What My Boyfriend’s Father Did to Me at the Wedding

Lorena’s wedding, my boyfriend’s sister’s, had been in preparation for months. I was excited from the very beginning, because I’ve always loved those celebrations: the preparations, the last-minute nerves, the dress, everything. And since I was Lorena’s person of trust, I ended up helping her with every detail of that endless week.

I’d been dating Mateo for two years. His parents adored me; I never hid that, and neither did they. His mother treated me like a daughter; his father, Ricardo, treated me differently. A man just over fifty, elegant, one of those men who walk into a room and everyone turns to look. Always proper, always kind, with a marriage that seemed perfect. But I noticed the way he looked at me when he thought no one was paying attention.

And I liked that he did. I’m not going to pretend otherwise. Teasing people has always amused me, and with Ricardo the game had a different flavor, because it was forbidden from the very first second.

The day of the ceremony went off flawlessly. Lorena was tense until the very last minute, so before going in we had a drink to calm our nerves. She barely touched hers. I, on the other hand, didn’t stop at one. When the party started, I already had that warmth in my body that makes everything feel lighter and bolder.

Mateo didn’t let go of my hand all night, but he didn’t let go of the bottle either. He drank as if the world were ending. I wore a short, tight dress, one of those that forces you to measure every movement, and I danced pressed against him, rubbing against him on purpose. I wasn’t doing it only for Mateo. I knew perfectly well that on the other side of the room there were eyes that never left me.

Ricardo watched me from his table with a glass in his hand and an expression he tried to hide and failed. I held his gaze more than once. I bit my lip, swayed my hips just a little, and he swallowed hard. A couple of times, while I was dancing, I put a hand on my thigh and hiked the hem of my dress up a single inch, just enough for him to see and no one else. I knew exactly what he was picturing underneath, and I liked seeing the bulge in his pants when he crossed his legs. It was a silent game only the two of us understood, and I loved winning it.

He knows I’m provoking him. And he loves it.

The night went on and Mateo went from promising me things in my ear to falling asleep in a chair, his head hanging and a drunk, happy smile on his face. It was typical of him. When he drank too much, he switched off like a light and there was no way to wake him for hours.

As the last guests said goodbye, Ricardo came over to me. He was drunk too, but he could hold his liquor better than his son. We ended up talking for quite a while, about the wedding, about Lorena, about anything. There was something different in that conversation, a tension neither of us named but that filled the air.

When they started clearing the hall, he drove his wife home and left her there too, because she was exhausted as well. Then he came back for us. I already had my things ready. Between the two of us we carried Mateo to the back of the pickup; he didn’t react, he muttered something and fell asleep again. We got him as comfortable as we could and closed the door carefully.

We stood there for a moment beside the truck, under the warm lights still hanging at the entrance to the hall.

—Forgive my son —Ricardo said, running a hand through his hair—. When he drinks, he gets like this. He’ll sleep until noon tomorrow.

—Yes, I know him already —I replied, letting out a weak laugh—. The worst part is that tonight I needed him to deliver. I’m really in the mood.

I said it without fully thinking, pushed by the wine and by the game. We trusted each other, yes, but that sentence crossed a line, and we both knew it instantly.

Ricardo looked at me a second too long before speaking.

—A woman like you should never have to go without.

—The truth is Mateo does what he can —I said, shrugging with a smile—. It doesn’t always cut it. He comes too fast, falls asleep before I even really get started. He hasn’t properly fucked me in months.

—Then he didn’t take after his father.

That answer lit me up completely. I felt the heat rising up my neck, and something lower down too, a clear tug between my legs. I looked him straight in the eyes, determined not to leave the game half-finished.

—That would need to be checked —I said.

He didn’t answer. He just opened the door and got into the driver’s seat. For a second I thought I’d ruined it, that he’d gotten scared. I climbed in beside him with my heart pounding and my panties wet against my cunt.

And then I saw it. There was nothing to check: he had already decided for both of us.

***

He started the truck without saying a word, one hand on the wheel. With the other he held my neck and pulled me toward him. I didn’t say anything either. With Mateo sleeping a few inches away, in the darkness of the pickup, I leaned over Ricardo and let him guide me.

