My Mother Always Won, Until That Night

There’s a concept most people associate only with schoolyards and teenagers’ group chats: bullying. That repeated dynamic where someone, with no consequences for themselves, picks a specific person and makes their life miserable. The key ingredient is that the victim can’t, or doesn’t know how to, defend themselves. What few people are willing to admit is that this phenomenon also exists inside houses, around dinner tables, among people who are supposed to love each other.

I know this because I lived it firsthand.

My mother, Lorena, is forty years old and looks thirty. She’s tall—one meter eighty-five—and muscular in a way that is both imposing and completely feminine. Dark brown hair that falls over her shoulders, honey-colored eyes, and a body built by years of training with almost unfair precision. There’s no more honest way to put it: my mother is beautiful, she knows it, and she uses that knowledge as a permanent weapon.

I’m Andrés. I’m twenty-two, short, thin, the kind of guy his friends call “the brains of the group” with a mixture of affection and condescension. I was always quiet, avoided conflict, preferred giving in to arguing. And Lorena exploited those traits with a joy that, now that I think about it, had something artistic about it.

Her games began innocently when I started university: hiding my keys, changing my phone’s language, turning off the router in the middle of an online exam. Irritating but harmless things. Over time, the jokes changed nature.

***

The first time she crossed a line was on a Saturday afternoon in late autumn.

I had fallen asleep on the living room sofa after lunch, with the TV on an boring documentary about volcanoes. It was one of those heavy, shapeless dreams, the kind that makes the outside world disappear completely.

I woke up because I couldn’t breathe.

It took me a couple of seconds to understand what was happening. The weight was enormous. Warm. Soft and crushing at the same time. When I managed to turn my head, I saw my mother’s pants around her ankles and her legs on either side of my head. Her naked ass, two firm, tanned hemispheres, was a centimeter from my mouth, and beneath the sheer fabric of her panties I could make out the lips of her cunt pressed against the cotton.

—What...? Mom! —I jerked to get free, banging my elbow against the sofa arm.

Lorena got up laughing, holding onto her clothes.

—Oh, sorry, sorry! —she said, still laughing—. It’s just that your face has exactly the shape of a cushion and I got completely confused.

—You’re unbearable! —I threw the cushion at her. She dodged it effortlessly.

—You’re right, I behaved terribly! —she said, turning on her heels to show me her back while she bent over theatrically, her panties still halfway down her leg—. Why don’t you punish me? Go on, do it. Then I’ll learn.

I looked away. She laughed at that too.

***

Two days later came the second joke.

I showered as always, first thing in the morning, with the door closed but not locked because there had never been any reason to change that in our house. My mistake for not fixing it sooner.

I had shampoo in my hair when I heard the door open.

—Get out! —I said before seeing who it was—. I’m showering!

—Relax —said Lorena, slipping in as if nothing—. I’m just here to save water. It’s my contribution to the environment.

I pressed myself against the back wall, covering myself with my hands.

—There’s another bathroom!

—That one heats up too late —she replied, stepping under the spray without a trace of shame—. Besides, I want to make sure my son washes properly. Those things don’t regulate themselves.

I felt the contact of her body against my back. The heat of the water. The heat of her skin. Her big, hard tits flattening against my shoulder blades, her erect nipples jabbing into me like two rubber points. Her pubis brushing the base of my ass, with short, neat hair scratching my wet skin. I froze, clenching my teeth, trying to think about anything other than what was happening at that moment.

It didn’t work.

The erection came instantly and was absolutely humiliating. My cock went rock-hard against the tile, so hard it hurt. I shot out of the shower as if the floor were burning, wrapping myself in the first towel I found, and I didn’t stop until I’d shut the bathroom door from the outside.

Please let her not have noticed.

—Andrés! —she called from inside—. You forgot the conditioner! And something else stayed stiff too, honey!

Her laughter filled the entire apartment.

***

That same night she invited me to watch a movie on the sofa.

—It’s called The Desert Tamer —she said, with a smile I should have read better—. I know you like westerns.

