The Park Bully Forced Me to Pay Him with My Body

I'm forty-seven years old, recently divorced, and certain that life laughs in your face when you least expect it. My ex-husband Andrés left me for the assistant at his law office, a girl in her early twenties with everything surgically enhanced and permanently swollen lips. The world's stalest cliché, turned into my reality.

I had suspected for months that something was going on with Laura, that shrill-laughing brat who brought reports to the house when he pretended to work on Saturdays. I refused to see it until it was too late. I was a fool. And the worst part is that if he knocked on the door tomorrow asking to come back, I think I'd open it without asking questions, without reproaching him even once, even pretending I knew nothing, as long as he came back to sleep with me.

After the separation, I had to move from the apartment in the upscale district, with its river views and doorman, to this hole that smells of damp and old pipes. Here, the rent doesn't strangle me, and I can keep raising Lucas, my son.

He had just turned eighteen and was the only thing I truly cared about. I don't work; I never have, and at my age, without a single signed contract in my name, I'm damaged goods on the job market. I live on the support money that my ex, the idiot, sends me, stretching every euro so Lucas never goes without.

My son is fragile. He always has been. I raised him in cotton wool, too overprotected by me, and now he was becoming fresh meat for a neighborhood that devours anything that smells of weakness. Shy and quiet, with that habit of lowering his head whenever someone stares at him. Since we moved here, the light in him has gone out a little more every day.

The first time he came home with a split lip and glassy eyes, something inside me broke.

—What happened to you, sweetheart? —I asked, trying to touch his face.

He knocked my hand away with a sharp slap.

—Leave me alone. It's your fault for letting Dad leave. For bringing me to this shitty neighborhood.

Two days later, the same sight: dried blood beneath his nose and poisoned reproaches. My son was fading away right in front of me, and I didn't know how to reach him. He talked about dropping out of high school, locking himself in his room, about life having no meaning.

Then the thefts began.

Small amounts disappeared from my purse whenever I left it in the entryway. Twenty euros on a Tuesday. Ten on Thursday. I didn't say a word. I watched him in silence, stitching my own conclusions together, until one night I couldn't take it anymore and decided to follow him.

I left five minutes after him, wrapped in a dark trench coat. Lucas headed toward the park's basketball court. I hid behind a tree, sinking my heels into the damp earth, feeling the autumn cold creep through my stockings and a physical fear squeeze my stomach.

There were four or five boys playing. All of them a couple of years older than my son.

I noticed one of them immediately. Tall, nearly six and a half feet. A mass of young, arrogant muscle crammed into a tank top that exposed tattooed biceps covered in black lettering. His smile wasn't clean; it was the smile of a dog that knows its prey is cornered.

From my hiding place I felt two things at once: a mother's fury and an icy panic that paralyzed me. I thought about calling the police, but I knew that would only make things worse for Lucas. I had to swallow my instincts and watch.

—What's up, Lucas... —the big guy's voice vibrated through the air, heavy with irony—. We were starting to miss you, kid.

He hugged him. It wasn't a friendly gesture. It was a display of power. He towered over him by a full head. I saw his fingers sink into my son's shoulders, dominating him without needing to raise a hand.

—Did you bring today's payment? —he asked.

Lucas slipped a trembling hand into his pocket. He took out a bill.

—I'm sorry, Iván... it's all I could get. My mother already suspects... —he fell silent, swallowing the shame of admitting out loud that he was stealing from me.

Iván smiled. He took the bill contemptuously, put it away, and shoved him hard enough to nearly knock him to the ground.

—I want the rest tomorrow... or you know what happens.

The others laughed. Lucas lowered his head and started home. I remained frozen behind the tree, feeling helplessness burn inside me. My son was paying those thugs so they wouldn't beat him to a pulp.

***

The next day I left my purse open on a chair in the living room. I waited. When I came back, thirty euros were missing.

I didn't scream. I didn't cry. I felt a glacial calm take hold of me. I was his mother, and I was obliged to protect him, no matter the cost.

