The Family Secret No One Told Me

My name is Rodrigo and I’m twenty-seven years old. Until two months ago, my life was perfectly ordinary: a stable job, a shared apartment with a childhood friend and two more roommates, and weekends spent visiting my parents every now and then. Nothing extraordinary. Nothing that couldn’t be described in two sentences.

Then I won the lottery.

Not second prize or third. The jackpot. Two million euros that dropped into my lap on a Tuesday afternoon while I was heating up a can of lentils and listening to the drawing out of habit, with no real expectations. It took me four days to believe it completely.

***

My family has always been the center of everything for me. Carlos, my father, was turning fifty in three weeks, and for months I had been planning a surprise that now, with money in the bank, I could bring to life without restrictions. Elena, my mother, was one of those women who, at forty-six, still stopped traffic: dark-haired, with a waist that was still firm, big heavy tits that bounced when she laughed, and a way of moving around the kitchen that had more than once given me embarrassing boners I had to hide against the edge of the table.

My sister Sara was a younger, bolder version of her. Eighteen years old, newly started at university, with a round firm ass that filled out her jeans and a smile that knew exactly the effect it had on any man who crossed her path.

I admit I had fantasized about both of them for as long as I could remember. I had jerked off thinking about my mother’s cunt, my sister’s tits, the two of them together. I buried those thoughts afterward, as was proper. But they came back.

***

I started spending more time at my parents’ place under the pretext of coordinating the birthday preparations. Carlos played padel on Saturday afternoons and got back after seven, so I had room to talk with my mother without him overhearing. The problem was that Elena noticed. She knew me too well.

—Rodrigo —she told me one afternoon while peeling potatoes—, you’ve had the face of someone who knows something the others don’t for weeks. Tell me.

—There’s nothing to tell, Mom.

—I’m not the liar here.

I smiled and went to get water from the fridge. When I turned around, she was already blocking my way with her arms crossed. She was wearing a light cotton dress, no bra underneath—her hard nipples stood out against the fabric—and her hair was tied up any old way. That was more than enough to start my cock swelling inside my pants.

—If you tell me —she said—, I promise I won’t tell anyone.

—No, Mom.

That was when Sara came in from the hallway, her hair still wet from the shower and a cropped T-shirt that didn’t reach the waistband of her pants. Her belly button was visible, the line of her stomach, and beneath it a tiny pair of shorts that rode up between her ass cheeks.

—What’s going on? —she asked.

—Your brother has a secret and he won’t tell us.

Sara smiled in that way of hers, calculated and playful at the same time.

—That’s easy to solve.

What came next started the way it always had since we were little: the grappling, the tickling, the laughter spilling over the sofa. I resisted, they attacked, and nobody really won because nobody wanted it to end. My mother held my arms while Sara went for the sensitive spots in my ribs. The usual game.

But at some point something changed.

I can’t say exactly when. My mother sat astride my legs to pin me down, and I felt the heat of her cunt through the dress pressed against my thigh. She leaned her face toward mine with that little cat smile she wore when she wanted to get her way, and I stopped thinking clearly. My cock turned to stone under my pants, and Sara noticed it before anyone else.

—Well now —she said softly—, look at this.

I felt my sister’s hand on my thigh, moving slowly upward, without hesitation. I stayed still. Sara didn’t stop. She slid her hand over the fabric and grabbed the whole bulge, squeezing it gently, measuring me with her fingers, as if she had done this before, as if she knew exactly what she was doing.

—He’s rock hard —she told my mother, with not a shred of shame—. Touch it.

My mother lowered her hand and put it on top of Sara’s. The two of them squeezed at the same time. A gasp escaped me through my nose.

—Sara —Elena said quietly. It wasn’t a warning. It was almost a question.

—He wants to —my sister replied, without taking her eyes off mine—. Look at him. Look how hard he is. Look how he’s breathing.

She was right.

I didn’t say anything. I lifted one hand and put it on the back of my mother’s neck, pulling her toward me. Her lips brushed mine with a softness I hadn’t expected, and then the kiss opened and stopped being soft: she shoved her whole tongue into my mouth, finding mine, sucking on it hungrily. She tasted like coffee and something darker, more forbidden. I grabbed one of her tits over the dress and squeezed hard. She moaned into my mouth.

Sara was already unbuttoning my pants. She pulled them and my underwear down to my knees and my cock sprang up, hard, swollen, the tip shining with fluid. Sara looked at it for a full second, as if assessing it, and smiled.

—Fuck, little brother. You really were horny.

She grabbed it at the base, squeezed it with her closed hand, and ran her tongue all the way from my balls to the head. I arched at once. My mother pulled away from my mouth to watch, and what she saw made her hotter: she hiked her dress up to her waist—she wasn’t wearing panties—and ground her soaked cunt against my thigh, moving slowly while Sara sucked my cock.

My sister took the whole thing into her mouth. All the way. I felt her throat closing around the tip and almost came right then. She pulled off with a wet sound and looked at me with glassy eyes.

—Mom, taste it. It’s delicious.

