My aunt by marriage took off her shirt in front of me

I had just turned nineteen and lived alone with my mother in a small apartment in the neighborhood. She worked twelve-hour shifts at the clinic and almost never got home before nine at night. To keep the place from sinking under the dust, she had hired Marisol, my aunt by marriage, to come three afternoons a week and clean.

Marisol wasn’t family by blood. She had married one of my mother’s brothers some years earlier and had always been, to me, that kind, familiar woman who brought me something every birthday and asked me about school when we crossed paths at family dinners. She was thirty-three, with a black mane that fell to the middle of her back, brown skin, and a way of moving that only comes when a woman knows she’s being looked at.

She did Pilates twice a week. She said so herself when she complained on Monday mornings, and it showed. She had firm legs, wide hips, and an ass that looked hand-sculpted, round, high, with that curve that makes you turn your head when she walks by. Her waist, on the other hand, kept a soft roundness, like an adult woman who isn’t obsessed with being skinny. Her tits were big, heavy, and they stood out even when she wore baggy sweatshirts.

That summer there was a week when the city was on fire. Thirty-eight degrees at four in the afternoon, no wind at all. I was in my room, the blinds half-lowered and the console on, playing with my headphones on. I was wearing only shorts, no shirt. There was no way to be any other way.

Marisol came in with her key, left her bag in the entryway, and started in the kitchen, as always. When she reached my room with the mop, she peeked in through the door and tossed out the line that changed everything.

—Lucky you, son! —she said, fanning herself with an old magazine she had picked up from the living room.

—Why do you say that, Auntie? —I answered, pausing the game.

—So cool, with nothing on top. I think I’m going to do the same, I’m melting.

She said it laughing, like she was commenting on the weather. I just smiled and nodded, convinced it was a joke. But she took off her sneakers, leaned the mop against the wall, and without another word grabbed the hem of her shirt and pulled it up over her head.

I stopped breathing. She was wearing a cream-colored bra, simple, no lace, but the mere fact of seeing her like that, in my room, her brown skin shining a little with sweat and those two huge tits pushing the fabric until it spilled over the top, made me clench my fingers around the controller. Her cleavage dipped all the way down to her belly, and at the edges of the cups her lighter skin showed, the skin that never sees the sun. I felt my cock harden all at once inside my shorts, so suddenly I had to cross one leg over the other.

—You must have seen better tits than these already —she said, almost jokingly, as she bent down to put the mop in the bucket. The movement made her breasts hang forward, and for a split second I saw the dark nipple pressed against the edge of the cup.

—No —I replied. It wasn’t even a lie; what I had in front of me didn’t look like anything I’d ever seen on a screen.

—Well, then I’ll keep doing my thing. You do yours, don’t feel awkward.

—Not at all —I said.

Inside, there was only one thought, on a loop, about what it would feel like to bury my face between those tits, suck them until they turned red, bite her nipples and feel them harden against my tongue.

When she was done, she put her shirt back on as if it meant nothing, gave me the usual kiss on the cheek, and left. I sat on the bed for twenty minutes without moving, my cock hard as a stone and a stain of precum soaking the fabric of my shorts, trying to understand what had just happened and why my own body hurt with need.

***

The next day was the worst. I couldn’t concentrate at school. My head kept going back to the cream-colored bra, to the way she had bent down, to the sheen of sweat on her neck, to the tits strained inside the cups. In math class I got hard for no reason and had to sit twisted so no one would notice. When I got home that afternoon, Marisol was there again, this time in navy blue leggings, tight as a second skin, marking out every centimeter of her ass.

—How was your day? —she asked me. —If you want, we can go for a walk before it gets dark, I could use some air and I’ll buy you a horchata.

—Let’s go —I said, without thinking.

We walked to an ice cream shop on the avenue and came back at an easy pace. We hadn’t talked about anything important, but something in the way she kept glancing at me out of the corner of her eye when she thought I wasn’t looking made me nervous. When we got back, the house was empty. My mother still hadn’t returned.

