My Son, The Sleepwalker Ch. 02

I sat on the back porch alongside Donald, my husband, with the muggy afternoon sun beating down on our heads. We had just finished lunch and, with the crusts of our turkey sandwiches still on our plates, were procrastinating the dreaded act of cleaning up.

Donald had come home from work for lunch, but sandwiches were not the main reason he had come home. We needed to have a conversation while our son, Tom, was out of the house about the events that had transpired the previous night.

Tom, in the middle of a terrifically powerful sleepwalk, had forced himself on me. The marital bed my husband and I had shared -- the very one upon which Tom had been conceived nineteen years earlier -- had been permanently sullied by his unconscious actions. He remained oblivious.

Donald and I feared that the knowledge of what he had done, regardless of his culpability, would have overwhelmed him. We had decided to spare him from the truth. That left us with a massive secret to keep, and Donald had come home that day to discuss exactly what to do about it. It was not a secret to either of us, however, that watching our adult son mount and inseminate me had turned both of us on enormously.

Donald admitted that, like me, he'd been unaware that he was interested in cuckolding. He had never mentioned it to me, and I had never thought seriously about it. As farfetched as it sounds, I believed that our son was the one who unintentionally awoke the kink in us both. One thing was for certain— we both wanted it to happen again.

I had my feet resting in Donald's lap so he could massage them while we chatted. "I don't want to do it with a stranger. It feels too gross."

He dug a knuckle into the ball of my foot. "I get that. For some reason, it give me anxiety to imagine you doing it with another man."

I bit my lower lip and scrunched my nose. "Unless that man is our son?"

He shrugged. "I mean, it still makes my stomach flip -- but in a good way, if that makes sense."

"Lots of people are into cucking. It's not that weird, honey."

He chuckled. "Not with their own kids, Lily."

"I know," I admitted. "It should feel weirder to do it with him. But..."

"But you already have." Donald knew exactly what I was getting at. "Against your will, no less!"

I joined him in creating coping strategies that would help us avoid feeling like bad parents. "Exactly! It's not like we wanted it, right?"

My husband took a sip of his iced tea and swallowed hastily, rushing to get his words out. "Yeah! We're just making the best of a bad situation. When life gives you lemons, you know?"

I giggled. "When life gives you lemons, use it as an excuse to have sex with your son. Is that how the saying goes?"

He blushed. "Okay, fair point. We may be going out of our way for more of those lemons at this point."

I wanted him to know we were both on the same page, so I reached out and stroked his forearm reassuringly. "I don't care how many mental gymnastics it takes. At the end of the day, you liked it. Right?"

Donald tuned a richer shade of rouge. "I really did."

I patted his arm. "Me, too."

"So what do we do, then?"

I waved my hands in the air erratically, gesturing to the invisible taboo that, as members of a non-degenerate society, we could not escape. "Forget all of this, okay? What do you want?"

He twiddled his thumbs. "I want to do it again. I want him to do it again."

I nodded enthusiastically. "So do I. Are we crazy?"

Donald seemed surprised that I even felt the need to ask. "Of course we are... but at least we'll be crazy together."

"God, honey. My heart is racing and he isn't even home yet!" My ribcage was being hammered from the inside a thousand times a minute. I could not imagine how much more excited I would have been if Tom had been home.

Donald playfully pinched my pinky toe. "What about tonight?"

It did not take me more than a second to consider. "Yes! Oh, honey. I'm so happy you're not jealous of him."

He took a deep sigh to steady himself. "I am jealous. It made me sick to my stomach to watch him thrusting on top of you. But..."

I raised an eyebrow. "But?"

He pursed his lips with a defeated shrug. "The jealousy is hot, I guess. I don't really understand it."

"What are you jealous of?"

Donald rubbed the bridge of his nose with his thumb and first finger. He had stopped massaging my feet, so I knew he was deep in thought.

I had a guess as to what might be bothering him, but I wanted to be sure. "Are you upset that he made me cum?"

He cringed, then nodded solemnly. I could not tell if the rouge blossoming on his cheeks was that of shame, or excitement. "Not upset. I mean, I'm happy you got to feel good... for once."

"Honey, don't—"

He held up a hand to silence me. "No, no. I know, Lily. I didn't mean it like that."

"Then how did you mean it?"

He chewed on the inside of his cheek. "I believed you when you said you couldn't orgasm. I thought it was true."

"It was, technically. No man has ever made me cum."

Donald's hands quivered. "No man besides our son, you mean."

My pulse quickened. "I— uh, yeah. Yes."

"I just..." He hung his head in defeat. "... wish I could do that for you."

The alarm on Donald's phone rang out, informing us that lunch time had come to an end. I shooed him away, insisting that he get back to work while I cleaned up. Truthfully, I was happy to have avoided prolonging the awkwardness that had come from my husband realizing that his sleepwalking son had undeniably outperformed him. It was a bit of a "be careful what you wish for" moment - though I supposed the entire conversation could have been that, so in my view it hadn't gone all that badly.

I could practically see his heart pounding against the inside of his chest when he stood up from the table, but it was only half as noticeable as the modest bulge forming a tent in his trousers.

It was hard for him to come - no pun intended - to terms with the fact that the only man who had ever made me orgasm was the boy that we had raised together, but based on his undeniable erection, it excited us in equal measure.

I imagined that Donald was feeling incredibly inadequate over his decades of failure to do something that our son had achieved in just one night. For me, it had instantly become a core memory. Whenever I recalled the sensations that Tom had given me, my pussy would immediately clench up.

The pace of my rapidly beating heart picked up, and I had to manually remind my brain that we were not in immediate danger. It was incredibly exciting to plan something so wickedly sinful, and, given that Donald had come aboard, I was not about to spend the rest of that week passively waiting for something to maybe happen. I wanted to strike while the iron was hot, which meant we needed to devise a way to get our son into bed with me before he got home.

That said, we could not risk him overhearing what we had in store. If it went well, he would wake up the next morning none the wiser. Donald and I, on the other hand, would be in for one of the wildest nights of our lives— again!

We planned to leave the buckle undone again. As long as there was a way to escape, I knew that Tom would find it. He had before, though that had been an accident on our parts. If we intentionally gave him the means to break out, we were confident that he would do so. The only difference was that we would be ready and waiting.

Donald returned to work while I took to finishing chores around the house. I paid no more than half attention to my surroundings while I folded laundry, vacuumed our bedrooms, and prepped for dinner. The entire time, my impending encounter with Tom was all I could focus on.

Before I knew it, several hours had passed. I knew Tom would return home sooner than his father, but my heart still leapt into my throat when I heard his familiar footsteps trudging in from the garage.

"Mom! I'm home!"

My heart pumped equal doses of fear and excitement into my bloodstream. The cloth under my armpits became damp with nervous sweat. Despite the shaking in my legs, I forced them to carry me to the foyer to greet him as I usually did. Even though I felt anything but normal, I felt as though if I didn't put on a perfect front for Tom, everything would fall apart.

It was not wholly inaccurate to say that I was secluded indoors with my rapist— one that had already proven how easily he could overpower me. That worry lingered in the back of my mind, even though Tom - when awake - was the sweetest boy that a mother could ever hope to have raised.

Perhaps other women would have felt greater trepidation to approach him, knowing what he was capable of. I doubted any of them would have felt greater arousal than me when I laid eyes upon him -- the man who had dominated me so forcefully. My pussy was soaked.

"Hi, sweetheart," I said with a weak smile.

My pulse was racing so quickly that I could not draw a full breath, forcing me to adopt a staccato method of sucking in air. It was a half-hearted attempt at hyperventilating, as I would have needed some serious sedatives to truly quash my nerves.

Tom kicked off his boots. "Didja miss me?"

I gave a nervous giggle that did not sound anything like my regular laugh. "So much, Tommy. How was the job hunt?"

His demeanour soured. "Predictable."

I knew what that meant, and I entered "mother mode" in response to the sadness on his face. I strode over, hardly even noticing that my maternal instincts had calmed my nerves and given me the courage to approach him.

I wrapped my arms around his midsection and pressed my face into his remarkably firm pectoral muscles. "Oh, sweetheart. I'm so sorry. I know how hard you've been looking."

Tom pursed his lips. "Unfortunately, that doesn't seem to matter to the people interviewing me!"

"They don't know what they're missing!"

He stopped moping and returned my embrace, looping his arms around my neck with his nose in my hair. "I'm just happy I'm home."

A tiny, yet noticeable, rush of adrenaline struck me. "Me, too. You wanna watch some TV with me? Dad won't be home for about an hour."

He agreed to keep me company on the couch while we watched cable. He asked a couple of times - some would say pleaded - to switch to Netflix, lamenting the lengthy commercials that kept us from enjoying a rerun of Cheers.

I scowled at him. "Netflix doesn't have Cheers, sweetheart."

Tom released an exasperated groan. "Then we can watch Brooklyn Nine-Nine, or something! You love that show!"

He was right, but the commercials were exactly what I liked about watching television the old school way. They gave me a chance to talk to him without worrying that I would miss another zinger from Carla, though by that point I had heard all of them a dozen times.

The commercial bumper came and went, subjecting us to a series of informative claims from some forgettable brand of detergent.

I wanted to use the break productively, so I lifted my feet onto the couch and scooted closer to my son. "Does spaghetti sound okay for dinner?"

He shifted his body so his chest was facing me. "That depends. Did you already start making it?"

I nodded.

He gave a coy smile. "In that case, spaghetti sounds great, Mom."

I swatted his shoulder. "You love my spaghetti, you meatball."

Tom exhaled sharply through his nose with a goofy smile. "Nice pun. That was so cheesy."

"Well, I guess you've got one saucy mama on your hands!" Pasta based puns did not make for productive conversation, but they sure were fun.

Tom stood up with a chuckle. "I'm gonna get a drink from the fridge. Do you want anything?"

