The Woman My Sister Hired Made Me Doubt Everything
Nadia lit a cheap lavender scented candle, but the fragrance barely masked the weed smell left behind by one of her friends before she left. Lucía, sitting in the white armchair that creaked every time she moved, wrinkled her nose behind her round-framed glasses.
—Why does your apartment smell like a burned mattress? —she asked.
—Because now that’s my new hobby —her sister joked—. Are you going to relax already? You have two days left until your wedding. Tonight is for you.
—That’s exactly why I’m nervous. I don’t like parties, Nadia. You know that.
—It’s not a party. It’s a girls’ get-together. Mom’s coming, Auntie’s coming. Almost a family dinner.
Lucía lowered her gaze to the ring on her finger. Almost a family dinner, yes. With Mom watching everything I do.
—It’s just that I don’t like pretending I’m calm when I’m not —she said softly.
—Aren’t you sure you want to get married?
—Yes, very. It’s something else. I don’t know how to explain it.
The doorbell rang before she could try.
***
In less than half an hour the small living room was full of women. Aunt Marta arrived, upright and wearing a modest cut petrol-blue dress, perfumed with that somewhat old-fashioned elegance that defined her. Her daughter Brenda was with her. Then came Dora, Lucía and Nadia’s mother, already frowning as if she could smell scandal before it happened. And last came Tamara and Renata, the bride’s two best friends.
Tamara came in like a blaze: deep red dress, thin straps, V-neck, lips painted with carmine lipstick and eyes lined like a cat’s. Renata, on the other hand, quiet and pale, sat down in the corner of the sofa and almost disappeared into it.
—I was told there was going to be a surprise —Tamara said, rubbing her hands together.
Lucía sighed. If there was one thing she didn’t need, it was more surprises. She was wearing a simple white dress Aunt Marta had given her, but it fit more tightly than expected. It clung to her body like a second skin, marked her waist, her gym-toned stomach, and outlined her breasts with such clarity that she kept crossing her arms every two minutes.
—I got the size wrong, sorry, sweetheart —Marta said, sizing her up from head to toe—. It wasn’t supposed to be that revealing.
—On Lucía, even revealing is elegant —Tamara chimed in, hugging her. Their breasts pressed together in the middle, and Lucía blushed, still unable to get used to those hugs.
—Don’t even think about going out on the street like that —Dora added, more to embarrass her sister than out of modesty—. Your nipples show through.
Lucía felt her cheeks burn. There was nothing that embarrassed her more than talking about her body. Well, yes there was: sex. That was why she feared bachelorette parties. They were fertile ground for everything that embarrassed her.
The doorbell rang again. Nadia ran to the door with a wide smile.
—The surprise is here! Yael, dim the lights. Lucía, sit there, in the middle.
***
Lucía obeyed without question. She settled into the chair in the middle of the room, convinced the surprise would be a cake or a gift for the new house. She had no reason to imagine anything else. Until the music started.
She didn’t recognize the melody. A slow, enveloping beat, with a deep rhythm and an unmistakable insinuation. It was the kind of music that played in the background of scenes she changed channels on the moment she stumbled across them on TV. The guests settled onto the sofas, all facing her. Lucía was left alone in the center, bathed in reddish light, exposed like a raft adrift while everyone else watched from shore.
—Ready? You’re going to love this —Nadia said, eyes shining.
—Nadia, I...
—No time, no time.
She opened the door with a theatrical gesture, and a murmur moved through the room.
A brunette entered, with thick hair, tight curls like dark springs framing a milky-cocoa face. She walked like someone stepping onto a stage: no permission asked, no explanations given. She wore a long, shiny black leather coat that opened a little with each step, letting shadows and flashes show through. She stopped right in front of Lucía, took off the coat, and tossed it over a sofa.
Underneath, a black leather outfit covered her torso, fishnet stockings climbed up her legs, knee-high boots. An image somewhere between audacity and menace. Lucía noticed her glasses fogging up, maybe from the heat, maybe from the sudden closeness. She had never seen a woman like that up close: tall, powerful, with a body sculpted for sin.
—What is this, Nadia? —Dora asked, her voice thick with fury.
—It’s a bachelorette party, Mom. Not Sunday mass.
—It’s obscene. It ends now.
There was an exchange of words, old grievances, Aunt Marta, who out of sheer resentment decided to contradict her sister, Tamara clapping for the show. But Lucía barely heard any of it. Her attention was fixed on the woman who waited in silence, professional, accustomed to that kind of family scene.
—What’s your name? —Lucía asked, surprising herself.
—Dayana —the brunette replied, with a marked Brazilian accent and a white smile, sharp as a freshly polished pearl.
—Don’t leave. You didn’t do anything wrong. —Lucía looked for her mother’s eyes—. Mom, please. I want a calm bachelorette party, but a happy one too. Not everything can be forbidden because it makes you uncomfortable.
