I Spied on My Mother from Behind the Living Room Curtain

We lived alone in an old house in downtown Mendoza, with high ceilings and a huge living room where my mother, Mónica, used to receive her friends on weekends. She was in her forties, with dark hair that she always wore loose, and a body with heavy curves that no clothing ever quite managed to hide. I had learned to look at her out of the corner of my eye and stay quiet.

That night she had gone out with Carla, her lifelong friend, a platinum blonde a few years younger than her, with an easy laugh and a provocative neckline. I’d heard them fantasize many times over after-dinner drinks, tongues loosened by wine, telling each other things I was supposedly not supposed to hear.

I went to bed early, but I didn’t sleep. Around three in the morning I heard the key turning in the lock, thick voices and laughter bouncing down the hallway. They weren’t coming home alone.

***

I got up in silence, barefoot, and went downstairs hugging the wall. From the archway that opened onto the living room I saw four people come in. Mónica was hanging off the arm of a tall guy with a short beard and arms covered in tattoos. Carla was barely holding herself up on another, skinnier man in a tight T-shirt, whose erection was already outlined under his pants.

Instinct pushed me behind the thick curtain that separated the living room from the window. It was the same hiding place I used as a kid when we played hide-and-seek. The floor lamp cast a warm light, enough to see everything without anyone seeing me. My heart was hammering in my chest and, against all logic, I felt my cock hardening inside my boxer briefs.

The men wasted no time. The tattooed one grabbed my mother by the waist and crushed her against him, forcing his tongue into her mouth with a violence that made her moan. His hands slid up under her blouse and caught her tits over her bra, squeezing them as if he wanted to leave a mark.

—You’re looking so good, Mónica —he told her, pulling back just enough—. I’m going to eat you whole.

—And I thought you were all talk —she answered, her voice broken by alcohol and desire.

Against the wall, the skinny one had lifted Carla’s skirt and was rubbing her through her panties. She laughed and bit her lip, spreading her legs to give him room.

—Your friend’s already wet before we even start —the skinny one said, without stopping kissing her neck.

—Carla’s always been ready —my mother replied, and the two of them laughed at something only they understood.

***

The tattooed man used his teeth to pull down my mother’s bra straps and left her tits bare. He crouched down and started sucking one nipple, taking it slowly into his mouth, while with the other hand he squeezed the other breast. Mónica grabbed his head and pressed him against her chest.

—Like that, don’t stop —she murmured, eyes closed.

I couldn’t move. It was my mother standing there, the woman who made me breakfast and scolded me for leaving my clothes on the floor, moaning like I had never heard her before. Part of me was screaming for me to go back to bed. The other had me nailed to the floor, with my hand stuffed inside my boxer briefs.

He lifted his face and whispered in her ear. She nodded, slipped out of his embrace, and dropped to her knees on the rug. She opened his pants, pulled down his boxer briefs, and took out a thick, hard cock. She took it with both hands and put it in her mouth, slowly at first, then deeper, making a wet sound that filled the living room.

—Easy, there’s enough for the whole night —the guy told her, grabbing her hair.

A couple of feet away, Carla had sat down on the arm of the sofa. The skinny one had taken off her panties and was eating her out without hurry, his face buried between her legs. She held his head and let out sharp little moans that mixed with my mother’s.

—Deeper —Carla begged him—. Don’t be so delicate.

Then they switched. The skinny one stood up and put his cock in Carla’s mouth, which she took eagerly, while Mónica straightened a little so the tattooed man could slide two fingers between her legs. The two women ended up kneeling side by side, taking turns, passing cocks from mouth to mouth, laughing between gags and saliva.

—Look at these two getting along —the tattooed man said, amused—. They look like old friends.

—Something like that —my mother panted, and from below she fixed him with a smile I didn’t know she had.

***

Clothes ended up scattered across the floor: my mother’s bra, Carla’s skirt, crumpled blouses. Within minutes, both of them were naked. Mónica standing up, her heavy tits hanging and her skin shining with sweat; Carla leaning on the sofa, offering her ass.

