My Mother-in-Law Taught Me Something My Wife Had Been Hiding From Me

The story began one Saturday in March, when Carolina and her father left early for some paperwork at the civil registry and left Eugenia and me alone in the house until evening. We had been living under the same roof for three years, and until that morning I had never looked at my mother-in-law as anything other than my wife’s mother.

I worked for a beverage distributor, I was thirty-eight, played tennis on Wednesdays, and considered myself a normal guy, loyal, with no great pretensions. Carolina, my wife, was twenty-six and ran the family bar. She was beautiful, but distant. Our bed had become a formality she handled halfheartedly once every few weeks, staring at the ceiling, with her cunt dry and her legs opened just enough for me to stick my cock in, finish quickly, and leave her in peace. I could see that dead fire every month, though I forced myself not to think about it.

Eugenia, my mother-in-law, was about fifty-four. She went to the gym three times a week. She laughed with her whole body. She had a heavy hand with wine and an even heavier look for everything else. She lived with Ricardo, her husband, a man twenty years older than her, with an operated prostate and two bypasses, who hadn’t touched her in quite a while.

—Set the table, my love —Eugenia called from the hallway that Saturday—. I’ll change in a minute.

It was past noon. The kitchen smelled of slow-cooked stew. I set out the plates, opened a bottle of red that had been chilling in the fridge, and got ready to have lunch with her like so many other times. Until she came back.

She came back barefoot. She came back wearing a black silk two-piece, tiny, trimmed with lace and with a loose bow between her breasts. She came back with her hair down and a perfume I had never smelled on her before. She stood in the kitchen doorway with her hands on her hips and a smile that was not the smile of a mother-in-law. Her tits pressed against the silk, firm, with erect nipples pushing the fabric as if they wanted out. The little panties were barely bigger than my hand, and on the sides a few dark, neatly kept hairs were escaping.

—What do you think? —she asked.

I froze with the glass in the air.

Not for me, not for me, not for me.

—If you don’t like the menu, I’ll change —she insisted, biting her lip like a little girl up to mischief.

—No —I said—. Stay like that.

It was the first time I had used tu with her. The words came out before I even thought them. Eugenia came over to the table and sat down across from me. She crossed her legs. The window light hit her thigh, and I couldn’t look at anything else. My cock was getting hard inside my pants, pressed tight against the seam, and she knew it because every now and then her eyes would drift down there, no attempt at hiding it.

Lunch didn’t get eaten. The wine did. One glass, two, three. We talked about anything and everything, but between the words there was another, older conversation, one without sentences. I felt the blood draining from my brain to somewhere else, and she knew it. She was waiting for something, patient, like someone who knows time is on her side.

—Andrés —she said at one point—, do you know I’ve been looking at you like this for two years?

I didn’t know what to answer. I finished the wine I had left.

She got up, walked around the table, and sat in my lap. She weighed less than she looked. She pressed her forehead to mine, without kissing me yet, and let me breathe in her perfume for several seconds. I could feel her hot ass pressing my dick through my pants, moving just a little, a tiny back-and-forth that was driving me insane. Then she brought her mouth closer and, when she kissed me, I knew there was no turning back. It was a deep kiss, tongue from the very first second, biting my lower lip, pushing her saliva into my mouth. She took my hand and slid it inside her bra. I squeezed her breast and her nipple dug into my palm like a little stone.

—Let’s go to the bedroom —she whispered in my ear, and bit my earlobe—. I want you to fuck me now.

***

Eugenia’s master bedroom was dim. Blinds half lowered, white sheets spread out, a ceiling fan turning very slowly. She pushed me back onto the mattress with the calm of a woman who knew what she was doing, and stripped off the two pieces in one motion. Her skin shone. She had a worked, firm body, with clear tan lines from the summer bikini. Her tits hung just a little, round, with dark, large areolas. Her cunt was neat, with a strip of black hair and lips already swollen, shining with wetness.

She tore off my shirt. She pulled down my pants without hurry. When my cock came out, hard and bouncing against my stomach, she let out a hoarse little laugh.

—Look at how you’ve got it —she said—. Poor thing, looks like nobody’s taken care of it in a long time.

She grabbed it with her right hand, squeezing from the base, and ran her open palm over the head, spreading the string of precum already leaking out of me. Every gesture of hers seemed like a paragraph of its own. I, on the other hand, felt clumsy, urgent, as if everything might slip away before it even started.

—Easy —she told me, cupping my face with both hands—. We’ve got all afternoon.

