Mothers by Day, Predators by Night

Marisol and Rebeca were the same age, both in their early thirties, and no one in the neighborhood would have bet a single euro on what they did when the sun went down. One was brunette with dark eyes; the other, blonde with highlights and a smile that put anyone at ease. Short, a little plump, the sort of women who hand out kisses to the other parents at school pickup and volunteer for the end-of-term party. Exemplary mothers, attentive wives, kind neighbors.

Their sons, two boys who went to primary school together, were asleep at those hours, convinced that Mom was at work. And they were working, of course. The two of them shared a job at the same logistics company, with rotating shifts that gave them the perfect alibi. Tonight I’m on closing duty, don’t wait up. That line, repeated for months, had opened a crack in their lives through which something they still couldn’t quite name slipped in.

Because at night they transformed.

***

It wasn’t a lack of affection. Their husbands loved them, the sex at home was fine, the children were healthy. The perversity had been born elsewhere: in the early hours in front of the screen, hunting for ever more extreme videos, reading about domination, about the pleasure of breaking someone down until you saw them beg. What began as curiosity ended up becoming a shared fetish, a thirst that grew the more they fed it.

And the double life excited them even more. That nobody suspected two peaceful mothers, two women who on Monday asked about homework and on Saturday planned snack time, gave them an intoxicating power. Discretion was part of the game.

In the company locker room they kept a gym bag that had nothing to do with the gym. There they changed clothes: tight dresses, heels, aggressive makeup. Hunting clothes. Because that was what they went out to do, hunt. And at the bottom of the bag, hidden among the clothes, they carried their tools: pepper spray, a small stun gun, ropes, zip ties. They were sadists, yes, but not stupid.

—We avoid groups —Rebeca always said, the colder of the two—. No gangs, no more than two at a time.

They had learned the hard way. Once, emboldened, they dared to take on three men leaving a bar. It worked out, they left them battered and shaking, but one of them wasn’t as drunk as he seemed and gave Marisol a blow that left a huge bruise on her jaw. The next day she had to make up a story about a door and a lapse in attention for her husband. Since then they measured every risk. Although, deep down, both of them knew they would sooner or later be tempted to test their luck again.

***

That night they had chosen a nightclub on the outskirts, with electronic music and strobe lights, frequented by young kids who got wasted and by four in the morning could barely remember their own names. Fertile ground. Nobody knew them there, and nobody would remember two older women disappearing into the crowd.

They were smoking in the back alley, away from the bouncers and the cameras, when they saw him come out. A guy in his early twenties, tangled blond hair, earrings in his ear and nose, a multicolored cap and a shiny jacket that caught the few lights in the alley. He came stumbling, chewing out whoever had stayed inside.

—Bitch-ass whore —he spat, flipping the bird at the closed door—. You’re screwing Rafa and those deadbeats and leaving me hanging. You’re all going to get what’s coming to you.

He moved over to the wall to piss, just a few meters from where they were waiting. Marisol and Rebeca looked at each other. An identical smile crossed both their faces. They approached slowly, like two cats.

—Hey, handsome, what happened to you? —purred Marisol, sliding her hand along his arm—. Heartbroken? You’ve got us to comfort you.

—Mmm —he grunted, zipping himself up—. What are you, whores? Just so you know, I don’t pay. If anything, I collect. You have no idea what I’ve got right here.

He made an obscene gesture and spat again. Rebeca came around to his other side, took his elbow gently.

—No, sweetheart —she said in a honeyed voice—. We’re grateful women. The kind who know how to appreciate a real man when he’s right in front of them.

The boy belched without even trying to hide it and looked them up and down with contempt.

—The thing is, you’re a little old. And a little fat. I don’t know if I should be doing you the favor. Maybe I’m the one who should be paid. Though I am turned on, I won’t deny that.

Marisol felt the blood rise to her face. Pride got the better of her.

—Hey, idiot, do you really think you’re some hot shit with that beak you’ve got? —she snapped, pointing at his aquiline nose, enormous, almost caricatured.