The silence grew thick. Dora pressed her lips together, looked around for support and found none, and in the end raised a hand like someone surrendering grudgingly.
—Fine. But if you end up feeling guilty afterward, don’t come crying to me.
—I don’t see why I should feel guilty —Lucía said, not raising her voice, but with a firmness that even surprised her.
***
The music filled the room again, more intense now, and colored lights spun across the walls. Dayana resumed the show. She moved her hips fluidly, every step calculated to provoke without falling into vulgarity. She was a professional, and it showed.
She came close to Lucía, dangerously close, and lowered her torso until she was level with her face. Her breasts, barely contained by the leather, came close enough to leave her breathless. Before touching her, she turned and swayed her hips in a perfect motion, rubbing her firm ass against Lucía’s knees. Then, without stopping her movement, she peeled off the top and revealed a black lace bra that let the outline of her dark, hard nipples be guessed through the fabric.
Lucía sat motionless, hands clenched in her lap. She didn’t know where to look, but she couldn’t do anything other than look. She felt a heat unlike the reddish light, a mixture of shame, discomfort, and something else she didn’t want to name. She wanted to laugh, to break the spell with a stupid joke, but her throat closed up. Her fingers were icy against the white dress, which now seemed too short, too thin, too everything. And between her legs, her cunt had begun to pulse with a life of its own, wet, treacherous.
Because there was more. An electric current ran down her back. Part of her, the steady part, the one that always took control, wanted to stand up and end the scene with a polite smile. But another part, silent and buried, watched fascinated as that brown body slid against her skin without asking permission.
And then, more violently than the blush, came the awareness that her body was responding. Her heart was racing. Her legs trembled. Her breathing was shallow. Her nipples hardened under the white dress, brazenly outlined through the thin fabric, and she felt wetness soaking her panties. This is a betrayal. I don’t want to feel this way. She didn’t want to be confused, or attracted, much less aroused. And yet, something inside her had lit up like a flame.
Dayana took her hand gently. Lucía didn’t resist, though her fingers were cold with nerves. The dancer guided her, unhurried, until Lucía rested her hand on her own waist. The leather was smooth, warm. Lucía felt the world stop. She didn’t know whether to let go, stay still, or simply allow it. She looked up and the brunette winked at her, as if to say it was okay.
The gesture loosened something inside her. She let out the air, dropped her shoulders, let her body relax just a little. For the first time all night she didn’t feel trapped, only confused.
—Come on, put a little energy into it! —Nadia shouted, euphoric.
Dayana sat astride Lucía’s legs with grace, and this time she did put all her weight down. The Brazilian’s hot cunt, barely separated by the wet lace of her thong, planted itself right on the bride’s thigh. Lucía felt the wet heat soaking through her dress, Dayana’s burning skin against hers, and she swallowed a moan, clenching her teeth. The dancer began to move on top of her, slowly, rubbing her pussy against Lucía’s leg like a cat in heat, up and down, leaving a warm, sticky mark on the white fabric.
—Feel what you’re doing to me, doll —Dayana whispered in her ear, her voice hoarse—. Feel how much it turns me on to see you this nervous.
Lucía swallowed. She stroked Dayana’s thigh with her index fingernail, drawing an invisible line from the knee up the thigh, slipping under the dress, going up until it barely brushed her groin. One finger, just one, that raised goosebumps all the way to the nape of her neck. Dayana’s bra came undone, and Lucía didn’t even understand how or when it happened. Suddenly those brown breasts were completely exposed, round and heavy, the dark nipples hard as two ripe olives offered a handspan from her face.
She closed her eyes. One second. Just one second. The world was spinning too fast. Her mind screamed at her to get up, to cover herself with a cushion, to apologize. But something more primitive, quieter, just wanted to stay there. Feel it. Live it. Even if only once in her life.
—Just a little taste, brunette —Tamara insisted, having come over to remove Lucía’s fogged-up glasses—. So she never forgets this night.
Dayana held her face between her hands and pressed her, with sweetness and firmness at once, into the center of those two warm breasts. The perfume filled her nose, the soft skin brushed her cheeks, and Lucía felt her whole body prickle. The Brazilian rubbed her tits against her face, slowly, deliberately, and one of those hard nipples pressed into Lucía’s half-open lips. Lucía felt the wrinkled texture against her mouth, the heat of brown skin, and by instinct —or desire, she could no longer tell— she stuck out the tip of her tongue and licked. It was a tiny touch, only a second, but enough for Dayana to purr over her head and hook a hand behind her neck, urging her on.
—Suck it, doll. No one’s going to find out —she whispered.
And Lucía sucked. She closed her lips around that dark nipple and nursed it slowly, with the timidity of someone who had never done it before but with a hunger that scared her. Saliva dampened the brown skin, the nipple hardened even more on her tongue, and she felt the crotch of her own panties growing so wet that the hot fluid began to leak down the inside of her thigh. Dayana let her suck for eternal seconds while the other women shouted, whistled, some scandalized, others applauding. Then she let go of Lucía’s neck and straightened up, leaving in her mouth the taste of warm skin, perfume, woman.
