My Girlfriend’s Mother Was Waiting for Me in the Kitchen

There are things you don’t say out loud, and that is precisely why they end up happening. My story is one of those. I’m telling it because it seems dishonest to keep it to myself, and because I suspect that in every family, under the rug, some similar episode is sleeping, like the one I lived through.

My name is Hernán and I’m forty years old. For almost three years now I’ve been living with Camila, who is twenty-one. The age difference only scares people who see us for the first time. In bed we understand each other without needing to explain anything, and outside of it we talk about everything, which is quite a bit harder. For financial reasons, and so her mother wouldn’t be left alone after becoming a widow, we decided to move into the family house. It’s large, old, with walls that breathe and an interior courtyard where the sun comes in at an angle in the morning.

Camila’s mother is named Norma. She’s fifty-two, worn with a vanity I admire. Camila inherited her face, but her body came from her mother: wide hips, generous breasts, and a straight back that no man ignores when she crosses a street. By age, I ended up exactly between the two women in the house, and over time that became a fact neither of them knew how to deal with.

I call her “ma’am” to annoy her. It’s a code between us from the beginning. Every time I say it, she answers with a theatrical gesture, lifting her chin.

—Ma’am, my ass? A ma’am is a woman who’s already retired, and I’m still in active service —she said one afternoon, patting her hip to emphasize its firmness—. I don’t have a husband because he got it into his head to die, not because I stopped being a woman.

—Sorry, ma’am —I answered with false solemnity.

—Not like that either. Call me by my name; they gave it to me for a reason.

It was a game. An old, long game, one of those that keep going because it suits both of you not to let it end. Norma had a sharp tongue and very light eyes. Every time we crossed paths in the hallway, she found a way to brush against me with her shoulder and then apologize as if it hadn’t been on purpose.

One night, over dessert, Camila had gone upstairs to take a shower and the two of us were left at the table with half a bottle of wine. I tossed out a line at random, one of those silly remarks that serve as a test.

—They say marriage lasts as long as it lasts.

—Then you’ve got a lot of rope ahead of you —she answered without looking at me, pouring herself another glass.

—Camila should say that, not me.

—She isn’t impartial. She’s obliged to defend you.

—And what proof does the lady need?

—I get it every night. You know it. Your girl screams like she’s being murdered, and it costs me a lot to fall asleep after that.

I felt something move under the table, not physically, but in the air. I looked up. Norma held my gaze a second too long.

—You should tell her that —I said.

—I’ve told her many times. She keeps screaming anyway.

—And how do you calm yourself, ma’am?

She smiled slowly, like someone allowing herself, for the first time, an answer she’d had tucked away for years.

—Like women do who hear moaning on the other side of the wall. I slip my hand into my panties and touch my cunt until I come by myself, imagining my daughter’s face while she’s being fucked. Did you want a blunt answer? There you have it. Don’t ask me any more.

A silence charged with tension hung there until the bathroom door creaked and footsteps came down the stairs. The conversation stopped there, but we both knew it had been the beginning of something.

***

The following Monday I got home from work earlier than expected. The house smelled of coffee with cinnamon, an old recipe of Norma’s I had learned to recognize from the entryway. I went in without warning, left my keys on the hall table, and saw her from the threshold of the kitchen, with her back to me, measuring out the coffee maker with the same concentration another woman would use to read an important letter.

I stood still. Five minutes, maybe more. She was wearing a straight skirt to the knee and a thin blouse that clung to her back. I watched her move with the impunity of someone who thinks herself alone in a room. At one point she hiked the skirt up to mid-thigh and adjusted the strap of the black thong that had worked its way between her ass cheeks, revealing for an instant the white flesh of her ass and the taut string of fabric in the cleft. At another, she shoved a hand inside her blouse and readjusted her tits, with the same naturalness with which someone straightens a watch, and I caught sight of the dark nipple peeking from the edge of her bra.

I wasn’t the hunter. I was the hunted. I understood that when I saw her reflection in the steel tray resting beside the stove. Norma had seen me come in. She had seen me from the first minute. Every movement had been for me, exaggerated, slow, calculated with the precision of someone setting a trap.

She turned and pretended to be surprised.

—Oh, I didn’t hear you come in. Have you been there long?

—Not that long. A little while.

—And I, innocent me, giving myself the luxury of moving around like I was in my own house. Well, it is my house. What did you see?

—A bit of everything.

—And did you like it?

—Why would I lie to you. Yes.

—Good. That’s how I like it. We’re beginning to understand each other.

