The Diet I Imposed on My Son So He’d Pass

That night we slept wrapped in each other’s arms, with sex not serving as the excuse. Just the warmth of two bodies that knew each other by heart and, for a few hours, pretended to be something different from what they were. In that dark silence, I could have sworn we were a normal couple. I almost believed it.

The next morning brought reality back.

Mateo woke before I did. I felt his eyes on my back before I opened mine. There is something strange about being watched while you sleep by someone who is also your son. An intimacy unlike any other.

—Good morning, witch —he whispered. He’d given me that nickname weeks earlier. At first it irritated me. Then I started wearing it with a kind of twisted pride.

—Good morning —I replied. —Are you hungry?

—For you —he said, leaning down to kiss my neck.

It wasn’t a soft kiss. It was a wet bite that trailed down my shoulder while his hand slipped under the sheet and spread my thighs without asking permission. He found my pussy already soaked, as if my body had been waiting for him even in sleep. Two fingers went in at once, curling inside with the precision he’d learned through repetition.

—You’re dripping, Mom —he murmured against my ear. —You haven’t even fully woken up and your cunt’s already turned to soup.

—Shut up and keep going —I gasped, arching against his fingers.

The phone rang. His father’s name appeared on the screen. Mateo tensed beside me, as if the name alone could poison the air in the room. But he didn’t pull his fingers out. He left them inside, still, beating with my own pulse.

—Don’t answer it —he said.

—I have to. It’s your father.

I answered, trying to keep my voice steady. “Hello. Yes, everything’s fine. Mateo’s very focused, you know him, college demands a lot from him.” While I spoke, he knelt in front of the sofa, spread my legs slowly, and started working with his tongue. I nearly lost my voice halfway through a sentence.

Mateo’s tongue made slow, precise circles over my swollen clit, as if he had all the time in the world. He sucked and released, sucked and released, while two fingers penetrated me slowly, very slowly, with the exact cruelty of someone who knows you can’t scream. “Yes, he really is a man now,” I said, biting the inside of my cheek. He picked up the pace, flattening the tip of his tongue against the bud, dragging it up and down, eating me like my pussy was the only thing that had ever existed in his life. “Of course, have a good trip. Goodbye.” I hung up and let myself fall back with a moan I’d held in for far too long.

—Keep going —I begged him. —Don’t stop now, bastard.

He didn’t stop. He pushed his whole tongue into me, fucking me with it like a small, agile cock, while his thumb drew quick circles over my clit. I felt the orgasm climbing from my heels, an electric pull that ripped through my belly. I grabbed his hair, crushed his face against me, and came in his mouth with a muffled cry, soaking his chin and neck. He swallowed, licked up what was left, and kept going for a few more seconds still, drawing out spasms that made my legs shake.

Mateo wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and looked at me with a smile that irritated me almost as much as it excited me.

—You’re an asshole —I said, too weak to be truly angry.

—I’m your asshole —he replied, sitting beside me. —And since we’ve established how things work, there’s something we need to talk about.

His tone had changed. I knew him too well not to notice.

—What do you want to happen? —I asked, though I already knew the answer.

He was twenty, and sometimes, in moments like that, he seemed to carry the weight of someone who had lived twice as long. His jaw was tight, his eyes fixed on mine. His father, my husband, was the only obstacle still standing between us and something like a real life.

—You want me to leave him —I said. It wasn’t a question.

—It’s the logical thing. This can’t be a break between his business trips. I can’t be your part-time lover.

—And what would you be then? My roommate with very specific privileges?

Irony was my favorite shield. But his words hit me because he was right. We lived in a limbo that shrank week by week.

—We could move to another city —he continued. —Start over. We’re both adults.

I got up and went to the window. The street was carrying on as usual. Normal people, dogs, children coming out of school. A parallel universe to ours where no one knew anything.

—Freedom is more complicated than it seems at twenty —I said, without turning around. —It comes with bills, and neighbors, and explanations you don’t want to give.

—Then stop making excuses for yourself.

I turned. He was on the sofa, back straight, eyes fixed on me. He wasn’t the same boy I’d taught to tie his shoelaces. But he wasn’t someone entirely different either.

***

A week later, the real world called without asking permission.