That same night I crossed the park with the feeling that the shadows of the empty swings were watching me. The scene repeated itself like a mirror: the flickering light, the echo of the ball against the asphalt, them.

—Iván! —I shouted from the edge of the court.

My voice came out higher than I wanted. He was holding the ball, about to shoot. He went still and turned his head very slowly, as if he couldn't believe what he was seeing. He approached with that swaggering, heavy gait, looking me over from head to toe beneath the streetlamp's yellow light.

—Do I know you, ma'am? —he drawled with a smugness that turned my stomach.

—I'm Lucas's mother —I stammered, squaring my shoulders so I wouldn't tremble—. And I'm here to warn you: if you touch him again, I'll report you. My ex-husband is a lawyer, and I have proof of how you're blackmailing him.

I improvised as I went, fists clenched so he wouldn't see my hands shaking. Iván was pure bulk, even if he was young.

He let out a dry, cutting laugh and glanced over his shoulder at his friends, who had stopped playing.

—This beautiful lady is Lucas's mother —he announced to the group mockingly—. And she says she's going to report me for some kind of extortion.

The rest burst out laughing. I felt the blood rise to my cheeks. At that moment I knew my threats were worthless in his rat's code.

The others went back to shooting, ignoring me as if I were just another park post. Iván remained in front of me, invading my space until I could feel the heat radiating from his body.

—You're mistaken, ma'am. I don't extort your son —he said, shortening the distance even further—. I protect him so others don't gobble him up, plain and simple. This neighborhood is rough. I rent out my muscles to people who don't know how to defend themselves... but if you get fussy, starting tomorrow Lucas can defend himself.

He said it with animal pride, almost brushing my chest. He turned to go back to the court, but panic made me react. I grabbed his arm. His skin was hot and hard as stone.

—How much do you want? —I blurted out.

Iván turned slowly. His smile was no longer mocking. It was something darker, almost a promise.

—Well, well, ma'am... —he let out another laugh—. You come here threatening me and disrespecting me in front of my boys, and now you expect me to babysit your pup? You look after him. That's what you're his mother for.

—Please... —I begged, feeling the words stick in my throat—. Lucas is a good boy, and he couldn't take another beating.

I humiliated myself. It was as simple as that. In front of that kid who could have been my son, in the middle of a park that smelled of urine, I threw away the remnants of the elegant woman I'd been only a few months before. Iván stopped halfway, allowing the court's floodlight to outline his muscles beneath the tank top.

—From now on, I'll deal only with you, not your son. Lucas pays me on Mondays: one payment, one week of protection. That's how things work around here.

He held my gaze. His eyes dropped for a second toward my mouth before he finished:

—Come next Monday night. I'll tell Lucas he doesn't have to hand over another cent, that I'll protect him anyway. And I won't tell him we've talked.

He turned away without waiting for an answer, leaving me standing there, breathing dust and knowing I'd just made a deal with the devil.

***

Over the next few days, Lucas changed. He no longer shut himself away to rot in his anger. Sometimes he even smiled. As if someone had loosened the grip around his throat.

On Monday night I found him calm, sprawled on the sofa and absorbed in a show. I lied effortlessly, telling him I was going downstairs to take out the trash, and went out into the street with my purse pressed against my stomach, as if I could protect myself from what I already knew was going to happen.

Iván saw me arrive. He gave his friends a curt gesture and left the court with the arrogant calm of someone who knows the world revolves around him.

—I've been waiting for you —he said, with a half-smile that held nothing kind.

—Tell me how much it is —I said, planting my feet on the ground—. I don't have much, Iván. I'm divorced and I don't work.

He wasn't listening to me. He was looking at me. Slowly. His eyes dropped to my cleavage and lingered there without disguise, continued down my waist and hips, then returned to my lips.

—You'd have to be completely out of your mind to let a woman like you get away —he said in a low, filthy voice—. You can see it on your face: you're dying to be fucked properly... I bet your husband never knew how to put it in you the way you deserve. I bet your ex-husband had a pathetic little dick and came in two minutes, leaving you with a dry cunt and your needs hanging.

