The Truth About My Mother at the Forbidden Assembly

My conversation with Hae-rin finally dispelled the anger I had been carrying since morning. I had entered the sanctuary convinced that my mother was a shameless woman, just one among many. The explanation I received forced me to look at things differently. In our city-state, almost all the women lived divorced, widowed, or abandoned by husbands who had fled without leaving a trace.

They were exemplary mothers. They raised us as though we were fragile treasures, caring for us with a devotion that bordered on sacrifice. But as women, they had gone years without anyone looking at them with desire. Perhaps, after all, it made sense that someone had come to fill that void.

I was thinking about that while Hae-rin rocked herself over me, fitted against me with such precision that she stole my breath. Her broad hips moved in slow, deliberate circles, and every downward motion made the wet flesh of her cunt squeeze me to the limit. My hands traveled along the curve of her waist and down to her firm buttocks, sinking into them with every descent, feeling them tremble beneath my fingers. She leaned down to offer me her mouth, and I took her tongue, tasting the red wine that still lingered from dinner, while her breathing grew shorter and hotter. Then she straightened and offered me her breasts, two warm weights crowned with pink nipples already hard with arousal, which I took in turns without hurrying, licking them, sucking them, barely biting the edge of each one, until she let out a rough moan and finally trembled over me, her cunt squeezing me so tightly it nearly drove me mad.

Afterward, there was no rush to talk. She curled up against my chest and began leaving little kisses on my neck, wet and slow, as though she wanted to extinguish the last of the tension with her mouth. I stroked her hair, smelled the nape of her neck, and ran my hand down her bare back to the edge of her buttocks. We stayed that way for quite a while, in silence, until she finally spoke.

—The assembly’s workings are simple —she said, her voice still hoarse—. Most of the meetings are quiet, but sometimes we organize games for the boys.

—What kind of games?

—It depends on the mood. Last week we played musical chairs. Do you know it? We sat the boys in each chair while the mothers danced around them. When the music stopped, each woman sat on one of them and let herself be penetrated. Whoever lost the fewest times won.

I was speechless for a moment. I couldn’t imagine those women—the same ones who had watched me grow up—playing something like that.

—And who won?

Hae-rin smiled against my chest.

—Your teacher Naima. Poor thing could barely walk at the end, but she left happy. Your mother came second and consoled herself with Marcus, Naima’s son. It isn’t exactly the same, but that boy is enormous, so she went home more than satisfied.

I felt an uncomfortable pang in my chest. Jealousy, without a doubt. But something darker as well: the image of my mother—fair-skinned, brown-haired, athletic—letting that burly young man take her stirred something in me that I didn’t want to name. And at the same time, an idea of revenge, sweet and possible. Naima had always been flirtatious with me. It wouldn’t be too difficult.

—Is there an activity today? —I asked.

—Nothing formal was planned for today, but while I was settling some matters with the bishop, the others decided on a voyeurism theme. The private rooms will be open. Anyone who wants to watch can go in and look, as long as they don’t interrupt.

—What time does it start?

She looked at her watch.

—Five minutes ago.

I gently released her from my embrace and went out into the corridor. Muffled moans escaped from some of the doors; others let out the dry sound of bodies colliding, skin against skin, broken breathing, and the wet smack of thrusts. I pushed open the first door I found ajar.

***

Inside, Naima was riding astride a slender, pale-skinned boy. I immediately recognized Hae-rin’s son, Joon, his eyes closed and his fists clenched in the sheets. Naima moved with fierce control, her long braids sweeping across her lower back with every rise, and each time she dropped down, the wet slap of her cunt swallowing the boy’s cock to the hilt could be heard. She lifted her face, saw the small audience watching her from against the wall, and smiled as if she were giving a lesson. That was when she noticed me.

—Adrián —she said, without stopping—. Just in time. Do you like what you see?

I didn’t answer. I advanced toward the bed. Joon opened his eyes, looked at me for a second, and closed them again, too occupied with what he was doing, his chest rising and falling in ragged bursts. Naima took my hand and guided it to her hips, making me feel the sweat running over her skin and the flesh of her belly tightening with every motion.

—Everything’s lubricated —she murmured—. If you want, of course.

I wanted to. I had wanted to for weeks. I positioned myself behind her and entered slowly, measuring her, feeling her walls surround me and squeeze me with a thick wetness that made me exhale through my teeth. Naima threw her head back and let out a long cry that almost immediately turned into laughter, laughter broken by pleasure. Joon used the pause to move toward her breasts, bury his face between them, and bite one of her nipples. After that, there was no order left. I set the rhythm, she received it by arching her back and spreading her legs wider, murmuring a filthy gratitude, while Joon went wherever he could, slipping one hand beneath her waist, sucking her other breast, panting as though he were about to come apart.

