My Boyfriend’s Mother Took Me to Her Retreat

In my final year of high school, I started dating the biggest womanizer in town. His name was Bruno, he was a year older than me, and he carried a reputation that anyone with half a brain would have taken as a warning. I, instead, took it as a challenge. He lied with a naturalness that was frightening, disappeared for entire afternoons, and came back with excuses so worn-out he didn’t even bother inventing new ones anymore. And yet, every time he came looking for me, I ended up giving in.

Everyone in town wondered what someone like him was doing with someone like me. That doubt, far from bothering me, made me feel chosen. As if I had won something the others couldn’t.

Bruno lived with his parents and two little brothers who were still in primary school. His father had exactly the same reputation as him: in town, dozens of stories about women circulated, and sometimes I wondered whether his mother put up with all of it to keep up appearances or because, deep down, the man was still just as desirable as the son.

The first time I understood that nothing in that house was what it seemed was on a hot afternoon by the pool.

Bruno and I had just fucked in the water, hidden against the edge. He had pulled my bikini panties to the side and shoved himself into me from behind, one hand over my mouth so I wouldn’t scream, while the other squeezed one of my tits until it hurt. He was still inside me when we heard the sliding door. He yanked out of me in one motion and I felt his cum spill warm inside the water, mixing with the chlorine. My panties slipped back into place while my heart pounded in my throat. His mother came out onto the patio in a robe, took it off without hurrying, and stepped into the warm water with a soft splash. We burst out laughing, nervous, while she swam toward us. Inside, I was dying of embarrassment: what if she had been waiting for us to finish just to come in?

Marcela was a beautiful woman for nearly fifty. Blonde, green-eyed, and with a body honed in the gym with a discipline that showed in every line. That day, in a bikini, she stretched her arms and held onto the edge of the pool, leaving her breasts on display, and spoke to us as if nothing were happening.

—So what are you two up to? Having fun? —she asked with a half-smile.

—Mom, why don’t you go away? —Bruno protested.

—Leave her alone, Bruno —I said, uncomfortable.

—See how she talks to her mother, Camila? If you stay, we’ll go. Come on, Cami.

—Why don’t you leave her a little longer? —Marcela cut in—. You go get showered, because tonight we have to go to your uncle’s.

Bruno looked at me, hesitating.

—Are you staying a while or coming up with me?

—I’ll stay a bit and come up later —I answered.

He left huffing. Marcela and I were alone in the water. She swam closer, unhurried, until she was only an arm’s length away.

—Never cry over him —she told me softly—. He’s not going to change for anyone. The best thing you can do is learn that now.

Just to be clear: I got along very well with Bruno’s mother, but we had never talked about her son’s cheating, and much less with that kind of frankness.

—His father is the same —she went on—. At first it mattered to me, I made scenes, it was all hell. Over the years I understood he wasn’t going to change and I started looking out for my own interests.

—Marcela, I don’t know what to say —I murmured.

—Of all the girlfriends he’s had, you’re the only one I like. I’m telling you straight because I don’t want you to go through the same thing I went through.

Then I felt her hand under the water, slowly tracing my hip. Her fingers felt along the bone, slid down my thigh, and came back up, this time slipping under the bikini fabric, barely brushing the crease of my ass. My breath caught.

—There’s no need to suffer when you can have just as much fun, if not more, than he does.

I pulled away from her side, got out of the pool with my heart racing, and thanked her for the words as best I could. I didn’t want to look bad in front of her, not after she’d told me all that. But I left that house with my head spinning, and my cunt still throbbing for two different reasons.

***

Her words stuck to me for days. Was she cheating on her husband too and suggesting I do the same with Bruno? Or was she telling me something even dirtier? The memory of her hand on my hip, of those fingers going where they shouldn’t, of the way she had looked at me while she spoke, wouldn’t leave me alone. I tried to erase it and couldn’t. Every night, when I got into bed, I ended up with my hand between my legs, thinking about her, coming while biting the pillow so no one at home would hear me. I was left full of doubts about her life and about that almost-confession of looking for her own outside the marriage.

A few weeks passed and my fights with Bruno became more frequent. One afternoon he practically dragged me to his house. I was determined not to forgive him this time, but he insisted that his mother wanted to talk to me, and that if after that I still didn’t forgive him, he’d give up for real.

I accepted very reluctantly. When we got there, Marcela took the car keys and told her son that we were going out for a drive.

I sat in the passenger seat. We drove for a long while down roads I didn’t know, until we stopped in front of a house on the edge of town, surrounded by trees.