I blushed. Not from modesty. From fear. And from a shame that burned me inside when I realized his words didn't merely offend me; they humiliated me... and something else I didn't want to name. Because he was right. Andrés had always been a mediocre, hurried, selfish lover, and I hadn't had a real orgasm in years.

—We're not here to talk about me or my ex-husband —I shot back, opening my purse with fingers that barely obeyed me—. Tell me how much you want and let's get this over with.

—This isn't about money anymore.

I took a step backward. My instinct to run screamed in my ears. My phone was in my pocket, but I knew I wouldn't have time to dial.

—Relax... I'm not going to touch you —he said, with a calm that chilled me more than any threat—. These past few days I've become friends with your boy. Nobody dares mess with Lucas anymore. No one will touch him. But you... I'd rather fuck you than your son —he let out a hoarse laugh—. I bet you have a beautiful, tight pussy, the kind that hasn't had a good dick inside it for years.

Then I understood. Lucas's change, his sudden confidence... Iván wasn't looking at my purse; he was devouring my cleavage, lowering his gaze toward my legs with heavy lust, imagining himself between them.

—You're a woman with plenty to grab onto —he remarked, with a bluntness that turned my stomach—. Exactly how I like them. Big tits that wobble, an ass that bounces when you get fucked from behind. And mature women even more, because when they let go, they really let go. Fuck... Lucas's mother.

—I won't allow you to... —I began to protest.

He didn't let me finish. He pressed a finger to my lips. Firm. Dry. Inarguable.

—Shhh...

And in that simple gesture I understood that I wasn't the one in charge of the conversation.

—Whenever I see a lady like you walking around the neighborhood, I always wonder what she's wearing beneath her skirt —he said with cruel deliberation, never taking his eyes off my hips—. Whether she's wearing granny panties or thongs like the young girls. Whether her pussy is shaved or covered in undergrowth.

—You're a pig! —I exploded, avoiding his gaze. No one had ever spoken to me like that in my life—. Tell me how much you want, damn it.

Iván twisted his face in feigned boredom and began turning toward his friends. Panic for Lucas struck me like lightning. Without thinking, I grabbed his arm, feeling the heat of his skin again. He stopped, waiting, knowing he had me cornered in my own desperation.

—Are you going to answer my question or waste my time? —he asked.

—Panties. Thongs are uncomfortable —I blurted out. My voice sounded ridiculous.

Iván sketched a half-smile loaded with lust that made me shrink inside. It wasn't the smile of a young boy. It was the smile of a man who knows which strings to pull to make a woman fall apart.

—I suspected as much... —he said, coming close enough for me to feel his breath—. With an ass like yours, a thong would look incredible on you. Give me your panties. That's this week's payment. But you'll have to take them off here.

I felt the world contract until only he and I remained in that rotten corner of the park. Mechanically, I hitched up my skirt. The fabric slid up my thighs to my waist, exposing my underwear to his hungry eyes. Iván didn't blink. His breathing grew louder.

I lowered my panties slowly, feeling the cold night air strike my intimate flesh. When I lifted one foot to pull them off, the heel caught in the delicate lace. For a few endless seconds I had to balance myself, completely exposed, offering him a raw view of my half-open pussy, its hair trimmed and its pink lips shining with traitorous wetness. Iván devoured the sight, his gaze fixed on the moisture that, to my utter shame, was beginning to flow without my permission, already trickling down the insides of my thighs.

—Fuck, what a tasty cunt you have, Helena. And look at you, dripping, you slut... —he muttered, licking his lips—. You're turning into a wet mess just from me looking at you. That means it's been far too long since someone put it in you properly.

I held them out with a trembling hand. He took them, buried his nose in the crotch of the garment, soaked with my juices, and inhaled with an intensity that made me shudder. He stuck out his tongue and licked the damp fabric with his eyes closed, tasting me as if I were a delicacy.

