My Husband’s Uncle Was Waiting for Me at Dawn

My name is Renata. What I’m going to tell you happened two years ago, but I still haven’t been able to cut it off, and I haven’t wanted to. I still see him in secret when I can.

I’m married, I work part-time because I’m still at university. My husband, Iván, has a highly responsible position, people under him, constant trips. I’m not the kind of woman who complains about that. Until that night, it had never crossed my mind to betray him.

It was winter. Iván traveled Friday and Saturday, and that Saturday there was an important party: the birthday of one of his best friends, who was also a friend of mine. We agreed I’d go alone with Sol, my best friend since college.

I dressed up more than usual. Short blue dress, high heels, a neckline my husband would have looked at twice before letting me leave in, and a jacket over it because of the cold. Sol picked me up, whistled at me the way men do in old movies, and we got into a taxi laughing.

We arrived at the party when people were already there. As soon as I walked through the door, I ran into Damián, Iván’s uncle. Thirty-seven years old, separated a few months earlier, with custody of his two daughters. Tall, fair-skinned, sturdy without being fat. I knew him from family dinners, always serious, always proper. That night he was smiling differently.

—Well, you came alone —he said, hugging me, and his hand lingered a little too long on my waist.

—Iván couldn’t make it. He traveled for work.

—Even better for me. I’ll buy you a drink.

I mean it: I wasn’t attracted to him. Damián was family. I’d seen him grilling in an apron and arguing about soccer with my father-in-law. But that night he had his shirt open two buttons more than usual and smelled of a woody cologne I didn’t know on him.

The hours passed between music and drinks. Sol and I stuck close to Damián and three of his friends, all divorced or divorcing, all older than us. At one point, Damián leaned over my shoulder and whispered in my ear:

—I like your friend.

—Tell her, she doesn’t bite —I answered, laughing.

Sol was asking about him too, so things were looking good. When the party started winding down, Damián suggested continuing at his place. We bought wine and rum at an open kiosk and the six of us went to the apartment, Sol hanging on his arm, laughing at everything he said.

Before leaving, I sent Iván a voice note telling him about the after-hours plan. My husband isn’t jealous. He replied with an emoji and a “take care, love.” He had no idea.

***

Damián’s apartment was spacious, with a view of a rain-soaked avenue. We put on music and kept drinking. Around midnight, Sol got a call: her mother had taken ill. The color drained from her face.

—I’ll go with you —I told her.

—No, stay. I live ten blocks away, I’ll just order an Uber.

I insisted twice. She insisted three times. I gave in. I walked her to the elevator and went back to the living room. Damián and two of his friends were left.

Iván texted me: “I get in at six in the morning, pick me up at the airport.” I said yes. I calculated the hours: I had less than six left. If I didn’t leave now, I wasn’t sleeping.

—One more and I’m going —I said.

One became three. One of Damián’s friends suggested playing Truth or Dare. We were the four of us sprawled in the living room, lights low, a slow ballad in the background. We agreed the way drunk people do: without thinking.

The questions started off stupid and gradually got heavier. When it was my turn, the youngest asked:

—With hair or without?

It took me a second. Then I understood. I laughed.

—Without —I said.

—Bald? —asked Damián, pretending not to understand.

—Bald.

The four of us laughed our asses off. But something had been lit inside me. The way Damián laughed, looking at me sidelong, made it clear he had understood at once. And all of a sudden I remembered my own shaved pussy that very afternoon, neat, not a hair, and I blushed under my makeup.

At two, his friends left. Damián opened the door for them, came back, looked at me and said:

—Stay. It’s too cold for you to go back alone at this hour.

—Just a little while. I have to go to the airport.

I stretched out on the big sofa with a blanket over me. Damián went to his room. I closed my eyes and I don’t know when I fell asleep.

***

I woke up cold. The microwave clock said four. The heat had cut off sometime during the night. I got up to go to the bathroom and splash water on my face.

