What Happened with My Mother-in-Law While Everyone Slept

My name is Andrés, and I’m going to tell you what happened in my house three weeks ago, when my wife was admitted to the hospital and her mother stayed over with me. I’m twenty-eight years old, I play rugby on Sundays, and I work at a print shop downtown. I’m not handsome, but I’m not easy to forget either. My mother-in-law Marisol always told me that, always with that smile I understand better now.

My wife was due on Friday, at forty weeks. She was admitted Thursday afternoon with high blood pressure and partial dilation. The doctor told us she’d spend the night under observation and that it would be better if I rested, that labor might be delayed another day. I came home with an empty suitcase and a house full: Marisol and my wife’s two grandmothers were settled in the living room, with their cases, their handkerchiefs, and a smell of old perfume that clung to the curtains.

—We’re going to stay here until the baby is born —Marisol told me—. In case you need anything.

We have two rooms. In the larger one is our double bed, wide enough for the three women to fit comfortably. I offered to sleep in the smaller room, on the sofa bed in the study. The grandmothers thanked me and went upstairs slowly, one holding onto the banister, the other leaning on her cane. Marisol didn’t say anything then. She just looked at me as if she were measuring a distance.

—I’ll bring you an extra blanket —she offered later.

—No need, Mom-in-law.

—Don’t call me Mom-in-law anymore. Call me Marisol.

I smiled at her and went up to my temporary room. The grandmothers went to bed early, worn out from the trip from the village. I got into the sofa bed with my phone and headphones on, trying to sleep and failing. At eleven, they turned off the hallway lights. At midnight I heard the first door.

There was a soft knock. So soft I thought it was the wind.

—Andrés, are you awake?

Marisol opened the door before I could answer. She was wearing a short nightgown of light cotton, with a cardigan over it. She closed the door without making a sound and stood against it, barefoot.

—I’m awake. Is something wrong?

—It’s hot in there. The two of them breathe so loud, it sounds like a steam train. If you don’t mind, I’ll switch in here with you. One in each room, and both of us sleep better.

—Sure, no problem.

I said it without thinking, on reflex. She nodded, switched off the hallway lamp, and came to the edge of the sofa bed. What she did next wasn’t what I expected. She slowly took off the cardigan, then pulled the nightgown over her head, and stood there in her underwear. Black lace briefs, and nothing on top. The phone screen’s light was enough to show me everything I’d spent months trying not to look at: two big tits, still firm for her age, with dark nipples already hard from the night air.

—Since we’re already comfortable with each other —she said, as if it were nothing—, this way I won’t melt.

—Yeah, sure… Marisol.

She got under the sheet and lay on her back to me. I turned the other way. I squeezed my phone until my fingers hurt. I closed my eyes and counted how many months it had been since I’d touched my wife. Five. Six, counting the last month of the pregnancy, when she didn’t even want a long kiss. I felt my cock growing in my boxer briefs, hard in a way it hadn’t been for weeks, and I cursed myself for not being able to control it.

Ten minutes passed. Maybe less. I felt her hand slide over the sheet, then underneath, and finally settle on my thigh. I went still. Her hand climbed, barely an inch, just enough for the back of it to brush the bulge in my boxers. It stopped for a second, as if measuring. Then her palm opened and she grabbed me over the fabric.

—Relax —she whispered—. Don’t make a sound. They’re both asleep and the walls are thin.

—Marisol…

—I know you wanted to. I’ve seen how you look at me for months. Me too. And what you’ve got down there, I’ve seen since I walked in the door.

She squeezed my cock slowly, measuring it with her hand, moving up and down over the cotton. She kissed me. She was the one who moved first, the one who opened her mouth, the one who slipped her tongue between my teeth and took my hand and guided it to her tits. I’m not the kind of man who just lets things happen without knowing what he’s doing, but that night I did. I kissed her back because I’d spent weeks thinking about it without admitting it, and I pinched her nipples between my thumb and forefinger until she let out a short gasp against my mouth.

We’re not going to make any noise, I thought, more for myself than for her.

—I promise —she said, as if she’d read my mind—. Only if you behave. Take it out for me.

She gave a little laugh, a throaty laugh. She turned against me and yanked my boxers down to my knees. She grabbed my cock with her cold hand, bare skin to bare skin, and squeezed it from top to bottom. She pulled a sigh out of me that I had to swallow against her shoulder. She jerked me off slowly, pinching the foreskin, brushing her thumb over the already wet tip, spreading the pre-cum over the whole length so it would slide better.