—You must have one hell of a cunt... Tastes like heaven —he said, tucking them into the pocket of his sweatpants—. And this is only the appetizer. Next week I want to taste you directly from the source.

I lowered my head. I could hardly believe I was standing there without panties in front of that second-rate thug, my pussy soaked and exposed to the cold night air, feeling the wetness continue to spill between my thighs.

—What's your name? —he asked, tilting his head to find my eyes.

—Helena —I managed to say, feeling a shameful, hot throbbing between my legs, a pulse reminding me how aroused I was despite myself, a reaction my mind rejected but my body shouted.

—See you Monday, Helena —he said, turning away and heading back to the court without looking back.

I walked home feeling my skirt brush directly against my bare skin, my sex throbbing, swollen, still soaked. Every step made me conscious of the emptiness between my legs, of how my swollen lips rubbed against each other, of how a warm thread of moisture slid down my thigh. When I reached the entrance, I had to lean against the wall and breathe deeply. I'd just crossed a line there was no coming back from.

***

Two days later, the sound of a key turning in the lock pulled me out of a stupor in front of the television. I sat up lazily, expecting to see Lucas's hunched figure returning from school, but when I looked into the hallway, the air froze in my chest.

My son wasn't alone. Beside him, filling the space with a presence that made the walls of the apartment seem to shrink, was him.

—Mom —Lucas said with a lightness that hurt me—, meet Iván. A friend from the park.

I stood speechless, rooted to the floor. Iván stepped forward, silhouetted against the hallway light. He wore a black sweatshirt that barely contained the breadth of his shoulders and the same predatory gaze that had stripped me naked in the park. He looked me over from head to toe, lingering a second too long on my hips, reminding me without words that less than forty-eight hours earlier I had lifted my skirt for him, that my soaked pussy had been his private spectacle. I knew that at that moment, in his pants pocket or perhaps on his nightstand, were my panties stained with my juices.

—Nice to meet you, Iván —I managed to say, though the words sounded thick—. And how do you two know each other?

I shot him a murderous look, loaded with a silent warning. This wasn't the arrangement. The deal was made in the darkness of the park, far from my home and from my son's recovered innocence.

Lucas opened his mouth, but Iván got there first.

—Sometimes we shoot hoops at the park —his deep voice vibrated through the narrow hallway. Beside Lucas, Iván didn't look like a boy; he looked like a grown man, an animal that had just marked its territory.

He held my gaze with unbearable fixity. In his eyes shone the power of someone who knows he has me trapped between my secret and my son's safety.

—Your mother seems like a very serious woman, Lucas —he added, and for an instant his lips curled into that filthy smile that made me remember the cold of the park, the taste he'd drawn from my panties with his tongue, and the shameful wetness I still felt whenever I thought about it.

Lucas, oblivious to the high-voltage current running between us, smiled at him admiringly. I could think only of the next Monday, the next delivery, and how much more territory that savage intended to claim before he was satisfied. His words continued echoing in my head: “Next week I want to taste you directly from the source.”

They went into Lucas's room on the pretext of playing a few console games. For two hours I wandered the hallway like a lost soul, pressing my ear to the door. I didn't trust him. Iván was a bad influence, a potential criminal who had slipped into our lives almost without us noticing.

When they finally came out, I was in the kitchen preparing dinner. I'd changed out of the tight leggings and T-shirt I usually wore around the house and into jeans and a sweatshirt two sizes too large. I was trying to make myself invisible, erase every trace of the woman he'd seen in the park, protect myself beneath layers of thick cotton.

—Mom —Lucas said, peering into the kitchen with an energy I didn't recognize—. I'm going out with Iván. He wants to introduce me to some friends.

—At this hour? —I asked, and my heart lurched.

—Mom... —he said, visibly embarrassed in front of his new idol—. I'm eighteen now.

He turned and left the kitchen with determined steps.

—Don't worry, ma'am, I'll take care of him —Iván shouted from the hallway.