Elena lowered her head and licked my glans while Sara kept holding me by the base. Seeing the two of them, mother and daughter, sucking my cock in turns on the sofa where I’d grown up, was something that stayed burned into me. Sara passed my cock to my mother, my mother sucked me deep, with her mouth open and her tits hanging out of the neckline, and then handed me back to my sister, who licked me from top to bottom like a candy. I couldn’t hold on much longer.

—I’m going to come —I warned them.

—Not here —my mother said, straightening up suddenly—. Upstairs. To the bed.

When she stood up, she looked at me with narrowed eyes.

—We’ve been talking about this for a while —she admitted—. Your sister and I.

—For how long?

—A long time.

What she revealed to me as we climbed the stairs sank in little by little: that they had been eating each other out for more than a year, that it started by chance and continued by choice, that they had been licking each other’s cunts almost every afternoon when my father wasn’t home, that they had kept it like you keep things that don’t have an easy name. I was the last link.

***

We spent that afternoon in the master bed, the three of us, with five o’clock light coming through the half-drawn blinds. Elena lay on top of me first, with that slow pace she liked, no rush. She straddled me, took my cock in her hand, and slowly pushed it into her cunt, centimeter by centimeter, with her mouth open and her eyes closed.

—God —she moaned when she had taken me all the way—. My son. What a cock you have.

She started moving on top of me, going up and down, her tits bouncing in front of my face. I grabbed them, squeezed them, sucked them one by one while she rode me slow. Sara was lying beside us, naked too, with two fingers in her cunt, watching us.

—Harder, Mom —she told her—. Fuck him faster.

Elena obeyed. She started riding me like crazy, her hands pressed on my chest, hair disheveled and moans spilling from her throat with every thrust. I felt her cunt tightening around my cock, contracting, and I knew she was close.

—I’m coming, Rodrigo, I’m coming on your cock, baby, I’m coming —she gasped, and exploded over me with her legs tangled in mine and her own son’s name repeated in her mouth.

She collapsed onto my chest, trembling. Sara took advantage of that to gently move her aside.

—My turn.

Sara was the opposite of my mother: urgent, demanding, with the crudest words on her lips. She made me get on my knees behind her, got on all fours, and showed me her pink soaked cunt between her ass cheeks.

—Put it in all the way —she ordered—. Hard. Don’t be gentle with me. Ruin me.

I grabbed her hips and drove my cock into her in one stroke. Sara screamed and laughed at the same time.

—Yes, fuck! That’s how I wanted you, brother!

I started pounding her hard, without stopping, each thrust slamming into her ass and making a dull smack. My sister buried her face in the pillow, lifted it, moaned filth, told me to shut her up with more fucking. My mother, who was recovering, got in front of her and brought her open cunt to her mouth. Sara started eating my mother’s pussy while I fucked her from behind, and seeing them like that, seeing my sister lick my mother the cum I had just left inside, drove me to the limit.

—Come inside —Sara told me, lifting her face for a second—. I’m on the pill. Come inside, little brother.

I came in jets. I unloaded everything I had inside her cunt, my hands dug into her hips and my jaw clenched, moaning like an animal. When I pulled my cock out, a white thread fell between her thighs and my mother licked it off with two fingers.

The three of us collapsed diagonally over the rumpled sheets and I stared at the ceiling without saying anything.

—Are you okay? —my mother asked.

—I’m very okay.

—And the secret? —Sara asked.

—The secret is still mine until the day of the party.

***

The following three weeks I stayed in my old room. It was like going back in time, but with everything essential changed. In the mornings I had breakfast with my father, who was still the same good, disconcertingly calm man as always. In the afternoons, when he wasn’t there, the apartment turned into a different place.

My mother sucked me to my knees in the kitchen while pretending to be doing the laundry, swallowing my cum and wiping the corner of her mouth with the back of her hand. Sara would appear in the hallway with a towel thrown on badly, drag me into the bathroom, and ride me on top of the sink, with her legs around my waist and her teeth buried in my neck. It was a constant game that none of the three of us named out loud when my father was nearby.

One noon, Sara sat across from me at the dining table and said, as naturally as could be:

—I think Dad wants me.

I set down my fork.

—What?

—I’ve noticed it. I’ve given him reasons to notice it. —She smiled—. Men are very predictable. Yesterday he kept staring at my tits when I came out in a T-shirt for breakfast. He got hard, Mom. You could see it in his pants.

I looked at my mother, who was standing with her back to us at the counter. She didn’t say anything for a few seconds.

—Sara —she said at last, without turning around—, that’s different.

—Why? —my sister asked.

No one answered that question that day.

***

The day of the birthday arrived with clear skies and far too much heat for May. I had reserved the private room at the restaurant where my parents had celebrated their wedding twenty-five years earlier. The grandparents came, two uncles with their families, my father’s older brother, his best friend since university, and Federico, his boss, who was more of a friend than anything else.

