I Hid in the Closet and Saw Everything My Aunt Did

My name is Lorena, and even today, when I remember that early morning, I still struggle to believe it was real. I had just turned twenty-six, had just finished university, and lived like a shadow around my family. To my uncles, I was the eldest niece, the responsible one, the one who looked after the baby on weekends while they held their gatherings in the three-story house in the old neighborhood.

The house had a big rooftop where my aunt Marisol’s friends got together every couple of weeks. She was my mother’s younger sister, and I always described her as a fiery woman without really understanding what that word implied. Wide hips, a short waist, a laugh that filled the entire room. She was married to my uncle, a good, quiet man whom aguardiente knocked flat before midnight.

My Saturday routine was always the same. I’d have dinner with the baby in the first-floor kitchen, bathe him, and put him to bed in the crib in my room. Meanwhile, upstairs, the music would start playing. I’d lie on the bed with my phone in my hand, watching my classmates post photos to their stories. The lights off, the windows cracked open so the child could sleep peacefully.

That night was different because of something I heard in the hallway. My aunt’s friends often went down to the third floor to touch up their makeup and spray on perfume. Their voices filtered down the staircase and, every time I heard Marisol’s name, I’d lift my head like a curious little girl. One of them, Bibiana, burst out laughing loud enough to be heard from the next block over.

—Marisol, I swear he’s been all over you all night —Bibiana told her at some point, after one in the morning—. My cousin hasn’t taken his eyes off you.

—Don’t start —my aunt replied, laughing under her breath.

—Don’t start what? Your husband’s been passed out on the couch for three rounds now. And Andrés is a real man. Take advantage of it.

—Bibiana, please.

—We’ve got you covered. We’re covering for you. Look at that body, look at those hands. My cousin is the kind of man who leaves a mark.

Another voice, Yulissa, joined the game with a teasing tone.

—That man’s got a big one, Marisol. That’s coming from someone who practically raised him. The biggest cock I’ve ever seen in my life, and I’m not exaggerating. I’ve seen him bulging through his pants and I was left speechless.

—Shut up, you crazies —my aunt said, but her voice no longer sounded like she was refusing.

—Think about that dick buried all the way in, sister. Think hard before you say no.

The three of them went laughing back up the stairs. Down below, I could barely breathe. I’d known Marisol since I was a child and I’d never heard her talk like that. Curiosity was eating away at me. I wanted to see more, hear more, understand what that hidden side of my family was like.

The baby was sleeping deeply. I checked his breathing, touched his forehead, straightened his blanket. I closed the bedroom door carefully and went upstairs barefoot, step by step, to the third floor. Music was thundering from the rooftop, two floors above. No one was coming down.

***

The third floor had three bedrooms, all dark. I chose the one at the back, the one facing the back garden, because its shutters were closed and no one used that room except to store bedding. I went in, closed the door behind me, and stood still in the middle of the room, my heart pounding in my ears.

My original plan was to lie under the bed. I tried, but the space was tight and smelled of old dust. When I got up, I saw the three-door wardrobe against the left wall. It was a heavy, old-fashioned piece, with a mirror in the middle. I opened the right-hand door, and inside there were coats hanging, boxes in the back, and a perfect little space for someone as thin as me.

I settled in among the clothes, grateful for the old wood that left a tiny gap between the door and the frame. Through it I could see most of the room: the double bed, the window, a small table with a dried-up vase. I pulled the wardrobe door almost shut, controlling the air and the view with my fingers.

I stayed in there for more than an hour. I drifted off, woke up, felt my legs go numb, counted the minutes. The music went on, the footsteps went on, and I was starting to think I’d hidden myself away in some stupid hiding place for nothing. Then I heard the door open.

Marisol came in, staggering, holding on to Bibiana’s arm. They were laughing with that kind of laughter that mixes complicity and shame. Bibiana whispered something in her ear, smoothed her hair, kissed her on the cheek.

—You’re going to enjoy tonight, sister —Bibiana said—. Tomorrow you tell us everything. Everything, okay? How he puts it in, if he finishes inside you, if he makes you scream.

—Shut up, you psycho —Marisol muttered.

—And don’t you fall asleep. Andrés is the kind of guy who takes advantage of every minute. He’s going to split you in two, sister. Let him.