She climbed on top without taking her eyes off me. She spread her cunt lips with two fingers, set the tip of my cock at the entrance and slowly sank down, millimeter by millimeter, letting me feel how the wet flesh opened to swallow me. When I was all the way in, she closed her eyes, threw her head back, and let out a long, guttural moan I had never heard from any woman in the house.

—My God, what a delicious cock —she murmured—. What a delicious hard cock.

The first round was quick. Too much hunger built up. She started moving on top of me like she knew exactly what she was doing, planting her hands on my chest, raising and lowering her ass in the right rhythm. Every time she came down, I could hear the wet smack of her cunt biting my dick. I grabbed her tits, squeezed them, pinched her nipples, and she answered with her mouth open, panting broken phrases.

—Like this, daddy, like this, fuck me hard, I’ve been waiting for this cock for three years, I’ve been sucking it with my eyes at Sunday lunch.

I didn’t last long. Five minutes, maybe. I felt the tingling from my balls up to my head, grabbed her ass with both hands, drove her against me, and came inside her in three thick spurts that made her tremble from top to bottom. She stayed still, sitting on top of me, feeling me unload until the last drop. Then she collapsed against my chest, with my cock still inside her, and licked my neck.

—All right —she said, laughing—. That was the urgent part. Now comes the nice part.

She got up slowly. When my cock slipped out, a thick string of cum mixed with her juices ran down her thigh to her knee. She didn’t wipe it off. She looked at me, slid two fingers through her cunt, brought them to her mouth, and sucked them slowly, never taking her eyes off me.

The second time was different. Eugenia sat me on the edge of the bed and knelt between my legs. She looked up at me from below, without brushing the hair out of her face, and did with her mouth what my wife hadn’t done for me in three years. She ran her tongue over my balls, one first and then the other, while stroking my cock with her hand. She worked her way up the shaft licking it, tracing a vein, and when she reached the tip she wrapped it with her lips and took it down to her throat in one go. Slowly. As if she had all the time in the world.

—Look at me —she asked, pulling off for a second—. Look at me when I suck you.

And she put it back in all the way to the root. Saliva dripped down her chin, wetting her tits. She pulled my cock out and slapped her cheeks with it, pushed it back in, spit on it, and used that as lubricant to jerk me with both hands. I stroked the nape of her neck, pushed back the strands of hair, repeated her name like a prayer.

—Eugenia, Eugenia, like that, like that, don’t stop.

When she felt me close again, she took me out of her mouth, stood up, and turned around. She braced herself on the bed on all fours, ass lifted toward me, and looked over her shoulder.

—Now from behind. And slowly. I want to feel you coming in little by little.

I stood behind her, grabbed her waist, and dragged the tip of my cock along the whole slit of her cunt, up and down, without putting it in yet. She shoved her ass back against me, impatient.

—Don’t make me wait, you son of a bitch, stick it in.

I slammed it in all at once, all the way to my balls. She screamed into the pillow. I grabbed one cheek in each hand and started moving, first softly, then harder and harder, until the flesh of her ass was slapping against my pelvis. Her cunt was pouring. Every time I pulled out, my dick came out shining, coated in her juices. She slipped one hand between her legs and started rubbing her clit to my rhythm.

—Break me, Andrés, break my pussy, I’ve been waiting for years for a man to break it for me.

I pressed my thumb against her asshole and nudged it just a little, without going in. She jerked like she’d been shocked with electricity.

—There too someday, my love, there too.

When I felt her trembling, I grabbed her hair and yanked her head back. She came with a scream, shameless, in a house that was empty anyway. Her cunt clenched around my cock in spasms and I held on as best I could, until she turned around, got back on her knees, and asked me with her mouth open.

—On my face. Come on my face.

I jerked off twice in front of her and unloaded in ropes. I painted her forehead, cheek, lips, chin. She wiped the cum together with her finger and ate it slowly, looking at me, until the last drop.

***

We had lunch at five in the afternoon. Leftover stew, reheated. Eugenia put one of my shirts on over her naked body and nothing else. I was in my underwear. We shared a whiskey in one glass, passing it from her mouth to mine, casually, the way a couple shares a drink. We didn’t talk much. What little we said was practical: what time Carolina would be back, when Ricardo would return, what to do with the sheets.

—I’ll change them —she said—. You go take a shower in your bathroom and act like nothing happened.

I showered with water that was almost cold. I looked at myself in the mirror and didn’t recognize myself. What I felt wasn’t guilt: it was a kind of vertigo, like when you drive very fast and for a second it crosses your mind that you could let go of the steering wheel.

