What Happened Under the Blanket on the Night Flight

The Méndez family was flying to Singapore for their annual vacation. Lorena and her husband Andrés had three teenage children: Mateo, eighteen, and the twins Camila and Daniela, two years younger. Andrés had made money in construction and always booked first class for the whole family. Twelve hours of flight became, thanks to his wallet, twelve hours of silent cabin service, champagne flutes, and reclining seats that turned into beds.

When everyone settled into their seats, Lorena leaned toward her husband with a soft smile.

—Andrés, why don’t you sit with the girls in that row? I’ll stay in back with Mateo. You know he gets queasy when we take off.

—Good idea —Andrés replied, already wearing his reading glasses.

At forty-two, Lorena still drew looks in any waiting room. Shoulder-length brown hair, long legs, a mouth that didn’t need lipstick to command attention. More than one friend had told her she looked like Monica Bellucci in her best years, and with the body she still had, she didn’t deny it.

She took the middle seat, next to her son, who was already glued to the window. Their row was at the back of the cabin, with a bulkhead behind them. The seats were huge. From there you couldn’t even see the heads of Andrés and the twins, set one row ahead. The Méndez family was the only one in first class that night, so that rear row was, by accident, the most private corner of the plane. A detail Lorena liked more than she admitted.

As soon as the plane began to accelerate down the runway, she slid her hand onto Mateo’s shoulder and rubbed it slowly with her palm. She knew him: since he was little, takeoffs made him sick. A good mother had to be there.

When the seatbelt light went off, Mateo took a deep breath. Lorena looked him in the eyes.

—Better, my love? —she whispered.

—Yeah, almost —he answered.

—Take off your belt and put your head here, in Mom’s lap. —Her voice was barely a thread, sweet, almost warm.

Mateo obeyed without thinking. He rested the back of his head against his mother’s thighs and looked up. From that position, the neckline of Lorena’s blouse opened right above his eyes. Two big tits, pressed against the fabric, rising and falling with each breath. Mateo was an eighteen-year-old boy with a head full of things a son should never think about his mother, and that sight knocked the air out of him; he disguised it as a yawn. He felt the blood rush straight down into his pants and his cock harden against the fabric with a brutal force that nearly scared him.

Lorena was stroking his hair when a flight attendant approached from the aisle. She was about Lorena’s age, with a long neck and a smile practiced for good passengers.

—Is everything all right here? —she asked.

—Yes, thank you. My son gets nervous on flights —Lorena replied.

The flight attendant looked at Mateo and gave a knowing laugh.

—I have one his age. Boys never stop needing their mother. There’s no safer place than in Mom’s arms, right?

Lorena held her gaze a second too long. Something passed between them. They both knew. They’d both seen things, each with her son, in closed rooms, on sofas in the middle of the afternoon. They both understood the pact of silence that only a mother and a son can sign.

—I’m going to speak to the captain and I’ll be back. Want me to bring you a blanket? —the flight attendant offered.

—Please —said Lorena—. A really thick one, if you have it.

Ten minutes later, the main lights went out. The cabin fell into a bluish dimness. The back row, with the bulkhead behind it and the empty seats in front, turned into a dark cave isolated from the rest of the plane. The flight attendant reappeared with an enormous blanket and a pile of pillows, which she left on the aisle seat.

—I’ll leave these here —she said in a low voice.

—Thank you —Lorena answered.

—I took it from the compartment next to your husband’s. It’s the thickest one we have.

—Is he asleep already?

—Not yet. Do you want me to let you know when he is?

—If you could, yes. I’m going to say good night once he’s asleep.

The two of them rose just enough to peek over the seatbacks. Andrés had his headphones on and the screen was playing some random movie.

—Andrés, Mateo and I are going to try to sleep. Are you okay with the girls?

—Yes, everything’s fine. I’m going to close my eyes in a bit too. Good night, my love.

—Sleep well.

Lorena returned to her seat. She looked at her son, who was waiting for her with bright eyes.

—Take off your sneakers —she murmured—. You’ll be more comfortable.

Mateo took them off. She placed two pillows behind his back, removed her sandals, and spread the blanket over both of them. She switched off the individual reading light overhead. The row went completely dark. She lifted the middle armrests, removing the last barrier between their two bodies.

—Put one leg behind me and rest the other one on my lap —she said, almost voiceless.

Mateo obeyed. He ended up stretched between the two seats, his head on the pillows and his body open toward his mother. Lorena raised her legs and settled between her son’s knees, leaning on him like on a familiar sofa. She felt the hard bulge in his pants against her stomach, swollen, hot, throbbing for his son like a second heart begging to be let out. She felt her tits flatten against the boy’s chest.

—Do you like how we’re lying, Mateo? —she whispered.

—Yes —he replied, barely above a whisper.

—Are you hard for Mom? —she breathed into his ear, her mouth almost glued to his earlobe—. Don’t lie.

—Yes, Mom. Very hard.

—Shhh. I know, my love. I know.