Naima shoved her hips forward, demanding deeper, and I obeyed. The sound of our bodies was obscene, wet, shameless. The bed creaked, the sheets bunched beneath Joon’s knees, and with every thrust she uttered short, rough words mixed with my name and an order she didn’t want anyone else to hear. I leaned in, bit her shoulder, seized her hips hard, and forced her to feel every blow. When she came, she went rigid for a second and then began trembling from her belly down to her legs, squeezing me so tightly that I had to keep going until I collapsed inside her with a growl.

When I finished, I leaned over and left a kiss on the nape of her neck, where the sweat was beginning to shine, and my tongue gathered the salt from her skin. She turned her head slightly and winked at me.

—I hope this isn’t the last time.

I smiled back and left. I needed air.

***

I walked slowly down the corridor, letting my body settle, though my cock still throbbed with the memory of Naima and the wetness that had closed around me. In the next open doorway was Margarita, the owner of the pastry shop in the square. She had sold me pastries for as long as I could remember. A woman in her early fifties, blonde and short, with the extra weight that, instead of making her unattractive, made her look like one of those classic actresses from old films. Marcus was beneath her, his hands digging into her thighs, while she gave herself over with her eyes closed, without putting on a show, opening over him with an almost solemn patience. Behind them, another boy my age was finishing getting dressed in silence, his trousers still hanging low on his hips and his chest gleaming with sweat. I watched for a couple of minutes, more out of respect than interest, and moved on.

***

The third door was mine, and I didn’t know it.

I entered without thinking and saw them. My aunt Carolina, sitting at the edge of the bed with her legs crossed, watching like an orchestra conductor. And in the center, on all fours, my mother. On top of her, pounding into her with cold, obscene concentration, was Mateo. Mateo, my best friend since childhood. Carolina’s son.

I stood frozen in the doorway. Fury surged through my chest like boiling water. And at the same time, impossible to deny, a hard, painful erection pressed against my clothes. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t leave. My mother arched her back, her brown hair clinging to her shoulders, and let out a moan each time he took her to the hilt, driving her body against the mattress with deep, dry blows. Mateo held her hips in both hands, pulling her against him, while my mother clung to the sheets with white fingers, breathing in broken gasps.

Mateo finished with a muffled growl. My mother trembled beneath him, and the silence that followed was so charged it almost hurt. Carolina then approached and whispered something into her son’s ear, giving him a quick caress at the nape, and he moved away without almost looking at her. That was when Carolina turned her head and discovered me in the doorway.

I fled into the corridor almost at a run.

—Adrián, wait! —I heard behind me.

Carolina caught up with me barefoot, still naked, shameless, her breasts still rising with the effort. She seized my arm with both hands. Her eyes, so much like my mother’s, had filled with something new. Not exactly shame. More like urgency.

—I know you’re upset by what you saw —she said quietly—. I’m upset too, nephew. Mateo has been obsessed with your mother for years. Come with me. Not here. To a locked room. Let me make it up to you.

—I don’t want you to make anything up to me —I replied, trying to pull free.

But she shoved me against the wall and kissed me. It was a long, dense kiss, without tenderness, her tongue opening my mouth while her hand slid to the nape of my neck to keep me from pulling away. In the middle of that kiss, I felt her push something round and small toward the back of my mouth with her tongue. A pill. I tried to move away. She held my neck. I swallowed almost by reflex. Ten seconds later, the corridor began to tilt.

***

When I opened my eyes, I was lying on my back, naked, in a different bed. The light was warm. Carolina was holding my ankles from behind, keeping me bent in a strange, almost childlike position, my legs slightly spread, while the heat of the room rose over my skin.

—You’re awake, my love —she said.

—Look ahead —she added.

I raised my head. My mother stood at the foot of the bed, also naked, her face streaked with tears. She didn’t say a word. She climbed onto the bed, leaned over me, and kissed me on the mouth with a desperation that left me breathless. It wasn’t a mother’s kiss. It was something else, a mixture of guilt, hunger, and relief. Her hands held my face as if she were afraid I might disappear. When she finally pulled away, her lips were still trembling.

—Mom —I said, my voice hoarse from the pill and the anger returning—. I’m angry. Very angry. Seeing you with Mateo… my oldest friend. How long has it been, Mom?

She lowered her eyes. She began to speak slowly, as though she had been rehearsing those sentences for years.

—Since you stopped being a child, Adrián. Since your shoulders broadened, since your voice changed, since the day I saw you come out of the bathroom with a towel and couldn’t stop looking at you. I started having thoughts I shouldn’t have had. I hated myself for it. You’re my son. I swore I would restrain myself, that I would never hurt you. And I did restrain myself, I swear. Every night, alone, I bit my lips and thought about you.

She paused to swallow.

—Then Mateo appeared. Strong, like you, with the same way of laughing. And one day it happened. I told myself he was a substitute, that it was almost as if he were my other son, but I swear that every time I was with him, I thought of you. Your face. Your voice. What you would call me if you let yourself. I was disgusted with myself, my love. But I couldn’t stop.

