I Agreed to Help My Brother-in-Law, but on My Terms

Exactly two weeks passed, during which silence settled between us like a concrete wall. There were no calls, no messages, not a single attempt at rapprochement from either side. My brother-in-law’s silence was the clearest proof of his guilt and the shame he felt at having betrayed the trust of the entire family.

Bruno, my husband, carried a palpable sadness, a disappointment weighing on his shoulders that I pretended to comfort. While I stroked his back at night to console him, my mind never stopped scheming. More than once, to calm him, I let him sink between my spread thighs and lick my pussy until I came, or I went down between his legs and sucked his cock slowly, letting him spill into my mouth without taking my lips away, swallowing every drop of his semen while he sighed my name. Those consoling fucks gave him a little warmth back, but for me they only served to keep me looking for a way to profit from the situation I had brought about myself.

The surprise came the night before the two weeks were up. We were finishing dinner when Bruno, stirring his tea with a furrowed brow, broke the ice very reluctantly.

—I’m not going to work tomorrow—he blurted out suddenly, without looking up from his cup.

—What do you mean, you’re not going? Are you feeling ill?—I asked, caught off guard.

—No. A month ago I asked for the day off to help Adrián move. I’d completely forgotten, but he just texted to ask if it was still on.

—That’s true, I’d forgotten too. And what did you tell him?—I wanted to know, feeling the gears in my head beginning to spin at top speed.

—Nothing. I haven’t answered him. I don’t feel like looking him in the face.

It was the perfect opportunity. Logic dictated that, as three adults, the sensible thing would have been to sit down face-to-face and have a serious conversation to deal with the problem. But that would have ruined my game of feigned indignation. I needed Bruno to go there alone, to pressure his brother, so I opted for poisoned diplomacy.

—Bruno… I think you should go—I suggested softly, laying my hand over his.

He raised his head, looking at me incredulously.

—Are you serious? After what he did to you…

—Precisely because of that—I interrupted him gently—. Maybe helping him with the boxes isn’t a bad idea. That way you can be alone, in peace, and see whether, after all this time, he’s capable of giving you a reasonable explanation. You need to talk. He’s your brother.

—And you? Don’t you think the three of us should talk to clear everything up?—he suggested, always trying to do the right thing.

—I can’t—I sighed—. Right now I’m incapable of having him in front of me. Knowing what he saw… knowing that he rummaged through our private life like that… it makes me feel as though he’ll never look at me the same way again.

Bruno pressed his lips together, defeated by my feigned fragility. He wrapped his arms around me, pulling me against his chest in a protective gesture, and let out a heavy sigh that confirmed my victory.

—All right—he finally gave in, his voice hoarse—. I’ll go. I’ll help him and, when we’re done, I’ll sit him down and demand that he tell me everything. I need to get to the bottom of this.

***

The next day, as soon as I heard the click of the lock after he left, the wounded-wife mask slipped from my face, giving way to a sharp smile. The hours that followed were exquisite torture. I spent the entire morning wandering around the house, unable to concentrate on anything except the collision I had orchestrated myself.

I felt an electric tingling in my lower belly, an intoxicating mixture of nerves, anxiety, and pure adrenaline. I had lit the fuse, and now the two brothers were shut inside an empty apartment, surrounded by boxes, on the verge of blowing up. I imagined my husband cornering Adrián, and my brother-in-law sweating, swallowing hard, trying to justify the unjustifiable.

The waiting became so suffocating that the hands of the wall clock seemed to have frozen. At some point I went into the bedroom, took my thickest vibrator from the drawer, and lay naked on the bed to release the tension. With two fingers I opened the lips of my soaked pussy and drove the toy into myself in one thrust, arching my back as I felt it fill me completely. I thought about Adrián on his knees, eyes swollen from crying, forced to confess to his brother every last detail of how he had jerked off while looking at me. I rammed the vibrator into myself until the artificial cock drew thick juices from me, playing with my clitoris with the pad of my thumb until I came screaming into the pillow, my legs trembling and my belly clenched in spasms that wouldn’t stop. Even that orgasm didn’t entirely bring down the fire burning between my thighs.

After six in the evening, the sound of keys broke the silence. Bruno came through the door with his shoulders slumped, sweat marks on his T-shirt, and the unmistakable smell of dust and cardboard left by any move. But beyond the physical exhaustion, what weighed on his face was a devastating emotional fatigue.

I made him coffee in silence while he showered, and we sat facing each other at the kitchen table. He wrapped both hands around his cup, staring at the dark liquid for a long time before daring to speak.