When she let her go, Lucía breathed deeply. Her lips were shiny, swollen, and her heart was beating between her legs. Tonight I’m going to dream about this scent. The thought frightened her more than the scene itself.
Dayana wasn’t finished. She slid off her lap with a feline movement and knelt between Lucía’s legs, still trapped in the chair, still unable to move. She took her knees and opened them just enough to get a little farther in, and ran her nose along the inside of Lucía’s thigh, shamelessly sniffing. When she lifted her face, she had a wicked smile.
—You’re soaked, bride —she said, so low only Lucía and the two closest women heard her. Tamara let out a guttural laugh, Nadia covered her mouth. Lucía wanted to die. And wanted more.
The Brazilian placed her open palm over the dress, right between Lucía’s thighs, and pressed two exact fingers against her pussy. The dress was wet there, soaked, and Dayana knew it. She moved her fingers in a slow circle, pressing the clit through the fabric and the panties, and Lucía felt a sharp moan escape her that she tried to disguise as a cough. But it was too late. They had all heard it.
—Ooh, ooh, ooh —Tamara sang out—. The bride likes it.
Dayana kept it up a few more seconds, pressing and releasing, pressing and releasing, until Lucía felt her legs turn to jelly. The dancer withdrew her hand, brought the two fingers to her nose, sniffed theatrically, and then slowly licked them in front of the whole room. Lucía closed her eyes. If she could, she would have sunk into the chair and disappeared. And yet, if Dayana had gone on for two more minutes, she would have come right there, in front of her mother, unable to stop herself.
***
Dora got up from the sofa without hurry, smoothing her skirt, her face tight with disgust.
—Well, well. That’s enough, right? You had fun, you laughed. But we’re not this.
—We’re not what, Mom? —Lucía stood up, still breathless, legs shaking and a dark wet patch on the front of her dress that she tried to hide with her hands—. Women? Because that’s the only thing in this room.
The comment cut through the air. Dora looked at her as if she didn’t recognize her. Maybe she didn’t: this Lucía, firm, lit up, with the blush on her cheeks, her nipples outlined and defiance in her voice, didn’t resemble the shy girl with the round glasses.
—If you keep going, people will say you’re kind of lesbian —Dora spat, contemptuously.
—And if I am? —The question slipped out before she could weigh it. Absolute silence swallowed the music.
No one answered. Tamara was half-smiling. Marta arched an eyebrow. Dora stood rigid, speechless for the first time that night. And Lucía, surprised by her own voice, felt she wasn’t ashamed. She was, at last, saying something true.
Dayana, gathering her coat, came over to say goodbye. She brushed Lucía’s ear with her lips, and with her free hand ran two fingers over the inside of her thigh, above the knee, in a touch no one else saw.
—My number’s on the card I left in your bag —she whispered—. In case you ever want the show to be just for you. I’m going to make you come with my tongue, doll. All night long, until you can’t take it anymore.
She left with the same confidence with which she had entered. The party went on, the reproaches dissolved into laughter and daiquiris, and her mother finally gave in grudgingly. But Lucía was no longer fully in that room. Her cunt was swollen, throbbing, her panties stuck to her skin, and Dayana’s words were lodged between her legs like a hook.
Later, when everyone had gone and the apartment was silent, she found the card in the inner pocket of her bag. She held it between her fingers for a long while, staring at the numbers as if they were a riddle. Two days remained until her wedding. Two days to become the decent woman everyone expected her to be.
She put the card in the drawer of the nightstand, under her underwear. She didn’t tear it up. Just in case. That night, already in bed, she couldn’t sleep. She slipped her hand under her pajamas, pulled her soaked panties down to her knees, and found her pussy swollen, wet, throbbing as if it had a life of its own. She touched herself slowly with two fingers, drawing circles around the clit, and in her head the dark nipples came back against her mouth, Dayana’s ass weighing on her thigh, the firm hand pressing her pussy through the dress. She put her fingers in her mouth, wet them with saliva, and went back down. She pressed hard. She fingered herself with her index and middle finger, deep, and muffled a moan against the pillow.
She thought of Dayana’s mouth between her legs. Of that pink, knowing tongue licking her cunt with a professional’s patience. Of coming against that brown face while the Brazilian held her hips and wouldn’t let her escape. She moved faster, the free hand pinching one nipple, the other one bitten through the pajama fabric. When she came it was a long, silent, bitten orgasm that left her trembling under the sheets, her thighs clenched around her wet fingers and her stomach tightening in spasms. She brought her fingers to her nose. They smelled like her, yes, but in her memory they smelled like Dayana.
And that night, just as she had feared, she dreamed of a perfume of warm skin and eyes that looked at her like no one had ever looked at her before. When she woke, sweaty and breathless, with her panties stuck to her cunt again, she knew something inside her had opened and that she was never going to be able to close it again.