The Discipline My Own Son Earned That Night

The apartment doorbell shatters the evening quiet. Adrián is the first to open the door. The moment the wood gives way, my sister-in-law Camila wraps him in a noisy, tight embrace. Ever since she moved to Munich, it feels like the whole world falls apart whenever she visits us.

—Look at you, you’re huge! —she says, ruffling his fringe before coming to squeeze me as well.

We move into the living room. Adrián, eager to show her his progress, sits immediately on the grand piano bench. While I prepare two martinis, my son’s fingers caress the keys through a complex, melancholic piece. I stand a few paces back, glass in hand, watching him in silence: the tilt of his neck, the stiffness of his back, the absolute concentration. He is a younger version of his father, the first and only man I ever loved. The resemblance burns my throat.

Minutes later, we move to the dining room. Rosaura serves dinner: wild salmon on a bed of roasted asparagus with citrus reduction. The metallic clink of minimalist cutlery sets the rhythm of an animated conversation.

—Erich never leaves the hospital; the shifts have him exhausted —Camila says, cutting her fish—. And Iván is going crazy with school in Germany. It’s an unbearable level of pressure.

I chew slowly while she keeps talking. This woman, who seems to drown in a glass of water, held me up with iron determination the afternoon the accident took my husband and my little Lía from me. The helicopter explosion carved a crater so deep in my soul that, for ten years, I thought nothing and no one could ever fill it again.

—And tell me, Selene —Camila’s voice pulls me back to the present—. How are things at Volterra?

—Solid —I answer, wiping the corners of my mouth with the linen napkin—. We’re projecting thirty percent growth this year, and we’re closing the logistics expansion in Asia.

—Incredible. My brother would be proud of what you did with his empire.

I return a polite smile. Inside, resentment knots my stomach. Proud. What a stupid word. It was his unforgivable cruelty to die and dump the monstrous burden of leading a multinational holding company on me. To keep the vultures from tearing me apart, I had to rip out the naive, lovesick girl I used to be by the roots. I hardened until I became stone. What a lifeline that man left me.

Adrián gets up to go to the kitchen for dessert. Camila waits until he’s out of earshot and leans over the table, lowering her voice.

—And you? Are you seeing anyone?

—I don’t have time for that sort of thing. The company consumes me.

—Not even with your… little games? —she asks, lifting a conspiratorial eyebrow.

—That’s in the past —I lie, brushing it off with a gesture.

Camila nods and drinks. She has no idea of the truth. She thinks the “little games” were limited to the controlled beatings her brother used to give me when I met him. I was his submissive. I spent years trying to drag him out of the darkness he had lived in since adolescence. But after his death, grief broke me and, paradoxically, I ended up falling into that same hell.

I went down my own stairs into pain alone. I began bringing submissive women and men into the house, dragging them into the playroom my husband had had built when he was still single. I found in leather, restraints, and control the only relief that let me keep breathing. Inside that room, with the crop in my hand, I made my submissives come until they were raw, fucked their cunts with silicone harnesses until they begged in four languages, put my tongue in their assholes while I whipped them, made them suck my heels drenched in my own orgasm. The things I learned to do in that room reached places my late husband would never have dared to tread. I used all that contained cruelty to float above the other corporate shit, destroying my enemies with the same severity I learned in his stupid sadomasochistic room.

The kitchen door opens. Adrián returns with three slices of berry tart on a tray.

—What a treat! You always spoil me —Camila exclaims—. And how’s school going for you?

—Good, auntie. Buried in finals —he answers, serving the plates—. I still haven’t fully decided what I’m going to do when the semester ends. I’ve got a couple of options in mind.

I sink my spoon into dessert. Look at him. He’s happy now, but for years he lived like an orphan with no father and no mother. I hid in work and in my little games. Adrián became just another task, the heir who had to be trained. I built a wall and, without meaning to, I punished him for a loss he never even understood.

—Options related to the holding company, I imagine? —Camila asks.