—What a cock you’ve got, Andrés —she murmured in my ear—. My daughter doesn’t know how lucky she is.

—Marisol, fuck.

—Shh. No noise, remember?

She ducked under the sheet. I felt her hair falling over my stomach and then the hot, wet mouth, swallowing me in one go halfway down. Her tongue wrapped around the head and moved down slowly, sucking hard, while her hand gripped the base and worked me in the same rhythm. She bobbed her head three, four, five times, each time going deeper, until I felt her gag for a second and swallow me again. My wife had never sucked me like this. Marisol was taking me into her mouth hungrily, her mouth wide open, saliva dripping over my balls.

—I told you not to make noise —she whispered, letting me go for a second, and the tip of her tongue traced a slow circle around the glans before she swallowed me again.

I had to bite my knuckles. I put my free hand on the back of her neck, not to force her, just to feel the rhythm as she moved up and down. She sucked my balls one by one, took them whole into her mouth, and came back to the tip with a long, wet kiss I could barely smother. When I felt I was about to cum, I pulled her away with a gentle tug of her hair.

—Come here.

I grabbed her by the shoulders and pulled her up. I kissed her and felt myself on her tongue. I lowered my head and sucked her nipples, first one and then the other, biting just a little, pulling with my teeth until she let out a moan she had to swallow against my shoulder. I bit her neck carefully, making sure not to leave a visible mark, though I already knew something would show. I ran my hand along her side, over her stomach, over her hip, until I found the edge of her briefs and slipped my hand underneath. She was wet. Wet, dripping, and completely shaved.

—I got ready this morning —she murmured—. Just in case.

—You slut —I told her in her ear, and she gave a little laugh and bit my earlobe.

I pushed her softly, made her turn faceup, and pulled her briefs down to her ankles. I knelt between her legs, spread them wide, and put my mouth on her cunt. I flattened my tongue and ran it from bottom to top, very slowly, collecting all the juice. She tasted like a mature woman, strong, and her clit was already swollen, poking out between her lips. I sucked it like a little candy, pulling with my lips, giving quick licks and then long ones, changing pace.

I felt her arch her back, saw her clench her jaw so she wouldn’t moan too loudly. I slid two fingers deep inside while I worked my tongue in circles, and with my other hand I squeezed one tit, twisting her nipple between my fingers.

—Andrés —she panted—, like that, exactly like that. Don’t stop, bastard, don’t stop.

I curled my fingers inside her and found that rough spot up top, the place I could never find on my wife because she never let me take my time. I worked Marisol’s with no mercy, inside and out, while I sucked her clit with my whole mouth. I put my other hand over her mouth. I didn’t trust us. The walls were cheap drywall and the grandmothers were three meters away, on the other side of the hallway.

Marisol nodded with her eyes closed, grabbed my wrist, and bit into my own hand to smother the cry when she came the first time. I felt the trembling in her legs, her heels digging into the mattress, her cunt squeezing my fingers in short, strong waves. She soaked my palm and forearm. I didn’t let her rest. I kept licking her slowly, drenched, until she had to push my head away herself because she couldn’t take any more.

—I don’t want just that —she said when she caught her breath—. I want you inside me. Now. Put it all in.

—Wait.

I got up and turned her onto her stomach. I grabbed her hips and pulled her to the edge of the sofa bed, her ass raised and her face buried in the pillow. Before fucking her, I licked her again, slowly, from behind, with my tongue flat, from bottom to top, even passing over her asshole and feeling it clench. She buried her face in the pillow and let out a moan the pillow could barely contain.

—Shut up —I told her.

—I can’t. You’re going to kill me. Put it in already, please, put it all in at once.

I grabbed my cock and ran the head along the lips of her cunt, up and down, soaking myself in her own juices. I rubbed her clit with the glans until she pushed her hips back, looking for me. Then I pushed. I went in slowly, all the way, and stayed still for a few seconds to get used to the idea that I was inside my wife’s mother, in my own house, with two grandmothers asleep at the end of the hallway. I felt her close around me, tight and hot, as if she hadn’t been taken in years.

