My Cousin-in-Law Sought Me Out After the Honeymoon

After three years in Madrid, I’d come back to Mendoza with that strange feeling of someone reclaiming a city that was still his but no longer knew him. The first thing I did was reconnect with the family, and among the invitations piling up was the wedding of my cousin Sebastián, the youngest of the brothers, the most serious of them all, the one who’d never given my Aunt Beatriz a single headache.

The party was held in an old winery, with lights strung between the vine trellises and long tables dressed in white. When I arrived to congratulate him, Sebastián introduced me to the bride. Her name was Mariela, and she had the odd, novel-like name and a pair of green eyes with something murky behind them, a mixture of intelligence and boredom I recognized right away.

—So you’re the cousin everyone told me so much about —she said, holding my hand a second longer than necessary.

—Whatever they told you is probably true —I answered.

—That’s what I was afraid of.

We danced when almost everyone was drunk already. The band was playing something slow and the in-laws had scattered themselves among the desserts. Mariela rested her cheek near my neck and let her tits brush against me on purpose as she moved, the nipples pressing against my lapel through her white dress. She smelled of jasmine and white wine. As I turned her, she squeezed my leg between hers and made me feel the heat of her cunt against my thigh, a wet heat that went right through the fabric.

—Why should only he get to be lucky? —she whispered in my ear—. Find me when we get back from the trip.

I didn’t answer. There was no need. I adjusted my hand on her waist for an instant and let go before it could be noticed from the main table.

***

I waited three weeks. I let them have their honeymoon in Cancún, the photos on social media, and the return to the neighborhood routine. Then I called her under some stupid pretext about Grandma’s papers and told her to come by my mother’s house at tea time. When she stepped out onto the sidewalk, I was waiting for her across the street.

—So what happens now? —she asked with the best of her smiles.

—A coffee?

—You didn’t come for coffee —she said with a little laugh—. You decide.

No more talking was needed. Twenty minutes later we were in a no-tell hotel on Cemetery Avenue, one of those places with the curtains always closed and a red sign lit up at all hours. She settled into the car seat when we drove into the garage, ducking so the attendant wouldn’t see her face. We went upstairs. I ordered a whisky on the rocks for both of us.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, still not having taken off her shoes, she told me she knew about my reputation. That my Aunt Beatriz had made a point of spreading among the teenage cousins the version of the wayward cousin, the one who wouldn’t pass up a single skirt in the family. That she’d heard all of that for years, first with disinterest and later with the sort of curiosity that grows slowly.

—I want to know if what they say is true —she admitted—. I figured you must do something good to have that kind of reputation.

—You’re about to find out.

She bit her lower lip. I undid the first button of her blouse.

***

I undressed her patiently, without the rush of someone afraid the other might change her mind. Button by button, revealing little by little the black lace bra and the dark nipples pressing against the thin fabric. I pulled her blouse down off her shoulders, unfastened her skirt, and slid it down over her hips to the floor. She stood there in matching panties, a wet stain already visible on the seam. She had the body of a woman who works out but still eats well, a softness to the short waist and wide hips you never see on models. She pointed it out to me. Sebastián, she said, preferred that she take better care of herself, watch every gram. I told her Sebastián was a lucky idiot.

I unhooked the bra and her tits fell heavy, round, the nipples already hard and pointing at the ceiling. I took one in each hand, squeezed them until she moaned, and lowered my mouth to suck one while I used my thumb to roll the other. I bit her, licked her, ran my tongue along the groove between both, and she arched her back, offering them to me more. I pulled her soaked panties down her legs and tossed them on the floor. Her cunt was shining with how wet it was, with the lips already open, swollen, begging.

When I unbuttoned my pants, she watched.

—Quite a bit thicker than my husband’s —she said, almost in a professional tone, her hand already reaching for my cock—. His is longer, but skinny, and he doesn’t even know how to use it.

She grabbed it without asking permission, measured the girth with her fingers barely closing around it, and leaned in. She took it all the way in as far as she could, pulled it out, spit on the head, pushed it back in to the throat. She had a greedy mouth, one of those that chew rather than simply lick. I took her hair in one hand and set the rhythm, shoving her head down until I heard the wet noise at the back of her throat. Her eyes filled with tears but she didn’t back off; on the contrary, she helped herself with one hand at the base and with the other squeezed my balls, gauging how much longer until I came in her mouth.

I had to pull her away after two minutes so I wouldn’t finish too soon, using as an excuse that we still had the whole afternoon ahead of us. She laughed with a trace of pride, strings of saliva hanging from her chin, as if she’d won something.

—Save it —I told her, pushing her back—. Not yet.