She rested her hip against the counter and crossed her arms beneath her breasts. She did it on purpose, I know, because the blouse tightened and the neckline went from discreet to indecent without her moving a millimeter. I had my fly pulled tight by an erection too big to fit in my pants, and she looked down at it without even trying to hide it, licked her upper lip, and didn’t conceal that either.

—By the effects, it looks like the performance was effective —she said, nodding at my cock—. You’ve got a hard-on. I can see it from here.

—The evidence is plain to see.

—Not that plain. I’d say it’s pretty well hidden. Will you let me see it? I want to know if it’s as big as it seems through the fabric.

It wasn’t a question. It was the final line of an agreement we’d been drafting for months without paper. She took my hand and we walked, pressed close together, down the hallway to her bedroom. I reached to close the door behind us and she stopped me, resting two fingers on my wrist.

—Leave it ajar. That way we’ll hear if Camila comes in.

***

Norma knelt before I had finished unfastening my belt. She did it with that calm authority of women who no longer ask what to do with a man’s mouth. She pulled down my pants and underwear in one tug and my cock sprang hard in front of her face, hard enough to hurt, the tip already wet with the fluid that had been dripping from the kitchen. She took it by the base with both hands, the way you take something you deserve, weighed it in her hands, brought it up to her face, and rubbed it over my cheek and closed lips before opening her mouth.

—Look at this —she said, spitting a thick strand over the head of my cock and spreading it with her tongue—. Look closely at how your mother-in-law sucks your dick.

She took me whole in one movement, slowly, without haste, until I felt her nose pressed against my pubis and her throat closing around the head. She pulled back only to speak, with her mouth full of saliva and a string of it hanging from her chin.

—Camila was right. It’s exactly how she described it to me. Thick, wide at the base, curved upward. The little whore drew it for me with her hands one night, drunk, in this very kitchen.

That sentence stole my breath. The idea that the two of them had talked about me, in that tone, sometime during the week, hit me harder than Norma’s tongue. She noticed and smiled against my skin before continuing. She took my balls into her mouth one by one, sucking them with her cheek hollowed in, and slid her flat tongue back up the thick vein to the tip. She knew things her daughter didn’t know. She was patient, kept the rhythm, hid her teeth, let her throat do the work. Every time I was buried all the way in, she stayed like that for a few seconds, deliberately choking, with teary eyes and saliva running from her chin to her breasts, until she let me go to breathe and took me in again.

—Fuck my face —she asked, pulling my cock from her mouth for a second—. Don’t take pity on me. Grab me by the hair and use my mouth however you want.

I grabbed her bun with both hands and started moving my hips against her face. She let me, moaning with her mouth full, letting each thrust drive her head against the wall of the bed’s headboard. Saliva poured from her in streams and left dark patches on her blouse. When she realized I was close to coming, she broke away abruptly, shoved me with both hands onto the bed, and climbed onto the mattress with her skirt still on.

—Now it’s my turn. Look at me.

She settled against the headboard, unbuttoned her blouse one button at a time, and took off her bra without any hurry. Her tits dropped heavy, bigger than they looked under her clothes, with dark nipples already hard. She pinched them herself in front of me, brought one to her mouth and then the other, and sucked them. She spread her legs and hiked her hem to the waist. The black thong had shifted to one side, soaked through, and her cunt gleamed between her thighs, swollen, with the lips parted and the clit peeking out. She’d been waiting for that moment for a while. She began to touch herself with her middle finger, making slow circles over the hood, while holding my gaze. She didn’t look down for a second. It was a silent command, a way of telling me to watch without being able to do anything yet.

—Come here —she said after a moment, slipping two fingers inside and pulling them out dripping wet to suck them in front of me—. But with your mouth first. I want you to lick me like you’ve never licked a cunt in your life.

I threw myself face down between her legs. I ripped off her thong in one tug, tossed it to the floor, and buried my face in her slit. She smelled strong, of a mature woman who’d been hot for hours. I replaced her fingers with my tongue and started deep, pushing into her to the root, eating her with my mouth before moving up to the clit. She gripped the iron bedpost and began to moan low, restrained, as if someone in the house still had to be respected. I sucked her swollen little cock with my lips, bit it slowly, slid two fingers into her and curled them, seeking that inside spot that makes women jerk. Norma let out a shriek and covered her own mouth.

—There, there, don’t stop, don’t stop, you son of a bitch, right there, that’s it, that’s it.

