Mom & The Full Moon

Author's note:

HAPPY HALLOWEEN!

For the past two years, I've found myself writing a spooky story for the monthly contest that I ended up really enjoying, and this year was no exception.

I wanted to do something a little darker to really get into the spirit of seasonal scares, so BE AWARE that this story has elements of non-consent and cucking running throughout it. I know those things can be a turn off for some readers, but I think Halloween is the perfect time to step out of our comfort zones and try something new and kinky!

I hope you thoroughly enjoy what you read,

-CK

**********

The sun was just starting to set in the early October sky, casting a dull, orange glow over the leaves scattered on our front lawn. The smell of damp flora, shelled by an artillery barrage of raindrops for the past two hours, was present down the entire street, or at least our block.

Inside our house, the far cozier scent of banana nut muffins lingered in every corner - a purposeful contrast to the spooky decorations we were putting up as a family once again. I'd been baking them ever since our son, David, had been born. Eighteen years later, I thought I'd finally nailed the recipe.

Christmas is nice and Thanksgiving is alright, but Halloween is when I feel the most in tune with my inner holiday spirit. It was the smells of mid-autumn carried on a brisk breeze, and the kaleidoscope of changing colors, that made me adore the season.

That night, I was bustling around the house putting up Halloween decorations. While half-listening to "The Monster Mash" on the radio, I wound a web of haunting lights through the kitchen chandelier, standing on the chair so my stubby arms could reach it.

My husband's voice came from the doorway behind me as he entered the kitchen. "Do they have to play this every year?"

I twisted around, almost losing my balance, and blew a stubborn coil of blonde hair out of my eyes. "Hey! Don't knock the classics, Allen. If it ain't broke, don't fix it."

He chuckled, leaning against the frame with that adorable half-smile of his, then pointed up at the lights. "A bit tacky for the kitchen, don't you think?"

I stomped a sock-covered foot on the chair for emphasis and pointed an accusatory finger at him. "Do not insult my cool props!" Then I held out my hand, palm up. "Help a lady down, please."

He made a ridiculous little bow, flourishing one hand. "M'lady."

I accepted his outstretched fingers and hopped down, making the chair creak as I took my weight off of it. Once my feet touched down on the linoleum, I gave him a quick curtsey. "Sir."

As I started past him, he gave my ass a firm, familiar smack, the echo of which bounced around the kitchen like a snare. Only then did he deign to ask where I was going.

I paused mid-step and gave my hips a deliberate little jiggle so my ass cheeks bounced under my yoga pants. "You talking to me, or my butt?"

"Whoever's listening, I guess."

"Well, we are going to see if you've fixed the front door yet."

The sigh he made was of comical annoyance. "I told you I'd get to it, didn't I?"

I knew exactly what that meant— another month of "gentle" reminders before the sticky latch finally made it onto his actual to-do list. I rolled my eyes, still trying to keep the mood light even as a familiar flicker of annoyance made my eye twitch. "I've heard that one before."

His expression tightened. "I said I'll get to it. Jeez, Kitty."

"When, exactly?" I asked, sharper than I'd meant to. "I swear, Allen, sometimes it's like you... you just put your damn head in the sand and hope the problem fixes itself."

I walked off before he could get out another word that would annoy me further.

I headed to the front door and pushed it open. The house took a deep breath, sucking in a whole floor full of that decadent autumn smell from the wet pavement and leaves on our front lawn.

David—or "Stitch," the nickname that had stuck since he'd been a toddler—was crouched on the grass, driving the last of the foam tombstones into the soft earth.

He wasn't a muscular boy—never had been—but he was still strong enough to lift me, if only just. His narrow shoulders and lean arms were the kind that looked like they might fold under a heavy bag of mulch, but his true strength was more than just physical. He always showed up when I asked, never letting me down if he could help it. Even the heaviest, most annoying decorations that Allen would grumble about for half an hour before "forgetting" to move, David would schlep without complaint.

I stopped at the edge of the porch and took in the little graveyard he'd made. "Looking good out here."

He glanced up and smiled under the shaggy brown bangs that nearly hid his eyes. "Thanks, Mom. It has a certain... je nes sais quoi?"

I raised an eyebrow. "What does that mean, smarty pants?"

He shrugged. "I don't know, what?"

I shook my head and laughed at his adorable naivety. "Guess it'll stay a mystery, Stitch."

He wiped his hands on his jeans, knocking loose a few blades of wet grass. "Doesn't matter anyway. Do you need more help inside?"

I let out a theatrical sigh. "Yeaaaah... Help with your father, that is."

We shared the same knowing look we'd perfected over the years.

"The door is still sticking, huh?" he asked. "You know, I could literally just grab the WD-40 and—"

"No!" I yelped, then softened my tone after a quick shake of my head. "No, no. That'll only upset him."

Stitch rolled his bright blue eyes, which he'd been lucky enough to inherit from me. "But it's gonna be another month before he even thinks about fixing it."

I pursed my lips, then let the irritation drain away with a gentle exhalation. "I'm happy you're helping out, at least. It takes a load off my plate, that's for sure."

"Happy to," he said, simply and sincerely. "I'd do anything for you, Mom."

The words landed warm in my chest, even though he'd meant them as nothing more than a passing phrase. "Right back at you," I said, blowing him an air kiss. "We've gotta get you a haircut soon, by the way. You look like a big ol' pooch!"

He put his hands out in front of him like a dog and let out a loud, playful "Woof!"

I rolled my eyes with an amused chuckle. "Good boy, Stitch."

He gave the last tombstone a final shove into the earth, then brushed the dirt from his hands and walked over to me by the front door. He glanced past me into the house, making sure his father wasn't within earshot before speaking in a lower voice. "Hey, uh... is Dad being weird about Grandpa this year?"

I shifted my weight from one foot to the other, suddenly aware of the chill seeping through my thin blouse. "He hasn't said anything specific yet, but I know it's on his mind. Can you blame him?"

"Not really," David said, stepping closer to me as he continued to scan the inner house for a surprise appearance. "I mean, if he ran away from us on Halloween, I'd sure as hell be stewing about it every year, too."

I nodded. "I never even met his dad. It feels so weird, you know? He's just this, like, mythical being— only legends and fables, that stuff. I mean, Christ! What kind of woman doesn't know her own damn father-in-law?"

David chuckled. "I don't think Grandpa is a 'mythical being,' Mom. If he was, and I didn't inherit any superpowers, I'd feel kind of cheated."

I bumped him lightly with my shoulder. "You know what I mean, though, right?"

He shrugged. "Have you tried asking Dad about him?"

I chewed the inside of my cheek. "Not for a while, no. Last time... he didn't take it well. I don't think he likes talking about it."

"Well, what about Grandma?"

"No," I said. The word came out faintly, and I realized I'd been considering it before I'd even answered. "I mean, I haven't spoken to her since you were born. According to your dad, Miriam's turned into a friggin' nutcase, anyway."

Another biting chill made me shiver, and I rubbed my forearms to soothe the goosebumps peppering my skin. "I'm gonna head inside, sweetheart. Are you almost done out here?"

"Close enough, yeah."

"Good," I said, forcing a brighter note into my voice. "Then we can pick something scary to watch after dinner— vampire, werewolf, something with a little bite."

He narrowed his eyes at me. "There's nothing scary about classic movie monsters anymore, Mom."

I shrugged, already turning to head back into the house. "I dunno, Stitch. Some of those werewolf movies still give me the heebie-jeebies. Just imagine one of those big, hairy beasts coming after you!"

David suddenly curled his fingers into crude claws, bared his teeth, and let out a menacing snarl. He shuffled towards me, driving me backward through the open front door with exaggerated, lurching steps.

I played along, letting out a shrill shriek as he chased me into the foyer. "Help! Help me!"

Once inside, he threw his head back and let loose a wavering howl at a moon that hadn't even risen yet. He pounced on me, but only for a hug, ensnaring me in his arms as he made more mock noises of ferocity.

Never one to give up on a fight, I reached out to pinch his earlobe between my thumb and forefinger. I yanked on it, pulling just enough to earn compliance without hurting him too badly.

"Ah!" he yelped. "Ow! Ow!"

"Bad dog!" I shouted firmly, but I could only hold the faux frown for a couple of seconds before the two of us fell into a fit of laughter.

He rubbed his wounded ear. "That hurts!"

I pinched my fingers together. "I got the magic touch."

"I'll say! I bet that trick would wake me out of a friggin' coma!"

We bellowed with laughter again, and the noise bounced off the walls just as the sound of my husband's hurried footsteps came thundering down the stairs. When he appeared, staring at us over the banister, his face was white, eyes wide with something close to horror. The moment he registered the two of us standing there, he stopped short and visibly forced himself to settle.

"Sorry, I—" He swallowed hard, and I could see the lump travel down his throat from where I stood in the foyer. "I thought I heard something."

I tilted my head. "Like us laughing?"

He shook his head too quickly. "The growling was... Never mind."

I shot David a quick look out of the corner of my eye, then crossed to the foot of the stairs where Allen still gripped the banister hard enough to turn his knuckles pale. "Can we talk, honey?"

He nodded stiffly. "Uh, sure."

I glanced back at David. "Set the table for dinner, Stitch? We'll be down in a bit."

Upstairs, I guided Allen to the foot of our bed and sat him down, resting a hand on his thigh. "You're feeling on edge again, right?" I asked quietly, like I was speaking to a scared puppy. "Like last year?"

He gave a rigid nod.

"Is it about your dad?"

He nodded again, tighter that time. A wince crossed his face that might have been the start of a tear he refused to let fall.

"It's starting early this year," I murmured, rubbing slow circles over his leg. "Last year you were okay right up until Halloween night."

"Well, this year is different," he mumbled.

"That's okay. Wanna tell me why?"

He didn't answer, so I prompted him with a gentle shake of his leg. "You can tell me this stuff, you know? I still don't know anything about him other than the fact that he left when you were little."

Allen stared at the carpet for a long moment. "He had... something wrong with him. All I know is that it ripped the family apart— drove my mom out of her mind and forced him to disappear so he wouldn't hurt anyone else."

Shivers rose along my arms at the thought of that kind of damage reaching our own little family. "Oh... you mean like schizophrenia? Is he sick?"

His nostrils flared. "He isn't sick. He's... cursed."

The word hung in the bedroom like smog.

"Cursed?" I asked, trying not to sound too dumbfounded. "By what, exactly?"

"The hell if I know," he said flatly. "I don't have it. Whatever it is, apparently it skips a generation, so..."

He trailed off, and his words took a second to settle in, but when I realized the implication, I felt my stomach wind into a thousand different knots.

"David?" I yelped at a higher octave than normal. "So it's genetic? You think he's sick, or cursed, or whatever it is?"

"I don't know."

I waited, but nothing more came. "What? That's it? You just... You don't know anything?"

"I don't know, Kitty," he repeated, irritation seeping into his words.

I threw my hands up. "Come on! We have to find out. If this is something that could affect our son—"

Allen held both palms up, cutting me off. "I don't want to talk about this right now."

I recoiled. "Then when, huh? You're telling me that my son might have some mystery disease—"

"Curse."

"Curse, whatever, and you aren't going to do anything about it?"

He pinched the bridge of his nose and let out a long, controlled breath. "Not right now, no."

I scoffed, the familiar frustration making the air in my lungs feel like steam, ready to come out at any second. "Typical! Just put your head in the sand and wait for the problem to fix itself."

He didn't even seem to have the energy to get angry, and completely ignored my invitation to bicker. "Sometimes it's really mild, you know? My dad had it bad—real bad—but maybe David will be alright."

My eyebrow twitched. "Maybe? Is that enough for you?"

He didn't answer. He just stared down at his hands, thumbs circling each other.

"Unbelievable," I said. "Does David know about this already? We have to tell him!"

"No. There's no sense freaking him out when it could end up being nothing."

"Unless it is something," I countered.

"Maybe," Allen muttered again. "We'll just have to wait and see."

I let the silence stretch, then gave a short nod, as if I agreed. But inside, I'd already decided what I was going to do next— where to start looking.

That night, while Allen stood at the bathroom sink brushing his teeth, I slipped his phone off the nightstand and quietly copied Miriam's number into mine. I thought about what I would say for hours after he fell asleep, turning the same useless phrases over and over. By the time the first muted sunbeams filtered through our dusty blinds, the only question I had managed to settle on was the blunt one: What the hell is going on?

*****

I waited until Allen left for work the next morning before I dialed. The voice that answered was nothing like the batty hermit he had always described, but the sweet, bubbly tone of personified cola. We spoke for only a few minutes, but she didn't say anything that made me fear for my safety. We arranged to meet for coffee in Belleville— a few hours' drive north of me. I knew Allen would be gone all day, so the timing was perfect.

I hastily told David I was meeting an old college friend for lunch. I was slightly afraid to lie to him, but he barely looked up from his phone when I told him I was "stepping out." I took the second car and left before I could change my mind— which, to be honest, I thought about doing several times.

Obviously, I was not doing anything as brash as cheating on my husband, but going behind his back still put a sickly feeling in my gut. I supposed that talking to his mother without telling him was a bit sneaky, not to mention the phone heist, but I was desperate for answers.

The coffee shop Miriam had picked sat on a quiet corner of Belleville's little downtown area. She was already there when I walked in, seated by the window with a paper cup between her hands.

I stopped short, checking the walls and ceilings to make sure there were no hidden cameras. She looked... normal— totally, absolutely normal. She was neatly dressed, her hair was trimmed, and her makeup was both subtle and careful. It was nowhere close to what I'd envisioned when Allen had talked about her.

She noticed my expression and gave a small, almost shy smile. "Hi, Kitty."

I closed my slackened jaw. "Miriam! Wow, you... I didn't recognize you. I mean, I did, but you don't look— I expected you to look, um..."

She gave her head a nearly imperceptible shake. "Crazy? I was wondering what kinds of things Allen was telling you to keep you and my grandson from visiting."

I had the sudden urge to flee before things became any more real, but I boldly sat down in the chair across from her. Under the table, however, I clasped my shaking hands together to look more composed. "He didn't use that word, exactly."

Miriam's smile turned sad. "I guess I was a bit off my rocker for a while. It's a good thing you didn't try to call me ten years ago. I was... well, I wasn't myself for a long time."

"Why?" The question came out sharper than I intended. "What happened, exactly? He won't tell me a damn thing."

She wrapped both hands around her cup and met my eyes. "I will tell you. And when you don't believe me, I won't take it personally."

Miriam stared into her coffee for a long moment before she spoke again, finally lifting her head to look at me. "He didn't disappear the way Allen thinks. I knew where he was the whole time— still do, too. I never told him that he... My husband, Richard, is living with his mother full time. She's the only one who could keep the symptoms in check, so... it has to be this way."

I had a thousand questions, but I listened patiently.

"The origins of it... No one in the family ever really knew. Maybe they did—I don't know—but they sure as hell never wrote it down. Richard's side carries it, generation after generation. It tore us apart the same way it tore his parents apart before us. One day he was my husband, and the next he was... something I couldn't reach anymore."

I frowned, the words not quite landing. "What do you mean 'keep the symptoms in check?'"

Miriam's voice dropped. "Only a mother's touch can stop the men in our family from turning when the full moon comes."

The café noise seemed to pull away from us, isolating me in a world that felt far more foreign than a mundane coffee shop.

"Turning into what?" I asked, anxiety tightening my throat.

"Richard never let me watch it happen," she explained. "He always said he was too afraid of what he might do, but he described it once. 'A beast controlled by pure lust,' he said— something that would 'take whatever it wanted and not stop until it was finished.'"

I let out a sharp laugh of disbelief. "Are you talking about a... a fucking werewolf, Miriam? A horny werewolf? What the— Just how dumb do you think I am? It sounds like Richard just got bored of you and left!"

She winced at the edge in my voice, but didn't look away. "I'm sorry that you're choosing to believe that. You can lash out at me if you want; it's okay. I don't expect you to believe me yet."

"And exactly when will this insanity sound convincing?"

"Halloween is a few weeks from now," she explained. "It should line up with the next full moon. I suppose you'll know by then how strong his affliction is. Maybe he'll just get hornier than usual, like a big, dumb cat in heat. Or maybe..."

I rolled my eyes. "Maybe?"

Her lip twitched. "Maybe you won't even recognize the thing your son becomes."

The hairs on the back of my neck stood up one by one in a matter of seconds. I still didn't believe her— not really. The whole story was ridiculous. It was the kind of thing you heard in bad late-night movies, or, considering the sexual twist, an even worse porno. I thought it was stupid, but still, something deeper than reason was making my body react. The instinctual fear couldn't be argued with, only felt, and holy shit did it ever feel real. The only thing my body wanted to do with that feeling was run, so that's what I did.