I shook my head and turned my attention back to the TV, where a familiar song was playing in the background of the latest commercial. Tom also recognized the tune, and began humming it while he made his exit. I heard him crack a fizzy water, still humming along, as he headed back to me.

When he reappeared, he had a big smile on his face. "I love that song!"

"You are my sunshine, my only sunshine," The television sang. "You make me happy, when skies are gray."

I acted naive. "Oh, do you?"

He took the bait, giving me a look of utter confusion. "Of course I do! You used to sing that for me when I was sick, or sad, or like... whatever! It always made me feel a little more like myself, I guess."

"I remember, sweetheart. When you were a kid, the big, happy smile it used to put on your face was the cutest thing in the world."

He flashed me that trademark smile, and I pointed to the single deep dimple in his right cheek. "That smile! You haven't changed a bit, Tommy."

He scurried off to pour a glass of iced tea, and returned shortly thereafter. "Any plans for tonight?"

My pulse quickened. "Um, nope! Not that I can think of!"

Tom gave me quizzical look, but did not press further.

I hurried to change the subject. "What about you, sweetheart? Any hot Tinder dates that you're gonna hook up with?"

Tom gave a hearty scoff. "Fat chance!"

"But I thought you were still looking?"

He shrugged, his face a portrait of dejection. "I am, but that doesn't mean it's working. I can't even get past the talking phase."

I rubbed his shoulder. "If it's meant to be, it'll happen -- but if it doesn't, would that be such a bad thing?"

Tom pursed his lips and chewed on the inside of his cheek— like father, like son. "Kind of, yeah. I'm tired of feeling, like, lonely."

"You know your dad and I are here if you ever feel that way."

He chuckled, and I could swear I saw a thought just about to escape his lips before he held it back with a shake of his head. "I know, Mom. I appreciate that, but it's not just about being lonely."

I did not insist further, but I knew exactly what he was complaining about. As far as he was aware, he was still a virgin. It was strangely titillating to know the truth, and a part of me longed to share it with him. My little boy had become a man overnight without even knowing it.

Losing one's virginity is a rite of passage, and I had no doubts that Tom expected to have passed it by his age. He had still never kissed a woman, or had a girlfriend, and thus lacked the confidence that one gains from reaching those milestones.

Perhaps if he knew that he had already lost his virginity, I thought to myself, and in spectacular fashion, too, he would feel more confident.

Cheers ended right around the time that Donald arrived home. I ran to kiss him, and the two of us shared a moment of private excitement. I imagined that he had been as preoccupied with our plans for that night as I had been, and that stepping into the house was one of the last milestones he needed to put behind him before the sun set. Only dinner and a few hours of our usual winding-down separated us from another unforgettable evening.

My husband twirled pasta around his fork. "How was the job search, Tom?"

Our son pushed a meatball aimlessly around his plate. "Not great, but I'll keep looking."

Donald smirked proudly. "That's my boy. Gotta have perseverance if you want to succeed in life."

I saw Tom roll his eyes; his father did not. He caught my disappointed stare afterwards and hastily averted his gaze down to his plate. "I— uh. I think I'm gonna go to bed early tonight, if that's okay."

I recoiled a little bit. "Sure, sweetheart. Is everything okay?"

I was no expert in body language, but the way his shoulders were slumped forward told me that the burdensome failure of his job search was weighing on him heavily.

He shook his head, trying to escape the fog. "Nothing, nothing. I'm fine, really. Just a bit tired."

I knew that something was up. Normally, I would have pushed to have him watch a movie with us as a family. That night, however, I wanted him to go to bed as soon as possible.

I was practically vibrating with excitement, and continued buzzing whilst Donald and I dashed to our bedroom to get ready for him.

I slipped into a sexy piece of lingerie that I knew my husband liked. It was nothing fancy, but I wanted to put on a show for him. I wore the skimpiest red thong that I owned, and pulled it tight against my pussy. Donald had always loved how plump my bottom was, and seeing the string disappearing between my cheeks always drove him crazy.

Thanks to the sheer material at the front of my underwear, the prominent bulge of my chubby mound was clearly visible. Atop the hill, my darkly coloured pubic hair - which was usually much bushier - was flattened against my skin, pressed down by the see-through garment. At Donald's request, I had shaped the fur into a landing strip that was roughly three fingers wide. The long, brown runway began at the top of my slit and ended just below my belly -- a style that I had never tried before.

I added blush to my cheeks and a painted a luscious, rosy sheen to my lips - an identical hue to the one already on my nails, fingers, and toes that made them glisten like brilliant rubies. I painted mascara on my lashes for a look that screamed "fuck me!," and blew out my hair into a voluminous style that shouted the same - doubled the volume, you might say.

It felt profoundly strange. I was doing all of that work to look sexy for my husband's sake, but, in a less direct way, I was doing it for my son. He would not be awake to witness it, but for all intents and purposes I was getting dressed up in anticipation of a man who was not my husband fucking me. It was the first time I had done so in my entire life, and I would my lying if I said that my hands were steady while I finished colouring my lips.

I looked at Donald expectantly. "Did you—"

"Loosened, and ready to be unbuckled," he announced proudly. "All that's left to do is wait."

I must admit, I did feel a bit silly. To be sitting in bed with my husband, dolled up like a cheap prostitute that he would not touch, was a unique experience.

Part of me wanted to kiss him -- to initiate something that made me feel as sexy as I looked -- but a larger part of me wanted to save myself. That night, I belonged to Tom, and I did not want his father to taint me before he had taken his rightful turn.

I peered into the shadows in the hall, waiting to see him appear. My doubts started to grow. "He might not even come tonight."

"Well," Donald said, "last time he came in while we were having sex. Maybe he heard something that drew him in."

I grumbled. "Maybe."

Donald licked his lips. "Try calling out to him. You're the one he wants, right?"

My blood froze. "Yeah, I­­-I guess so."

I knew what my body wanted, but that did not make it any easier to take the leap. That apprehension is exactly why, when riding a rollercoaster, the rider is not in charge of deciding when the drop happens. My brain knew that it was technically safe, but I was still paralyzed by my primal instincts warning me of the danger.

Donald rubbed my shoulders, startling me out of my haze. "Honey?"

"I heard!" I spat out more sharply than I intended to. "Sorry. I'm sorry, honey. It's just a little nerve wracking."

"Do you want me to go get him, or—"

"No! You said it yourself, I'm--"An icy chill ran down my spine."--the one he wants."

"Okay, then. Whenever you're ready."

I swallowed the lump in my throat. "T-Tommy? Are you there?"

I thus summoned to my bedside the man that would fuck me harder than the one I had married— who was, at that moment, quaking with anticipation.

It was silent for a few seconds, but they passed with the pain of entire minutes. We waited anxiously, holding our breath. Then, finally, we heard the thud of a heavy footstep echoing down the hallway.

I clenched my jaw, grinding my teeth together as I listened to the approaching giant lumber his way blindly towards our bedroom. The footsteps paused at the intersection between the stairs leading to the main floor, and our bedroom.

Donald and I exchanged a look, and he nodded at me. We had no way of knowing what he intended to do, but could not risk having him walk downstairs to make a mess of the kitchen, as he often had.

I cleared my throat. "It's Mommy, sweetheart. Come this way."

I knew he would not understand me, but as it turned out, he did not have to. Simply hearing my voice was enough to restart the engine that drove him forward, and his leaden feet resumed their march towards us.

Tom appeared in the doorway, his eyes closed as tightly as his balled up fists— one of which contained the underwear he had worn to bed that night.

I wondered at what point he had removed them, but it did not ultimately matter. What did matter what that he had come to me with a singular goal in mind, and it was one that we shared.

That goal was expressed clearly by the semi-hard dick swinging between his legs. It seemed as though each step he took served to send another rush of blood to it, making the fat, blue veins along the sides surge powerfully.

Oddly enough, his dick was not the sole factor that I found interesting. When Tom had taken me by force the previous night, there had been a palpable rage to him, one that I had felt the moment he walked into the room. That night, in response to hearing his name called from my bedroom, he had entered it with a smile in his face.

Does he know? I wondered. Why does he seem happier tonight? Was he expecting this? My mind raced with so many questions that I did not bother trying to answer a single one of them.

Remember what he's capable of. I reminded myself, but it was hard not to be complacent when he looked so happy to have been summoned to my bedside.

Donald's voice warbled when he tried to speak. "H-how do we... uh, start?"

My heartrate had already spiked as though I'd injected a dozen cups of coffee directly into my veins. The erratic fluctuations in my breathing made it difficult to speak. I reached over and held my husband's hand, tightly squeezing his fingers, but did not take my eyes off of Tom. "I think he gets to decide that."

I saw Donald nod out of the corner of my eye. "I'm kind of nervous, Lily."

I stroked his knuckles with my thumb. "Just stay back, and let him do what he wants. I don't want him to hurt you once he gets started."

Donald sat against the headboard. He kicked his boxers off, already sporting the largest erection he could muster. With a clearer mind than I possessed during the first night, I could accurately compare their sizes without being swept up in the moment.

Even though Tom had yet to reach his full size, he already dwarfed his father by three inches. I had never been particularly disappointed in my husband's penis, but after experiencing Tom's, I'd begun to wonder if that had been because Donald was all I had ever known.

The moment I laid eyes on my son's gigantic cock, the juice between my legs began to flow. Whether or not I would ever admit to my husband which of their dicks I preferred, I knew in my heart that it was no coincidence how obediently my body responded to Tom. The mere sight of such a hulking column of pulsating flesh dangling between his legs flipped switches in my brain that had it primed for baby making.

I got onto my hands and knees, a cat in heat, and crawled towards my son at the foot of the bed.

He stared forward -- not at me, but above me - which only encouraged me to seduce him further to attract his attention.

Though he could not see it, I forced a smile onto my face and made my tone as bubbly as I could. "Hi, sweetheart."

