What I Saw That Night at the Beach House

That summer my parents rented a house on the coast to spend the last week of January with my aunt and uncle. There were five of us: my mother Adriana, my father Rodolfo, my aunt Marisol, my uncle Damián, and me, who had just turned twenty-one. The four of them were in their forties.

The house was beautiful from the outside and a mess on the inside. It only had one front door and, once you were in, the rooms were separated by light white linen curtains that the sea air kept moving nonstop. Whoever designed it was thinking of young couples without children, not a family of five.

That first afternoon was calm. We settled the suitcases, ate fresh fish for lunch, and sat down to play truco at the dining table. The only strange thing was that my aunt and uncle kept getting up every twenty minutes with any excuse —that they were going to get ice, that there was no bread left, that something had burned— and they came back with their cheeks flushed, trying not to laugh. My mother looked at them sidelong, amused.

—Those two have been married for twenty years and they’re still like teenagers —she said.

—Learn from them —my father answered, winking at her.

I ate very little and went back to my room early. I was tired from the trip and wanted to watch a movie before sleeping. It was hard to focus; the sound of the waves came in through the open window and kept pulling me elsewhere. When the movie ended I went to the bathroom to take a piss, and on the way back I passed in front of the curtain in Marisol and Damián’s room.

And then I heard it.

A low, muffled laugh. Then my uncle’s voice, hoarse, whispering something about his wife’s back, about the mole she had just above her hip. My aunt answered with a little giggle that ended in a short sigh, as if she had run out of breath. The curtain barely moved.

I froze in the hallway. My heart had sped up in the stupidest way, as if I were twelve and not twenty-one. I knew exactly what was happening on the other side of the linen. I also knew I should keep walking to my room and forget it. But Marisol’s first moans —short, sharp, badly muffled— pinned me to the wall.

It wasn’t a rational decision. I went up to the curtain and opened it just a finger’s width.

Damián was on his knees between my aunt’s legs, with his cock out, thick, shiny with saliva, pushing slowly into Marisol’s cunt. Her tits were bare, two heavy breasts with large dark nipples that moved with each thrust. She had her legs spread wide open and one hand down on her clit while her husband fucked her. The lamplight carved the muscle of his back, and the inside of her thighs gleamed, wet, with semen and saliva mixed from the blowjobs before.

—Suck it again —he asked her in a rough whisper, and pulled his cock out of her cunt to bring it to her face.

My aunt opened her mouth without thinking and took it all the way in, to the hilt, without gagging, eyes half-lidded. She licked his balls, ran her tongue over the head, took the whole cock in until her cheeks hollowed out. Then, with the cock still in her mouth, she climbed up astride him, pulled it out and shoved it back in herself, guiding it with her hand, letting herself fall with a long moan that she barely held back by biting her lip.

—Shut up, shut up, the kid’s gonna hear —Damián said, laughing low, and grabbed her ass with both hands to set the rhythm.

Marisol rode him with her mouth open, her tits bouncing in her husband’s face. He sucked one nipple, then the other, while she moved faster and faster, her cunt sloshing over his cock. I was hard as a rock. I hadn’t touched myself once, but my pajama pants were already tight and there was a dark stain on the fabric.

They held out like that for a good while, changing positions without ever really pulling out. My uncle put her face down and lifted her ass, and fucked her from behind with his hands sunk into her cheeks, spitting between them so she’d slide better. Then he put her on her side, one leg lifted, and fucked her like that too, biting her shoulder. Marisol’s face was red, her hair stuck to her forehead, and she begged for more in a thread of a voice that could barely be heard.

—Fuck me hard, come on, more, deeper…

The end came with her on her back again, legs hooked around his waist, and the thrusts already dry, animal. My uncle growled something I couldn’t make out, sank in to the hilt and went rigid, trembling. My aunt bit the pillow not to scream, and I saw her belly muscles contract, saw her toes curl. When he pulled out, a thick white thread ran from her cunt down to the sheet. Marisol looked at it with a tired smile, slipped two fingers into her own cunt, brought them to her mouth, and slowly sucked them clean.