—Where are we? —I asked.

—At my house too —she said, and smiled.

It was a warm, welcoming house, decorated with obvious taste. Every detail screamed that it had been put together by a woman who knew exactly what she wanted.

—This is my retreat, Camila. My son the brute is impossible to handle, isn’t he?

As she said it, she took off her coat. Underneath, she was wearing a tiny dress, one of those you put on to go dancing and come back with company. She sat across from me, crossed her legs, and when she did it became very clear she wasn’t wearing any underwear. I managed to glimpse her shaved cunt, neat-lipped, barely shining with moisture. My mouth went dry.

—Marcela, I don’t know what you’re going to be able to say to convince me —I said, swallowing—. I feel like I deserve better than Bruno.

—And I have no doubt about that, baby. But you can’t leave us like this, all of a sudden.

She stood up, poured two glasses of whiskey, and handed me one.

—I don’t want any —I protested.

—Drink it. And get comfortable. That son of mine has a strange way of loving you, but what’s going to happen today is going to be much more important than him.

—I don’t understand anything —I said, shyly, taking a sip.

Her hand traced my neck, slowly, and the sensation was intoxicating. The whiskey slid warm down my throat and, all at once, my discomfort started turning into something else.

—You like the little massage, don’t you? My hand on your neck. I knew it from the first day you came into my house.

I couldn’t answer. I liked what she was saying and, above all, I liked what I was feeling. I stayed motionless on the couch, heart racing, taking short sips from the glass as if I could pull from it the courage I was missing.

—I told you you were the first girlfriend I liked. That’s because you and I have things in common.

Then I felt her mouth on my neck. Her lips kissed me slowly, with a dedication that raised goosebumps all over my skin, and her hands began moving down toward my belly. Without thinking, I lifted my arms and let her take off my shirt.

—Camila, what beautiful tits you have.

Her hand slipped inside my bra. She played with my breasts, massaged them, licked my ear and nibbled my lobe, then sucked her fingers and went back to stroking my nipples until they were rock-hard, tugging at them with her fingertips until a moan escaped me. With the other hand she unclasped my bra and pulled it off in one motion. She bent down and took one whole breast into her mouth, sucking hard, her tongue circling the nipple, and then suddenly bit down: her teeth closing just enough to make me arch against the back of the couch. She moved to the other breast and did the same, licked the groove between them, blew on my skin to watch the goosebumps rise.

I was writhing with pleasure on the couch, not recognizing myself. She turned my face and gave me a huge, deep kiss, and I felt her tongue take me somewhere no one had ever taken me before. I followed her with an urgency I hadn’t known I had inside me, sucking her tongue like it was a cock, biting her lower lip.

She settled on top of me and held me by the back so she could hug me better. I could feel her breasts against mine, firm, with nothing covering them. All of it, which should have felt strange, seemed like the most natural thing in the world. I didn’t feel uncomfortable. I didn’t feel guilty. I just wanted more.

I wanted to touch her too, even over the dress. She loved it. She took my hand and guided it, making circular motions over her breasts while telling me in my ear how much she liked it. Then she slipped my hand under the dress, and without taking her eyes off mine she pressed it straight against her cunt. She was soaked, burning hot. She guided my fingers until I found her clit, swollen and hard, and made me draw tight circles until a rough moan escaped her.

—That’s it, baby. Learn fast, because there’s a lot to do.

Then she straightened up, settled the fabric over her body, and for a second I thought that was the end of it.

—Follow me. Let’s go to bed.

I followed her without thinking about anything. I just wanted that feeling not to stop.

***

She laid me back on the mattress and pulled down my gym pants. I was left in nothing but my thong, a tiny thong already darkened by how wet it was. I got myself situated to watch her, hypnotized by every gesture. She took off her dress with calculated slowness until she was completely naked, and gave me time to look at her whole body: the perky tits for her age, the large pink nipples, the flat stomach marked by the gym, the shaved cunt with its tight little lips, shining all over. She let herself fall on top of me and I spread my legs by instinct.

She took my face in her hands and kissed me again, much more lasciviously than before, using her whole mouth. Without stopping kissing me she yanked my thong to the side and touched me over the flesh, one finger tracing the slit from top to bottom, very slowly, until it was soaked. Then she parted my lips with two fingers and blew against my clit. I screamed in a way I had never screamed before.

—What a wet little cunt this is —she whispered, her mouth against my ear—. All mine.

