My Stepfather’s Punishment Didn’t End the Way I Thought It Would

The carriage was so packed that afternoon that I could barely move my arms. I was standing, holding onto a sticky pole, facing a green-eyed blonde girl with the kind of face that suggested she’d never done a wrong thing in her life. That was when I felt a hard bulge rubbing against my ass, persistent, with a rhythm that had nothing accidental about it.

I turned my head. Behind me was a skinny old man with a sour expression, pretending to look at the ceiling.

—Move away from me —I told him softly—. It’s not in your best interest.

The blonde got annoyed.

—Don’t talk to my grandfather like that.

—Your grandfather is grinding everything he’s got between my ass cheeks.

—I don’t blame him. You’re too hot.

The shamelessness of it left me speechless for a second. She brought her mouth close to my ear, so close that her breath made the back of my neck prickle, and whispered something that shouldn’t have turned me on, but did. The subway braked and lurched forward, and with each jolt the old man pressed harder and she kissed my neck as if no one around us existed. People looked the other way, that complicit courtesy of big cities.

When there was one stop left before mine, the blonde slipped a hand under my dress, over my underwear, and squeezed.

—We’re never going to see each other again —she said—. Let me take a souvenir.

I didn’t push her away. I was too turned on to push her away, and I hated myself a little for that. Her fingers moved slowly, right where they were supposed to, until my breathing broke against her cheek. When the train stopped, I got out onto the platform with trembling legs and a burning face, without looking back.

***

My name is Renata. I’m nineteen, with a Spanish father and a Mexican mother, black hair down to the middle of my back and dark eyes. That same afternoon, while buying a magazine at a kiosk, I saw a man arm in arm with a woman younger and taller than him. It took me two seconds to recognize him: it was Andrés, my mother’s second husband, a Spaniard I tolerated only because she loved him. He didn’t see me. He passed a yard away from me, laughing at something the other woman was saying.

I didn’t make a scene in the street. I preferred to wait until I had him alone.

The next morning, my mother had already left for the hospital. I put on a robe and went to look for him. I found him on the couch, in front of the TV.

—I knew you were a scoundrel —I told him—, but I didn’t think you were this much of one.

He didn’t take his eyes off the screen.

—Off to a bad start today. What is it now, Renata?

—It’s the woman you’re cheating on my mother with. Either leave her or get out of this house.

Andrés was thirty-two, fourteen years younger than her. He was dark-haired, not very tall, strong, with that confidence I hated and envied at the same time. He glanced at me sideways and lied without a trace of nerves.

—I don’t know who told you that story, but they lied to you.

—Nobody told me anything. I saw you myself. Leave her or you’re gone.

Instead of defending himself, he got cocky.

—And who do you think you are, threatening me in my own house?

—A daughter taking care of her mother, asshole.

He stood up from the couch with a slowness that put me on alert. Before I could back away, he grabbed my arm, sat me on his lap and pinned my neck against his thigh. With his other hand, he hiked up my robe.

—Nobody calls me an asshole.

His palm came down on my ass, dry, over and over. I kicked and insulted him, and he answered with even more force. What I didn’t confess to him is that, somewhere between one blow and the next, the burning stopped being only burning. Humiliation mixed with something else, a hot current that slid down my belly and left me wet against his thigh.

—Let’s see if you’ve got what it takes to talk to me like that again —he said, panting.

—Bastard —I muttered, but without strength.

He noticed. Of course he noticed. He turned me onto the rug, knelt between my legs, and yanked my underwear off in one pull.

—You’re soaking —he said.

I didn’t deny it. I couldn’t. When he penetrated me in one slow thrust, I held my breath so I wouldn’t moan, and failed. My legs were closed and he went in tight, deep, holding my wrists against the floor. Every thrust tore a sound from me that I tried to swallow and that only gave me away more.

—You’re sick —I told him.

—And you love it —he replied.

He was right, and that was the worst part. I came before I wanted to, with a shudder that went from my hips to my throat, biting my lip while he kept moving inside me. Then he worked his way down my body with kisses, spread my thighs, and used his tongue with a patience no guy my age had ever had. I lost count of how many times he made me finish against his mouth before plunging into me again, lifting my hips with both hands.

—Come with me —he ordered at last, his voice breaking.

And I did. I felt his heat spilling inside as I came apart one last time, exhausted, furious, satisfied.

I dressed in silence.

—This isn’t over —I warned him.

—Let’s make a deal —he said, still on the floor—. You forget about today and I’ll leave Daniela.

—That’s her name?

—Yes. Deal or no deal?

I agreed for my mother’s sake. I repeated it to myself a hundred times while walking to my room: I was doing it for her. I almost believed it.

***

Three days later I told Lucía, my best friend, while we drank coffee in her living room. I told her I couldn’t do that to my mother again, that I had a bitter taste in my mouth.

—When you try something good, you want a repeat —she said, stirring her cup—. That happened to me with the person I least expected.

—With who?

Lucía lowered her voice.

—With my mother’s lover. Her name is Brenda. She gives English lessons here, at the house.

Before I could even be surprised, Lucía leaned in and gave me a soft kiss, almost a test. I jumped and spilled coffee over my dress.

—I’ve made a mess of myself —I complained, looking at the stain.

—I’ll lend you one of mine. Come on, go change.

I should have left. Instead I took off the stained dress and waited in my underwear while she looked through the closet. When she came back, she wasn’t alone: behind her walked Brenda, a tall blonde with full lips, who looked me over and smiled like someone finding the table already set.

—Can I? —she asked Lucía.

