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. So the house wouldn’t sink under the dust, she had hired Marisol, my aunt by marriage, to come three afternoons a week to 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 figure who gave me something every birthday and asked me about school whenever we ran into each other at family dinners. She was thirty-three, with a long black mane that fell to the middle of her back, brown skin, and the kind of way of moving a woman only learns when she knows she’s being watched.

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 it passes by. Her waist, on the other hand, kept a soft roundness, like an adult woman who isn’t obsessed with being thin. Her tits were big, heavy, and they stood out even when she wore loose sweatshirts.

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

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

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

—Why do you say that, Aunt? —I replied, pausing the game.

—So cool, with nothing on. 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 then she took off her sneakers, set the mop against the wall, and, just like that, grabbed the hem of her shirt and pulled it up over her head.

I lost my breath. She was wearing a cream-colored bra, plain, no lace, but the simple fact of seeing her like that, in my room, her brown skin shining a little with sweat and those two enormous tits pushing the fabric until it spilled over the top, made me clamp my fingers around the controller. Her cleavage dipped down toward her stomach, and around 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’ve probably seen better tits than these —she said, almost joking, 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 answered. 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, looping again and again, about what it would feel like to bury my face between those tits, suck them until they were 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, kissed me on the cheek as usual, and left. I sat there on the bed for twenty minutes without moving, my cock hard as a rock and a stain of pre-cum soaking the fabric of my shorts, trying to understand what had happened and why my own body ached with wanting.

***

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’d bent down, to the shine of sweat on her neck, to the tits held tight in the cup. In math class I got hard for no reason and had to sit crooked so it wouldn’t show. When I got home in the afternoon, Marisol was there again, this time in navy-blue leggings, tight as a second skin, outlining every inch of her ass.

—How was your day? —she asked me—. If you want, we can go for a walk before it gets dark, I can get some air and treat you to a horchata while I’m at it.

—Let’s go —I said, without thinking.

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

—Want to watch something? —she said, sinking into 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 rested her head on my thigh.

I stayed absolutely still. She had a low-cut black top on, her hair fell across my leg, her breathing was slow and deep. Every time she inhaled, her tits lifted a little, the fabric tightened, and the start of her nipple showed. I tried to think of anything else: Friday’s exam, the weekend game, the grocery list. It didn’t work. My cock hardened on its own, slow, impossible to hide under the light fabric of my shorts. Marisol’s head was 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 to go to the bathroom. I locked myself in, leaned against the door, and pulled my pants down. My cock shot out, red, the tip soaked. I started jerking it fast, spitting into my hand so it would slide better, with the image of the cream-colored bra still burned into my head and Marisol’s tits rising and falling on my leg. I imagined her on top of me, her top pulled down, rubbing her nipples against my mouth, and I clenched my fist harder around the glans.

The latch gave way. I don’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, my hand still moving for one more beat from 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, Aunt —I said, not daring to look at her.

—Why would 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 glanced for a second at my crotch before lifting her eyes back to my face. And for the first time I felt that smile wasn’t an aunt’s.

***

From that day on, everything changed subtly. Marisol lingered longer in my room when she cleaned. If I went into the kitchen while she was washing up, she would lean over a little more than necessary to reach a rag from the lower drawer, letting her ass lift and her leggings dig into the crack of her cheeks. When she talked to me, she put her hand on my forearm. Little signals, one after another, until I could no longer pretend I didn’t see them.

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

—You’re 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, nudged the door open with her shoulder, left the bucket in the doorway, and started mopping the floor.

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

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

She went very 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 pressed against the bulge that had formed in my pants.

—What do you mean? —she asked, even though she knew perfectly well what I meant.

—I haven’t been able to think about anything else for weeks. Since that day. Since before that day. I jack off thinking about you every night, Aunt. 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 nape 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.

—Well, maybe —she said slowly, turning her head so 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 dreams. She kissed me back without rushing, with that certainty only women who already know what they like have, pushing her tongue deep into my mouth, biting my lower lip and sucking it slowly. Her hands ran over my neck, my nape, my bare back, and went straight down to my shorts. She pulled them down without asking permission, bringing my cock out into the air, and grabbed it with her right hand, squeezing it from the root.

