My Sister Made Me Cross the Line with My Son

Patricia arrived home an hour before I finished decorating the living room. She brought two bottles of white wine and that smile that had always gotten under my skin, because it was the smile of the younger sister who had ended up with everything the family expected: the quick tongue, the pretty face, the shamelessness.

—Lorena, sis, look at you —she said, setting the bottles on the table—. You’re getting hotter every day.

—Don’t exaggerate.

—Exaggerate? Look at yourself in the mirror. Those tits, those hips, that ass. If I had even half of what you’ve got, I’d already have made a career as a model.

I laughed on reflex, but it wasn’t a comfortable laugh. Patricia always did the same thing: she’d start with a compliment and, in three sentences, she’d already be talking about sex, men, and things I’d spent years avoiding.

—That’s not what I wanted to talk to you about —I said, pouring myself a glass so I’d have something in my hands.

—Andrés? —Patricia sat on the sofa, legs crossed—. He finally turns eighteen. My favorite nephew all grown up.

—Exactly. That’s what I wanted to talk to you about.

I lowered my voice, even though there was no one else in the house.

—Patri, I found something on his computer.

—What kind of something?

—WhatsApp was open. I went in to drop off clean clothes and the screen was still on. I didn’t want to look, but…

—But you read it.

—I read it.

Patricia leaned forward, eyes shining.

—And?

—He was telling Mateo, his best friend, that for his birthday he wanted him to take him somewhere.

—Somewhere where?

—Patri, you know exactly what kind of place I mean. One of those places. With women who get paid to fuck.

She burst out laughing, the sound bouncing off the ceiling.

—Please, sister! He’s an eighteen-year-old boy, hard morning, noon, and night. What did you expect?

—That he’d wait. That he’d meet a girlfriend. That he wouldn’t go messing around with a stranger who could give him something, rob him, do God knows what to him.

—Lorena…

—No, listen to me. I raised him alone after his father took off. I worked double shifts for ten years. I am not going to let my son’s first time be with some random whore in a cheap hotel room.

Patricia took a sip of wine and looked at me with that expression of someone who thinks she has the solution to everything.

—What if I told you there’s a way to avoid that?

—I’m listening.

—You’d have to be a little more permissive at home.

—Permissive about what?

—What he does in his room. In the bathroom. Even on the sofa.

—Patricia, I don’t understand.

—Sis, men that age always have their cocks ready to go. They produce semen like a machine. If they can’t find an outlet at home, they look for one outside. You never caught him, you know, jerking off?

I felt the heat rise in my neck.

—Once. He took forty minutes in the bathroom and I knocked on the door yelling. He came out red as a tomato, with his hands still wet.

—Did you scold him?

—I told him I didn’t want him taking that long jerking off again.

—There’s the problem, sis. You’re forcing him to hide, and when he hides, a quick wank in the bathroom isn’t enough. That’s why he wants to go looking for real pussy.

—And what do you want me to do? Tell him, “son, jack off whenever you want, wherever you want”?

—Exactly that.

—Patricia, you’re crazy.

—You’re the crazy one, for letting your son go fuck whoever because you wouldn’t give him any breathing room in his own house.

I bit my lip. Patricia always had a way of twisting my arguments until it seemed like I was the one in the wrong.

—And one more thing —she said, moving closer—. It’s not enough to let him. You have to help him.

—Help him how?

—Look at you, sister. —She ran a finger over my shoulder—. You’ve got the most outrageous body in the family. Huge tits, scandalous hips, an ass that turns heads in the street. And you’ve lived alone with your son for years. Do you really think he’s never looked at you?

—Andrés would never…

—Are you sure? He’s a man. And you’re an incredible woman who walks around the house in a robe, with your nipples showing through the fabric.

I went speechless. Patricia sat down beside me and, with an almost insulting ease, slid her hand along the side of my breast and squeezed one of my tits over my dress.

—Take your hand off —I said, but without conviction.

—Why? Doesn’t it feel good to be touched like this? How long has it been since anyone laid a hand on you, sis? How long since anyone sucked on these two wonders?

—Stop.

She didn’t stop. She pulled down the neckline of my dress and caressed the curve of my bra with the tip of her fingers, until she caught the lace with a nail and freed my right nipple. It stiffened instantly against the cool air of the living room. I closed my eyes for a moment. Just a moment. And she bent down and licked it, in a slow circle, with the hot, wet tip of her tongue.

I’m not doing anything wrong. It’s just Patri. She’s just playing.

—Your nipples are hard as rocks, sis. Look at how they perk up.

—Shut up.

She bit it slowly and I pressed my thighs together. I felt wetness run between my legs and hated myself for feeling it.

—Imagine it’s Andrés sucking your tit. Imagine him kneeling between your legs, sucking you like when he was a baby, but now with a hard cock pressing against your thigh.

