What Happened When My Brother-in-Law Stayed Two Nights

My sister Lucía is five years older than I am. She’s thirty-eight, has been married ten years, and has three kids on her hands, all boys, all little. She lives in a coastal city where nothing ever happens, and every time we talk on the phone we end up telling each other things neither of us would tell anyone else. I explain to her what my husband is like in bed, and she explains to me what Damián is like.

Damián, her husband, is thirty-nine. Tall, dark, with that smile of someone who knows what he gives off and enjoys using it. Lucía confessed to me a while ago that she couldn’t keep up with him anymore. That the man was insatiable, that after three pregnancies and a tubal ligation she no longer wanted sex every night and that he, without saying it outright, must have had to get his needs met outside the house.

—He’s got a beautiful cock —she told me one afternoon on a café terrace—. More than twenty centimeters, thick, circumcised. A shame I’m just not interested anymore.

Damián works for a consultancy based in the capital. Once or twice a month he takes the first flight and stays two days for meetings. Before, he always stayed with us, in the guest room. My husband never stood him —something about male competition, I suppose— but I liked him from the start. He was affectionate, cracked jokes, hugged me as if I were his little sister. And when he passed by me, if no one was looking, he’d give my ass a little smack and toss off one of his lines.

—What a waste, sis-in-law —he’d say—. All that for the idiot you married.

I’d laugh and throw the kitchen towel in his face. A silly family joke.

Last Tuesday he called at eleven in the morning. He was at the airport, would get in just in time for lunch, and had to rush off to a meeting early that afternoon. My husband had left the night before for a trade fair in his industry and wouldn’t be back until Thursday. I didn’t tell him that on the phone. I only told him I had the table set.

He arrived at one ten with his suitcase hanging from his shoulder and a bunch of mimosa blossoms he’d bought at the terminal. Two kisses, a smack on the ass, and the usual line.

—You get hotter every time I see you, sis-in-law. It’s unfair.

I was wearing black Lycra leggings and a fitted white T-shirt, no bra. It was hot in the house. When I turned to pour the water, I saw his eyes sweep over my nipples, outlined through the cotton. I didn’t look down and he didn’t look away either. We sat down to eat.

The conversation was the usual: work, the kids, my sister. He told me what I already knew, that Lucía had gone cold, that in bed she’d become a saint lately, and that he was dying of boredom.

—I understand you —I said without thinking.

—You too? —he asked, and kept looking at my mouth for a second too long.

I changed the subject. I served dessert. Every time I got up I could feel his eyes traveling up and down me, stopping at my ass squeezed by the Lycra. Up front, the fabric clung to my crotch. I noticed it and, instead of changing, I changed nothing.

I kept carrying the plates to the counter. He stayed at the table with a shot of orujo. When he came back with the last of the cutlery, he didn’t leave it in the sink. He set it down beside me, took my hands from behind, and pressed me against the marble. I felt his erection through his pants, hard, thick, pressed to my ass.

—What are you doing? —I said.

—What I should have done years ago.

He started kissing my neck. He bit my earlobe carefully. I struggled a little, just enough to be able to tell myself I had tried. He didn’t let me go. He turned me around and kissed me on the mouth. I turned my face away. He kissed me again and then I didn’t turn away anymore. He slid one leg between mine and I felt the bulge pressing right where I needed pressure.

He lifted my T-shirt and pulled out my breasts. He bent down to suck one nipple and then the other. My tits are my weak spot. Any man who gets there with enough time and a patient mouth leaves me at his mercy. Damián had both. And on top of that, I liked him. That was the worst part.

This is going to happen. This is happening.

He pulled my leggings down in one move. My panties took him another second, because they got tangled around my ankles. He grabbed me by the waist, sat me on the table, spread my knees apart, and knelt between my legs. The first lick on my clit made me clench my fists in the tablecloth. He knew what he was doing. He knew exactly what he was doing. He ran his tongue flat over my whole pussy, sucked, closed his lips around my clit, and started moving them in a slow rhythm that gradually sped up.