—Fuck, son —she murmured against my mouth—, you’re rock hard. And so thick. You can tell you were saving it for me.

—All of it for you, Aunt —I answered, my voice breaking.

I lifted her thin blouse up and off her; she raised her arms to help me. The bra was the same cream color as the first afternoon. I put my hands behind her back, found the clasp by feel, and unhooked it. Her tits fell heavy, with the brown nipples pointing upward, the wide areolas wrinkled by the heat. I stared at them for a full second without moving before lowering my head and taking one into my mouth.

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

—That’s it, baby, that’s it. Suck my tits. Suck them good. Look how my nipples are getting hard.

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 stomach, ran my tongue along her waist, bit her 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 chuckled 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 shiny with moisture.

—Come here —she said, sitting on the edge of the bed and spreading her legs—. Before anything else 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 cunt.

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

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

—Like that, fuck, like that, nephew —she gasped—. Eat my cunt. Eat it all. Look how you get me going, look how I’m dripping all over 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 pulse around my fingers, contracting again and again. I kept licking her while she rode out the orgasm, until she pushed my face away with a trembling hand.

—Come on, up. Your turn now.

I pulled a condom from the drawer before I could change my mind about having one there. She put it on me slowly, looking into my eyes, rolling it down with two fingers the whole length of my cock, and without words explained that there was no rush, that the heat in the room, the sweat on my forehead, the sound of the fan, all of it was part of what we were going 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 cunt, up and down, soaking it well, then sat down all at once. I felt her take me all the way in, so tight, until her ass hit my thighs.

—Oh, fuck —I groaned—. Aunt, don’t move or I’m going to come already.

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

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

I learned to stop when she asked me to with a shift 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 grabbed her ass with both hands, spread it, and guided the head of my cock to her open cunt. I drove in with one thrust and buried myself to the hilt. She let out a muffled cry and pressed her face into the mattress.

—Like that, you bastard, like that. Fuck me. Tear my cunt up.

I started pumping hard, gripping her hips. The dry slaps of my pelvis against her ass filled the room, along with the moans she let out into the pillow. I could see her ass trembling with each thrust, her back shining with sweat, her black mane stuck to her shoulders. I ran a finger over my thumb, wetted it with spit, and pressed it to her asshole, pushing on it while I kept fucking her.

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

I slid it in to the second knuckle. Her cunt tightened even more around my cock, and she started pushing back, fucking herself on me. I grabbed her mane with my other hand, wound it around my fist, and pulled, forcing her to lift her head from the mattress.

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

—Yes, like that. Harder. Harder, baby.

We changed positions again. I laid her on her back, spread her legs as wide as they would go, threw them over my shoulders, and thrust into her again. Bent in half, her cunt looked even more open, and I could look at her face while I drove into her to the hilt. She dug her nails into my forearms, mouth half open, eyes shining.

—Look at me, son, look me in the face when you fuck me. Look at me properly.

I looked at her. I looked at her face while I fucked her, while her tits trembled with every удар, while her cunt sucked my cock whole with every movement. I put my tongue to one nipple and bit it without letting go of her legs.

—Aunt, I’m going to come. I’m going to come now.

—Come, come inside. Empty yourself all inside me. All the semen, 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, trembling, my forehead pressed to her shoulder. She stroked my back with her fingertips, very slowly, while I caught my breath.

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

When we were done, she lay on her side, looking at me with a smile that wasn’t an aunt’s, or a girlfriend’s, or a friend’s. 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 every time 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 in her hand, and squeezed it affectionately before kissing my forehead as if I were still her nephew.

***

It’s been two months 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 about my exams in the same calm voice as always. Nobody 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 a long kiss and a quick blowjob on her knees by the bed are enough, with her still dressed and me with my pants down to my ankles. Other times we spend the whole afternoon naked, fucking in every position she can think of, until we hear her grab her keys and go down the stairs, her face put back together and her blouse tucked back into her jeans.

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