I agreed reluctantly. I sat beside her. Five minutes later, the screen showed something that had absolutely nothing to do with a western.

Two actors. A period saloon set. And a woman kneeling in front of a guy in a hat, sucking his cock with her mouth opened all the way to her throat, while two other men waited their turn with their cocks in hand. There was no doubt about the kind of movie my mother had chosen for the evening.

—Turn it off! —I said, covering my face with my hands.

—Wait, wait —Lorena protested, eyes fixed on the screen and an expression of completely exaggerated fascination—. I just don’t understand how it’s physically possible for her to take it all the way in, look at that poor bitch’s throat...

—I told you to turn it off!

She did, but not quickly. Then she turned to me with a calm smile.

—You know, you’re the perfect target. There isn’t anyone easier to mortify in the whole world.

—Why do you do it? —I asked, and this time it wasn’t a rhetorical question.

She rested her elbow on the back of the sofa and looked at me with a calmness that was more irritating than any laugh.

—Because it amuses me. And because you’re adorable when you blush.

Something broke inside me at that moment. It wasn’t an explosion. It was more like the dull crack of something that had been weakening for a long time.

—Enough —I said, getting to my feet—. I’m not your toy. I want you to stop bothering me once and for all.

Lorena watched me silently for a few seconds. Then, to my complete astonishment, she nodded.

—Fine —she said—. I won’t do it anymore.

—You’re serious?

—Serious. If you don’t want jokes, there won’t be any jokes.

I waited for the catch. It never came. Lorena stayed on the sofa with the expression of someone who had reached a reasonable agreement and had nothing else to add.

—Good night, Andrés.

—Good night —I replied, still not quite believing it.

***

I went up to my room with a strange feeling in my chest. Not exactly pride, but something close to it. The certainty that, for the first time in my life, I had set a boundary and held it without giving in. I lay down on the bed and closed my eyes.

It was eleven fifteen.

At eleven thirty, someone knocked on my door.

—Andrés? Are you still awake?

I closed my eyes for a moment.

—Yeah. Come in.

The door opened. Lorena came in with her hair loose and a pair of short pajama bottoms I hadn’t seen before. She was scratching the top of her left ass cheek with a grimace of genuine-looking discomfort.

—It’s itching a lot right here —she said—. I can’t reach it properly with my arm and I don’t know if it’s an insect bite or something worse. Can you look?

The first thing I thought was that it could be another trap. The second was that, if it was, what was the joke? I only had to look, that was it.

—All right —I said, sitting up—. Turn around.

Lorena turned around. I pulled the waistband of the pants down just enough to see the spot she was indicating.

What I saw wasn’t a bite.

Written in red letters, in the careful handwriting of someone who had all the time in the world to do it: “Did you believe it?”

I barely had time to react. In a tenth of a second, Lorena’s hand caught my head and slammed it between her buttocks with a force I would never have expected from someone who had supposedly just agreed to behave. I felt her hot ass closing over my face, my nose crushed against her slit, the smell of her skin coming in from every direction.

—What a face you made! —She was laughing nonstop, shaking all over—. My God, what a face!

—Let me go! —I tried to get free, but she was too strong.

When she finally did, I sat on the bed with my hair a mess and that specific mixture of rage and disbelief I didn’t know how to classify any other way.

—You’ll never stop —I said. It wasn’t a question.

Lorena looked at me. And something in her expression changed. The smile was still there, but it was different. Calmer. Denser.

—No —she admitted—. But this isn’t a joke anymore.

And she took off her pajamas.

***

My brain took a few seconds to process the information. The usual logic—the one that said this couldn’t be happening, that it was another trap, that at any moment Lorena would burst out laughing and tell me I’d fallen for it again—arrived late and left without having served any purpose.

She stood naked at the edge of the bed, lit by the desk lamp. Big tits with dark, hard nipples, a flat stomach carved with muscle, and between her legs a shaved cunt except for a thin strip of dark brown hair. Her whole body was an anatomical demonstration of what years of gym can build when someone decides to build it for real.