The video took twenty minutes. Photos of when my father was twenty, of the wedding, of the first summers with Sara and me as children. At the end, the camera showed a car driving very slowly through a residential area by the sea. It was the neighborhood where everyone wanted to live and nobody could afford to.

Then the car stopped in front of a villa with a pool, and I got out and opened the door and looked at the camera.

—Dad, Mom: this is my gift. I got lucky, and I want you to live very happily in this house, which is in your name, until the last days of your lives.

The silence lasted three seconds. Then my father stood up and I couldn’t see his face properly because he was already hugging me and crying, and I was too, and my mother, who had known for an hour already, was crying for the third time that afternoon. My uncles applauded with the same tense expression as always. That was part of the plan too.

***

We said goodbye to the last guests after midnight. There were four of us left: my parents, Sara, and me. My father had that pleasant vagueness of someone who has drunk just enough to be happy without losing the thread.

I took the new car and drove them to the house. I had everything ready: the bags with clothes for two days, the swimsuits, even my mother’s creams, which I had taken from the bathroom days earlier without saying anything.

In the garage, under a cover, there was another car. Small, convertible, a bright blue one.

—That one’s yours —I told Sara.

It took her ten seconds to react. Then the scream was heard all over the neighborhood.

***

It was after one when my father said he felt dizzy and was going to take a cold shower.

Sara looked at him.

—I’ll go with you —she said in that calm tone she used when she had already decided something in advance.

My mother and I stayed on the terrace. From there we could see the garden, the pool lit from below, and the guest room window where my father had gone upstairs. A few minutes later we started hearing something: muffled moans, a hard thud against the wall, my sister’s voice saying “like that, Dad, like that, give it all to me.” Elena and I looked at each other.

—Are you going to let her? —I asked.

My mother took a while to answer. She lifted her dress and straddled me in the terrace chair, with her naked cunt resting directly on the bulge in my pants.

—Your father’s been different for months —she said, moving slowly on top of me—. More present, more alive. I don’t know if it’s age or what. But yes. I’m going to let her. Let her fuck him. Let her fuck him good.

She pulled my cock out through the fly and shoved it into herself right there, in the chair, her eyes fixed on the lit window upstairs. She started riding me slowly, biting her lip, listening to the ever-louder moans of her daughter upstairs and of her husband fucking her.

—Listen to them —she gasped—. Listen to your father fucking her. Listen to your sister scream. Just like me when he puts it in me. —She grabbed my neck and sped up—. Fuck me, son. Fuck me while your father fucks your sister. Fuck me harder.

I grabbed her ass with both hands and started thrusting up into her, lifting her and dropping her over my cock, the sound of our flesh slapping together mixing with the moans from upstairs. My mother came with her mouth open against my shoulder, biting me so she wouldn’t scream, and I came inside her a minute later, emptying myself for the second time that day into the cunt that had brought me into the world.

We went down to the pool naked twenty minutes later, with semen still running down her thigh. The water was warm. My father and Sara appeared shortly after from the garden, holding hands, also naked, with the expression of people who have just crossed a door they didn’t know existed. Sara had finger marks on her hips and a white thread between her thighs.

My father looked at me. Then he looked at my mother.

—Elena —he said.

—I know —she replied—. It’s fine.

He didn’t say anything else. He got into the water and swam toward her. I watched them kiss at the edge of the pool, and then my father grabbed her by the nape and pushed his tongue all the way in, with the same hard cock of his rising out of the water again. Sara climbed in with me, sat on my lap in the water, and whispered in my ear everything my father had done to her in the shower in detail, while rubbing my hard cock against her cunt.

That night the four of us spent together in the big bed in the new house, with all the windows open and the sound of the sea coming from far away. We fucked each other in every combination, changing partners, with no rules, until we couldn’t anymore. It was the first time in my life I had no unanswered questions.

***

Three months later I moved to Berlin. The company offered me a position in the German branch and I saw it for what it was: an opportunity to build something of my own, with the financial backing of the prize and the desire not to stand still. I could keep living in the same shared apartment, or I could do something different.

I did my master’s in eighteen months. I worked, met people, had company that lasted as long as it had to. I went back to Spain every three weeks, and at home everything kept working in a way no one from the outside could have explained but that worked for all of us.

One Friday in October, someone knocked on my door.

It was Valentina, Federico’s daughter, who had come to Berlin on Erasmus and had gotten my address through her father. She was nineteen, with small firm tits that showed beneath her T-shirt, and that way of looking you straight in the eye that freezes you from the very first second.

—My father says you’re trustworthy —she said.

—And what do you say?

She smiled.

—I still don’t know what to say.

She came in. She didn’t leave for four days. The first night I ate her out against the front door without even giving her time to take off her shoes; I ripped off her panties, slung her over my shoulder, and fucked her on the living room rug until she came screaming words in German I hadn’t learned in school. Then came the bed, the shower, the kitchen, the bed again. The girl had a delayed hunger that I understood perfectly.

By the time she went back to the university residence, we already knew the two important things: that I didn’t want her to leave, and that she didn’t want to leave either. Everything else was logistics. The rest is, as they say, another story.