I Discovered My Mother with Her Boyfriend One Early Morning

Hi, my name is Mateo. I just turned twenty, and what I’m about to tell you happened only a few weeks ago. I’m still chewing it over in my head, which is why I’m putting it down in writing; I need to get it out of me and read it from the outside, as if it had happened to someone else.

I’ve lived with my mother all my life. My father disappeared when I was four, and ever since then, it’s been her and me against the world. Her name is Lorena, she’s forty-five, just over five feet tall, and she’s kept a body many younger women would envy. Dark-haired, narrow-waisted, with pronounced hips, green eyes, big tits I’d always seen peeking out beneath her thin shirts, and a round, pert ass that bounced when she walked. I’m tall and skinny, and until that night, I was a virgin. I admit it without beating around the bush because it’s part of what I’m going to tell.

A couple of months ago, she introduced me to her “friend” Adrián. Twenty-three, taller than me, broad-shouldered, with the smile of a guy sure of himself. The moment I shook his hand, I felt something strange: a poorly concealed superior smirk, as if he already knew something I was missing. As if he knew exactly what my mother looked like naked and I didn’t. That same night, after he left, my mother took my hands at the kitchen table.

“He’s not just a friend, Mateo. We’ve been dating for months,” she told me, looking at the tablecloth.

“Why didn’t you tell me before?”

“Because I know he’s young. Because I was afraid of how you’d react. But he makes me feel good, son. It’s been a long time since I felt this way.”

I didn’t know what to say. One part of me wanted to be happy for her. The other part, the darker one, burned with jealousy. A guy almost my age? I went to college with guys like Adrián. Guys who fucked just anyone on weekends while I hadn’t even kissed anybody yet. And now one of them was coming into my house, into my mother’s bed, to fuck her all the way to the bottom.

Weeks passed and I didn’t see him again. My mother didn’t mention him either. I even started thinking they’d broken up, because she didn’t go out or receive any strange calls. But last Sunday, around noon, I heard the doorbell and peeked out the kitchen window. It was him. A bakery bag in one hand, a small bouquet in the other.

“He’s staying for lunch. I’m asking you to be nice,” she told me quietly before opening the door.

I let him in without saying much. The three of us ate. We talked about soccer, college, and silly things. I measured every gesture: the way he looked at her when she served dessert, the way he brushed her hand when she passed him the salt, the way her eyes shone whenever she laughed at any stupid thing he said. How every time she bent down to pick up a plate, he stared openly at her cleavage and her ass, and how she bent down more slowly so he could get a better look. I had never seen my mother like that. She was another woman. She was a female in heat.

***

I thought he’d leave after lunch. But six o’clock came, then eight, then ten at night, and Adrián was still sitting in the living-room armchair. We lived in a neighborhood where the last bus went by at eleven, and at eleven ten my mother appeared in the dining room with an awkward look on her face.

“Adrián is staying tonight, Mateo. It’s late and dangerous at this hour.”

“Where’s he sleeping?” I asked, pretending not to care.

“I made him a mattress downstairs, in the corner of the dining room.”

The dining-room corner was right beside the stairs, with no door and no partition. Anyone sleeping there was practically in the middle of the house. I nodded without saying anything and went upstairs to my room.

A while later, I heard the shower. When she came out, my mother appeared wearing pink short shorts that outlined her entire ass and a thin white blouse, without a bra, that showed her dark nipples against the fabric. She never wore that to sleep. She smelled of lotion, soft perfume, of a woman freshly showered and ready. She never put on lotion before bed. I noticed because, ever since I was little, I’d fallen asleep while she removed her makeup with nothing but water.

“Good night, sweetheart,” she said from my bedroom door, coming over to kiss me on the forehead.

I caught the new perfume on the curve of her neck, and when she leaned over, I saw the tops of her tits hanging loose inside her blouse. My mouth went dry.

“Good night, Mom.”

I closed my eyes. I was tired and let my guard down. I fell asleep faster than I expected.

***

At two in the morning, I woke up with a start. I don’t know what woke me. Maybe a noise, maybe a premonition. I reached my hand toward the side of the bed and, instead of the cold air of night, I felt that something in the house was awake. I got up and looked through the crack in my door. My mother’s room, beside mine, was open and the bed was untouched.

I sat on the edge of the mattress. I held my breath. And then I heard them.

