My Mother’s Best Friend Put Me in My Place

I was twenty-two and had a routine that suited me just fine. I studied in the mornings and, in the afternoons, I took care of my parents’ shop, that neighborhood grocery they’d had open since before I was born. My favorite part was getting the orders ready once the sign already said “closed”: the store in silence, the radio low, the shelves stretching high to the ceiling, and me alone, with no one to answer to.

My parents took advantage of those afternoons to go to the city’s central market, strike deals with suppliers, and, incidentally, keep the rest of the day free for themselves. I was grateful for that. It was a lot of work for one person, but I liked that orderly solitude of boxes and lists.

That Tuesday, however, I wasn’t alone. Raquel came by.

Raquel had been my mother’s best friend for as long as I could remember. When there was too much work, she’d come over and lend a hand, as she always had. Before she helped Mom; now she helped me. She was almost fifty, worn with an elegance that commanded a bit of respect: black curly hair tied back loosely, dark eyes, a body with bold curves that seemed not to have noticed the passage of time. Big tits, a round ass, full-grown woman’s hips, and a mouth painted red that, when I was still an inexperienced teenager, had cost me sleep more than one night.

—Mateo, give me a hand with the jars up top —she said that afternoon, standing in front of the back shelf.

You had to climb a stepladder, one of those old wooden ones that creaked with every rung. Raquel was afraid of heights, or so she said.

—Hold it steady, I don’t want to fall —she asked, one foot already on the first step.

And of course I went. How could I not hold it for her? I stood behind her, grabbed the rails with both hands, and looked up to keep an eye on how things were going. That was my mistake. Or my luck. I still don’t know which.

She was wearing a loose summer dress, and when I lifted my head I found myself face-to-face with the fact that she wasn’t wearing anything underneath. There she was, just like that, less than a handspan from my face. A mature woman’s pussy, with fleshy lips and thick black hair trimmed into a triangle, so close I could almost smell it. I didn’t know where to look, and at the same time I couldn’t look anywhere else.

I felt the heat rise up my neck to my ears. And, above all, I felt my cock go hard all at once, from zero to a hundred, with no transition, almost with a painful jolt. It pressed against the denim of my jeans, begging to come out, and I clung to the ladder as if it were the only thing stopping me from doing something insane.

—Do you like the view? —she tossed down from above, without turning around.

—Huh? What view? You can’t see anything… —I lied, my voice cracking in half.

As if you couldn’t see anything.

She didn’t buy it. She climbed down at once, rung by rung, a look of annoyance spreading across her face. When she set both feet on the floor, she turned and stood in front of me, very close, much closer than two people who haven’t done anything should be.

—Right, you can’t see anything —she repeated, dripping with sarcasm—. What a liar you are.

She pushed me in the chest with two fingers, not hard, barely a touch. But I stepped back and there was a chair right behind me that I didn’t remember leaving there. I tripped over it and fell into the seat, lucky —or unlucky— enough to end up exactly at her height.

—Can’t see anything, says the smart one —she muttered, coming closer—. Well, now you’re going to see it. Oh, yes, you’re going to see it.

I moved my hands on instinct, not really knowing why, and she slapped them away sharply.

—Hands off. You look and you shut up.

She came closer with a slowness that was pure intent. Every step was a decision already made. When she was half a meter away, she gathered up her dress with both hands, slowly lifting it from her thighs to her waist, and stood there, exposed from the navel down, holding my gaze.

—Can you see it now? —she asked.

Could I ever. Her belly was smooth, her legs firm and shapely, the legs of a woman who takes care of herself. And in the middle, her pussy opened in a dark slash that shone with moisture, the inner lips peeking out between the hair, swollen and pink. I swallowed like a kid who’s been caught doing something wrong, because that was exactly what I was in that moment.

—I asked if you can see it. Or are you deaf on top of being a liar?

—Yes… I can see it —I admitted. There was no point in denying the obvious.

—And? Do you like it? —she insisted, taking another step.

She didn’t give me time to answer. She pressed herself against the chair, planted her hands on the backrest, one on each side of my head, and stood so close I could feel her heat on my face. Her pussy was less than an inch from my mouth, so close that breathing was already starting to smell it: hot, sharp, sweet, the smell of an aroused woman that went up my nose and blurred everything else. I looked up. Her eyes were already there, waiting for me, as if she knew the exact moment I was going to give in.

—Stick out your tongue —she ordered, with a smile that was anything but kind.

I didn’t move. I knew perfectly well what she wanted, even though I had never done it. I’m not ashamed to admit that back then I was a virgin. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to; it was that I didn’t know how. I had no idea what to do or how to start, and the fear of making a fool of myself had me pinned to the chair.

