ROOM 304 WITH MY MOTHER

Hi, I’m Alberto, I’m 31 years old, I live in Madrid, and I just slept with my mother. I suppose that sounds monstrous, but if I tell you the sequence of events that led me to have sex with my mother a few days ago, you might understand, and you might even enjoy it.

You see, my family consists of my parents, my sister Nuria, who is three years younger than me, and myself. We were a well-to-do family, and until three years ago we lived in the city of Granada, in southern Spain. Although we were never short of anything financially, I assure you that my family perfectly fit the description of a “dysfunctional family.”

My mother’s parents, my grandparents, are from San Sebastián, in northern Spain. They own a metal structure factory and have several children. My mother received an education typical of another era: piano, fine arts, philology, but absolutely nothing about being a mother or raising a family. My father, on the other hand, came from a working-class background, but from a very young age he went into construction and soon became a millionaire, married a distinguished young lady, and had one mistress after another.

My mother was one of those women who know things but don’t want to know, so she devoted herself to her duties: shopping, traveling, tennis, casual lovers, and for her children, my sister and me, good nannies, good schools, but tenderness and play were nowhere to be seen. Neither my father nor my mother possessed moral values that their children could identify with or look up to.
I grew up angry and, contrary to what was expected, I developed deep convictions based on Catholicism. I was an excellent student, and when I finished my economics degree, I went to the United States to do a Master’s. Upon returning to Spain, I went straight to settle in Madrid, far from my parents and my sister, who embodied all the worst traits of my father and mother.

My move to Madrid was the catalyst for my parents’ eventual separation. My father went to live with one of his mistresses, my mother returned to her parents’ home in San Sebastián, and my sister, who was 25 at the time and hadn’t yet finished her degree, bought an apartment and moved out on her own.
In these three years, I started a company in Madrid with a classmate, focused on studying companies in crisis, analyzing their viability, involving employees in the turnaround plan, injecting fresh capital, and taking control of the company. It might sound like a cliché, something out of a movie, or even far-fetched, but nothing could be further from the truth. My partner and I are a winning team; we have a knack for business and, above all, we’re incredibly hard workers.

We currently own four companies with over 2,000 employees, and frankly, business is booming. In recent years, I haven’t wanted to know anything about my parents or my sister. As I mentioned, I grew up with anger and strong moral values, and I distanced myself from my family as much as possible. But a few days ago, I received a call from my sister, who is now 28, asking me to attend her wedding. I accepted immediately; to be honest, I wanted to hear from them. I knew my mother had been depressed for a while, I knew my father’s business hadn’t been doing so well lately, and I knew my sister had a boyfriend who was a doctor. Anyway, I would attend the wedding and see how things were going in Granada. Although, I must say, I’ve also changed considerably lately. First, because I’ve learned a lot from my employees, and second, because I decided to leave a religious order I’d been a member of since adolescence. By this point, my anger about life had largely faded.

My sister had told me that if I wanted, I could pick up my mother.

At Madrid Airport, she told me she was coming from San Sebastián and had a layover in Madrid, and that we would travel together to Granada, but I told her no, that I would travel in my own car and that we would meet in the city. The wedding was on Saturday at one in the afternoon, but she asked me to meet her at a hotel on the outskirts of Granada on Friday afternoon. I arrived at the hotel around five in the afternoon; I was one of the first to arrive, but my sister and her boyfriend were there waiting for me at reception. I kissed her coldly, but she hugged me warmly, introduced me to her boyfriend, thanked me for coming, and apologized.

“What do I have to forgive you for?” I asked, intrigued. She said nothing, hugged me again even more warmly, and whispered in my ear:

-We hurt you so much-

I didn’t say anything; I simply followed her instructions. It turned out the hotel belonged to the groom’s family and had almost 100 rooms, but there were so many wedding guests. She told me they were short on rooms and asked if I wouldn’t mind sharing my room with our mother. I offered to stay at another hotel, but my sister insisted I share my room with Cayetana, our mother. I didn’t object and went straight up to the room.

I had barely finished changing when my sister summoned me to the hotel lobby. She wanted me to accompany her and her boyfriend to greet the guests. As you can imagine, I agreed and went downstairs, surprised by how different my sister Nuria looked.

The guests began to arrive, and soon our father appeared with his current lover. He didn’t say a word to me, he couldn’t utter a single word, he just hugged me, and when my sister saw him so emotional, she pulled him away and asked his companion to go up to the room so he could calm down for a while. Barely half an hour later, around seven in the evening, my mother arrived at the hotel.