The bathroom door was ajar. Yellow light spilled through the crack. I pushed it a little, without thinking, and stopped.

Damián had just gotten out of the shower. He was turned away from me, drying the back of his neck with a towel, completely naked. When he turned, I saw him from the front.

I didn’t care about his face, or his chest, or his shoulders. The only thing I registered was the cock hanging between his legs. Bigger than my husband’s. Much bigger. Thick, long, heavy, hanging limp and still impressive, with his shaved balls below like two smooth stones. I stood there, not moving, looking, not looking away.

This cannot be happening to me.

Until that second I hadn’t felt absolutely anything for him. I swear it. But what I saw cut off my breath and clenched my pussy all at once, as if something inside me had stepped forward without asking permission. I touched the door to announce myself, to pretend, for something. Damián covered himself quickly with the towel.

—I thought you were asleep —he said, not angry, almost amused.

—I came to wet my face. Sorry. Don’t you have another blanket? It’s freezing.

—I’ll bring you one now.

I went back to the sofa. My heart was pounding against my ribs. It wasn’t attraction yet. It was pure curiosity, that ugly curiosity you know shouldn’t be there. Damián brought me the blanket, sat in the armchair across from me, and looked at me for a while without saying anything.

—You saw me —he said at last.

—Yes.

—And?

—Yours is bigger than my husband’s.

He laughed softly, looking at the ceiling.

—That was only halfway, Renata. Wait until you see it hard.

The silence that followed was long. Me, on the sofa with his blanket over me, still in the blue dress. Him, in pajama pants and nothing on top, looking nowhere. My head was spinning and it wasn’t from the alcohol. I could feel my thong sticking, the dampness spreading through my crotch, and I clenched my thighs discreetly.

—Show me —I said.

I didn’t believe myself when I said it. Damián didn’t seem to either, because he took a while to react. Then he took both my hands, slowly, and stood up. He pulled down his pants in front of me and stood naked, with his cock already half-hard, pointing at me. He sat back down in the armchair, legs open, not covering himself. I got off the sofa and knelt between his knees.

It was inches from my face. It grew slowly, as if it wanted to give me time to regret it. It filled out on its own, thick veins marked along the sides, the purplish head emerging smooth and shiny. I grabbed it with both hands and still had a good length left above. I weighed it in my palms. It was heavy. It throbbed. Every time it stiffened a little more between my fingers, a stupid little sound escaped my mouth.

—Take your clothes off —he said, without looking at me—. Stay only in the dress and heels.

I took off my jacket, my stockings, the slippers he had lent me. I put the heels back on. I slipped my hand under the dress and pulled out my soaked thong, crumpled into a ball, and threw it on the floor. I went back down, in the same position, between his open thighs. I kissed the tip with my mouth closed, barely brushing it with my lips. I stuck out my tongue and coated the whole head in saliva, circling the swollen glans. I went down the shaft licking every vein, tracing them one by one, until I got to the balls. I kissed them with devotion, first one, then the other, and then I took both balls together into my mouth, sucking them softly while I jerked him slowly with my hand.

I went back up. I opened my mouth as wide as I could and took the tip in. Then a little more. Then I went down halfway and choked. Damián let air out through his nose, long and slow, and put his open palm on the back of my neck, not pushing, just leaving it there. I went up and down, coating it all with spit, letting strings of drool fall from my chin and drip between my tits over the dress. I pulled it out of my mouth with a pop and grabbed it with both hands to work it while I licked his balls, then I swallowed it again. I could feel it growing against my palate, against my tongue, against my throat. I don’t know how long I stayed like that. Fifteen minutes, maybe twenty. I could feel myself getting soaked under the dress, my bare pussy leaking inside my thighs and down to the backs of my knees.

—Look at me while you suck it —he said, his voice hoarse.