I laid her on her back. I spread her legs and ran two fingers along her crotch, slowly, without going in, until she lifted her hips asking for more. I lowered my face and licked her all the way from her ass to her clit, long, flat, without sparing the saliva. She screamed. I jabbed the tip of my tongue into her hole, opened it with two fingers, and licked out all the juices she had inside. Then I focused on her clit, pinched it between my lips, made it vibrate under the tip while I slid two fingers into her and searched for the spot inside with the pad of my finger bent upward.

—There, you son of a bitch, there —she gasped, grabbing my hair with both hands—. Don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t stop.

She came the first time like that, against my mouth, squeezing my head between her thighs until I almost choked. Her whole body trembled, her belly contracted, and she drenched my face with a warm gush that ran down my chin. I bit her nipples one by one while she recovered and had to apologize because I got carried away with one of them.

—Don’t apologize to me —she panted—. Bite me. Treat me however you want.

***

I fucked her without delay. She was so wet I slid all the way in on the first thrust, and by the second I was already buried to the hilt. She let out a sound that wasn’t pain. I understood it immediately: she needed to be treated in a way no one had ever taught her to ask for. I gave her what she wanted. Rough thrusts, slaps to the hip, two hard smacks that left a pink mark which faded within minutes. I grabbed her tits with both hands and used them as leverage to fuck her harder, feeling the collision of my pelvis against her thighs, the slapping noise of her soaked cunt every time I pulled out and shoved back in to the balls.

—Harder —she begged—. Break me, come on, fuck me like a whore.

I turned her over, put her on all fours, grabbed her hair near the nape of her neck and pulled. Her head went back and her ass lifted, offered. I spread her open with my hands and drove back in. From that angle you could see everything: the cock going in and out, gleaming with her juices, the anus tightening with each thrust, the butt cheeks trembling as they hit against my pelvis. I landed a dry slap on one cheek and then the other until both were marked by my hand.

Every so often I’d pull out and make her take me in her mouth. She was one of those women who enjoy tasting themselves in another person. She sucked my cock with her eyes closed, swallowing her own flow as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Then I’d go back in from behind, and she took it as if she hadn’t spent years with a husband who confused love with respect and sex with Christian decency.

—I need this —she told me through clenched teeth—. I need someone to treat me like a little slut for once in my life.

I laid her on her side, lifted one leg over my shoulder, and fucked her from that angle, with my free hand working her clit with two wet fingers. She had her second orgasm like that, long, silent, with her mouth open and unable to make a sound. Her cunt clamped down around my cock with a pressure that almost made me come. I held back. I got on top of her, made her ride me, grabbed her ass with both hands, and let her set her own rhythm, watching her tits bounce in my face as she sank to the base and rose again with my cock sliding out of her cunt to the tip.

—You’re going to come inside me —she ordered from above, sweating, her hair stuck to her forehead—. Inside, you hear me? I want to feel it hot.

She had her third while riding me, and when it was over she collapsed against my chest, panting, with my cock still buried to the hilt. I turned her over beneath me, grabbed her wrists, and pinned them to the mattress above her head. I gave the last short, furious thrusts, deep, and let go. I came inside with a growl, feeling my load spurt out and fill her cunt until it overflowed. She wrapped me up with her legs crossed over my back so I wouldn’t slip out, biting my shoulder, swallowing every pulse of my cock.

She said not to worry, that she was on the pill. And that I shouldn’t wash, because she wanted to go back to the house with it inside her.

She kept her word. That afternoon she dressed without going to the bathroom and pulled her panties up over the wet stain. The semen ran down inside her thigh while she buttoned her blouse. She left through the door humming a Sandro song.

***

From then on there was a second time, a third, and by the fifth or sixth we had a routine. I learned where her skin lit up; she learned that what I liked most was watching her lose all composure. She liked being tied with a necktie, having her wrists bound to the headboard, having my palm come down on her ass until it was red. She liked me spitting in her mouth before I shoved my cock down her throat, liked me tugging her hair while I fucked her from behind, liked being called whore, slut, cheating wife while I emptied myself inside her. Every time I took her there with my hand, I couldn’t help looking at her ass. It was the ass any man desires: high, round, firm, the kind that looks painted on.

She played hard to get about that part. The first time I touched her ass with a finger, she tensed like a wire.

—No, not there —she said immediately.

—Never?

—Once. At nineteen. It hurt so much I never wanted to try again.

—You were with a nineteen-year-old boy.

—That’s no excuse.

—It is. With me it won’t hurt the same.

It was a lie and we both knew it. But the idea had been planted, and between us planted ideas always ended up blooming.

***

The afternoon she finally gave in wasn’t planned any differently from the others. It was the restraint that changed things. I’d tied her wrists to the headboard, blindfolded her with a silk scarf, marked her ass with my palm until it was warm and red. I’d run my tongue all along the groove, up and down, until I made her tremble. I’d put my cock in her cunt until I made her come once, face down, her face buried in the pillow and her ass biting me with every thrust. She was face down, with a pillow under her belly, open without shame, still with the tremor of orgasm running down her legs.