I undid his belt with clumsy fingers and pulled down his zipper. When I got his cock out over the boxers, my mouth fell open on its own. It was thick, hard as a rock, longer than Mateo’s, with veins standing out. The tip was already wet, a shiny string of precum hanging from the head that I caught with my tongue before taking him all the way in. He tasted like man, salty, hot, and that first contact made me clamp my thighs together.

—Fuck —he whispered, gripping the steering wheel—. Like that, slowly.

I started slowly, sucking just the head, playing with my tongue around the glans, letting the saliva run down his shaft. Then I went down to his balls and licked them one by one, never stopping stroking his cock with my hand. He breathed through his nose, long and deep, trying to keep his head on the empty road. I watched him out of the corner of my eye and loved seeing him like that, holding back, that elegant man who had been immaculate in church and now had his son’s girlfriend sucking him off on the way home.

I slid back up the shaft and took him to the hilt, until the tip hit the back of my throat and tears filled my eyes. I pulled off him with a wet sound, swallowed, and sank down on him again. And again. With both hands braced on his thigh, I started sucking him with real hunger, taking him hard, pressing my lips tight, moving up and down at a rhythm that drew out his first rough groan.

He was different from his son. Everything about him was. The way he took me, the calm with which he drove while I sank into his lap, the confidence of a man who had nothing to prove and therefore proved everything. I started out slowly, then with hunger, breathless, while he kept breathing deeply and staring at the empty road. I could feel his cock throbbing in my mouth, swelling more and more, getting hotter and hotter.

—You’re going to make me fill your mouth right now —he murmured, putting a hand on the back of my neck.

I didn’t let him finish. I wanted more. I wanted to feel him inside me, to really test what he’d hinted at with so much arrogance. I let his cock go with a wet kiss to the tip and wiped my lips with the back of my hand.

—Not yet —I said softly—. I’m not ready to lose it yet.

He let out a low laugh, gripped the wheel, and sped up.

After a few blocks he pulled the truck over on the side of the street, in a dark, deserted area. He turned back to make sure Mateo was still deeply asleep. He was: he hadn’t even moved, breathing heavily, mouth open.

—I can’t hold out any longer —he said under his breath, almost a growl—. Come here.

He moved me from my seat to his in one motion, as if I weighed nothing. He yanked my dress up to my waist and tore my soaked panties off one side; I felt the fabric give and he tossed them to the floor without looking. He arranged me astride him, and in that cramped cab, with the roof brushing my head and my boyfriend’s body sleeping barely a yard away, he guided the head of his cock to my cunt and impaled me slowly, centimeter by centimeter, until he had me all the way full.

I had to bite my hand not to scream. He opened me from the inside in a way I didn’t know. He was thick, long, and he reached a depth Mateo had never touched. I felt the difference he’d bragged about so much and had no doubt about what he meant when he said he hadn’t taken after his father.

—Easy —he whispered in my ear, his hands firm on my hips—. Slowly. Don’t wake him.

I started moving over him, holding myself back, rising and falling slowly, feeling him come in and out, clenching around him with my pussy every time he was buried to the hilt. He shoved my dress higher, yanked my bra down, and took one breast into his mouth. He sucked my nipple hard, teasing it with his tongue, and I had to smother a moan against his shoulder.

—You’re so tight —he murmured against my skin—. So hot. You wanted this, didn’t you?

—Yes —I whispered with my eyes closed—. I’ve wanted you for months.

—I knew it. The way you moved your ass on the dance floor. The way you looked at me.

He grabbed my ass with both hands and started setting the pace, pushing me against him from below, fucking me from the inside with short, deep thrusts that stole my breath. Every time I rose, he met me and buried his cock to the hilt. I bit my lips, moaned softly against his neck, holding back every sound my body wanted to make. And that, instead of slowing me down, made me hotter. The forced silence, the fear that Mateo would open his eyes, the kink of having father and son in the same space, the father-in-law’s cock filling me while the son snored a breath away: it all mixed into one current running through my whole body.

—Nothing like your son —I told him in his ear, without thinking, carried away by the moment—. You’re splitting me in two.