—Patricia, enough…

***

The front door opened at that very moment. I rearranged my dress in the blink of an eye, hiding the nipple wet with my sister’s saliva, and Patricia fanned herself with her hand as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

—Mom, I’m home! —Andrés shouted from the entryway.

He appeared in the living room with his jacket hanging from one shoulder and his hair still damp. He was tall, taller than his father, and for the past couple of years he had stopped being a boy and become a young version of something I didn’t want to look at head-on.

—Nephew! —Patricia sprang up and hugged him, pressing her tits against his chest—. Happy birthday, my king.

—Thanks, Auntie.

—Mom. —He kissed my cheek—. I’m going out for a while with Mateo. I’ll be back at nine for dinner.

—Where are you going? —Patricia asked before I could react.

—To some friends’ place.

—Friends’ place? Or girlfriends with their legs open?

Andrés blushed.

—Auntie…

—Nephew, don’t lie to me. Today’s your birthday and your mother and I have been talking. Before you go off spending your money on a rented pussy, sit down for a second.

He looked at me for confirmation. I, still short of breath and with my nipple throbbing under my dress, nodded.

He sat down. Patricia stayed standing behind the sofa, her hands resting on his shoulders, like someone holding back a big, nervous dog.

—Son —I began, clearing my throat—, I know what you wrote to Mateo.

He went pale.

—Mom, I…

—Don’t interrupt me. I know what you wanted to do today. And I’m not going to scold you.

—You’re not?

—No. But I want to talk to you about something I’ve been avoiding for far too long.

Patricia was stroking his hair from behind, slowly, and sliding one hand down to brush his chest over his T-shirt.

—I’m listening, Mom.

—Son, you’re a man. I understand that. And I understand that you have needs I couldn’t even name because I was ashamed. But your aunt has made me see that that shame is pushing you to look for pussy in dangerous places.

—Mom…

—Let me finish. From today on, in this house, you don’t have to hide. If you want to jerk off, do it. In your room, in the bathroom, on the sofa, wherever you want. I won’t knock on the door. I won’t scold you when I find you with your cock in your hand.

The silence that followed lasted too long. Andrés stared at the floor, his face burning. Patricia smiled.

—And that’s not all —she added—. Right, sister?

I swallowed.

—There’s more, Mom?

—Son, your aunt has also made me see that it’s not right for you to have to imagine women you don’t know, or pay a whore for a fuck that means nothing. What I’m about to tell you is very hard for me. But I’m your mother, and I don’t want anyone else to hurt you.

Patricia let go of his shoulders and walked toward me. She ran her fingers over my waist. She pulled down the neckline of my dress, slowly, until my red bra was in view. With one motion she undid the clasp and my two tits spilled out into the air, heavy, with the nipples standing proud and still shining with the saliva from before.

—Look, nephew —she said—. Look at what your mother has for you. Look at these two milky tits that raised you.

Andrés went out of breath. I lowered my gaze to the floor, cheeks burning, with the two mounds of my breasts exposed in the living room of my own house, in front of the son I had raised. And by the bulge showing in his pants, he was far from indifferent.

—Mom…

—Don’t say anything, my love —I whispered—. If this keeps something bad from happening to you, then it’s fine. Look at whatever you want. Touch whatever you want.

—Nephew, what do you think? —asked Patricia, who was already kneading my left breast with her open hand, planting my nipple between her fingers as if she were showing off a product.

Andrés took a deep breath.

—They’re… they’re huge. They’re the most beautiful tits I’ve ever seen.

—They’re yours whenever you need them. To suck, to bite, to fuck them if you feel like it. Right, sister?

I nodded, without lifting my eyes.

—Take your pants off —Patricia ordered.

Andrés obeyed: first the button, then the zipper. When he pulled down his underwear, both sisters let out the same sound at the same time. Out unfolded a long, thick cock, the tip already congested and a fat drop of pre-cum hanging from the glans.

—Good God —murmured Patricia—. Look at the size of the boy’s cock. No wonder he wanted to christen it.

I covered my mouth with my hand. My son had, without my realizing it, become a full-grown man. A man with a proper stud’s cock that no closed bathroom could contain.

***

—Sister —Patricia said, her voice altered—. Get on your knees and suck it.

I hesitated for a second. Then I sank to my knees onto the living room rug, between my son’s spread legs. My whole body trembled when his hot cock ended up at face level, throbbing in the air, pointing at my mouth. It was strange. It was forbidden. It was, without my being able to stop it, the most exciting thing that had happened to me in years.

—Do to him what you wanted the whores to do —Patricia whispered in my ear—. You do it. You’re his mother. Suck the cock you made yourself.