—I didn’t even hug him when I arrived—he began, his voice dull—. He came to greet me as usual, and I dodged him. I left a simple “hello” hanging in the air.

—That’s normal. You’re hurt—I comforted him, stroking his arm.

—He immediately asked whether I wanted to talk, but I told him no. That I preferred to carry boxes and not leave him in the lurch, but that was what we’d gone there to do. If I’d given him an opening at that moment, I would have turned around and left him lying there.

I let him talk, giving him the space he needed. He told me how they had emptied the van against the clock and how, after four, they had finally sat down on the floor of what would be the new living room and opened a couple of beers.

—I was the first to fire—I continued, finally lifting my gaze—. I asked him directly why he had done it. He went mute. So I took the opportunity to ask him something that had been eating away at me: whether he had kept anything. Whether he had copied any files, sent them to himself by email, or taken pictures of the screen with his phone.

That detail, I admit, hadn’t crossed my mind. I was enormously grateful that Bruno had had the clarity to think of it. My game of domination worked because I was in control, and the idea of that material—videos of me spreading my legs for the camera, close-ups of my soaked pussy, pictures of my ass with Bruno’s cock buried all the way inside, entire sequences of me coming on my face and tits—being outside my domain was unacceptable to me.

—And what did he tell you?—I asked, holding my breath.

—He burst into tears. He swore up and down that he hadn’t. That it hadn’t even occurred to him. And, honestly, Vera… I believed him.

I nodded slowly. If my husband, in that state of alert, had been convinced of his sincerity, I had no reason to doubt it. On that front, we were safe.

—The next thing I asked him was how much he had seen.

I frowned, immediately adopting a defensive pose. It was the perfect moment to add another layer to my performance: pretend to be angry with my own husband and make myself look even more like the victim.

—Why did you ask him that?—I reproached him, shaking my head—. I never would have asked him that. Don’t you realize that, whatever he says, it will only serve to torture you more?

Bruno lowered his head, conceding that I was right, completely blind to reality. Inside, I didn’t care in the slightest about my supposed shame. I was dying of curiosity. I needed to know just how thoroughly Adrián had soaked himself in me.

—He told me he wouldn’t know how to calculate it—he swallowed, his eyes growing moist—. But he confessed that, from the moment he found the folders until I walked in and interrupted him, about an hour and a half had passed.

My heart lurched. An hour and a half. More than enough time for him to have jerked off until he came two or three times while looking at me. He’d had time not only to see absolutely everything we had photographed or recorded since the beginning of our relationship—every homemade fuck, every blowjob, every orgasm on my pussy, my ass, or my mouth—but even to decide which image to keep while squeezing his cock with his free hand.

That confirmation shook me inside, but I used the rush to put on my best performance. I began to cry. I shrank into my chair, projecting the image of a vulnerable, exposed woman.

—He’s your brother…—I sobbed, covering my face with my hands to hide the triumphant gleam struggling to break through—. If strangers had wrecked my computer, it would hurt less. But it was him. Someone I’ve known for two decades. And you know how jealous I’ve always been of my privacy! He’s seen me in a way no one in our family should ever see me. He’s seen me fuck. He’s seen me swallow your semen. He’s seen me spread-legged with your come running down my thighs.

—I told him exactly the same thing—he supported me, his voice trembling with sheer helplessness—. And that was when he completely fell apart. He cried inconsolably, begging your forgiveness even though you weren’t there. And when I pressed him a little… everything came out.

I stopped crying, wiping my cheeks with the back of my hand while maintaining my fragile expression.

—He confessed that he’s been seeing you differently for years. Since shortly after he got married. He says it isn’t love, that it’s purely physical, a tension that became entrenched because it was never reciprocated.

Inside, I nearly smiled. Adrián might have been trying to convince his brother that it went back a long way to soften the blow, but I knew exactly when that supposed latent tension had become an uncontrollable fire. It hadn’t begun at a family meal; it had begun the afternoon I left him hanging, playing with him on my own turf. I was the one who had lit the fuse of his obsession. But my husband was blind to all that, and my role required me to feign the same naivety.

—It’s incredible…—I murmured, shaking my head in feigned astonishment—. I never noticed the slightest sign. Did you ever notice anything strange?

—Nothing. I swear, nothing—he confirmed, frustrated by his own blindness—. And the worst part is that Marta knew.

I felt as though the world stopped for a second.