My mother is currently 54 years old, and if I had to describe her in one word, without a doubt it would be: attractive. Unlike my father, my mother arrived smiling and happy. She hugged me first and then my sister. She saw her sister regularly; she hadn’t seen me for three years. My sister asked me to help her settle into her room, so I took her suitcase and went up with her in the elevator to room 304, a spacious and luxurious suite in the hotel.
As soon as we were alone in the elevator, my mother hugged my neck, kissed me on the lips, looked me in the eyes and said in a grave tone: I’m sorry son, I’ve been such a bad mother to you.

Up until that precise moment, I had maintained my posture intact: stiff, distant and not very participative, but my mother disarmed me; it was the first time in my life, that I can remember at least, that I received a caress from my mother.

I hugged her and showered her with affection in the room. Just a few minutes had passed when my sister was banging on the door. I opened it, and as soon as I stepped inside, the three of us were hugging and laughing together. The tears had vanished, and now there were only smiles. My sister left us alone in the room again, and my mother went to take a shower before heading down to reception.
I think it was the emotion of the moment, or the unexpected reunion with a mother I’d never truly enjoyed, but I felt especially happy with her… or perhaps confused, and without thinking, I went into the bathroom and told my mother I would dry her with the towel. She was delighted by the offer, and I wrapped the towel around her naked body and gently rubbed her skin, still wet from the shower. That’s when I discovered Cayetana, a sensual, warm woman, full of curves; her wet body gave off a captivating scent. I parted the towel and eagerly inhaled the perfume emanating from her, let the towel fall to the floor, and it was my arms, my hands, my body that caressed her shoulders, her hair, her buttocks.

The room filled with steam, and the bathroom mirror reflected a hazy image of a woman being caressed by a man’s nervous hands. A few drops of water snaked across the moon and the image

The image it reproduced was clear but incomplete, but little by little the mirror dried from bottom to top and now that splendid body could be appreciated in all its majesty.

I was so engrossed in caressing my mother and showering her with attention that I didn’t notice in time what was happening to my penis. It had become hard, well, it was about to burst, and I had it wedged between my mother’s thighs. I had an enormous erection, perhaps the largest I’d ever had. I was fascinated, bewitched, and certainly stunned by the unexpected situation with my mother, although she reacted with complete naturalness, looked me in the eyes, gave me a mischievous smile, and said:

“Son, you have a vow of chastity, don’t you think you’ll break it because of me?” I regained my composure as best I could and told him no, that I had broken my vow of chastity a few months ago.

“It costs an arm and a leg to maintain, and I’ve come to the conclusion that the world won’t be better for abstaining from sex, nor worse for having sex when the opportunity arises. Sexual relations are a crucial aspect of human evolution, but the Vatican is obsessed and sees sin where there’s only a desire to endure and evolve. I’ve told them to get lost.” She was pleased with the news and encouraged me to make up for lost time, exactly what I’d been planning for the past few months.

My mother finished getting ready, and when she was ready, she invited me to go down to the reception area, where my sister was waiting for us. We were obviously in the same room, and I didn’t miss a thing as I watched my mother get dressed—elegant, glamorous, seductive—though I also noticed a small detail and pointed it out to her:

“You’re not wearing panties.” She gave me a sly look, winked, and said nothing. We left the room arm in arm and stoically waited for the elevator. This situation was getting me all worked up again. Me, arm in arm with a stunning woman, and her without panties—well, she was my mother, but damn, damn, my mother was really turning me on.

The elevator arrived, we stepped inside, and I simply pounced on her. I kissed her on the mouth, thrust my tongue into hers, and the moment it met her soft, wet tongue, a veritable recital began. Our tongues intertwined, eagerly seeking each other, meeting and squeezing together, separating to adventurously explore the crevices of her mouth, and then finding each other again to merge in an endless kiss—well, perhaps not so endless, because the click of the elevator signaled the end of the ride. They say a moment can be worth a lifetime; believe me, for me, this brief minute in the elevator with my mother more than compensated for the countless deprivations of my childhood. I felt rewarded, I felt bewitched…I felt like I was on cloud nine.
And speaking of feeling, I felt like I had a boner when I stepped out of the elevator. I had a massive erection. My mother noticed and stood in front of me to try and hide the undisguisable, and that’s when my ordeal began. Introductions, greetings, hugs. Damn, have you ever experienced firsthand how difficult it is to hug a stranger with an erection? Or have you ever experienced how embarrassing it is to hug a distinguished lady from high society without being able to avoid rubbing your rock-hard penis between her thighs? Well, that’s how the introduction of the couple’s families unfolded.
The bride and groom were the center of attention, I was the most sought-after person at the gathering, but without a doubt, the undisputed star was my mother. I felt like The Graduate and Mrs. Robinson; everyone wanted to greet me and propose a fabulous business deal, but my mother was a dazzling display of glamour. She looked at me, made advances, laughed, pretended not to notice, but she never stopped seducing me.