—That’s the logical path —Adrián replies. He glances at me out of the corner of his eye for just a second—. Although lately we’ve been exploring other areas. Things that are less… rigid.

Camila smiles, completely oblivious to the double meaning.

—I’m glad to hear it. You seem different, more relaxed. And you too, Selene. You look like you’ve found a new balance as mother and son.

—We found it, auntie —he says.

A balance built on dynamite. When I thought I’d spend the rest of my days numbed by my submissives, the least expected light appeared. The day my son caught me with a girl tied up in the playroom —me with the crop in one hand and my fingers buried in the submissive’s dripping cunt— I thought my soul was collapsing like a house of cards.

But he didn’t judge me. He became stubborn about understanding my world. He insisted so much and cornered me so skillfully that I ended up confessing to him what life had been like with his father. Adrián can be very persuasive when he wants to be, and I ended up agreeing to teach him. I made him my submissive on the condition that he would never cross the line between mother and son. “Lines.” What a stupid word. The first time I put my mouth on his cock to punish him for a technical failure, under the excuse of “teaching him to resist arousal,” I knew the line had already been pulverized. The second time he shoved it into my cunt, looking me in the eye while he called me “mom” and “Mistress” in the same sentence, I stopped pretending. I shattered the taboo like stepping on a sandcastle: quickly and without guilt.

—By the way, Adrián —Camila says suddenly, setting her fork on the plate—. Did you think about the invitation I made you? About spending a season studying in Munich with us?

The fork slips from my fingers and hits the porcelain. Munich? At what point did the conversation land on an invitation I should have been informed about?

Adrián straightens in his chair. His gray eyes shine with sudden excitement.

—Yes, auntie. I think it’s a great idea. I’d be happy to go this semester.

—Perfect. Then it’s settled —Camila claps softly.

The news punches through my chest. Air leaves my lungs all at once. What the hell are they talking about? How dare he make a decision that involves crossing an ocean without even consulting me?

The helipad scene assaults me with sadistic clarity. The deafening roar of the blades. My young husband raising his hand behind the glass. Lía in her little seat. The blinding flash. Black smoke devouring the sky. A brutal explosion and, in a fraction of a second, nothing.

Now, just when I’m managing to rebuild my life, when I’m finally getting my son back, he wants to abandon me too. My stomach churns and a wave of nausea bends me forward.

—Selene, are you all right? You’re pale —Camila asks, reaching out a hand.

—Yes. Sorry. It’s just… the accumulated exhaustion from the office.

—I can imagine —she says, compassionate, before turning back to her nephew—. I’ll send you the itineraries tomorrow. We can coordinate transport and enrollment before the end of the month.

They keep talking about visas, dates, and programs. I smile mechanically, but my blood is boiling. Out of the corner of my eye I see Camila wink at Adrián. A conspiratorial, intimate gesture. This didn’t come up today. They planned it behind my back. They left me out because they knew I’d object.

***

Two hours later, dinner is over. Camila says goodbye with warm hugs in the foyer. The moment the steel doors of the elevator close behind her, absolute silence buries the apartment.

I turn slowly. Adrián is standing in the hallway, hands in his pockets, still savoring his little European victory.

—How did this trip idea come up? —I ask, closing the distance with slow steps.

He shrugs, taking half a step back.

—I don’t know. Auntie mentioned it sometime. She probably told you before and you don’t remember.

—A passing comment? —I tilt my head—. How curious. And how does a passing comment already include flight dates?

Adrián swallows. His defensive posture starts to crack.

—Well… auntie proposed it a while ago and it seemed like the most natural thing in the world to me.

—If it was so natural, why didn’t you mention it to me until they dropped it on my own dinner table?

—I don’t know —he looks down at the floor—. I have no idea.

“I have no idea.” The hollow answer of a cornered teenager. He has no right to hide behind stupidity to justify an omission-laced lie. I hold back my rage.