They were dull, muffled sounds. Long, wet kisses with tongues. Ragged breathing. A body rubbing against a sheet. The wet smack of a mouth sucking something. My stomach felt hollow, like when someone confesses a betrayal to you. My hands were shaking. How could she do this to me? In the house where her son slept? With a guy almost my age, letting him eat her whole five yards from my bed?

And at the same time, something else began moving inside me. Something I didn’t want to call desire, but that looked an awful lot like it. I felt heat in my face, my chest, between my legs. My cock grew hard against my pajama pants without me doing anything. I was frightened of myself.

I carefully placed my feet on the floor and stepped barefoot into the hallway. The old staircase always creaked, so I went down close to the wall, step by step, keeping my weight on the handrail side. Three steps. Five steps. The sounds became clearer: a smack of saliva, short breathing, a whisper, and then an unmistakable noise, that wet, rhythmic sound of a mouth moving up and down a cock.

“You’ve got such a tasty one,” my mother said very softly, pinning me in place. “It’s so big, sweetheart. I can’t take all of it.”

It was her. It was my mother saying that to another man, to a guy I barely knew, in the house where I slept. Her voice came out hoarse, different, a voice I had never heard before. A whore’s voice.

“Suck it like that, Lore. Get it all in, come on. Use your tongue underneath.”

“Yes, Daddy.”

I felt the air leave me. I pressed my back against the wall and listened with my eyes closed. The sound was clear: my mother’s mouth swallowing that guy’s cock, her muffled moans when he pushed her head down to the base, the sound of saliva running down her chin, a dry “gluck, gluck” every time it reached her throat and she gagged a little. I heard my mother choking and then going back to sucking as if she were hungry.

“That’s it, slut, that’s it, swallow it all,” he whispered.

“Mmm, mmm, mmm,” she answered with her mouth full.

I stayed there for fifteen minutes without moving. One hand pressed over my mouth so I wouldn’t breathe loudly, the other arm crossed over my stomach. And after a while, I discovered that my other hand was inside my pants, my cock in my fist, slowly stroking it in time with my mother’s mouth down there. I hadn’t noticed when it started. It was as if my body had decided on its own.

***

“Come here, sit down,” I heard him say. “Put your pussy on top. I want to eat you too.”

There was a rustling of bodies, the sound of clothes falling, and then the wet, greedy sound of a tongue pushing into a soaked cunt. My mother moaned slowly, a long, high-pitched moan that chilled my blood.

“Oh, yes, sweetheart, like that, suck it all, eat my pussy, mmm,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “Put your tongue inside me, like that, oh, Daddy, Daddy, don’t stop, don’t stop.”

After a while, I heard her tremble, followed by a hoarse, tight moan that came from her throat as if it had escaped without permission.

“I’m coming, I’m coming, oh God, I’m coming,” she said, and her whole body shook. She kept trembling for a long while as he continued licking beneath her and she writhed on top of him.

“Wait,” I heard my mother say, her voice cracked. “We don’t have a condom.”

“It doesn’t matter, sweetheart. It’s okay. It’s time. I’m going to put it in like this, without anything.”

“Then do it slowly. Make it nice. I’m soaking wet, see?”

“You’re dripping, slut. Turn around. Stick your ass out.”

What came next was unmistakable. A deep groan from her when he penetrated her, a long, deep “aaah,” from a woman taking him all at once. A soft thud of bodies against the mattress, a rhythm that settled into place on its own. And my mother’s moans: first restrained, then loose, then almost out of control, keeping time with the wet slapping of his cock entering and leaving her soaked cunt. Forty minutes, I’d guess. Forty minutes in which I heard her enjoying herself as I had never imagined anyone could enjoy herself in my house.

“Shhh, Lore, you’re going to wake him.”

“I don’t care,” she said, in a whisper that meant the exact opposite of not caring. “Let him listen. Let him hear you fucking me.”

“I’ll cover your mouth.”

“Cover it. Fuck my mouth. Fuck it all.”

There was a muffled sound, and the moans became a murmur that reached me in waves. Something inside me broke, and at the same time something lit up. I gathered my courage, crawled down the last steps, crossed the darkened room, and crouched behind the dining chair that faced the corner directly.

And I saw them.

My mother was on all fours, propped on her elbows, her back arched, her round white ass raised behind her. The pink shorts hung tangled around one knee. Her tits bounced loose against the mattress every time he drove into her. Adrián was behind her on his knees, his left hand covering her mouth from the front and his other hand dug into her hip, leaving his fingers marked on her skin. His cock slid all the way inside her, shiny and dripping, and I could see how my mother opened around it.

