I Discovered My Mother With Her Boyfriend One Early Morning

Hello, my name is Mateo. I’m twenty, newly turned, and what I’m about to tell happened just a few weeks ago. I keep chewing it over in my head, which is why I’m putting it 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 for as long as I can remember. My father disappeared when I was four years old, and since then it’s been just her and me against the world. Her name is Lorena, she’s forty-five, stands a little over five feet tall, and keeps a body that many younger women would envy. Dark-haired, narrow waist, pronounced hips, green eyes, big tits I’ve always seen peeking through her thin T-shirts, and a round, perky ass that bounces when she walks. I’m tall, skinny, and, until that night, a virgin. I’m saying it plainly because it’s part of what I’m about to tell.

A couple of months ago she introduced me to her “friend” Adrián. Twenty-three years old, taller than me, broad back, the smile of someone very sure of himself. The moment I shook his hand I felt something strange: a poorly disguised smirk of superiority, 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 seeing each other for months —she said, staring at the tablecloth.

—Why didn’t you tell me আগে?

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

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

Weeks passed and I didn’t see him again. My mother didn’t mention him either. I even came to think they’d broken up, because she wasn’t going out and wasn’t getting weird calls. But last Sunday, around noon, I heard the doorbell and looked out the kitchen window. It was him. A bakery bag in one hand, a small bouquet in the other.

—He’s coming for lunch. I’m asking you to be polite —she warned me quietly before opening the door.

I let him in without saying much. The three of us ate. We talked about football, college, nonsense. I measured every gesture: how he looked at her when she served dessert, how he brushed her hand when handing her the salt, how her eyes sparkled when she laughed at any stupid thing he said. How every time she bent down to pick up a plate he stared at her cleavage and ass with no attempt at hiding it, and how she bent down more slowly so he could look better. 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 on the sofa in the living room. We live in a neighborhood where the last bus passes at eleven, and at eleven-ten my mother appeared in the dining room with a worried look on her face.

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

—Where is he sleeping? —I asked, pretending not to care.

—I set up a mattress downstairs, in the corner of the dining room.

The corner of the dining room is right by the staircase, with no door, no wall. Anyone sleeping there is practically in the middle of the house. I nodded without saying anything and went up to my room.

A while later I heard the shower. When she came out, my mother appeared wearing a short pink pair of shorts that showed off her whole ass and a thin white blouse, no bra, the dark nipples visible through the fabric. She never wore that to sleep. She smelled like cream, like soft perfume, like a freshly washed woman who was ready. She never put on cream before bed. I noticed because, since I was a kid, I used to fall asleep while she took off her makeup with nothing but water.

—Good night, my love —she said from the doorway of my room, coming over to kiss me on the forehead.

I caught the new perfume at the curve of her neck and, when she leaned down, I saw the beginning of her tits hanging loose beneath the 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 stretched a hand toward the side of the bed and, instead of the night’s cold air, I felt that something in the house was awake. I got up and looked through the crack in my door. My mother’s room, next to 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 muffled sounds, smothered. Long, wet kisses with tongue. Ragged breathing. The rustle of a body against a sheet. The wet smack of a mouth sucking something. My stomach went hollow, like when someone confesses an affair 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 herself be eaten whole five meters from my bed?

And at the same time, something else began to stir inside me. Something I don’t want to call desire, but it was pretty damn close. I felt heat in my face, in my chest, between my legs. My cock went hard against the pajama pants without me doing a thing. I was frightened by myself.

I placed my feet carefully on the floor and went out barefoot into the hallway. The old stair wood always creaks, so I went down hugging the wall, step by step, keeping my weight toward the banister side. Three steps. Five steps. The sounds were getting clearer: a smack of saliva, short breaths, a whisper, and then an unmistakable noise, that wet, rhythmic sound of a mouth going up and down a cock.

—God, you’ve got a nice one —my mother said very softly, and it pinned me in place—. So big, baby. It won’t all fit in my mouth.

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

—Suck it like that, Lore. Take it all the way, come on. Tongue underneath.

—Yes, daddy.

I felt like the air had been cut off. I pressed my back against the wall and listened with my eyes closed. The sound was clear: my mother’s mouth swallowing that kid’s cock, her muffled moans when he shoved her head toward the back, the sound of saliva running down her chin, a dry “glup, glup” every time it hit her throat and she gagged a little. I heard my mother choking and then sucking again as if she were hungry.

—That’s it, whore, that’s it, swallow it all —he whispered.

—Mmm, mmm, mmm —she answered with her mouth full.

I stood there fifteen minutes, not moving. One hand clamped over my mouth so I wouldn’t breathe too loudly, the other arm crossed over my stomach. And after a while, I found that the other hand had slipped into my pants, my cock in my fist, moving it slowly in time with my mother’s mouth down there. I hadn’t noticed when it started. It was as if the body had decided on its own.

***

—Come here, sit down right here —I heard him say—. Put that pussy up. I want to eat it too.

There was a flurry of bodies, the noise of clothes falling, and then the wet, greedy sound of a tongue entering a soaked cunt. My mother moaned slowly, with a long, sharp moan that chilled my blood.