—Luckily, Camila hasn’t bought the tickets yet —I declare—. Tomorrow first thing I’m calling her to cancel the whole thing. You’re not going.

Adrián’s face twists. The good-boy shell falls away and gives way to an uncontrolled tantrum.

—You don’t have the right! —he raises his voice, gesturing wildly—. It’s my life! It’s an important trip for my studies, I need to socialize and get some international exposure!

—If it were truly important, you would have consulted me first. You didn’t because you knew perfectly well it was a terrible idea. Discussion over.

—I’m going anyway! —he snaps back defiantly, his face red with anger—. It’s already set with auntie!

I stay silent. I study him from head to toe. None of my submissives would ever have dared such insolence. Is he provoking me subconsciously because he desperately needs a punishment? Does he need me to remind him whose cock that belongs to? It’s been months since I disciplined him hard.

—The matter is closed, Adrián. You’re not going to Germany.

—Why?

—Because I’m your mother and I say so.

—Please… —he insists, his voice trembling, caught between fury and childish frustration.

The plea takes me back to the time when he was a little boy having a tantrum over a toy. The nostalgia lasts a second. A dark severity, one I’d kept asleep for months, wakes up abruptly. I lock eyes with him.

Adrián senses the change in the density of the air. He studies me, looking for an escape.

—Are you telling me that decision as my mother or as my Mistress? —he asks, trying to use our dynamic as a shield.

I flash a razor-smile.

—Is there a difference?

As his mother, I have an obligation to straighten him out. As his Mistress, I know exactly how to do it. Correction involves pain; without pain there is no correction. But the true weight of a punishment lies in the anticipation and the fear. Terror must come before pain.

—Take your clothes off —I order.

—Here? —his eyes fly wide open.

—Yes. Here.

—But Rosaura is in the kitchen clearing the plates.

—I don’t care in the slightest.

He swallows and obeys on conditioned reflex. His hands go to the buttons of his shirt. The fabric falls to the hallway floor, followed by his trousers and underwear. He stands completely naked, hunched with shame, his limp cock hanging between his thighs, still asleep but betraying him under my fixed gaze. After so many times seeing him like this, when I take on the role of stern mother his body still writhes under my stare.

I’m wearing a white wool blazer that works like a short dress. The garment, far too brief, leaves my legs exposed, sculpted by sky-high matching heels. I sit down in the armchair. I know that, if anything makes him more ashamed than his nudity, it’s his mother seeing his cock get hard just from breathing the same air as me. I part my legs slightly, just enough for him to glimpse the junction of my thighs, and give him a fleeting look at the inside of my lace panties, already soaked. His cock begins to swell against his will, thickening and rising in slow, humiliating centimeters. He bites his lower lip, mortified by his own bodily betrayal. I nod with satisfaction.

—Sit at the piano and play for me.

He hesitates a fraction of a second, but complies. He settles naked on the leather bench and places his fingers on the keys. His stiff cock bumps against his belly when he sits. A nervous classical melody spills from the instrument.

At that instant, Rosaura’s head appears from the upper-floor balcony. Lucky for him, the angle of the wall hides his body.

—I’m going to wash the dishes. Would you like some tea, Selene?

—No, thank you. We’ll wash what’s left. Go to bed.

—Good night.

Rosaura withdraws. Adrián keeps playing, but now his forehead shines, beaded with cold sweat. I take out my phone and check a couple of work emails. I let him stew in his own shame, his hard cock throbbing every time his fingers press into the keys.

After a while I walk up behind him. The sound of my heels against the wood makes his shoulders tense.

—Turn around —I order.

He turns on the bench. His cock is fully erect now, hard, thick, the pink tip and a fat drop of pre-cum hanging from the glans, gleaming under the overhead light. His balls tighten under my scrutiny.

—Open your legs.