She came closer and kissed me. It wasn’t an ambiguous kiss. It had such direct, such clear intent that my brain stopped forming objections and surrendered to something more primal. She shoved her tongue deep into my mouth, biting my lower lip, both hands already pulling down my pajama pants.

—Stop —I said against her mouth.

—Why? —she asked.

I couldn’t find the answer.

Her fingers were already working on my clothes, with a calmness that was more disorienting than any urgency. When she managed to free my cock, she took it in her right hand, closing her fist around it with calculated firmness. I still had my arms raised, like someone who doesn’t know whether to resist or give in. In the end I let them fall.

I’m weaker than I thought. Or maybe I don’t want to win this time.

—Look at you —she murmured, moving her fist up and down slowly—. Hard as a rock. And still pretending you don’t want it.

She laid me back on the bed with a confidence that contrasted completely with my clumsiness. Lorena used her body with a confidence that was, in itself, arousing. She knelt between my legs, spread my knees apart with her elbows, and lowered her mouth onto my cock without any ceremony. I felt her lips closing around the head, her tongue circling it, and then the slow descent to the back of her throat. She stayed there for several seconds, nose pressed against my pubis, swallowing in such a way that her throat rhythmically squeezed the tip.

—Fuck —I said, and that was the only word that came out.

She came back up with the same calm, leaving a thread of saliva hanging from her lower lip, and went back down. And again. And again. Her left hand clutched my thigh while her right touched my balls with a softness that didn’t match the brutality of the rhythm with which her mouth took me in.

—Mom —I managed to say—, if you keep doing that I’m going to...

—Not yet —she answered, releasing my cock with a wet sound—. I want more.

She straightened up on her knees, climbed onto the bed, and swung one leg over my face. Her cunt ended up a centimeter from my mouth, shiny, open, the swollen inner lips peeking out between the outer ones. I realized she was asking for something without asking.

—Lick me —she said, when she saw me hesitate—. With your tongue. Up and down. And then fuck me.

I did it. I stuck out my tongue and ran it all along her slit, from bottom to top, until I found the swollen clit at the top. She let out a deep moan that shook her belly. She grabbed my head with both hands and started grinding against my face, rubbing her cunt over my mouth, my nose, my chin. She tasted of salt and of something deeper I couldn’t name. I pushed my tongue in as far as I could, and when I pulled it out I replaced it with two fingers, going in and out while I kept sucking her clit.

—Yes, like that, yes —she panted—. Don’t stop, you bastard, don’t stop.

She almost came on me. I felt it in the way her legs started trembling and in how her cunt clenched around my fingers. But she pulled away just before, breathing hard, face red and hair stuck to her temples.

—Turn around —she told me at some point.

I didn’t ask why. I did it.

She put me on my back again and straddled my stomach. I felt the wetness of her cunt soaking my skin. She grabbed my cock with her hand, straightened it, rose just enough, and guided it inside with the tip aimed exactly where it needed to go. She lowered herself slowly. Very slowly. I felt her opening around me, centimeter by centimeter, until her ass cheeks were pressed against my thighs and my whole cock disappeared inside her.

—You’re so tight —I said, almost voiceless.

—And you’ve got it so big for how little you use it —she replied, with a crooked smile.

She started moving. At first slowly, palms on my chest, rising and falling with the exact cadence of someone who knows what she’s doing. Her tits moved in time, up and down, and I couldn’t stop looking at them. I grabbed one with each hand, pinched her nipples between my fingers, and she let out a rough moan from deep in her chest.

—Harder —she panted—. Make it hurt.

I pinched her nipples harder and she answered by speeding up. Now she was bouncing on top of me, her ass slapping my thighs in a wet splashing sound that filled the room. Each time she came down, my cock disappeared entirely inside her cunt; each time she rose, it came back shining with her juices.

—How’s the western? —she asked, with a smile I couldn’t answer because I had no voice.

I clutched the sheets with both hands.

She changed position without getting off. She leaned forward, braced her elbows on either side of my head, and now it was her pubic bone that slammed against my stomach as she kept moving. Our mouths met. She kissed her own taste onto my lips without the slightest hesitation. I grabbed her ass with both hands and started thrusting from below, matching the rhythm she set.