His drawling voice carried an irony that made me tremble. I heard the door slam, and silence returned to the house, but it was a contaminated silence.

***

The following Monday arrived with the weight of a sentence. Before leaving, under the pretense of taking out the trash, I went into the bathroom. I took off that day's panties and, after a moment of hesitation that made me hate myself, searched for a new pair in the drawer. I chose burgundy silk panties, with a narrow crotch. Feeling the clean fabric settle against my pussy sent a shiver through me. I didn't do it only out of modesty. It was a perverse offering I didn't want to acknowledge. In front of the mirror, with my skirt still raised, I ran a finger over my swollen lips and found that I was wet. Wet before I'd even left the house. Wet from merely thinking about him.

I crossed the park with my pulse racing, feeling that every shadow was a neighbor judging me. Iván was alone, sitting on a wooden bench beneath a yellow streetlamp beside the court. He smoked slowly, his back against the seat and a can of beer beside him. When he saw me, he exhaled the smoke with maddening slowness, as if timing my fear.

My nerves were eating me alive. I wanted this to be over quickly. Without saying a word, I approached him and put my hands on the hem of my skirt, prepared to repeat the ritual, give him the garment, and flee to the safety of my living room. Simple and quick. But before I could lift the fabric, his large hand closed around my wrist with enough force to stop me dead.

—What are you doing? —his voice was a rough whisper that struck my face.

—Giving them to you and leaving —I managed in a thread of a voice.

—Not today, Helena. Today I want more than that. I've been thinking about it all week, fucking your panties at night, imagining what it will be like to bury myself inside you. I'm not going to settle for so little.

He sprang to his feet without releasing me and shoved me with brutal force into the darkness behind the trunk of an old poplar that hid us from the streetlamp. He slammed me against the rough bark. Before I could protest, his mouth crashed onto mine.

The kiss began almost timidly, a brush of lips tasting of tobacco and beer, but in a second it became an assault. He thrust his tongue inside with savage urgency, sweeping through my mouth as if it belonged to him, twining it with mine, sucking it, biting my lower lip until I moaned against his mouth. Never, not even Andrés in our best years, had kissed me like that, with such invasive possession. I felt my pussy respond instantly, soaking my new panties, throbbing between my thighs with a hunger that had lain dormant for years.

—I like you, Helena —he panted when our lips separated by barely a few millimeters—. Do you want to feel how much I like you?

He seized my hand and, with a sharp movement, slammed it against his crotch. Through the thin fabric of his sweatpants I felt an enormous hardness that stole my breath. A rigid, long, pulsing bulge that showed obscenely through the cotton.

Without releasing my wrist, he slipped his own hand beneath the waistband of his pants and guided mine inside. My fingers closed around his hot, throbbing cock, its firmness and thickness weakening my legs. It was so thick my fingers barely encircled it. The skin burned, and a drop of pre-cum dampened my thumb when I brushed the swollen, exposed head.

—Do you like it? —he growled in my ear—. It's like this because of you, because of that whore's mouth of yours. Come on, move your hand, you slut... I'm sure you know how to give a proper handjob. Show this kid how an experienced woman does it.

With an awkwardness that embarrassed me, I pulled his cock out through the sweatpants. I lost my breath when I saw it beneath the filtered streetlamp. Huge. Thick, veined, with a purple, gleaming head, a piece of living flesh that had nothing to do with my ex-husband's. Andrés had been mediocre at everything, including that. This cock was a weapon. I began moving my hand up and down, feeling his skin slide over the hardness beneath, tightening my fingers and matching the rhythm. Iván closed his eyes and threw back his head, letting out a guttural growl.

—That's it, slut, that's it... spit on it, get it nice and wet —he panted.

Without thinking, I obeyed. I gathered saliva and let a thick strand fall onto his swollen head. I spread the moisture with my palm, sliding it more easily, feeling his cock grow even harder between my fingers.

—Promise me you'll look after Lucas —I pleaded, while my hand quickened almost instinctively, stroking him with both hands now, moving up and down his entire length.

