My Sister-in-Law at the Club: What Nobody Was Supposed to Know
My sister-in-law Sandra turned twenty-four that summer. For exactly two years I had been noticing everything I shouldn’t have noticed: the way she gathered her hair with both hands before speaking, the movement of her hips when she crossed a room, the laugh that slipped out of her when she had had one drink too many. My wife, her older sister, never knew. Or if she knew, she chose not to see it.
Sandra was the kind of woman who didn’t need to do anything special to draw attention. Her body was generous, firm, with curves that defied any intention of ignoring her. Big tits, round ass, thighs that stood out beneath any fabric. But what really made me nervous wasn’t that. It was the look. The one she gave me when she caught me staring at her and, instead of looking away, held my eyes for a second longer than strictly necessary. As if she knew perfectly well that I got hard just from seeing her cross the living room.
We had been playing that nameless game for a year and a half.
***
The trip to the beach was my in-laws’ idea. A week in a hotel facing the sea, adjoining rooms, days of sun and long dinners with too much wine. My wife accepted gladly. I accepted knowing damn well why I was doing it.
The first few days went by with the usual normality: beach in the morning, pool in the afternoon, dinners where Sandra showed up wearing some dress that left too much to the imagination. My in-laws turned in early. We stayed a little longer, the four of us, talking about nothing important.
There was something about that atmosphere that lowered everyone’s defenses. The heat, the sea, the alcohol. The conversations got longer and the silences heavier. More than once, Sandra’s gaze and mine met over the table and neither of us looked away in time.
***
One night, toward the end of the week, the four of us agreed to go down to the hotel nightclub. Sandra went down ahead of us to the lobby. When I saw her, it took me a moment to react.
She was wearing a short black dress with an open back. Stiletto sandals that made her walk slowly and carefully, as if each step were a decision. Her hair was tied up, leaving her neck exposed. She had put on perfume, something stronger than usual. The dress clung to her ass in a way that made it crystal clear she wasn’t wearing anything underneath.
—Sister-in-law —was all I managed to say.
She smiled, aware of the effect, and stood on the other side of my wife so I would be farther away.
***
The nightclub was in the hotel basement. Loud music, dim lights, a long bar against the back wall and dark leather booths around the dance floor. We ordered a bottle and started the night.
My in-laws held out until one. Then they went up to sleep and left us alone. The alcohol was doing its thing and the music was getting more intense. My wife danced with Sandra and I watched them from the table, telling myself I had to stop looking that way, that she was her sister, that there were lines that existed for a reason.
I poured myself another drink.
Sandra danced without inhibition. There was something different about her that night, a looseness that went beyond the alcohol. Several men came over to the dance floor when she was there. She let them dance with her for a while and then sent them off with a polite smile. Except for one, with whom she stayed longer than usual, and with whom she exchanged phone numbers before returning to the table.
The jealousy hit me in a way that didn’t feel like jealousy. It felt like something more uncomfortable. Something more honest. I was getting hard under the table just from imagining that guy sliding his hand up under her dress.
***
Around two-thirty, Sandra got up to go to the bathrooms. I watched her disappear into the crowd and vanish down the hallway.
Ten minutes passed. Fifteen. My wife didn’t seem worried, but I started to be, though not exactly for the reasons I should have been.
—Didn’t Sandra take a while? —I said to her.
My wife shrugged.
—Go look for her if you want.
I headed toward the bathroom corridor. A waiter stopped me with a look.
—Looking for someone?
—A girl. Black dress, hair up.
The waiter thought for a moment.
—I saw her go into the private room with the man who runs the hotel events. A while ago.
I stood there, processing that information, with the noise of the music pounding from inside me. The man who runs the hotel events. My mind started making up images I hadn’t asked for. Sandra on her knees. Sandra with her mouth open. Sandra taking a stranger’s cock in a room I hadn’t seen.
