What I Heard from My Mother’s Bedroom

My name is Lucía, I’m twenty-three years old, and I live in Murcia with my mother, Marisol, and her partner, Damián. The house, a small villa on the outskirts, was the only thing my father left intact before he died. Everything else—the bills, the debts, the problems—came down on us like an avalanche. So when my mother met Damián and he offered to settle what we owed, she didn’t think twice. They were married six months later.

At first, Damián seemed like a quiet, almost kind man. He worked for a transport company and came home tired but cordial. That phase lasted less than a year. When he was fired, something inside him broke. He started drinking during the day, stopped leaving the house, and lived off the wages my mother brought home from cleaning apartments and what I contributed from my weekend shifts at a café downtown. I was studying, and between that and work, I barely slept.

My mother became small beside him. She lowered her voice, avoided eye contact, and asked his permission for things she used to do without asking. Without meaning to, I also began moving silently through the house. Damián has a way of looking at you that doesn’t need words to make the air grow heavy.

The first time I heard him was on a Thursday. My friend Tomás had come over to help me with a college assignment. My mother came home early, saw him, and whispered in the hallway that I should finish quickly, because if Damián found us with a boy in my room, “it was better not to think about it.” Tomás left through the back door. An hour later, Damián arrived, euphoric, with a bottle of cava under his arm. Someone had repaid him some money he’d lent them. “Tonight we celebrate,” he said, and my mother smiled the way someone smiles when she knows what comes afterward.

They drank in the living room. I retired early and closed my bedroom door. The wall separating my room from theirs was thin, the kind found in cheap villas. That night, I didn’t need to press my ear against it.

—You like it, Marisol—I heard him say. You like the way I eat your pussy.

—Please, be quiet—she replied, almost in a whisper. Keep quiet and go on sucking it.

The sounds came through with indecent clarity. I recognized my mother’s voice because I had known it all my life, but at the same time, it wasn’t her. It was a version I had never seen, a woman answering to her name with ragged breathing, moaning like a bitch in heat. I could hear Damián’s tongue splashing as he licked her, the wet sound of a mouth buried between her legs, and my mother letting out little muffled gasps every time he sucked her clitoris harder.

—Your husband never knew how to appreciate what he had—he said. He never ate your pussy like this. He never put his tongue so deep inside you.

—No—she answered in a broken voice. Never. No one had ever done it to me like this, fuck, no one.

Don’t you dare bring him into this, I thought, clenching my fists beneath the pillow. But I kept listening. I couldn’t help it. I heard him move up her body, heard the bed creak as he settled over her, and then my mother’s long, deep moan when he penetrated her with one thrust. The bed began striking the wall at a slow rhythm, then faster, until the headboard bounced against the plaster with every thrust. My mother’s breasts must have been shaking, because he told her between gasps that he was grabbing them, squeezing them, that he loved the way her nipples hardened when she was about to come.

—That’s it, slut, come on my cock—he growled. Squeeze your pussy. Squeeze.

—Damián, Damián, I’m coming, I’m coming—she whimpered, and her voice broke into a muffled scream that made me squeeze my eyes shut.

Damián’s voice turned hoarse and authoritative, and suddenly the rhythm stopped.

—Get on your knees. Suck me.

The creaking changed. There was a brief silence, the rustle of a body lowering to the floor, and then a wet, obscene sound that made me bury my face in the mattress. I recognized what it was before I wanted to recognize it: my mother sucking him with her mouth full, gagging briefly each time he pushed her head farther down. I could hear the sticky sound of saliva, the dry slaps of his balls against her chin, his panting as he set the pace with both hands.

—That’s it. Like that, slowly. Take the whole thing. All of it, Marisol—don’t leave a single inch outside.

My mother obeyed. She didn’t protest. She obeyed. She choked and took him back into her mouth, and he insulted her with an acid tenderness I had never heard from any man. And at that moment, while I listened against my will, I understood something I had spent months refusing to understand: my mother lived two lives, and the nocturnal one didn’t belong to her.

—Swallow it all—he suddenly ordered, his voice tight. You’re going to swallow every last drop, do you hear me?

I heard a guttural moan, a spasm, and then the unmistakable sound of my mother swallowing. Swallowing his come. Swallowing until the end, while he held her head against his pelvis. Then silence. His breathing easing. A wet kiss somewhere.

I stayed motionless until they were finished. Then I heard the toilet flush, my mother’s footsteps in the hallway, and the sound of the shower dripping. It took me a long time to fall asleep. Something had broken, and I didn’t know whether it was in them or in me.

***

The second episode happened on a Saturday afternoon. Damián arrived at three, his eyes glassy and his shirt open down to the second button. My mother was in the kitchen clearing away lunch. I was listening to music through my headphones, lying on my bed, but I turned them down when I heard a door slam. Damián had taken her into their room without any preamble.