I stood up with a sharp huff, scraping the metal legs of my chair against the floor. "I don't know why I came here. This was a waste of time."

Miriam's voice stayed cautiously optimistic. "I hope you're right. If not... you will be the only one who can help my grandson. When the time comes, I hope you'll do what needs to be done before it's too late."

I paused. "Too late?"

She nodded once, which did not at all prepare me for the importance of the speech she was about to give. "Wait too long after the craving sets in and it'll be permanent— moon or no moon. That's what happened to my Richard. He has flare-ups every night now. That's why he lives with Deborah, his mother. He used to just visit her every lunar cycle, and he would come back to me just the way he'd left."

I knew she was about to tell me something even more disturbing, but I didn't turn and walk away— or run. Curiosity got the best of me every which way, winning out even against the pangs of sympathy I felt for a woman who, whatever her other afflictions, was clearly scarred.

I told myself that whatever had happened to her was long past, and only her painful memories remained. Whether they tracked with reality was another matter entirely.

She took a patient sip of her coffee, letting the warm drink sit in her mouth for a couple of seconds before swallowing. "One night, Richard... he fell asleep on the drive to see her, I suppose— crashed right into a light pole. An ambulance showed up to take him to the hospital and he just... wasn't there. The car was empty. They thought he must've hit a dog or something, what with all the fur everywhere, but there were no bodies. He stumbled home the next morning, but he never told me where he'd been or what he might've... d-done. He was never the same after that. It got worse every year, and eventually he—we, I mean—thought it best that he just... stay with Deborah from then on."

I finally exhaled a breath that I did not know I'd been holding. "Jesus. I'm sorry. That's fucking horrible. Why can't you do something about it?"

Her eyes were wet when she looked up at me. "Because I'm not his mother, Kitty. It's that simple."

The words landed like a stone. Unwanted images flashed behind my eyes— the idea of my own son's body over mine, thrusting into me—and I shook my head hard, trying to fling them away. They clung anyway, sticky and vile, and the frustration of not being able to erase them only made my voice sharper.

"Thanks for meeting me, Miriam," I announced abruptly. "This has been... really fucking weird, honestly."

Miriam stood upright with a quickness that belied her age. Then she reached across the table and took both of my hands in a sincere, surprisingly strong grip. "I don't envy you. I was lucky to escape the curse. Your daughter would have skipped, too, if you'd had one. Your grandson will be just as fortunate, but his children... Sometimes the curse is strong, sometimes it is weak, but it never forgets. It skips a generation, but it always comes back for the eldest son."

I tried to pull free. "Thanks, Miriam, but I—"

Her fingers tightened hard enough to hurt. "I know you don't believe me! But when you do— and you will— just remember that you will be the only one that can help him."

I snatched my hands back and clutched them to my chest. "Okay, okay! I get it!"

She immediately stepped back, palms raised. "Sorry. I-I didn't mean to frighten you. I just... I know you're a good mother, so I know you'll do the right thing. I'm just scared."

I was a good mother— a great one. I had known it the day they'd placed David in my arms. I did not even consider it courageous to know that I would jump in front of a bullet for him; it was my duty. Still, the idea of using my body in such a carnal way, even to keep him safe, had never once crossed my mind.

Those questions followed me all the way home. I didn't turn on the radio. I just drove, hands tight on the wheel, the miles sliding past in silence while the same daunting horrors played on a loop through my head.

That heightened sense of awareness infiltrated every day of the next several weeks, and it only grew worse the closer we crept toward Halloween. I checked the calendar constantly, each time hoping I had simply misread it the last two dozen times, but every glance delivered the same cold confirmation: Halloween night would fall under a full moon.

Some days I found myself obsessing over the things she'd said, and others I managed to wave her words away long enough to feel almost normal again.

Maybe she really is as crazy as Allen always said, I would tell myself, trying to push the darker thoughts back into their corner. She was probably making the whole damn thing up, just trying to scare me because she's... she's... just batshit friggin' crazy!

I tried to bring it up with Allen a couple of times, but he blew up whenever I did. On some level, I understood why the touchy subject was met with backlash. I could see how I might have sounded like I was defending the man who had ruined his childhood. I considered telling him Miriam's version of events, but that felt even crueler than letting him stay in the dark.

So I stopped. About a week before Halloween, I simply quit mentioning it, and the strategy worked. By the time the evening itself arrived, Allen had mostly returned to his usual self. I had never met anyone so skilled at the head-in-the-sand approach, and if I hadn't known better, I would have sworn his memory had been wiped clean of every uncomfortable conversation we'd had about it.

At the very least, I completely shielded David from the drama. He remained unaware of the quiet war I was fighting inside my own head, and I intended to keep it that way for as long as possible. I hoped that his symptoms, if they existed at all, would turn out to be mild— nothing more than a big cat in heat, restless and overheated for the night, the way Miriam had hoped.

*****

Halloween night arrived— the dreaded evening where I would find out if my mother in law had been telling the truth. When I woke up, David's alleged curse weighed heavily on my mind, but as the hours passed, I found myself getting swept away by the holiday spirit.

After dinner, I was finishing the last of the dishes when Allen walked into the kitchen dressed as Han Solo. The white shirt, the black vest, the low-slung holster— he still filled it out well. At his request, I was of course in a Princess Leia costume that suited his standards. The flowy white dress and cinnamon-bun hair were far more modest than the sultry slave outfit he'd requested at first, but I actually thought the dress and high, tightly wound coils suited me better.

He stopped in the doorway and looked me up and down. "You look fucking amazing, Kitty."

Heat rose in my cheeks. I loved that, even after all these years, he could still do that to me with nothing but words. I blew him a quick kiss. "Help me, Allen. You're my only hope."

The noise he made could only be described as a nerdy guffaw, and he had to grab the table to stay upright. Even though I knew he was probably exaggerating the reaction, it still thrilled me to even deserve half of that infatuation.

"You remembered the line!" he exclaimed gleefully.

I gave him an extra salacious wink as I dried my hands on a towel. "I told you this would be fine. The other costume was too... obvious."

He grinned, gracing me with that devilish little curve of the mouth I knew too well. "Yeah, but you would've looked great as a kinky lil' sex slave."

I shot a panicked glance around the kitchen, as if David might be hiding any given corner. "Hey! I told you I'd wear that for you, and you only. If I'm gonna be Princess Leia, I'm not gonna be the version where her— where my, like... friggin' tits are hanging out!"

Allen's eyes widened for a second as he envisioned it. "Slave Leia... Slave Kitty."

I rolled my eyes, but truthfully, I was charmed. "You'd better hope he doesn't hear you talking like that. You're gonna scar that poor boy for life."

David was in the family room with a scary movie turned up loud, so I didn't actually think he'd overheard. Still, the idea of him even imagining me in something that slutty made my stomach twist.

A headache had been enough to keep him home from his friend's Halloween party, and he hadn't dressed up at all. I felt bad for him missing out on all the fun, and didn't want to pressure him into pretending for my sake.

Allen stepped closer and gently steered me a few paces farther from the doorway, out of easy earshot. "Hey, thank you, by the way, for letting things go. I know you're still thinking about it—the curse, you know—so just... thanks. It means a lot that you stopped mentioning it."

I gave him a thin smile. "No sense worrying about it, right?"

"Exactly!" He brightened. "You'll see. We've got nothing to worry about, I promise. David is nothing like my dad."

My smile weakened at the edges. "I hope you're right, honey."

The sun was just beginning its descent, stretching long shadows across the neighborhood that served as a calling card for every costumed child to hit the streets. The further it set, though, the higher my anxiety climbed.

Through the kitchen window over the sink, I watched the moon rise above the trees— full, pale, and bright as a spotlight aimed directly at our house. It was as though some invisible figure high above were shining it through the glass, putting me on the spot to highlight just how close I was to finding out the truth.

I shook my head and yanked the blinds shut, but not before I caught sight of a little Scooby-Doo and a pink fairy skipping down the sidewalk toward our porch. Seconds later, the doorbell rang, and Allen's footsteps crossed the foyer.

The cheerful chorus of "Trick or treat!" flooded me with nostalgia, and I longed for the days when my own boy had been their age. I was pulled straight back to the years I had taken him out by myself— always Batman. Those warm memories lasted only a heartbeat before the reminder of the curse slid over them like a stain.

A frigid chill cut across my skin even though the window was closed, like a ghost had just walked straight through me. I heard the shifting of weight as my son rose from the living room couch, bathed in shadows from the low lit den.

The hair on the back of my neck stood up. "Sti-tch?" My voice cracked on the nickname.

He made a sound that wasn't quite words— just a low, rough grumble.

I froze with my back to him, too frightened to turn. "Are you okay, sweetheart?"

Another grumble rolled up from deep in his throat. My heart dropped into my stomach.

I bit down on my tongue and forced myself to turn slowly, dreading whatever I might see. Just as he came into the edge of my vision, he coughed hard into his elbow.

"Fuck," he muttered, tugging a blanket tighter around his shoulders like a shawl. "I feel like crap."

Relief hit me so hard I actually sighed out loud and let go of the counter. I hadn't even realized I'd been gripping it. Motherly instinct flooded back in at once. "What's wrong? Are you alright, sweetheart?"

"Just feeling totally, unbelievably shitty," he announced. "Just my head was hurting at first, but now my whole body feels like it's on fire."

The last of the tension drained from my muscles. "Oh, thank god. You're getting sick!"

He arched an eyebrow at me. "I know? You seem weirdly happy about it, though."

I shook my head quickly. "Gah! Ignore me. I'm just saying it could be worse, that's all."

He coughed into his elbow again. "It gets worse than this? My bones feel like they're made of glass."

I grinned wide, giddy with relief. "Sounds like the flu to me. It's just a normal, regular, stupid flu."

He looked completely confused. "Uh, okay then? If it's all right, I'm gonna go upstairs and curl up in a little ball for a few days... or weeks."

I blew him a kiss. "I'll bring you up some soup in a little bit."

"Chicken noodle?"

I winked. "It's what I'm famous for."

He shrugged his shoulders up around his ears, looking almost embarrassed. "God, I sound so spoiled. You do too much for me, Mom."

If I hadn't been worried about catching whatever he had, I would have crossed the kitchen and hugged him hard enough to pop his head off like a dandelion. "I'd do anything for you, Stitch. That's what mothers are for."

"Well, you're a really good mom, then." He started up the stairs one careful step at a time, moving like a man three times his age.

I hated seeing him so wrecked, but it was still infinitely better than the alternative. At least when he looked back at me, I still recognized those bright blue eyes. When I looked at that pale, shivering boy—two steps away from throwing up—I could not imagine him as some "beast controlled by lust." For Christ's sake, he could barely walk!

Allen came back from the door just as David disappeared upstairs. "What was that about?"

"The flu!" I squealed, almost laughing with relief. "He's sick, hon."

Allen's face lit with triumph. "Told you it was nothing! Whatever my mom told you was probably a load of crap."

I leaned in and gave him a quick peck on the lips. "I'm sorry I was so freaked out."

He didn't let me pull away, sliding his arms around my waist and holding me there. "How will I ever forgive you?"

I nipped playfully at his chin. "I can think of a few ways..."

He kissed me again, lingering for several long seconds before he finally drew back. "Maybe David will go to bed early and we can work something out."

I pressed my hips forward so my crotch brushed the front of his pants, where I could already feel his cock beginning to harden. "Trick or treat, handsome."

"I'll take whichever one you are," he growled, and reached down to pinch my butt through the fabric of the dress.

The sharp little sting made me giggle like a teenager. "Candy first, mister. Then you can have your treat."

"Yes, m'lady."

For the first time in weeks, things felt almost normal again. I scolded myself silently for how completely one conversation with a woman I barely knew had derailed me. I had let myself believe my son was on the verge of becoming some sex-crazed monster, and I felt like a total idiot for giving the idea so much power.

A couple of hours slipped by while we handed out candy to more than two dozen groups of trick-or-treaters. I loved every one of them, but sadly, there were fewer Batmans—Batmen?—than ever. Princesses, superheroes, and cowboys all tugged at the old ache of missing the years when David had been small enough to bounce with excitement over Halloween.

As the gaps between visitors stretched longer, I decided it was time for the soup I'd promised. Allen took over door duty while I heated a can of Lipton's on the stove. When it was ready I set the bowl on a plate lined with saltine crackers and started for the stairs.

"Hey," Allen said just as I reached the bottom step. "Most of the trick-or-treaters have stopped. Maybe if he's asleep we can, uh... get you out of that dress a little early?"

I winked at him over the steaming bowl. "Good thing you're so concerned for him, honey."

"I am!" he insisted as I ascended the stairs, deliberately swaying my hips to remind him exactly what he was craving. "I am!" he called again, but I was already gone.

I knocked lightly on David's door. "You still awake, Stitch?"

There was no answer.

The overhead light was off. I nudged the door open anyway. "Stitch? I brought you some— Oh. What the... Oh my god, what is that smell?"

It wasn't outright disgusting, but it was strong— thick enough to hang in the air like dense vapor. I could taste it at the back of my throat: musty and salted with sweat, with a pungent undertone. His whole room had become a cave where no air had escaped for months.

I fumbled along the wall until I found the switch and flicked it on.

One look at the bed was all it took. The bowl slipped from my hands and shattered on the floor. Scalding broth flooded over my bare feet, but I barely felt it.

"S-stitch..." My voice came out thin and warbling. My eyes stayed locked on the large lump under the covers. "Are you—"

The words died when he looked at me.

From beneath the blankets, two beady orange dots fixed on mine. They shone with a faint, curious glow that had nothing to do with the ceiling light— backlit by something too ominous to be human.

"MooOOoom..." he droned. It sounded like a plea— a soldier on the battlefield calling out for the last thing he hoped would keep him safe.

His voice was deeper than I had ever heard it. Underneath the familiar cadence of his voice ran a second sound. The low, gravelly rumble turned the single word into something almost doubled, and something about that second tone put my nervous system on high alert: Danger! Run!

I did run, but it was to his bedside, where I crouched down, my voice shrill with panic. "Stitch, y-your eyes!"

I reached out to cradle the side of his face. My fingertips grazed the sharp new jut of his cheekbones, then glided lower. Just before they reached his ear, they brushed hair— thicker, denser, and more than there should have been.

"What the fuck?" I squealed, snatching my hand back and stumbling upright. I kept going until my ass hit the closet door. The air wouldn't come properly; I could only gasp. "David, there's f-fu-fur!"

He sat up hard, shoving the blankets away, and clapped both hands over his ears. "What the fuck? What the fuck!" The horror on his face was plain, but I was already staring at something else.

His chest had changed. A dense forest of dark, thick hair covered his upper chest. Even his forearms, which had always been nearly smooth, were blanketed in the same menacing fur— so dark it seemed to swallow the light around it.

The narrow torso I knew was gone, and in its place were jutting abs and sculpted shoulders that looked like they belonged on a different man entirely. Muscles that should have taken weeks of brutal work to build had appeared in less than an hour, defying everything I knew about the human body.

"Chest," I said flatly, unable to blink. "Arms..."

He looked down at himself, then up at me, then down again. "What's happening to me? I don't— Why do I look like this? What the fuck is going on?" His voice climbed higher with every word, and was soon enough to get his father's attention.

"Guys?" Allen called from downstairs, already making his way up to our son's bedroom. "Everything okay?"

"Dad!" David yelped. "Help!" Even through the crack in his voice, the sound that came out of him was twice as deep as his father's.

Allen's footsteps changed immediately, and I knew he was taking the steps two at a time. "I'm coming!" he shouted heroically. Seconds later, he burst into the bedroom behind me. "What's go—"

He stopped dead. I watched the color drain from his face as he took in the scene: the horror on mine, the raw fear on our son's, and the impossible body that occupied the bed.

"No..." he mumbled. "No way. No, it can't be real."

David surged to his feet and crossed the room in two long strides. "What is happening to me?"

Both of us recoiled at the same moment. He had grown at least a full foot taller than the young man who had gone upstairs with a headache. The change in perspective clearly hit him hardest; he stared around the room as if the ceiling had dropped.

Then he reached up and easily laid his palm flat against it. "I'm fu... fucking huge!"

His boxers were already ruined, stretched to the limit and split in several places, the fabric barely clinging as new muscle pushed through the tears.

Allen raised both hands the way someone might try to calm a cornered animal. "Easy now, son. We can figure this out. I'm sorry."

"You're sorry?" David's voice cracked and deepened at once.