Bibiana laughed, gave her a loving pat on the hip, and left, closing the door behind her. My aunt was left alone, panting a little, looking at herself in the wardrobe mirror. For a few seconds I thought she was going to open it. I held my breath until my lungs began to burn. But Marisol only adjusted her dress and sat on the edge of the bed.

What she did next left me frozen. She hiked her skirt up to her waist, pulled down her underwear —a black lace piece— and tucked it under the mattress in one swift motion. I caught a sidelong glimpse of her naked pussy, almost completely shaved, with short dark hair on the pubic mound and lips already shining with moisture. She brought two fingers to her mouth, wet them with saliva, and ran them over her clit, twice, three times, eyes closed. Then she let out a deep sigh, settled her dress, and sat there waiting.

***

Three minutes passed, maybe five. The door opened again and a man came in whom I had never seen before. He was dark-skinned, tall, with his shirt clinging to his body with sweat. He had thick arms and a slow, steady look, the look of someone used to getting what he asks for. He locked the door and stood there staring at her.

—I thought you weren’t coming —Marisol said, still seated on the bed.

—I told you I’d wait for your husband to go to sleep —he answered. His voice was low, hoarse—. Marisol, this isn’t planned. You do it or you don’t.

—Andrés, this isn’t right.

—We already knew that when you kissed me in the kitchen last week. When you grabbed my dick over my pants and told me you wanted to try it.

She fell silent. Andrés stepped closer, took her face in both hands, and kissed her as if he’d been waiting for that moment for months. Marisol responded at once, clutching his shirt, opening her mouth, letting him kiss her until she ran out of air. I saw his tongue sliding between my aunt’s lips, the shiny thread of saliva when they broke apart for a second to breathe.

Andrés lowered the straps of her dress and pulled her breasts free over the bodice. They were heavy, brown, with dark nipples already hard as stones. He bent down and took one whole nipple into his mouth, sucking hungrily, while his other hand squeezed the other breast until Marisol let out a moan.

—Suck my tits, Andrés —she murmured, clutching the back of his neck—. Bite them.

He bit her nipple, tugged on it with his teeth, and my aunt arched against his face. Then she took his hand and guided it between her legs. Andrés lifted her dress and checked, with two straight fingers, what he already knew. His fingers slid all the way into her pussy without resistance and came out glistening.

—Soaked —he said, and brought his fingers to his mouth—. You were waiting for me soaked.

—Ever since you told me.

In the wardrobe, I didn’t recognize myself. My hands were clenched against my thighs and my legs crossed with a force I hadn’t known I possessed. The air in there smelled of mothballs and old perfume, but my own skin was starting to give off another smell, one I knew well. Very carefully, I slid my hand under my skirt, pushed the fabric of my underwear aside, and found my pussy already dripping. I began to rub my clit with the tip of my middle finger, in the slowest circles, biting my tongue so I wouldn’t gasp.

Andrés stood her up and turned her toward the wall. He lifted her dress over her hips, kissed her back, bit the base of her neck. Marisol pressed her forehead and breasts against the wall, palms open, and began breathing deeply, as if every exhale were permission.

He knelt behind her, spread her ass cheeks with both hands, and buried his face. My aunt moaned into her arm, biting it, and the sound went straight through me. Andrés spoke against her skin, words I caught in fragments: “like that,” “stay still,” “don’t move.” He bit her ass cheeks, ran his tongue all the way from her pussy to her hole and back down again, sucking, slurping, eating her with a gluttony that made the whole room sound alive. I saw his tongue enter her asshole, sink inside, and my aunt’s legs start to tremble all at once.

—More, Andrés, like that, more —she said—. Don’t stop. Eat it all, eat my ass, you son of a bitch.

—Shut up and open —he replied, and shoved two fingers into her pussy while his tongue kept working her other hole.

Marisol shook against the wall. Her thighs were wet, a thread of slick running down the inside of her leg to her knee. Andrés licked that too, tracing the path from there back up to her pussy, and my aunt moaned so loudly she had to bite her forearm to avoid waking half the house.