He does. I lift my right leg and press the sharp tip of my shoe directly onto his clenched balls. I push down, crushing the sac against the bench. I get wet just thinking about the rough filth of the sole pressing on the most sensitive part of my son. His cock shudders, hardening even more, leaking another transparent thread that runs down the shaft.

He stifles a hoarse moan, clutching the edge of the seat. His thighs tremble.

—I don’t like being challenged, Adrián. Look at how I have you. Your cock standing up like a dog’s and your balls under my heel. This is what you are.

I press harder. His eyes moisten at once. His cock spasms violently and spills more pre-cum, a sticky thread stretching to his navel.

—I’m so sorry —he pleads, breathless—. I’m sorry, mom.

—“Mom” —I repeat with sweet contempt, increasing the pressure until he groans in agony—. Such a filthy word from a son with a leaking cock.

I lift my foot. The heel’s mark is left pressed into the skin of his scrotum, red and throbbing.

—Come to the kitchen.

***

We enter the steel-and-granite space. He remains standing in the center of the room, naked and helpless, his cock still pointing at the ceiling, impossible to hide. I go to the playroom and come back with a heavy metal object shaped like a polished strawberry, with a short, flat handle.

—Do you know what this is?

He shakes his head, frightened.

—It doesn’t matter. You’re about to find out. Bend over.

He obeys, resting his hands on his knees. His buttocks tense, spreading just enough to reveal the tight bud of his anus. I take my time admiring it. I lift the object and bring it to my mouth. I gather an obscene amount of saliva and let it pool under my tongue. Then I lubricate the steel strawberry by dragging it across my mouth, sucking it slowly, coating every millimeter with a thick, viscous bath while I stare him down. He watches over his shoulder, swallowing, knowing what’s coming.

I spread his buttocks with my free hand. The skin parts, leaving the opening visible, wrinkled and pink. I set the cold metal in the center and push with sadistic slowness. The opening resists, gives, resists again, and then the anus stretches abruptly around the thickest part of the strawberry. A sharp cry —half invasive pleasure, half the pain of stretching— bounces off the kitchen tiles. I keep pushing until the object is seated inside, with only the flat handle protruding between his cheeks.

—You can stand up straight.

—Yes, Mom —he says, upright but submissive, breath coming in ragged bursts. His cock jerks as he straightens, still hard and dripping.

—This is very simple. You’re going to wash the entire kitchen. If the object I’ve just placed in you falls to the floor, I’ll punish you like I never have in your life. Understood?

—Yes, Mom.

Poor innocent fool. He thinks he has any chance of getting out of this unharmed. I sit on a tall stool, cross my legs, and take out my phone. Adrián moves toward the sink in tiny steps, clenching his buttocks desperately to keep the weight from winning. He trembles, sweats, and moans under his breath, while his ass cheeks strain exaggeratedly trying to contain the uncontainable. His cock sways heavily between his legs, dripping onto the ceramic floor, which he will have to clean himself later.

Fifteen minutes later, he turns toward me.

—I’m done —he announces, exhausted.

I lift my eyes from the screen and shake my head.

—You forgot to sweep.

He nods, defeated. He grabs the broom, but when he looks for the dustpan he discovers there’s only a small handheld one.

—But… Mom… with this I’ll have to…

—Not my problem —I answer without looking at him.

He tries to lower himself by bending only his knees, keeping his back straight. Gravity is merciless. As he squats deeply, the muscles of his ass give way. The object slips free and shoots out like a projectile, expelled by his anus, and smashes against the ceramic floor with a deafening metallic clatter.

He freezes on the floor. He looks up at me with eyes as round as saucers. His cock keeps swaying between his thighs, betrayingly hard.

I exhale heavily. I rise from the stool in silence. I pick up the device from the floor and, without saying a single word, leave the kitchen.

Adrián follows me down the hallway with his head bowed, dragging his sentence. And his erection.

***

We reach the end of the corridor. The reinforced door to the lounge opens under my code. I go in and turn to him.

—Kneel.