—He told me they even used you as a fantasy in bed—he continued, still incredulous—. They fantasized about you. Adrián would ask Marta to get on all fours, close his eyes, and imagine that she was taking me from behind. Sometimes he told her out loud that it was me eating her out, and at first it turned Marta on. They even considered suggesting a swap, or a threesome, or something like that. Marta was open to the idea, but because they never talked about it, it festered.

Bruno paused, running his hands over his face, overwhelmed by what he was about to say.

—Adrián started insisting too much. It reached the point where he couldn’t sleep with his own wife without thinking about you. His cock went limp as soon as she licked his balls because he was imagining that it was your mouth. And of course, Marta’s jealousy when she realized her husband needed you to get aroused destroyed the trust in their marriage. They hadn’t fucked for a year and a half, Vera. A year and a half without touching each other. That’s why they got divorced.

The information hit me like a bucket of ice water. I had never intended to take things that far. Playing with him, subjugating him, knowing that he desired me in secret… all of that was part of an exquisite kink, but blowing up his marriage had never been part of my plans.

I felt a genuine pang of guilt. And yet, beneath that moral vertigo, my body reacted to an undeniable truth: knowing that Adrián needed to summon me in order to touch his own wife, that my ghost had become a requirement in his bed, that his imagined pussy was the only key that unlocked his cock, contained a dark and utterly intoxicating power. I felt my panties growing wet beneath my skirt while I pretended to feel compassion.

—That night, the night of the storm…—my husband continued, pulling me out of my trance—. He was supposed to drop the divorce bomb on us and leave. But when he found himself trapped by the rain, he lost his nerve. And when he was left shut in the same room as the computer, the temptation was too strong. He assumed there would be pictures. What he didn’t expect was to find what he found.

—It’s unforgivable—I pronounced in a sharp whisper, keeping up the act.

—It is. And I made that perfectly clear—I stated harshly—. I told him that if he had been a friend, I would have thrown him out that very night. He cried like a child, saying that he loves us, needs us, and doesn’t know how to repair the damage.

—And what did you decide?—I asked.

—I told him I would do my part to try to forgive him, because he’s my blood. But what you did depended only on you. I would pass the message on to you without influencing your decision.

Bruno fell silent, scratching the back of his neck, as if the words still missing burned on his tongue.

—But then he asked me one last question—he murmured, fixing his eyes on mine—. He asked me what we would have said if he had laid all his cards on the table that night.

—And what did you tell him?—I asked, feeling my pulse quicken.

—I told him I didn’t know.

Silence fell heavily over the kitchen. A lethal spark flared inside me, but my outward reaction was pure dynamite. I needed to corner him.

—What do you mean, you didn’t know?—I exploded, jumping to my feet. The chair legs screeched against the tiles—. Are you kidding me? You just told me your brother wanted to propose a threesome! What kind of woman do you think I am?

—Vera, please, lower your voice and calm down…—he pleaded, raising his hands in a soothing gesture.

—Don’t frame it that way—he replied, getting up too, visibly agitated—. Try not to see him only as my brother. Look at him as a man who is obviously attracted to you on a brutal level. A man who has been fantasizing about you for a very long time and who, for that very reason, hasn’t touched anyone for a year and a half.

I looked at him wide-eyed, pretending to be utterly horrified.

—Are you justifying him going a year and a half without fucking and the solution being me?—I snapped—. I’m asking you seriously: what would you think if I had been the one to suggest bringing your brother into our bed?

Bruno froze. He swallowed, turned his gaze toward the window, and rubbed his face with both hands, searching for words in the middle of that storm.

—I don’t know, Vera!—he finally raised his voice, surrendering—. I don’t know. But… I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t felt a certain excitement imagining the situation.

My heart lurched, although I forced myself to maintain my indignant expression. There it was. My husband’s small, dirty secret, exposed under the kitchen’s white light. The kink of imagining me with his brother aroused him as much as it aroused me.

—Listen to me, please—he begged, closing the distance and gently taking me by the arms, his eyes bright with tension—. Maybe not fuck him. I’m not saying it should go that far. But something halfway. Let him see you, touch you over your clothes at most, let him use it to jerk off in front of you and come once and for all with the real image instead of the imagined one. One day to wipe the slate clean. A way to resolve the tension once and for all, so his obsession can heal and he can rebuild his life.

I lowered my gaze to his chest. He had just handed me the perfect alibi on a silver platter. For the sake of the family, he was asking me to do exactly what I had wanted to do for months.

—I don’t know… It’s crazy—I sighed, resting my forehead against his shoulder, preparing the ground for my false surrender—. I’m going to need a few days to think about it. I’m going to bed now; I’m exhausted.