—Some things only come with time —he answered, holding my hips with both hands, controlling the rhythm—. And your boyfriend still has a lot to learn.

He drove into me deeper and I couldn’t help a moan. He covered my mouth with his hand.

—Shh. You’ll wake him.

I looked at him over his hand, eyes glassy, and licked his palm without stopping my movement. Ricardo clenched his jaw and turned me around right there, in that impossible cab, until I was pressed back against the door, one leg bent over the seat and the other against the gearshift. He settled between my legs and shoved back into me with one hard thrust, this time harder.

I rested the back of my head against the cold window. Every time I turned my head even a little, I could catch Mateo’s sleeping silhouette in the back seat, and far from stopping me, that only drove me deeper into the madness. Ricardo fucked me slowly but deeply, with a precision that made me tighten my thighs around his waist. He slid two fingers into my mouth and I sucked them the way I’d sucked his cock, looking him in the eyes. Then he lowered that hand and, with his wet thumb, started rubbing my clit while he kept thrusting.

—You’re going to come on your father-in-law’s cock —he whispered—. And you’re not making a single sound.

I nodded because my voice was gone. I could feel the orgasm rising from very deep inside me, a hot pulse tightening my belly. It was the most forbidden thing I’d ever done and I didn’t want it to end.

—Don’t make a sound —he repeated, voice breaking—. Hold on a little longer. Hold on with me.

He buried his cock all the way and stayed there, barely moving his hips, grinding my clit with his pubic bone. I came in silence, biting his shoulder over his shirt, my pussy clamping around his cock in spasms that he felt because he let out a rough groan against my hair.

—That’s it —he murmured—. That’s it, squeeze me.

I don’t know how long it lasted. Time became a single sustained pulse inside that cab. When he couldn’t hold on any longer, he pulled his cock out in one sharp motion and came over my stomach and thighs, hot streams splashing my skin while I was still trembling from my own orgasm. He held me tight against his chest and stayed like that, catching his breath, his cock dripping between us, while I shook in silence with my face buried in his neck.

Then we stayed still, both of us breathing hard, gradually getting our air back. In the back, Mateo kept sleeping as if nothing had happened, completely oblivious to what had just taken place a few inches from him.

Ricardo took a tissue from the glove compartment and wiped my stomach with a tenderness I hadn’t expected. Then he brushed a strand of hair out of my face with the same calm.

—This shouldn’t have happened —he said, though he didn’t sound sorry.

—No —I answered—. But it did. And it’s going to happen again.

He smiled faintly and didn’t argue.

I went back to my seat, adjusted my dress, and looked at myself in the rearview mirror. My cheeks were flushed, my eyes bright, and my lips swollen from biting them so much. I could still feel Ricardo’s cock inside me, a hot echo between my legs. Neither of us spoke again for the rest of the ride.

***

Mateo woke the next day after noon, with a massive hangover and absolutely no memory of the night before. He asked me if I’d had a good time at the wedding. I told him yes, that it had been a beautiful party, and I poured him a coffee.

Ricardo and I didn’t talk about it for days. Until we crossed paths again at a family lunch and, in a moment of distraction, in the hallway leading to the kitchen, his hand found my waist, then slid up under my skirt and confirmed with two fingers that I was already wet just from seeing him. His mouth found my ear and he whispered that that night he was going to invent an excuse to stop by the house while Mateo was at work. Nothing else needed to be said.

What started that night in the pickup went on much longer than either of us would have admitted. Whole afternoons in hotels on the outskirts of town, quick fucks in restaurant bathrooms, messages I deleted as soon as I read them. He, the perfect father-in-law in the perfect marriage. I, his son’s girlfriend, with panties always ready for him. I’ve always liked older men, and Ricardo showed me why: because of how a man fucks when he already knows exactly what he’s doing.

Sometimes, when the three of us ended up at the same table, I’d look at him over Mateo’s shoulder and smile to myself, still feeling the marks he’d left on my hips the night before. Some secrets are heavy. Others, the ones chosen with full awareness, are carried like a jewel hidden beneath your clothes: yours alone, and shared only with the person who wears it with you, shining in silence exactly where no one else can see it.