An email arrived from Mateo’s tutor at the university. Subject: “Academic performance — reasons for concern.” I read it three times. “Below his potential.” “Irregular concentration.” “Assignments not submitted.” “Scatterbrained attitude.”

I closed the laptop. Cold, clean anger filled me completely. It was far easier to handle than love.

That night, while we were having dinner, I said it bluntly.

—Mateo. Your tutor wrote to me.

He looked up from his plate with a carefully calculated expression of innocence.

—Yeah? And what did he say?

—That your grades are dropping faster than our reputation if anyone knew what goes on in this apartment.

He shrugged.

—It’s the first term. They’ll go back up.

—When, exactly, do you study? —I asked, setting the plate in the sink with a noise that was no accident. —We haven’t been apart for weeks. We’ve explored every corner of this apartment. When do you open a book?

An image came to mind of when he was eight, sitting beside me at the kitchen table while I explained fractions with orange slices. How simple everything was then. The solutions were clear. The logic, obvious. Now his logic operated from a completely different place, and the only answer he found to any problem was always the same.

—I learn more here than at that university —he said, with an arrogance that made me want to throw the plate at his head. —I learn from you.

—You learn how to fuck, champ, not how to solve financial models! —I lost my composure. —And you’re useless to me if you turn into a failing college student with a talent for fucking!

He stood up. Dinner was over. The argument was beginning.

—I didn’t ask you to teach me how to study —he shot back, his voice hard. —I asked you to teach me how to live.

—And I am teaching you. I’m teaching you that there are consequences. That desire doesn’t justify everything.

We stared at each other from opposite sides of the kitchen. The distance between us was three meters and everything else.

—This modern-day Jocasta is putting an end to the orgy —I said, with a resolve that surprised even me. —Until your grades are back where they should be, you’re on sexual diet.

The word hung in the air like a sentence.

—On what? —he asked, as if he hadn’t understood.

—A body diet, Mateo. Nothing. Not a finger, not a tongue, not a cock, nothing. You’re going to study. You’re going to class. And you’re going to get back the brain you seem to have left in some assignment you didn’t turn in.

His face changed. The arrogance dissolved, replaced by wounded disbelief.

—You’re joking.

—I’d love for it to be a joke. But look around you. This is a delicious mess, yes, but a mess. And my job, even if we’re reinterpreting it in a rather perverse way, is still to make sure you don’t waste your life.

I turned away and leaned on the sink, my back to him. I needed not to look at him.

Inside, everything was screaming. My body, which had grown used to his constant attention, to his hard cock entering me at any hour of the day, already felt the panic of abandonment. But I had to be firm. It was like when, years ago, I took his pacifier away. I cried in secret. But I knew it was necessary.

He left, slamming the door. I was left alone in the kitchen. The silence echoed like a declaration of war.

***

The following days were a glacial hell.

We lived in the same apartment but were two poles repelling each other. He looked at me with rage, with hunger. I returned the look with an indifference manufactured out of pure will. At night, I bit the pillow while my hand slid between my legs and I touched myself thinking about his cock, his mouth, his fingers. I came alone, stifling my moans, and then hated myself for it. But I held firm. It was my penance. My way of showing him this wasn’t a game.

I, however, became a master of silent provocation.

One afternoon I was in the living room with one leg up on the table, painting my toenails a red that left no room for doubt. I was wearing a short robe open to the waist, nothing underneath. I knew Mateo was in the kitchen, about to leave. I didn’t need to look at him to feel his eyes traveling over my ankles, the arch of my back, the curve of my neck, and lower, between my spread thighs, where my pussy was visible under the morning light. Prohibition was my greatest power, and I wielded it with the coldness of someone who has studied the game in depth.

Another afternoon, while I was preparing dinner, a piece of bread fell to the floor. Instead of picking it up with my hand, I bent down slowly, on all fours, and took it with my mouth. I turned toward him, sitting at the table, with the bread between my teeth and a calculated smile. His eyes widened. The message was clear: this is what you’re missing, this is what you’re fighting for. I watched the bulge grow under his pants, tight, obvious, and slowly licked my lips with the bread still trapped there, imagining that same bulge in my mouth.