"I— yeah. It's... My father... It's a curse, David."

"A family curse," I added. My own voice sounded minuscule between the two of them.

David's head snapped toward me, then back to his father. "A family curse? So, you... you did this to me?"

Allen's mouth opened and closed. "Well, I-I don't—"

"You did this to me!" The words came out in a snarl, sending spittle all over my husband. His canines had lengthened into gleaming points that were sharp enough to punch through metal.

I watched the rest of the change continue in real time. The soft lobes of David's ears shrank and vanished while the upper curves stretched upward into sharp points. Fur erupted around them, doubling in thickness within seconds.

He dropped back onto the bed, head buried in his hands, and let out a raw wail of pure pain. "My head hurts so fucking badly! Make it stop!"

His fingernails, already lengthening into proper claws, dug into his temples hard enough to draw blood. The hair on the backs of his knuckles thickened and joined the dense fur on his forearms, forming continuous dark-brown strips that ran all the way up to his shoulders.

It was abhorrent watching his body rewrite itself right in front of me, and I had no way to stop it... or so I thought, helplessly. It took a few seconds of fight-or-flight before I remembered there was something I could do— something only I could do.

"A mother's touch," I mumbled hazily.

"What?" Allen asked, kind of annoyed. "What the hell does that mean?"

"It's what your mom told me," I answered. "She said that only a mother's touch could... I don't know exactly—reverse it, or stop it from getting worse. I don't know!"

"My mother?" he shrieked. "When the hell did—"

"Does it matter?" I asked sharply.

He briefly recoiled, then came back stronger. "A mother's touch? What the fuck does that mean? You have to... what? Fucking touch him?"

"I-I don't know," I repeated, the frustration cracking open. "Fuck! This is my fault. I should have asked her, but I just wanted to get out of there as fast as I could. Goddammit!"

On the bed, David lifted his glowing orange eyes to mine, wet with tears. "Help," he begged. "Do something, Mom. Please!"

The plea hit me like a hammer. He wasn't begging us for help; he was begging me. With his entire attention trained on me, his father might as well have been invisible.

"Stitch," I said softly, my eyes stinging as I bit back tears of my own. "I-I'm sorry. I... I don't know what to do."

He tried to reach for me. His arm shook so hard he could barely hold it up, tied by an invisible string to the very center of the Earth. "Touch..."

I looked at Allen, but he looked just as lost as I was. "Just hold his hand or something, Kitty," he said. "Maybe that's what my mom meant? Just... touch him."

I nodded, more out of instinct than belief, and sat down on the edge of the mattress. I offered my hand, palm up. "Hold my hand, sweetheart."

He thrust his much larger hand into mine and threaded our fingers together. The moment his skin closed over my knuckles I felt dense, feverish heat enveloping my hand up to the wrist.

"You're burning up," I said with rising concern. "Are you feeling okay?"

The sound that left him was barely a word, buried under a throaty growl that made the entire bed vibrate. "Nooooo... S-sca-aaared..."

My heart, already in pieces, shattered further. My baby was terrified and looking to me to save him, but holding my hand was not stopping his fur from growing.

He dragged in a huge breath; his expanding chest pushed our upper arms together. When he finally spoke, it took visible effort, and two voices came out at once— one still recognizably his, the other a terrifyingly low undercurrent. "What's... wrong with... me?"

I blinked hard, forcing back the tear that had gathered. It did not even seem like he remembered we had told him about the curse, and I wondered what sorts of horrific changes his mind was going through to produce that amnesia. To keep him ignorant— to avoid scaring him all over again— I put a motherly spin on his affliction.

"You're just feeling a lil' bit sick, honey," I whispered with a sniffle. "But I think I can fix you."

"Please," he whispered in that doubled tone.

I squeezed his hand. "Is this helping?"

He squeezed back, the pressure enormous but carefully controlled. "You... feel it, too?"

I could— a warmth unlike any other burning between our hands. It was so hot that my brain was sending signals to jerk my hand back, warning me of an open flame, but somehow it didn't actually hurt. In fact, it felt rather nice, to my surprise.

It reminded me of the first time I'd held a boy's hand when I'd been just a young girl, and the way my heart had swelled when I had realized how special it made me feel to be touched like that. As we age, we hold more hands, and the novelty wears off, but that night with my son brought such nostalgia that it felt more akin to time travel.

"What is that?" he asked curiously, fascinated by the sensation.

"I can feel it too, sweetheart," I said warmly. "Is it helping?"

"Maybe?" he said quietly, eyes drifting lower.

I wanted to believe him, but the fur around his temples was still thickening right in front of me. "Oh, David, I... I don't know what else to do."

Allen spoke from where he stood pressed against the dresser. "What else? My mom, what else did she say?"

I glanced at him. "That I would be the only one who could help him, and that I'd have to do the 'right thing,' whatever that is."

"She didn't tell you?" His voice was riddled with anxiety.

She had, of course. Miriam had made the nature of the "touch" clear enough, but I wasn't ready to leap to that conclusion yet. David had said the hand-holding was helping... maybe. I wanted to take any chance I had to spare our family of that trauma, hoping we wouldn't have to go as far as I feared.

I turned back to my son, trying to keep the next part between just the two of us even though I knew Allen could hear every word. "David, honey, will you be honest with me?"

"Sure," he grunted.

"Good. Okay. I'm going to ask you something that might sound a little bit strange, but I just want you to remember that I love you, and I'm doing this to help you."

Allen pushed away from the dresser— only a couple of feet, but he did not make it any further. "Kitty, what—"

David literally snapped at him. His jaws cracked together in the empty air like a rabid hound, followed by a low, threatening growl that filled the room.

Allen stumbled backward. "Jesus, David! Did he just—"

"Shh!" I hissed at my husband. "I think you're making it worse. Just let me handle this."

"How?" he demanded, frustrated.

David's grip tightened until the bones in my hand ached. Despite the mounting pain, I kept my voice as steady as I could. "I-I think he's, uh... like, the alpha, sort of."

The irritation drained from Allen's face, replaced by something closer to dread. "What does that mean?"

"I don't know!" I admitted. "Maybe I'm wrong, but aren't wolves super territorial?"

Allen let out a short, disbelieving scoff. "So, what, you're his property now? This is fucking ridiculous!"

It was ridiculous, but it was also happening. I watched the exact moment my husband decided the stakes were real, because he strode forward with the confidence of a man who hadn't just been growled into silence and reached for our joined hands.

"Let go of your mom, David," he said sternly. "We'll figure this out together. We don't have to—"

David's free hand shot out and slammed palm-first into his father's chest. The force lifted Allen clean off his feet. He flew backward, slammed spine-first into the dresser—the same one David had used since childhood, chipped paint and all—and shattered the mirror. For a second, he stayed draped across the top, then slid to the floor in a heap.

He gasped, trying to pull air back into his lungs. "W-what the f-fuck was..."

David rose to his full height, still gripping my hand, and half-dragged me off the bed as easily as if I were a bag of laundry he'd forgotten he was even holding. He towered over his father, looking down at the man crumpled on the floor.

"Hate..." he growled.

My eyes widened with fear. "Hate? No! Love, David! It's Dad, sweetheart! Stitch, what are you— Stitch, stop!"

Before I had finished speaking, my son had taken a step towards his defeated father, and I'd flown into a panic, tugging frantically on his hand with all my might. "Hey! Heeeey! Come here, sweetheart!"

He stopped, but his eyes remained trained on his dad.

I tugged harder on his arm. "Look, it's me! It's Mom, honey. Look at me!"

When he turned to look at me, his eyes were bloodshot, still lit from within, and for a second they seemed to look straight through me. "Mom..."

I yanked again, but he didn't budge an inch. "That's right— Mom. I'm here, Stitch. Just come and sit with me, please."

All I wanted was to put distance between him and Allen. David's grip on my hand made it clear that our tether—our bond—mattered to him far more than his apparent anger at his father. Our son was giving the orders, yet some thin thread of influence still connected me to him. It was a tether that Allen no longer possessed, so I alone used my connection to the boy inside the beast as a way to control him.

David finally turned and sat cautiously on the edge of the bed beside me, as if whatever he'd been about to do had simply been erased the moment I stepped into his path. "What was... Where are we? Did I hurt Dad?"

I clenched my jaw against the salt stinging my eyes. "N-no, sweetheart. Dad is fine. We're at home, remember? Safe at home."

"Home," both of his voices answered together, the doubled sound eerie and hollow. "Mom..."

A few feet away, Allen was still curled on the floor. "Kitty, what are you doing?"

I didn't look away from our son. "I don't know. I think... I have to do whatever he wants to do, right? I don't want to fight him."

Allen started to push himself up, but just that small movement was enough to trigger David. Our son's head snapped toward him and a vicious growl ripped out of his throat. It happened too fast to have been intentional, and I reacted with the exact same reflexive speed, guided by a motherly impulse that I trusted more than the warning signs in my own brain— instinct over logic.

Danger; Avoid sharp teeth!

Danger; Save your son.

I moved fast, somehow predicting David's movement before it had even happened. My hand shot out, cupping the side of his elongated maw right where his lips split into a toothy snarl. My fingers were close enough to his teeth that one snap of his jaw could have cleaved them off, and though the threat still loomed, something deep within me knew I had to prove that I trusted him. I did not waver, knowing that one hiccup of hesitation would betray my apparent confidence and render my authority moot— I could not show fear, so I did not.

As soon as my fingers graced the fur on David's snout, he went chillingly quiet immediately, quelling the vicious noise with a soft whimper.

I gently turned his face back to me and our eyes met. Finally, he was not looking through me, but deep into my irises. Simply holding his gaze made my heart race a little faster, faced with those terrifying orange eyes, but I still saw my little boy hiding in there somewhere.

Underneath my fingers, I felt his nose peel back, as well as his lips, as he prepared another beastly growl. There was a slow rumble at the back of his throat, but I made the choice to stifle it before it broke.

I would've made a hopeless opponent should he choose to attack me, so with far more bravery than I really had, I dug my fingers into the short hair around his receding snout. Without pausing to think of the risks, or breaking eye contact, I tugged firmly on the curls and pressed my nose against the cool, wet tip of his nose.

"Stop," I whispered firmly.

He was far stronger, and he could have resisted with no effort at all, but he backed down in a heartbeat. The fact that he allowed it told me everything. Somewhere under the fur and the glowing eyes he still recognized me as his mother and wanted to listen to me.

As silly as it felt, I reached up and scratched behind one of his newly pointed ears, rolling the elongated lobe gently between my fingers. "Good boy, Stitch. Eyes on me, okay."

"Eyes... on Mom," he grunted.

I kept my other hand flat against his cheek. "That's right, sweetheart. We're gonna make you all better."

He nuzzled into my palm, hot breath washing over my skin. "How?"

"How?" Allen echoed quietly from the floor. I ignored him for his own safety.

My throat was bone-dry, but I swallowed anyway. "Listen to your instincts."

David's brow furrowed. "Huh?"

"Don't think so hard," I told him. "Just close your eyes and tell me what you feel."

"Feel..." he purred slowly, "like touching."

"Touching... me?" I asked, the question coming out smaller than I meant it to.

He only grunted in answer, sending more puffs of warm steam against my palm.

I gave his hand another careful squeeze. "Like this?"

He flexed his jaw, grinding those lengthened canines against the teeth that were still human. "No."

Fear sat cold in my stomach, but the urge to mother him was stronger. "You don't have to be scared anymore. I'm going to fix you. Whatever you need, I'm here, sweetheart."

He pressed the side of his head harder into my hand. I took the hint and slid my fingers around to the back of his scalp, combing through the damp, sweaty hair there. "Does that feel nice?" I asked softly.

A low huff of approval left him. His eyes drifted shut as he submitted to the scratches. Our joined hands stayed locked, but his free hand was still out there somewhere. I was afraid he might use it on Allen if my husband tried to interfere again, so the moment it drifted into view I felt slightly comforted.

The deformed paw hovered over his lap. "Can I..." he asked, voice hesitant. "... touch, too?"

I nodded quickly, still twirling a short lock of his hair around my finger. "Of course you can, sweetheart. You want to touch my hair, too?"

When his eyes opened, they were not looking at my hair. "No."

On the floor, Allen pushed himself onto his knees but didn't dare rise higher. "Kitty, you can't. Please don't... don't let him do this to you."

"Quiet, Allen," I hissed through clenched teeth.

He was stupid enough to start climbing to his feet anyway. "I'm not gonna sit here and watch my—"

The roar that tore out of David nearly rattled the windows out of their frames. The force of it made Allen shrink back like a snail into its shell, arms thrown over his head. When no attack came, he looked up at me, pure terror written across his face— a helpless stare that made my stomach turn. At that moment, I hated him a little for it. I wanted a man who would throw himself between me and danger; instead, he'd only given me more proof of how powerless we both were.

A second, louder roar left my ears ringing. Desperate to stop the noise and give my son some kind of peace, I grabbed his free hand. I shot Allen one quick look—hoping he could read the shame in it, feel my deep regret for what I was about to do—then yanked our son's palm straight to my chest. I pressed it firmly over the breast nearest him and held my own hand on top of his knuckles, pinning it there.

"Shhhh," I hushed him lovingly. "That's what you want, right? You wanna touch me here?"

His fingers curled at once, digging hard into the soft flesh of my breast with no thought for the bruises he might leave. A long, low moan rolled out of him. "Ooooohhhhh..."

"Kitty..." Allen's voice was barely a whisper. "I can't watch this."

I didn't turn to look at him. "Please don't. I know this is hard, honey, but please don't leave me alone with him. I-I'm fucking... I'm scared, too."

"I can't fucking watch this," he whined again as he watched David maul my breast. "H-he's being so rough with you."

"Just... look away, then," I begged. "Please, Allen. I don't want you to watch him doing this to me."

Out of the corner of my eye, I still saw him staring, and I couldn't tell whether from fascination or pure frozen fear. He watched every movement, including the moment David's jagged nails bit into the soft tissue of my breast.

A sharp little squeak escaped me, and I lacked the confidence to command him the way I had earlier. "S-softer, Stitch. Please, honey, be gentle with me."

He was beyond hearing. He pawed at both of my breasts through my white robe like they were toys, switching from one to the other without any interest in the conversation happening around him.

"Does it... hurt?" Allen asked.

"A little," I admitted with a wince. "But he's calming down, so..."

He really was. As long as I let him keep playing with my breast, the rage and the growling stayed buried.

For a strange, fragile second, the absurdity of it almost made us both laugh. A few minutes earlier, David had been ready to tear his father apart, but he was completely hypnotized by my tits, rendered docile to the point that it was actually kind of funny.

"Just let our son play with my boobs for a few more minutes," I said mockingly, trying to sound lighter than I felt, "and maybe he'll go back to normal! That makes sense, right?"

Allen actually chuckled, rubbing the sore spot on his back where he'd hit the dresser. "I can't even believe you're saying that. How is any of this shit real?"

I managed a small giggle. "Because life is crazy, honey."

"You can say that again."

With David remaining calm, I tried to reassure my husband that his future would not be as dismal as his present. "Maybe after all this you'll still get to have your treat later, Mr. Solo."

That last part did not sit well with David. I did not even think he had been listening, but the mere mention of intimacy with my husband triggered something in him.

His free hand shot up, seized the front of my costume top, and ripped it open as easily as tissue paper. The fabric gave away so suddenly that my breasts burst free, smacking against my stomach with a soft, unmistakable jiggle that immediately caught his attention.

The brief moment of joking died instantly. Allen and I locked eyes for half a second—both of us flooded with the same raw, searing shame—then looked away before my breasts had even finished wobbling. When they finally settled into their familiar teardrop shape, all either of us wanted was to disappear.

I glanced down and then over at Allen, about to point out how hard our son was getting, and only then did the true scale of it register. The thick length was still swelling right in front of us, effortlessly tearing through his boxers like they were made of tissue paper. He was still only half-hard, but even then the muscle was strong enough to rip the fabric at the seams.

"Jesus," I whispered. "I guess that got, uh... bigger, too."

It was frightening how large it became. The sheer force of it rising to full mast tore apart his boxers without him even using his hands, cloth splitting and falling away under the pressure of that impossible cock alone. It was so wide that I honestly wasn't sure I would be able to close my fingers around it— a massive, fleshy baseball bat of a dick, veined and heavy, the head already as big as the ball such a club would swing at. Truth be told, the sight of it sent an instant, unwanted rush of wetness between my legs, but I kept that particular detail to myself.

I reached for the scrap of torn cloth that still loosely clung to him and peeled it away. "Holy shit..."