***

I let almost a week pass without anything noteworthy happening. Routine settled back in, but the silence surrounding the subject of Adrián was dense, almost tangible. Bruno didn’t pressure me again, giving me space, while I calculated the exact moment to let the rope go. I needed it to look like an agonizing, painful decision.

It happened one night after dinner, while we were clearing up. I set the dishcloth on the table, let out a long sigh, and looked at him.

—Bruno… I’ve been thinking a lot about your brother. I’ve decided I’m going to do it.

He placed the last plate in the dishwasher and immediately straightened, holding his breath.

—I’m doing it for you—I added quietly, lowering my gaze to my hands to feign vulnerability—. Because I know how much it hurts you to see your family broken. I hope this helps him empty himself out, free himself from that damn obsession. But I’m not going to do it recklessly. I have conditions. And I want you to be the one to pass them on to him.

—Of course. Whatever you say.

I gently freed myself from his grasp, crossed my arms, and adopted a firm tone—the tone of a woman willing to give in, but only on her own terms.

—Write to him and tell him I’m giving him two options. The first is long-distance: a video call. From his house, he can ask me to do whatever he wants—to spread my legs, finger myself, suck my tits for him, whatever he likes—and I’ll give him control of one of my toys from his phone so he can masturbate me if he wants. He can decide the pace, the intensity, when to let me come and when to keep me on the edge. And, if he wants, he can come live while watching me humiliate myself in front of the screen.

Bruno swallowed and nodded slowly, processing the image.

—And the second?

—A face-to-face meeting—I pronounced, fixing my eyes on his—. But with one nonnegotiable red line. Here, I decide what happens, how it happens, and how far it goes. Maybe he’ll only be allowed to watch while he jerks off a meter away from me. Maybe I’ll let him lick my feet like a dog. Maybe I’ll fuck him until I split him in two. Or maybe I won’t touch him at all. He won’t have any say; he’ll simply obey. Let him choose whichever route he prefers.

My husband made as if to take out his phone, but before he could, I put a hand on his chest to stop him.

—Not now. Write to him tomorrow. And make one thing very clear: he shouldn’t get his hopes up. Even though I’ve come this far, I still have doubts.

***

At noon the next day, Bruno came home with a different energy. The gloom was gone; he walked with a nervous, almost electric tension. He found me reading on the sofa. He approached in silence, took his phone from his pocket, unlocked it, and held it out to me without a word.

—He’s read it—was all he whispered.

I took the device. The screen displayed the chat with his brother. I drew a deep breath and began reading the exchange from top to bottom. Bruno had presented the two options exactly as I had dictated them, although my husband, the man supposedly wounded by the betrayal, had added nuances of his own. In the first option he had written that Adrián could ask me to do things “alone or with him.” In the second, he had hinted that he still hadn’t decided whether he would be present, “although I’d like to.”

I paused for a second over those details. Bruno was subtly introducing his own kink into the conditions. He wanted to be there. He wanted to watch. The thought sent such a powerful thrill of excitement through me that I had to squeeze my thighs together beneath my pants to contain the wetness already trickling between my lips.

Adrián’s reply was practically a plea. “I can’t believe you’re telling me this. Does Vera really want to? I don’t want to screw things up any more and lose you both too.” And, immediately below: “If it’s real, I choose number two. I don’t care if she only wants me to watch or won’t let me touch her. Even if all I can do is jerk off while watching her from a distance, I choose number two. Even if she makes me lick her shoes, number two. Even if she keeps me hard all afternoon without letting me come, number two.”

I quickly handed the phone back, as though it were burning me. Inside, my ego was soaring. My brother-in-law had just signed a blank check. He was so desperate, so surrendered at my feet, that he had agreed to submit completely to my will blindly.

—Well—my husband murmured, sitting beside me with some anxiety—. You’ve seen what he replied.

—Yes. He jumped into the deep end without thinking twice—I answered neutrally, rubbing my temples—. Don’t answer him yet. When I decide, we’ll set the date.

He nodded, captivated by my firmness.

—One thing—I added, indicating the phone with my chin—. I read your messages. Would you really like to be there?

My husband swallowed, cornered by his own written confession. He lowered his gaze to the sofa upholstery, but eventually raised his face and fixed his eyes on mine with brutal honesty.

—You know perfectly well that I would—he murmured, his voice roughened by an excitement he no longer bothered to hide—. It drives me crazy seeing you with other men. It always has.

I crossed my arms, holding his gaze and enjoying the way he was stripping himself bare before me.