—Turn over —she told me again, gasping.

I slipped out of her and helped her get into position. She got on all fours, face against the pillow and ass lifted toward me. The sight was almost obscene: the cunt open, shiny, swollen; the dark anus a little higher; the muscular thighs trembling slightly. I grabbed her hips with both hands, aimed the tip of my cock at the right place, and drove in all the way in one thrust.

She screamed into the pillow.

I fucked her like that for what felt like a long time. Hands clamped on her hips, pounding with all the strength I had, pulling almost all the way out and slamming back in. My thighs hit her ass with a dull, rhythmic sound. I saw sweat running down the arch of her back, the red marks of my fingers appearing on the curve of her hips. I gave her ass a slap, more by instinct than by choice, and she let out an approving grunt.

—Another one —she asked—. And don’t treat me like I’m made of porcelain.

I gave her another. And another. And I kept fucking her with a rage I’d carried inside for years without knowing it. Months of jokes, humiliation, laughing at my face: all of it came out through my cock in every thrust. She didn’t protest. On the contrary. She pushed her ass back against me, seeking me out, moaning with her hair in disarray and her mouth open.

—I’m going to cum —she announced, her voice broken—. Don’t stop, Andrés, don’t stop, keep going, keep going, keep going...

I felt her cunt close around me in a brutal spasm. Her whole body shook for several seconds. She collapsed face-first onto the pillow with a long moan, her ass still squeezing me, and I stayed still inside her, breathing like I’d just run a marathon.

But it wasn’t over.

She caught her breath, turned over without letting me slide all the way out, and laid me on my back again. She climbed on top. She rode me again with that rhythm I already knew, but now looking me straight in the eyes.

—Now you —she said—. Cum inside. I want to feel it.

—But...

—Inside. Now.

When she started moving again, with that weight and that cadence that pushed you to the edge without letting you cross it, I understood that in this, as in everything else, Lorena had had the advantage from the start. She held me off until the exact instant I couldn’t take it anymore, and when I came it hit with a violence that shook me to my core. I felt the spurts going inside her, one after another, while she kept moving slowly to squeeze the last drop out of me.

We finished much later than I would have expected. When the rhythm finally broke, we both stayed still in the specific silence that settles in when something has changed and there’s no way to undo it.

Lorena lay down beside me, staring at the ceiling. I did the same. Between her thighs, a white thread had started sliding down onto the sheet.

We didn’t talk.

I fell asleep before I could think of what to say.

***

The alarm clock pulled me out of sleep at eight in the morning. It took me a few seconds to orient myself, to understand why the right side of the bed wasn’t empty.

Lorena opened one eye.

—It’s eight.

—I know.

Silence.

She put a hand on her stomach and smiled in that specific way I already knew too well.

—Hey. What if we pick one boy name and one girl name, just in case?

I sat up abruptly.

—What?

—You fucked me without a condom, Andrés. And you came inside. These things have consequences.

—You can’t... we can’t...

—The odds are what they are.

—This can’t be happening! —I grabbed my head with both hands.

Lorena looked at me for exactly five seconds with the most serious face in the world. Then she broke into laughter that shook the whole bed.

—I got my tubes tied after you were born —she said when she managed to catch her breath—. I can’t get pregnant even if I want to. You can empty yourself inside me as many times as you damn well please.

I stared at her.

—You’re... you’re completely...

—I know. —She got up, picked the pajamas off the floor, and put them on with her usual calm, still with my semen running down the insides of her thighs—. I’m going to make breakfast. Omelet and coffee, like every day. Unless you’d rather I kneel under the table and feed you breakfast first.

—Get out of my room.

—As you wish. —She went to the door, stopped in the doorway, and turned back—. Andrés.

—What?

—I don’t regret a thing.

She left. She closed the door gently.

I lay there staring at the ceiling for a long while, my head full of questions that had no answers or, worse, had answers I still wasn’t ready to say out loud.

Neither do I.

But I kept that to myself.