The boy was about to answer, but Rebeca shot her friend a warning look. The smarter of the two knew you didn’t hunt with anger. She leaned into the young man’s ear and lowered her voice until it became a caress.

—He’s right, Marisol. We’re just two old hags. —She grabbed his sweaty T-shirt and tugged gently on it—. But, baby, if you come with us you’re going to learn things no girl your age can teach you. Tricks, fantasies. You’ll remember this night for the rest of your life.

The alcohol and the promise did the rest.

—Fine —he said, shrugging.

And he followed them.

***

They led him to a secluded cove, a tongue of sand hidden between rocks where the city noise died away and only the sound of the sea remained. It was summer night, but a cold breeze was blowing that raised goose bumps on the skin. Moonlight was enough to see.

They took off his jacket first, then his cap, then everything else, laughing, pretending it was all part of a seduction game. Then they stripped themselves, unhurried, letting the drunk boy watch them with glazed eyes. Marisol undid her dress with obscene slowness, letting the fabric fall from her round thighs, and Rebeca bent to free herself from her bra, shaking her tits with a crooked smile, as if offering him the feast before snatching it away. The boy swallowed hard, drunk and horny, and they saw it. They also saw the bulge in his swim trunks when they pushed him toward the water, laughing.

—Come on, brave boy, the water’s great.

He was trembling, dizzy, not used to swimming at night. They, sober and hardy, dragged him farther out and started playing like two little girls: splashing, dunking each other, laughing. Only every time the boy swallowed water, they took one second longer to let him go. When they came back out, he was worse than when he went in, staggering, and let himself drop backward onto the sand.

The cold, the alcohol and the nerves had left his body clumsy, but his crotch was hard. Marisol pulled his trunks down to his knees without taking her eyes off his face, and Rebeca knelt between his legs with brutal naturalness. First she licked him over the fabric, slowly, tasting the bulge throbbing under the wet material, and then she slipped her hand inside to pull him out completely. His cock stood hard, thick, wet, pointing up at the black sky. He closed his eyes and let out a gasp, believing for a second that this was going to be a reward.

Marisol ran her nails across his torso. She pinched his nipples, bit his neck, shoved two fingers into his mouth and pulled them out slick with saliva before dragging them down over his chest. Rebeca ran her tongue over the glans, very slowly, making him arch up off the sand, and then sucked him harder, taking his cock in as far as she could while holding his balls in her other hand. The boy opened his mouth wide, stunned, and started moving his hips like an idiot.

Then hell arrived.

—Aah! —The boy jolted. Rebeca had bitten hard at the base of the glans, and instead of apologizing she let out a dry laugh and did it again, more viciously—. What the fuck are you doing!

Marisol, for her part, was digging her teeth into his chest, his neck, his cheeks, like a vermin. She sucked on his nipple until it went taut and sore, then pulled back to spit on his stomach and lick the same spot again with sickening calm.

—You’re crazy, leave me alone —he roared, trying to sit up.

But Marisol was faster. She shoved his upper body down onto the sand and planted her foot on his chest. The smile she gave him had nothing flirtatious about it anymore.

—Not a chance, sweetheart. Peace ended for you a while ago.

***

What came next was quick and efficient, rehearsed a thousand times. Rebeca yanked him over and tied his wrists behind his back with the top of her black bikini. He struggled, still strong despite the drunkenness, and he split Rebeca’s lip with a headbutt. A thin thread of blood ran down her chin. Instead of backing off, she ran her tongue over the wound, grabbed his chin and smeared her own blood across his mouth.

—Baby, that turns me on. And even more if you struggle.

Marisol started kicking his ribs. The boy flailed, tried to strike with his legs because his arms no longer responded.

—We’ll have to tie his legs too —Rebeca said, taking thicker ropes from the bag.

When they had him completely immobilized, they jumped on him like two girls on an inflatable mattress, laughing, stomping on his belly and thighs. He screamed, insulted them, swore he would kill them. But the blows piled up, and the insults gave way to begging.

—Please —he gasped at last—, let me go. I didn’t do anything to you. Why are you doing this to me?