I lifted my eyes without taking it out of my mouth. Damián was looking at me with a calm I had never seen in him before, jaw tight, breathing through his nose. With his free hand he put his thumb in my mouth beside his cock, forcing me to open wider.

—You suck cock so well, niece.

That word —niece— hit me down below, between my legs, like a lash. A moan escaped me with my mouth full.

I let go of him for a second. I stood up. I looked him in the eyes for the first time that whole night, and he looked back. That was when I understood there was no turning back. We kissed with our mouths open, without guilt, without disgust, without Iván in my head. My own taste was on his tongue and I didn’t care.

***

I sat on top of him, still with the dress hiked to my waist. His cock, hard, wet with my spit, pressed tightly between us, marking my bare pussy from above. He grabbed my hips with both hands and pulled me against him, forcing me to grind on the shaft. I moved slowly, sliding up and down, feeling how the head entered me just a little between my lips and came back out, slick over my clit.

—If it weren’t for this… —he murmured, tugging my dress higher.

—Take it off me.

He pulled it over my head in one motion. I was left in just my bra and heels, my shaved cunt gleaming wet in the light of the living room. Damián undid my bra with one hand, tossed it to the floor, and buried his face in my tits with his mouth open. He licked my breasts all over, sucked each nipple until they were hard as stones, bit one carefully and then less carefully until I gave a cry that burned my throat. His free hand spread my lips below, ran two fingers through my slit from top to bottom, not putting them in, just coating them in what was dripping out of me. Then he took them to his mouth and sucked them one by one, never taking his eyes off me.

—You’re a crazy girl, niece. Soaked through.

He pushed me onto the big sofa, spread my legs with both hands, lifted them, and set them over his shoulders. He got between them with his mouth. He didn’t ask permission or bother with tenderness. He licked me all over in one pass, from my ass to my clit, with his tongue wide and his mouth open. Then he settled on my clit and didn’t let go. He sucked, licked, tugged at it softly with his lips, shoved two thick fingers deep inside, curling them, searching in there for a spot Iván had never found. I writhed on the sofa, grabbed the backrest, covered my mouth with a cushion, bit the fabric so I wouldn’t scream. I thought about the neighbors, my mother-in-law, Iván landing on some runway at that hour, and still I couldn’t stop. I came in his mouth without warning, my legs trembling around his head, closing his ears with my thighs while he kept sucking as if he wanted to draw out the last drop.

When he lifted his face, his beard was shining with me. He came up kissing my navel, my tits, my neck, leaving my own taste stuck to my skin. He pulled a pack of condoms out of his pocket and, with them, a blue pill that rolled to the floor. I saw it. I had seen them before, in Iván’s drawer. I didn’t say anything. I thought: this is going to be a long one.

—Damián, come on. Put it in me. Please.

He put the condom on, tearing the wrapper with his teeth. He spread my legs again, took his cock in his hand and slid it over my lower lips, wetting it, not putting it in, teasing me. He gave my clit two soft taps with the head. I lifted my hips looking for it, and he pulled back, laughing under his breath.

—Ask nicely.

—Put it in me, uncle. Put the whole thing in me at once.

He slid it in little by little, not because he had trouble entering, but so I’d feel it opening me centimeter by centimeter. When he was all the way inside, with his balls pressed against my ass, I dug my nails into his lower back and pulled him into me. I let out a shout that the neighbors downstairs must have heard. I had never had anything so big inside me. I felt filled right up to my stomach, the tip touching me where no one had ever touched me before.

He started moving and didn’t stop. In and out, deep, without looking at me, leaning on his arms, head down watching himself enter and leave shining between my legs. Then he nailed his eyes to mine. He turned me over, put me face down, lifted my hips and took me from behind, grabbing my hair with one hand and my waist with the other. The blows of his thighs against my ass made a wet sound that filled the living room. He laid me on my side on the sofa, one leg up, and rammed me slowly, biting my shoulder. He sat me on top again and looked at me with his hands on my tits.