—Get undressed—he told her. I feel like fucking you.

—Damián, it’s three in the afternoon—she replied. Lucía’s home.

—So what? Is your daughter going to come interrupt us?

—That’s not it, but…

—No buts. Get undressed and get on all fours.

There was a brief silence, the rustle of clothes falling, the creak of the bed frame as she climbed onto it. Then came the unmistakable smack of an open hand against a buttock, and another, and another. My mother bit back her moans, but broken sounds escaped her. Damián spoke to her without shouting, with an icy calm that was worse than any scream.

—Spread your legs wider. Wider, fuck. Show me that wet pussy.

—Damián, please, keep your voice down…

—Shut up and stick your ass out.

I heard the wet sound of his fingers moving in and out, heard the squelching, and then her low moan when he penetrated her hard. The bed began bouncing against the baseboard at a brutal rhythm. The thrusts were dry and loud, skin slapping against skin, his thighs striking her ass with every stroke. Damián snorted, grunted, and grabbed her hair. I knew because every so often a little shriek escaped my mother when he pulled her head backward.

—Move, fuck. Move with me. Fuck me, I want you to fuck me.

—Yes, yes…

—That’s it. Like that, slut. Like that. Tell me you love it.

—I love it, I love it, Damián, harder, more…

I sat on my bed, headphones in my hand, afraid to leave or even move. The rhythm accelerated, the words turned into gasps, and then I heard Damián let out a long growl as he came inside her. My mother moaned at the same time, a broken moan that sounded like relief and surrender. I was twenty-three years old and living under the same roof as that man, and suddenly it became clear to me that I couldn’t go on much longer like that. But I had no idea where I could go. I had no money. If I left, my mother would be alone with him.

When he finished, everything fell silent. Footsteps to the bathroom. The door. The water. I didn’t move from my bed until I heard my mother come out and go downstairs, pretending nothing had happened, asking me from below whether I wanted an afternoon snack.

***

What I’m about to tell you happened three weeks later, and I still don’t really know how I experienced it. It was a Friday night. I had come home early from work with a headache and shut myself in my darkened room. Around eleven, I heard the front door. Damián had brought a friend. His name was Iván; I’d seen him a couple of times around the neighborhood. A big guy, with a voice that was too loud and an easy laugh.

He asked my mother to pour them some drinks. I heard her going back and forth between the kitchen and the dining room, bringing ice, opening a bottle. Damián made her sit with them. He put a glass in her hand and told her to drink. From my room, I couldn’t see anything. But I heard every word.

—Marisol—he said, his voice turning syrupy in a way I didn’t know—can you imagine having two at once? Two cocks all for you. One in your mouth and another in your pussy. Aren’t you already wet just thinking about it?

Iván laughed. My mother said nothing.

—Look at me, Marisol. Don’t be ashamed. Iván’s a friend. And I know what you like. I know you like being filled. Having more than one man fuck you at once.

I got out of bed without making a sound. Something inside me pushed me to know, to see, even though I didn’t want to. I opened the door just a crack. The upstairs hallway led directly to the stairwell, and from there, without leaning out too far, I could see the dining table. The lights were low. They couldn’t see me because my hallway was in shadow. I, on the other hand, could see them quite well.

Damián had come up behind my mother. He ran his hands over her dress, caressing her breasts with such shamelessness that it sent a shiver through me. Iván sat opposite them, glass in hand, his eyes fixed on them. My mother’s head was tilted slightly backward, her eyes closed. She wasn’t resisting. She hadn’t resisted anything for months.

—Look at those tits—Damián told his friend as he lowered one strap of her dress with a finger until one breast was exposed. Look and tell me if you’ve ever seen anything like that. And look at her nipples, look how hard they already are. The whore’s already hot.

Iván set his glass on the table.

—Don’t hold back—Damián insisted. Come on. Touch her. She wants it.

I didn’t think about going downstairs. I thought about going downstairs, and I didn’t. That’s something I’ve been carrying with me ever since. Iván stood up, came over, and began kissing my mother’s neck while grabbing one of her breasts over the fabric. Damián looked up at that moment, toward the landing, and for an instant I thought he had seen me. But he didn’t react. He continued.

He pulled both her breasts completely free, lowering her dress to her waist. They were white and heavy, with dark, erect nipples pointing upward. Iván lowered his head and began sucking them, one and then the other, his mouth open and noisy, tugging at her nipples with his lips. My mother let out a low, long moan, as though she had been holding it in for a very long time. Damián unbuttoned his pants, lowered them to his ankles, and pulled out his hard cock. He began masturbating while watching them, his hand moving slowly up and down its full length, without the slightest shame. Then he gestured to my mother. She knelt between Iván’s legs and lowered his belt, then his zipper. She pulled out his cock and paused for a moment, looking at it—it was thicker than Damián’s, shorter, with heavy balls hanging beneath it. Then she took it all the way into her mouth.