Marisol bent down, took his cheek in a disgustingly tender gesture, gave him a soft slap and spat in his face.

—Because you had the bad luck to be born a man and cross our path, honey. That’s life.

The screams grew louder and louder, and the fear that someone might hear them forced Rebeca to gag him with the panties she had taken off earlier. The boy’s eyes widened, trapped, not getting enough air.

Then they looked at each other and, without saying a word, understood one another. Marisol unhooked her bra and let it hang, pulling her breasts out, heavy and white under the moon. Rebeca knelt again, this time by his face, and pressed his cock against his closed lips in cruel mockery.

—Open —she ordered, though she knew he couldn’t.

Marisol straddled his chest, grinding her wet pussy against his gagged mouth, rubbing herself with a slowness that was pure punishment. Every sway drew a muffled moan from him, every rub made her move her hips harder. Rebeca, standing to one side, took his cock in her hand and started jerking him off brutally, squeezing the glans with her thumb until the boy writhed, helpless, on the edge of coming from sheer friction and pure terror. She leaned down to suck his neck, then bit his ear and whispered:

—We’re going to wreck you, and on top of that you’re going to shoot your load into the sand like a pig. That is, if you don’t drown first.

Marisol moved over his face with rhythmic violence, wetting the gag, staining her thighs with her own slick and the boy’s saliva. She ground her pussy into his nose, pressed his lips against the fabric until he was breathless, and every time he managed to inhale a little, she dropped her hips again harder. The boy’s body arched in spasms, his cock throbbing like a vein about to burst, and Rebeca took advantage of the trembling to slide two fingers under his torn trunks and hammer at his most sensitive spot, fast, merciless, until she tore a hoarse whimper from him.

—Look at him —Marisol mocked, rising just enough to see his face—. Such a tough guy, such a badass. And now here he is, under my tits, begging with his eyes.

Rebeca smiled, sucked her wet fingers, and kept going. She ran her hand over his cock again and again, alternating pressure with sharp yanks, not letting him rest for even a second. The boy came and had his breath cut off before he could; his face went red, his abdomen taut, and they laughed because they had him exactly where they wanted him: neither clean pleasure nor clean pain, but a disgusting knot of both.

—Now it’s my turn —said Rebeca, who had soaked herself just from watching—. Take a picture of us, Marisol. A memory of tonight.

The flash lit up the cove for an instant: the boy bound hand and foot, cap still on, face soaked, dominated by the two women. Rebeca then took her friend’s place, climbed over his mouth as if sitting on a throne, and started rubbing herself slowly, pushing the fabric aside to sink into the pressure of his unmoving jaw. The boy trembled, swallowed sand, and she kept moving her hips with obscene calm until a shudder ran through her whole body and she was left panting, proud, wet, and satisfied.

They moved away a little, as if they’d grown tired of the toy.

—Want to go for a swim? —Marisol suggested, like a little girl at recess.

They came back from the sea dripping salt water and rubbed themselves against him, grinding the salt into every wound, every bite, until each scrape drew a new whimper from him. The stinging snapped him out of his stupor.

***

A phone vibrated inside the bag. Rebeca took it out, read the message and snorted.

—It’s my husband. He’s getting off his shift late, and he wants me to take the kids to school tomorrow. —She looked at the time—. Shit, it’s almost six. We should be getting going.

The boy, gathering his last strength, managed to push the gag out with his tongue and spit out the panties. He coughed, breathed in gulps.

—Yes, yes, please —he begged—. Go be with your children. You’re mothers, for God’s sake. Go get them and let me breathe.

Marisol stood silent for a moment. Then a slow, perverse smile crossed her face. She took out her own phone.

—Don’t worry, boys. I’m texting my husband, he’s off today. I’ll tell him to get up and take both kids. —She winked at the young man—. That way the party can go on a little longer.

—No —he tried to shout, but Rebeca covered his mouth with the palm of her hand and pressed.

—Bless men —she murmured, looking at the sea beginning to brighten—. What would we do without them?