—I enjoyed organizing that afternoon at the beach with Hugo immensely—he continued, closing the distance to take my hands—. Seeing other men desire you, seeing you drive them crazy and take control… it’s my greatest fantasy. It always has been. The image of Hugo with his cock out, on his knees while you spit into his mouth, won’t leave my head. I still jerk off thinking about how you let him come on your tits and made me lick the mixture of his semen and your sweat from you.

—But this is different. We’re talking about Adrián. Your own brother—I reminded him in a falsely scandalized tone, forcing him to cross the last moral line he had left.

—I know. I know it’s crazy and wrong—he admitted, squeezing my fingers—. But when I imagined the scene, with you dictating the rules, your soaked pussy level with his face and him forbidden to touch you, you dominating him, and me in a corner of the room watching you cure his obsession by controlling him… my reason went cloudy. I needed him to know that I wanted to be there too. I need to see the look on his face when you finally let him come, even if it’s onto a towel. I need to hear him moan your name in front of me.

The triumph I felt in that instant was indescribable. Not only had I destroyed my brother-in-law’s sanity until I reduced him to begging for the scraps of my attention, but I had my own husband begging to witness the spectacle, handing me absolute control over both of them.

—You’re both sick—I whispered, finally sketching a slow smile full of promises as I stroked his cheek—. You’re a pair of hopeless perverts. A couple of horny dogs begging the same woman.

Bruno let out a nervous laugh, a mixture of relief and desire, and leaned in to kiss my neck, surrendered at my feet. His lips burned, and I felt his tongue trembling against my skin, eager and hungry.

—So… will you let me stay?—he begged against my skin.

—We’ll see—I whispered.

To find out just how much the mere idea of watching had affected him, I slid my right hand beneath the waistband of his pants, slipping my fingers directly under the fabric of his boxers. He was burning, hard as marble, trembling with pure anticipation. His cock throbbed against my fingers as though it had a pulse of its own, and I immediately felt the viscous wetness of pre-cum soaking his glans and pooling at the tip.

—Look at you—I whispered, wrapping my whole hand around him and squeezing the base—. You’re dripping and I haven’t even touched you properly. Just talking about your brother has turned you to stone.

Bruno moaned softly against my neck, unable to answer. I began to masturbate him slowly, my wrist firm, dragging the moisture from the tip down the shaft so the sliding would be more obscene, wetter. I squeezed his balls with my other hand, rolling them between my fingers, and felt them contract and pull tight against his body—a sure sign that he was a hair’s breadth from breaking.

—What are you thinking about now?—I demanded in his ear, biting his earlobe—. Your brother on his knees looking at me? Watching him jerk off while I spread my legs in front of him? Tell me. I want to hear you say it.

—Both of you—he panted, his voice broken—. Watching him cry while you tell him how small his cock is compared to mine. Making him beg. Me fucking him with my eyes while you really come in front of his face without letting him touch you.

—That’s it—I rewarded him, speeding up the rhythm of my fist over his cock—. That’s my filthy husband. You’re going to watch him die of wanting me, and you won’t lift a finger to help him. And when I decide he’s earned the right to come, he’ll come where I say, when I say, and on whatever I say.

I barely had to tighten my grip around his erection and apply a couple of firm strokes, twisting my wrist when I reached the glans, before his breathing broke completely. Bruno smothered a plaintive moan against my neck, gripping my shoulder with his fingers digging in, and I felt the first hot lash strike my palm before he released a broken growl against my skin. He spilled uncontrollably, jet after jet, soaking the fabric of his underwear and the palm of my hand with a thick, abundant orgasm that kept flowing even after I had stopped moving. The amount was obscene; never in all our years had I seen him empty himself like that from nothing but a handjob. I hadn’t seen him in such a state for years.

I slowly withdrew my hand from his pants, my fingers gleaming and sticky with his warm semen, and held it right in front of his mouth. Bruno parted his lips without being asked, docile and obedient, sticking out his tongue so he could clean it. I rubbed my semen-soaked fingers against his lips, leaving traces of his own orgasm on his chin, and he sucked them one by one with his eyes closed, swallowing everything he had spilled into my hand.

—You’re completely at my mercy—I whispered in his ear, implacable, withdrawing my hand and leaving him there panting, submissive, and with sweetness on his lips—. And this is nothing compared to what I’m going to put you through when your brother is here.

The stage is set. Adrián will cross the door ready to obey any order, and Bruno will watch from the front row as his wife dominates the man who has been obsessed with her for years. All that remains is for me to choose the date, and for neither of them to suspect that I designed the encounter they’re both longing for down to the last detail long before I pretended to have doubts.