I did not know how much of his sleepy brain was functioning, but just in case, I did not want him to become aware of my tremendous anxiety. I suppose I should have remembered that my trepidation had not stopped him last time.

I sat up on my knees and braced my palms on Tom's upper chest for support. At his terrific height, even with the mattress giving me an extra six inches or so, the top of my head could only reach his chin.

He still did not look at me, but through me.

I chastised myself for craving his attention so desperately, but I knew just how to get it. I leaned forward and pressed my lips against his collarbone, where I flicked my tongue against his skin. I nipped softly with my teeth, then soothed the wound by flattening my tongue against it.

I looked up at my son with unblinking doe eyes. "Tommy, are you in there?"

He dropped his underwear with a grunt, and dropped his cheerful grin in exchange for a deadly serious stare. He looped his arms around my waist to pull me against him, which flattened my breasts against his chest so that they ballooned out of the sides of my bra. His fingers sunk into my doughy ass flesh, and dug deep enough that it stung a little bit.

I did not care that it hurt. The thrill of being manhandled, and the confirmation that he had come to play, made my pussy tighten with excitement. "Oh, yay! Good boy, sweetheart."

One squeeze of my plump rump was all that Tom's cock needed to finally inflate to its intimidating final form. I could not see it, but there was no mistaking its remarkable heat when it brushed against the inside of my thigh. It was trapped in a downward position, pointed to the floor. It strained desperately, longing to be released so it could slap against his tummy with full force.

I pulled back a little bit, giving his dick space enough to do exactly that. It made a dull, bassy thud when it collided with his skin. It was so loud that I imagined the head must have been inflated to the size of a golf ball.

I closed the space between us, sandwiching his rigid cock between both of our bellies. It pulsated with delight, happily encased in its tummy tomb. The tip reached beyond my belly button, causing me to marvel at the fact that its entire length had ever fit into my tiny body.

"Lily," Donald whimpered from behind me, "keep kissing him."

I turned my head, but could not rotate it far enough to see my husband. For a brief second, I had forgotten that he was even there. "You like when I give him kisses, honey?"

"Fuck, yes." His mouth was dry; I could hear his lips sticking to his teeth. "Do it again."

I kissed Tom's chin, straining my neck to reach up higher. He lowered his head, giving me an angle with which to reach him. I pressed my mouth against his, surrounding his lower lip with mine so I could gingerly nibble on him.

Tom did not kiss me back, but, by the insidious plapping sounds coming from behind me, I knew Donald was enjoying it regardless. I wanted to make him happy above all else. If he commanded me to sloppily make out with our son - a flesh and blood statue - I would do so until he ordered me to stop.

I wiggled my tongue into Tom's mouth, fishing for his while I suckled on his impassive lips. He did not need to move in order for me to fawn over him, and I did so freely. My hands groped his muscular shoulders, caressing his broad form before wandering up his neck. I cradled his head in my hands, and sprawled out my fingers to ensure he would not pull away while I hungrily devoured him.

Tom brought his open hand down on my naked ass, making my colossal caboose jiggle for a few uninterrupted seconds until the bouncing flesh eventually came to a rest.

Donald gasped. "How did you make him do that?" He had never seen me - watched me like entertainment - from such a voyeuristic perspective. I took perverse pleasure in being a spectacle for him to gawk at.

I chuckled. "I didn't! He just did it."

For added measure, I shook my bum side to side a few times, throwing around the marshmallow slabs so that they clapped when they collided with each other. My underwear was pulled as tightly as could be, morphing around my chubby pussy mound so close that the drawstring was tucked neatly between my swollen cheeks.

My backside stung from the impact of Tom's spanking, but it was a pain that made the context in which it was dispensed that much lewder. It was not just any old hand whose fiery imprint was burning its way into my white flesh; it was his. My own son had branded the outline of his fingers into my rump, claiming me as his personal plaything for the second night in a row.

He tightly gripped my ass with his fingers. The dense putty oozed through his digits, acting as makeshift stress balls for him to greedily grope. He pawed me incessantly, roaming my bottom with wandering hands that left their mark over every inch they travelled.

It was not long before he stumbled upon the waistband of my underwear, which was riding high up my lower back from how tightly I had pulled it between my cheeks. Based on his frustrated grunt, I supposed that he was expecting me to already be bottomless. That theory was quickly confirmed when he gripped the elastic band and tugged it upward with all his might.

His strength was great enough to lift me off of the bed and into the air like a ragdoll. I was suspended only by the strained string of my underwear, which was then buried between my pussy lips. The thin fabric was like a tightrope, and I was straddling it with my feet kicking helplessly a few inches off of the ground.

I rapidly slapped my palms against Tom's chest. "Put me down! Put me down, Tommy!"

The tightly pulled garment had sunk so deep between my cheeks that most of the pressure rested directly against my asshole. My clitoris - the poor, sensitive little bead - bore the rest of my weight. Tom yanked my underwear, making the wet, cotton floss scrape against my pleasure switch.

My toes curled hard enough to touch the pads of my feet. "S-stop! StoooOOOP!" I pounded on his chest, wincing in pain.

By the grace of god, and the power of Tom's next mighty tug, I felt the underwear start to tear. When he pulled on them a third time, I pushed down with my butt to assist him in ripping them off of me.

I fell back onto the bed, my quivering knees barely supporting me on impact. They buckled and I fell onto Tom's chest, huffing through my nose.

Donald had gasped when I fell. "Are you alright, Lily?"

I nodded. "Uh-huh. That was just... gosh, he's really strong."

My disheveled state was of no concern to Tom. I was permitted only a few scant seconds to recover before he began thrusting his fully erect cock into my tummy. His brow was furrowed, a look of confusion plastered on his face, but he was not angry.

If anything, his petulant prodding was more akin to the tantrums he would throw as a child. He was annoyed, but I could tell that it was only due to his excitement to mate with me again.

Last night was different, I mused. He seems more like himself tonight.

I could not help but laugh at his childlike insistence. "Poor baby. He's trying so hard to fuck me."

"Help him," Donald insisted -- then added, seemingly as an afterthought, "Mommy."

I peered at him over my shoulder. "What's that, honey?"

"Can you... can you call yourself 'Mommy' when you're with him?"

I felt a rush of depraved excitement. Like a good mother, I reached back to unhook my bra, taking a step towards helping my son get what he wanted.

"Let Mommy help you, sweetheart." My breasts spilled forth, squashing against Tom's firm, unyielding chest. My nipples were so sharp that I imagined I could engrave my initials in his skin if I pressed hard enough.

Tom instantly latched his hands onto my breasts and began playing with the piles of putty with such enthusiasm that the smile returned to his face.

He was rough, and callous, sparing no mind to the pain he would inflict with his roughness. He squeezed my tits like they were toys, and not the sacred providers of nourishment that had helped him grow as a baby. His haphazard groping made me wince occasionally, but each pang of pain coaxed another flood of nectar from deep within my pussy.

It did not feel good to be treated so roughly, but carnal pleasure was not what I sought. I was far more desirous of having my body worshipped -- to have someone's undivided attention and keep them obsessing over what they saw -- or, in Tom's case, what they felt.

I wiggled out of my torn underwear and tossed them to my husband, figuring that he would appreciate the memento.

I heard him inhale deeply, then sigh. "Jesus Christ, Lilly. They're completely fucking soaked."

I knew I had been growing wetter by the second, but I had not fully comprehended just how gooey I had become until Donald had pointed it out. Once he had, I could not ignore the profuse wetness between my legs. By the feel of it, I was sure that the drawstring of my underwear would produce a tablespoon of liquid honey if it were to be wrung out.

"I don't think I've ever been this wet before." Just as I said that, a tiny bead of nectar rolled down the inside of my thigh until it reached my knees, where it soaked into the bed sheets I was kneeling on.

Tom was still lazily grabbing my tits, ignorant to how his parents were gushing over just how much he was making "Mommy" gush. Even on autopilot, the way he touched me made me so excited that I feared I would pass out from heart palpitations before we got to the main event.

I reached down and cupped his heavy balls in her hands. I tenderly squeezed the swollen eggs, rolling them around in my little fingers. Since I had been gifted with large breasts since I was a teenager, I was empathetic towards the burden of lugging around such gigantic testicles all day.

The realization that the release of those bloated orbs would come from me, and me alone, made me shiver with glee.

My palm was glued to the underside, keeping him resting in the center of my hand. My fingers wandered up, stumbling over the root of his cock and the very same bulging veins that my eyes had traced just minutes prior. I ascended towards the head, which was still bumping into my tummy as if knocking on the door to my womb from the outside.

Donald sucked in a deep breath, still patiently stroking his cock while I did the same for our son. "Is he, uh— big?"

I gently tugged on his impressive length, marveling at the way it appeared to have a mind of its own. "Do you want to come and see how big he looks in Mommy's hand?"

He gulped. "O-okay."

Donald scooted to the foot of the bed, carefully eyeing Tom to make sure that he was cleared to sit on the edge.

With my husband sitting right next to me, his modest erection plopped in his palm, I demonstrated just how enormous our son's cock looked in my small hands.

I nudged Donald with my shoulder. "Look, honey. He's too big to get my fingers around."

I circled my thumb and middle finger around the root, gently tugging on him while I tried in vain to get them to connect. I failed, leaving about half an inch of space between my fingers even at their closest point.

"See?" I chirped happily. "Tommy's so big that Mommy's fingers can't even touch."

Donald's eyes were the size of moons. "Whoa."

"Jealous yet, honey?" I teased, wrapping the rest of my fingers around Tom's monstrous dong to cover as much of it as I could.

Donald nodded with his mouth hanging open. "He's so much... yeah, wow."

"So much what?" I prompted.

I pinched hard, squeezing the vice to send a rush of blood to the mushroom cap at the end. The spongy dome inflated, turning a furious shade of dark red.

Donald shuddered, his teeth clattering. "He's so fucking big."