—Watch something? —she said, flopping down on the sofa.

She turned on the TV and put on a series neither of us really followed. After a while, she stretched out. And, without asking permission, she laid her head on my thigh.

I stayed completely still. She had a low-cut black top on, her hair falling over my leg, her breathing slow and deep. Every time she inhaled, her tits lifted a little, the fabric tightened, and the base of her nipple showed. I tried to think about anything else: Friday’s exam, the weekend game, the shopping list. It didn’t work. My cock hardened on its own, slow and impossible to hide under the light fabric of my shorts. Marisol’s head was just inches from the bulge, and for a moment I thought she was going to turn and take it out right there with her mouth.

When I couldn’t take it anymore, I muttered that I needed the bathroom. I locked myself in, braced against the door, and pulled down my shorts. My cock sprang out, red, the tip soaked. I started jerking off fast, spitting into my hand so it would slide better, with the image of the cream bra still burned into my head and Marisol’s tits rising and falling against my leg. I imagined her on top of me, her top pushed down, rubbing her nipples over my mouth, and I closed my fist harder around the head.

The latch gave way. I didn’t know when the lock had loosened, but the door suddenly opened and there was Marisol, frozen in the doorway, staring at me with wide eyes, seeing my cock in my hand, the hand still moving for one more instant out of inertia. I covered myself as best I could. She turned around, went out, and closed the door carefully, like someone leaving a church.

I went down to the living room five minutes later, my face burning. She was sitting on the sofa, her hands on her knees.

—Sorry, Auntie —I said, not daring to look at her.

—Why should I forgive you? —she replied, very calm. —You weren’t doing anything wrong. It’s the most normal thing in the world, son. At your age you have to do it. And don’t worry about me, I won’t say a word.

I nodded. She smiled, just a little, and looked down at my crotch for a second before lifting her eyes back to my face. And for the first time I felt that smile wasn’t my aunt’s.

***

From that day on, everything changed in subtle ways. Marisol lingered longer in my room when she cleaned. If I went into the kitchen while she was washing up, she would bend a little more than necessary to reach for a rag from the lower drawer, letting her ass lift and the leggings wedge between her cheeks. When she spoke to me, she would put a hand on my forearm. Small signs, one after another, until I could no longer pretend I wasn’t seeing them.

The following Thursday she came in wearing very light jeans, skin-tight, and a white blouse made of such thin fabric that her bra showed through. I had gotten home early from school because the last class had been canceled. I found her kneeling in the hallway, wringing out the mop over the bucket. She looked up when she heard me.

—You’re home early —she said.

—Yeah, they sent us home.

I went up to my room not really knowing what to do with myself. I sat on the edge of the bed and waited. She came up a few minutes later, pushed the door with her shoulder, left the bucket in the entryway, and started mopping.

I stood up. Crossed the room in three steps. I wrapped my arms around her waist from behind and spoke in her ear, my voice barely coming out.

—I’m sorry, Auntie. But I can’t take it anymore.

She went perfectly still, still holding the mop. I could feel her breathing beneath the thin fabric of the blouse. I could also feel that she wasn’t moving away, that she was pushing her ass back just an inch, until it rested against the bulge that had formed in my pants.

—What are you talking about? —she asked, even though she knew perfectly well what I meant.

—I haven’t thought about anything else for weeks. Since that day. Since before that day. I jerk off thinking about you every night, Auntie. Every fucking night. I don’t know what to do with this.

It took her a few seconds to answer. I was still resting my face against the back of her neck, smelling the supermarket shampoo that suddenly seemed like the best perfume in the world, while I squeezed her waist and brushed the edge of her tits with my thumbs.

—Then maybe —she said slowly, turning her head until her cheek brushed my lips— we can find a solution.

She let go of the mop. Turned in my arms.