When I slid my thumb between her cheeks, she didn’t tense the way she had other times. She stayed still. Then she parted her legs a millimeter more, with that silent surrender worth more than any yes.

—Gently —she said, her voice muffled by the pillow—. Please, gently. Don’t tear me open.

I promised whatever was needed. In that kind of heat you promise anything, and both sides know the promise expires with the last shudder. But you also know that if you break it too soon, there won’t be a next time. So I went slowly.

First I lowered my mouth. I spread her cheeks with both hands and ran my tongue over her anus, one long wet lick, then another, and another, until I felt her loosen. I pressed the tip there, just barely, and she let out a new moan, different from all the ones I’d heard from her. I worked one finger in to the knuckle. Then two. I moved them slowly, scissoring, opening the way, while with my other hand I worked her clit to keep her on the edge. I wanted her so heated that the pain would already be diluted by then.

I used only the lubrication that came off my cock as it left her sex, nothing else. I wanted to feel every centimeter without barriers. I set the tip against the tight ring and pressed just a little. She lifted her hips to help. Her bound hands kept her from escaping, but they also kept her from helping me by opening wider, so I had to hold her ass myself with one hand while I guided with the other.

The sphincter gave a millimeter and then closed. Three times the same thing. The fourth time, the head went through with a wet pop. She bit the pillow so hard it almost made me stop.

—Keep going —she said through clenched teeth—. Slowly. But keep going.

I advanced and retreated. One inch, back out. Another inch. I felt the inside hot, impossibly tight, unlike anything I knew; her anus hugged my cock with a pressure that almost hurt. Concentration cost me more than pleasure; I had to stay hard while I heard her complaining, and the wild part and the tender part fought inside me the whole time. There was a moment when I almost pulled out and left it for another day.

—No —she panted when she felt me back off—. Keep going. I can take it.

Once I was halfway in, she herself reached a hand back between our bodies and set it at the base of my cock as a stop. If I pushed, her hand marked the limit. It was a silent negotiation, a boundary she drew with her fingers. I let her do it for a while and then gently moved her hand aside and held her shoulders down against the mattress. I went in a little more. A little more. When I felt her give all the way, I pushed to the base and stayed still, letting her get used to it. A long, broken gasp escaped her.

—You’re all the way in —she murmured—. Holy shit. You’re all the way in.

—All the way —I confirmed in her ear—. To the balls.

She laughed, a nervous, half-broken sound. I slid one hand under her body and found her clit again, rubbed it with two fingers while I started moving, pulling out just a little and going back in slowly. She moved her hips in circles, a mix of discomfort and surrender I’d never felt with anyone else.

—Hurry up —she begged—. I don’t know how much longer I can take you.

I sped up just a little. Just enough to finish without dragging out the torment. I felt her come again, this time with her ass filled by my cock and my hand working her clit, a long silent orgasm that tightened everything around me and almost made me lose control. When I came, I bit the nape of her neck and told her in her ear that I was going.

—Feel it —she answered, her voice broken—. Come inside, my stud. Fill my ass.

I finished without pulling out, with my cock buried to the base, feeling every spurt discharge inside her. It was one of the longest orgasms of my life; her anus squeezed every drop out of me, beat by beat, until I was empty. She asked me to stay there until I softened, so I wouldn’t cause her more pain coming out. I obeyed her. When I finally pulled my cock out, a thick white thread ran down the groove to her cunt. I untied her wrists, took off the blindfold, and kissed her eyelids, where there were two tears that weren’t from sadness. I kissed them with a gratitude I couldn’t name.

***

After that I took her to the bathroom and turned on the bidet. The warm stream eased the swelling. She sat with her legs spread, letting the water wash away the traces of semen that were running down inside her thigh, and sighed with her eyes closed. While she dried herself, she looked at me in the mirror with a crooked smile and a new gleam in her eyes.

—All these instructions you’re giving me now —she said—, are they so I’ll be ready for next time?

—Of course.

—You’re a son of a bitch.

—You knew that.

She went back home that night smelling like someone else’s soap and with the promise that next time we’d bring in one of her friends, a coworker who had been looking at her too much at lunch. I told her to give me advance notice. She laughed, kissed me at the corner of my mouth, and closed the hotel door behind her.

Ours has already been going on for six months. Sebastián never suspected a thing and prides himself on having an affectionate, attentive, willing wife. She tells me the marriage got better since we’ve been like this, that she comes home with less hunger and that keeps him calm. I don’t tell her anything. Family is family, and a cousin’s horns, as long as nobody sees them, have never hurt anyone.