I waited near the entrance to the private corridor. A man came out first: in his forties, linen shirt unbuttoned to the chest, hair slicked back with that calculated carelessness of someone who has money on him. He glanced at me and kept walking unhurriedly. He ran a hand over his fly before turning the corner, a small but unmistakable gesture.
Then, a few minutes later, Sandra came out.
She saw me as soon as she turned the corner. She didn’t get scared. She smiled in that way of hers, the way I never fully knew how to read. She ran her tongue along the corner of her lip as if she were cleaning something off.
—Brother-in-law —she said, as if everything were perfectly normal.
—What were you doing in there?
—Relax. Nothing important happened.
—Sandra.
She stepped closer. I smelled her perfume mixed with something else that took me a second to identify. She smelled like semen. Like semen and saliva.
—We didn’t go that far —she said softly—. Well. I did my part. He couldn’t do much more than that.
I opened my mouth without finding the right words.
—Your part?
—That’s what I said. I sucked him off until he came. He didn’t even take off my dress. Barely touched me. He blew his load in my mouth in three minutes and was left there like an idiot asking for more. And by then I’d already gone off him.
My mouth went dry. The image hit my head so fast I had to brace myself against the wall. Sandra kneeling in front of that guy, the black dress tight over her tits, her mouth full of a stranger’s cock, swallowing every drop while he came down her throat.
***
We went back to the dance floor. My wife was dancing with someone I didn’t recognize. Sandra took my hand.
—Dance with me.
I couldn’t say no. I didn’t want to.
We danced for a while—I had no idea how long. The slow song they put on made easier the things neither of us was saying out loud. Her hip brushed mine, maybe on purpose, maybe not. I felt her pussy pressed against my leg, rubbing with calculated slowness. I was so hard it was impossible that she didn’t feel it against her stomach. In fact, she smiled when she noticed. Her hand settled on my shoulder with a familiarity that had nothing familiar about it, and slid down slowly until she brushed my fly with the back of her fingers.
At some point she leaned toward my ear to speak over the noise.
—You want to know what happened in there, don’t you?
—No —I lied.
—Yes, you do. You want to know how I sucked him off. If I took him all the way. If he came in my mouth or on my face.
I pulled back slightly to look at her.
—What do you want me to say, Sandra?
—Nothing —she answered—. I just want to know whether you’d rather I tell you or show you.
The music volume rose for a moment. Or maybe I was the one who stopped hearing it for a few seconds.
***
The waiter’s name was Rodrigo. Sandra knew him from the nights before. She went up to him at the bar and called him by his name.
—Can you let us through for a minute?
Rodrigo looked at me. Then he looked at her. He nodded with the discretion of someone who had spent years seeing worse things.
We went down a narrow staircase to a corridor with several small rooms. Dark leather sofas, wooden tables, very dim lights. We closed the door to the last one.
Sandra sat down. Crossed her legs. Her dress rode up enough for me to confirm what I already suspected: nothing underneath. A shaved pussy, shiny, with swollen lips. She looked at me with that expression I had seen a thousand times over the last two years and had always ignored, or tried to ignore.
—Sit down.
—I’m fine standing.
—Whatever.
There was a brief silence in which we both knew exactly where this was going.
—What did you do with him? —I asked, even though I shouldn’t have asked.
—What I wanted most at that moment.
—Sandra.
—I opened his pants —she said bluntly—, knelt down, pulled out his cock, and took it in my mouth all the way to the back. I sucked him off while looking him in the eyes. When he was about to finish, I took it out, worked him with my hand, and told him to come on my face. And he did. Then I ran the tip over my lips, cleaned it with my tongue, and stood up. He wanted to fuck me and I was already done.
The image settled into my head with a clarity I hadn’t asked for. Her mouth open, tongue stretched out, a hot stream running down her cheek and chin. I got so hard it hurt.
—And why are you telling me this?
She stood up from the sofa. Took two steps toward me. She put her hand over my bulge and squeezed.
—Because we’ve spent two years pretending this doesn’t exist —she said—. And tonight I don’t feel like keeping it up. Tonight I want you to fuck me until I can’t walk tomorrow.