Lorena waited ten minutes. Ten minutes of counted breaths, of hands resting in places that a couple of hours earlier would have been unthinkable. Then the flight attendant appeared again. She saw that long bulge under the blanket, the two heads pressed together, and smiled like someone recognizing an old postcard.

—Your husband’s asleep —she said softly—. Everything’s quiet.

Lorena thanked her with a look. The flight attendant continued forward.

***

Lorena slid her hands beneath her son’s shirt. Her cold palms traveled over the smooth chest, still adolescent but already marked by the gym. She brushed his nipples with her nails and heard Mateo suck in a sharp breath through his nose. He was trembling. It wasn’t fear: it was everything he had imagined for years, finally within reach, finally allowed.

She unbuttoned his shirt one button at a time, unhurriedly. Under the blanket nothing could be seen, but she knew her son’s body by memory, had bathed him, hugged him, and cared for him for eighteen years. This time she traced it with other intentions. She pinched his nipples with two fingers, tugged them slowly, felt the boy arch against her and hold back a groan in his throat.

She rose just enough to open her blouse. She undid two buttons, then two more, until her bra was exposed. She reached behind her and unclasped it. Her tits fell onto Mateo’s chest, warm and heavy, and she arranged them over the boy’s face. All inside that little dark rectangle the blanket held over them.

—Suck them —she said, bringing her lips to Mateo’s ear—. Suck Mom’s tits. Hungrily. Like when you were a baby.

Mateo opened his mouth and swallowed a whole nipple. Lorena had to bite her lip not to cry out. Her son licked, nibbled lightly, tugged with his teeth, moved from one breast to the other, coating them all in saliva. She buried her fingers in his hair and pressed his head to her chest so he wouldn’t stop.

—That’s it, my life, that’s it. Mom gives them to you. All of them are yours.

He did it with clumsy fingers when she reached for his hand and guided it to the drawstring of his pajama pants. He felt his mother’s tits swaying against his face, hot, heavy, soft. Lorena settled astride him. One leg on each side. Over the fabric of his pants, she pressed the cunt against him, massaged him with a slow hip movement, rubbing her wet slit against the bulge of his cock until she felt the fabric of his underwear dampen beneath it. Mateo bit his lip to keep quiet.

Her hands went down to the fly. She unbuttoned it, lowered the zipper tooth by tooth, and pulled his pants down to his thighs without taking them off completely. She slipped her hand under the waistband of his underwear and wrapped her palm around his cock. It was bigger than Andrés’s. Quite a bit bigger. That was something Lorena hadn’t anticipated, though she had suspected it many times, seeing him come out of the shower with the towel badly placed. Now she had it in her hand, thick, hard, hot, with a dense drop peeking out at the tip. She closed her fingers around it and began moving up and down, slowly, pulling the foreskin back, exposing the glans, measuring the boy’s response. She felt Mateo’s body tense against the seat and his cock throb in her palm as if it were about to burst.

—Look how hard you are, my love —she murmured against his mouth—. All for Mom. Is it all for Mom?

—All for you, Mommy —he gasped.

—Good boy.

She ran her thumb over the head, smearing it with his own liquid, and took it into her mouth. She sucked it with her eyes closed. She knew what he needed. What she herself had needed for far too long. She slid beneath the blanket and took her son’s cock into her mouth.

Mateo nearly sat up from the shock. His mother’s tongue traced him all over, circled the edge of the glans, followed the line of the vein running underneath, enveloped him, released him to take him again. It was a completely new experience: he had already been with two girls from school, clumsy kisses and hurried handjobs in the movie theater, but nothing, nothing was like this. Lorena took him deep, until her nose pressed against his pubis, and stayed there for a few seconds, her throat closing around the cock as she swallowed saliva to tighten. Then she came out slowly, drawing every centimeter out with pursed lips, leaving a shining trail of spit from the tip to the base. She went down again. She came back up. She alternated between his cock and his balls, taking them into her mouth one by one, coating them all in saliva, while her hand kept jerking the shaft to the rhythm she set herself. She sucked with a method that seemed studied, that seemed hers from the start, and under the blanket she made a wet sound that echoed in his guts.

Mateo, in the middle of the spasms, pulled the blanket down just enough to show his head. He was looking for air. Instead, he found the flight attendant’s gaze, standing beside the seat.

—How’s it going, my love? —she murmured.

—Good —Mateo answered, frightened.

The flight attendant lowered her eyes to the bulge moving rhythmically under the blanket. She smiled. She knew that head moving up and down, going up and down on a cock. She knew it well. She didn’t flinch.

—I’m about to come —Mateo gasped, barely able to speak—. I’m going to cum.

The woman reacted quickly. She took a small piece of packing plastic from her apron pocket and slipped it between Mateo’s teeth.

—Bite this. That way nobody will hear you cumming inside your mother.