I shook my head and pointed Tom's cock towards his father like a weapon. "No, no. Say it. He's so much bigger than..."

My husband was frozen for a full second, processing the overwhelming series of events that had him pathetically admiring his own son's cock. "Bigger than me."

I smiled from ear to ear. "Good boy."

Donald looked up at me with the cowardice of a puppy who had accidentally gotten underfoot. "Do you... I mean, do you like it?"

I looked at my husband, regretfully tearing my eyes off of the magnificent, girthy cock in my hands. "I love it, honey. Is that wrong? It's just so... fuck, he's gigantic. I don't know how you made this thing!"

I had intended for my comment to be a lighthearted jab, but it knocked the wind out of my husband. "I can't believe you just said that."

"Oh, honey. I just meant—"

"Ugh," Donald grunted. "Holy shit, Lily. I'm gonna fucking cum."

If I'd been a cartoon, my head would have spun all the way around. "What? Already?"

"Uh-huh."

I was no fool. I knew how male orgasms worked, and I feared that if Donald finished too early, he might call everything off in the wake of post-nut clarity. He was too weak to overpower Tom, so regardless of his consent I would end up inseminated before the night was through, but I wanted my husband to enjoy it so that he would be encouraged to do it again.

I could not risk having our night come to a premature end, so I made my demands crystal clear. "Stop touching it."

Donald whimpered briefly. "What? You— are you talking to me?"

I snapped my fingers and pointed to his dick. "Take your hands off of it."

He obeyed, seemingly out of impulse rather than actual intention. "W-why am I stopping?"

I straightened my back and brought my free hand - the one not wrapped around the root of Tom's cock - up to my mouth, and dribbled a fat gob of spit into my palm. With the homemade lube, I wrapped my slippery fingers around Tom's fat sack and coated it with goo.

Our son roared mightily and doubled the strength used to squeeze my breasts. The sheer volume of his voice had startled me, but that was the extent of my fear. Tom was strangely at ease, and I laughed inwardly at the first reason that my brain concocted to explain why.

Maybe he fucked me hard enough last night to get all the rage out. Maybe my pussy fixed him! They were silly jokes, but there is often a hint of truth behind those types of thoughts.

Tom was quite subdued in comparison to the man who had forcibly mounted the night before, and a small part of me took credit for that change. With his balls resting in my palm, I felt a strange sense of power over him. He could have been capable of taking whatever he pleased, but seemed willing to let me lead him at my pace.

"You don't get to cum until your son does," I said to Donald. "Set a good example for our baby boy, sweetheart."

Donald's face turned cherry red. "So I just... watch you two?"

I nodded. "Until you can touch your penis without making a mess, yes. Just watch what we do, and try to learn something."

"Jesus Christ, Lily."

I turned to him, dropping the character to perform an honest check-in. "Was that too much? I'm just trying to have fun, so tell me if I say anything too mean."

He licked his lips. "You're doing fucking great."

I rolled my eyes, but conveyed my earnest appreciation through a lopsided grin. "Oh, gosh. Thank you, honey. I'm trying my best."

I released my son's ball sack and watched the heavy pendulum swing back and forth a few times. With the tip of my pointer finger, I pressed down on his cock head, bending the lever from its upright position until it was stabbing directly into my tummy. Then I removed my finger and watched in astonishment as the unwieldly baton sprung back into position.

"Will he fit between your thighs?" Donald asked.

I used my finger to push Tom's dick downward again. I stood on my tiptoes, placing the snug tunnel made by my plump thighs at the perfect height for it to slide between.

I grabbed the root of his cock, guiding his dick up and down the runway of soft, brown fur atop my mound. After a few passes, I pushed down a little further and wedged the bulging crown between my lips. They enveloped the entire head at once, drawing it into the drooling mouth of my cunt.

Tom instinctively pushed forward, but due to the angle he was at, he only succeeded in thrusting between my thighs. Perhaps he thought that it was my pussy he would be entering, though he did not seem disappointed to have my gooey crease glazing the topside of his dong as it trudged through.

I tightly closed my legs, making the pocket as narrow as I could for him. My slightly pudgy thighs did not typically offer a gap. Once closed, they had become a surprisingly snug throughway for him to enjoy.

It did not take long for his pubic bone to press flat against my pussy mound, indicating to me that he had finished his journey through the hot, soggy canal. My bottom was large enough that my cheeks formed a shelter of soft flesh that hugged the sides of his cock head when it was pushed all the way through.

Tom grabbed my blubbery butt again, using it as leverage to pull me into him each time he thrust between my supple, honey-soaked thighs.

Donald was captivated. "Is he... inside?"

"No!" I yelped between thrusts.

I timed my words so they would be accentuated by the impact of Tom pounding his body against mine. "He's— just— fucking— my— thigh— fat!" It did not make for clear speech, but I knew it would drive my husband wild.

He guffawed. "Fuck, seriously?"

I waved a hand behind my bum like I was fanning away a housefly. "Take— a— look!"

Donald scampered behind me. Just before I lost sight of him, he'd gotten onto his hands and knees, likely to take a closer look.

Just for him, I reached back with both hands and laid them on top of Tom's, my fingers overlapping his so that, when I grabbed a greedy handful of ass fat, we were squeezing it in tandem. We spread my doughy cheeks apart so that Donald could bear witness to the lecherous sight.

Chilled air nipped at the succulent heat Tom and I had created, confirming that I was stretched wide enough for my husband to see every little detail. For added effect, I clenched and unclenched my asshole a few times to wink at the perverted voyeur behind me.

Tom's cock sawed back and forth, its bulging helmet pushing open my pudgy thighs each time he thrust forward. I clenched my legs together as hard as I could; I wanted to make the passageway as cozy for him as it could be.

I rested my head on his chest, my forehead bumping against his sturdy pectoral muscles as it bounced around. Oddly enough, even with the rampant speed of his thrusting, his heartbeat was steady.

Mine was racing so fast that I could scarcely count the space between each beat, and I could not help but wonder how exactly my son - his mitts overflowing with a heaping handful of his mother's ass - could betray no serious signs of exertion.

Even when he reaffirmed his grip - arranging his hands to better clutch the width of my large bottom - and picked me up off of the ground, his heartbeat did not speed up.

"W-what is he doing?" Donald's voice cracked.

I kicked my feet in the air. "He's picking me up!"

"Whoa."

"I know!" I giggled excitedly, releasing my grip on my cheeks so that I could loop my arms around Tom's neck. "He's so strong!"

My husband had never been able to carry me so effortlessly. Even when we'd crossed the threshold into our home for the first time as a married couple, Donald had struggled to lift me. I hadn't been particularly heavy, but then again, he'd never been particularly strong.

I wrapped my around Tom's midsection and anchored myself to him. My heavy breasts collapsed against him and flattened like runny pancakes against his chest. Their weight, which had been a burden on me for almost forty years, was nothing to him.

I dug my heels into the small of his back and raked my nails through the hair on the back on his head. "So strong for Mommy."

Tom thrust upward blindly, searching for the opening to my birth canal like a drunk stumbling home in the dark. He knew where the door was; he just needed a little help getting in. The longer he prodded around, failing time and time again to insert himself, the more frustrated he became.

He huffed and puffed, gritting his teeth so hard they squeaked. The growl from deep in his stomach told me that he was quickly running out of patience.

Still, I was not afraid of him. I knew that I should not feel safe in his arms, but that did nothing to change the fact that, despite his frustrated grunting, he did not seem poised to hurt me. All I had for him was pity.

My poor baby boy is so pent. I thought. I have to help him!

I craned my neck to whisper to my husband. "Pssst. Honey, he's getting pretty whiny."

"I know," Donald piped up. "I can hear him."

I was overcome with shame to even consider asking my husband for help, but with that guilt came an explosive burst of curiosity.

"Donald, honey," I mewed, my voice as soft as cashmere, "do you think you could put him inside?"

He scoffed before realizing that I was deadly serious. "Really? I mean, well, I've never even touched a dick before. I don't think—"

"UUUUHHH!" Tom hollered, his face contorted in frustration.

Panic crept into my voice, betraying the safety in which I had naively believed. "Uh, sweetheart, I really think you should help him find my pussy."

I wanted to believe that he would not harm me, but as the seconds passed it became harder to convince myself of that.

Tom had been an angel thus far, but all of that had come to a screeching halt at the first indication that he was being denied what he wanted. He had been a good boy while playing with my tits, allowing me the time to seduce his father with dirty talk, but in hindsight that was not a kindness.

Tom had been entertained with my breasts, which had prevented him from growing impatient. Without having his sexual appetite quashed -specifically in the way he wanted it to be - he was quickly devolving into the bestial maniac that had taken me less than twenty four hours prior.

Tom snarled and dug his nails, not his fingertips, into my pliable ass meat. "He's— ow, Tommy! He's grabbing me too hard!"

I knew there was no point in trying to fight him off. Much like when he'd been a baby, before he'd learned to talk, all we could do was give him what we thought he wanted in the hopes that he would not throw a tantrum.

"I-I don't know what to do." Donald said desperately. "What do I do?"

I scraped Tom's lower back with my toenails, but he did not even notice. "Put him in my pussy! Help me, honey!" The flesh on my backside burned. "He's starting to hurt me. You need to put him in!"

From his position behind me, Donald needed only reach forward a little bit to grab hold of his son's dick. I knew he had done so when Tom flinched in reaction to the unexpected touch. His nostrils flared, and I rushed to calm him.

I stroked the side of his face with one hand. "Shh, honey. It's just Daddy. Don't be scared."

"Okay, um, I got it!" Donald declared anxiously. "Now what?"

I clenched the pink pocket a couple of times. "Can you see my pussy?"

"I sure can," he mumbled. "Wow, Lily. You're fucking drenched."

"I can't help that he turns me on so much!" I stroked the side of Tom's cheek with my thumb. "Okay, now guide him in."