***

They stayed like that for a long while. Then he carried her to the bed, put her on all fours, and kept going. Marisol buried her face in the pillow so she wouldn’t scream. I slid my hand under my skirt with more determination, spread my lips with two fingers, and used the other hand to drive my pussy in a short, brutal rhythm, biting my lip so my breathing wouldn’t give me away.

My first orgasm came sooner than I would have wanted. I had to bite my lower lip nearly to the point of bleeding. My legs were shaking inside the wardrobe, my feet nearly tangled in the shoes stored in the back. I held myself upright by pure instinct, fingers soaked and my pussy throbbing like a second heart.

Andrés stripped completely naked. Moonlight came in through the crack in the shutter and drew white bands across his thighs. And across his cock. My God, that man’s cock. Long, thick, with the swollen, purplish tip, barely curving upward, veins standing out along its length. It bounced against his belly when he moved. Now I understood Yulissa, I understood Bibiana, I understood why my aunt had risked it.

He grabbed Marisol by the hair, forced her head around, and made her look at him. Then he brought it to her mouth.

—Look at me —he said—. Look at me while I put it in your mouth.

—Yes, my king.

—Open.

My aunt opened her mouth and stuck out her tongue. Andrés ran the tip of his cock over her lips, over her cheek, over her chin, marking her face with strings of pre-cum. Then he grabbed the back of her neck and shoved it in whole, all the way down, until Marisol gagged and tears sprang out at once.

—Swallow it, slut. Swallow it all.

My aunt let him. Andrés grabbed her hair with both hands and used her like a toy, moving her head at the rhythm he wanted, going all the way to her throat and pulling his cock back out shining with saliva. Marisol drooled all over him, licked his balls between thrusts, looked him in the eyes with a submission I didn’t know anyone in my family was capable of.

—Tell me why you let me come up —he panted, pulling out for a second.

—So you’d fuck me, Andrés. That’s why.

—And the way you suck it, are you going to let me put it in?

—Put it in already, please. Put it all in.

Andrés threw her face-down on the bed, lifted her ass with one hand, and with the other guided his cock to her pussy. He ran the tip over her lips, up and down, wetting it with the slick that was already running from my aunt. Marisol pushed her ass back, searching for it, and he entered her in one motion, all the way in, balls deep.

My aunt let out a muffled cry into the pillow. They began moving together, synchronized, the bed creaking under the weight. Andrés gripped her hips with both hands and drove her down onto his cock with every thrust. You could hear the wet slapping sound, the blow of hip against ass, both of them gasping. I kept touching myself, my left hand squeezing one breast through the blouse, twisting my nipple until it hurt.

—Marisol, how many men have passed through this body? —he said, panting—. How many have made you moan like that? How many have split this pussy open?

—Right now it’s you, Andrés. Right now you’re the one splitting me open.

—Do you like my cock?

—I love it. I love your cock, I love the way you put it in me, don’t stop, you son of a bitch, don’t stop.

—And from behind, do you like it?

There was a pause. Andrés kept pushing, slower, deeper, while he waited. My aunt turned her head, looked at him over her shoulder, and smiled in a way I had never seen her smile before.

—Only two men have had me from behind —she said—. But tonight there’re going to be three.

***

Andrés moaned as if those words affected him more than any caress. He pulled out of her with a jerk that made her moan at the emptiness, spat into his hand, and smeared his cock from top to bottom, already shining with my aunt’s juices. Then he spat between her ass cheeks as well, worked it in with his thumb, pushing it in slowly to the knuckle first, then all the way, while Marisol clung to the sheets and breathed through her mouth.

—Open it up for me, my love —he murmured—. Open up that ass, because I want to break it.

—Slowly, Andrés. It’s big, slowly.

—Slowly, don’t worry.

He settled himself against that second hole. I saw him press the head of his cock against my aunt’s asshole, push, wait, push again. Marisol let out a long moan when the head went in. Andrés stayed still there, breath caught, giving her time.

—Like that, my love, like that —Andrés murmured—. Easy, slowly. I’m inside, do you feel it?

—I feel it. I feel all of it.

—Now I’m going to put it all in. Hold on.

He pushed, slowly, centimeter by centimeter, until he buried his cock completely inside her. My aunt moaned with her face mashed into the pillow, an animal moan I had never heard from her before. Andrés stayed still for a second, gripping her ass cheeks, squeezing them, and then he started moving.