The first orgasm came quickly, a short shudder that squeezed her thighs around my head and left her laughing with her eyes closed, her cunt convulsing against my tongue. I kept licking her without giving her a break. The second was longer and dirtier. I covered her mouth with my palm and she bit me, and I felt her whole pelvis lift from the mattress as she came a quantity of juice onto my face that ran from my chin to my neck.

—I want the dick —she said, turning over without me asking, getting on all fours on the mattress and offering me her ass—. The way you like it. Camila told me. From behind, by the hair, not caring about me at all.

That phrase again. Again the idea that the two of them had mapped me out together, without warning me. I knelt behind her. I hiked her skirt all the way to her waist, spread her cheeks with both hands, and saw her red cunt, still open from the orgasms, and the dark wrinkled asshole higher up. I spat over both holes. I grabbed her hips and rested the head of my cock against the entrance, not pushing it in all the way, rubbing it over her parted lips.

—Put it in —she said—. Don’t make me wait. Put it all in at once.

I drove into her in one thrust, balls deep, without asking, and she screamed into the pillow, a muffled scream, long, with her mouth buried in the fabric so it wouldn’t be heard in the street.

—Harder. Don’t take care of me. I’m not made of glass. Fuck me the way you fuck my daughter when I hear her screaming at night.

I grabbed her hair, yanking her head back until her back arched, and fucked her with a rage I didn’t recognize in myself. The mattress creaked, the springs squealed, the sound of my cock going in and out was an obscene slapping that filled the room. Norma answered blow for blow, pushing her ass back to take it deeper, insulting me under her breath, calling me things no woman had ever said to me before in that bed.

—Like this, like this, daddy, that’s how you drive it into me, deeper, break me all up, do whatever you want with me, harder, harder, fuck me like an old bitch, fuck your mother-in-law, fuck the whore that’s your girlfriend’s mother.

I moistened my thumb with spit and pressed it to her asshole, pushing gradually. She opened up on her own, pushing her anus against my finger, and swallowed it to the knuckle. I felt her tremble all at once and come again, her cunt clamping my cock so hard I nearly lost it right there. Every word out of her mouth was a small betrayal of Camila and yet every word seemed spoken with Camila’s permission. It was a confusing thought and, as I fucked her with a finger in her ass and a hand in her hair, it started to become an exciting thought.

—I’m coming —I warned her, my voice hoarse.

—Inside. Inside, don’t be a coward. Empty yourself inside your mother-in-law.

I came without warning, still inside her, in long spurts that I felt leaving one after another, as if she were squeezing out the last gram from me. Norma clung to the mattress and wouldn’t let me pull out, milking my cock with her cunt until the last drop.

—Stay. A little longer. I want to feel you there, I want to feel your milk dripping inside me. Don’t pull out yet.

I let myself fall over her back, with my cock still buried in her, feeling it pulse inside her, and bit her neck. We stayed like that, stuck together like two dogs after fucking, while our breathing slowly settled.

***

I don’t know how long we slept. Ten minutes, twenty. When I opened my eyes, Camila was in the doorway. I didn’t know how long she’d been there. She was standing with her arms crossed, leaning against the frame, still in her work uniform, looking at us without a single expression on her face.

I touched Norma’s shoulder without speaking. She followed my gaze calmly, as if she’d been waiting for that image since before the first kiss.

—Hi, mom —Camila said from the doorway. Just that.

—Hi, my love.

—How many?

—One. You came early.

—You’ll have others.

Norma looked at me as if asking forgiveness in advance. Camila didn’t come closer. She turned around and went down the stairs. We heard her open the fridge. We heard her pour herself something. We heard her go back to the living room and turn on the television.

I dressed in silence, clumsy-handed, with someone else’s semen still dripping down my thigh. Norma sat on the bed, still naked, and combed her hair with her fingers. There were red marks on her ass from my hands and a thick thread of cum running down the inside of her leg to her knee, which she wiped off with her finger and put into her mouth as if it were nothing.

—You go down first —she said—. I’m taking a shower. Don’t tell her anything she doesn’t want to hear.

***

Dinner was almost normal. Almost. There was more wine than usual, long looks between mother and daughter, half-finished sentences. I tried to keep up with the conversation and kept letting my eyes drift to the two of them as if I were seeing them for the first time. Camila didn’t reproach me at all. Not an insinuation, not a leading question. Only, at one point, while Norma was in the kitchen bringing dessert, she rested her hand on my thigh under the table and slowly slid it upward, unhurried, until she was squeezing my cock through my pants. She found that I was hard again. She smiled without looking at me and stroked me over the fabric for a long minute, squeezing my balls, while talking about anything in a normal voice.