I should have closed my eyes. I should have gone back upstairs. I didn’t.

I watched him pull his cock out to the tip and sink it back in with a slow thrust, and my mother throw her head back and moan against the hand silencing her. I watched him release her mouth for a second to spit on her ass and run his finger down the crease of her anus while he kept fucking her. I watched her thrust her hips backward, meeting him, searching for more, impaling herself, shaking her ass like a bitch.

“Harder, Daddy, harder, break me,” my mother begged through her teeth.

“Slut, look how your cunt eats it.”

“It’s yours, all yours, fuck it, don’t stop.”

I stayed there, crouched behind the chair, one hand firmly wrapped around my cock and the other pressed against my own mouth, for nearly an hour. I stroked myself slowly, squeezing hard, because if I sped up I would come, and I wanted it to last as long as that went on.

Adrián turned her onto her back afterward. He grabbed both her legs and threw them over his shoulder, then buried himself in her again, all the way to the bottom. Now I could see my mother’s tits in full, soft and large, bouncing above her, her dark nipples hard, her mouth open. I could see her open pussy swallowing his entire cock with every thrust. I could see her face, her eyes half-closed with pleasure, that whore’s face I had never seen on my mother and would never be able to get out of my head.

“Suck my fingers,” he ordered, and put two fingers in her mouth.

My mother sucked them as if they were another cock, her eyes fixed on him, while he fucked her at a pace that made the mattress creak.

This is wrong, this is wrong, this is wrong, I repeated to myself. But I didn’t leave. And I kept stroking myself.

“I’m going to come, Lore,” Adrián said at last, his voice tense. “Inside?”

“Yes, sweetheart. Inside. Fill your slut.”

He took his fingers out of her mouth. His final thrusts were faster, deeper, dry, brutal. The mattress groaned, my mother’s tits bounced wildly, and she began moaning without any restraint, an animal sound escaping her throat with every blow. I watched him sink all the way in and stay there, rigid, his face clenched tight. I watched him jerk twice, three times, emptying himself inside her. My mother let out a long, shameless moan, as if no one were listening, and dug her nails into his back while she came with him.

“Oh, yes, Daddy, yes, like that, like that, fill me all the way, yes, yes, I can feel you shooting it into me, oh.”

Afterward he collapsed on top of her, panting, and the two of them stayed like that, breathing heavily, stuck together with sweat. When Adrián finally pulled out, I saw the white string dripping from between my mother’s legs, running down her thigh onto the sheet. I watched her slide two fingers inside herself and push his cum back in, biting her lip.

I came without warning myself. I filled my hand and the front of my pajama pants, biting my forearm so I wouldn’t scream. It was the best and worst thing that had ever happened to me.

***

I went back up the stairs the same way I had come down: close to the wall, holding my breath, my hand clenched and full of my own cum so I wouldn’t leave a trace. I got into bed, pulled the covers over my head, and stayed awake until I heard the first bird outside. Then I slept for two hours, badly, dreaming confused dreams in which I couldn’t distinguish faces, only voices. My mother’s hoarse voice asking for more. The slapping. The sound of the mattress.

At ten in the morning, I went downstairs. My mother was in the kitchen, awake, with the kettle on the stove and the radio playing softly. She was dressed in the same house clothes she always wore, with no makeup, no perfume, nothing to give away the previous night. She was in a good mood.

“Good morning, son. Would you like some toast?”

“And Adrián?” I asked before I could stop myself.

“He left early. He had to be at work.”

I nodded. I sat at the table and watched her go through the morning as if nothing had happened. And that was perhaps what upset me most. That she could slip back into her role as a mother so naturally. That she could serve me coffee with the same hand she had used a few hours earlier to push another man’s cum back inside her cunt.

It’s been several weeks since that night. I don’t look at her the same way. I don’t look at her badly; I look at her differently. I look at her knowing she’s a woman, not only my mother. A woman who desires, asks, sucks, gets wet, comes, lets herself be fucked without a condom. I don’t know what to do with that information.

I don’t know whether Adrián will come back. I don’t know whether there will be another night like that. Most of all, I don’t know whether I want there to be one or not. Sometimes, in bed, with my hand inside my pants, I catch myself listening to the silence of the house with an attention I never had before. Listening for the doorbell that doesn’t ring, the door that doesn’t open, the footsteps that don’t come downstairs, the moans that don’t return.

The only thing I know for certain is that something inside me shifted out of place that early morning, and it still hasn’t found a way back.