He drops to his knees. With the tip of my shoe I shove his shoulder to force him onto all fours over the dark carpet. His hard cock dangles downward between his arms, pointing at the floor. I step in and plant my heel firmly between the split of his buttocks, scraping the sac hanging between his thighs.

—You disappoint me, Adrián. I thought by now you’d have learned to obey me. To respect me. But all you do is hurt me. Does it seem fair to you that your mother should suffer like this because of your selfishness?

—I’m sorry —he cries against the floor—. I swear I’m sorry.

I lift my foot, turn, and stand directly before his face.

—Kiss me.

He crawls forward a centimeter and begins kissing the tip of my shoes. Then the bare skin of my ankles, moving up my calves with desperate devotion, up the inside of my thighs with his hot tongue. I let him reach the hem of the blazer, to where the scent of my wet cunt hits his nose. When I feel his breath just millimeters from my slit, I step back.

—Not yet.

He moans, frustrated, his lips shining with saliva and his cheeks wet through.

I walk to the shelf. I take down an elongated steel device with mechanical joints.

—Do you know what this is?

He shakes his head again, trembling, not daring to look up.

—It’s a leg spreader. It moves in only one direction: it opens, but the gear won’t let it close. Lie down on the bed.

He obeys. I tie his hands to the bed’s thick canopy and fasten the spreader straps around his ankles. His anatomy is exposed, vulnerable, and anchored. His cock stays erect, soaked with its own drool, trembling against his flat stomach. His balls, tight, hang heavy between his open thighs.

I take a black feather from the shelf. I approach and begin to caress his skin. I trace his torso, circle each nipple until they harden like little pebbles, move down to his navel and on to his groin. The tension grows, unhinged. His cock rises, demanding the touch, the glans shiny and swollen, almost purple. I brush the feather over his frenulum and he howls in a choked moan. I stop abruptly. Instinct forces him to seek more friction, spreading his legs to stretch toward me. The tube mechanism clicks. When he tries to bring them back together, the metal locks.

I smile. I keep going with the feather over the inner thighs, the base of his cock, the swollen balls, the seam dividing the sac, the most sensitive point of the glans. He moves again by reflex. Another click. He opens even wider, obscenely exposed.

I put the feather aside. I kneel on the mattress between his forcibly open thighs, place my hands on the inside of his legs, and wait. His chest rises and falls in agitation. His cock demands attention with rhythmic jerks, bouncing on its own, seeking air. It begs for touch and spills all its transparent liquid like desperate tears. Pre-cum runs down his shaft, soaks his balls, and forms a shiny little pool at the base.

I lower my head and stick out my tongue. I move it slowly, a scant centimeter from his cock, without actually touching it. He feels the humid heat of my breath and screams in pure torment.

—Please —he sobs—, please, Mom, touch it.

—Touch what?

—My cock. Suck me, please. Anything. I can’t take it anymore.

I let a thick thread of saliva fall from my lips, landing straight on the glans and sliding down the shaft. He convulses from the microscopic stimulus. Nothing more.

When I’m sure desire has become unbearable, I push outward with all my strength. The gear growls and locks him into a total, humiliating split. The tendons in his groin tense until they look like cables. His cock jerks, driven by the brutal stretch, and spills another transparent load that stains his navel.

He opens pleading eyes. He searches for his Mistress, but finds only the severity of his mother staring back at him.

I untie one of his hands. I walk to the far wall and take down an elongated object.

—And do you know what this is?

He shakes his head again, trembling.

—It’s a crop. It’s used to train racehorses. An extremely flexible wooden rod wrapped in braided rawhide. If used badly, without control, it can tear pieces of skin off you and leave scars for life.

I hold his gaze. He swallows air.

—But if it’s used properly —I continue—, its lesson is merciless. When you receive a strike, the skin first contracts from the impact. Then an needle of pain goes through you so intensely that you can’t help screaming and the tears escape no matter how hard you resist. The area burns so badly that you’d want to rip your own flesh off to make it stop.