I kissed her like I’d spent years learning how in my dreams. She kissed me back without hurry, with the kind of confidence only women who already know what they like can have, pushing her tongue deep into my mouth, biting my lower lip and sucking on it slowly. Her hands moved over my neck, the back of my head, my bare back, and went straight to my shorts. She pulled them down without asking permission, taking my cock out into the open, and grabbed it with her right hand, squeezing it from the root.

—Fuck, son —she murmured against my mouth—, you’re rock hard. And nice and thick. You can tell you saved it for me.

—All for you, Auntie —I answered, my voice breaking.

I pulled her thin blouse up until I got it off her; she lifted her arms to help me. The bra was the same cream color as that first afternoon. I took her hands to her back, found the clasp by touch, and undid it. Her tits fell heavy, with brown nipples pointing upward, the areolas broad and wrinkled from the heat. I stared at them for a full second, unmoving, before lowering my head and taking one into my mouth.

I sucked it like my life depended on it, swirling my tongue around the nipple, nibbling it carefully until it hardened completely. She moaned and pressed my head against her chest, flattening my face against the hot flesh.

—That’s it, baby, that’s it. Suck my tits. Suck them good. Look how my nipples stand up.

I moved to the other one and did the same. With my free hand I squeezed the tit I wasn’t sucking, playing with the nipple between my thumb and forefinger, tugging at it until she let out a sharper moan. Then I knelt in front of her without thinking, kissed her belly, ran my tongue along her waist, bit the hip bone. She tangled her fingers in my hair and threw her head back.

—Close the door —she whispered. —And lock it properly this time.

I laughed under my breath while I did it, my cock pointing at my navel, hard and dripping. When I came back, she had already unbuttoned her jeans and was pushing them down along with her panties, standing naked in the middle of the room. Her pussy was almost completely shaved, with a thin strip of black hair just above it, the lips swollen and shining with moisture.

—Come here —she said, sitting on the edge of the bed and spreading her legs—. First I want to show you something. I want you to learn how to do it right.

I knelt between her thighs. She grabbed the back of my neck and guided me to her pussy. I ran my tongue from bottom to top, from one side to the other, tasting her for the first time. She was salty, hot, soaked. She let out a long moan and pressed my head against her mound.

—Up there, right up there. Do you feel that little button? That’s the clit. Suck it slowly. No teeth. Flat tongue first.

I obeyed. I licked her clit exactly as she told me, with my tongue broad and flat, and she started rocking her hips against my face, rubbing herself. After a while, I slid in my middle finger, then my index finger, pushing them deep inside. Her pussy closed around them, tight, scorching hot. I pulled them out wet and pushed them back in to the rhythm while I kept sucking on her little button.

—Just like that, fuck, just like that, nephew —she panted. —Eat my pussy. Eat it all. Look how you get me going, look how I’m dripping onto your mouth.

She came a few minutes later, squeezing my head between her thighs and arching her back. I felt the walls of her pussy throb around my fingers, clenching again and again. I kept licking her through the orgasm until she pushed my face away with a trembling hand.

—Come on, get on top. Your turn now.

I took a condom from the drawer before she could change my mind about having one. She put it on me slowly, looking into my eyes, rolling it down with two fingers the full length, and wordlessly explained to me that there was no rush, that the heat of the room, the sweat on her forehead, the noise of the fan, all of it was part of what we were about to do.

She laid me on my back on the bed and climbed on top of me. She grabbed my cock with one hand, rubbed it along the lips of her pussy, up and down, soaking it well, and then sat down all at once. I felt her go all the way down inside, tight as hell, until her ass hit my thighs.

—Oh, fuck —I groaned—. Auntie, don’t move or I’m going to cum right now.

—Hold on, baby. Breathe. Take a deep breath. Hold on a little for me.

She stayed still for a few seconds, eyes closed, deliberately squeezing her pussy around my cock, milking it. Then she started moving. At first slowly, going up and down with her hands braced on my chest, her tits swaying in front of my face. I grabbed them with both hands, squeezed them, took her nipples into my mouth whenever she came close enough.