The tattooed man shoved my mother down onto the cushions, spread her legs, and sank into her in one thrust. Mónica let out a cry that caught in her throat and clung to his shoulders.

—Slowly —she managed to say—, it’s been a long time since…

—No slowly —he cut her off, and started pounding hard.

The skinny one, meanwhile, was fucking Carla from behind, holding her by the hips. Every so often the men switched places without warning: the tattooed one moved over to Carla, the skinny one settled between my mother’s legs. The women let themselves be carried along, moaning, begging for more, grabbing each other’s hands when a position brought them close.

—I’m coming —my mother warned at one point, her voice breaking—. Don’t stop, I’m coming.

The scene stretched on for what felt like an hour to me. Position changes, bodies turning over, hands squeezing, dirty words I listened to with my breath held. Until the two men, almost at the same time, came over them, over the tits, over the back, and the living room fell silent except for their ragged breathing.

***

The four of them collapsed on the big sofa, sticky and exhausted. They kissed slowly, caressed each other without urgency, murmuring amid low laughter. I stayed behind the curtain, with my legs asleep and the certainty that I should not be there.

Suddenly my mother sat up, unsteady.

—I’m going to the bathroom —she said hoarsely.

The tattooed man got up behind her without saying a word and followed her down the hall. I slid along the wall to the bathroom door, which had been left half open, and peered in just a little, hidden in the dimness.

The cold light of the fluorescent tube illuminated everything harshly. He had grabbed her by the hair and was leaning her against the sink, speaking into her ear.

—That wasn’t enough for you, was it? —he said—. It shows you needed it.

—Shut up —she answered, but she didn’t pull away.

He gave her a loud slap on the ass, already red, and the echo bounced around the small bathroom. Mónica leaned farther forward, resting her hands on the edge of the sink, looking at herself in the fogged mirror. He spat, lined himself up, and with a shove slid his cock into her from behind.

My mother let out a long groan, caught between pain and something else.

—Slowly, you son of a bitch —she panted—, it’s not made of rubber.

—You can take it —he answered, holding her by the hair like a rein.

He fucked her like that for several minutes, her body trembling against the marble. I saw a tear fall from her eye that wasn’t from sadness, saw her clench her teeth and push back against him, looking for it. Until he pulled out, gave her one last smack on the ass, and patted her cheek softly.

—Wash up and come back —he told her, as if nothing had happened.

He left first, without looking in my direction. I backed quickly into the living room and got behind the curtain again, my pulse racing.

***

A while later Mónica reappeared, disheveled and marked all over. She sank onto the sofa beside Carla and the men welcomed her with caresses. Little by little things started to wind down. The two guys dressed amid jokes, kissed each of them goodbye, and left as casually as they had arrived.

My mother went up the stairs dragging her feet, without noticing me. I thought it was over. But Carla, still naked, instead of following her, walked straight toward my hiding place. She yanked the curtain aside and found me there, hand in my boxer briefs and face burning.

—I saw you from the moment we came in —she told me quietly, unsurprised—. Every time I turned around, you were there, watching.

I didn’t know what to say. She smiled, amused by my embarrassment.

—It turned me on knowing you were spying —she went on, moving closer—. I’m not telling your mom anything. But this one you’re paying for.

She knelt in front of me without asking permission, pulled down my boxer briefs, and took my cock with both hands.

—Well look at that —she murmured—, and all this time hiding.

She took it into her mouth in one go, looking me straight in the eyes. I braced against the wall so I wouldn’t fall. I’d been holding myself back for so long that I barely lasted a couple of minutes. I grabbed her head almost without meaning to and she kept pace with me, trembling with a muffled moan.

I came hard, my legs shaking, and Carla didn’t let a drop escape. She swallowed everything and cleaned me with her tongue before standing up, her lips shining.

—This stays between us —she told me softly, fixing her hair—. Next time your mom goes out, let me know and we’ll arrange something better.

She turned around and went up the stairs as if she owned the house. I stayed behind the curtain that no longer hid anything, breathing in short bursts, knowing that night had broken something that wouldn’t be fixed. And knowing, worse still, that I didn’t want it fixed.