***
I don’t know who moved first. I think both of us at the same time.
The kiss was exactly how I imagined it would be: urgent, careless, without the protocols of the first time, because in reality we’d spent two years preparing for this. Her tongue entered my mouth with a hunger that admitted no argument. My hands roamed her bare back, down to her ass, and I squeezed it with both hands over the dress. She let out a short moan against my mouth.
—Rip it if you want —she whispered—. It’s already done its job.
I didn’t rip it, but I yanked it down over her shoulders until it fell to her waist. Her tits came out, bigger than they looked dressed, with dark nipples already hard, pointing up. I threw myself on them. I sucked one nipple while pinching the other between my fingers, and she dug her nails into my neck.
—That’s it, brother-in-law. Like that, bite me.
I bit her. Not gently. She arched her back and a moan slipped out that she didn’t even try to hide. I pulled the dress the rest of the way down until she was completely naked, only her stiletto sandals still on. Her pussy was shining, soaked.
—Look how wet I am —she said, grabbing her crotch with her hand and showing me her soaked fingers—. I’ve been like this all night. Since before we came down. I got out of the elevator already soaked thinking about you.
I shoved her back onto the sofa. Spread her legs in one move and dropped to the floor between them. The smell hit me full in the face. I licked her pussy from bottom to top, one long stroke, and she screamed in a way that in any other context would have made me stop for fear of being heard. Not here. Here I wanted her to scream louder.
I sucked her clit hungrily, slid two fingers inside her, three, and curved them to find the spot inside. Sandra pushed her hips against my face, grabbing my hair with both hands, steering me shamelessly.
—Faster. More. More. There. There, fuck, don’t stop.
She came against my mouth in a long spasm, her legs shaking, her thighs squeezing my head. I kept licking until she pushed me away because she couldn’t take any more.
—Come here, come, come.
She dragged me back up and tore off my shirt. She fumbled with my pants in her urgency, undoing them with clumsy fingers. When she pulled my cock out, a gasp escaped her that was half hunger, half surprise.
—Fuck. I knew it. I knew you had it like that.
She leaned down and took it into her mouth without any preamble. Just like she had done half an hour earlier with another man. And I didn’t care. Or worse: precisely because of that, it turned me on even more. The mouth that had just swallowed a stranger was now taking me whole, all the way to the throat. Sandra sucked with technique, with hunger, looking up at me with those eyes that had been promising me exactly this for two years.
—Enough —I told her when I felt I wouldn’t last—. Get up.
I lifted her off the sofa and turned her around. I pushed her forward until she was leaning on the backrest, ass toward me, legs apart, her heels marking her calves. I grabbed her neck with one hand and with the other lined my cock up against the opening of her pussy. I rubbed it there, soaking it, not putting it in yet.
—Put it in already —she panted—. Now. Fuck me now.
I entered her in one thrust, all the way in. Sandra let out the air in a sound that wasn’t exactly a moan but something more honest: relief, surprise, recognition. I stayed still for a second, feeling how she tightened around me.
—Good?
—Don’t stop. Don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t stop.
I started fucking her slowly, pulling almost all the way out and driving back in to the base, watching her cunt open every time, watching my cock come out shining with her juices. She pushed her ass back to meet me.
—Harder. Brother-in-law, harder. Like you hate me.
I grabbed her hips with both hands and started really pounding her. The sound of my thighs against her ass filled the room. Her tits bounced against the sofa back. She moaned louder and louder, without restraint, saying filthy things she’d been saving up for two years.
—Yeah, like that, that’s how I like it, ruin my cunt, that’s what it’s for, for you to wreck it...
***
That’s when I heard the voice from the next room.
I recognized it instantly. My wife. I heard her voice, unmistakable, higher than it should have been, with that urgency I knew well and that night was being given to someone who wasn’t me. She was moaning. Asking for more. Telling someone to shove it all the way in.