I learned to stop when she signaled me with a tilt of her hips. I learned that an adult woman knows exactly what she wants and that the most exciting thing is letting her show you.

Then she made me turn her over. She got on all fours on the bed, ass up, back arched, looking at me over her shoulder.

—Put it in like this, son. Fuck me from behind. Hard.

I knelt behind her. I took her ass with both hands, spread it, and guided my tip to her open pussy. I pushed in at once and drove all the way to the hilt. She let out a muffled cry and lowered her face to the mattress.

—That’s it, bastard, that’s it. Fuck me. Tear my pussy apart.

I started pumping hard, gripping her hips. The dull thuds of my pelvis against her ass filled the room, along with the moans she was letting out against the pillow. I watched her ass tremble with every thrust, her back shining with sweat, her black mane stuck to her shoulders. I ran a finger down her thumb, moistened it with spit and pressed it to her ass hole, pushing on it while I kept fucking her.

—Fuck yes, put a finger in there too, you dirty bitch that I am —she moaned. —Put your finger in my ass while you fuck me.

I pushed it in to the second knuckle. Her pussy clenched even tighter around my cock, and she started rocking back, fucking herself against me. I grabbed her mane with my other hand, wrapped it around my fist, and pulled, forcing her head up off the mattress.

—Like this, Auntie? You like it like this?

—Like this, yes. Harder. Harder, baby.

We changed positions again. I laid her on her back, spread her legs as wide as they could go, propped them on my shoulders, and shoved back into her with one thrust. Bent in half, her pussy was even more open, and I could watch her face while I drove it in to the balls. She dug her nails into my forearms, mouth parted, eyes shining.

—Look at me, son, look me in the face when you put it in me. Look at me good.

I looked at her. I watched her face while I fucked her, while her tits trembled with every stroke, while her pussy sucked my cock whole with every movement. I flicked my tongue over one nipple and bit it without letting go of her legs.

—Auntie, I’m going to cum. I’m going to cum now.

—Cum, cum inside. Empty it all inside me. All the cum, give it all to me.

I let out a rough growl and came with three hard thrusts, all the way in, feeling my cock throb inside the condom, unloading shot after shot. I stayed still on top of her, shaking, my forehead resting on her shoulder. She stroked my back with her fingertips, very slowly, while I caught my breath.

I spent the whole afternoon with her. Half an hour later she got me hard again with her mouth, sucking me with her eyes locked on mine, and made me cum a second time on her tongue. I learned more in those two hours than from every video I’d ever watched in my life. Above all, I learned that desire is built, not exploded; that the first time someone’s skin fits yours, you never forget it.

When we finished, she lay there on her side, looking at me with a smile that wasn’t that of an aunt, or a girlfriend, or a friend. It was something else, something with no name.

—This is going to be our little secret —she said.

—Yeah. Whatever you say.

—And we’ll do it whenever you want.

I ran the back of my hand along her side, slowly, following the curve of her hip down to her thigh.

—What if I want it every day?

She laughed softly, took my limp cock, and squeezed it affectionately before kissing me on the forehead like I was still her nephew.

***

Two months have passed since that afternoon. Marisol still comes to clean three times a week. At family dinners she calls me “son” just like before, serves me soup and asks me about my exams in the same calm voice as always. No one suspects a thing. Not even my uncle, who sits beside her and takes her hand when they laugh together at some old joke.

But on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, when my mother still hasn’t come back from the hospital and the house is quiet, Marisol locks the door to my room, leaves the mop in the hallway, and comes in with that smile only I know. Sometimes all it takes is a long kiss and a quick blowjob on her knees by the bed, with her still dressed and me with my pants pulled down to my ankles. Other times we spend the whole afternoon naked, fucking in every position she can think of, until we hear her pick up her keys and go down the stairs with her face composed again and her blouse tucked back into her jeans.

It’s our little secret. And for now neither of us feels like breaking it.