The two of them stayed still, wrapped around each other like they had just crossed the sea by swimming. Then they kissed long and tongue-deep, laughing under their breath.

I let go of the curtain and turned to go back to my room.

And I ran straight into my father.

—Well look at the fucking peeping Tom —he said in a whisper, with a smile that was neither angry nor surprised.

—Dad, I…

—Quiet and go to sleep. We’ll talk tomorrow.

I caught, out of the corner of my eye, that he also had a bulge in his pants, and it wasn’t a small one. He went up to his room without another word and I locked myself in mine a wreck. I pulled my pajamas down, grabbed the cock throbbing in my hand, and jerked off thinking about Marisol’s face when she bit the pillow, about the tits moving, about the thread of semen running down her thigh. It took me less than a minute to come, and I came so much I stained myself all the way to my chest.

***

The next morning everyone came down to breakfast as if nothing had happened. Marisol ordered coffee with milk with the casualness of someone who doesn’t even remember last night’s menu. Damián was reading the paper. I didn’t dare look at either of them, so I focused on my toast and tried to act normal.

We spent the morning as a family, watching old movies on the living room television. After lunch, my father suggested something different.

—Tonight we camp on the beach —he said—. Three tents, a bonfire, wine, and we sleep by the sea.

Everyone thought it was a great idea. I nodded because I had no choice.

When we went out to buy firewood, my father motioned for me to walk with him, away from the others. We went five or six sandy steps in silence and then he patted my shoulder.

—About last night —he said without looking at me.

—Dad, I swear I…

—Relax. I’m not here to lecture you.

He explained that when he was a kid, out in the countryside where he grew up, there wasn’t much to do when night fell. His house was big, old, with thin adobe walls. He said he learned more about life by spying on his uncles and his parents through the cracks in the doors than in any conversation. He said it without guilt, almost with pride.

—Must run in the family, I guess —he finished—. Don’t freak out. But watch it with your mother, eh. This stays between you and me.

I nodded, dry-mouthed. I didn’t know what to answer.

***

At night we set up the tents on the sand, near some rocks that sheltered us from the wind. The couples stayed in their respective tents and I in mine, a little farther away. We ate by the light of the bonfire, sang stupid songs, and drank late into the night with a red wine that was far too strong. Marisol and my mother were laughing like two schoolgirls, hugging each other. My uncles and my parents were kissing without the least bit of shame.

At one in the morning everyone crawled into their tent.

I, in mine, already knew what was going to happen. It didn’t take long.

The first moans came from my parents’ tent. My mother had a way of breathing in broken little gasps that seeped through the canvas as if it were paper. I heard it and the full image rose on its own in my head, without me doing anything: my father eating her pussy, his tongue working her lips, my old lady with her fingers sunk into her husband’s hair. I heard the wet smacks, the open-mouthed kisses, the ragged breathing. Then Marisol and Damián’s tent started up. It was two overlapping soundtracks, two couples a few meters apart, unintentionally competing.

Or maybe competing on purpose.

Because at one point I heard my father laugh loudly and say something to my uncle. Damián answered with a burst of laughter. There was movement, tent zippers, voices. When I dared to open mine a little, I saw the four of them outside, on the sand, in front of the nearly dead bonfire. The women were braced over the log we’d used as a bench, on all fours, with their nightgowns hiked up to their waists and their asses in the air. The men behind them, pants lowered to their knees, holding them by the hips. The full moon outlined all four of them like ink figures, and the two women’s soaked cunts shone wetly.

—Let’s see who lasts longer —my uncle said, sinking in with one single shove into Marisol’s cunt.

—Let’s see who makes his girl moan louder —my father replied, and gave my mother a hard slap on the ass that sounded like a gunshot.