Lorena, beneath the blanket, heard everything and sped up. She squeezed his balls with one hand, buried her mouth to the base, and began moving her head up and down with savage rhythm, not letting go of his cock for a single second. Mateo felt the dam break. He came into his mother’s mouth in long waves, one jet after another, barely able to breathe through his nose. Lorena didn’t pull away: she stayed there, with his cock in her throat, swallowing everything her son poured into her, every lash of semen filling her mouth. When it seemed there was nothing left, she drew back slowly and milked him with two fingers, from base to tip, to wring out the last drops and lick those too, as if she’d been thirsty for years.

Mateo, his teeth sunk into the plastic, saw that the flight attendant was still there, watching, one hand on the seatback and the other discreetly gripping the fabric of her uniform between her legs, rubbing her cunt over the skirt with her open palm. When it was all over, she smiled, gave a slight nod, and went on toward the rear galley.

Mother and son breathed for the first time in what felt like an hour. Lorena sat up, with a shining strand still hanging from the corner of her mouth, stroked Mateo’s cheek, and carefully removed the plastic from his mouth. She kissed him on the lips. A long kiss, with tongue inside, a kiss that tasted like the cum he had just spilled down her throat. A kiss that was not a mother’s.

—We still have ten hours —she murmured—. Will you be able to?

—All night, Mom. —Mateo laughed softly, still breathless—. All night.

Lorena took off her pajama pants in slow motion beneath the blanket. Then her panties, sliding them down her thighs until she slipped them off her ankles. She hid them between the pillows. She was soaked. She took Mateo’s hand and brought it between her legs so he could feel. The boy’s fingers sank into hot, slippery flesh, into a slit dripping so wetly it was running.

—See what you did to me, son? —she whispered in his ear—. Mom’s like this because of you. Touch me. Put them in.

Mateo drove two fingers into her up to the knuckles and she arched over him. He moved them slowly, awkward but determined, in and out, while his thumb accidentally brushed her clit and ripped a full spasm from her hip. Lorena bit his shoulder so she wouldn’t make a sound.

—Enough, enough, you’ll make me come too soon —she gasped—. I want it inside. I want my son’s cock inside.

She settled back on top of him, this time with nothing between them. She felt Mateo’s cock, hard as stone again, probing her, brushing her pussy lips, searching, finding the entrance. She lowered her hips with her eyes closed and sank it all the way in, in one movement, to the hilt. A rough moan escaped her, muffled against the boy’s neck.

—It’s like touching the sky with your hands, Mommy —Mateo whispered against her neck.

—Shut up and move —she answered, without opening her eyes—. Fuck me. Fuck your mother.

They moved slowly, very slowly, for a long time. The blanket barely rippled. Lorena rose and fell her hips with a minimal sway, almost imperceptible from outside, but inside she felt her son’s cock scraping her walls with each thrust, hitting bottom, forcing her to clench her teeth so she wouldn’t scream. Sometimes she let herself drop completely onto him and buried him to the base, and stayed there, still, clenching her cunt around his cock as if milking him without moving. Then she rose again. Mateo, underneath her, had lost his shyness: he grabbed her ass with both hands and set the pace from below, pushing his hips upward to drive into her to the hilt.

—That’s it, that’s it, my love, fuck me hard —she breathed into his ear—. Fuck your mom.

—You’re delicious, Mommy. You feel so good inside.

—Yeah? You like your mother’s cunt?

—It’s the best cunt in the world.

She laughed softly and bit his lip. She lifted herself just a little, placed her hands on the seatback above Mateo’s head, and started going up and down faster, leaving her tits hanging in front of his face. He caught one nipple in his mouth and didn’t let go. Lorena felt each descent drive his cock into a place in her belly nobody had touched in years. Andrés didn’t reach there. Andrés hadn’t reached anywhere for a long time. Her son, at eighteen, was fucking her better than his father had in twenty years of marriage.

When she felt herself getting close, she let herself fall completely and stayed pressed against him, swaying only a little, moving her hips in circles, rubbing her clit against the boy’s pubis. She dug her nails into his shoulders and bit his neck so she wouldn’t scream. A whole spasm came over her, long, lasting longer than one of her orgasms had lasted in years, and her cunt clenched in waves around her son’s cock. Mateo came for the second time in his life that night, now inside his mother’s cunt, unloading another full orgasm into her to the hilt while she held on to his hair. She felt the hot streams inside her, one after another, and each one made her tremble again.

She stayed there, impaled, unwilling to move, with his cock still inside her, slowly losing firmness. She felt the semen slipping down her thighs and dripping onto Mateo’s pants. She didn’t care.

***

After that, they didn’t talk. There was no need. Lorena sat up carefully, wiped herself between the legs with a napkin she found in the seat pocket, straightened her blouse, pulled Mateo’s pants back up, smoothed the blanket. They stayed embraced like when he was little and fell asleep on the sofa watching cartoons. Only he wasn’t little anymore, and the blanket smelled different. It smelled like both of them.

Before dawn, the flight attendant passed by again. She looked at the two of them sunk in sleep, their heads touching, a serene smile on each face. She stood there for an instant. Then she went on, jotting something down in her folder.

There were seven hours left to Singapore. Mateo, without opening his eyes, found his mother’s hand under the blanket and squeezed it.