I didn’t stop. Sandra didn’t ask me to. The sounds from the adjoining room mixed with ours in an absurd, surreal way that in any other context would have stopped the world. But not that night. Hearing my wife moan for someone else only made me harder. I dug my fingers into Sandra’s hips and started fucking her with a rage I hadn’t known I had.
Sandra looked at me from below over her shoulder with an expression that wasn’t guilt.
—Seems like tonight both sides decided the same thing —she said softly, between gasps—. They’re fucking her well. Just like me.
I didn’t answer. It wasn’t the time to talk about that. I grabbed her hair, pulled, and gave her the hardest thrusts of the night.
What came after lasted long enough. I pulled out, turned her, laid her on her back on the sofa, and put her legs over my shoulders. I went back in and fucked her while looking at her face, watching her features come undone with each thrust, watching her bite her lips to keep from screaming and then forget to bite them and scream anyway. I sucked my thumb, wet it, and put it on her clit so she could touch herself while I drove into her.
—I’m going to cum again —she panted—. Brother-in-law, I’m cumming again, don’t stop, don’t stop...
She came with her whole body, arching, clenching my cock inside her with contractions that almost made me finish myself. Rage and jealousy and desire mixed into something nameless that worked perfectly. I made her come again, a third time, with her back against me, sitting on top, riding me slowly, her hands clinging to my knees so she wouldn’t lose her balance, whispering to me everything I had wanted to hear for two years.
—I knew you were going to fuck me like this... Every family dinner thinking about this... Every time I looked at you... That’s it, that’s it, I’m cumming again, fuck...
Then she turned over and asked me for what she had been asking without words for a while. She got on her knees on the sofa, pressed her face against the leather, and spread her ass cheeks with both hands, offering me her ass. I took my time. I spit on her, ran my cock up and down, smearing it with everything, and pushed in slowly. Sandra clenched her teeth but didn’t complain. The opposite.
—All the way. Put it in all the way. I want to feel it all.
I pushed it in to the hilt. She let out a guttural, rough moan, different from all the previous ones. I fucked her ass calmly at first, then with desire. Sandra touched her pussy while I pounded her from behind, and she didn’t take long to cum again, squeezing me in a way I could no longer endure.
—Cum —she told me, turning her head—. Cum wherever you want. Inside, on top, on my face, wherever the fuck you want.
I pulled out in time, turned her, put her on her knees on the floor. I worked my cock with my hand two, three times in front of her face. Sandra opened her mouth and stuck out her tongue, eyes closed, in the exact same pose she would have taken half an hour earlier for the other guy. I came in spurts. Filled her mouth, her tongue, her cheek, her chin. A thread ran down to her tits. She swallowed what was in her mouth, ran her fingers over her face gathering the rest, and licked them one by one, staring straight at me.
When we were done, we stayed silent for a few minutes. She dressed first. I watched her button up the dress with the calm of someone who knows exactly what she has just done and regrets nothing. She wiped the corner of her mouth with the back of a finger and fixed her hair in front of the small mirror on the wall.
—Tonight doesn’t happen again —she said, without cruelty. Almost like it was a fact.
—I know.
—Good.
***
We went up separately. My wife was already at the table when I arrived, cheeks flushed and a glass of water in her hand. She didn’t ask me where I’d been. I didn’t ask her anything.
We ordered water and waited until five in the morning to go up to the room as if nothing had happened.
***
Back home the next day, Sandra said goodbye at the door. She gave me two kisses, as always. The second lasted a little longer than usual.
—Take care, brother-in-law.
—You too.
She looked at me with that expression I already knew by heart, the one that lasted a second too long. Then she went down the stairs without looking back.
There were no messages after that. No guilty looks or exaggerated complicity at the family gatherings that followed. Just that week at the beach, that night, that room in the basement of the hotel nightclub.
And Sandra, who keeps showing up at family dinners in that dress or another, always with that smile the others don’t know how to read.
I know how to read it. And I know perfectly well what it means.
What a sister-in-law.