She started touching me like someone tuning an instrument: two fingers stroked me on the outside, drawing circles over my clit, while two others went in and out of my cunt with a steady rhythm, curling inside to hit a spot that made my hips lift off the mattress. She alternated: fast, slow, very slow, then suddenly fast again. I moaned against her mouth without control, squeezing her fingers with the walls of my cunt every time I was about to come.

When she felt my whole body starting to contract, she stopped dead. She pulled her fingers out, dripping, and shoved them into her mouth, sucking each one in front of me.

—You taste fucking amazing, Camila.

She left me on the edge, trembling, breathing in short gasps. She went down my body kissing me, sucked my tits once more, kept moving down my belly, and opened my legs like someone opening a gift. When I felt her tongue against my clit I almost came on the spot. She started licking me from the entrance of my cunt upward, with a broad, flat tongue, letting me feel every millimeter. Then she focused on my clit, sucking it softly, running the tip of her tongue around it, while two fingers went in and out again. I grabbed her hair, pressed her against my pussy, pushed my hips against her mouth without being able to control myself.

—Marcela, I’m going to come, I’m going to come —I begged her.

—Come in my mouth, baby. All of it.

And I came. I came with a long scream, shaking all over, squeezing her head between my thighs while she kept sucking and swallowing every drop as if she were starving. When she lifted her face, her mouth and chin were shining, and she smiled at me with a satisfaction that made me shiver again.

—Now it’s your turn to learn.

She settled back against the pillows, spread her legs, and stroked her cunt with two fingers, inviting me. I bent down between her thighs, a little unsure, and ran my tongue over her for the first time. She tasted strong and salty, and it became addictive immediately. I copied what she had done to me: licked from bottom to top, sucked her clit with my lips, slipped my tongue inside her cunt and moved it until I felt her writhing over me.

—That’s it, that’s it, the girl learns fast. Put your fingers in me too.

I slipped in two fingers and curled them the way she had curled hers into me. Marcela grabbed my hair and started moving my head to the rhythm she liked, firmly, almost riding my mouth. I sucked and licked her with real hunger, feeling her cunt tighten around my fingers.

—Don’t stop, don’t stop, dirty girl. Eat that cunt properly.

When she came, she squeezed me so hard with her thighs it hurt, and I felt her hot gush against my tongue. I stayed there, sucking her until the last tremor, until she pulled my hair to lift my face and give me a filthy, long kiss, sharing the taste of herself in my mouth.

Then she made me turn over and we ended up on our sides, fitted together, each with one leg over the other, our cunts rubbing together. She started moving against me, grinding her clit against mine, and the world split in two for me. I wrapped my arms around her waist, then her hips, and started moving, seeking her, spreading my legs as wide as I could to feel her better. Every rub was wet, hot, slippery, and it sounded like splashing.

She adjusted a little more, with the experience of someone who knows exactly where and how, and started moving faster, tuning every rub so both of us would get there together. The friction became a constant back-and-forth, impossible to stop. Our cunts opened and closed against each other, soaked, and the leather of the bed stained beneath us.

—You’re a very dirty girl —she told me without stopping—. You’ve been turning me on since the first day you stepped into my house. I wanted to eat this little pussy since the first time I saw you.

I loved hearing her. Every word gave me more drive to lift my hips and push against her, for our bodies to collide again and again. Between thrusts we kissed like crazy, breathless, biting each other’s lips and tongues.

—Tell me you like it, say it.

—I love it, Marcela, I love your cunt against mine —I answered, surprised by myself.

—Harder, tell me you’re my little slut.

—I’m your little slut, I’m your little slut, do whatever you want to me.

She pressed harder against me, dug her nails into my hip, and began moving at a pace neither of us could keep up for long. I felt my clit slam against hers, and every collision was a jolt. I came with a muffled scream against her mouth just as she came on top of me, moaning my name. I felt her wetness mixing with mine, running down our thighs.

We stayed like that for a long time, until our bodies had nothing left. We were both trembling when we finally stopped. I flopped onto my back, exhausted, my thighs sticky and my cunt still throbbing, making it clear with every breath how much I had enjoyed it.

When I glanced at her, Marcela was already getting dressed. Without saying anything, I started doing the same, in silence, still not fully understanding what had just happened. She caught me looking at her and laughed.

—No need to play mute —she said, grabbing my face to give me one last kiss, one of those kisses that still tasted like both of us.

—It’s just that I don’t know what all this was —I confessed.

—Camila —she said, straightening her dress in front of the mirror, never losing her smile—, this is the kind of fun we can always have as long as you keep seeing Bruno.

And for the first time in a long while, the idea of staying with him didn’t seem so bad.