My mother and my aunt protested the vulgar way they talked, but they didn’t move. On the contrary. They adjusted themselves better, arched their backs, opened their legs a little wider, and let their husbands get on with it. My father’s cock went in and out of my old lady’s cunt with a sticky slap that reached my tent. My uncle’s, thicker, made Marisol moan every time it sank in to the hilt.

I finished opening my tent flap all the way. I no longer cared whether they saw me or not. I was kneeling in the opening, pajama pants around my ankles, cock out, and I was gripping it hard, spitting on my hand to jerk off to the rhythm of the four of them.

The women exaggerated their moans. That was obvious. Every time one let out a cry, the other raised the volume, and the husbands laughed and sped up. It was a ridiculous and deeply human contest.

—Harder, come on, harder —my mother asked my father, glancing sidelong at Marisol.

—I’m gonna make this one come twice before yours —Damián answered, and grabbed my aunt by the hair to yank her head back.

At some point the men got tired of that position and pulled out their cocks. The women turned around without being asked, knelt in the sand in front of them, and sucked their cocks. My mother took my father’s cock in and out with a skill I would never have given her credit for, while at the same time looking at Marisol to copy her tricks. My aunt had her mouth open, tongue out, and Damián tapped her face lightly with his cock before shoving it all the way down her throat. Gagging, laughter, spit, the wet sound of both throats working in unison.

Then they went back to the original position, on all fours, and the husbands fucked them mercilessly. Marisol looked toward my tent at one point, saw me in the middle of it all —kneeling, cock hard in my hand, mouth slightly open— and did not look away. She held my gaze for several long seconds, stuck out her tongue and licked her lips before closing her eyes and letting herself go to a harder thrust from my uncle.

When they finished, they finished almost at the same time. The two men came inside their women, grunting, pushing to the hilt, and the two women held out for the blast with their faces pressed to the log. All four collapsed onto the sand laughing, their cocks still dripping and their cunts open, shining with semen. My father went for my mother, my uncle went for my aunt, and they kissed. I finished silently, still kneeling, my head against the canvas, and came onto the sand in convulsions.

After that everyone went back to their tent. No one said anything. I couldn’t sleep, so I jerked off a second time thinking about how Marisol had looked at me, tongue out, about the thread of saliva running from her mouth to her tits.

***

What happened the next day is still hard for me to tell even now.

I woke before dawn because someone was speaking very quietly outside. I came out of the tent rubbing my eyes. It was still dark, but a gray band was already visible on the horizon. The bonfire was dead. The other tents were empty.

I walked a few yards toward the rocks and saw them.

My uncle Damián was behind my mother, holding her by the hips, fucking her on all fours against the sand. My father Rodolfo was with my aunt Marisol, she braced against a rock, legs spread and my father’s cock going into her to the balls. The couples had been switched.

If there was one unbreakable family rule, it was this: my parents didn’t touch anyone else, and neither did my uncles. They had spent decades taking that for granted. And yet there they were, in the first light of day, breaking the pact without much drama.

I stood motionless. I waited for the shout, the reproach, the “what the hell are you doing here?” None came. Marisol saw me, smiled crookedly, and kept going, pressing herself against the rock to take my father’s thrusts better. My mother turned her head, fixed her eyes on me for a moment, and said nothing; she opened her mouth just a little in a silent moan while Damián grabbed her tits from under the nightgown he’d lifted. Damián and my father were focused on their own thing, breathing hard, not even looking at me.

I pulled my pants down right there and started touching myself. It wasn’t a decision. It was the reflex of a body that no longer asked questions. My cock was already hard before I pulled it out of my pajamas, and the moment I grabbed it in my hand my whole body trembled.

The two women turned their heads again. This time with intention. Damián pulled out of my mother for a second, his cock shining with her juices, and slapped her ass so she’d turn around. My father did the same with Marisol, pulling his cock out of my aunt’s cunt with a wet slap. They knelt in the sand, side by side, looking at me, and motioned for me to come closer.