My masterpiece came one night while I was counting out the change from the supermarket. Some coins fell behind the large sideboard in the living room. I made a little drama of it. I knelt on the floor with my back to him, wearing a short skirt that covered nothing, and stretched as far as I could under the piece of furniture, my ass in the air. The fabric rode up to my waist. I wasn’t wearing panties. I stayed like that for a few seconds, fully aware that from his chair he could see everything: my ass spread open, my puckered hole, my pussy swollen and shining with wetness because I’d spent hours getting myself worked up with the idea alone. I moved my hips a little, searching for the coin, letting the view linger. Then I stood up and looked at him with the greatest innocence in the world.

—Looks like I won’t be able to buy you tomorrow’s ice cream.

He said nothing. He only looked at me, breath held, knuckles white on the table and his cock marked beneath his tracksuit pants like a rigid bar threatening to tear through the fabric. It was torture for both of us. I felt the heat building inside me, desire tightening from within, my cunt swelling just from imagining he’d stand up, cross the kitchen, and fuck me against the sideboard. But I had to be strong. I went to bed, shoved three fingers into myself thinking of him, and bit the pillow for hours until I came twice in a row, sweaty, alone, hating myself and unable to stop.

***

The Saturday before his final exam, the intercom buzzed.

I was in the living room, kneeling beside an orchid, removing the dried leaves. Mateo was coming out of the shower, a towel wrapped around his waist and water dripping from his hair onto his shoulders. He went to answer it without seeing me. The exact moment his hand went to the button, he turned and saw me.

We stayed like that. Looking at each other. Morning light slanted in from the side and left nothing to the imagination. The towel outlined the bulge swelling in real time beneath it.

The intercom kept buzzing.

He didn’t move. He took a step toward me, blocking the hallway. The distance between us was less than a meter. I could feel the heat radiating off his shower-wet skin, smell the soap mixed with the sweat of his need.

—Mateo, let me through —I said. My voice came out rougher than I intended.

—Nothing out there is important right now —he said, his voice turning into a low growl.

He wrapped his arms around me and pulled me against him. I felt his body against mine, urgent and charged with weeks of abstinence that weighed in every muscle. The hard cock shoved against my belly through the towel, so swollen I could feel it pulsing.

—I need you —he said, face buried in my neck. —I can’t concentrate. I smell you all over the apartment. I see you when I close my eyes. I dream about your pussy, your mouth, your ass, and I wake up hard and alone. I can’t take it anymore.

His words undid me. I felt something that was not just desire: it was a kind of sick, protective love that has no name in any psychology manual.

—My boy —I whispered, running my hands over his back, feeling the tension in every muscle. —My champion.

I lifted his face with my hands. His eyes were red from studying, from not sleeping well, from holding back for too many days.

—Your exam is Monday —I said, my voice firm but gentle. —Just one day and a half more. Do it for us. Don’t blow it now.

I kissed his forehead. A pact kiss, not a surrender.

—Think of this as the final test. If you pass it, we both win.

My words seemed to calm him, though his body stayed tense and his cock kept pressing between us like a third participant who refused to resign. He pulled back a little, but not all the way. His eyes roamed over my body from top to bottom, a long, slow inventory that was hard to endure without reacting.

—You’re a witch —he said, with a half-smile. —A very cruel witch.

—And you’re my best student. Now let me see who it is.

He let me go. The voice on the intercom turned out to be someone selling phone contracts. I told them I wasn’t interested and hung up.

I turned around. Mateo was still in the hallway, looking at me.

—See? —I said, approaching him. —Nothing important.

I stood on tiptoe and whispered in his ear.

—A little longer, champ. And then I’ll give you everything you want. My mouth, my pussy, my ass, all of it. I’ll let you fuck me until you can’t anymore. I promise.

I gave him a quick, promising kiss and walked away. I left him alone in the hallway with his determination, his badly tied towel, and his books. The war was almost over.

***

Monday lasted an eternity.

I spent the day pacing around the apartment, unable to stay still. I thought about him, about his exams, about his hands sweating on the paper. About his brain finally working without its usual distraction. There were no calls, no messages. Only silence and the beat of my own impatience, and a constant wetness between my legs I couldn’t calm no matter how tightly I pressed my thighs together.

He came back two hours later than usual.

