The Pact I Sealed with My Mother on the Coast

Mariela was thirty-six years old and had a body that still retained the firmness of youth, with the added maturity of a woman who already knew exactly what she wanted. Of medium height, marked curves, loose brown hair over her shoulders, and green eyes that, since the divorce, had been shining with a new hunger. For years she had kept her desire hidden behind the role of the proper wife. That stage no longer existed.

The day after signing the papers, she packed two suitcases, called me, and told me we were leaving. I’m Bruno, her only son, and I had lived with her ever since I returned from university. Accepting was the most natural thing in the world. The house we rented stood on the coast, in a quiet fishing village. White walls, windows opening onto the sea, a terrace with lounge chairs, a private pool, and three bedrooms. At night you could hear the surf, as if the waves were breaking at the foot of the bed.

The first few days were pure calm. Mariela would head down to the beach early in a tiny bikini, walk to the end of the dune, and come back with salt on her skin and sand on her feet. I went with her sometimes, but soon I noticed something in my mother was changing. The restrained woman from the city had stayed in the city. Here she shamelessly ogled the surfers carrying their boards, the bronzed locals passing along the promenade, any body that promised something.

I wasn’t naive. We were living alone, sleeping three meters apart, and I heard her moving in her bed late into the night.

***

On the fourth night we had dinner on the terrace with a bottle of white wine. The salty wind moved the curtains and the only light came from a small lamp in the corner. Mariela played with the stem of her glass, looking at me from the other side of the table.

—Bruno, son —she said at last—. I have to tell you something and I don’t know how.

—Tell me, Mom.

—Since we got here, I haven’t been able to think about anything else. I want to be touched. I want to be fucked. I don’t want another husband, I don’t want rules. I want cock, and I want it now.

I set my glass down slowly. My dick had been hard since halfway through dinner, but until that moment I’d convinced myself I was imagining things that weren’t there.

—Really, Mom? —I asked, my voice rough—. And what exactly do you expect me to do?

—Get me men. You know them at the bar, on the beach, wherever. Bring them here. I’ll let it happen. No questions. And you can stay and watch whatever you want.

There was a long silence. She bit her lower lip and leaned across the table, her heavy tits pressing against the wooden edge.

—And in exchange —she added—, whatever’s left is yours. What they don’t take, what they leave, what I need afterward... that’s yours.

I extended my hand. She gripped it hard.

Pact sealed.

Mariela stood up without letting go, came around the table, and knelt in front of me. She pulled my shorts down to my knees and took my dick out of my underwear. She took it all into her mouth, slowly, like tasting a new flavor. I rested my palm on the back of her neck, without pushing, and let her set the pace. She moved up and down with her tongue pressed to the shaft, saliva running down her chin.

—So hard for your mom —she murmured when she came up for air.

I yanked her short robe open. Her big tits fell against her thigh. I pinched one nipple while she took me back into her mouth. With my other hand I searched between her legs and found her soaking wet. I slipped in two fingers and started moving them to the rhythm of her mouth.

—That’s it, son —she gasped—. Work that pussy well while I suck your cock. Get used to it, because from now on this is ours.

***

The first one arrived the next day. I met him at the pier bar: a surfer named Tomás, twenty-eight years old, defined abs, big hands. I offered him a beer on the terrace and told him, as naturally as if I were introducing him to a neighbor, that my mother was alone and very horny.

Mariela came out in a short silk robe and opened it before even saying hello. Her tits were out, nipples hard, her shaved pussy glistening under the light. Tomás’s mouth went dry.

—Come here —she told him, kneeling on the wood—. I want to see what you brought with you.

She pulled down his shorts. His cock sprang free, thick, and she took it first with her tongue and then with her whole mouth. She sucked him for a long while, looking up at him from below. I sat in a lounge chair, poured myself another beer, and unbuttoned my pants without rushing.

When Mariela got on all fours on the table, Tomás thrust into her with one shove. She screamed so loud it could be heard from the beach.

—Yes, like that, come on, like that! —she begged while her tits bounced with every hard thrust.

I came up in front of her and offered my dick. She took it in her mouth without stopping moving back against Tomás. It was a perfect rhythm: forward to swallow me, back to take him. When she came, she did it screaming, clenching everything at once.

Tomás finished inside, adjusted his shorts, and left along the terrace toward the beach with barely a nod. I stayed.

***

We were left alone under the dim light. Mariela was still sitting on the edge of the table, her legs open, thighs sticky. I walked over and ran my fingers over her swollen lips, gathering what the other man had left behind.

—While I watched you with him —I said— I kept thinking about what you must have been like at twenty.