—Go ahead.

I tried to slip behind the sofa, but they were quick. One held my wrists, the other pulled down my underwear, and between laughter and struggle I ended up stretched out on the cushions with each of them between my legs in turn. I insulted them, called them everything I could think of, and they laughed against my skin without stopping eating me out. Brenda spread my lips with her thumbs and worked my clit with an expert’s skill while Lucía, from behind, squeezed my nipples to the limit between pain and pleasure.

I held out as long as I could. I bit my lip so I wouldn’t give them the satisfaction of hearing me. But when Brenda sank her fingers in and curled her tongue at the same time, I exploded with a cry that came from the bottom of my throat and that I couldn’t swallow back.

When they let me go, I dressed, trembling, and grabbed my things.

—Are we still friends? —Lucía asked.

—No —I said, and I slammed the door on my way out.

***

The next morning I came out of the bathroom wrapped in a towel, barefoot, with wet hair. I crossed paths with Andrés in the hallway. He was wearing his house robe.

—Without makeup you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen —he said.

—You gave me your word you wouldn’t bother me.

—I’m not bothering you. I’m stating a fact.

I tried to walk past. He pressed me against the wall and kissed my neck. The towel slid to the floor. I didn’t pick it up.

—Why are you trembling? —he asked.

—I’m cold —I lied.

—This will be the first and last time —I warned him when his mouth found mine—. The last.

He took my hands to my ass and we devoured each other’s mouths right there, standing up. Then he knelt and gave me back, with his tongue, everything he’d done to me the night of the punishment, until I came with my back against the wall and one leg over his shoulder. Then it was my turn: I squatted over him and tormented him slowly, stopping each time he was about to come, until he begged me.

There was something I had never tried. When he turned me toward the wall to penetrate me, I caught his hand, pushed my hips back, and guided it to the other place.

—Take my virginity —I asked him.

He went in slowly, supporting my stomach with one hand. It burned and I loved it at the same time. I brought my own fingers down to my clit while he moved with a care I’d never known from him, whispering in my ear how special I was. The pressure, the heat, my own fingers: it all came together in a wave that buckled my knees. I came with a force that left me breathless, and he did a little later, emptying himself inside me with a muffled groan.

—That was the best orgasm of my life —he said.

—For me, just another one —I lied, picking up the towel.

It wasn’t just another one. We both knew it.

***

My birthday fell right in the middle of the Day of the Dead festivities. From the street came the murmur of the parade, the drums, the laughter. I was alone at home with a hot chocolate when the phone rang from an unknown number.

—Happy birthday, beautiful —Lucía said—. Have you forgiven me yet?

—I don’t hold grudges forever. But I don’t trust you.

—I’ve got a present for you.

I hung up before she finished the sentence. Five minutes later there was a knock at the door. I opened it thinking it would be her, and instead four Catrinas walked in: four tall women with skull-painted faces, colorful skirts, and flowers in their hair. I ran to my room, but I didn’t manage to close the door.

—Who are you? —I asked against the wall.

—We’re the dead —said the tallest one—. And we’ve come to take you. But you’re so hot that first we’re going to enjoy you.

The dead do not talk or do what they did to me. One held my wrists and, when I looked into her eyes, I recognized Lucía’s brown ones. Another took off my clothes laughing; her eyes were Brenda’s blue. They laid me on the bed and divided up my body: two on my breasts, one between my legs, one in my mouth.

I closed my eyes so I wouldn’t see the skulls, and then there was only pleasure. Tongues on my nipples, one mouth working between my thighs, another kissing me with a urgency I recognized. I came in the first one’s mouth without being able to stop myself, and then immediately in another’s, one after the other, until I lost count and lost my shame.

The Catrina between my legs sat up and lay down over me. I felt her chest against mine and then something different: a hard cock forcing its way inside me. The surprise stole my breath for a moment, but my body, already surrendered, received it like one more gift. She kissed my mouth and drove into me until I felt her heat spill inside me. Pleasure shot through my whole body and, for a second, everything turned white.

When I came back to myself, they had painted my face like a skull and put a party dress on me. The tallest one whispered in my ear:

—You’re one of us now.

***

That same early morning I got home with smeared makeup and a body aching all over. I slipped into Andrés’s bed and pulled the covers over my head. He woke up, turned on the light, saw a skull under his sheets, and jumped out of bed cursing.

—It’s me —I said, uncovering myself—. I can explain.

I told him everything: Lucía’s gift, the four Catrinas, what happened.

—Those weren’t dead at all —he said, still pale—. It was your birthday gift. Macabre, but original. Did you give anyone else a copy of the key?

—I lost one the day Lucía and Brenda forced me.

—They got in with that one.

I looked at him in the dim light. He was almost naked, disheveled, still scared, and I thought: if I take him whole tonight, maybe tomorrow I’ll give him back to my mother intact.

—You know something, Andrés? I’m in your bed and you’re almost naked.

—I never thought it would be you who came after me.

—Well, here I am.

I slid down between his legs and woke him with my mouth, slowly, until I felt him grow against my tongue. Then I rode him, my hands on his chest, rising and falling at a pace that made him moan and ask me to stop so he wouldn’t finish too soon. I stopped, but my body didn’t: I squeezed him from inside until he was on the edge, and only then did I keep going, slower, looking him in the eyes.

—I’m coming —I told him, my voice tight.

—I know.

I finished against his neck, shaking, feeling his heat fill me once more. That night we didn’t do anything else. But, whether I meant to or not, there was no turning back anymore: I had become what I feared most, and the worst part was how much I liked it.