When he opened the door, my heart shot up into my throat. He didn’t come in defeated. He came in with a smile that filled his whole face, the smile of someone who had just won a battle that truly mattered.

He said nothing. He crossed the living room and held out his phone to me. The screen showed the grades: 9.4, 9.7, 10, 10, 10.

I didn’t wait to process them. He hugged me. He lifted me off the floor as if I weighed nothing. My legs wrapped around his waist instinctively. I felt his joy vibrating through his skin and into mine, and I also felt his cock already hard against my pussy through our clothes.

—Mateo... —I whispered, eyes wet. —You earned it. All of it.

He lowered his head and kissed me. It wasn’t a kiss of celebration. It was a kiss of conquest. Long, deep, without breaks, his tongue entering my mouth as if it wanted to claim every millimeter. My body, which had spent a month in a state of drought I wouldn’t wish on anyone, woke up at once, with an urgency that even surprised me. I felt my panties soak through in seconds.

At last we pulled apart, both of us panting.

—Go take a shower —I said, pushing him gently. —Get ready.

He looked at me with that hunger I knew so well.

—And you?

—I’m already ready, sweetheart. More than ready. —I paused, dropping the last bomb with complete calm. —Oh, and by the way. The power went out. Scheduled outage. You’ll have to shower in cold water.

The look on his face was a poem. A mix of ecstasy and pure disbelief.

—Seriously?

—One last sacrifice. To temper the steel before battle.

While he cursed his way toward the bathroom, I laughed silently. Modern torture was a subtle art, and I had come to master it.

The cold water did its work. He came back with gooseflesh and burning eyes. The rage and frustration of the last few weeks had become something purer, more concentrated. He was a hungry wolf finally shown the lamb after a month of fasting. His cock pressed hard and long beneath the towel, pointing upward as if it had a life of its own.

Dinner wasn’t necessary.

He came to me without a word. He picked me up and carried me to bed. It wasn’t the triumphant embrace from earlier, but that of someone who has finally reached what he has been chasing for too long and is not willing to waste a single second.

He tore my clothes off. Literally. I heard the seam of my blouse rip and didn’t care. My panties flew into a corner. When I was naked on the sheets, he stood there for a second looking at me, breathing hard through his nose, his hard cock already leaking a thick pearl at the tip.

—Come here —I ordered. —Put it in me already. I can’t take it anymore.

—First the mouth —he said, climbing on top of me, setting his knees on either side of my face. His cock rested on my lips, hot, swollen, veined. I opened my mouth and he thrust in, all the way, without asking permission. I felt the tip hit the back of my throat and tears rose to my eyes, but I didn’t pull away. On the contrary, I grabbed his ass and shoved him deeper. He started fucking my mouth with short thrusts, hands braced on the headboard, moaning things I couldn’t understand. Saliva ran down my chin in thick strings that fell onto my breasts. His cock pulsed between my lips, tasting of soap and salt.

—Fuck, Mom, you suck me like a goddess —he growled, looking down with his face undone. —I’ve missed this so much.

He yanked it out with a wet sound and moved down my body. He licked my nipples one after the other, biting them with that perfect measure between pleasure and pain that only he knew how to give. Then he kept going lower, leaving a trail of saliva across my stomach until he buried his face between my thighs.

—You’re soaked. Your cunt is crying for me.

—Stop talking and eat me out.

And he did. With real hunger, with his whole tongue working up and down, going in, coming out, sucking my clit until I screamed. He added two fingers, then three, curling them forward, pressing that spot that made me lose my mind. I came in less than a minute, arched, my legs closing around his head, soaking his whole face. He kept licking while I trembled, until I couldn’t take any more and pulled his hair for him to come up.

He entered me in one single motion, a thrust that stole my breath and reminded me exactly everything I had missed during that month. His cock filled every millimeter, driving in to the hilt, touching places that had been closed for weeks. It was like feeling him for the first time, again, with that intensity only long-held desire can give.

—That’s it, champ, yes —I moaned, digging my nails into his back. —Break me. Fuck me like you’ve imagined all these days.

And he fucked me. Hard. Without poetic rhythm, without care. Deep, wild thrusts that made the bed creak, our hips slap together with a wet sound, and made my tits bounce against his chest. He grabbed my wrists and pinned them above my head, holding me still while he drove into me again and again, looking me in the eyes as if he wanted to see my face with every blow.

