The Most Forbidden Remedy for Mom's Sadness

My mother had spent three months locked away in her room. Since we lost Dad, life inside that house had come to a standstill, like a clock nobody wound anymore: the curtains drawn at noon, the food tray I left her in the mornings still untouched when evening fell, the books stacked unopened on the nightstand.

That Sunday I decided enough was enough.

“Mom, get up.” I pushed the door open without knocking and switched on the hall light, which spilled diagonally across the bed. “You’ve been like this too long.”

“Leave me alone, Valeria.” Her voice sounded dull, as if she were speaking from the bottom of a well.

“I’m not leaving you alone.” I sat on the edge of the mattress and brushed the hair off her face. “Matías and I want you to come have lunch with us. It’ll do you good to get out for a while.”

“Your boyfriend doesn’t need to see an old depressed woman at his table.”

“Matías doesn’t think of you as old at all.” I paused on purpose. “And neither do I. You’re hot as hell, Mom, whether you believe it or not. With those tits and that ass, any man would be drooling.”

She snorted, but she didn’t protest. I took that as a small victory.

I got up and started opening the drawers of her dresser, looking for something to cheer her up. My mother had always had good taste in clothes; even after years and after raising Rodrigo and me, her body was the kind that caught the eye without meaning to. Generous hips, a defined waist, huge tits I had always secretly envied, though I’d never said so.

“There’s all kinds of things in here.” I pulled out a navy dress and set it aside. Then a silk top I found rolled up between bras. “When was the last time you wore any of this?”

“I don’t remember.” A long pause. “Take whatever you want, sweetheart. I’m not going to use it anymore.”

“Yes, you are.” I kept searching until my hands found something that made me stop: a cream lace bra, underwire, with cups that looked far too big for me at a glance. “Is this yours?”

My mother turned her head.

“Of course it’s mine. Whose else would it be?”

“It’s just that...” I held it up in front of me and looked at the cups, then looked down at my own chest. “There’s no way in hell this is going to fit me, Mom.”

“Don’t be dramatic.”

“I’ll bet you anything it won’t fit.” I gave her a challenging look.

Something crossed her face. It wasn’t exactly a smile, but it was close enough.

“Try it on,” she said. “Let’s see if you’re right.”

I turned around, unbuttoned my shirt, and fastened it on. When I turned toward the side mirror, and then toward her, my mother was already propped halfway up on the pillow, watching me with an expression I hadn’t seen in months.

“It fits you,” she admitted.

“It fits because I’m your daughter.” I looked at myself again in the mirror, surprised even by my own body. “But yours are bigger. You can’t deny that.”

“They were bigger,” she corrected. “Everything sags with time.”

“Matías doesn’t think so.” I said it before I could think, and the moment it left my mouth I saw I’d touched something in her. A small curiosity, almost involuntary, that hadn’t been there that morning.

“What does Matías have to do with anything?”

“Nothing, it’s just...” I shrugged. “He gets hard every time you bend over. It shows, Mom. The other time I caught him staring at your ass when you crossed the kitchen, and he had a bulge in his pants he couldn’t hide. I had to take him to the bathroom and suck him off right there so it would go down.”

“Valeria, for God’s sake.”

“I don’t think that’s bad. On the contrary.” I sat back down facing her. “It means you’re fuckable, that that doesn’t disappear with time. And I don’t mind that my boyfriend gets hard thinking about my mother. Quite the opposite: it turns me on.”

She didn’t answer, but she didn’t look away either. I kept going through the drawer, with no real purpose anymore, letting the silence do its own work. That was when my fingers found something I hadn’t expected, buried under a pair of rolled-up stockings and a silk scarf: a silicone dildo, long, textured, thick, in a size that left nothing to the imagination.

“Mom.”

“Don’t say anything.”

“I wasn’t going to say anything bad.” I held it carefully, weighing it in my hand. “Only that you have excellent taste. This rubber cock is huge.”

She covered her eyes with her forearm.

“You’re just like your grandmother. Nosy and impossible.”

I went over to the bed with the toy in my hand and sat down beside her again.

“Teach me.” I held it out slowly.

“Teach you what?”

“How to do it to a man. How to suck a cock properly, how to ride it. Matías is going to like those things, and I have no idea where to start.”

“You learn that on your own, sweetheart.”

“You’re my mother. The best teacher I could have.” I held her gaze. “Please.”

Silence. My mother looked at the silicone dildo as if she were weighing something far more complicated than what I was asking of her. Her hands moved slightly over the sheet, a small unconscious gesture.

“This is stupid,” she murmured.

“It’s education.” I smiled.

Slowly, almost without realizing she was doing it, she reached out and took it. Her fingers wrapped around it with a familiarity that told me everything I needed to know.

