My Brother Collected the Debt with My Own Wife

Camila and I have been married for eight years. She’s thirty-two, I’m thirty-four, and, as far as I can tell, things between us worked well in every way: in the house, at the table and, above all, in bed. She’s a doctor at the regional hospital, stands just over five foot seven, and has short black hair that’s always a little mussed. She keeps her body with the discipline of someone who knows how bodies break down: small, firm breasts, a back that ends in a curve more than one person has looked at a little too long in the hallways.

My older brother, Hernán, had been widowed three years earlier. Forty-two years old, a recent heart attack, conditional discharge and strict orders to rest. The insurance company sent him a nurse in the mornings and, from two in the afternoon on, when Camila got back from her shift, she took over. I taught at the university and, depending on the day, got home between eight and ten at night.

For the first few weeks, the arrangement was peaceful. Hernán would complain softly about my wife’s discipline, saying his sister-in-law was stricter than any of his cardiologists, that she wouldn’t even let him have a piece of dessert because the tests were already showing signs of diabetes. Camila would laugh and answer, “Bro-in-law, you need to behave with the medication. The day you start doing as you’re told, I’ll let you try Grandma’s flan.” It was almost childish playfulness, the sort of harmless complicity that develops between in-laws who care about each other.

The bathing started out of necessity. Hernán couldn’t shower alone without risking dizziness, and Camila, besides being a doctor, was the only one in the house with the knowledge and patience to watch over him. She did it at half past six in the evening, before dinner. He went in wearing boxers, she put on shorts and an old T-shirt. I wasn’t there, so I imagined it as they described it to me: practical, almost clinical.

Hernán had always been handsy. When we were young, he already had that habit of making suggestive comments and brushing up against other people’s girlfriends under the excuse of saying hello. Inside I knew, even if I never said it, that more than one afternoon he would have run a hand over Camila’s waist “by accident,” and that she would have let it pass.

One night, already in bed, she told me.

“Today he went too far,” she said, staring at the ceiling. “I was rinsing his shoulders and he slipped his hand between my thighs. He touched me over the shorts.”

“And you?” I asked.

“I moved his hand away. I told him not to even think about doing that again.” She paused. “He had a rock-hard dick under the boxers. He couldn’t hide it.”

I shifted in bed. I said nothing.

“I asked him if what he wanted was to sleep with his sister-in-law,” she went on, with a half smile I hadn’t seen from her in a long time, “and he answered, ‘Camilita, forgive me, but you’re just too hot.’”

“And do you want to?” I asked very quietly.

She turned toward me.

“Are you insane?”

But that night we fucked like we hadn’t in months. Camila was wet before I even touched her. She sucked me in the dark with a devotion that surprised me, swallowed when I came, and kept me hard with nothing but her tongue. I put her on her back, bit her shoulders, kissed my way down her spine until her body arched on its own.

“Harder,” she begged.

I turned her over, spread her legs, buried my face between her thighs until she trembled. When I went back inside her, I did it from behind, slowly, all the way in.

“Your brother...” she panted. “Is his as thick as yours?”

“I don’t know,” I told her. “You’ll have to find that out yourself.”

She went quiet, but I felt her tightening around my cock.

***

A week later I got home earlier than expected. The university had canceled the last class and I went into the apartment without warning, with the key nearly silent in the lock. It was eight-thirty. Hernán’s bedroom door was ajar and from the crack came a yellow, dim light, and an unmistakable sound: panting, ragged breathing, the wet smack of a mouth at work.

I stood still in the hallway. My heart was hammering in my throat. Then, without making a sound, I moved closer.

Camila was on the bed, naked, on all fours on top of my brother. She had his dick in her mouth and was pulling it out slowly, licking the head with the tip of her tongue and then taking it back deep inside. I hadn’t seen her suck cock like that in years. Hernán had his hand on the back of her neck, guiding her with an increasingly insistent rhythm.

“What a nice cock you’ve got, little brother-in-law,” she said, pulling back for a second to catch her breath. “Just as good as your brother’s.”

Hernán gave a dull grunt. He held her face and came in her mouth. From the doorway I saw a white thread run down her lower lip and saw her gather it with a finger and put it back inside.

My dick was rock hard. I had unzipped my pants without even realizing it. I was about to come just from watching.