—Tell me I’m the only one who fucks you like this —he growled. —Say it.

—You’re the only one —I panted. —Only you. Only your cock. No one else fills me like this.

He came inside me with a roar, pressing me into the mattress, emptying himself in hot bursts I felt burning deep inside. I came with him, screaming, clenching around him with my cunt as if I wanted to wring out the very last drop.

For three days, we were that. The bed, the floor, the shower, the kitchen table, the sofa. We ate when hunger got stronger than desire, and that wasn’t often. We drank tap water, splashing our faces and laughing like two people who had survived something together. We fucked in any position we could think of. Me on top, riding him until my legs shook. Him from behind, pulling my hair, thrusting while I braced my hands against the tiles. In the shower, with hot water pouring over us and my back pressed to the tile. We counted his orgasms because I lost count of mine after the seventh.

***

The second night, he laid me face down on the bed.

The full moon came through the window and bathed my back in silver light. I felt his hands tracing my spine, slowly, like someone claiming newly won territory. He ran his fingers down the groove between my ass cheeks, spreading them with both hands, and I felt his hot tongue land without warning on my asshole.

—Fuck, Mateo... —I moaned, biting the pillow.

—Shut up. Tonight it’s this.

His tongue went in and out, wetting me, softening me. A finger joined in, pushing slowly, then two. He spread lube generously, sliding it around and inside with an artisan’s patience. The weight of abstinence made him treat me with an almost cruel slowness, as if he wanted to stretch out every second.

Then his body pressed against mine from behind, claiming the last access that had been off-limits for weeks. He set the tip of his cock against my asshole and pushed, millimeter by millimeter.

—You’re tighter —he whispered, his voice completely hoarse.

—A month of abstinence does that —I replied, my face buried in the pillow.

He slid in slowly, giving me time to adjust, and the sensation was so intense I had to bite my lip hard not to scream. The burn mixed with pleasure, that impossible blend only he knew how to provoke in me. When he was all the way in, he stayed still for a second, letting me breathe, letting me feel how he filled me completely.

—You okay, Mom?

—Move. Fuck my ass.

And he moved. First with short, controlled thrusts, then deeper, more urgent. His weight on my back, his breathing in my neck, his hands gripping my hips with a firmness that left no doubt who had won this battle. He reached one hand under my belly, found my clit, and started rubbing it while he pounded me from behind. The combination was devastating. My pussy was leaking, my ass opening for his cock, and his mouth was biting my nape, whispering dirty things I could barely register.

—This ass is mine —he panted. —Only mine. No one else is ever going to have it.

—Yours —I whimpered. —All yours, champ.

I came first, shaking all over, screaming into the pillow. The spasm clenched around him even harder, and I felt him reach the edge and collapse inside me in a long, total convulsion that seemed to last longer than any of the others. Hot bursts filled my ass, his body crushing mine, his guttural groan against my hair.

I lay still beneath his weight, eyes closed, feeling him slowly slip out, feeling the semen begin to run down my thighs.

And in that silence, without seeking it, the memories came. I saw him at seven, with his dinosaur backpack, holding my hand on the way to school. I saw him nervous and elegant on the day of his high school graduation. I saw him studying at the kitchen table, brow furrowed, while I brought him a glass of warm milk and he didn’t even look up from his notes.

And now this. Now him. Now us.

The contradiction was so enormous it made me scream. Not a scream of pleasure, but of revelation. A scream that contained everything: fear, desire, forbidden love, and the absolute certainty that there was no going back for either of us.

When it was over, when we lay on the sheets, sweaty and breathless, neither of us spoke for a long while. The moon had shifted position. At some point during the night, dawn had arrived.

Then he broke the silence.

—You said that if I finished in the top three, you’d leave him.

—I know —I said.

—Does it still stand?

I looked at him. He was twenty, and he had the eyes of someone who had already decided everything long before I finished even thinking it through.

—It still stands —I said. —But that has a price too, sweetheart. Everything you want most does. I paid mine to get here. Now the truly hard part begins.

He nodded slowly, never taking his eyes off mine.

—I know —he said. —But with you, it’s worth it.

And in that moment, in that rumpled bed heavy with history, I believed him.