She let out a low laugh. She ran her tongue over her lips and looked at me with half-closed eyes.

—Worse than now, son. Much worse. At twenty I’d let myself be taken by anyone. One night three guys fucked me inside a tent at a campsite while the others slept two meters away. I walked out feeling weird and happy.

I pushed my fingers all the way in.

—Keep going.

—Two friends of your uncle once took me to a motel too. They had me all night, one after the other. They said things you don’t say to a girlfriend. And I loved it.

I brought my fingers to her mouth. She sucked them.

—Now you tell me —she asked—. The first one.

—Her name was Sofía. A small brunette, shy at the party and not shy at all afterward. I took her to an empty lot. I pulled her panties down in the grass. When we finished, she cleaned me with her mouth and walked away looking strange.

—How nice —Mariela murmured, opening her legs again—. Come on, put your cock in me now, even though that guy left me a fucking wreck.

I pushed all the way in. She threw her head back and gripped the edge of the table.

—That’s it, son. Fuck me thinking about all the ones you’ve destroyed. And I’ll think about you when the others fuck me.

We finished almost at the same time, wrapped around each other, sweating, her forehead pressed to my shoulder.

***

From that night on, the house on the coast became something else. I did my part without effort. I’d go down to the village in the afternoon, talk to someone at the bar, on the promenade, on the beach, and come back with a different candidate. Sometimes two.

On the second day I brought Hernán and Iván, two friends who had crossed paths with me at the resort’s paddle court. Mariela was waiting for them naked on the big living room couch, fingering herself with two fingers as she heard them come in.

—Come in, boys. I’ve got everything ready.

Hernán threw himself on her and rammed his cock into her pussy in one go. Iván knelt beside her and brought his own to her mouth. I settled into the couch across from her, cock out, not touching myself, just watching. Mariela was fucking and sucking at the same time, her body shining with sweat, nipples hard and red from the soft slaps she kept getting.

They changed her position several times. They put her on all fours, sat her on top, lifted her between the two of them. When I came up to her, her face was flushed and her eyes were glazed.

—Come here, son. Come to your mom’s mouth.

The three of us came almost at once. Mariela swallowed as much as she could, trembling with orgasms that chained one after another.

***

The following days were like that. I brought someone almost every afternoon. Sometimes passing tourists, sometimes locals who still couldn’t believe their luck. Mariela always received them wearing very little, her pussy already ready, the smile of a woman who stopped asking permission long ago. In the pool they fucked her while she floated on her back. On the beach, under moonlight, they put her on her knees in the wet sand and the waves lapped at her legs. In the big bed in the master bedroom they staged threesomes and foursomes.

I was there almost always. Sometimes I just watched. Other times I held her tits while someone else fucked her, or I put my fingers in her mouth so she could suck them. My dick was permanently hard and I felt a new pride: the pride of being the one who found them, the one who arranged it, the one who stayed afterward.

***

One night, after a group of four men left, Mariela and I were left alone on the terrace. She was naked, marked with hickeys, her thighs still trembling. She sat on my lap and rested her forehead on my shoulder.

—I’m wrecked, son. Those four fucked me nonstop for two hours. They left me like a rag.

—Did you like it?

—I loved it. The biggest one was talking in my ear while he fucked me. He said things nobody has ever said to me. I was begging him not to stop.

I ran my hand down her back. She nibbled at my neck.

—Still, I want more —she murmured—. I want you too, even if I’m sore. Even if it burns.

I pulled my shorts down. Mariela settled on top of me, guided my cock with her hand, and lowered herself slowly. This time there was no rush. She moved in circles, slowly, speaking to me in a low voice.

—Bring me two more tomorrow. And the day after, whoever you want.

—I already have the guy from the pier bar —I said, gripping her hips—. And one from the neighboring resort.

—Bring them both together. And you stay. Always stay.

—Always, Mom.

***

We ended up wrapped in each other in the main bedroom’s double bed, with the window open to the sea. Mariela curled against my chest, exhausted, her breathing still rapid and her hair stuck to her forehead.

—I’ve never felt so alive, son. Never.

—Two weeks left, Mom. We’ve got time.

She kissed my chest and gave a soft laugh.

—Don’t let this house go empty for even a day. There should always be someone coming in.

—I’ll take care of it.

What had begun as an ordinary vacation had turned into something else. Mariela had finally found the version of herself she had kept locked away for years. And I, her son and accomplice, had made sure that woman would never again be returned to the cell she’d once lived in. The pact was fulfilled every night, while the waves kept crashing outside as if they, too, didn’t know how to stop.