—My God —he whispers, terrified.

—After twenty-four hours there’s no physical trace left, but in your mind it can take months to forget the punishment. That’s why it’s so useful for taming wild horses. They never forget a crop strike.

I crack the leather through the air. The snap slices the oxygen.

—What are you going to do with that? —he asks, breathless.

—Very simple. I want you to touch your cock and come in front of your mother. If I’m pleased with what I see, I won’t use it. But every time I don’t like how you handle it, you’ll receive a strike that will teach you a lesson for the rest of your days. You may begin.

Adrián lowers his trembling hand and wraps it around his swollen cock.

—One more thing, my little one —I add—. I’m going to try to be as professional as possible, but if at any point I remember the damage you did to me tonight, I’ll probably lose control and then… well, then I can’t guarantee the blow will land with any technique. You could lose something important between your legs.

The firmness in my son, which a second ago was diamond, begins to give way, annihilated by terror. The glans deflates slightly.

—I can’t… —he whispers, fighting his softness.

I test him. I slice the air with the crop a millimeters from his bare thigh. The sound makes him jolt and a shiver racks his chest.

With his only free hand he wraps the base and starts moving it. His fist slides up and down the shaft slowly, the skin dragging over itself, the tip appearing and disappearing again inside the ring of his fingers. Fear delays the response, but the constant friction does its work. His cock swells again, turning purple and taut, shining with its own drool. In a panic to get rid of the threat, he increases the rhythm frantically. His hand flies over his cock, the sticky sound of wet flesh filling the soundproof room.

When it seems he’s about to reach the edge, when his balls draw up and his breathing cuts off, I bring my arm down in a long, fast arc. The strike is precise and severe. The leather bites the skin of his left thigh, a finger’s width from the groin.

A tearing scream bursts involuntarily from his mouth. His cock spasms violently, shooting a single fat drop that lands on his navel, but the orgasm is cut off dead, stolen. He writhes on the mattress, but the leg spreader won’t let him move.

—You’re going too fast —I rebuke coldly—. And you were about to come without permission. Double fault.

The burn radiates through his whole body, traveling from the denied cock to his buttocks, which clamp shut in a spasm. It takes him several minutes to catch his breath. He tries again, this time with torturous slowness. His hand climbs his shaft millimeter by millimeter, stops at the corona, circles it with two fingers, lowers again. His cock, once more stiff, throbs between his fingers.

Time passes. The room falls into the wet sound of his fist sliding over the soaked flesh. Suddenly I unload another lash of fire onto his right thigh.

—Aahhh! —he howls, shaking his head against the pillow.

Tears and snot pour out uncontrollably. His cock jerks in the air.

—You’re getting distracted. You’re not even looking at your cock. Look at it. Look at how pathetic you are. I don’t have all day. You need to finish. If I don’t see you truly humiliated, coming all over your own stomach like the submissive you are, this doesn’t count as punishment.

That leather has known many submissive women. It also bit my skin once, when I rebelled purely for the pleasure of it against my Master. My body knows the tremendous burn that eats into the bones and wipes out any thought. Asking him to masturbate in that state of pain, arousal, and shame is one of the worst punishments. Far from feeling remorse, my panties are completely soaked, my cunt throbbing in sync with each blow. I can smell my own wetness mixed with the sweat and the budding semen of my son.

Adrián wipes his tears with the back of his free hand. He tries again, but the dry friction hurts him. I lean over his hand and let a generous, thick column of saliva fall to lubricate his grip. The spit washes over his cock, slides down his swollen balls, reaches the anus still stretched by the strawberry he expelled in the kitchen.

He starts moving again, with more rhythm. Now his hand slides easily, his fist rolling and squeezing the glans on every upstroke, dragging the foreskin on every downstroke. The tension is immense and his testicles have shrunk until they’re nearly gone, tucked tight at the base. I know his cock well enough to know he’s right on the edge of spilling over.