"Holy shit!" Allen echoed, far more concerned. "I've never seen one like that before."

"Me neither."

I couldn't stop staring. An intricate network of thick, pulsing veins ran from top to bottom. The spongy weapon looked too big to be real, but the scent of him was too unmistakably pungent to be part of a dream. One of his enormous testicles probably weighed more than Allen's entire package, and I could not stop myself from comparing the two.

I tossed the ruined boxers aside and tried to pull my hand back. David's much larger hand closed around my wrist and dragged it straight towards his cock. I resisted— partly because of pure instinct, partly because of the broken sound Allen made.

No..." he whimpered. "Kitty, don't. Please don't touch it."

I gave my husband the most sympathetic look I could manage. "I'm just... I'm gonna t-touch it a little, okay? Just a little, and just with my hand. Just— It's only my hand, so... is that okay?"

David didn't wait for an answer. He pulled my hand the rest of the way until my knuckles bumped against the scorching shaft. The heat was the same impossible kind I had felt in his palm earlier— so intense it should have burned, yet somehow my skin accepted it without pain.

"Oh my god," Allen said, the words pure grief.

"Oh my god..." I echoed, and I couldn't keep the fascination out of my voice even though it was soaked in reluctance. I hated that I had to do it, but since I did, it was only fair to admit the cock in front of me was impressive, if far from normal. That was exactly what made the challenge of it so strangely, terribly compelling.

I closed my fingers around it as best I could and gave an experimental squeeze. Then I began to stroke with slow, tentative passes along the length. My fingertips carefully explored the thick baton of engorged flesh. When they reached the enormous head and timidly prodded the silky skin there, a thick tablespoon of precum welled up at once. It spilled over the edge in a warm flood, coating my fingers, quickly submerging them in slime that was somehow both sticky and slippery.

David leaned in, and I did not even have time to think about resisting before his lips were on my cheek. He started kissing my face with a clumsy mouth that refused to close, but those kisses soon turned into long strokes of a drooling tongue that were far too messy to be human: across my cheeks, over my mouth, and down my chin, spreading saliva and his heavy scent over every inch of skin he could lick.

"Kisses," he demanded, the word filled with frantic need.

Allen made a broken little sound. "Kitty, please don't do this."

"I ha-th to," I whispered as David's tongue darted into my mouth for a brief second, pushing mine to the floor as it invaded. "He need-th me."

There was nothing romantic about the way I kissed my son back. I used my tongue the same way he was using his— long, lazy strokes that smeared saliva across his cheeks, his mouth, his chin.

We were coating each other—a ritualistic marking—acting more like animals grooming after a kill than anything resembling humanity. I didn't know if the wet, messy exchange was harder for Allen to watch than a real kiss would have been, but I was just copying whatever my son seemed to need, for better or worse.

Allen's voice cracked. "Enough, now. This is fucking disgusting, Kitty..."

David barked at him— a single sharp warning.

Something in Allen finally snapped. The fear burned away into pure rage. "God fucking dammit!" he shouted, face turning red. "I said that's enough!"

David turned to him and answered with a roar that shook the walls.

Allen shoved himself to his feet and screamed right back, veins standing out in his neck. "Fuck you! That's your fucking mother!"

The head-in-the-sand version of my husband was gone, but I doubted that Allen was ready to fill the shoes he was attempting to.

David rose to his full height as well, grabbing sternly onto my bicep to pull me to my feet as well. He was ready to close the distance, but I threw myself between them before either of them pounced.

"Wait! Wait!" I squealed. "Don't hurt him, Stitch! He didn't mean it! He's sorry!"

My son stepped forward anyway, pressing hard into my bare breasts, forcing me backward until my ass flattened against Allen's stomach. I was trapped between them, the only barrier left between their bony chests.

I should have been paralyzed by fear, but my motherly instinct took over before the freeze set in. Allen's life was on the line, and he was too proud and too angry to protect himself or me, so I knew I had to do it for him.

With the speed of a hand pulled from a hot stove, I swiftly reached up with both hands and seized the sides of our son's face, pinching his cheeks the way I used to when he was a stubborn little boy. I yanked his head down until those glowing orange eyes had no choice but to meet mine. I poured every ounce of steel I had into the look, furrowing my brow and clenching my teeth to bare canines of my own.

"Enough," I snarled, letting a low growl color the word so the beast inside him would understand. "Down."

He hesitated, a subtle snarl boiling in his throat.

I felt one of my eyes twitch, but it was not out of fear. Raw, unfiltered power was flowing through me, and though it felt like a temporary high, it also filled me with enough adrenaline to stop me from thinking about my next move.

With an ear-piercing bark, loud enough to scratch my throat on the way out, I snapped my teeth inches from my son's nose.

He fucking flinched, eyes widening in a flash of fear as something far more primal than rage took over him. It was just a second, but it was enough for me to establish my place in the pack hierarchy.

Authority established, I pushed firmly on my son's chest to send him backwards toward the bed. "Sit."

He obeyed. His cock stood straight up— easily a full foot of thick, throbbing flesh, pulsing so hard it almost seemed to wave at me with every heartbeat.

"What the fuck?" Allen's voice was hollow. "How did you do that? He just... listens to you."

"He has to," I said out loud, holding his gaze like a lion tamer. "I'm his mother."

I didn't look back at Allen, since seeing whatever was in his eyes would only have made the next part harder. Instead I reached behind me with one hand and pushed firmly against his chest, sending him stumbling into the dresser once more.

"Don't make him hurt you, Allen. Please. Just... I know this is hard. I can't imagine the things you're feeling, but I— Don't make me do this on my own. Please just be quiet and let me fix him."

"How?" he asked, his voice thinned by nerves.

"A mother's touch," I said, the phrase looping through my head again. "I don't think it meant just any old touch. He needs a special one."

"What does that mean?" he asked, but he already knew. We both did.

"I'm sorry, Allen," I whispered sadly.

He had no response, or if he did, he did not have the courage to say it.

I kept my eyes locked on David's. He hadn't blinked in over a minute. The glowing orange stare never left my face. Still watching him, I offered my husband the only way I could think of to stay part of the weird ritual.

"Can you help me, hon?" I asked.

"Er... how?"

I swallowed what was left of my pride, and the thick lump in my throat that tried to stop the words. "Will you undress me? I don't want to look away from him."

A low-throated purr from David confirmed that keeping my eyes on him was the right choice.

"Stay," I commanded my son. Then I reached out my free hand toward Allen. "Can I count on you, honey?"

"T-to... to take your costume off?" His voice cracked. "Are you really gonna—"

"I am," I said curtly. I saw no point in dancing around it anymore, and I wanted to get the hard part over with.

He sniffled, then took my hand. "Fucking... Goddammit."

I squeezed his fingers as gently as I could. "I know. I'm sorry, but... I know. It'll be over soon, I promise."

I knew that the length of time it would take didn't matter to him. The fact that it was happening at all felt like the end of the world as he knew it. He stood only inches behind me, yet the way he held my hand made it feel like he was already saying goodbye.

I could have boiled a kettle for tea in the time it took him to reply.

"Okay," he whispered eventually, barely audible over my own pounding heartbeat.

His hands moved carefully, slipping the white fabric of the Leia costume off my shoulders and guiding it down my arms, then lower, until the whole thing pooled at my feet.

I stepped out of it without ever looking away from David. His glowing orange eyes dragged slowly over every newly exposed inch of me—shoulders, breasts, stomach, hips—with lust written openly across his half-changed face.

"He won't take his eyes off of you," Allen commented from behind me, voice empty. "It's like he's obsessed."

"He is," I answered flatly.

I didn't announce what I was about to do next, because I knew it would not be met with anything but outrage. Without asking permission, I simply sank to my knees at the edge of the bed by our son's feet.

Allen's reaction was instant. "No! Kitty, no! Please, not that. No, no, I—I can't— You can't taste him! That's... You don't fucking forget things like that!"

Part of me found the protest admirable, but most of me recognized the selfish core of it. For more than twenty years, I had known only one cock, and the idea of having another taste in my mouth—another memory, a rival—made him skittish. Based on the thick, heavy musk rolling off David's erection, it would be a formidable one. I hated how my mouth had already started watering before my knees had even touched the floor, but I could not control the way my body responded to him.

"I'm not wet enough for something this big," I told Allen quietly. "He needs... I need to get him slippery."

"Jesus fucking Christ." The words came out of him like a bleeding wound. "Okay, but... just enough to get it wet. Okay? Then y-you'll stop, right?"

The request was almost sweet in its desperation. He still believed either of us had that kind of control. We didn't. Whatever our son wanted, he was going to get, or simply take.

Up close, the scale of David's cock was unreal. It was still shaped like a human penis, but everything about it had been stretched and swollen far beyond reason. The shaft was thick enough that my fingers couldn't fully close around it, the skin stretched taut and shiny from the relentless growth.

Heavy. The visible weight of it was the first thing that struck me. It didn't just stand; it hung forward with real mass— the kind that made the whole length sway slightly whenever his hips shifted.

It throbbed without rest. Every heavy pulse forced a fresh rush of blood upward, making the fat, spongy head inflate for a heartbeat—ballooning, the slit parting slightly—before it eased back a fraction, only for the next surge to swell it all over again. The veins that mapped its surface stood out prominently, thick as cords, twitching in time with each pulse.

I started the only way I could think of that still felt somewhat controlled. I spat thick gobs of saliva onto the head and used my hand to spread the slickness around, using the largest circles that my timidness would allow. Then I cupped my palm, dribbled a full mouthful of spit into it, and wrapped the slippery mess around his shaft, stroking slowly from base to tip and back again.

"Whoa," I muttered without thinking.

Allen stepped closer. "Whoa?"

"N-no, just..." I hesitated, still working my hand. "It's big. I-I don't think that's a surprise, but... yeah. It's bigger than I thought."

I heard him swallow hard. "How does it feel?"

"Alive," I whispered, the word coming out as almost fond despite everything. "It's like it's breathing with me, responding to my touch. I can feel his heartbeat right... here." I squeezed the root just above his balls. "That's where it's strongest— fucking explosion every time it pulses."

David's growl cut through the room. "Mouth."

One massive hand settled on the back of my head and began to push.

I glanced toward Allen without turning fully. "I'm sorry, honey, but I think he wants to go in my mouth."

"Yeah, I heard," he said, the fight already gone from his voice. "Not like we have a choice, so..."

"I'm so sorry, sweetheart."

"Doesn't matter." His words were hollow. "I'm just here for fucking... goddamn moral support, I guess."

David pushed harder. My lips brushed the searing, precum-slick head.

"H-hand?" I whimpered, sudden pure fear flooding me. "Oh g-god, he's— Please, honey?"

"What?" Allen's voice was pure disgust.

I didn't care how it looked. I was an inch away from having my own son's cock forced into my mouth and I needed something—someone—to hold onto that still belonged to the real world.

"Hand!" I squealed, voice cracking. "Hold my fucking hand, Allen, before he— GHHLRRK!"

Allen's fingers closed around mine, but he was a heartbeat too late. David had shoved forward in one brutal thrust, punching the thick, musty length past my tonsils and burying itself deep in my throat. The sudden invasion tore a wet, choking gag out of me a split second before my husband could reach me, turning his moral support into something more akin to consolation.

I wrenched my head back just enough to drag in a single desperate breath. He didn't give me a second one. "W-wait—wait, David! I can't— GHHURK!"

The muscular cock slammed in again, even deeper, and I shut my eyes to brace against it.

"Fuck..." Allen muttered beside me, the word repeating like a broken record. "Fuck, fuck... oh my god, fuck..."

I forced my eyes open. My husband was crouched in the outer edge of my vision, close enough that I could see the stricken look on his face. I had wanted his hand as a tether, nothing more. I had never imagined he would stay there and watch the way my cheeks ballooned around the thick pillar stretching my mouth.

Both of David's hands locked on the back of my skull, fingers tangled deep in my hair, gripping my head like a toy whose condition no longer mattered.

He could barely force more than the fat head and a few thick inches of shaft past my lips before the sheer girth plugged my throat completely. He was simply too wide and way too damn long; there was nowhere left for him to go.

My jaw ached from the constant stretch, and no matter how hard I tried to swallow and keep myself from looking like a complete mess, the drool kept spilling. It ran in warm, shiny trails down my chin, dripping onto my bare breasts.

The precum had changed dramatically. That earlier single bead had only been a warning of the steady, near continuous flow of hot, salty syrup he was dribbling straight down my throat every couple of seconds. I had never felt a human man produce so much just from being in my mouth. The thought that it was my own son sent a strange, unwanted flicker of delight through the shame: he was leaking that heavily because of me.

I gulped down the scalding liquid as best I could. It clung to the walls of my throat, dribbling down the back like wax melting down a candlestick. At the bottom, it settled deep in my empty stomach to claim space there as if it was owed. Every fresh pulse of the clear, watery runoff only added to the growing pool inside me, and my gut soon grew heavy enough to make me feel a bit queasy.

David had been seduced into calmness, so when I tried to pull my head back, it came free from his clutches with ease. I didn't know how much time I had, so I quickly forced down the tablespoon of precum that was stuck to my tongue and took a deep, delicious breath.

Through my panting, Allen reached over and wiped the worst of the mess from my chin with his thumb. The smile he offered was fractured, worn only to keep me calm. There was no real comfort behind it. "You're doing, uh, great, Kitty. Keep... holding on, I guess."

"I'm tr-rying. He's... a lot bigger than you."

Allen's lip twitched. "I can see that, yeah."

I shook my head quickly. "Sorry, I didn't mean—"

David huffed impatiently.

I started stroking his bulging length again, trying to soothe the rising tension in him while also keeping Allen from boiling over. "Um... well, break's over, I guess, so..." Lucky me, having two big, emotional men that both needed to be managed at the same time.

"Deeper," David demanded, the word coming out almost trancelike.

"I can't," I insisted, voice tight. "Honey, I— You will really hurt me if you do that."

A deep rumble rolled up from his chest. "Want... deeper."

I did the only thing I could think of that might slow him down. I wrapped my lips around the swollen head and began to nurse on it, treating the bloated bulb like it was some fleshy jewel I was determined to polish. I gave it long, open-mouthed kisses, letting my tongue drag slowly around the helmet, coating it in fresh spit, putting on a show that would sway his urges. I looked up at him, batting my eyelashes romantically, and put on the softest, sweetest voice I still had left.

"You don't wanna hurt Mommy, do you, sweetheart? Don't you love Mommy, Stitch?"

Behind me, Allen's voice was pure disgust. "What the fuck, Kitty?"

He did not understand the intention behind my submission, or if he did, he could not see past his own blind jealousy to value it.

I, meanwhile, was acutely aware of the fact that it was saving my life. David clearly loved what I was doing, and he was the one I had to keep calm. I leaned in further and wrapped my breasts around the base of his shaft, pressing them tightly around the sides while I kept working the swollen head with my mouth. His cock was almost as long as my torso, so it was easy to keep the head between my lips while I fucked him with my tits at the same time.

Spit ran freely down his length, soaking the soft flesh of my breasts until they were slick and shiny. I slid them up and down in long, steady strokes. I was hugging him hard enough to hurt myself, but the pain in my tits was just another price to be paid. I had to convince him to be gentle with me.

Every one of his empowered throbs was a powerful punch right between my tits, thumping my ribcage with enough force to rattle the bones. The strength in it was startling, but I stayed composed— using the beats as a metronome to guide my own tempo. Once I matched his rhythm, it seemed to soothe something in both of us. His growling quieted, and the restless shifting of his hips slowed.

"No," he murmured, petting my hair with careful, claw-tipped fingers. "Hurt... No hurt... Love..."

"Good boy— no hurt," I echoed softly. "Mommy loves you, too, Stitch."

"Jesus fucking Christ," Allen spat. "Don't talk to him like that, Kitty. This is so... so fucking gross."

I ignored him completely. I had a job to do.

I pursed my lips into a soft, cushioned ring around his slit and fluttered my tongue against the opening just as another thick bead of precum welled up. I sucked it into my mouth and churned it against my tongue, mashing it into a paste. It sloshed against the insides of my cheeks, flooding my maw with hot, salty tar that I swallowed without hesitation.

Allen's voice came from beside me, less angry, more surprised. "What was that? Did he just... Was that fucking cum?"

I pulled off just long enough to catch my breath, sounding like I'd just finished gulping a whole bottle of water after a hard run. "Just pre, I think."

He blinked, stunned. "There was so much, though."

I kept stroking David's shaft so he wouldn't grow impatient. "Uh-huh. He's making lots of it."

