coffee from a nearby bar. The sun was still where it had been when we went in, as if time hadn’t moved. We walked together to the next corner without saying anything. It was one of those silences that don’t need filling: what had happened was clear to both of us, and saying it out loud would have been unnecessary and a little awkward.

At the corner, she stopped.

“We’ll see each other Sunday at the uncles’ place, right?” she asked.

“Yeah,” I said.

“Good.” A brief pause. “Come early. And ready.”

She walked off down the street to the left with both bags in her hand. I stayed there for a moment at the corner, watching her go until she turned and disappeared.

I don’t know exactly what I felt at that moment. I don’t think it was regret. It was something more like the feeling of having crossed a line that had existed for a long time, one neither of us had consciously drawn, but which was there, faint and real, waiting for the right moment for someone to cross it.

Sunday was coming soon.

I put my earbuds back in and resumed the path I had interrupted when I saw her appear around the corner, an hour earlier, or maybe more. Time on afternoons like that is hard to measure with any accuracy.