My Nephew Cornered Me in the Pantry That Morning

It’s been a long time since anything got me like that. I crossed thirty and took it for granted that my libido had dried up, that from then on sex was going to be a string of appointments with collagen and not much else. I don’t know whether I got a nephew with advanced seduction classes or whether it’s me, living too much through my skin.

He knocked on the door mid-morning. I opened up and went dumb when he greeted me. The first thing I tasted at breakfast was his cologne. I got lost in that smell, as if someone had torn out my ability to string two sentences together. I followed him a meter behind, breathing him in. I hadn’t even showered. He showed up in an ironed shirt and fresh perfume; I was in pajamas, smelling of sheets.

I ran to the bathroom. Mateo shouted from the kitchen for me to stay as I was, that I smelled even better fresh out of bed. I didn’t know whether to laugh or bury myself in the pillow. Anyway, I pulled on pajama bottoms hiked up to my ribs, so high they brushed ridiculous. I looked for something to tie my hair back and found nothing. He kept insisting on coffee. In the end I grabbed yesterday’s panties, tied them in a knot, and used them to tie up my mane. He didn’t notice at breakfast.

We flopped onto the sofa to watch a series. Every movement of his brought back a mouthful of his cologne and I was already seduced without having done a thing. I thought about pressing my nose to his neck until I got dizzy. My clit started throbbing with an annoying insistence. I stretched out along the sofa, taking up all the space, leaving him no choice but physical contact. I looked at him as if silently shouting: get on top of me, break this tension, kiss me, rip my pajamas off and fuck me up against the arm of the sofa… or take my feet and massage them, because I know that’s your kink.

He chose the second. Even so, I enjoyed those endless massages as if they were something else.

His scent knocked me clean out of the picture. I didn’t want to watch TV anymore; I wanted to smother moans into a cushion. I kept losing myself looking at him: the open shirt, his bare neck, the veins standing out on his forearm. I wanted to take him apart note by note until I understood what was in that cologne. He wasn’t looking at the screen either. He was absorbed in my feet, smelling them with that fetishist concentration of his. I wiggled my toes until they brushed the tip of his nose. He snapped out of his trance, embarrassed, and we both burst out laughing. To cover the moment, he took off my socks and started sniffing them theatrically. I kicked around, laughing my head off, but I could feel his hot breath moving over my toes and his wet lips on the sole.

We got up to make lunch. In the kitchen he showed off with the knife. I wasn’t looking at the knife. I was looking at his bare forearms when he rolled up his sleeves, and another wave of his perfume shook me from the inside. I lunged at him from behind, buried my nose in his neck with the same desire he’d put into my feet. I asked him random questions while I groped his stomach and arms. I didn’t hold back. I let him see me like that, hungry. When I came to my senses, I stepped back as if nothing had happened.

It was my turn to cook.

—Are you using a pair of panties to tie your hair up? Seriously? —he said, laughing.

Shit. I had forgotten. While I was making excuses, he buried his nose in my hair, grabbed my waist, and pressed his pelvis against my back. I resisted for two seconds, just long enough to lose. He went down to my neck, repeating how much he loved my natural smell, kissing me, and his hand slipped under my nightdress just as I’d done with him. He squeezed my belly. I let myself be carried away.

I tilted my neck back and put my hand on the back of his neck. He kept kissing my neck while his hand slowly climbed toward my breasts. I was thinking: let him grab them hard, let my nipples slip through his fingers, let my moan be the signal for him to fuck me already.

I could feel his cock growing against my back. I wanted him to slam me against the counter, open my legs, and go in again and again without stopping.

His hands were already brushing the lower curve of my breasts. Go a little higher, hear me moan, pull my pants down and go all the way in.

His cock was suffocating inside his pants. My clit throbbed with the force of a runaway pulse. I moaned. He pinned me against the counter and I yanked my pajamas down. One foot got stuck and I struggled to get it free. He, in a hurry, tried to pry my legs open. We weren’t coordinating. I felt the hot brush of the glans looking for the entrance. I managed to get the pants all the way off. I offered him the best angle on my ass. I felt him work his way over the area before he entered. I closed my eyes…

La reconchadetumadre. Someone knocked at the door in a familiar rhythm. It was my cousin Carolina.