I time the exact millimeter. A third lash falls a centimeter from the base of his cock, right in the fold of the groin. The burn collides with pleasure and spreads through the whole area like an electric flash. The raw scream would have woken the whole building if the room weren’t soundproof. A spurt of semen escapes against his will and stains his navel, an aborted orgasm that gives him no pleasure, only humiliation.

His breathing is chaos.

—You’re doing it wrong —I decree, lowering the crop—. You came like an idiot, without permission and badly on top of that. It doesn’t even deserve to be called a cumshot.

His eyes are wet and bloodshot. Miraculously, his cock is still standing, swollen, still dripping drops of frustrated semen mixed with spit. He has no idea how long my discipline will last.

I set the leather on the floor. I slip off my panties, which fall floating down my legs and end up as a puddle of transparent fabric, the crotch darkened by moisture. I pass them under his nose. He inhales desperately, drugged by the scent of my cunt.

—This is what you do to your mother. This is how wet I get while I destroy you.

I stuff my soaked panties into his mouth. He bites them eagerly, sucking my wetness like an infant.

I climb onto the bed. I’m still wearing the extra-short blazer and my heels. I straddle his face, the skirt riding up, and plant my naked pussy right over his mouth gagged by my panties. I rub my open lips against the fabric and against his nose. He breathes my scent in gasps, moaning beneath me, trying to push his tongue through the cloth to lick me.

—Suck —I order.

I pull the panties out of his mouth. Instantly, his tongue finds my swollen clit and licks it in clumsy, desperate circles. I ride his face, crushing his nose, grinding myself against his chin. His tongue pushes between my lips, searching for the entrance, and when it finds it, it drives in with hungry fury. I grab his hair with both hands and fuck his mouth with my cunt, rising and falling over his stretched tongue.

—That’s it, my love. Suck your mother’s cunt. That’s the only thing you’re good for. Suck me well, swallow everything, don’t you dare miss a single drop.

Adrián moans under me, a muffled, desperate sound. His tongue works frantically, his nose presses into my clit every time he buries himself in me. I move, riding his face, feeling my wetness run down his cheeks, his neck, staining the sheets. The first orgasm hits me fast, without warning, and soaks his whole face, shaking me against his open mouth while he swallows what he can.

—Good boy. Now you won’t forget your mother’s taste.

I slide back, dragging wetness over his chest, over his belly. I lean against the backrest to retie the hand that had been free, and my garment lifts, leaving me exposed. Still aching, he fixes his gaze on my dripping, shaved cunt, shiny with my own orgasm.

I bring my hand down to his cock and grip it firmly. It’s so hard it feels ready to burst, burning between my fingers. I place the tip against my pussy opening and roll it slowly over my soaked lips, wetting his glans with my moisture. He moans like an animal, pushing his hips up, but the leg spreader and the restraints keep him pinned.

—Don’t move. You don’t fuck. You endure.

I straddle his pelvis and lower myself slowly, sinking all his throbbing hardness into me. Millimeter by millimeter. I feel my son’s cock parting my flesh, the crown bumping against the opening to my cervix, each swollen vein dragging pleasure across my cunt walls. When I reach the bottom, when I have him all the way inside, I clench my muscles and crush him. He lets out an animal roar.

The relief of the wet heat makes him exhale sharply. I stay still, unmoving, feeling all his tension inside me. I can feel every pulse of his cock against my walls. I can count every beat.

—Are you sure you want to go to Germany and leave me alone? —I whisper over his lips—. Are you going to find in Munich a cunt that milks your cock like this? Are you going to find a mother who sucks it the way I do?

He can barely form words. He’s desperate for me to move, but my static pace drives him mad. He tightens his pelvis, trying to thrust, but the leg spreader won’t let him.

—N-n-no —he stammers, unable to move.

—What was that? —I arch an eyebrow.

—That I don’t want to leave you alone. I want to stay with you. I want your cunt to be the only one I fuck.