—Keep going, whore... keep jerking me off like that —he moaned, ignoring my question—. Fuck, what hands you have. What a handjob...

No one had ever called me a slut or a whore in my life, but instead of enraging me, the insults lit a wet fire between my thighs. I felt my new panties become completely soaked, a thread of moisture sliding down the inside of my thigh. I continued masturbating him, tightening my fingers, twisting my wrist on every upward stroke, pausing over the head to massage it with my thumb, feeling his breathing grow erratic.

—I'll make you come, I promise —I said softly, in a voice I didn't recognize as my own, hoarse and hungry—. But first... swear you won't let anything bad happen to my son.

He leaned in and bit my neck hard, tearing a moan from me, while one of his hands climbed beneath my blouse and squeezed one breast with a pressure that made me cry out.

—Relax, nothing will happen to him... you have my word. But let me see your tits. The other day at your house, in that tight shirt, they looked huge to me. I've been imagining them for days.

I felt dizzy, but it was already too late. I thought showing him my breasts was the least of it. I let him undo the buttons of my blouse with feverish impatience. He yanked my bra up, leaving my breasts bare, pale in the park's gloom, their nipples erect and hard as stones, betraying me.

—Fuck, what a pair of tits, Helena —he whispered, with a mixture of wonder and hunger—. And look at those nipples; they're begging to be sucked. You're so fucking horny, slut. You can't deny it.

He leaned in and began devouring them. He took one entirely into his mouth, sucking hard while his hot tongue circled the nipple. He nibbled it, tugged it with his teeth until I screamed, then moved to the other and repeated the assault. With his free hand he squeezed the abandoned breast, pinching the nipple between thumb and forefinger and twisting it. I continued masturbating him desperately, feeling his cock swell even more in my fingers, pulsing as it announced the impending explosion.

Pleasure and guilt mixed in my throat. My own pussy was dripping, throbbing with an unbearable emptiness, crying out to be filled. I squeezed my thighs together, trying to smother the hot pulse hammering my clitoris.

—I'm going to come, slut... I'm going to come on your tits —Iván growled, tensing his whole body—. Keep going, keep jerking me like that, don't stop...

I sped up, using both hands now, feeling his cock grow even harder and hotter in the instant before release. Suddenly Iván let out a muffled, guttural cry and went completely rigid. The first hot jet of his semen splashed across my chest, landing on my nipple and running down my stomach. The second hit my hand, forearm, and skirt. The spasms continued for several endless seconds, emptying onto my body with an abundance that left me stunned. I'd never seen a man come so much, or so violently.

I stood paralyzed, feeling the last spasm beneath my fingers, my hands and chest smeared with his hot seed, watching a thick strand slide between my breasts. As soon as he relaxed, I dropped his member in fright, though it was still hard, still throbbing in my hand.

—Fuck, that felt so good... —he panted, breathing unevenly—. What a handjob, slut. Next time, that mouth. Then your pussy. I'm going to fuck you until you can't walk, Helena. I'm going to make you forget your husband ever existed.

His words struck my belly like a lash. I wiped the back of my hand across my chest, trying to clean away the semen dripping between my breasts, but only spread it farther. I hurriedly pulled my bra down over my stained skin, my hands sticky and trembling, and buttoned my blouse any which way, feeling the fabric absorb the warm dampness against my still-erect nipples. I couldn't look him in the face. I felt stripped, emptied of all dignity. I had just masturbated a nineteen-year-old kid in the middle of a public park, let him splatter my breasts with his cum, and the worst part, the truly unbearable part, was that my pussy was still throbbing unsatisfied, wanting him to have penetrated me right there against the tree. No one who had known me before could have believed it.

I turned around and walked quickly, almost running, toward the park exit, his semen still trickling inside my blouse and my panties soaked with my own desire.

—Give Lucas my regards! —he shouted from the darkness, with a triumphant laugh that followed me all the way to the entrance of my building.