Allen's stare hardened as a realization hit him. "Have you been— The whole time? How much have you already swallowed?"

I pressed a hand against my stomach and gave it a small push, dredging up the buried air and causing a tiny, accidental burp to escape me. Both of us froze for a second as the cum-scented air settled in our nostrils.

"Oops," I said. "Uh... it feels like a lot, I guess. It's... sloshy, so..."

Allen's jaw clenched as he pulled away from the smell. "Th-that much, huh? That's... wow."

I looked down, unable to meet his eyes as I stifled another cum bubble trying to float up my esophagus. "Sorry. I... I shouldn't have said that. You probably don't need the details."

David let out another impatient growl, which was becoming quite the signature for him.

Allen and I exchanged a quick, knowing glance. "I know what that means," he said quietly, the fight gone from his voice.

I gave him a weak nod, opened my mouth, drew a deep breath, and let David guide me back down onto him.

Gluck— Gluck— Gluck—

He forced himself all the way to the back of my throat with every thrust, but it was a tiny portion compared to the rest of him. Each time the swollen head punched against the entrance to my gullet, I retched hard, my stomach flipping violently. My abs clenched on reflex, fighting to keep dinner where it belonged. My bare feet kicked uselessly against the carpet. It did not take long before I was seeing stars, and I reached out blindly for the one thing that I thought could comfort me.

I sank my nails into Allen's hand and dug in deep, entrenching myself in the only anchor I had left.

It was darkly funny, in a horrible sort of way, how hard I was trying to be a good hole for my son without completely turning myself into an object my husband would never be able to look at the same way again. I was terrified I wasn't finding the balance. At that moment, I didn't feel like a mother or a wife at all. I was not sure if either of them would ever see me as either of those things again, yet my duty remained.

While my mouth was occupied with the swollen head, my hand kept working the rest of the shaft. No matter how many times my fingers glided over the length, I never got used to the size. It was unnaturally large, yet every heavy throb against my small fingers reminded me it was still human— technically.

It barely felt like I was giving a blowjob at all. He was simply using my mouth as a warm, wet place to stuff as much of himself as would fit. I was willing to work with what I could manage, but my son wanted more.

Without warning, he bunched my hair up into a ponytail in his clenched fist and stood, lifting me clean off the floor. He was even taller than before— the "mother's touch" hadn't slowed the growth at all.

"Put me down, David!" I cried in pain, heat searing my scalp.

Allen's voice came from somewhere below us, thin with shock. "He's even bigger... How?"

I kicked my feet and punched at the solid wall of his chest, yet he looked straight through me. "Let go of me, David!"

He kept me suspended by my hair like some twisted marionette and crushed his mouth against mine with a ravenous kiss. His too-long tongue shoved past my lips, licking deep to claim every surface it could reach, coating me in his scent while I struggled for air.

Allen made a weak, broken sound. "David, please let g-go of her..."

Pathetic, I thought for one bitter second, then immediately hated myself for it. I could not stop the tongue invading my mouth any more than Allen could. I had never felt so completely powerless in my life, and the man who was supposed to protect me was standing right there, just as helpless as I was.

At last, David pulled back suddenly.

I sucked in several deep, ragged breaths, but he was completely composed. He only stared into my eyes, and I did not need words to know what he was thinking. The message was written clear as day in those beady, glowing orange irises.

"Oh my god..." I whispered.

"What?" Allen's voice jumped with panic. "What? What is it?"

"I-I think he's going to try to... fuck me now." My voice shook on the last words.

"How do you know?" he asked, though the fear in his tone made it obvious he already dreaded the answer.

"He... he's telling me," I said quietly, unable to look away from the burning orbs set in my son's skull. "What do I do? Do I have to let him?"

"I guess so," Allen answered flatly.

I whimpered. Some foolish part of me had still hoped for a braver reply, but I shouldn't have been surprised to hear defeat color my husband's tone. "W-what if... if he hurts me?"

"I don't know, Kitty," he said.

David threw my weightless body onto the bed.

Even though I knew it was hopeless, the second he climbed up beside me, I still turned to the most powerless man in the room and begged him to somehow fix the unfixable.

"Allen, please!" I cried. "Look at me, honey."

He did. It seemed to cost him everything he had left. He didn't speak, and only managed a slow shake of his head.

"I'm fucking sca-ared!" The words broke out of me as tears burned the backs of my eyes. "I don't... I-I don't want him to. Please don't let him! Do something!"

"What do you want me to do?" he asked lifelessly.

I scrambled backward as David began crawling toward me, until my back hit the headboard. "Something! Anything!"

"You're the one with the 'mother's touch,' remember?" he shot back.

The accusation cut deep. I had only been trying to follow the advice his own mother had given me, but it felt like I had somehow made everything worse.

Maybe Allen was right all along, I thought with horrific shame. Maybe Miriam really is a nutcase, and I still let her talk me into sucking my own son's cock! Some mother I am— swallowing so much of his precum that my stomach is fucking heavy. What the hell is wrong with me?

That crushing realization, stacked on top of the bitterness in my husband's voice, made rage flare hot in my chest, but the only person I could truly aim it at was myself. The anger collapsed almost instantly into a grief so sharp it forced a tear down my cheek before I could stop it.

I sniffled and gave my head a quick shake, throwing the tear's path off into a crooked line across my cheek. "I'm just trying to be a... a good mom."

Miriam's words echoed in my skull. "Just remember that you will be the only one that can help him."

"He needs me," I insisted, another fat tear slipping free. "You don't have to stay, honey. I know that... this part is going to be h-hard to watch."

"The part where you let him fuck you?" Allen hissed.

I nodded. "I... yeah. I'm sorry, hon—eeeeeyyy!"

David's hands had locked around my ankles and yanked. The air left my lungs in a rush as he dragged me flat on the mattress, my head crashing down on his pillow. There was nowhere left to go, and as he climbed over me, settling his massive body between my thighs, I found myself unconsciously spreading my legs wider to make room for him.

Terrified of what his strength could do if he simply drove forward, I reached down between us and took hold of his cock myself. "Careful, now."

The heat of it still shocked me, but it was too late to let my nerves stop me. I guided the fat, fleshy head to my entrance and carefully wedged just the tip inside, holding it there with the tight grip of my lips. Not even the full knob was in, but I was already afraid of what was to come.

"Allen," I whispered. "Will you—"

"Hand?" he asked, reaching for mine.

I grabbed hold and interlocked our digits, tightening my grip until my hand shook. "Thank you, honey."

With my other hand, I gave David a light tap on his shoulder, encouraging him. "Slowly. Please, Stitch. You could really hurt me with that thing."

Allen made a low, broken sound beside me— maybe a sob, but I couldn't look at him. Every ounce of my attention was locked on the enormous pressure at my entrance as David began to push.

The broad helmet sank into me with terrifying ease, stretching me wider than I had ever believed my body—or any human woman's body—could go. The slow but relentless invasion burned and filled me at the same time, forcing my walls to yield around the impossible girth.

I sucked in a sharp breath and forced myself to stay open, accepting him inch by careful inch. "Whoa! Whoa! Fucking— Oh my god! David!"

Allen and I squeezed each other's held hand with the same pressure. I was the one being penetrated, but I could feel his fear, and it equaled my own.

"Oh god..." he mumbled. "Oh god..."

Our son settled deeper, still only partially inside, and began to slowly roll his hips. Dull little grunts punched out of him with every push, and if I had not been holding back my own, we would have been matching note for note.

From where Allen sat—even right next to me—he could probably barely see me or my face at all beneath our son's bulk. David's body covered mine so completely that I wondered if I would ever get the smell of his damp, sweaty fur out of my skin. He was marking me in every way that mattered, and there was only one thing left to keep me from being "his" in every sense of the word.

That was fine with me, though, because it freed my husband of the lifelong burden he would have carried if he'd laid eyes on the depraved faces I was making. I caught myself in an open-mouthed gawk, my tongue hanging out slightly, and quickly composed myself as best I could.

I stretched my neck to peer past one of his hunched shoulders at my tearful husband and tried to reassure him, still prioritizing his emotions over my own. "I'm okay! He's not hurting me!"

"D-does it actually feel good?" Allen asked.

"Does it— What?" I asked, a sharp rise in my voice.

"Those noises you're making," he said shamefully. "It doesn't sound like he's hurting you, Kitty."

I was aware of the lecherous faces I'd been making, but I had no idea that I had been emitting any sorts of noises. I didn't know what answer he wanted. Was it better if I hated it, or if I admitted the truth, I wondered? "It feels... nice, I guess."

His face went pale. "Really? You... Do you really like it?"

I frowned. "Maybe I should have said 'no.'"

"Tell me how it feels," he urged, his voice tight.

"Really?" I squeaked. "You want to know?"

"I don't know. Maybe I just want to stop making shit up in my head. Whatever you say is gonna be better than the fucked up things I'll think about later."

I wasn't totally sold on it being an effort to save his mental state. There was a curiosity in him that I saw shimmering underneath the veil of sadness and anger whether he wanted to admit it or not.

I decided to play along anyway, figuring it could not make things any worse. "Okay, well, he's, uh... really w-warm. Kind of— It's hot, actually. God, it's intense. It's really intense, honey. It's, like, spreading all the way through my stomach."

"Yeah?" he asked eagerly— yes, eagerly.

I hesitated, then added the rest. "I, uh, kinda like how big he is, too, I guess."

"More than the warmth?" Allen asked with greater excitement, forgetting that he was supposed to be upset.

I nodded quickly and rubbed a hand over David's broad, furred chest. "It's nice to feel him stretching me. It hurts a little, but I can take it when he goes slow like this."

"Oh Jesus," Allen whispered, almost to himself. "He can't even get half of it in."

I pressed a hand to the small bulge low on my belly. "Do... you wanna feel him?"

"What?"

I waved a hand in front of David's face. He didn't react, lost in some kind of trance where all he could do was calmly thrust.

"You can feel him," I repeated. "His penis— where it is inside me."

"H-how?"

I patted the distinct bulge. "He's in my tummy. Not really, obviously, but I can feel him there. You can, too, if you put your hand riiiight... here."

Allen climbed onto the bed beside us. "Show me."

I guided his palm to the soft swell. It flattened when David drew back, deflating my swollen stomach back to its normal size, then pushed firmly into Allen's hand again as our son drove forward again, filling the space he had dug out for his enormous cock.

"Wow," he said with a sigh.

A surprised little current of arousal ran through me. "What do you think?"

Allen scoffed, but the sound was shaky. "I... don't think I should be enjoying this. I mean, I'm not!"

"Me neither," I said quickly. "But..."

"But," he finished, "it is kind of hot, I guess. Like... he's barely even our son right now, right? I don't think he'll even remember this tomorrow."

"But we will," I answered, "so maybe we can make the most of it so it's not as, um..."

"Fucked up beyond words?" he offered as he brushed a strand of hair, wet with sweat, out of my eye.

"Sure," I said as I blew him a kiss. "That."

I let go of Allen's hand and took hold of his wrist instead, guiding it between our bodies until his palm settled over my breast, trapping it between the hot, heavy fur of David's chest and my soft, silky skin.

David let out a quiet growl, but his eyes stayed unfocused and distant. "He's gonna be gentle," I whispered confidently. "Don't worry. I'm keeping him calm."

With my newly free hand, I reached over and wrapped my fingers around the hard length jutting through the loose fabric of Allen's pants. "Is this okay?"

"Yeah," he grunted. "Yeah... good."

I could feel the self-disgust rolling off him even as his cock twitched in my grip. He hated that he was hard, yet he couldn't deny it.

I squeezed him firmly around the middle and stroked upward toward the head. "You haven't been this hard for a while."

"I know," he said, barely affording himself the breath to do so.

The difference in size was almost comical. My husband felt small, ordinary, and completely human next to the monster stretching me open, but I knew that it wasn't his fault.

I only managed a few strokes before David's growl deepened. His lips peeled back from those lengthened canines and his hips suddenly picked up speed.

"What's he doing?" Allen asked cautiously.

"F-faster," I managed as the blunt, oversized head slammed against my cervix. "Harder— oh!"

David fucked me with possessive force, driving every coherent thought out of my head. My manipulation of Allen's cock turned clumsy and irregular, and then my hand fell away completely. I couldn't focus on anything except the relentless pounding. The entire bed rocked and groaned under the three of us as he piledrove himself against the deepest part of me.

"Whoa," Allen said. "I think he's mad that you started touching me."

"M-me t-t-too!" I cried, face twisting between pain and desperate concentration. "Down! Do-own, sweetheart!"

He didn't listen. If anything he went harder, faster. It seemed that he was being fueled by my panicked wailing, but that concept was quickly shot dead when he closed one of his massive paws around my throat and squeezed, turning oxygen into a luxury I had to fight for.

Panic flared white-hot in my chest. I punched weakly at the solid wall of his torso, gasping, pleading for air, but I could not even make the words necessary to beg him.

"Ugghurk!" I sputtered uselessly. "Ghhunguk!"

Allen lunged forward and tried to pull him off, but the water buffalo barely noticed the fly buzzing around its ear. David just kept fucking me, the thick length of him making a visible bulge rise and fall in my belly with every brutal thrust.

Allen stumbled back, eyes wide with helpless terror. "I'm sorry, Kitty, I— Fuck! I can't— I can't fucking stop him!"

My vision was already narrowing at the edges. I realized no one else was going to save me, but I had a small glimmer of an idea of how to save myself. I stopped fighting, instead reaching up with the last of my strength to cup the side of David's face the same way I had at the very beginning— gentle, familiar, trying to remind whatever was left of my son who he was inside of.

I fought until my temples throbbed to spit the words out, pushing with no care for the blood vessels I could feel popping in my eyes. "I... l-love... you," I croaked as brilliant white lights began to bloom across my fading sight.

"Kitty!" Allen's voice cracked with pure panic. "Open your eyes! Stay with me!"

My body was thrown around like a ragdoll with every brutal thrust, but I kept both hands on his face. A high-pitched ringing filled my ears, and my husband's voice flattened into something distant and meaningless. All I could hear was my own shallow breathing and the slowing thud of my heart, and it was getting slower by the second. In a last, desperate attempt, I gently pinched one of David's elongated earlobes and rolled it between my thumb and finger, then tugged with every ounce of fucking strength left in my wilting limbs.

"B-bad... d-dog..." I croaked, barely managing to utter the final word before I slipped into unconsciousness.

The rush of blood returning to my brain felt like a boot to the chest. My eyes flew open and I dragged in as much air as my lungs could hold, panting hard.

David was standing at the foot of the bed, cock jutting out a full foot in front of him, completely still and sedated.

Allen scrambled onto the mattress and pulled me against him. "Oh my god... oh my fucking god, Kitty..."

"Whu habbun?" I asked weakly, my vision still spotted with black dots.

"He almost..." Allen trailed off. "You were out for a few seconds. Like... out, out. You're okay, though! He let you go."

"He did?" I mumbled, already starting to slip again. "Good boy, Stitch."

Allen patted my cheeks firmly, pulling me back to consciousness. "Hey! Hey! You gotta stay awake, Kitty."

"I'm here!" I forced the words out far more confidently than I deserved to, trying to shock myself back into focus. "I'm fine! I'm just— Is he all done?"

My husband hesitated. "I... don't think so."

David let out a grisly grunt, and I knew immediately that nothing was finished.

"He just stopped when you touched his ear like that," Allen explained. "He slowed down for a few, um... thrusts... and then he got off of you. God, I can't even believe I'm talking like this."

"He let me go," I mumbled with quiet affection. "Stitch remembered me."

"Maybe."

"He's still hard, isn't he?" I asked with concern, but I already knew the answer.

Allen sighed with dismay. "Yeah."

I groaned. "What should I do?"

"I don't know anymore. This is all so fucking... fucked up."

"Do you think he wants to have sex with me again?" The question came out more hopeful than I meant it to, and Allen caught the uptick in my voice.

He scoffed dismissively. "Probably. Sounds like that's what you want, right?"

My heart panged like someone had just cut a cord that could never be restrung. "Are you mad at me?" My voice wavered.

"I don't know," he admitted. "I know you're just trying to help, but... yeah. I wish we didn't have to do this. I wish you didn't have to go through all this fucking shit. I also wish you weren't clearly enjoying it so much, so..."

I reached down and closed my hand around his cock through the thin fabric of his pants. The size difference between him and David flashed through my mind, but I knew better than to say it out loud.

"I'm not the only one enjoying it," I said, trying for a little sass to bring him back from the brink of depression. "Or is that big, hard cock from watching some other woman get fucked?"

