Fania
The vibration of her phone woke her. Sleep still weighed heavily on her body. She adjusted her long T-shirt—doubling as a nightgown—and settled back in.
It happened two or three more times. A mix of curiosity and reluctance finally made her reach for the device.
Messenger notifications. Nothing unusual. She had always attracted men like a magnet—it had always been that way. And yet, for some reason, she was alone. Better not think about that.
Checking her message requests often meant running into unsolicited photos—idiots who think a hard dick is enough to turn a woman on. Or the usual poorly written messages trying to flatter her.
“Who could it be?” she wondered, scrolling.
It was from a friend—Roco.
“Hey, what are you up to?”
She smiled. He wasn’t handsome. He wasn’t athletic. He wasn’t… well, he wasn’t what she usually liked in a man. But still, there was something about him.
She hesitated. Adjusted her blanket again. Then another message popped up.
“I’ve got something to tell you… maybe I’ll tell you another day. Sorry for coming to you.”
Let me sleep, she thought about replying. Instead, she said nothing.
The phone vibrated again.
Another message. Him again.
“I feel really bad. I don’t know what I’m going to do.”
Was it real? Something serious? Or just nonsense? What if he actually was in trouble and, with no one to talk to, ended up doing something stupid?
All those thoughts made her respond.
“Hey, what’s going on?”
“Hey, sorry for the hour. I did something I feel bad about.”
“Tell me.”
He wasn’t her best friend. They barely spoke—months could pass, maybe more, before they exchanged a message. But here they were.
“I was supposed to meet up with a woman. I told my wife I’m out of town. I feel like shit. I’ve been drinking… Do you think I already crossed a line?”
“Did you sleep with her?”
“No, but… I’m burning to go do it. I feel bad about my wife, but…”
“So? Why don’t you just do it?”
“She’s married. Her husband’s leaving tonight—he’s going on a trip in an hour.”
Tonight? she thought. What time even is it?
She checked. It was barely midnight. She would’ve sworn it was much later.
It still didn’t make sense that he’d come to her.
“So you haven’t done anything. If you don’t want to, then don’t.”
She watched the typing bubble flicker on and off.
“It’s just… I don’t want to. Or maybe… I don’t know… I don’t want to let her down. I told her something came up—that I had to pick up a cousin, that she’s with me now… and she thinks I’m lying. I must sound crazy. I do want to sleep with her—but not right now. I don’t feel ready.”
“Then tell her.”
“No, because you don’t know her. She’ll forget about me.”
A moment later, another message appeared.
“Can I ask you a huge favor?”
Here it comes, she thought.
“Can you come with me to meet her? We’ll tell her you’re my cousin.”
“To her place? No way.”
“No—we’re meeting at her business. She owns a hotel. We’ll go in, have dinner or drinks, and then you can say you need me to take you somewhere. We’ll use that as an excuse… I can pay you.”
Pay me? she thought. I’m not an escort.
“I can give you a couple hundred. I had it set aside for gifts I was going to buy her.”
Two hundred… not bad. Not great either.
Whatever, she thought.
—
“Hey, Fania. Good to see you.”
He greeted her with a kiss. Jeans and a polo. She was dressed almost the same.
“Come on, let’s go,” she laughed.
The place was decent. A hotel with a late-night restaurant, a bar, rooms—the usual.
A woman was waiting for them. Pearly skin. Tall. Her cleavage threatening to spill over, her thighs toned, her ass devastatingly good.
Damn… if I were a man, I’d fuck her too, Fania thought, smiling.
“Hi, Hilda. This is my cousin Fania.”
“Hi, Fania. Nice to meet you… Hilda Cuevas.” She extended her hand. “Shall we have dinner?”
“Thanks, but I already ate,” Fania replied.
“Then let me get you a drink. Up on the terrace—top floor.”
“There’s a restaurant up there?” Roco asked.
“No. It’s private. Just for us—my husband and me.”
Hilda took Fania by the arm.
“I’ll show your cousin the view of our city.”
Our city? Fania wondered.
Roco leaned in and whispered, “I told her you’re from out of state.”
That explained it.
—
The terrace was on the tenth floor. Empty. The July heat softened by a faint breeze.
A couch. A small round table. A minibar. A TV.
Roco sat. Hilda offered drinks.