We froze. Either she’d arrived early or we had lost track of time. I hurriedly pulled my pants back up, tucked my tits into my nightdress, and went to open the door.

—I came a little early so we could get ready together —she said, already coming in with her bag.

I was still feeling the urge to come tearing through my body like an electric current.

***

We had lunch the three of us as if nothing had happened and Carolina asked for the shower. As soon as the bathroom door closed and the sound of water started, Mateo and I were left alone in the kitchen. We looked at each other and let out that weak laughter that comes after a scare. He lunged at me. I thought of that fantasy from the morning, smothering moans into the sofa cushions. I stopped him. It was stupid and dangerous to do it out in the open.

He undid my makeshift ponytail and brought my panties to his nose with an obsessive gesture. He snuffled them as if they were the most expensive thing he’d ever had in his hands. I felt that obsession of his and understood this wasn’t going to end there.

I took him by the arm, dragged him down the hall, we passed behind the bathroom where Carolina was humming under the water, went back into the kitchen and locked ourselves in the pantry. Narrow, dark, smelling of spices and flour. We kissed with passion, almost in teenage haste. He squeezed my ass with both hands. I wrestled with his belt. He got there first: his fingers were already tracing my sex. My legs were trembling uncontrollably. I pulled his cock out, jerked him off fast, and spat on it.

I wanted something of his inside me, now. He took his fingers out of my sex and put them in my mouth. I like my own taste, but I didn’t want them there. With his other hand he yanked down my pajama pants, moistened his fingers with saliva, and went straight in. He drove two into my pussy. A moan slipped out of me, way too loud. He clamped a hand over my mouth and kept moving them with clear intent. I was melting. His cologne filled the entire room. My cunt was swallowing his fingers. The shower covered the wet sounds when he moved them fast. The moment he took his hand off my mouth, I begged him softly that I was going to come.

I caught my breath for an instant and wanted to go down on him. He grabbed me, turned me around, and I understood. I pulled my pants down to my knees and lifted my ass. We were going to fuck standing up. I could barely open my legs. I felt the heat of the glans searching for me. The saliva I’d left on him helped.

—Slowly, my love —I asked him as he worked his way in.

I covered my mouth with my own hand to trap the moans. Impossible. With my legs so close together, I felt everything: the length, the thickness, every millimeter. He slammed me against the shelf where I keep the jars of preserves. That shelf is going to remind me of this every time I cook. He stopped moving, braced himself against the back wall, and made me move my hips. You could hear my ass bouncing against his pelvis. I came again, now with his cock inside me, exactly where I wanted it.

I leaned my back against his chest. He was still inside me. We kissed over my shoulder. I moved again, slow, short, precise. I moistened my fingers and masturbated while he fucked me softly. Third orgasm of the day in a fucking pantry.

***

We separated. He asked me to suck his cock. I told him there was no time. He begged. I gave in. He held my hair and I had barely started licking the shaft when we heard my name being shouted from the bathroom.

—Where are the towels?! —Carolina shouted.

I came out of the pantry with my soul hanging by a thread. We had a couple of minutes more, no more. I answered anything, told her I was coming, and went back to the kitchen. I left the pantry door ajar and knelt on the tiled floor.

—What are you doing, you crazy girl? —Mateo whispered from inside—. Get in here!

—Let’s do it fast —I told him.

I ate his cock kneeling down, my mane still disheveled and my nightdress half straightened. There was no time left. I held my hair with one hand and stuck out my tongue. He jerked off over my face. I wanted his cum anywhere: on my body, over my breasts. It was going to be in my mouth. I was going to swallow it while looking at him, and it was the first time he saw me like that, my whole face surrendered to desire.

While Carolina dried off a few feet away, I was behind that wall, kneeling, taking one shot after another. The first landed on my cheek, the rest went into my mouth. I tasted what I could and swallowed.

We heard the bathroom door open. I stood up and started walking down the hall. Mateo caught up with me, grabbed my arm, and wiped with his thumb what had stayed on my face. I slowly sucked his finger, looking at him, as a seal on what had just happened.

The rest of the day went on as if nothing had happened, with a thick tension between us that only the two of us could read. Carolina didn’t suspect a thing. We got into my car and made it to a family party. Who would have said there’s incest in this family. I wonder if anyone else here is practicing it, or if I’ll dare to do it here, among so many trusting relatives.