He pushed my hand away. The rejection stung more than I expected, like he was suddenly repulsed by the very idea of me. "Not now, Kitty."

I tilted my head, confused. "Wait, really? You're not— I thought you were having fun, too? You got hard, didn't you?"

"So you are liking it, then?" he snarled.

I shrank back. "I-I don't... I thought..."

He shook his head, disappointment in every line of his face. "Yeah. I know what you thought, Caitlyn."

I shuddered. He never used my real name like that unless he was really pissed. I didn't fully believe that he was outright mad at me for enjoying being fucked—I'm only human, after all—but was a little displeased with himself for having fun watching it.

There was probably a whole whirlwind of conflicting emotions stirring around in his brain, and before he was given a chance to spare them the thought they deserved, his son began twitching like he was fighting the urge to stand still.

Still, David was sedated enough that I had time to spot the change starting to reverse— his fingers had receded a little, and the thick fur around his ears looked like it was slowly being pulled back under the skin. He was nowhere near normal, but it was working.

Allen's voice cut in, sharp and cruel. "Looks like your little spell is wearing off. Whatcha gonna do?"

I'd had enough of the blame game. I dropped onto my hands and knees, pushed my face into the mattress, and reached back to pat my own ass, beckoning David forward while deliberately needling my husband.

"Come here, puppy. Come have some fun with Mommy."

Allen clicked his tongue. "Seriously?"

I turned my head just enough to look at him. "What? I bet he wants to try doggy style with his mama!"

"Now you're doing it on purpose."

I sure fucking was, but I went even further. "Letting him mount me, you mean? Duh. That's how we're gonna make all those cute little puppies, sweetheart."

Allen stood up in a sudden huff. "Fuck you! Look, do you want me here, or not?"

I rolled my eyes, annoyed with myself for letting my emotions get the better of me. Whether or not he deserved it, and I knew he probably didn't, I was the first to apologize. "I want you here! Sorry. I'm sorry, I am. I'm being a bitch, but..."

He sat back down with a long sigh. "But so am I. Yeah. I get it. I'm sorry, too."

"Yeah."

I reached over and took his hand. "Do you want to help me, or just sit this one out?"

He shrugged half-heartedly, or less. "Sure."

I wagged my tail as a peace offering. "Here, help me pull my cheeks open, honey. Unless that's too weird?"

"I can handle it," he said, but his tone did not communicate that.

Together we each took one side and spread me wide, then I gave my hips a little inviting sway. "Come on, pup."

Allen sighed. "Can you not call him that, please? He's still our son, Kitty."

"Sorry. Just trying to lighten the mood."

Then a single word cut through everything.

"Mom?"

David's voice, more his own than it had been in a long time, sent a cold shock straight through my chest.

I spun around and crawled down the bed toward him on my knees. "David? Sweetheart, are— Is that you? Oh my god, Stitch, you're back!"

He was staring at himself in pure horror: the gnarled, still-furry fingers, the dense hair coating his chest, the massive arms. Those barely got a glance, however, once his eyes locked onto the staggering size of his cock, which looked almost as thick as one of his own biceps.

"What the..." he muttered, confused and shaken.

I could hear more of his real voice under the deep gravelly undertone that still clung to him like a virus. We were beating it slowly, but we weren't finished. Even as he stood there looking more lost than I had ever seen him, the fur around his ears began to thicken again, spreading across his temples and fusing with the darker fuzz along his jaw.

"I don't feel good," he said solemnly. The gravel was already creeping back into the words.

I put a hand flat on his chest, fingers sinking into the black wool that covered it. "I know, honey. You're really sick, but I've been—we, me and Dad— have been helping you."

"How?" he asked, anxiety rising. "Is that why you're naked?"

I knew he was vulnerable, and before the curse could fully overtake him again, I wanted him to hear the truth so he would trust me. I tousled the dense locks on his chest— hair or fur, it didn't matter anymore. "You've been... I've been letting you have sex with me, sweetheart."

He started to step back, but I dug my fingers into the thick fur and held him in place. "It's the only way," I insisted. "Y-you're cursed, David, and this is the only way to help you."

Sadness warped his face so completely that every motherly instinct in me screamed to scoop him up and cradle him like I had when he was small, even though he outweighed me by a ridiculous margin. I cupped his cheek and pressed a soft kiss to the tip of the semi-snout that was already beginning to push forward once more.

A deep, hearty growl rumbled out of him and that ominous dual tone began to rise. "Mo-oooom..."

"It's starting again," I told him quietly. "It's gonna get worse if you don't— You have to have sex with me again, Stitch. I'm sorry."

To my surprise, he turned toward Allen, who was sitting cross-legged on the bed like a child, hands folded in his lap.

"Dad?" David asked, his voice still partially his own. "Are you... okay with this?"

His arms kept twitching, fighting the urge to reach for me. His self-control was already slipping.

Allen's mouth trembled. A tiny pull at the side of his nostril gave away the tears he was fighting, but he put on the bravest face he could for our boy. "Listen to your mother, David. She—" He coughed, clearing his throat and sniffling at the same time. "She loves you very much."

David looked back at me. The orange glow was already beginning to simmer in his irises again. I didn't know how much time we had left. I found out the hard way when his fur-covered hand shot out and clamped down on my breast hard enough to make me squeal. I felt the bruises bloom under his grip in real time, and for a second I genuinely wondered if he was going to tear it off before I could calm him.

"David?" I pleaded.

Nothing.

"He's hurting me," I whimpered as a long, viscous string of drool stretched from my son's open mouth.

"Hurry," Allen urged, voice cracking. "Please, Kitty, just... make him stop. I want this to stop. Just f-fucking put him back inside."

I grabbed David's wrist and tried to pry him off with every gentle ounce of strength I had. "Let... go of me!"

He didn't budge. If anything, he squeezed harder, staring straight through me. "Let go..." he mumbled, but his hand stayed locked.

I changed tactics. I loosened my grip and instead brushed my fingertips lightly across the backs of his rough knuckles.

"Please let go of Mommy, sweetheart," I purred. "Remember Mommy?"

His hold eased a fraction. "M-mom... Mommy..."

I nodded quickly and started pulling again, working the small window I had bought. "Good boy, just like that— gentle. Soft touches, honey."

He growled, nose crinkling with the effort of fighting whatever urge wanted him to keep mauling me. His fingers loosened just enough, and I yanked myself free in the brief window before he closed them again.

Allen sat up straighter. "You did it! He let go!"

To my surprise, he didn't look as sickened by the "Mommy" talk as I had expected. Maybe he was simply relieved to see the pain leave my face when those claws finally left the deep grooves they had carved into my skin, or maybe he was finally accepting that his only role was to stay close and cheer me on.

I turned around, presented my backside to David, and gave my hips a deliberate little sway. "Come on, Stitch. I'm ready."

He pounced before the last word had left my mouth, kneeling behind me with his massive hands already locked on my hips.

"Jesus," Allen breathed. "He's fast."

"He's impatient when he's horny," I said as David's grip tightened. "Guess he's more like his Daddy than we thought, huh?"

Allen looked down with a shy smile. "Yeah... maybe."

"Maybe when he's done with me, you can—"

The rest of the sentence turned into a sharp cry as David yanked me backward, seating the fat, throbbing length of his cock right between my cheeks.

"Oh, fuck me!" I hollered.

Allen made a helpless little whimper. "Yeah..."

I never thought I would see the day my husband looked anything less than disgusted at another man between my legs, but at least the open insults and verbal repulsion were gone. He had accepted it—we both had—and that resignation made the guilt in my chest feel a little lighter. I would have never said it out loud, but fuck... part of me wanted it. It wasn't only the raw physical pleasure or the way my son dominated me so completely, but both at once, twisted together into something that left me almost giddy for the next thrust.

Worse still, the part that felt like real betrayal was the strange little tingle low in my belly. It was the same sickening drop you get at the top of a rollercoaster—the kind that makes you want to scream, made more terrifying by the fact that the danger was very real.

Allen looked so helpless that I almost pitied him. An hour ago, his biggest problem had been a sticky front door, not the vows we had made to each other laying broken on the bedroom floor. That weight seemed to keep his head down; he couldn't even look at me. He just picked at the comforter with trembling fingers, searching for anything else to focus on.

I reached out and tapped my knuckles against his, trying to keep him included as my body was rocked forward and back. "Will you hold my hand again?"

He sighed, still unable to lift his eyes, but offered his hand anyway.

I laced our fingers together and squeezed just before another thrust threw me forward. "Thank you, ho—oney!"

David slammed into me, driving the air straight out of my lungs. He fucked me without mercy, each powerful stroke hard enough to scrape my cheek against the sheets.

I grabbed a fistful of the mattress with my free hand and held on for dear life while my other hand crushed Allen's fingers hard enough that I felt his knuckles shift under the pressure.

An ugly, raw grunt spilled out of me into the bedding. "Oh my... fucking... god!"

Allen made a small, harrowing sigh, and guilt surged through me. When my blurry vision finally focused on the pained, almost pouting look on his face, my own expression crumpled in shared misery. "I'm s-sorry!" I panted. "I'm being so... so l-loud! I'm sorry!"

He gave me a thin, empty smile that never reached his eyes. "It's okay, Kitty."

I winced at how gentle he was trying to be. I didn't have the heart to tell him how good it felt being reduced to a warm, wet sleeve, especially for a beast so lost in lust he barely seemed to know whose body he was pounding into the mattress— or so I thought, until he proved me wrong.

"Mommy!" David howled, the word so loud and sudden it drowned out everything else and made Allen flinch. "Mom... Mommy!"

A short, startled laugh escaped me before I could stop it.

Allen shot me a look that could have curdled milk.

"Sorry!" I yelped quickly as my body bounced up and down with the heaving mattress. The springs flung me upward to meet my son's thrusts, violently colliding with my ass so I had to raise my voice to be heard over the deafening sound. "Its w-erid to... hear that n-ame!"

The stomach-churning thwacks of my ass hitting his hips had already burned itself permanently into my memory— along with the way Allen flinched every time an especially loud gunshot cracked through the room, announcing just how much power David was putting behind each stroke.

On one particularly deep thrust, an unmistakable moan of pleasure tore out of me, and I immediately looked at Allen to see if he had noticed.

He had; the mortification on his face was plain as day. He could tell I was no longer just enduring the punishment, or a passive toy simply trying to survive. David yanked me backward to meet the next thrust, and another shameless, gaudy gasp spilled out of me. Embarrassment flooded my cheeks until they burned.

"At least you're having fun," Allen said, voice heavy with disappointment. "Doesn't even sound like he's raping you anymore."

I made a small, glum sound. "He... he is! He definitely is! I-I don't want—oh, fuuuck—t-this to happen."

Allen let out a knowing, defeated sigh, paired with the weak laugh of someone who'd chosen it over crying. "Sure, Kitty. The way you sound right now, it sounds like he's gonna finally find a way to make you cum."

The words landed hard. In all the years we had been together, Allen had only ever made me orgasm once by accident, back when we'd first been dating. He had tried since then—truly tried—but it had never happened again. I had long since gotten used to finishing myself while he watched. Sometimes we did it with the help of his tongue or fingers, but it always ended with me having to drive the momentum. With my husband's pride already in ruins, David was proving that raw stamina and blunt, relentless force had been the missing ingredients all along, and neither of those were things Allen could provide.

David suddenly pushed all the way in, as far as he could fit, and let out a boisterous groan of pure pleasure— loud enough to rattle the windows in their frames. An answering sound ripped out of me before I could stop it, our impassioned moans a heavenly harmony that could not have sounded better if we'd planned it.

Then, without warning, the strength in him surged. He gripped my waist and lifted me, but I could feel that his arms were not doing any of the work. Instead, the thick, muscular length of his cock alone was enough to raise my knees clear off the mattress for a second. He had shoved an entire arm inside me and was curling me like a human dumbbell. I hung there, suspended, only the head of the bed and the relentless pressure of him keeping me from collapsing.

"Oh my god!" I yelped, grasping for the bedsheets below and trying to pull myself back down. All I managed to do was bunch them up uselessly in my hands, not even able to stop my body from swaying side to side as David's dick lugged me around effortlessly. "He's so fucking strong!"

"Are you okay?" Allen asked fearfully.

"I-I can t-take it!" I warbled, failing to live up to the boldness of my words.

As if testing the limits of the bravery I'd just claimed to have, Davis proved he wasn't finished.

His hands slid forward, thumbs pressing into the base of my spine while his bony fingers dug into the soft give of my belly, long enough to reach all the way around to my navel. With a low growl, he lifted me completely, turning me into a scarecrow held in place by his meaty signpost.

My arms and legs flailed uselessly in the air as he began to viciously bounce me up and down. He flung me around using pure upper-body strength, no thrusting from his hips, and barely panting as he did so. He simply hiked my entire body up until only the fat head of his cock remained inside me, then slammed me back down the full length in one brutal drop.

I was a lifeless doll— a mannequin being thrown around by the strength of Superman. My limbs windmilled at first until I managed to hug my own midsection tightly, tucking my knees up against my chest so they would stop flopping. Curled into a tight fetal ball, not a single part of me touching the bed, I hung suspended on my son's cock while he used my pussy like a living meat tunnel to guide himself all the way to the bottom.

"Hold on, Kitty!" Allen cried. "Just... happy thoughts!"

With nothing left to do but endure it, I chanted a calming mantra to coach myself through the degradation. "You're a good mom... you're a good mom..."

Every downward slam bludgeoned my cervix. The repeated impacts sent sharp, radiating pain through my stomach until I felt dizzy and faintly nauseous. I muttered half-formed pleas and curses under my breath, but the words were lost in the wet, heavy impacts and the low animal sounds David made with every lift and drop.

I could not handle much more, and there was only one person who could save me, so I reached out for him and begged, "Pull... me... d-down, Allen!"

My husband grabbed my forearm, getting a really sturdy grip, and braced his legs against the bedframe. With a mighty roar, and an abrupt yank that caught David off guard, he managed to dislodge me from our son's tight grip and drop me back onto the bed.

I fell onto my hands and knees with a huge exhalation. "Fuck. Thank you. I don't know how much more of that I could take."

But David was not done, and resumed his rampant fucking without any discernible hiccup in his stride. He did not even seem to care that our position had changed again, and grabbed me by the hips to pull me into a powerful thrust.

"OOooooOOhhhhh!" I wailed, closing my thighs out of instinct, but that only made my pussy even tighter for David's next plunge.

It was much easier to take in that position, and I hated to admit that I was actually beginning to enjoy it after a few thrusts. My pain-stricken cries from earlier dulled to throaty moans as the rippling length of muscle sawed in and out of my most private place, turning it into a pocket of pure pleasure for my son and I to share.

I got somewhat lost in it, admittedly, and forgot to hold back a few of the louder, breathier groans that came out of me, which did not go unnoticed by my husband.

"Jesus, Kitty," he said, frustrated and full of loathing. "I've never heard you sound like— Oh..." The realization hit him like a collapsing wall. Whatever was left of his wrathful ego crumbled under the weight of it. "I get it— I've never heard you sound like this."

I whimpered, helpless under the rising wave. "I'm sorry. I'm f-fucking... I'm s-sorry, honey. He's gonna make me... I'm gonna..."

"Really? Please tell me you're joking. Is he really? He's not, right?"

I shook my head hard. I tried to steady my voice, desperate to sound stronger than I felt. "It's not my fault!"

Then, yearning for forgiveness, I pulled his hand to my face and began pressing soft, pleading kisses to his palm like a subject begging a king for mercy. "Don't be mad," I whispered. "Please don't be mad at me. Please? I don't w-want to cum, but..."

He pressed his thumb against my lips. "He feels that good?"

I squeezed my eyes shut, nose crinkling, and nodded so hard it almost hurt. "Mmhmm."

I parted my lips and took the tip of his thumb into my mouth, letting the constant forward-and-back motion of David's thrusts slowly push it deeper until my lips closed around the base. I sucked gently and swirled my tongue around the digit, trying to give Allen some small piece of intimacy so he wouldn't feel completely left behind.

I looked up at him with the widest, softest eyes I could manage, batting my lashes, trying to look sweet and pleading even while my body was being shoved and yanked every other second.

"Don't be mad," I murmured around his thumb, flicking my tongue against the pad.

"I'm not," Allen said quietly. "It's okay, Kitty. You... you can do it, if you want."

I gave his thumb a gentle nibble. "I can t-try to hold back! I-I don't have to!"

He pressed his lips together. "Is that what you want— to let him make you cum?"

I closed my eyes and let out a long, joyless little whimper, finally nodding in shaky acceptance of my own need. "I'm sorry..."