I felt Donald drag our son's bloated cock head through my crease, basting the helmet with a thick layer of honey. He aligned Tom's cock with my opening and I bore down, applying just enough pressure so that the entire knob was swallowed whole.

My jaw quivered. "Ohhhh, fuck. Fuck that feels good."

Donald clicked his tongue. "Just the head? Really?"

I squeezed my legs around Tom's torso. "Yeah, well, his head is the size of a friggin' grapefruit!" It was an exaggeration, but right then it did not feel like one.

Tom dragged me back and forth on his dick a few inches, seeming to come to terms with the fact that he was actually in my pussy and not between my thighs. The warm, wet vice strangling his cock head did its best to inform him that he was exactly where he wanted to be.

I could have sworn that I saw the metaphorical gears turning in his mind, and once they were in motion, there was no stopping him. In one triumphant plunge, Tom drove his dick to the bottom of my cunt so deep that I felt my stomach shifting to accommodate his size. My juicy sheath released a sodden, vulgar gurgle when his dick pierced through it.

"Oh God! I squealed. "Oh fuck!"

"Lily!" Donald yelped.

"I'm okay! I-I'm fine. That just... wow." I collapsed onto my son, heaving my breath against his neck.

Tom did not care that I was still getting used to being so full. He allowed me only a few short seconds of respite before lifting me into the air again, dragging his dick from the heated depths of my baby chamber for just long enough that I could catch my breath. As soon as I had, his cock pushed it all out of me by pushing back in.

Formally reacquainted with the inside of my pussy, Tom did not hesitate for a second longer. That one thrust was all it took for him to find his rhythm, and seconds later he was pumping into me with a look of concentration on his face.

I clung to him like the last rooted tree in a hurricane. My nails dug into his shoulder, but that only made him fuck me harder.

Donald was never able to fuck me with such vigour for more than a few seconds, so I was quite used to squeezing and grinding with my cunt muscles to make the most of the short time we had before he blew his load. With Tom, though, that was not an option. I tried to squeeze around him, as years of training with his father had taught me to do, but it was fruitless. The force with which my son was plowing into me made it impossible to do anything other than hold on and enjoy the ride.

For only the second time in my life, I did not feel like I was having sex— I was being fucked like a woman should be. I was a doll at his disposal, and willing to be dragged pussy-first onto his steely erection.

With his hands, he was prying my ass cheeks apart so wide that his pendulous balls rapped against my asshole every time he thrust forward, the thuds of which reverberated in my belly.

Donald groaned, reminding me that he still existed. "Does it feel good, honey?"

"Yes!" I was so focused on manually inhaling the air that Tom kept knocking out of me that I could hardly speak. "C-can you s-see it?"

"Fuck yes I can."

"Do-does it look— oh God! Doesitlookgood?" I had to race to spit out my words in between Tom's careless pounding.

"It looks amazing, Lily. You're doing such a good job."

His compliment filled me with pride; I loved making him happy. I did not feel the least bit guilty that I just so happened to feel such incredible pleasure while doing so. I also loved the way he was marveling at my capabilities. I was being pushed to limits that neither of us had known I could handle, and I believed that we were both impressed at what my body had already endured.

I had never been fucked so aggressively in my four decades of life, yet in just two days Tom had shown me that there was more to sex than riding my husband for thirty seconds before he popped.

My cervix -- the poor, battered wall of spongy fleshy -- was being bruised like a ripe peach. I felt a dull, aching pain deep in my guts, but it was drowned out by such a catastrophic amount of pleasure that I did not care.

If I have to spend the following week nursing a bruised womb, so be it. I considered it a small price to pay for the gift of seeing my husband, and my son, so enthralled by my body.

Tom showed no sign of slowing down. My helpless whimpering in his ear only served to fuel his gusto, filling him with energy that surged straight through his dick and into me.

Even though he wasn't fully conscious, I could feel in his eagerness that I had absolutely captivated him, and that gave me a sense of pride in my body that was simply exhilarating. He was making me feel like a bona fide woman in ways that Donald never had, and likely never could. I did not blame him for failing to measure up to our son, though. It was not his fault. It was simply a fact of nature.

That eagerness, like all things, had a limit, and after a few minutes of unparalleled pussy pounding, my boy needed a break. He slowed down, but kept the same amount of power behind his drawn out thrusts.

I think we both knew that that window was the closest thing we would likely get to a pause. Just when I was most likely to hear, Donald cleared his throat. "Can I get a closer look?"

I did not know what he meant by that, but I was enjoying myself so much that I would have agreed to anything. I nodded my approval, and Donald shuffled around behind me before my head had stopped moving.

He laid on his back, with his head at the foot of the bed. His face was no less than six inches from my bottom, where he could watch our flesh and blood ritualistically thrust his dick into me like I was a toy.

Donald had sporadically touched his cock a few times, but remained steadfast in his commitment to withhold his orgasm until Tom was ready, too.

The man of my dreams drew anxious breaths, and released them as steam against my naked backside. "Holy shit, I can't believe this is real."

Being used as a fuck puppet by my own baby boy was tickling my brain in unimaginable ways, and as a result I was slicker than engine grease. The burrow Tom was barging into had become so profusely wet that I feared that - or rather, I knew with near certainty - droplets of cunt honey would plop onto my husband's forehead. Based on how hard Tom was, I was sure that there would be a little bit of precum mixed in with my juices, too.

"He's really fucking you, Lily," Donald lamented, his laboured breathing informing me that he had resumed stroking his meager erection. "Tell me how it feels."

"Better, now," I admitted. "I'm still getting used to his size, but he feels nice."

"No, like... how does it feel?"

I mewed softly, mustering up my fakest cutesy voice. "Well, sweetheart, it feels like Mommy has a baby's arm jammed in her cunt."

"More," Donald instructed.

I smirked, knowing that I had the opportunity to play with our new kink and see what he would let me get away with. "Tommy made Mommy all loose and gooey, honey." I continued, coddling Tom's rigid cock with a series of loving cunt hugs while I teased my husband. "Our little boy is all grown up. His big, strong penis goes so deep into Mommy that she can feel every teeny, tiny throb."

It was something that Donald's penis had never exhibited except in the last few seconds before he'd cum. Tom's cock felt like it was fully alive, with its own heartbeat. I could accurately feel each and every one of those not-so-teeny-tiny pulsations — almost as clearly as I could feel the muscles in my pussy aching from the excessive strain.

Donald gulped in exasperation. "You can feel him throb?"

I giggled. "I sure can, Daddy."

He groaned. "Fuck, that is so hot, honey."

I wiggled happily in Tom's arms. "I thought you might like that, Daddy. What else do you wanna know?"

Without a second of pause, he blurted out, "Does he feel better than me?"

Shame, guilt, anxiety, and a hundred other things flushed my cheeks to a decadent red. I believed that he already knew the answer, as certainly as I had figured it out for myself the night before.

I bit my lower lip. "You promise you won't get mad at me?"

"I promise," he insisted. "Tell me."

It was clear that merely knowing was not what turned Donald on. He wanted to hear me say it so that the words could bounce around in his brain for years to come.

I was not sure how sincerely he wanted me to lean into the cuckold play, and rather than second guess myself, I simply went with the purest form of the truth. I could only hope that, should he feel inadequate in the shadow cast by our only son, our many years of happy marriage would not crumble around us.

I shook my head, then realized he could not see anything other than my fat, blubbery cheeks being stretched to their widest point while Tom sank nearly a foot of pulsating meat into the hole that, up until the night before, had never been explored by anyone other than him.

"Honey," I began, my voice trembling with disgraceful lust, "his dick feels... yeah, a lot better than yours."

Donald whimpered meekly. "You're not just saying that?"

"No, I'm not," I promised him. "I don't want to upset you, sweetheart, but..."

"But?" Donald asked eagerly.

"But I really like Tommy's cock."

"More than mine?" His constant need for reverse-validation was getting on my nerves. I did not blame him for being curious, and if I had been more honest with myself, I would have been able to admit that part of my frustration came from having to confess aloud - to him, as well as to myself - the extent of my infatuation with our son's dick.

"Yes!" I blurted out louder than I meant to. "I mean, yes, if you really need to know that. I don't know, Donald. I feel like such a whore!"

For further comfort, I added, "I still like your dick, too, honey."

Donald grunted. "Yeah, sure. But which do you like more?"

I sighed, my body deflating on Tom's chest in a defeated heap as he slowly hilted me again. "Honey, I-I'm sorry, but I think I like his more. It just... feels nicer."

Donald released an enormous groan. "God, Lily. I'm gonna fucking cum if you talk like that!"

Despite the constant energetic pulsations that lent Tom's dick the illusion of a being its own living, breathing organism, it was still palpably clear when his dick seized up from the undeniable urge to orgasm. It was much more powerful than his rhythmic throbbing, and the first formal enlargement made it feel like a balloon was inflating in my stomach.

"Don't freak out," I ordered calmly, "but I think he's close, too."

"You can feel that?" Donald asked with enthusiasm.

"Mmhmm," I confirmed for him. "He - it - just got a lot bigger."

Tom's cock head grew to the size of a plum, plugging the mouth of my womb. His formidable size stretched out the wrinkles and bumps along the inside of my fleshy tunnel until my walls were smoothed out to a frictionless tube that could barely cling to his dick when he withdrew it.

"So, I can cum, too?" Donald asked pathetically.

"Uh-huh, yeah," I replied with a sultry whine. "I want both of my boys to cum at the same time."

"Oh my god, Lily," he said. "I don't think I can hold it back, but I want to cum in you, too."

I grumbled. "Hmm. No."

I heard Donald briefly pause his invigorated fapping. "No? Like, I can't?"

I made my asshole wink at him. "Not tonight, no. You can cum on your tummy, but Tommy gets to breed me."