“Has Roco told you how we met?”
“I just got into town—we haven’t talked much.”
“Your cousin is quite forward.”
That’s when Fania noticed—Hilda wasn’t just tipsy. She’d probably downed the whole bottle.
“Yeah… he’s brave,” Fania said.
“Brave? Please. Your cousin’s a coward. He sent me dick pics, and now he won’t let me have it.”
She laughed mockingly. Roco shifted uncomfortably.
“Have you seen it?” Hilda asked.
“Nooo, he’s my cousin,” Fania laughed.
“Girl… the first guy I ever fucked was my cousin. Or maybe not—but I fucked him anyway.”
She took a drink, then realized she hadn’t handed theirs yet.
She poured more and sat next to Roco.
“What do you think of me as your cousin’s girlfriend?”
“I’m married,” he said, laughing nervously.
“So am I. What’s the problem, right, cousin?” she said, turning to Fania. Then added— “Don’t these make you want something? Be honest—are they good, or what?”
Fania blushed.
“You mean… for me?”
“For him. But you too—are they good or not?”
“They’re… nice. You look great.”
“See?” Hilda laughed, turning to Roco. “What more do you want? Should we fuck or what? Haha—don’t mind me, I’m drunk.”
Fania felt the heat rise again—this time not just to her neck, but straight to her core. The whiskey had loosened her nerves, and the way Hilda spoke—raw, unfiltered, with that raspy laugh that seemed to vibrate in the air—had her caught between embarrassment and a curiosity she hadn’t expected to feel this strongly.
She glanced at Roco. Still stiff in his corner, knuckles white around his glass, jaw tight—but his eyes never left Hilda’s cleavage.
“Don’t be shy, cousin,” Hilda said, patting the couch beside her. “Tell me the truth. Do you like them? Because if you do… imagine how much he does.”
Fania swallowed. Hilda’s hand hadn’t moved, but her thumb was tracing slow, almost imperceptible circles over the fabric of her neckline. The touch was electric.
“They’re… really nice. But I’m not into women,” Fania managed, her voice a little raspier than she intended. “You just have a body that… that’s hard to ignore.”
Hilda let out a short, triumphant laugh, throwing her head back.
“Neither am I. But we can still appreciate.” She bounced lightly on the couch, her breasts rising and falling in a way that was impossible to ignore. “You’re gorgeous. And those tits of yours? Championship level, girl.”
“See, Roco? Your cousin’s honest. Meanwhile, you’re still sitting there like a statue. What’s wrong, huh? Afraid your cousin might see you while you undress me?”
Roco cleared his throat, trying to sound casual, but it came out strained.
“It’s not fear… it’s just… I don’t know, Hilda. This whole situation feels weird.”
Hilda moved closer and slid her left hand onto his crotch. Fania’s eyes went wide. Roco’s went wider.
“Oh, Roco… finally got to touch your cock.”
Roco froze for a moment, his body stiff as if he’d been shocked. Hilda’s hand rested there, firm, pressing, revealing the bulge under his jeans.
Fania saw Hilda’s fingers move just slightly—a deliberate graze that made Roco let out a broken, almost inaudible sigh. His eyes closed for a second, betraying him completely.
“Much better,” Hilda murmured, low and satisfied, never taking her eyes off Roco’s face. “Look at that… you’re already hard, damn it. And I haven’t even kissed it yet.”
Fania couldn’t look away. Her pulse throbbed in her temples, her wrists, and between her legs. The whiskey had blurred the edges of her judgment, but not enough to ignore the scene: Hilda leaned over Roco, her cleavage almost brushing his chest, her hand moving in slow, exploratory circles while Roco’s breathing quickened, his knuckles white from gripping the glass in his other hand.
Hilda turned her head toward Fania without letting go of Roco, a mischievous smile promising trouble.
“How’s that, cousin? Don’t we make a cute pair? Take a photo of us.”
“No, no, no,” Roco protested.
“Alright, let me,” Hilda said, standing and moving past Fania. The scent of expensive perfume hit her.
She turned on the huge 70-inch TV and connected her phone to it.
“Look, cousin, it’s not recording—just projecting to the TV. Can you frame us like a photo?”
“Fania…” Roco’s voice was strained. Hilda sat back down beside him.