Camila climbed on top of him. She lined his cock up at her entrance and swallowed it in one go. She started moving up and down, both hands braced on my brother’s chest, not hurried at first, then with an urgency she could no longer hide.

“Fuck me,” she asked him. “I want to come with you inside me.”

“I can’t hold it anymore,” he answered.

“Then hold it,” she ordered. “Don’t leave me like this.”

But Hernán couldn’t hold out. He exhaled hard, clamped his hands on her hips, and emptied himself inside her. Camila’s expression broke. She looked at him for a second, frustrated, and then immediately got down, got back on all fours, and took him into her mouth again to keep him hard.

Then I walked in.

***

I pushed the door open without saying a word. Hernán saw me first. He froze, eyes wide open, still holding my wife by the hair. Camila lifted her head when she felt him tense. Her mouth was shining and her cheeks were flushed.

“Keep going,” I told her, in a very low voice.

She parted her lips slightly and looked me in the eyes. I saw no shame. I saw a question.

“Keep going,” I repeated. “I want to see it properly.”

She bent back down over Hernán. I came up behind her. I ran my hand over her back, followed the curve down to her ass, and spread her a little. She was soaked and dripping what my brother had just left inside her. I slid two fingers in. Then three. I fucked her with my hand slowly, never taking my eyes off the way Hernán was grabbing her face.

“She tastes like your brother,” I whispered in her ear, bringing my fingers, slick with it, to her mouth.

She sucked them like it was the most natural thing in the world.

I slapped her ass. Then again, harder. Camila moaned over Hernán’s cock. Without warning I drove mine in with one thrust. I buried it to the balls and started a hard, pounding rhythm that rocked her head-first against my brother’s stomach. He propped himself up on his elbows, found her mouth with his, and they kissed over the top of his own cock, and that detail finally drove me completely insane.

“You’re fucking my brother,” I told her. “Say it.”

“I’m fucking your brother,” she repeated, panting. “God, I’m fucking your brother.”

“Again.”

She said it to Hernán, looking him in the face. He bit her lip.

After a few minutes she started shaking. I slid one hand down the front, rubbed her clit while I kept thrusting, and everything broke apart. She had a long, filthy orgasm that made her bite my brother’s shoulder to keep from yelling and waking the neighbors. I held out a little longer, until the tension became unbearable, and came inside her, on top of the semen that was already there.

When I pulled out, I turned her around. I got her on her feet, kissed the sweat from her forehead, and took her with me downstairs to our room without saying a word to Hernán.

***

That night we fucked again in our bed, the two of us alone. I gave her sixty-nine until she came again, and then, patiently, I stretched her asshole with fingers wet from everything covering me and slid inside her slowly. When I finished, there wasn’t a single inch of her body left unmarked by the two of us.

“Swear one thing to me,” I told her in her ear.

“Anything.”

“That every day, when I get back, I’m going to find you like this.”

“I swear it,” she answered.

And she kept her promise.

***

Two weeks later, on a Saturday afternoon, my brother and I were alone on the balcony. Camila had gone down to the pharmacy. I poured him a whiskey and poured myself one too. The light of dusk gave his face a tired look, as if the heart attack had left him with more years than he should have had.

“At last,” I said. “It’s what you wanted, isn’t it?”

Hernán stared into his glass for a long while. Then he let out a short, sad laugh.

“Yes. It was what I wanted.”

“Then we’re even.”

He looked up.

“That was exactly what I thought at first,” he said. “That it was revenge. That after what happened with Lucía, this was what I owed you.”

Lucía. I hadn’t heard him say his wife’s name in a long time.

“But it isn’t that,” he went on. “Your wife really does it for me. I’m fascinated by her. Just like it happened to you with mine.”

I nodded. I didn’t say anything for a while.

“I loved her too,” I admitted at last. “Lucía. It wasn’t just an affair to screw you over. I was in love with her. I’m sorry.”

Hernán looked at me. For the first time in years there was no resentment in his eyes.

“I know,” he answered. “That’s why what’s happening with Camila doesn’t taste like revenge to me. It tastes like something else.”

We toasted without saying anything else.

That night, when I walked into the apartment, I found her, just like every night, waiting for me with her sex full of my brother’s semen and the smile of someone who has learned, after many years, that in this house men no longer collect debts: they share them.