“The frenulum, just below the head,” she began, in a low, almost mechanical voice, as she circled the silicone glans with her thumb. “That’s where men feel it most. You lick in circles, press with your tongue, and their legs shake. Then you go down the shaft, slowly, with your mouth nice and wet, and you shove the cock to the back of your throat. No teeth. Never teeth.”

She brought the dildo to her lips and showed me: she stuck out her tongue and traced a slow circle around the tip, eyes half-lidded, then opened her mouth and sank it in slowly until the silicone brushed her palate. She pulled it back out with a string of saliva hanging from her chin.

“Like that. And while you’re sucking it, with the other hand you grab the balls. Gently. You knead them like you’ve got something delicate in the palm of your hand. Men come a lot harder if you touch their balls while you’re blowing them.”

She started demonstrating again. Her hands moved with a looseness I hadn’t expected, and something in her posture shifted as she spoke: her shoulders dropped an inch, her jaw loosened, and her voice lost the dullness of the last few months. She took it into her mouth again, this time deeper, and pulled it out with a wet sound that clenched my panties without warning.

“How long has it been since you used it?” I asked.

“Too long.” A pause. “Since before your father died, to be honest.”

“Then you need it more than I thought. Your pussy must be dry as hell from not getting fucked.”

“Valeria...”

“Put it in.” I said it calmly, with no drama at all. “You’re alone with me. Nobody else in this house matters right now. Show me how an experienced woman would take her man too.”

Another silence, shorter this time. My mother moved the sheet aside with her free hand and let me see she had nothing on under the nightgown. She must have taken her panties off days ago, or maybe weeks. She lifted the nightgown to her waist and there it was: my mother’s pussy, dark trimmed hair, swollen, shiny lips. She was wet. Very wet. The hallway light reflected off the dampness on her thighs.

“Look closely,” she told me, and parted her lips with two fingers of her left hand. “This is the clit. Before you put anything in, it has to be awake. With your tongue, with your thumb, with whatever. A dry pussy doesn’t get fucked; it gets hurt.”

She took the tip of the dildo to the entrance and slid it over the clit in slow circles. A low gasp escaped her, a sound three months in the making.

“See? That’s how you get it ready. You rub it from the outside until it’s dripping. When it’s dripping, there’s no pain anymore, there’s hunger.”

She reclined, settled herself better on the pillow, and slowly slid the toy inside. The lips of her pussy opened around the silicone and swallowed it centimeter by centimeter. Her breathing changed immediately: slower, deeper, freer.

“Oh God,” she whispered. “Oh God, Valeria.”

“Good?”

“It’s been so long...” She didn’t finish the sentence. She didn’t need to. The rubber cock went in and out with a sticky sound, and with every thrust a new moan escaped her.

I watched her for a moment. Her neck was tense, her lips barely parted, one nipple peeking above the neckline of the nightgown, hard and thick as a thimble. And on her face there was something very much like relief, or perhaps something before relief: the simple awareness that her body still worked, that not everything Dad had taken with him was beyond recovering.

“Do you want me to help you?”

She opened one eye and looked at me.

“Aren’t you already helping enough?”

“I mean this.” I extended my hand with clear intent and brushed her wrist.

My mother hesitated. Then she nodded, just barely, with an almost imperceptible tilt of her head.

I took the base of the dildo and moved it carefully, slowly, without hurrying. The silicone came out coated in her juices and went back in with a wet smack. With my other hand, without thinking too much about it, I lowered the neckline of the nightgown and freed one tit. It was hot, heavier than I’d imagined, with a large dark areola. I took the whole thing in my hand and pinched the nipple between two fingers.

“Valeria,” she gasped, “what are you doing?”

“Helping you better.” I pinched the nipple a little harder and she arched her back. “Men go crazy when you play with their tits while something’s fucking them from below. You taught me that yourself.”

I pushed the dildo deeper and she let out a guttural moan I had never heard in that house. Her hips started rising to meet my hand, searching for the rhythm, and her free hand tangled in the sheets until her knuckles went white from gripping so hard.

“Faster. Please, sweetheart, faster.”

I sped up. My mother’s pussy sucked at the silicone with every thrust, getting louder and sluttier each time. I brought my face to her breast and ran my tongue over the nipple without thinking. It tasted like skin and old soap. I sucked it like it was candy, and she sank her fingers into my hair and pulled me against her.

“Valeria, Valeria, Valeria,” she repeated, and it wasn’t a rebuke, it was a prayer.

She came in a long spasm, thighs trembling and pussy tightening around the toy, and I kept the dildo buried all the way in while she finished shaking. When she relaxed, I pulled it out slowly. It came out dripping, and a dark stain spread across the sheet beneath her ass.

“Valeria,” she said in a broken voice, “I need something more.”

“What do you need?”

“A cock.” She said it with a frankness that surprised me. “A real cock, hot, one that comes inside. This isn’t enough. After three months, it isn’t enough.”