“Come on, cousin, focus us.”
Fania aimed the phone camera. On the TV, she could see everything. Hilda’s left hand pressed firmly against the bulge.
“Looks good, doesn’t it, cousin?”
“Yes,” Fania replied, her voice caught in her throat.
Hilda let out a low, satisfied laugh, keeping her hand firm on Roco, pressing a little more to feel it throb beneath the fabric. On the massive TV screen, the scene looked almost cinematic: Hilda’s deep cleavage rose and fell with every quick breath, Roco’s expression caught somewhere between desire and guilt, his eyes half-closed, lips slightly parted.
Fania held her phone with trembling hands, the frame perfect, capturing every detail without mercy.
“Looks good, doesn’t it?” Hilda whispered, eyes fixed on the screen. “Your cousin… look at his cock, cousin. Look at him… so hard for me. And you here, filming like you’re directing the whole thing.”
Fania felt a liquid heat spread through her core, moving down until she felt herself wet between her legs. It wasn’t just the scene—it was the way Hilda included her, made her part of it without touching her yet. She lowered the phone slightly, but never stopped watching the TV. The amplified image made everything feel more real, more raw: Hilda’s fingers tracing the thick shape of Roco’s cock through the fabric, moving up and down slowly, torturing him.
Roco let out a low moan, almost a growl, and his left hand moved instinctively to Hilda’s thigh, sliding under her dress until it found warm, soft skin. Hilda parted her legs slightly, inviting him without words, and he didn’t resist—his fingers slipped higher. There was nothing underneath.
“That’s it, you bastard… touch me,” Hilda murmured, her voice husky. “Suck my tits.”
With her free hand, Hilda began unbuttoning Roco’s jeans. The sound of the zipper echoed in the silence of the terrace, amplified by the TV speakers. Roco lifted his hips slightly to help her, and within seconds Hilda freed his cock—thick, veined, completely hard. She took it firmly, stroking up and down once, twice, slow and torturous.
Fania couldn’t believe she was watching this. Worse—she couldn’t believe how much she was enjoying it.
Hilda looked Fania directly in the eyes, never stopping her precise, steady strokes.
“Want to see more, cousin?”
She didn’t finish the sentence. Hilda leaned down and, without warning, took the tip of Roco’s cock into her mouth—just the head—sucking softly but firmly. Roco threw his head back with a long moan, hands gripping the couch.
Hilda pulled away suddenly, leaving Roco’s cock glistening with saliva, trembling in the air. She stood with feline grace, her black dress clinging to her body from the sweat and the July heat. Without a word, she reached for the thin straps and slid them off her shoulders. The dress fell like a dark waterfall to the floor, revealing she had nothing underneath: heavy, firm breasts with dark nipples already hard, a narrow waist opening into wide hips, her shaved pubis leaving her swollen, wet lips visible, glistening under the faint light of the lanterns.
Roco stared, mouth open, his cock pulsing against his abdomen. Hilda smiled—the smile of someone who knows exactly what she wants—and moved closer. She put one knee on the couch beside him, then the other, straddling him. Her thighs spread over Roco’s hips, his erect cock grazing between her warm, wet folds without entering—just sliding up and down in a torturous graze.
“Cousin…” Hilda said without fully turning, her voice husky and commanding. “Bring the phone closer again. We look good. I want to see myself take all of it… fuck him until I milk him dry.”
Fania took a few steps forward. Her thighs were trembling.
“Look, cousin,” Hilda said, pointing into the distance. “That couple over there—I love being watched.”
“That’s so hot,” Fania murmured.
“Cousin… do you like cock?”
“I love it,” Fania replied, and something in her voice sounded different. More certain.
“Come on then—show your cousin and me those tits,” Hilda said, her voice husky and commanding.
Fania opened her blouse and slipped down her bra. Her breasts—beautiful, her nipples aching to be devoured—came free in front of the phone camera.
“Look at yourself. On the screen. They’re gorgeous. Imagine them with a cock between them.”
Fania paused for a moment, her gaze fixed on herself. She knew the couple across the way could see them. She didn’t care.
“I wouldn’t look bad,” she replied, her voice trembling. “I love the idea.”
Fania stepped closer and held her index finger a millimeter from Hilda’s swollen nipple.