Donald tried to swallow, but I could hear how dry his mouth was. "B-breed? What do you—"

"Hush," I demanded with a snap. "Be a good Daddy and let our son dump his babies in my belly."

The pain in Donald's whimpers was inextricable from the overt lust. One could not exist without the other, and the existence of each made its opposite even stronger. I could not imagine the kinds of confusing, horny thoughts that were swimming around my husband's brain, but they'd seemed to have been amplified when I'd denied his request to creampie me.

It was standard for us to finish that way; I had been on the pill for years. We both knew there was no real possibility that Tom would knock me up, but the mere mention of being impregnated by the very boy we had raised together was lurid enough that Donald's disbelief was temporarily suspended for the sake of a powerful orgasm.

"Watch closely," I instructed. "He's gonna dump all our little grandbabies into my pussy. I'm gonna be a Mommy again!"

Donald grunted out an ugly, inhuman sound, perfectly timed with the splattering of his warm semen against the small of my back. "Holy fuck, honey!"

I was genuinely impressed that he had fired it so far, but after that first spurt there was nothing left. That was the norm, and it was generally followed by his penis shrivelling back to its normal, flaccid size.

It was over as fast as it had started, but Tom was just reaching the edge of his own orgasm by the time I felt his father's cum dripping over the swell of my voluptuous bottom.

"Good job, Daddy!" I was cheering my husband on, but based on Tom's reaction, his brain took the comment as his own personal encouragement. He plowed into me with the force of a speeding train, barreling into my cunt for one final, powerful thrust that knocked the wind out of me.

I cried out, my voice echoing around our bedroom as our son began to empty his balls into me. An artillery barrage of hot, sticky cum blasted against my cervix, bathing the mouth of my womb in a thick layer of glue. Gravity caused the heavy load to immediately begin trickling out of me, but Tom generously replaced what dribbled down with another hearty dose.

Those first two ropes were already more than Donald ever created at once, which made me wholly unprepared for the following eruption - as large as the first two - to land with such potency that I could have sworn I had heard it splatter like wet paint being thrown against the sidewalk.

Donald released a pent up breath. "Christ, I can actually see him throbbing. His balls are so tight. Is he still... doing it?"

"Uh-huh!" I squeaked.

Tom ground his cock head against the bottom of my cunt, writhing around in the soggy gutter that coaxed cum out of his balls every time I squeezed down on him. He launched another dollop of sticky batter into the pink abyss, flooding every corner of my loosened vagina.

"Every time he pulses—" On cue, Tom gave a notably strong flutter. "—like that, it means he's dumping more into me."

Donald was dumbstruck. "But... but... I mean, he's still throbbing."

"That's because he's still cumming, sweetheart," I cooed happily, and I was savouring every second of it. "He's not done yet. Just be patient and let him finish."

Tom's throbbing slowed to a crawl, though I still felt his heart beating through his cock as it began to soften. It was the same calm, steady rhythm that I had noticed earlier, implying that he was not fully appreciating the sacred bond that we had just tarnished.

From below me, Donald piped up. "Is he done now?"

My brain had not yet returned to Earth. "Yeah, I think so. I feel... Oh, gosh. He really filled me up, honey."

Donald chuckled. "You can feel it all in there, huh?"

I nodded, once again forgetting that my freshly inseminated pussy, and his son's cock, was all he could see. "Yeah, I feel it, like... I don't know the word."

Donald gulped. "Sloshing?"

I buried my face in Tom's neck even though Donald could not see me blushing like a schoolgirl. "I— um, yeah. That's a good word. It's really sloshy."

Without announcing his exit, Tom pulled back and unceremoniously yanked his dick out of me. Thanks to his enormous size, he had created a seal, though not an airtight one, when he'd pushed into me the first time. As he pulled out, the broken vacuum made a sick, lewd suckling noise, followed by an abrupt pop.

My tired, beaten pussy, gawking like an open maw in Tom's absence, had become too roomy to store the ridiculous amount of semen that he had injected into me. I clenched my slackened hole as tight as I could, but my squeezing only served to push out a fat blob of cum, rather than keep it marinating inside as I had planned.

Donald was given no warning, and from his position underneath my cum-drooling cunt - gaping tastelessly - he was subjected to the outpouring of our son's butter.

Time seemed to slow to a crawl, but in reality the whole ordeal lasted less than a few seconds. Donald did not move a muscle. Whether because he wanted to remain in place or was frozen there, I could not tell.

I rushed to warn him, but it was too late. "Oh, honey! I'm dripping!"

I had never felt so ashamed. It was the most depraved thing I had ever taken part in. It had been one thing to let Tom fuck me a second time, but to liberally dribble the consequences of our inbreeding session over Donald's face had added insult to injury.

"I-I can't stop it!" I whined, hopelessly perched above my husband. "There's too much, it's coming out. I'm so sorry, sweetheart."

"Push," Donald commanded.

My stomach flipped. "Push... his cum out?"

"Yes. Do it." There was a certainty in his voice that I rarely heard.

The first thing I had to push down were my feelings of shame, promising myself that I would be doing it for my husband's sake. With an audible grunt, I gritted my teeth and felt a warm, slimy syrup trickling down my pussy. The river reached my opening, and with a steady shove I purged my cunt of the white cream.

I could not see anything underneath me, but knew exactly what was happening. I could feel every individual droplet of cum dribble out, and knew that there was nowhere for them to go but onto the waiting face of my adoring husband.

I was a piping bag filled with cake batter. Once the runny stream had begun to flow, gravity did the rest of the work for me. I did not need to push any longer. If I simply avoided clenching, my worn out pussy was too ragged to stop the flow of semen, so whatever remained inside simply fell out of me with no assistance.

Donald smacked his lips, which I could hear stick together with the layer of semen I had doused him in. "I think he's done."

I inflated my lungs to their capacity. "I feel... empty. And -- my gosh — loose, too? Do I look, like, different?"

"Different?"

I rolled my eyes. "I mean, down there. Does my pussy look different?"

Donald chuckled. "Uh, I don't know how to tell you, Lily, but you look like you could fit a fist in there."

I gasped. "I do not! Stop it!"

I tried to wiggle out of Tom's arms, but he had not moved an inch since his cock had fallen out of me. "Put me down please, sweetheart."

I had not expected that to work, but Tom obeyed immediately. He stood in place even after my feet were on the floor, but it did not feel intimidating. After what I had let him do to me, I felt that odd sense of authority return. I felt like I had taken back my womanhood by using my body for carnal satisfaction for the first time in my life.

I kissed my son on the cheek. "Good boy. Thank you for listening to Mommy."

I turned and finally looked down at my husband, both literally and metaphorically. Yes, he was literally below me - lying on the bed with our son's cum staining his forehead, cheeks, and nose - but also, the portrait of the man I saw beneath me was not one that filled me with pride. But god, it sure did turn me on to see him looking like such a pathetic mess, and that only made me love him more.

"Need a towel, honey?" I asked with my sweetest voice.

Donald wiped a glob of cum out of his eye. "Maybe two!"

We laughed together, and I grabbed one of his shirts from the drawer next to the bed. "This will have to do for now."

He shrugged and took the makeshift rag, then used it to methodically wipe off the evidence of our taboo fuck session.

I laid down beside him, our heads resting at the foot of the bed, and cuddled close to him. "Did you have fun?"

Donald was taken aback. "Of course I did! I've never cum that hard in my life!"

Yeah, and it was still nothing compared to what Tom made! I thought.

I kissed his cheek, carving a deep cut into the thick layer on cum that was painted on it. "That's great, honey. I liked it, too."

"So you want to do it again, then?" His voice was full of hope.

It was all I could think about, but I did not want to seem like a total degenerate, so I tried to downplay my interest. "Maybe in a couple days. I think I need to recover from what he did to me."

Donald tilted his head to look at me. "Because it was weird?"

I shrugged. "It was weird, yeah, but that's what I liked. I meant that I need to recover from what he did to me."

"Oh, I see. Sensitive?"

I nodded and pinched my legs together. "It feels like he split me in half, for crying out loud! I feel bad for the next girl who has to try and handle that thing."

Donald laughed and kissed the top of my head. "You are the next girl that's going to try and handle that thing."

I smirked. "Well, obviously I meant the next girl besides his mother. I don't count. I'm special, so I can— oh."

"What's wrong?"

I pointed above our heads. "Um, look."

Dangling over our faces, casting us in shadow, was Tom's steadily throbbing cock. It was semi-erect, and I realized that I had not actually seen it fully soften. I wondered if it had ever reached the point of deflation.

Blood was being sent to the head one pump at a time, slowly returning the half-hard appendage to its former glory. It was as though he had yet to orgasm, and was just getting hard for the first time. I had never witnessed such a spectacular turnaround, but it was impossible to deny that - at least while sleepwalking - Tom's refractory period was almost nonexistent.

Donald recoiled in shock. "Wait, but didn't he just—"

"Trust me, he did." I rubbed my sore pussy lips with my hand.

"What do we do?"

I did not have any answers. I was just as curious as he was.

Words were not necessary for Tom to communicate exactly he wanted from me. He stepped over top of me with a grunt, then hooked his hands under my armpits to drag me further down the bed until my head was hanging off of the edge.

"Uh, honey?" Donald's tone relayed worry.

"I'm okay," I assured with the calmest tone I could fake. "Just let him do what he wants, I'll be fine."

With one hand, Tom fumbled around in search of my tits for a few seconds, then latched on when he found it. His digits sank into the soft dough, and he wrapped his other hand around his dick to jerk himself off.

Tom squatted down until his balls were resting on my lips. Had a man ever been that forceful and careless with me before that night, I would have resisted. With my son, however, I simply went limp and allowed myself to be positioned in any way that he saw fit.

I took a deep breath, but realized halfway through it that I was huffing the scent of Tom's heavy, dangling testicles into my nose. "I think he wants me to suck on his balls."