I wrapped the base with my fingers. It was thick, much more than I had imagined. I felt it pulse in my hand. I closed my eyes, stuck out my tongue, and licked the drop hanging from the glans. Andrés let out a rough moan, startled, almost childlike.

—Mom…

—Easy, my love. Easy. Mom’s going to take care of you.

I ran my tongue flat along its whole length, from his balls to the tip, slowly, like someone savoring an ice cream. He shuddered all over. Then I took it into my mouth. The first time, only the head, sucking with my lips closed, playing with my tongue around the glans. The second time I swallowed half of it. The third until I felt the tip bumping against my palate and I gagged a little, tears pricking at my eyes.

—That’s it, sister, that’s it —Patricia panted behind me, while she grabbed my hair and set the rhythm—. Let your son know what a real blowjob is. Let no whore ever do this to him.

I started moving my head up and down. At first slowly, carefully. Then faster, letting my saliva drip down my chin and fall onto his balls. Andrés threw his head back against the couch, mouth open, moaning my name under his breath.

—Mom… Mom… so good, Mom…

Every “Mom” he let out tightened something in my belly. My pussy throbbed under my panties. I felt myself getting wetter than I had in years, just from hearing my own son call me Mom while I ate his cock.

—Take it out, sister —Patricia ordered—. Spit on it.

I pulled the cock out of my mouth with a wet sound and spat a good glob of saliva on the glans. I spread it with my hand, up and down, while with the other I caressed his balls.

—Now the tits.

I gathered the mass of my own breasts with both hands and, with a slow movement, closed them around my son’s hardness. The cock disappeared between my nipples, trapped by two mountains of hot flesh, wet with my own saliva.

—Oh, Mom, fuck…

I started moving up and down, massaging his cock with the soft pressure of my skin. Every time the tip emerged above my breasts, I licked it. Patricia sat down beside him and unbuttoned his shirt, ran her hand over his hairless chest, pinched one nipple, whispered filthy things in his ear that I preferred not to hear too clearly.

—Do you like the way your mother fucks your tits, nephew? Do you like watching your cock disappear between those two huge tits that fed you?

—I love it, Auntie. I love it.

—Is this better than what you had planned with Mateo?

—A million times better, Auntie. A million times better.

—Then remember this day. Your mother and I will be here every time you need to empty your balls.

—Every time —I repeated, surprised by my own words, without stopping rubbing his cock between my tits—. Every time you get hard, my love, you come to Mom.

Patricia pulled out her hair tie and let her mane fall over her shoulder. She approached her nephew and took his face in both hands.

—When you’re about to come, tell us.

—I’m close, Auntie. I’m close now, fuck.

—No, my love, not yet. Stand up.

Andrés stood up, with his saliva-slick cock pointing at the ceiling, so swollen it looked ready to burst. Patricia took over: with one hand she took charge of him, closing her fist around his cock and starting to jack him off with quick, firm strokes, while with the other she gently turned my head so it would be at the right height, my mouth open beneath my son’s glans.

—Close your eyes, sister. Stick out your tongue. Receive your son. Receive the milk you made him keep for so many years.

I closed my eyes. Stuck out my tongue. Gathered my tits underneath so they’d catch it too. And waited.

—Auntie, now, now, now…

—Do it, nephew. Look at them. They’re yours. Come on your mother.

The first spurt hit my forehead and slid down the bridge of my nose. The second filled my tongue and I tasted the thick, salty, hot flavor sliding down my throat. The third and fourth fell onto my tits, thick, sticky, dripping from my nipples down to my navel. Patricia didn’t let go of the cock; she squeezed and shook the base, milking him for the last drop, aiming the final spurts into my mouth.

—Swallow, sister. Let his mother swallow it all.

I swallowed. I felt the thick semen go down my throat and I shuddered all over. I didn’t know whether it was disgust or pleasure. I suspect it was pleasure.

Patricia bent down and kissed my ear.

—See how good it feels to help the family. Look at the milky tits you gave your son.

And with two fingers she scooped up some of the semen from my chest and put it in her mouth, sucking it slowly, never taking her eyes off me.

Andrés collapsed onto the sofa, breathing hard, eyes closed, with the dazed smile of a man who has understood something important for the first time. I remained on my knees, motionless, letting the drops slide down my neck, along the channel between my tits, down to my navel.

—Come here, my love —I said at last, opening my eyes—. Give your mother a kiss.

Andrés leaned forward. I rose just enough to reach his lips. The kiss lasted longer than either of us expected. I felt his tongue enter my mouth, seek out mine, mingle with the taste of his own semen. And I noticed, with a shiver in my belly, that the cock under his abdomen was starting to rise again.

Patricia, from the sofa, raised her glass and toasted alone.

—Happy birthday, nephew. I told you your mother was the best. And this was only the appetizer. Dinner is served by the two of us, in the big bed.