When we went upstairs to sleep, none of us was sleepy. Camila sat on the edge of the bed with her glass still in hand. She took the last sip slowly.

—I’ve known for a while —she said without looking at me—. Mami’s been telling me for a long time.

—Telling you what?

—What she imagines. What goes through her head. She’d tell me she touched herself thinking about you, that she slipped her fingers in while listening to us fuck. It’s not the first time my mother has fallen in love with one of my boyfriends. It’s the first time I haven’t gotten mad.

—Why?

She shrugged and set the glass on the nightstand.

—Because I want to see it too. And because, for months now, when it’s you and me, I think of her. When you lick me, when you fuck me, when you make me come, I think of my mother’s face doing the same. It’s strange. I don’t know if it’s right. I know I don’t care.

She stood up. She held out her hand. I followed her to the back bedroom, her mother’s room, the one that still smelled of afternoon, of sex, of sweat, of me. The door was open. Norma was sitting on the bed in a silk robe, badly tied, and her hair was still damp from the shower. She didn’t say anything when we went in. Camila didn’t either. I stayed in the doorway, not knowing what to do with my hands, until the two of them signaled to me at the same time: one from one side of the bed, the other from the other side. They were making room for me in the middle. As if they’d rehearsed it throughout dinner. As if they’d rehearsed it throughout my whole life in that house.

I took my clothes off without looking at them. I got in between the two of them. Camila threw herself on me first, found my mouth, and kissed me with her whole tongue, while Norma’s hand grabbed my cock from the other side and began making it hard again with slow strokes. I felt my woman work her way down my chest with kisses, her lips open, biting me every so often, until she reached the cock her mother was holding. Camila took it into her mouth without letting go of Norma’s hand. The two of them sucked my cock at the same time, the daughter on the tip, the mother licking me from the balls to the shaft, their tongues meeting halfway and kissing there, with my cock between them.

I lifted my head to look at them and couldn’t believe what I was seeing: mother and daughter with their lips pressed together, sharing saliva, and my cock between their two mouths as if it were a third language in which they understood each other.

—Come here, mom —Camila said, pulling on my arm—. Come on top of me. You first. Then you can follow her with me.

Camila threw herself onto her back and spread her legs. I tore off her panties and drove into her in one thrust. She was soaked, wetter than I’d ever felt her. I started fucking her while Norma settled beside us, leaning on one elbow, watching us up close, one hand between her own legs and the other on her daughter’s breast. She pinched Camila’s nipple between two fingers and twisted it, and Camila moaned louder, arching against me.

—That’s it, my love, that’s how he fucks you —Norma whispered in her ear—. Look at him. Look how he drives his cock into you. I had it inside me a little while ago, the same one. He emptied himself completely in me.

Camila moaned with her mouth open against her mother’s mouth, and at one point the two of them kissed over me while I was fucking her, two tongues moving against each other ten centimeters from my face. My vision blurred. I came out of Camila, dripping with her juices, and Norma grabbed my cock without asking and took it into her mouth herself, sucking on her daughter from my cock without the slightest disgust. Then she guided me with her hand back to Camila’s cunt, and made me enter slowly, guiding me, as if she were giving me permission to fuck her daughter in front of her.

After that they asked me to fuck her. Norma got on all fours beside Camila. I drove in from behind and started fucking her again, this time with Camila watching every thrust closely, eyes shining, touching her cunt while she watched the cock that had been hers ten minutes earlier go in and out. At one point Camila slid underneath, lying on her back, with her head between her mother’s knees, and started licking Norma’s clit while I penetrated her mother from behind. I could feel Camila’s tongue brushing my balls and the base of my cock every time I pulled out, and I heard my woman sucking her mother’s cunt, with her lips pressed to the slit that had given birth to her.

Norma came screaming her daughter’s name first, and mine after. Camila came out from below with her face soaked in her mother’s juices and grabbed me by the hair to kiss me again, passing that filthy mouth over me. We changed positions twice more. I lost count of how many times they came. I came once in Camila’s mouth, with Norma coming over to share the load, the two of them with their tongues out, fighting over the last threads of cum. And a second time, later, in Norma’s mouth, while Camila squeezed my balls from below until she milked me dry.

The three of us ended with our heads together on the same pillow, legs tangled, my cock still soft between two hands I couldn’t distinguish in the dim light. And only then did I understand that the real trap hadn’t been the one in the kitchen that afternoon. The real trap had begun much earlier, the day the two of them, mother and daughter, silently decided that with me they were going to try something neither of them had ever done with anyone else.

The light stayed on all night.