Donald laughed. "Good luck, kiddo. Mom hates doing that."

My stomach did a somersault. "I... I think I kind of want to."

He said nothing for a few seconds. "But, you hate doing that. Don't you?"

I scratched the heel of my palm with my fingernails. "I won't do it if you don't want me to!" I really, really hoped that he wanted me to.

Donald thought for a moment. "Ask nicely."

"Please?"

"No. Better than that. Be a good whore."

My heart skipped a beat. He had never spoken to me in that way, but I liked it. "Please, Daddy, can I put Tommy's big, swollen balls in my mouth?"

I heard my husband groping his dick. "Good girl. Go ahead."

I licked my lips, hoping that he did not catch the hint of drool that had appeared when Tom had presented his balls to me on a silver platter.

It was true that ball sucking was not something I enjoyed doing. I would on occasion when my husband deserved a treat, but I was not particularly attracted to the feeling of his small testicles bouncing against my tongue.

I did not feel that same sense of aversion towards Tom's balls, and was rather ashamed to admit how curious I was to see if I could fit them both in my mouth at the same time. The tightly pulled sack was the size of a baseball, and I felt slightly anxious at the prospect of trying to wrap my lips around it without ripping something.

Donald sucked in a breath but, as I had requested, did not lift a finger to help me. I could hear how busy he was jerking off while our son returned to mauling my boob with his tightly curled digits. Tom, too, had continued to stroke his cock while he did. Like father, like son.

I had gotten the message, and didn't waste any more time for fear that it would lead to harsher punishment— for me or my husband.

I opened my mouth; my heated breath bathed the underside of my son's testicles in steam. I slowly inched my tongue forward, tentatively seeking his sack. When I nudged it against the swollen orbs, they pulled closer to his body like they were trying to run away from me.

I would not stand for that. I formed a circle with my lips and plugged my maw with one of the hanging eggs. I patiently sucked on it, gradually opening a little wider to cover more area. I slipped my tongue underneath his testicle, laying a path for it to follow that led directly into my waiting mouth. I engulfed the whole thing, then sealed my lips around the bottom.

I brushed the round, bulky mass' smooth surface with long, saliva-laden strokes. I used the very tip of my tongue to poke and prod his ball, fluttering it back and forth over the same spot with the speed of a hummingbird.

I took short, concentrated breaths through my nose in the meantime. One ball was large, but it was not unmanageable. I was not satisfied with my performance, however, and only allowed myself a few seconds' pause before striving to do better.

Donald panted through his mouth. "Can you fit them both?"

I nodded. "Mmhmm!" I wasn't actually as confident as I sounded.

I lifted a hand to my mouth and used a finger to push Tom's second ball towards it. I opened as wide as I could, and sucked in air while I coaxed the sphere inside to wedge beside its twin. The threat of lockjaw loomed, so I made one quick, methodical move to widen my mouth to its limit while I pushed on the back of his testicle with my finger.

The sides of my jaw felt sore, but I had managed what I had feared might be impossible.

I held both hands in the air triumphantly. "Mmph mmhmm mphmm!"

Donald chuckled. "I know, I know. You did such a good job."

I nodded, happily accepting his praise. "Mmm mphm."

I nursed peacefully on Tom's gigantic balls. Their sheer size made it impossible to breathe through my mouth. My only other option was to stop sucking so hard, but I knew it was not a smart one.

Tom was ignorantly jerking his cock with such might that, should I have broken the seal that was keeping him safely stored between my cheeks, a single tug would have yanked his balls right out of my mouth. My lips wiggled back and forth, securing themselves around the root so snugly that his knuckles brushed against them every time he brought his hand down.

His other hand was just a busy, fervently kneading my doughy tit with an iron grip. I knew I would feel the dull, aching pain resonating through my wounded flesh for the following few days, but also that I would wear it proudly. It was a badge that signified the extent to which I had pampered my wonderful son.

That pampering was not being shared in equal measure, and Donald had grown some combination of jealous, impatient, and stupid in the time since I had buried my nose into our son's fat balls. To make up for feeling left out, he reached out and cupped my other breast in his hand. I wondered if he'd seen Tom's joyous jiggling and wanted to have some fun himself. Whatever the reason Tom would not let it fly.

His father's fingers barely touched my skin, but that contact was enough to get him to speak up— though I was not sure that "speak" was the most accurate phrase. Tom growled, rejecting the request to share his prized possession, and angrily stepped over his father with a clenched fist that I saw out of the corner of my eye.

It was tough to see much from my position, but the clues were obvious. My baby boy did not want to share his plaything. He was so caught up in protecting his property that he had not even noticed his balls being pulled out of my mouth. He raised his fist and snarled one powerful, unmistakable word: "Mine."

We had never heard him speak while in a sleepwalking spell, and I could not tell which of us was more surprised. Donald's jaw hung open, breathing through his mouth while his eyes flicked back and forth from his intimidating son to me— the woman underneath him who he had always sworn to protect from situations just like that one.

"I... okay," Donald whimpered, but that was not enough to mollify Tom.

Our son bellowed furiously, the corner of his mouth upturned in a visceral display of discontent. "Mine!" he yelled, raising his fist again.

I had to act quickly. I did not want blood to be drawn, and I knew that I was the only one who could protect my husband from Tom's wrath.

I wrapped one of my hands, and all five little fingers, around the base of Tom's cock and pulled it down so that it was pointing at my mouth. "Tommy, baby, Mommy's here."

I kissed the inflated knob at the end, then fluttered my tongue against it. I worked back and forth on the helmet, my eyes fearfully trained on Donald to see whether or not my tactic had worked.

The dread in my husband's eyes told me that it hadn't yet, so I knew I had to redouble my efforts.

The intricacies of Tom's sleepwalking rage were not random, he wanted something. Violence was avoidable as long as he was distracted, or got what he wanted, which at that moment was me. To keep my husband safe, I would give all of myself to our son at the drop of a hat.

Tommy will be a good boy if I make him happy. It was logic that many mothers go through while raising boys, though it was rarely applied in the method that I intended to.

From underneath the violent behemoth, the only tools at my disposal came from my mouth: wet, sloppy suckling, or desperate pleading.

"Look at Mommy, sweetheart," I mewed in the softest, most motherly voice I could muster. "He didn't mean to touch me. He's sorry. Right, Daddy?"

Tom grumbled, but his anger seemed to dissipate.

"Donald," I whispered to my husband. "Tell him you're sorry for touching me."

He scoffed. "W-what?"

I snapped my fingers, demanding obedience. "Apologize to him!"

"I'm sorry, I guess," Donald snivelled.

I held Tom's cock head in my mouth so that it did not spring away. Then I used all ten of my fingers at once to tickle various spots around his shaft, hoping that the combination of sultry sucking and invigorating tickles would make him focus on me.

It worked, though I immediately found myself second-guessing my approach when Tom urgently shoved his hips forward and embedded his dick in the muggy confines of my - thanks to the surprising thrust - convulsing throat. The supple walls molded around him, perfectly conforming to every bulging vein as they vacuum sealed themselves to his shape.

I released a muffled cry when the baton rammed into me. "Urghh!"

Instinctively, I reached out with one hand and grabbed onto my husband so I could feel some sense of support while our son selfishly bludgeoned my uvula. I fought hard against my body's pleas for mercy, but stifling the urge to wretch when Tom plugged my gullet made tears leak from the corner of my eyes.

I was thankful that Donald could not see the salty droplets running over my forehead to soak into my hairline. If he had, he may not have been horny enough to ask if he could eat me out while Tom fucked my face.

"Can I, Lily?" he begged.

He had never been overly fond of doing that in our many years of marriage, but I was not surprised that his interest had been renewed. There was something magical about involving Tom in our sex life that made me - and apparently, my husband - want to try everything, even if we had previously written it off.

I tried to tell him to "go ahead, honey," which was an obvious error on my part. I should have known that having Tom brutally plummeting into my throat every other second was going to make speech difficult.

The only chances that I had to speak came in the brief moments when he would pull his dick out of my airway, giving me just enough time to spit out the words before he gagged me again.

"Gow— aheag— hogee-" I gurgled.

Forcing the words out had done an identical service for my mouthful of saliva; each utterance ejected a dollop of bubbly spit from my gaping maw that ran down my cheeks. I had to shut my eyes extra hard to ensure that none of it blinded me, and as soon as I did so I felt the warm, slimy goo smother my eyelashes.

Donald shuffled between my legs and dove in, abandoning any sense of foreplay - if it could be called that, considering I had already been filled with cum - so that he could feverishly busy himself with full-fledged pussy eating.

My hands were at my sides, giving my husband something to latch onto while he ate me out. He reached up and pressed our palms together, then interlaced our fingers. We tethered to each other, forming an unbreakable bond while our son, a beast at the whim of his hormones, pulverized my throat into pink paste.

Donald lapped at my cunt, digging his tongue under my clit at the height of each lick. His excited moaning sounded nothing like the sounds he made while fucking me, to say nothing of his near total silence on the few occasions when he'd headed south. It was as though the depravity of what we were doing was providing him with more pleasure than the act of having sex with me ever had.

Both of Tom's hands grabbed my tits as though they were handlebars on a rollercoaster. He squeezed with such strength that I felt blood vessels popping where his fingers dug in, but even that paled in comparison to the cruel pinching of his thumb and finger upon either of my nipples.

The tiny pink buds were too sensitive to endure such torment, but he did not care. He showed no restraint in trying to get his fingers to touch, even when he readjusted his grip so that he was not pinching the nipple itself, but rather my entire areola. I had never wondered before what it would feel like to be milked like a farm animal. In that moment, I think I gained both some insight and some empathy.

In spite of the rough treatment I was enduring, my closed eyes helped me to achieve at least some sense of solace, which in turn afforded me a moment to immortalize the memory in my brain. I knew I would remember the exact shape of the fleshy bulb that was pushing apart my softened throat walls for the rest of my life.