Then I started moving. Slowly at first, pulling almost all the way out and pushing back in until I hit her ass, slow enough that each thrust sounded only like skin rubbing against skin, without the hard slap of hips. Marisol bit the pillow, bit the back of her hand, whatever she could get close to. I grabbed one tit from behind, hanging under her body, and squeezed it in time with my thrusts.

—Harder —she begged—. I don’t care if they hear us, give it to me harder, give it all to me.

—I care.

I stopped her by grabbing her hair. I pulled just enough to make her lift her head, no more. I pressed my mouth to her ear and told her quietly, never stopping the short, deep thrusts inside her.

—If you scream, I stop. If you hold it in, I give you everything. I shove it all the way in until you come again. Understood?

She nodded, teeth clenched. I let go of her hair and went in slowly again, deeper, until her knees sank all the way into the mattress. I spat on her ass and rubbed her asshole with my thumb while I kept fucking her from the front. She let out a long, muffled whimper and pushed her hips back, asking for more. I slipped my thumb in slowly, to the first knuckle, and felt her whole cunt tighten around my cock.

—God, Andrés, God, like that, don’t stop —she muttered into the pillow—. Break me.

I put my other hand on her lower back to keep her steady and settled into a regular, deep rhythm, no changes, driving in until I hit her body with each thrust. The sofa bed creaked beneath us. I slowed down each time the creak got too loud, and she complained very softly, pushing her ass toward me, demanding more. She clutched the sheets, pressed her face into the fabric, and her whole body trembled when she came the second time. This time she didn’t scream either. She just let out a long, muffled moan, and I felt her cunt squeezing me in spasms that almost made me cum inside her.

—My turn —I whispered, pulling out of her, dripping, breathing hard through my nose.

I turned her over again. I lay down on top of her, careful that my arms would take my weight. I kissed her mouth and felt her smile against my lips, her tongue still tasting like herself. She guided me with her hand and I slid back in with one soft thrust, this time slower, my whole body pressed against hers, chest to tits, mouth to mouth. She wrapped her legs around my waist and her arms around my neck, and dug her heels into my ass to push me deeper with every thrust.

—Finish inside me —she said—. It doesn’t matter. It’s been years since there’s been any risk. I want to feel everything.

—Marisol, don’t say that or I’ll cum right now.

—Cum. Fill me. Leave all your come inside, don’t hold anything back.

I didn’t last long. I’d been holding on too long. I moved faster, driving in to the hilt, feeling her tight and soaked, her tits bouncing under my chest and her open mouth pressed to my ear, panting things I could no longer make out. When I came, I buried my face in her neck and bit just enough not to make a sound. I felt my cock pulsing inside her, shot after shot, and her squeezing me with her legs, holding me inside, heels digging into my ass until I was done, until the last spasm.

We stayed like that for a minute, maybe two. Me on top, her underneath, my cock still inside, slowly losing hardness, both of us breathing carefully so we wouldn’t break the silence in the hallway. The study fan kept turning with its constant hum. I could feel my own semen leaking between us when I finally pulled out. Somewhere, one of the grandmothers coughed, and we both froze until silence returned.

—I have to go back —she whispered at last, with two fingers between her legs holding in what was dripping out.

—I know.

She got up carefully. I turned on the bedside lamp and watched her dress in the half-light. There were marks from my fingers on her hips and a smudge of mascara on her cheek. There was also a white trail sliding down the inside of her thigh, which she wiped off with the edge of her nightgown without the slightest concern. She looked at herself in the study mirror for a second and smiled without making a sound.

—Tomorrow they’ll know —she said.

—We’ll deny everything.

—I’m not denying anything. Neither are you. They just won’t ask.

She left barefoot, nightgown in hand and cardigan half-buttoned. Before crossing into the large room, I heard a door creak. Then a whisper, two quiet voices, Marisol’s voice saying something short and firm. Then silence again.

***

The next morning we had breakfast, the four of us around the table. Marisol made coffee. The oldest grandmother asked if I had slept well. The middle one looked at the mark on my neck as if calculating how many years it had been since she’d seen one like it. Marisol buttered a piece of toast as if nothing had ever happened.

—Andrés, son —the oldest grandmother said, without looking up from her plate—, it gets very hot in this house at night. Don’t you have a fan for the small room?

—No, Grandma. I’ll buy one today.

—Good. Buy two.

Marisol lifted her eyes from her coffee and held my gaze a second longer than necessary. The middle grandmother smiled over the rim of her cup, and I understood exactly what was going to happen the next night.