We sat down to dinner, and my mother was very far away from me. I was at a table among silly young women and Andalusian gentlemen, all show and no substance; my mother was among highly respectable leading men of Andalusian society and bejeweled ladies who knew but kept quiet, like my mother in her worst years, like my father in his worst years, but not now. I glanced at them both out of the corner of my eye, and both seemed like worthy people to me.

And the evening didn’t amount to much more, so after hours of chatting amongst ourselves, my mother came to my rescue and suggested we go to bed because, as she said, “Tomorrow will be a long day.” I don’t know about tomorrow, but tonight certainly seemed like it was going to be a long one.

When I got in the elevator with Cayetana, my mother, on the way back to room 304, I was incredibly horny. Ever since I left the room, I’d been obsessed with the fact that my mother wasn’t wearing panties, so you can imagine my clumsiness and lack of tact when I reached straight for her crotch. I found her receptive, slightly wet, and reasonably aroused, but Cayetana remained calm and seductive. She let me touch her, let me fondle her ass, let me fondle her breasts, but she kept her distance, just right, right until we got to the room and were alone together, mother and son face to face.

That’s when the roles reversed. I took her in my arms and gently, tenderly, laid her on the bed. I undressed her delicately; she tore my shirt to shreds. I sought her lips to kiss them; she sought mine to bite them with rage, with passion, with fire. I wanted to recapture the lost caresses; she simply wanted to brutally purge the years of estrangement. What we had wasn’t sex; it was revenge. I climbed on top of my mother and, almost without realizing it, I entered her. She couldn’t believe what was happening, but she surrendered passionately.

I barely knew what fucking was, but I learned quickly. I hadn’t realized until now that fucking could be so damn satisfying, because if I had known, I would have sent my congregation to hell years ago. I rode the Goddess Cayetana all night long. We collapsed, exhausted and overcome with sleep, but I didn’t pull out. My erection subsided, but not my desire to possess her, so I kept it inside her all night.

The next day, the wedding day, was indeed a long one. I was exhausted, but I performed my role exceptionally well. I understood the picador’s lance in bullfighting; I was so well-versed in the bullfight that I nailed it. But around mid-afternoon, an idea that had been tormenting me for months began to take shape in my mind. I had never performed oral sex, and the mere thought of being able to do it someday was the trigger that made me leave the religious order. Tonight, if I dared, I could do it with my mother.

The idea took shape, and one of the times I danced with Cayetana, I whispered an unconfessable confession in her ear: “I’ve never performed oral sex.” She was a brave woman, and I think my confession made her see me as a helpless son seeking his mother’s protection, or perhaps not. Perhaps Mrs. Robinson was simply flattered in her maturity to feel young and desired by a handsome and attractive young man, so her response was what I expected, perhaps what I desired: “Tonight I’ll teach you.”

And that night, the moment I crossed the threshold of suite 304 at my brother-in-law’s family hotel, I grabbed my mother, propped her against the carefully varnished mahogany door, let her sky-blue silk dress fall to the floor, knelt before her, tore off her panties with my teeth, and, excited by the thrill and trembling with anticipation, I extended my throbbing tongue and gently traced the corner of my mother’s outer lips. I was, we were, captivated by the moment. Little by little, my tongue ventured deeper until it found her aroused clitoris.

The encounter was breathtaking. I was drooling, licking her, savoring her every moment. She writhed, sighed, and moaned. My tongue gradually gained strength, and what had begun with soft, imperceptible caresses was now a powerful, relentless force that shook my mother’s entire nervous system. Enraged, she stretched out her arms, grabbed my head, and forced it as far between her legs as she could. It seemed she was futilely searching for a way to pull me back inside her, but what she found was a frenzied orgasm that made her let out a moan of pleasure, one that likely left more than one guest at the party confused and perplexed.

My sister’s wedding.

On her return, I offered to drive her to Madrid so she could catch her flight back to San Sebastián, and she accepted. Once in Madrid, I offered her a night’s stay at my place so she could be more rested for her flight back, and she accepted. That night, in my bed, while we were having sex, I offered her a place to live with me, as my mother, my partner, my lover, my accomplice…

…and he accepted.