"Jesus," Allen muttered under his breath. "Okay, then. Go ahead. Have fun."

My husband's misery should have stopped everything cold, but it only opened the floodgates.

The orgasm hit me hard and completely against my will. My muscles clamped down just as my fractured whimpers went dead silent. I could feel a groan caught in my throat, but with my entire body rigid, it took a full two seconds of powerful euphoria before it came out of me. My hips jerked and rolled against the very cock I was supposed to be calming, and then something happened that never had before. I squirted, a sudden hot rush of fluid bathing David's shaft in liquid heat.

In the middle of it, I locked eyes with Allen, sharing a moment that our son was ignorant to. He just kept thrusting, completely unbothered by the tight, rhythmic contractions as my pussy tried to strangle his dong.

My husband saw the pure shame that overtook my face the instant the peak crashed over me. There was no shared arousal in that look, only horror at my own body's betrayal. Every aftershock that rippled through me came laced with fresh self-disgust.

"I'm sorry!" I yelped. "I'm so fucking sorry!" The words spilled out of me between gasps, much like the tears that welled up and ran from my closed eyelids. They looked like shame, and part of them were, but I knew the rest were simply the evidence of how hard I had just come.

Allen's voice was shattered to smithereens. "Jesus Christ, Kitty. He didn't even mean to. I've tried for years, and for what? All you needed was to be treated like a fucking piece of meat, huh?"

I tried to reach for him, to offer some kind of comfort, but pleasant little aftershocks were still fluttering through my belly and thighs, making it hard to sound sincere. "It's not like that. I didn't... want it."

I didn't feel directly ashamed that my own son had been the one to finally push me that far. What I did feel was the crushing weight of being watched while it had happened— looking like the biggest whore in the world in my husband's eyes. A selfish little wish flickered through me: I wish he would just leave the room. The second I thought about it, fresh sadness crashed in. What am I doing? What the fuck have I become?

Fresh panic washed over me, and since my son seemed to be more in control than ever, I bucked my hips to try and throw him off of me. "Wait, wait! Stop, I... I need a minute."

The effort required to pull himself off of me was obvious, so I was rather proud that my son found the inner strength to obey my wishes, hauling himself off of my back to sit on his haunches. The second his dick slid out of me, it felt like a cement block had been hauled out of my stomach, making the rest of me feel light enough to float away.

"Are you okay?" he asked. "I'm not hurting you, am I?"

I flipped onto my back and shook my head. "No, not at all. I'm, um... There's just— Emotions, sweetheart. I'm feeling... a lot of things right now."

"Me too," he admitted.

Then I saw the changes, and I remembered why I was putting myself through such turmoil. The thick fur along David's shoulders and arms was thinning, as well as a softening to the pointed tips of his ears. Whatever we were doing—maybe the sheer amount of sex, maybe something about making me cum so hard—was actually helping.

David seemed to feel it, too. He looked down at his body, more himself than ever before, and the acceptance on his face was as plain as could be. "It's working, Mom— really working! I don't, like... want to do this with you, but..."

I nodded compassionately, echoing his sentiment. "But it's working." I opened my legs for him, making plenty of space for his big, furry body to fit. "Come back inside and get warm, honey."

He eagerly fell forward onto his hands, his arms braced as support pillars on either side of my head, and gently thrusted his hips until his cock head found my entrance.

I was so wet, and already so thoroughly loosened, that the massive knob easily sank into the slickened pit when he got relatively close enough— any tighter and he would have had to actually aim.

He plunged deep, and as soon as his cock head met the warmth at the bottom, the horror of full human awareness slammed into him, wiping the smile from his face.

He collapsed forward onto my chest, smothering me under his hot, furry chest, and began to cry— real, broken sobs that were not preceded by even a sniffle. "Fuck! I don't want to do this anymore! Make me stop, Mom!"

"You can't stop," I whispered as I wrapped my arms around him and stroked the back of his head even as disgust rolled off both of us in waves. "It's okay, honey. Ask Dad. It's okay with him. Right, Allen?"

Allen's voice came out thin and nervous. "Um... y-yeah."

"He's lying!" David insisted, lifting his head just enough to look at his father. "Look how fucking miserable he is!"

I glanced at Allen, but he quickly turned his face away in shame, so I cupped David's cheek and made him look at me instead.

"Don't worry about your dad, then," I said firmly. "Focus on me instead."

David's eyes filled again. "Dad... I-I'm sorry. I don't know what to do."

I reached out and clung to Allen's arm. "Tell him. He needs your blessing."

Allen looked like he might be sick. His mouth opened and closed, but no sound came out at first. He just stared, frozen in place, then managed, "If he wants to stop, then..."

David tried once more to pull back, threatening to dislodge his cock, but I held firm.

I locked my legs around his waist and trapped him in place. "No," I said firmly, my tone sharp enough to discourage rebuttal. "Keep going, Stitch."

He shook his head, refusing to obey.

I looked at Allen over our son's shoulder. The eye contact lasted only a few seconds, and prompted no comment. His silence felt like another retreat into the sand, so I knew I was once again all alone, tasked with fixing what only I could.

"Fine," I said, the word edged with frustration. "I'll do it myself."

I locked my legs around the small of David's back, wrapped my arms around his neck, and rolled us both sideways until I was the one on top. His cock never left my pussy, keeping us joined until I was pinning him to the bed.

"There!" I announced with a small grunt of effort. "That's better."

David covered his eyes with both hands. Humanity was seeping back into him little by little. "Stop... stop, Mom, please."

I propped myself on my elbows above him and leaned down to kiss the tip of his nose— already shrinking from the pronounced snout back toward the shape I knew. "I'm doing this for you, honey. Just relax and let me make you feel good."

"It's not supposed to feel good!" he wailed. "For fuck's sake, my own mom's pu— I'm not supposed to know what this feels like!"

Out of pure compassion—and maybe a need to prove that, even in the middle of that nightmare, some kindness was still possible—I gave him a long, deliberate squeeze, clamping down hard around his length. The head of his cock pulsed against my cervix like a water balloon filled with hot blood. His brain was scrambled, so the least I could do was try to make his body feel something other than pure horror.

He groaned, the sound a messy mix of pleasure and pure dismay.

"What's wrong, Stitch?" I asked softly.

"That feels..." He glanced at Allen's stricken face, then back to me.

"Just be honest," I mewed, giving him another slow, tight hug. "Does it huuuurt?"

His head fell back and a raw bellow tore out of him. "It feels fucking amazing! Why are you doing that, Mom?"

"Doing what?" I asked, feigning innocence as I bore down again, pressing every soft fold of myself against him.

"That," he panted. "That thing with your... you know."

Allen's voice cracked with concern. "What? What's she— What are you doing to him, Kitty?"

"Just squeezin' him," I said simply. "Trying to make him feel better. I don't like it when he's sad, so I'm trying to cheer him up."

Allen's sigh posed the unspoken question: He's sad, but what about me?

I felt for him, but my son needed me more. The thick muscle in David's arms and the carved lines of his abdomen were already melting away, sinking back into ordinary human proportions. He didn't look entirely like himself yet, but I knew how to finish the job.

"Look at him," I said to Allen, nodding at the tormented pleasure on our son's face. "He's scared. It's my job to make him feel better— his mother's job."

"Mom," David said, "can we just stop for a second? Please?"

I stroked his face compassionately. "No, sweetheart, we can't. You have to finish."

I began to rock my hips carefully, finding a workable speed that allowed me to deal with his size. I couldn't quite take all of him, but his dick had shrunk just enough from the receding transformation that I could almost touch his balls with my pussy lips, though his girth was still staggering. I managed to sink most of the way down before the pressure against my cervix turned sharp. The stretch was intense, my body forced to its limit as it tried to mold around the bulky pillar.

Allen watched, forced to see his wife soothe their son while she remained impaled on him, still wet from her own unwanted orgasm, still performing the act that was saving him. The disgust on both our faces was plain. David saw it, and the shame only made him more desperate.

"Thank you," he whimpered as I moved. "For... for doing this for me."

I brushed sweat-matted hair from his forehead and blew a soft stream of cool air across his damp skin while I continued the careful bounce. "Of course, honey. It's what we're here for."

"I fucking love you guys so much," he said softly, and with greater emphasis than ever before.

"We love you, too," I told him.

"More than anything in the world, son," my husband said sincerely, perhaps finally understanding why we had to put our marriage through such turbulence. "We would do anything for you."

I gave David's embedded dong a mild squeeze to drive the point home. "Anything, Stitch."

My continued participation was no longer pure duty to an animal, but to the weeping young man who was still buried inside me. Allen's presence turned the whole thing into a three-way emotional crucible—David's shame, my forced tenderness, and my husband's helpless witnessing. Comfort and sex, love and violation, cure and incestuous performance had become impossible to separate.

I sat back, planted both hands on David's chest, and began a slow, careful grind along the thick shaft still stretching me open. The fat head prodded my cervix with every roll of my hips— a mass so large I still couldn't believe it had ever fit in my mouth.

"Am I doing okay?" I asked quietly.

David gave a shy nod.

I rubbed his chest, fingers tousling the last of the receding fur. "Do you really mean that?"

Allen cut in hastily. "He said yes, Kitty. I don't—"

"I'm asking him," I said more sharply than I'd meant to. "Sorry, honey, but this isn't about you right now. I need to do my best for him."

"Yeah," Allen answered, the word heavy with sadness.

David sniffled and wiped his nose on the light fur still dusting the back of his hand. "I-I guess, maybe... Could you go a bit faster?"

Allen let out a gloomy groan. "Oh, come on. Does she really have to do that?"

"No!" David said quickly, anxious. "No! Sorry, it was stupid. I'm sorry. This... this is great, Mom. This is fine. It feels really good, actually!"

I shot Allen a hard look. "This isn't going to stop until he cums. You know that, right?"

He recoiled. "I know, but... Jesus, Kitty. This isn't easy for me."

"Do you have any idea how big his cock is right now? This isn't easy for any of us!"

Allen scoffed. "I guess you didn't just squirt all over him when he was fucking you like a jackhammer, then? Was I imagining that?"

For a split second, despite all the guilt and shame, a tiny flash of pride crossed David's face before he wiped it away. "You did that? I made you... squirt?"

I stopped moving completely, settling into stillness the way a roller-coaster car settles after the final drop. "You did, sweetheart. Does that make you happy?"

He blushed, but the quivering little smile he was fighting told me the embarrassment wasn't as deep as he wanted it to look. "I... I mean, I guess it's kind of cool."

I leaned down until my breasts flattened against his chest and spilled outward under the pressure, then touched the tip of my nose to his. "I've never squirted like that before, you know?"

"Kitty!" Allen yelped. "Do you have to tell him—"

DING-DONG!

We froze in place.

"I thought they were all gone," I said, suddenly feeling the return of adrenaline that had slowly been simmering down.

"They were," Allen growled in pure frustration. "Must be some fucking late-night teenagers trying to get the last of the candy. The lights aren't even on downstairs, for Christ's sake!"

The tightness in my chest sharpened as an idea formed. "Well... go get rid of them, then."

Both men went still. Allen looked uncertain, and David watched his father's face carefully.

"You want me to..." Allen hesitated to leave room for me to change my mind.

"Leave," I told him. "Just go tell them to leave, then come back."

His jaw dropped. "But earlier you said you wanted me to stay."

A small, unplanned giggle slipped out. "Sorry, dear, it's just... Come on! He's back to normal now!"

He hung his head. "That's not the point."

I reached for him, but he jerked back as if my hand were something filthy. "I just meant... I'll be safe with him now, so you don't have to worry. He's not gonna hurt me. Are you, honey?"

"No, Mom," David promised, then looked at his father. "I promise I'll be super gentle."

Allen's expression flickered with something violent—like he wanted to drag me off our son by force—but I could see in his eyes the same calculation I was making: we were so close, and one interruption might undo everything. We didn't know that for sure, but we certainly understood the stakes well enough by then. One lingering fang or patch of fur would mean I had failed to protect my child from the darkness that had already claimed his grandfather. I was too good a mother to let that happen.

"Sure," Allen muttered. "Whatever, I guess."

He trudged out of the room, leaving me alone with my less-than-semi-feral son. The animal side was retreating, but I had already seen how quickly it could surge back. There was no room for complacency.

Two wolves of the same pack, I nuzzled the tip of my nose against his and pressed our foreheads together. "How are you feeling, Stitch?"

He turned his face slightly away. "I think Dad's really upset with us."

I lowered my head beside his and spoke softly into his ear. "That's nothing you have to worry about, okay? Your father is my responsibility."

"Yeah..."

I touched the cheek he had turned away and gently brought his gaze back to mine. "Look at me, honey."

He crinkled his nose awkwardly, almost amused by the strangeness of it all. "It's hard, okay?"

I gave his cock a deliberate little squeeze, and it throbbed in response. "I can feel how hard it is, mister."

The chuckle that came out of him was pure David: boyish and real with no gravelly undertone at all. "No, Mom, not that! I mean it's hard to... I can't look at you while we're doing this."

"While you're fucking me?" I asked plainly.

"Uh... yeah."

"Say it," I encouraged. "It's less weird if you just... say it, I think."

He looked even more embarrassed than the time I'd caught him with his hand in the cookie jar as a little kid. "I can't."

I kissed the side of his neck, then blew a loud, wet raspberry against the skin, causing another genuine giggle to burst out of him.

"That tickles!" he cried, his feet kicking lightly against the mattress.

"What, when I do... this?" I did it again, making a ridiculous smacking sound when I pulled away.

He tried to swat me off, but I caught both of his wrists, pinned them above his head, and subjected him to another round of buzzing neck kisses. Hearing his real, genuine laughter felt like reclaiming a piece of him that the curse had tried to take. Once I'd found that foothold, I had no intention of letting go.

I gradually traded the goofy raspberries for quick, cheeky little kisses, giggling softly as I scattered light pecks along his neck. Then I paused, drew a slow breath, and pressed my mouth more intentionally against his skin. I lingered there, feeling the warmth of him, before parting my lips and sucking gently to draw a soft bit of flesh into my mouth, which I then dragged my tongue across.

"Ooohhh," he warbled. "Mom, that... fuck, that feels really good."

"Mmhmm?" I cooed against him. "Like when I do that?"

I dragged my tongue slowly up the side of his face, tasting only clean skin and the salt of his sweat. One arm wound around the far side of his head so I could cradle his skull in the crook of my elbow while my fingers toyed with his hair. I sucked hard enough to leave a dark red mark that he knew existed without seeing it.

"It's like you're marking me," he murmured mindlessly.

I lifted my head and giggled. "Ditto. You marked me plenty tonight."

"I did?"

I nipped at his skin with my teeth, gingerly catching the peach fuzz on his neck between them. "Mmhmm. You had your tongue all up inside my mouth."

He groaned like he was hearing stories from a blackout drinking binge the night before. "Did I really do that?"

"You think I'd make that up?" I asked before lifting my mouth to his nose. "Here; do I smell like wolf?" I breathed hot air into his face, but the ventilation was interrupted as laughter began to bubble up from both of us.

"That's so gross!" he squealed. It felt like ages had passed since I'd seen him that happy.

Our shared smile lingered as I looked into his eyes. Then, slowly, almost without meaning to, I began to lean in.

"What are you doing?" he asked, his voice suddenly careful.

"I don't know," I admitted. "Probably something I shouldn't."

He swallowed. "Are you gonna kiss me?"

I brushed my lips against his and gave his cock a forceful squeeze from the inside. "Thinkin' about it."

He nodded faintly. "I can— You can do that, yeah."

I leaned closer until his warm breath brushed my open mouth. "Yeah?"

"Yeah, Mom."

"Just a little one, okay?"

"Little one," he panted, already closing his eyes.

"Juuuust a little one," I repeated—mostly to myself—knowing it was a lie even before our lips fully met.

To my credit, the start of the kiss was rather bland. Neither of us were quite sure how to progress without the monster inside of him leading us.

The second our mouths touched, he whispered, "Oh my god," against my lips. He tried to pull back, but there was nowhere to go. I closed the tiny gap and kissed him again.

"Mom, I—"

"One more," I urged, still pressed against him. "Little one?"

"Okay," he said with a shudder. "Little one."

It was anything but little. It deepened immediately into a hungry, open-mouthed mauling of tongues that was wetter and more passionate than anything Allen and I had shared in years. My hips kept moving the whole time, a steady, grinding rhythm that never quite stopped, even when Allen's footsteps started back up the stairs.

"Grab my butt," I whispered against David's mouth.

He tensed. "But Dad's coming."