—Move now. Ride me.

I rode his cock so long my thighs cramped, and still I didn’t want to get off. I rose until it was almost slipping out and dropped back down hard, spearing myself. Damián grabbed my tits, squeezed them, bit them when I went up, pressed my neck with his open palm when I came down. With the other hand he smacked my ass, hard slaps that left the mark of his hand. He was someone else. So was I. Iván’s married wife did not exist; on that sofa there was a heat-struck female riding her husband’s uncle’s cock.

At some point the condom stayed behind, inside me or on the sofa, I don’t know. I didn’t notice right away. It felt different, hotter, slicker, skin against skin, and I understood. I didn’t tell him to stop. Damián didn’t stop either. On the contrary, he sped up, gripping my hips with both hands and driving up into me harder from below. We were both soaked, smelling of sex, sweating like animals, with the sofa stained under us.

He pulled me off him, set me on all fours facing the backrest, and fucked me from behind again, all the way to his balls. He grabbed both my wrists behind my back like reins and pinned me there, not letting me move, slamming into me with his whole body. He slid one thumb, wet with my own spit, into my ass while he kept pushing into me from the front. I came a second time like that, my face buried in the cushion, screaming at him not to stop.

—I’m going to come —he said suddenly, his voice breaking.

He pulled out of me in one jerk, grabbed himself, stood up, and walked toward my face wanting to finish in my mouth or outside. I didn’t let him. I shoved him back onto the sofa, climbed on top of him, and took him all the way in with one hard plunge, sitting down to the hilt. I grabbed his face with both hands, forced him to look at me, and sank a couple more times, squeezing him with my inner muscles.

—Inside. Come inside me, uncle.

I felt him swelling, throbbing, pouring out in hot spurts against the back of me. He filled me up from the inside, so much that I started to feel it overflow and run down through me to his balls. I stayed seated on top, motionless, clenching around him, not wanting him to slip out. Damián wrapped me hard around the waist, his face buried between my tits, breathing as if he’d run ten blocks.

When I finally stood up, it was dripping down my thighs, a thick white stream that ran into a thread all the way to my knee. My legs were shaking as if I’d just gotten off a moving bus. I had to sit down beside him, my hand covering me below so I wouldn’t stain the sofa any more.

I lay on my side, with my back to him. Damián hugged me from behind, slipped one leg between mine, and kissed my nape. I felt him pressing up against my ass again, still hard, still wet.

—Uncle, thank you —I whispered, half asleep—. Thank you for all this.

***

He woke me. It was seven. My phone had five missed calls from Iván. He was downstairs, at the building entrance.

I got dressed in thirty seconds. The thong was nowhere to be found, there was no time to look for it. I put the dress on bare skin, feeling Damián’s semen still dripping inside my thighs, and quickly wiped my crotch with a wet towel. I washed my face, rinsed my mouth with mouthwash Damián handed me. He sprayed air freshener in the living room and changed the sofa cover before going down to let him in.

Iván came up. I was pretending to be asleep, the blanket up to my neck, squeezing my legs together so nothing would show. He kissed me on the mouth, disheveled, fresh off the plane, and suspected nothing. Damián made coffee. We told him, laughing, that I’d lost track of time and collapsed on the sofa. Iván believed every word.

When we went down, before leaving, Damián caught my arm in the kitchen and handed back my thong in a wet little bundle. He had found it under the armchair.

—Keep it —I told him, closing his fist over it—. You’ll give it back to me another time.

***

That happened two years ago. Like I said at the beginning, it wasn’t the first time or the last. I still see Damián when I can, at his apartment or in some hotel near the university. Iván never found out. Maybe he never will. Maybe one of these nights I’ll decide to tell him. For now, I prefer the thong tucked away in someone else’s drawer and the woody taste of his cologne when I say goodbye.

Another time I’ll tell you about the second time. That one was different. We planned that one.