—Stick out your tongue —she repeated, lower and firmer—. You owe me that, for spying on me.

She took my head in both hands, her fingers tangled in my hair, and pulled me toward her without asking permission. She wasn’t rough, but she didn’t leave me any alternative either. I closed my eyes.

—Out. Now.

And I stuck it out, between the shock and a desire I hadn’t known I had until that very instant.

—Mmm… —she breathed out, and that was the only comment she made.

The first contact was electric. My tongue brushed her pubic hair and then, lower down, the hot, soaking flesh of her pussy. She shivered and pressed her hips against my face, rubbing herself shamelessly. The taste caught me by surprise: strong, salty, with a sweet undertone that stuck to my palate. I started licking without method, with eager laps, like a thirsty dog, and she let me go at it for a while so I could get a taste.

—Slowly, handsome. No rush —she whispered, gripping my hair—. Learn. Look, like this.

She guided my head in a long motion, from the opening of her pussy up to the clit, and left me there, planted in place.

—There. Right there. That little button. Suck it. No teeth, with your lips.

I obeyed. I closed my lips around the swollen clit and sucked, first gently, then harder when I felt her moan. Raquel arched her back against the chair and let out a curse between clenched teeth.

—Fuck… like that, like that. Now the tongue. Move it like you’re nodding yes. Fast. Faster, you little bastard.

I obeyed every instruction like someone learning a trade they hadn’t read the first page of. I moved my tongue as she told me, up and down, up and down, and I felt the clit get harder, more swollen, more slippery. Saliva and her juices dripped down my chin and onto my neck. She started panting harder, moving her pelvis against my mouth as if she were fucking my face.

—Get it in there. Your tongue. Inside. Let’s see if you finally learn what a woman smells like inside.

I shoved my tongue into the opening of her pussy as far as it would go, and she closed her thighs around my head, clamping me like a vice. I fucked her with my tongue, in and out, while my nose brushed her clit. She was so wet you could hear every movement, a sticky slurping that got me more and more turned on. Under my jeans, my cock throbbed painfully.

—Now back up top. The clit. Suck it for me and don’t stop. Whatever you do, don’t stop.

I went back up and sucked her clit hungrily, sealing my lips around it, moving my tongue without pause. She lifted one leg and set her foot on the edge of the chair, between my thighs, opening herself wider, pressing closer. I heard her breathing change. I heard her sigh first and then pant, and let out words my mother would never have forgiven her for.

—That’s it, you son of a bitch, that’s it. Don’t stop. Eat it. Eat my pussy whole. I’m coming. I’m coming in your mouth, fuck.

She jerked against me faster and faster, and I let myself be carried along, trying to keep up with her rhythm. She came, squeezing herself against me to the point where it started to hurt, her fingers buried in my hair, her whole body taut for several seconds that felt endless. I felt the walls of her pussy pulse against my chin, one release after another, and a hot spurt of fluid flood my mouth. Then she went slack all at once, like a rope that’s suddenly let go.

She pulled away slowly, lowered her dress, fixed her hair with a couple of gestures, and became, in an instant, my mother’s friend who had come by to lend a hand. She gave me a dry kiss on the forehead, completely ignoring the fact that my face was soaked with her.

—Why did you resist so much? —she asked, amused.

—I don’t know —I replied, and it was the truth.

She smiled, turned around, and went back to finishing the order we had left half-done, as if nothing had just happened. I stayed seated a while longer, heart racing, cock hard as a stone inside my pants, my head spinning as I tried to understand what the hell had happened in my own storeroom.

***

The following week she came back. And this time she didn’t wait for the ladder excuse. The moment she walked in and saw we were alone, she pointed at the chair with her chin.

—Sit down.

I sat. She came closer, gathered up her skirt with the same calm as always, and showed me that afternoon had changed the rules: she had shaved completely. A clean, shaved pussy, with pink, gleaming lips on full display, without a single hair blocking the view.

—Do you like it better like this? —she asked with half a smile, already lifting one leg to rest her foot on the chair—. If that was the whole problem, there’s no problem now. No excuse left. Now you’ll be able to see everything you do to it properly.

She didn’t have to ask me twice. This time she didn’t have to hold my head so hard. This time it was me who moved in, burying my face between her thighs with the hunger of a man who’s spent seven days thinking of nothing else. With no hair in the way, it was all skin and wetness. I licked her from top to bottom, slowly, savoring her, pausing on the clit and then going down to drink what was dripping from the entrance.