I rise just a few centimeters, almost slipping out, then lower myself again. One centimeter, another centimeter. The despair in his eyes spikes. I shake my head.

—I don’t think you understood anything about this punishment.

—What thing? —he asks, blind with desire and pain.

—What you want or don’t want is completely irrelevant. It’s what I want that matters in this house. Your cock, your ass, your mouth, everything hanging between your legs is mine. I decide when it stands, when it comes, when it bursts, and when it’s left wanting.

He reflects and understands.

—I swear I’ll do whatever you say —he answers in a thin, defeated voice—. It’s yours. All of me is yours. Do whatever you want.

I stroke his sweaty cheek.

—Perfect.

With astonishing slowness I begin to increase the speed. I rise until only the tip remains inside and drop with a blunt удар, feeling his glans slam against the back of my cunt. Up and down, up and down, each thrust deeper than the last. Adrián moans helplessly, pulling at the ropes until red marks appear on his wrists, but I anchor myself on his waist, squeezing him with my heels to pin him to the mattress. The heels sink into his sides.

I hold his gaze and, this time, let him see the loving, tender mother holding him inside herself. His body convulses at the sight of me. I, the woman who gave him life, riding his cock like a wild mare, blazer riding up, breasts bouncing under the fabric, hair plastered to my forehead with sweat.

—Look at your mother, my love. Look at who’s fucking you. Look at who’s the only woman who’s ever going to know how to handle you.

I speed up, moving from a soft rocking to a furious, wild ride, relentless. I move so fast the sound of my ass slapping his thighs mixes with the moans and the obscene slap of our sex. His cock swells even more inside me, the unmistakable sign that he can’t hold on one second longer.

—Cum for me —I order, sinking all the way down—. Blow your load inside your mother’s cunt. All your cum in here. Now.

In just a few movements the dam gives way. Adrián breaks completely, surrendering with a choked cry, and I feel his cock begin pumping violently inside me, jet after jet after jet of thick, burning semen flooding my womb. His load is so long, so abundant, that I can feel every pulse pouring inside, filling me, overflowing me. I contract my muscles around his cock and milk it to the last drop. I stay still, waiting for him to empty completely, letting his cock continue throbbing inside, sensitive and still hard.

When he finally settles, I rise just enough to let his cock slide out of me. A thick white river pours from my open cunt and runs over his belly, over his still-glossy cock, over his empty balls. I bring my hand down, gather the mixture of my wetness and his semen with two fingers, and bring it to his mouth.

—Suck. Taste it.

He opens his lips and sucks my fingers, swallowing his own cum mixed with my juice, looking me in the eye with absolute devotion.

I collapse onto his chest, satisfied.

***

I kiss him slowly. First on the mouth, a soft, maternal brush, tasting the salty trace of the two of us on his tongue, licking away the rawness of what has just happened. Then I free his hands and feet. With infinite patience I apply cream to the red areas where the leather bit his skin, including the mark near his groin and the bruise beginning to form on his thigh. I rest my hand on his flaccid, exhausted cock, now asleep, and leave it there a long while, protecting it, stroking the sensitive skin with my thumb. Adrián gives himself over to my care.

I take him by the hand, lead him out of the lounge, and bring him to my own bedroom. I take off my coat and shoes. I climb naked into bed beside him and hold him tightly from behind, pressing my body to his until my breasts are one flesh with his skin. I feel his soft, satisfied cock against the back of my hand when I wrap my arm around his waist.

I stroke his hair in the dimness while his breathing evens out. Before sleep overtakes him, I whisper in his ear:

—You have to go to Germany. It’ll be good for both of us to have some distance for a while.

He nods slowly in the dark. Just before he gives in to sleep, the last trace of fear surfaces in his voice and he asks me in a rough whisper:

—Mom… could you really have split my skin open with that crop?

I smile in the darkness. I let my words fall like an icy lullaby over his ear:

—Let’s hope we never have to find out, my love.