What came next was slow at first and unrestrained at the end. My aunt face-down, cheek against the pillow, taking Andrés at a rhythm that was no longer hers. He grabbed her hair, arched her back, forced her to lift her head while he drove his cock into her ass with increasingly deeper thrusts. Marisol shoved three fingers into her pussy at the same time and moved them herself, fucking herself from the front while Andrés tore her ass apart from behind.

I wasn’t me anymore either. My other hand had found my breast beneath the blouse and my fingers would not stop kneading my nipple. The gap in the wardrobe seemed like a private movie theater I had bought a ticket to without knowing it. I hiked my skirt all the way up, pulled my wet underwear down to my ankles, and spread my legs inside the closet, shoving two fingers deep into myself, matching Andrés’s rhythm in my aunt’s ass as if I were the one being penetrated.

—Tell me who was first —Andrés demanded, without stopping his thrusts—. The first one who did this to you.

—No, not that.

—Tell me. Tell me and I’ll finish inside you.

—Andrés.

—Tell me. I want to come in your ass and I want to know who was there before me.

Marisol clung to the sheets, tensed her whole body, and let out a long moan, split in two, before speaking.

—My father —she said, almost crying—. My father was the first. I was sixteen and got into his bed one night when he came home drunk. I never told anyone.

It can’t be. It can’t be what I just heard.

The air in the wardrobe turned heavy. I closed my eyes for a second, then opened them, and closed them again. Andrés let out a roar, grabbed her hips with both hands, and slammed her onto his cock three, four, five times in a row, deep, brutal, and then buried himself to the balls and stayed there, trembling. I saw his ass clench, his back arch, and I knew he was filling her ass with semen. My aunt came at the same time, with her fingers still inside her pussy, screaming into the pillow with a hoarse cry that broke in her throat. I came a second time with my thighs clenched and my hand over my mouth, feeling my orgasm run down my fingers to my wrist, not quite knowing whether it was pleasure, shock, or something darker I didn’t dare name.

Andrés pulled his cock out slowly and a white thread dripped down my aunt’s inner thigh. She stayed with her ass lifted for a few seconds, panting, letting the semen slide onto the sheet. Then she turned around, sat back on her heels, grabbed Andrés’s cock, still hard, still shining, and put it in her mouth. She cleaned it completely with her tongue, sucking the last drop off it, looking him straight in the eyes.

—Slut —he told her, with a strange tenderness—. My slut.

***

They stayed wrapped in each other’s arms for a few minutes. They spoke in low voices, laughing under their breath, promising silence. Andrés got dressed first. He kissed my aunt on the shoulder, on the forehead, on the mouth. He smoothed her hair with a tenderness that didn’t fit the man who had taken her against the wall.

—Tomorrow? —he asked.

—Tomorrow —she answered.

—Take care of yourself.

He left. Marisol stayed seated on the edge of the bed, looking at her hands. Then she got up, went into the adjoining bathroom, and I heard her pee, wash her face, adjust her dress. Bibiana showed up a few minutes later, knocking on the bedroom door with two quick taps.

—Sister, come down —she said—. Your husband’s asking for you. I made up that you’d gone to see the baby. But hurry, there’s almost no one left upstairs.

The two of them left laughing. They closed the door. For the first time in hours I could breathe with my mouth open and my shoulders loose.

I waited another five minutes, my legs numb and a cold sweat on my back. When I was sure the hallway was empty, I came out of the wardrobe like a thief. My knees cracked. My dress was soaked between my thighs, the smell of my own orgasm rising up to my nose. I went downstairs barefoot, step by step, gripping the banister as if the world had become something else.

I got back to my room. The baby was still asleep, oblivious to everything, breathing heavily the way happy children do. I got into bed fully dressed, eyes open, staring at the ceiling. That morning I did not sleep. I replayed every image, every word, every confession, until the sun came through the shutter.

Marisol came down for breakfast at eleven, fresh, perfumed, wearing a white cotton shirt and her usual smile. She looked at me as if nothing had happened. I tried to do the same. But that morning, while I poured her coffee, I knew I was no longer the innocent niece she thought she knew. Something had opened inside me, and it still hasn’t quite closed.