That night I had dinner with Carolina as if nothing had happened. She told me about the paperwork, how hot it had been, about a coffee she’d had at a bar near the registry office. Eugenia and Ricardo ate dinner in their part of the house. When Carolina and I went to bed, I threw myself on top of her with an urgency that surprised her. I tore off her nightgown, spread her legs, and rammed my cock in at once. With the fresh image of her mother in my head, I fucked Carolina like I hadn’t in months, grabbing her hair, biting her neck, until she came unable to hold it back and I unloaded inside for the second time that day. Carolina seemed surprised, but she didn’t ask anything.

***

The thing, far from ending that Saturday, became a habit. Every time the house emptied out, Eugenia was waiting for me. Sometimes there wasn’t even any planning: I’d go get a book from their room and find her there, reading, with her glasses perched on the tip of her nose, and I’d understand. I’d close the door carefully and go with her to some safe room. I learned to read her codes: a door left ajar meant invitation, a closed door meant “Ricardo is nearby.” One day she sucked my cock under the dining table while Ricardo watched the news from the couch, three meters away. Another day I fucked her against the laundry-room wall, one hand over her mouth, while Carolina cooked upstairs.

I learned how to move through the air. Not to leave hairs in the bathroom that weren’t mine. To laugh with Ricardo about the games. To drape my arm over Carolina on the couch without my hand trembling. To bring gifts on Fridays for both women, wrapped identically, different inside.

I told myself it was temporary. That one day I’d cut it off. But a month passed and another month and Eugenia’s bed called to me louder than prudence.

Until she spoke.

***

It was a Thursday afternoon, in her room, after fucking. I was on my back, my cock still soft and sticky against my thigh; she was on her side, her head on my chest, playing with the hairs coming out of my navel.

—Andrés —she said—, you need to stop feeling guilty.

—I don’t feel guilty —I lied.

—You do, and a lot. I can see it on your face when you come down for breakfast. I’m going to tell you something and I don’t want you to interrupt me.

She sat up. She covered her breasts with the sheet, as if what she was about to say needed at least a minimum of decorum.

—Carolina has been cheating on you since before she married you. With a married guy, much older. He’s her boss at the bar.

I lost my breath. I looked at her, hoping she’d laugh, say, “it’s a joke.” She didn’t laugh.

—I’ve known for a while —she went on—. I found out on my own. That’s why I looked at you the way I did that Saturday. It wasn’t just desire, Andrés. It was justice.

I wanted to get up, dress, leave. I couldn’t. I stayed nailed to the mattress, staring at a patch of damp on the ceiling.

—There’s more —she added.

—I don’t want to know anything else.

—Yes, you do. Carolina knows about us. She’s known since the day after the first lunch.

I slowly lifted my head.

—What do you mean, she knows?

—I told her. Face to face. I showed her proof. I wanted her to understand. And she did. You’re not cheating on some fool, Andrés. You’re cheating on someone who’s also cheating on you. That helps her conscience. That’s why she didn’t say a word.

***

That night I drove aimlessly for two hours. I went down the coastal avenue, around the shopping mall roundabout, out toward the highway. At every red light I thought about leaving and never coming back.

I came back. Went up to the house. Carolina was in bed, looking at her phone. She looked up, smiled at me, asked if I wanted tea. I said no. I lay down with my back to her, eyes on the wall, and understood that my whole life had been theater and I was the last one to learn the play.

I stayed like that for days. I snooped on Carolina’s phone when she was showering. I saw the messages. They were affectionate, old, shameless. I saw dates that matched nights when she’d said she was staying to close the register. I saw a hotel mentioned twice, always the same one, on the avenue by the port. I saw everything I needed to see.

And then I started planning it differently.

***

Eugenia asks me, every now and then, what I plan to do. I tell her I still don’t know. That isn’t entirely true. I have an idea in my head that’s growing slowly, like a plant that needs very little water. An idea that has to do with the bar, with one of Carolina’s trips, with a chance meeting in a hotel, and with a series of photos that arrive on the married boss’s phone and, at the same time, on his wife’s.

The cuckold, uncucked. The cheater, cheated on. The one who showed up last to the party with the most expensive plate in his hands.

For now, I keep having dinner with the four of us. I keep setting the table on Saturdays. I keep going up to Carolina’s bed and keep going down, when she leaves, to Eugenia’s. I keep being, on the surface, the good son-in-law any mother-in-law would want.

Only now I know. And knowing, in these houses, changes everything.