I closed my eyes. I opened them again. I couldn’t stop looking. It was horrible and, at the same time, it was a magnet. I was complicit in something I didn’t want to see, and my traitorous body reacted with a heat that shamed me, a heat between my legs that began wetting my underwear without my asking it to.

—That’s it, Marisol—I heard Damián say. Show him how you do it. Show him how you swallow it. Take it down to your throat, so he can see what a good little slut you are.

Iván threw his head back and braced his hands on the table, panting. My mother bobbed her head in an obedient rhythm, sucking him with her whole mouth, the wet sound carrying clearly to the hallway. Every so often she pulled him out, licked him from top to bottom like an ice cream, kissed his balls, and took him back into her mouth. Damián came up behind her, crouched down, lifted her skirt, and pulled her underwear down with two fingers, leaving it tangled around her ankles. He spread her buttocks with both hands, stared for a second, and then buried himself behind her. I heard the wet smack when he penetrated her, and my mother’s muffled moan with Iván’s cock still in her mouth.

They began moving at the same time. Damián thrust hard from behind, and with every thrust he pushed my mother’s mouth farther down Iván’s cock. She gagged, pulled her mouth away to breathe, strands of saliva hanging from her chin, and took him back in. Damián slapped her ass, sharp smacks that echoed throughout the ground floor. I pressed my hand over my mouth so I wouldn’t make a single sound.

—Get on the table—he ordered my mother after a few minutes, panting. Lie on your back.

My mother obeyed. It was the only thing she did with him: obey. She climbed onto the table, lay down, and spread her legs wide apart. Her dress had bunched up around her waist, her breasts were bare, and her pussy was open and glistening in the low light. Iván positioned himself between her legs and penetrated her slowly, burying himself all the way in with a single thrust. My mother let out a short cry that became a long moan. Damián moved to the other end of the table, beside her head, and put his cock in her mouth from above, forcing her to suck him upside down, her throat stretched out. The table’s movements began to fall into a rhythmic, muffled pattern, like a pulse. My mother’s breasts shook in time with Iván’s thrusts, bouncing up and down, and Damián would reach out a hand from time to time to pinch a nipple, twisting it until she let out a whimper with her mouth full.

—Fuck her hard—Damián told his friend. Don’t hold back, give it to her. This one likes being split open.

Iván grabbed her thighs, lifted them, and began thrusting with his whole pelvis. The table creaked. The glasses on it trembled. My mother moaned with her mouth open whenever Damián pulled his cock out to let her breathe, a continuous, high-pitched, animal moan I had never heard in my life. Then he put it back in her, and she fell silent with her throat full. I don’t know how long I stood there, clutching the banister, watching without moving, my panties soaked and tears running down my face without my realizing it.

—I’m coming—Iván said at some point, his voice tight. I’m coming, fuck, I’m coming.

—Out—Damián answered him. Out, not inside. Come on her tits.

Iván pulled his cock out at the last moment, gripped it in his hand, gave it two quick tugs, and came over my mother’s stomach and breasts in thick white jets that smeared her skin from her navel to her throat. Damián laughed shortly. Then he pulled his cock from my mother’s mouth, stood beside Iván, and came too, on top of her, mixing his semen with the other man’s and leaving all of the hot come running down her ribs into the hollow of her neck. My mother’s eyes were closed and her mouth open, breathing hard, the cum of two men spread over her entire body.

When she got unsteadily to her feet, semen streaming down her breasts and stomach, and went to the downstairs bathroom, I was still there.

Damián came up the stairs. His shirt was untucked and his hair was disheveled. When he reached the landing, he found me standing there, paralyzed, my back against the wall. I didn’t pretend I hadn’t seen anything. There would have been no point.

—You watched everything, didn’t you?—he said, without surprise or anger. I knew you were there.

I didn’t answer.

—Did you see how I do whatever I want with your mother? Did you see how she eats it, how she lets two men fuck her? Did you like it, niece?

—You’re a son of a bitch—I answered quietly.

He smiled. A small smile, the smile of a man who had won something. He lowered his gaze for a moment toward my thighs, toward the pajama fabric clinging between my legs, and his smile widened. He passed me without touching me and went into his room. I remained in the hallway for a while longer, listening to the shower running in the downstairs bathroom, where my mother was washing away what had just happened.

That night I didn’t sleep. The next morning, my mother made me coffee as if it were any ordinary Saturday. She didn’t ask whether I had heard anything. She didn’t look me in the eyes. As for me, I started looking for a shared apartment the next day. It took me three months to leave. Three months during which I heard many more things I didn’t want to hear, and during which, I confess, I sometimes stayed beside my bedroom door again without really knowing why, my hand between my legs, biting my lips to keep from moaning too as I heard my mother come on the other side of the partition.