I came in less than two minutes. I screamed, grabbed the hair at the back of his neck, and hurt him without meaning to. When he stood up, his whole face was soaked. I ran my tongue over his lips and cheek and recognized myself in him.

—Turn around —he said.

I got down from the table and went on all fours, my chest flattened against the wood. I heard him open his fly. The head of his cock traced the entrance to my sex twice and came in with a single thrust that stole my breath. What my sister had told me was no exaggeration. It was exact. I could feel it thick, tight, scraping against every wall. He started moving slowly and then faster and faster. I pressed myself back against him to take him to the hilt.

He came inside a few minutes later. I came almost at the same time, silently, biting my forearm.

—Worth it, right, sis-in-law? —he said when he pulled away.

I didn’t answer him. I couldn’t get the words out. He pulled up his pants, washed his hands at the sink, ran his fingers through his hair in front of the oven glass, and took his jacket off the back of the chair.

—I’ll be back tonight and we’ll finish what we started —he said from the doorway.

***

In the afternoon, Sandra, a friend from the neighborhood, showed up without warning. I opened the door just as I was, in the Lycra leggings and the bra-less T-shirt, without having changed. She looked at me a second too long.

—Want to grab a coffee? There’s a new place on the corner.

I went down with her without thinking. In the café I could feel the men at the bar looking at me. I felt the cotton stuck to my nipples, the Lycra outlining my slit in front. And underneath the Lycra I was still wet. I felt a bit like a slut, and I didn’t care. Sandra loved the way I looked. She laughed, told me I looked great, and ordered another round.

At seven the phone rang. It was Damián. He wasn’t coming for dinner, he had a company commitment. It pissed me off and at the same time I was grateful for the space to think. My sister called after that. I told her her husband had come for lunch and left in a rush. That he would be back late, and I’d already be in bed when he arrived. I lied with a ease that scared me.

I went to bed naked. I ran my hand over my tits, over my pussy, without deciding to finish. Every time I got close to orgasm I stopped so I could save it. At twelve thirty the bell rang.

I opened the door in my robe. He smelled of wine and was in a good mood. He kissed me on the landing without waiting to come in. I slammed the door shut with my foot and we nearly tripped in the hallway.

This time there was no kitchen or table. This time there was a bed. He pushed me back, opened my robe, and stood looking at me before touching me. He licked me from neck to pubis, leaving nothing out. Then he put me on top in sixty-nine. His cock brushed my face, heavy, already dripping. I took it with both hands, licked it from the base, took his balls into my mouth one after the other, licked them slowly. I went up to the head and coated it in saliva, sucking it in and out while he devoured me below. I came in his mouth for the second time that day.

He set me underneath him, grabbed his cock, and played for a while, running it over the entrance without putting it in. He let me ask him for it. When I was just about ready to beg, he shoved it in with a force that ripped a cry out of me. He grabbed my legs, put them on his shoulders, and started pounding me with controlled violence that made me come three times in a row. The last time, when he came, it shook me in convulsions that took a while to settle. We collapsed, spent, within minutes.

At four in the morning I woke up with his body on top of mine and his cock inside me again. I had spread my legs in my sleep. I didn’t protest. I let him do it until he finished and sent me back to sleep, holding me from behind.

At nine in the morning he opened his eyes, hard already. I spread my legs with my eyes closed; I had no body left for more. I faked an orgasm that never came, and he came convinced. It wasn’t for me. That last one was for him.

***

Damián still comes to the capital once or twice a month. He told my sister he preferred to stay in a hotel, that he and my husband didn’t get along and that he didn’t want to inconvenience anyone. Lucía believed him because it was half true. Half-truths are the easiest to believe.

Every time he comes, he sets aside an afternoon for me. The room is always the same, overlooking the inner courtyard, where nobody can see us from the street. We invent things, we play, we push each other to the limit. I call my sister afterward and ask how she is, whether she needs anything, whether the kids are okay. There is one kind of guilt that exists and another that doesn’t. And honestly, I still don’t know which of the two I feel.