That moment of peace did not last long. I was snapped out of it when Tom bucked his hips and drove his dick to the back of my throat, flattening the spongy head against the squishy wall, and held himself there. He did not pull out that time, and I knew right away that he was not going to ask me to swallow.

He was going to cum, whether I was ready or not, and did not care to give his seed an inch of runway, or me any room to take in air. Instead, he had pushed himself to such a dizzying depth that the first rope of hot, buttery cum was ejected directly into my esophagus. I did not even taste it, but I sure as hell felt it land in my stomach. It was boulder dropped into a calm, reflective pond.

I squeezed my husband's hand so tightly that I felt several of his knuckles crack under the pressure. I looped my legs around the back of his skull and held him against me, burying his nose in my swampy cunt. I was not ignorant to the deluge of Tom's cum that bubbled out of it as my body spasmed from the vicious influx down my throat. In fact, that knowledge turned me on.

Each time Tom throbbed, firing another explosive stream of cum into my tummy, my body convulsed. I would arch my back, my brow furrowed in concentration, and demand my body not succumb to its urge to bring it back up. Each time I did so, I ejected another fat dollop of our baby boy's cream - whatever was left that I had not already pushed out - into his father's mouth.

I heard Donald gasping for air, sputtering wet, muffled breaths as he desperately cried for oxygen, only to be drowned in melted butter instead. At least he had some idea of the turmoil I was experiencing as Tom emptied his balls into my gullet; the two of us were struggling equally to take even the smallest breath.

"I fugging lobe ou, Lilg." He breathed the words into my cunt, only to have his mouth flooded with another spurt of leftover semen. I barely picked up on his subdued proclamation, since his volume was reduced to whatever level my suffocating pussy-mask permitted.

"Mm mmhmm mm, mhm!" I gagged around Tom's cock, unable to find a way to approximate words at all.

What I had tried to say really was true, miraculously enough. I found it incredibly strange to declare - rather, wish to, and attempt to declare -- such profound love for my husband while another man dumped his babies into my stomach, but it was true nevertheless. I felt peculiarly connected to Donald in a way that I never had before, and hoped that he understood the breadth of that affection even though my response to him had been unintelligible.

Tom sawed back and forth, jamming his dick against the wall of meat while he released a final few dribbles. Each of them was still more copious than what Donald typically produced in a whole night, and though I thrived on the performance of sluttery for my husband, I could not imagine having to deal with that much cum every time we had sex.

As our son withdrew his dick from my mouth, I kept the suction tight so that the head would make a loud popping sound when it came out. Tom stumbled backwards into the dresser when he was finally free, and stood there motionless while his dick continued to throb.

I gasped for air, inflating my lungs with as much of the stuff as I could. I wiped the back of my hand across my mouth, clearing away the built up saliva that had been drooling out. With both hands, I wiped the spit out of my eyes and blinked hard a couple of times while opening them as wide as they would go.

"Wow," Donald chimed. "You're really covered."

"I— urk!" I choked on a mixture of half-saliva and half-my-son's-cum. "Ahem! Sorry, honey." I sat up and felt the blood rush from being upside down for so long. "I know, I'm a bit of a mess."

"I think you look beautiful," he declared proudly. "Did you have fun that time, too?"

I nodded with a cheeky grin. "I did, yeah. He's so strong; it makes me feel like a toy."

Donald's cheeks flushed. "And you like that?"

"I do! It's fun to just, like, be a hole for him to use. And you liked it too, right?"

He nodded, and I noticed that the head of his erect cock was poking out of his clenched fist.

"Oh, honey," I bemoaned, "you didn't cum yet?"

He shook his head. "No. I wanted you to do it, when you were done with him."

I gave him a wink. "I think you mean when he was done with me!"

We shared a laugh, and I began walking on my hands and knees towards him. I was truthfully exhausted from what Tom had put me through, but it felt morally wrong to leave Donald hanging after we had wound him up.

I bit my lip seductively. "Is that dick hard for me, Daddy?"

His eyes lit up. "Fuck yes, it is. Get over here and..." No longer alight, his unwavering gaze was trained on the man standing behind me.

I had thought that Tom would put himself to bed as he had the first night, but that fantasy was short-lived. I had not crawled more than a couple of steps towards my husband when I felt a hand grab my ankle.

Tom yanked me away from his father. I reached out my hand, trying to grab onto Donald so he could save me from being dragged away, but only managed to brush our fingertips together before I was hauled off.

Tom pulled me off of the bed; my knees struck the hardwood floor. Before I could climb to my feet, he picked me up and slung me over his shoulder like a sack of flour.

"Donald!" I cried. "DO something!"

I beat against Tom's back with my balled up fists, and kicked my feet in the way that I had always been told to do if someone tried to kidnap me. "Put me down, Tommy!" It was no use; he was too strong.

My husband was useless, and could only watch in wide-eyed horror as our son carried me out of the room. After the shock wore off, he finally came rushing after us, but did not reach me before Tom threw me onto his bed.

It was too dark to see anything but the light from the door, cast from the nightlight in the hallway in case of a late-night bathroom break. From my position on the bed, the dim light from the doorway was shrouded by the menacing, shadowy outline of my lumbering child.

I felt completely alone in the world, having been stolen from my marital bed and thrown onto another without anyone by my side. The only man who could have, in theory, come to my rescue finally did— or so I hoped.

"Honey?" he called from the door, blocked by Tom's towering shape. "Are you in there?"

"Uh-huh," I warbled meekly. "I— he's scaring me, honey. I think he wants me to sleep with him tonight."

To confirm that suspicion, Tom climbed onto the bed and flopped down behind me. He was so massive that the bed lurched when he added his weight to it.

Before I could sneak away, he wrapped his arms around my midsection and held me against him. He buried his face in my neck, then kissed it with no care for the nervous sweat that peppered my skin. Once again, as though the word was seared into his subconscious, he muttered, "Mine."

Donald stepped one foot into Tom's bedroom, but a wicked snarl from the sleeping beast made him recoil in fear. "Lily, sweetheart, I don't... I can't—"

"It's okay!" I cut him off. "I-I'll be okay, honey. Just... leave me with him tonight." The acceptance of my fate tied my stomach in knots. "I'll lock him up when he stops sleepwalking, and come back to you. Okay?"

Donald's shoulders slumped sadly. "O-okay, honey." He turned to leave, but then turned around. "Can I have a kiss before you go?"

"Donald, I don't—"

"Please," he begged. "Just a small one?"

Tom's hold around my tummy made me want to deny him, but the sadness in his voice after having lost me - and gained blue balls in the process - made me want to set things right.

"Just try not to wake him," I pleaded.

My husband crept on his tiptoes over to our son's bed, blindly searching for my face with his hand in the dark. When his fingers brushed my lips, he crouched down and pressed his own against them. Our slumbering overseer allowed but a few scant seconds of connection, and indicated his displeasure with a hearty grumble.

"I'll be okay," I assured him. "Promise. I'll see you tomorrow, and we can talk all about it."

I broke the kiss and tapped my forehead against his. I wanted to make him feel as comfortable and to have as little regret as possible. I hated the idea that he would be going back to our room alone to replay everything that had happened, but more than that, I hated the idea of Tom halfway waking up and punishing us both for disturbing his sleep.

"I love you," I whispered, then gave him one more quick kiss. "Now, please go. He's grabbing my tummy really hard, and I need him to relax."

Donald sighed through his nose. "I love you, too."

He leaned in to give me one more goodbye kiss, but missed my lips because Tom shuffled backwards, dragging me away from him and further into the dark den of shadow.

I could barely see my husband's face, and I knew that, in the cover of darkness, I was completely invisible to him. I knew, however, that he could clearly hear me sniffle "Please go, honey."

I had thoroughly enjoyed what had happened that night, and already knew that I wanted to try it again. It still hurt, though, to end on such a sour note. I did not worry for my safety, since Tom was already starting to snore after a few minutes of cuddling, but I did worry that Donald was going to regret giving me away for the night.

Being a cuckold was one thing, but I don't think either of us expected for me to be literally carried away as though Tom were a barbarian that had conquered our homeland and pillaged my body for everything it was worth.

It took about ten more minutes until Tom officially fell asleep. His sleep walk was over, and I was able to slip out of his arms without too much effort. It was difficult to attach the buckles and straps in the darkness, but I had done so for years, and used that training to secure as many of the locks as I could.

There was little chance of him walking again that night, but it needed to look right in the morning so that he would not become suspicious. With the exception of my son's cum trickling down my leg as I walked down the hall to my bedroom, there was no evidence that he had ever gotten out of his bed.

Donald was asleep when I got into ours. I cuddled up behind him, acting as the big spoon after Tom had made me the little spoon. Just like his son, he snored at a pitch, and with a frequency, that I had always found soothing. I never snored, as far as I knew, but found the sound to be akin to an oscillating fan.

With everything that had happened, I could not imagine how he had fallen asleep so quickly. I was awake for at least two hours pondering the consequences of what we'd done -- and, more enthusiastically, what we would do next.

We had opened Pandora's Box, and I, at least, was so hooked on what had flown out of it that I could not imagine even trying to imprison it once more. It was my husband's sudden, sound, and noisy sleep, of all things, that convinced me that he felt much the same.

I knew that that night would not be the last time we flirted with danger - when we would rouse a giant who was so gentle both when awake and when asleep, but to whom some priapistic trickster god had granted a remarkable third state of being.

That sexual beast's words rang in my head -- or rather, his singular word. His declaration of ownership had filled my gut with butterflies, and they were revived each time I remembered the way my skin had shivered when he'd first uttered it.

"Mine."

"Mine."

"Mine."

It would not take long for all of us - mommy, daddy, and son - to realize just how true that word was, but as I finally chased down the state that Donald had found so swiftly, there was another word that played on a loop in my brain:

His.

His.

His.