I walked the few yards between us with my cock in the air and my legs weak. I stood in front of them and didn’t know what to do. It was my mother who grabbed me first. She took my cock in her hand, looked at it for a second as if measuring it, and put it in her mouth without saying a word. I felt her warm, wet, lips tightening, sucking down to the hilt. I closed my eyes because I couldn’t believe it.

When I opened them, my mother had passed my cock to Marisol. My aunt grabbed it with both hands, licked it from the balls to the head, and took it all in with one single motion. She had a different way than my mother, more aggressive, deeper; she took my cock all the way down her throat and held it there for a few seconds, with her nose pressed to my belly, before pulling it out with a gag and a thread of spit. Then she gave it back to my mother, who resumed with soft tongue strokes around the head.

Behind them, my father and my uncle kept fucking them. Damián went back into my old lady on all fours and she moved forward with each thrust, sucking me deeper every time they drove into her. Marisol had my father entering her from behind and her tits were trembling to the rhythm of the slaps. The two women moaned with their mouths full, and I felt the vibrations traveling up my cock into my stomach.

—This kid’s gonna come, he’s gonna come —my uncle said, laughing, looking at the face I was making.

—Leave him to both of them —my father answered—. We’ll share him out.

My mother took my cock out of her mouth and passed it back to Marisol. They took turns with a rhythm that seemed rehearsed, licking together, one sucking my balls while the other took me all the way in, kissing each other with my cock in the middle of their tongues. At one point my aunt licked my mother’s cheek and both of them laughed without taking their mouths off my cock.

My father and my uncle finished first. They came inside their swapped women —Damián inside my mother, my father inside my aunt—, grunting, and stayed seated in the sand, looking at me, not joining in. Marisol and my old lady were left with their legs spread, semen running down their thighs, and kept my cock in their mouths as if nothing had happened.

—Come on, come on the two of them —my uncle said from behind.

It was his voice that finished me off. I felt the orgasm rising from my legs, unstoppable, and the two women understood it. They pulled my cock out of their mouths, took it between all four hands, aimed it between their two faces, and opened their mouths. I came with a muffled cry, so hard I didn’t even know where it had come from: long, thick spurts that landed on their tongues, on their lips, on their cheeks, on their breasts. The two of them swallowed it while laughing softly, wiped themselves with their fingers, and ran their tongues over their lips. Marisol gathered a white thread of it from my mother’s chin and put it in her mouth.

We went back to the tents in silence. We changed clothes. We put water on for mate as if nothing had happened.

***

During breakfast we made an unsigned pact. The women put it into words: nobody talked about this, not even as a joke, not within the family, not with anyone. And above all, it would never happen again. Marisol said it had been a strange way to show that we were a close family, that these things happen when there is trust. My mother nodded with the face of an A student.

The men looked at each other. We knew that the last thing on our minds while it was happening had been family or unity. But we told them yes to everything. We made their consciences believe whatever they needed to believe.

Back in the city, life went on. My uncle and aunt came over for Sunday lunch the following week, my mother greeted them with a kiss on the cheek and a comment about the heat. There wasn’t a single strange look.

The only thing that really changed was my father. Every so often, when it’s just the two of us in the car or having a beer in the patio, he tells me things about himself and my mother. Details a father doesn’t tell his son: how she likes him to eat her out before bed, how she screams when she comes, which positions she likes best. He says it like someone sharing a code, not like someone showing off. I listen.

And my uncles, since that summer, stopped closing the bedroom door when I go visit them. Sometimes I find them naked in the kitchen, laughing. Marisol greets me with a wave without covering anything, with her tits out and her shaved cunt in plain sight, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

Nothing ever happened again with any of them. Not a caress, not a kiss, not a word out of place. The pact was real.

But sometimes, when it gets very late and the house falls silent, I still think about that morning on the sand, about the two mouths taking turns on my cock, about the semen running down their chins. And I still finish the same way.