—You learn fast, you little bastard —she panted, pushing my head tighter against her—. Put your tongue in there, all the way. Fuck me with your tongue.

That became our ritual, Tuesday after Tuesday, for months I couldn’t even count. At first I felt like her toy, something she used and put back where it belonged when she was done. And I didn’t mind. I got the hang of it, learned to read her breathing, to know when to press and when to ease up, to recognize the tremor that announced the end. I learned to suck her clit until she shook, to slide two fingers inside and curl them upward while I licked her, to tell by the taste when she was about to come. Each week she got dirtier, talked filthier, pulled my hair harder. One Tuesday she made me lie on my back on the floor and sat directly on my face, crushing her pussy against my mouth and rubbing herself nonstop until she came twice in a row. Another time she got on all fours on top of the counter and made me eat her pussy and ass from behind, alternating licks until she screamed so loudly I was afraid someone would hear from the street. It got to the point where I looked forward to Tuesdays with an impatience I could barely hide from my parents, and I’d think of the smell of her pussy every time I opened a jar of preserves in the back room.

But over time that started to feel too small for me. I wanted more. I wanted her, sometime, to remember me too. I came out of every Tuesday with my cock aching and my underwear soaked with pre-cum, and I spent the night jerking off thinking of her red-painted mouth, of the tits I’d never gotten to see naked, of how it would feel to sink it into her all the way. I didn’t dare tell her, because in that game she set the rules and I just followed them. Until one good day, a Tuesday like any other, when I finished my part of the work and she was putting her clothes back in order, I took the plunge.

—Raquel… —I faltered.

—Tell me, handsome —she replied, a little surprised to hear me speak.

—What about me? I always end up wanting more. I…

—Don’t tell me my little voyeur doesn’t take care of his own business afterward —she asked, raising an eyebrow—. Don’t tell me you don’t jerk off thinking about me as soon as I leave.

—Yes, of course I do. Every Tuesday, two or three times —I confessed, red up to my ears—. But I thought maybe you could… help me out. Suck it. Please.

She held my gaze for a long second, weighing it, and in the end she smiled in a different way, almost tender.

—Of course, baby. I thought you were never going to ask me. After how well you eat me out, how could I not suck your cock for you?

She came closer, pulled me up out of the chair by my hands until I was standing, and started unbuttoning my pants with a skill that left no doubt about her experience. Her hand trembled a little as she lowered the zipper, and I noticed her licking her lips without even realizing it. She knelt in front of me, unhurried, and reached down to pull at the elastic of my underwear.

I could barely breathe. I had the whole sky within reach and I couldn’t believe it. She was going to take it in her mouth. Raquel was going to suck my cock and make me come on her tongue and I was finally going to know what it was like, the thing I’d been imagining every night for months.

Then she stopped. She looked up at me and clicked her tongue.

—Well now.

—What? —I asked, a knot in my throat, sensing something was going wrong.

—Nothing, Mateo. I’m not putting anything that hairy in my mouth —she said, and as she stood back up she pulled my clothes back up, covering me with an almost cruel delicacy—. Sorry.

She gave me another kiss on the forehead, this one more mocking than the first, and spent another five minutes finishing one of the half-done orders before heading home as if nothing had happened.

***

The following week I already knew what I had to do, and I did it. I shaved everything, obsessively careful, first trimming with scissors and then running the razor twice over every centimeter, until my pubes, my balls, and the base of my cock were as smooth as a baby’s ass. I looked at myself naked in the bathroom mirror and imagined the face she’d make when I pulled it out and she saw I’d come through. I got the shop ready, left the orders almost finished so there’d be time, and waited for Tuesday with my stomach knotted in pure anticipation and my cock getting hard every time I heard the bell over the door.

But Raquel didn’t come.

Not that Tuesday, not the next one, not the one after that. The storeroom fell silent again, with its low radio and high shelves, and I was alone once more, with no one to answer to. It took me almost a month to understand what had happened, and I found out in the worst possible way: by overhearing my parents talking in the kitchen. Raquel had found a full-time job somewhere else in the city and could no longer come by the shop. We’d have to find someone to replace her in her tasks.

I stood there leaning against the doorframe, spoon halfway to my plate, feeling like the stupidest guy in the world. So many Tuesdays, so much ritual, so much learned lesson, and I’d failed the final exam by one week’s delay.

A few weeks later we found the person who replaced her. But who it was, and what happened to me when they arrived, that’s a different matter entirely. As is the only time, much later, when I ran into Raquel again on the street, her arm linked through a man’s and me already turned into someone who knew exactly what he was doing.

But those, as I said, are stories for another day.