***

I’d thought about it many times over the last few months, without telling anyone. Since I caught my brother Rodrigo looking at old photos of Mom on his phone, and the screen went dark the moment I got close. Since I heard him say her name in a very low voice while he slept on the sofa one afternoon, his hand inside his pants. Since I noticed that every time she walked past the hallway in her robe, he waited for her to get farther away so he could keep watching her one second longer than was reasonable, his crotch bulging.

I hadn’t told anyone. Not him, not anybody.

But now Mom was lying on her bed, pussy open and dripping, hips moving slowly against my hands, asking me for a cock, and I had a certainty I didn’t know exactly how long I’d been keeping without a name.

“What if it were Rodrigo?” I said carefully, weighing every word.

The movement of her hips stopped.

“What?”

“I’ve seen the way he looks at you, Mom. The same as Matías, but different. With something deeper inside, something more intense. With hunger. He gets hard for you. I’ve seen him jerking off thinking about you, Mom.”

“He’s my son, Valeria.”

“I know.” I didn’t look away from her. “That’s why I’m telling you. Nobody’s going to fuck you as hard as the kid who’s spent twenty years craving the pussy he came out of.”

Silence. A very long silence in which all that could be heard was her breathing and the sound of her fingers returning, without her realizing it, to the wetness between her thighs. I watched her hips start moving again, almost without her deciding to, and how she stroked her clit with the pad of her thumb while she thought.

“Does he know about any of this?”

“No. But if I text him right now, he’ll be here in five minutes with a hard cock.”

My mother closed her eyes. Her breathing was still the same as before I said Rodrigo’s name, maybe a little more ragged. Her finger kept working the clit in slow circles, and her hips followed the rhythm.

“You’re a very strange daughter,” she said quietly.

“Should I send the text?”

A pause that lasted longer than I expected.

“Yes.”

I took out my phone with my free hand and texted Rodrigo: “Come to Mom’s room. Right now. Don’t ask.” I watched the reply dots appear and disappear twice. Then his answer came through: “On my way.”

Three minutes later I heard his footsteps in the hallway.

“Can I come in?” His voice from the other side of the door, uncertain.

“Come in,” Mom said.

The door opened. Rodrigo came in and stopped when he saw the scene: Mom reclined, the nightgown pulled up to her waist, one tit out, her pussy wet and shining between open thighs, the dildo tossed aside on the sheet with a damp ring around it. Me seated beside her, my hand still near her body. It took his gaze a second to process what was in front of him, and during that second he didn’t blink. The bulge in his pants stood out instantly.

“Valeria, what is this?”

“What it looks like.” I stood and made room for him on the bed. “Mom needs company. Real company. The kind she hasn’t had in three months.”

Rodrigo looked back and forth between us. His throat moved when he swallowed. His cock was outlined so clearly in the fabric you could make out the head.

“Mom...” he started.

“Rodrigo.” Mom’s voice sounded firmer than I’d expected. Clearer than it had in months. “Come here. Take your clothes off.”

He moved closer slowly, as if each step required its own decision. He pulled his T-shirt off over his head and dropped it to the floor. He unbuckled his belt and his pants fell to his ankles. When he lowered his boxers, his cock sprang out hard and heavy, thick, the glans dark purple and already shining at the tip. My mother stared openly at his dick, lips parted.

“Sweet Jesus, son,” she whispered. “It’s just like your father’s.”

“Mom.”

“Come. Get up here.”

Rodrigo climbed onto the bed and knelt beside her face. My mother turned her body and took his cock in her right hand, as if she’d known it forever. She weighed it, squeezed it at the base, and with her tongue licked the frenulum slowly, exactly like she’d shown me with the silicone just moments before. Rodrigo let out a hoarse moan and gripped the headboard with both hands.

“Suck him, Mom,” I said, without realizing I’d spoken aloud.

She looked at me for a second with half-lidded eyes, then took him all the way into her mouth. My brother’s cock disappeared to the base between her lips, then came back out coated in saliva. She pulled it out, looked at it, licked it along the side down to the balls, sucked them one by one, and then swallowed the whole thing again. Rodrigo had his eyes closed and his jaw clenched, as if he were holding back from finishing in three minutes.

“That’s how you do it, sweetheart,” she said, pulling back for a moment with a thread of saliva hanging from her lip. “You hold the base to keep control, and with the other hand you play with the balls. See?”

She kneaded them with her palm while continuing to suck him. Rodrigo started moving his hips toward her mouth, taking himself into her face slowly, and she let him. When she pulled him out of her mouth completely, her chin was dripping and she had a smile I hadn’t seen in months.

“Now come on. Come here. Put it in me.”

Rodrigo moved over the bed. He positioned himself between her legs, spread her thighs with his hands, and looked at her pussy open, still shining from the toy’s juices. He ran two fingers over her clit and she arched her back.