—Oh, yes, baby, like that, suck me all over, eat my cunt, mmm —she whispered, her voice breaking—. Put it in, the tongue, inside, like that, ah, daddy, daddy, don’t stop, don’t stop.

After a while I heard her trembling, and a rough, tight moan came out of her throat like it was escaping without permission.

—I’m coming, I’m coming, oh God, I’m coming —she said, and her whole body shook. And she kept shaking for a long while while he kept licking down there and she writhed on top of him.

—Wait —my mother said, voice broken—. We don’t have a condom.

—It doesn’t matter, baby. It’s fine. It’s time. I’m going to put it in like this, without anything.

—Then do it slowly. Do it nice. I’m all wet, see?

—You’re dripping, whore. Turn around. Stick your ass back.

What came next was unmistakable. A deep moan from her when he penetrated her, a long “aaah” from a woman taking him all at once. The soft thud of bodies against the mattress, a rhythm finding itself. And my mother’s moans: first restrained, then loose, then almost uncontrollable, keeping time with the wet slapping of the cock going in and out of her soaked cunt. Forty minutes, I figure. Forty minutes in which I heard her enjoy herself like I had never imagined anyone in my house could.

—Shhh, Lore, you’re going to wake him up.

—I don’t care —she said, in a whisper that was the exact opposite of not caring—. Let him hear. Let him hear how you’re fucking me.

—I’ll cover your mouth.

—Cover it. Fuck my mouth. Fuck it all.

There was a muffled sound and the moans turned into a murmur that reached me in waves. Something inside me broke and, at the same time, something lit up. I gathered my courage, went down the last steps on all fours, crossed the dark living room, and crouched behind the dining room chair that faced the corner dead on.

And I saw them.

My mother was on all fours, resting on her elbows, her back arched, her round white ass lifted back. The pink shorts hung tangled at one knee. Her tits bounced loose against the mattress every time he slammed into her. Adrián was behind her, kneeling, his left hand covering her mouth from the front and the other planted on her hip, his fingers leaving marks in her skin. His cock went in all the way, shining, dripping, and you 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 drive it back in with a slow thrust, and my mother threw her head back and moaned into the hand that silenced her. I watched him let go of her mouth for a second to spit on her ass and slide a finger through the crease of her ass while he kept fucking her. I watched her push her hips back, colliding, seeking more, impaling herself, wriggling her ass like a bitch.

—Harder, daddy, harder, break me —my mother begged through her teeth.

—Whore, look how your cunt is eating it.

—She’s yours, all yours, fuck me, don’t stop.

I stayed there, crouched behind the chair, one hand wrapped tight around my cock and the other clamped over my own mouth, for almost an hour. I worked myself slowly, squeezing hard, because if I sped up I’d finish, and I wanted it to last as long as that did.

Adrián put her on her back after that. He grabbed both her legs and threw them over his shoulder, and started pounding into her again all the way to the back. Now I could see my mother’s tits fully, soft and big, bouncing up top, the dark nipples hard, her mouth open. I could see her cunt spread open, swallowing his whole 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 shoved two fingers into her mouth.

My mother sucked them like 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 kept repeating. But I didn’t leave. And I kept jerking off.

—I’m coming, Lore —Adrián said at last, voice tight—. Inside?

—Yes, baby. Inside. Fill your whore up.

He pulled his fingers out of her mouth. The last thrusts were faster, deeper, dry, brutal. The mattress was creaking, my mother’s tits were bouncing out of control, and she started moaning without a shred of caution, an animal sound slipping out of her throat with every удар. I watched him sink all the way in and stay there, rigid, face tightened. I watched him shudder two, 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, fill me up, yes, yes, I can feel you shooting it in me, ah.

Then he collapsed on top of her, panting, and they stayed like that, both breathing hard, stuck together with sweat. When Adrián finally pulled out, I saw the white thread dripping out of my mother between her legs, running down her thigh onto the sheet. I saw her stick two fingers inside and push his cum back in, biting her lip.

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

***

I went back up the stairs the same way I’d gone down: pressed to the wall, holding my breath, my hand clenched full of my own seed 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. After that I slept two hours, badly, dreaming confused things in which I couldn’t make out faces but I could make out voices. My mother’s rough voice asking for more. The splashing. The mattress noise.

At ten in the morning I went downstairs. My mother was in the kitchen, awake, with the kettle on the stove and the radio turned low. She was dressed in her usual house clothes, no makeup, no perfume, nothing to betray the night before. She was in a good mood.

—Morning, son. Want toast?

—Where’s Adrián? —I asked before I could stop myself.

—He left early. He had to get to work.

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

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

I don’t know whether Adrián is going to come back. I don’t know whether there’s going to be another night like that. And above all, I don’t know whether I want there to be, or whether I don’t. Sometimes, in bed, with my hand inside my pants, I find myself listening to the silence of the house with an attention I didn’t have before. Alert to the doorbell that doesn’t ring, to the door that doesn’t open, to the footsteps that don’t come down, to the moans that don’t return.

All I know for sure is that something inside me shifted out of place that morning, and it still hasn’t found its way back.