Tears fell onto my chest. I was still held by Carolina’s gentle hands, and I was beginning to understand that this restraint wasn’t violence. It was a scene. An offering. Her hand held my ankles firmly, and yet the gesture contained something protective, as though she wanted to give me time to decide.

—Now you’re legally an adult —my mother continued—. You understand what the assembly is. I don’t want to keep restraining myself, Adrián. I want it to be you. I want to be your woman, not your substitute. If you’ll let me.

The anger dissolved in my chest. Not completely, but enough. I freed one of my hands, ran it over her cheek, and wiped away a tear with my thumb.

—Me too, Mom —I said, and hearing myself say it made me dizzy—. For a long time. Thinking about you.

She smiled with her mouth slightly open, still wet.

***

Carolina spread my legs a little farther apart. My mother climbed on top of me in a riding position, her knees on either side of my hips. She lowered herself slowly, studying my face as if measuring a miracle, and when the head of my cock sank into her, she let out a broken gasp. Feeling me inside her, she closed her eyes and released a moan that sounded more like relief than pleasure, but soon she began squeezing me with the walls of her cunt, slowly and deeply, as if she wanted to memorize me. She started moving slowly, with a small rocking motion, almost a nod, and every sway made her hips strike mine with a wet, sticky sound. Her breasts bounced softly against my chest when she leaned down to kiss me. She repeated my name as though it were a newly learned word.

—Son —she said, laughing shyly when she realized it—. My love. My man.

The rhythm grew more urgent. She trembled the first time with a muffled cry against my neck, never stopping, and I grabbed her by the waist so I wouldn’t lose her. The second lasted longer and was quieter, almost a collapse, her body tensing and then relaxing in waves. I held out as long as I could, but seeing her like that left me no choice. I came inside her with my mouth pressed to her throat and my pulse pounding in my ears, feeling her final contraction close around me as I released everything inside her.

She collapsed on top of me, trembling. I told her “I love you” so softly it could barely be heard. She heard me.

***

We hadn’t realized the room had filled. Naima was leaning against the doorframe. Mateo stood beside her, his gaze lowered. Hae-rin watched from an armchair with the calm she always possessed. Margarita and Joon stood behind them. No one spoke. The air was heavy with the smell of sex, sweat, and skin used to the limit.

At last Carolina released my ankles and collapsed onto the floor, exhausted. But she wasn’t the one who broke the silence. It was Mateo. He approached his mother, knelt in front of her, and took both her hands.

—Mom —he said—. I don’t want to keep pretending with you. I’ve felt this for years. For years I’ve imagined you.

Carolina didn’t answer with words. She kissed him with an old hunger, restrained for far too long, opening her mouth over his without any tenderness. They stretched out on the rug without separating. The room transformed once again. Mateo sank into his mother with one long, clean thrust, and they began moving at the slow rhythm of people who knew they had all night, thighs pressed together, hands lost in each other’s backs, panting as if they were claiming each other for life.

Naima approached the bed, biting her lip. Margarita followed her. The two knelt on the floor beside each other, elbows resting on the mattress. Hae-rin sat at the edge, content to watch, her legs spread and her breathing already slow. Her eyes fixed on me like a wordless invitation.

—Adrián —Margarita said, in a strangely shy voice—. If you have anything left, use us.

I did. I moved from one to the other, slowly at first, then with a rhythm that lost all sense of time. Naima sucked my mouth while I took her from behind, and Margarita, with her soft, hot body, pressed my face against her large tits, forcing me to bite her nipples eagerly. My mother, still on the bed, beckoned Joon with a gesture and mounted him in silence, never stopping her gaze from meeting mine. The way she squeezed the boy, the small smile she gave me while she did it, was a declaration. This isn’t with you. What we have is something else.

When I felt I couldn’t hold out any longer, my mother climbed off Joon, came over, gently pulled me away from Margarita, and knelt between my legs. Naima and Margarita came up to my mouth and nipples, sucking me hungrily, while Carolina appeared from somewhere and slipped beneath me, licking slowly. My mother looked at me from below, her eyes shining, and took me into her mouth with a confidence that was no longer maternal. It was the confidence of a woman claiming what was hers, swallowing every inch with obscene calm.

I came against her tongue, and she swallowed without looking away.

***

Months passed. The assembly stopped being an uncomfortable secret and became something resembling a home. My mother and I slept wrapped in each other’s arms, woke together, and went to the market arm in arm without anyone finding it strange. Carolina and Mateo did the same. The meetings gradually took on a less urgent, more domestic shape, as though we had all stopped being in a hurry.

Sometimes, even then, my mother would pull me against her in the middle of the night and whisper the same words in my ear as that first time, when her voice was still trembling: you are mine and I am yours. I would kiss her forehead and fall asleep thinking that, in the end, the assembly had been the only honest way to say what had already been there for years.