“I can’t hold it, Mom. I haven’t been able to hold it for years.”

“Put it in already, son. Break your mother.”

He shoved it in in one thrust, all the way to the hilt. My mother let out a muffled cry and dug her nails into his back. She looped her legs around his waist and pulled him against her, as if afraid he’d slip away. Rodrigo started moving. At first slowly, with long strokes, pulling almost all the way out and then burying himself again to the balls. Then faster, more animalistic, with the bed starting to bang against the wall.

“Like that, son, like that. Harder. Break me.”

“Mom, your pussy... I’ve dreamed about this for years.”

“I know. I know you dreamed about this. Me too, son, me too, oh God, don’t stop.”

I stood at the side watching. Rodrigo was fucking her with contained violence, and my mother answered with her hips, rising to meet him every time he came down. Her tits shook with each thrust, bouncing free from the nightgown that had bunched up over her chest. He lowered his mouth and caught a nipple, and she ran her fingers through the back of his neck to press him tighter against her breast.

“Suck them, son, suck them like when you were little.”

I had my hand inside my pants without even noticing. My fingers found me soaked. I braced myself against the dresser so I wouldn’t fall.

He changed their position without pulling out. He took her by the waist, turned her over, and put her on all fours at the edge of the bed. She let him, with her head resting on the mattress and her ass lifted. Rodrigo shoved it back in from behind, grabbing her hips, and started fucking her with hard thrusts that tore a fresh moan from her with every blow. His right hand slid up her back to her hair and yanked her head back.

“Tell me who I am, Mom.”

“My son. My son, you’re my son, my baby, my man.”

“Tell me I’m better than Dad.”

“You’re better, you’re bigger, you’re the one I need right now, fuck me, fuck me, don’t stop.”

The sound of Rodrigo’s thighs slapping against my mother’s ass filled the room. I pulled my pants all the way down and sat in the armchair in the corner, fingers already inside me, watching my brother split my mother’s pussy open. She started trembling. Her arms gave out and her face sank into the pillow, mouth open, screaming into the cotton.

“I’m coming, son, I’m coming, I’m coming.”

She came with her whole body, shaking under him, ass lifted up and pussy milking his cock. Rodrigo held on for a few more thrusts and then let out a hoarse groan himself.

“Inside, Mom?”

“Inside, inside, all the way inside, fill me up.”

He unloaded in three final thrusts, each one slower than the last, and stayed leaned against her back, trying to catch his breath. When he pulled out, a thick stream started running down the inside of my mother’s thigh. She collapsed facedown on the bed, legs still open and her son’s seed dripping from her pussy to the sheet.

They kissed slowly at the end, with something I couldn’t describe exactly but that felt like mutual recognition: two people who had known something for a long time without daring to name it. When Mom wrapped her arms around his neck, a small, almost inaudible sound escaped her, and it had nothing of sadness in it.

“Stay a little longer,” she asked him. “Another round. Slowly this time.”

“Step out for a minute,” Rodrigo told me without looking at me.

I went out, my panties soaked and my legs weak.

***

I stayed in the hallway, leaning against the wall, listening without intending to to the sounds filtering through the bottom of the door. The rhythm was soft at first, then more intense, the bedhead banging against the plaster, and my mother’s voice, which I didn’t recognize because I had never heard it like that, with that urgency, with that freedom. I slipped my hand back inside my pants and made myself come right there, covering my mouth with my other hand so I wouldn’t cry out.

Twenty-five minutes later, silence.

The door opened and Rodrigo came out with tousled hair, his chest shining with sweat, and an expression that wasn’t exactly guilt, though it wasn’t entirely free of it either. He’d put his pants on but not his shirt. He looked at me for a second without saying anything.

“You okay?” I asked him.

“I don’t know yet.” He ran a hand over his face. “And you?”

“I’m good.”

“Thanks, Valeria.” He lowered his voice. “Really.”

I peeked through the half-open door. Mom was lying there, the sheet pulled up to her shoulders and her eyes open, staring at the ceiling. Beneath it, her naked body could be made out, legs still a little apart. But her face was different from the one at noon, from yesterday, from the last ninety days. The tension that had clung to her skin since Dad died was gone, as if someone had lifted a weight we’d all felt but nobody had known how to raise.

“Mom.”

“Valeria.” Pause. “You’re the strangest daughter I could have gotten.”

“I know.”

“And also,” she said, turning her head toward me, “the one who knows me best.” There was something in her eyes very much like gratitude, though neither of us was going to name it that way. “Can you open the curtains?”

I did. The afternoon light came flooding in, yellow and direct, and Mom closed her eyes for a moment before letting it in all the way.

“I’m hungry,” she said. “Can we still make lunch?”

I smiled.

“We can.”