I shook my head. "Don't care."

"Mom," he said softly, almost pleading. "He's gonna—"

"Do you want to cum inside me?" I asked, sudden and direct.

The way his cock twitched hard inside me was answer enough.

"Good," I said. "Then shut up and grab my ass while you kiss me."

His hands slid down and squeezed hard, kneading my softness with bony digits that would have stung just minutes before. We stayed locked together right up until the very second that Allen was outside the door. I could feel David's heart hammering against my chest, but I was strangely calm.

The second the door started to open, I broke the kiss and sat up straight. David's hands flew off my ass like he'd been burned, but the awkwardness on both our faces was impossible to hide.

Allen stood in the doorway and glared at us suspiciously. "Did I miss something?"

"Nope!" I chirped too brightly, and sucked some of our son's saliva into my mouth. "Just trying to make him cum, that's all."

David couldn't even look at his father. He kept his face turned toward the opposite while I kept moving, sliding the wet, stretched lips of my pussy slowly up and down his length. He was still so big that every withdrawal seemed to drag my insides with him, producing a symphony of filthy squelches. When I sank back down, I could actually feel little bubbles of my own slickness popping as my body was forced open around him all over again.

"Are you close, David?" Allen asked.

David hesitated. "Kinda, but I need more. Can we change positions?"

Allen sucked his teeth, but we ignored him.

"Of course, sweetheart," I cooed lovingly to balance out his disdain. "Want me on my back?"

David grinned. "Yeah! How did you know that?"

I winked at him. "I can just tell what you're gonna like."

We rolled so I was on my back again, and David looked almost guilty when he asked, "Can you make it tighter, too?"

The request sent an unexpected spark of excitement through me. "Here, try this."

I lifted my legs and hooked them over his shoulders, and the immediate change in angle made his eyelids flutter.

"Yeah... Fuck, that's way better. That's insane, Mom!"

Allen shifted in the doorway, but stayed silent.

David leaned forward, folding me nearly in half until my knees pressed close to my ears. Lost in the new pressure, he murmured deliriously, "Fuck... that is sooooo fucking tight."

My voice came out strained under the weight of my own folded body. "Thank you, Stitch." It was hard to breathe with my stomach compressed like that, but the look on his face made it worth it.

"I've always wanted to do this position," he said.

"Missionary?" I asked with confusion.

He tilted his head. "Missionary? No, Mom. You've never heard of this? This is a mating press."

Allen's breath caught. "A w-what? But you're not... you can't—"

David started moving again, ignoring his father for the first few strokes. His eyes fluttered and his mouth hung open as my body clenched and coiled around him.

"David," Allen said sternly. "You're not going to, right? Not inside. Right?" His voice tightened further. "Kitty, that's... was our thing. I've never— You've never— With someone else? That's ours!"

I answered as gently as I could. "And now we get to share it with our baby boy. What could be more special than that?"

David let out a rough, vulgar grunt that shattered the quiet moment between us.

"Please, Kitty," Allen begged, already sounding defeated. "Don't do this."

"It's a safe day," I said quickly. "I think."

Part of me genuinely worried that if David didn't finish the way the curse seemed to demand, everything we had already done would unravel. I couldn't risk that. Another part of me—one Allen would never hear about—wanted to feel that hot, thick rush flooding me, quenching the deep fire that the beast had lit and my son was more than keeping alive. He needed to come inside, for the cure and for me.

The headboard began knocking steadily against the wall as David's thrusts grew stronger and deeper. The familiar deep ache returned every time the engorged hammer of him slammed against my cervix, the spongy barrier already tender from everything that had come before.

"Can I?" he pleaded, panting hard, head framed between my ankles. "Inside, right? Right, Mom? Can I do it inside?"

I brushed the back of his skull with my big toe. The contact made him squeeze his eyes shut, so I tickled his scalp with my toenail.

"Inside, Stitch," I told him. "I can take it."

Allen's voice dripped with bitterness. "I bet you can, Caitlyn."

I hated to lose my mettle in front of my son, but the crack in my voice came without warning. "Honey, pl-ease, I—"

"Don't talk to her like that," David hissed through gritted teeth.

The wet slap of his body against mine was suddenly the only sound in the room. Allen didn't dare make him repeat it. We all understood exactly what had been said.

When my husband finally spoke again, his voice was thin and dry, lips sticking together as he forced the words out. "David... I know you don't understand this yet, but when you're married—"

"Shut up," David spat, turning just long enough to aim the words at his father before looking back at me. "You can't talk to my mom like that."

Something warm and fierce surged through my chest— maternal pride, pure and sharp for my champion. My boy was one who would have protected me from exactly the situation we found ourselves in, had the positions been reversed. In that moment I wasn't just "Mom," but his mom, and the distinction mattered. That fierce, possessive loyalty was something no amount of money or time could buy. For a few heartbeats, in every way that counted, I belonged entirely to him.

Allen physically retreated, shoulders rounding, but he kept muttering under his breath while our son continued to drive into me with single-minded force, trying his best to turn me inside out.

David let out delightfully human growl then, only imitating the beast I had almost fucked out of him. He leaned down until we were face to face, forcing my legs to bow outward under the pressure of how tightly I was folded. The lust in his eyes was still animal, but I knew the same fire was burning in mine. He closed the last inch and kissed me hard, mouths mashing together, tongues sliding and grinding the moment they met.

Allen made a sharp cry of protest over witnessing our kiss for the first time. David started to pull back, but I was quick to stop him.

"Ignore him," I whispered desperately, not caring how pathetic it sounded.

"Kitty, what the fuck?" Allen snapped.

My lips never left David's. His breath fogged against my mouth as I answered, "Just us, Stitch."

"Just us," he repeated, one eye twitching. "Mom... I'm... I'm gonna—"

"Let it out," I whispered needily.

Leave your mark, I thought, barely stopping myself from saying it aloud.

There was a massive, deep throb—his cock head flaring wide inside me—then the flood hit. Hot, blistering seed, thick enough to paint a barn, erupted from him in a continuous, powerful stream. There was nothing resembling a short burst, even for a second. It was a long, unbroken release that only grew stronger every time his cock clenched, like someone was rhythmically pinching an open garden hose. The pressure and heat were so intense my brain invented a sound for it: a wet, rising thoom-thoom-thoom that swelled and ebbed with every pulse.

In seconds, the excess began to ooze out around his shaft, spilling down between my cheeks in a warm landslide that coated my asshole in melted butter. When I clenched, I could feel it squelching there, sticky and hot. And still it kept coming. If my belly had been a balloon it would have swollen to the size of a beach ball from the sheer volume he was emptying into me— years of stored seed he hadn't even known he was saving for that moment.

More forced its way upward, bubbling out over the top of my stretched entrance to smother my clit. His next thrust churned the load inside me and dragged a heavy cupful of it back out with a lewd gurgle, flinging the thick goo across my already-soaked pubic hair.

After that final thrust, David collapsed onto my chest, pinning me completely— exhausted and human. I was too spent to move him, so I just rubbed slow circles on his back and murmured soft, reassuring nonsense, trying to keep the guilt from crushing him for what he had just done— to me, and in front of his father. "You did it," I whispered. "It's okay. We did it. It's okay, sweetheart. It's over now."

Most of the final traces of the change had vanished. He was simply my son again, breathing steadily against my collarbone, with one exception— his cock still felt like it was the size of my forearm, still buried deep inside me, and still faintly pulsing.

The room went quiet, but I could feel Allen waiting for the chance to speak.

"Is he done?" he asked carefully.

I pressed a soft kiss to the side of David's head. "He's all tuckered out, yeah. Still throbbing in there, though."

"You can feel that, huh?" The disappointment in Allen's voice was plain; I had never mentioned feeling him that way. Even his most powerful orgasm would have barely registered on the Richter scale to which my son had just added a whole new magnitude.

"Yeah," I answered, more fondly than I meant to. "He's still going, too."

"Going? Like, cumming?"

I nodded, rubbing my cheek against David's, quietly proud of the smooth skin where fur had been only minutes earlier. "Still pumping it out. I guess he was really backed up, huh?"

"Yeah... sure." Allen clearly had more to say, but not while our son was still panting on top of me. "We're gonna have to talk about this later, you know."

"I know. But not right now. Not while he's... David? Honey?"

Despite everything, I felt a small, unexpected warmth when Allen's parental worry overrode his disgust. "What's happening?" my husband asked. "Is he okay? Is the curse coming back?"

I gave a quiet little giggle. At the end of the day, David was still our boy, and I was glad his father still remembered that.

"He's fine," I said, then dropped my voice to a whisper. "I think he just fell asleep."

"And he's still... throbbing? Jesus."

"No, he's all d— Oh! Okay, well, he's still got a little more in there, I guess."

Allen slumped onto the bed beside me and leaned against the headboard. "At least he's okay."

I reached over and rested a gentle hand on my husband's leg. "Are we okay, though?"

He gave me a weak, tired smile. "Like I said, we'll talk later."

A sharp twinge of guilt twisted under my ribs, but then was not the time to push the conversation. "Okay, then. Will you get me a towel, at least? I think we're going to have to change his sheets."

Allen left the room without another word and returned a minute later with a warm, damp cloth. He didn't speak, and after I'd enjoyed the finale so much, I felt like I no longer had the right to.

Together, we carefully rolled David onto his side. He didn't even stir— just kept breathing peacefully. Allen helped me sit up, then steadied me as I tried to stand. My legs shook so badly they almost gave out, but he caught me under the elbows and held on until I found some kind of balance.

He picked up the ruined scraps of my Leia costume from the floor, looked at them for a second, then tucked them under his arm without comment.

The heat of everything that had just happened was already cooling into something more sinister. Neither of us looked directly at the wet, glistening evidence dripping down my thighs or the dark, damp patch spreading across the sheets.

Allen knelt in front of me and began to clean me with the cloth. His movements were clinical: wiping the thick, cooling seed from my inner thighs, from the swollen lips of my pussy, and from the cleft of my ass where so much of it had run. There was no tenderness, like the way a lover might touch after sex, only duty. He was erasing another man's presence from my body one slow pass at a time, and by doing it he was also forcing himself to participate in the aftermath of what he had just watched.

I stood there and let him. I didn't try to take the cloth, or apologize again, knowing my words lacked the power to fix anything.

For Allen, the ordeal was over, but for me it was not. Somewhere underneath the exasperation, I could already feel the cold dread of the next full moon— wondering what it would demand, and whether I would be able to give it again.

The room still smelled of sex and fading wolf musk. We both knew, without saying it, that something irreversible had been added to our marriage.

Even through the open disgust I could feel in the droop of his shoulders, he did not rush the cleaning. When he finished, he handed me one of David's old t-shirts that reached mid-thigh, dressing me for comfort after all the lust had been burned out of me, with not even a crumb leftover for his father. Then he guided me toward the door, one hand lightly at the small of my back, while our son slept soundly behind us, finally human again.

Extending an olive branch seemed necessary to stop him from stewing all night, so I tried to tempt him with something to take his mind off the trauma. "I'm kind of afraid to ask, but do you still want your treat, maybe?"

"Seriously?" he asked, sounding bored.

It was a hard sell, but I didn't give up. "I-I know I'm all... I'm kinda loose now, but maybe, um... The gooeyness? Maybe you'll like how it feels! There's still a bunch inside of me and... I just thought maybe it would feel good— How warm it is, you know?"

"Kitty..."

"Please?" I asked, still certain that I could win him over. To prove to him, and maybe to myself, that I was still intact enough for him to enjoy me, I reached down and buried a few fingers into my pussy.

My heart dropped to the pit of my stomach when I realized I could slip two... three... four of them inside without even needing to brace for it. My pussy easily moulded around the sides of my outer knuckles, nearly swallowing my entire fist before I hastily pulled it out.

I quickly glanced down at my hand, and saw how the heavy glaze of cloudy white cum made it look like I was holding a peculiar jellyfish.

Allen's breath hitched. "Oh, Jesus... Just stop, Kitty. Just stop, please."

I aggressively rubbed my knuckles on my t-shirt. "It's not that bad! I-I think you— I can still make you cum! I promise!"

He scoffed as we crossed the threshold into our bedroom. "Not tonight, please." He walked over to his side of the bed and sat down, not even bothering to turn his bedside light on for our usual reading time and snuggles. "We can talk about it in the morning."

I did not get another word out of him. I had so much to say, but he was a brick wall, and I felt like everybody deserved the blame for it.

The last thing I did before going to bed was check the moon cycles on my phone. Twenty-nine and a half days, it told me, until the next one. I opened my calendar and made an entry for roughly a month away, then erased it and changed the name about a dozen times— "Playtime," "Save My Son," "Mother's Touch." They all sounded corny, and though I did not think I would mistake the date for anything else, I still wanted to put something that made it stand out.

With a silly snicker, I opened the emoji tab and typed in "wolf," then added the tiny image of the grey and white hound. It wasn't like I needed any reminder beyond the date itself.

*****

A month later, we sat around the dinner table like any other night, except David kept glancing at the clock, practically vibrating with anticipation. The second he finished eating, he jumped up and started clearing plates at double speed, stacking them in the sink with barely controlled urgency.

"I've got the dishes," he said, already scrubbing. "You should... you know. Get ready, Mom?"

I knew exactly what he meant, and so did his father. "You sure you don't want me to be there this time, Kitty?" he asked. Something in his tone begged for me to change my mind, but it was already set in stone.

"It's okay, honey," I said as I reached for his hand. "He's gonna be a good dog. Right, Stitch?"

"Woof!" he barked as he cleared leftover food into the trash.

Not long after that, David darted upstairs and, with little regard for his father, put on what I could only assume was a teenager's attempt at a sex playlist. I didn't recognize the first song, but I sure did recognize the message behind it.

"Great," Allen grumbled at the table. "Guess I get to listen to that for the next... however long he takes."

I strode over to his chair and leaned down to kiss the top of his head. "Would you rather hear me instead?" I watched the hairs on the back of his neck stand up, so I teased him a little more. "His dick never went back to its normal size, remember? I'm probably gonna be squealing like a piglet when he touches the bottom."

"Fuck, Kitty..." he whispered. "When he's done, can you—"

"I will," I promised. "I remember, honey. I'll bring back as much as I can carry, but his cum was so heavy last time. It might just drip right out of me."

"And onto your thighs..." he mumbled fondly. "God, we're such freaks."

I rubbed his shoulder. "But we're excellent parents, aren't we?"

"Damn right."

Upstairs in my bathroom, I shaved carefully, taking my time, making everything smooth the way my son had requested it. Allen had asked casually a few times, but since he had never really pushed it, my pussy mound had remained blanketed in its signature fur thicket for decades. My son, however, had been desperate enough to plead—literally on his knees—for me to show him what I looked like when I was smooth.

I actually kind of liked the sleek, bald look, and wanted to give my husband a glimpse before my son turned the tight, tidy slit into a gaping pink abyss once more.

I came back downstairs in a simple robe and found Allen sitting in the den, perched in his armchair. I stopped in front of him, but did not say a word, waiting for him to stop pretending to read.

"Did you..." he implied.

"I did," I said cheerily. "All gone."

"Can I see?" he asked quietly. "I've never seen it—"

I quickly opened the robe, flashing my bare mound as I stepped close enough for him to touch me. His fingers traced the newly exposed skin with a strange mix of reverence and loss. He must've thought it looked amazing, but he knew my presence was on borrowed time. He even leaned in and gave my round mound one slow, almost apologetic lick before David's voice floated down the stairs.

"Mom?" my son called impatiently as he raced down the steps to meet us in the den. "You almost ready?"

Our son soon appeared in the doorway already naked. Faint patches of fur had started to show around his ears, and his cock was half-hard and growing. "It's starting! Hurry up!"

I still held Allen's hand loosely. "I'm just saying goodbye to your father."

David stepped up behind me, slid both arms around my waist, and pressed a warm kiss to the side of my neck. His hands moved upward, already pawing openly at my breasts through the thin robe. "I thought you were mine tonight?"

Allen's fingers tightened around mine—one last silent don't go—but we both knew there was no choice left to make.

David gently, but rather insistently, pulled me away from the man I'd promised myself to so long ago, but those vows seemed distant with his powerful biceps squeezing my stomach.

Allen's hand stretched after me for a second, then fell. The look we shared as I was led out of the living room carried everything that had broken between us, but I hoped it could still be fixed with time.

"Be back soon," I called softly just before David swept me out of sight.

He scooped me up and carried me toward the stairs. I laughed and gave his shoulder a playful slap, only distantly aware of how the bright, newlywed sound of my voice must have carried back to the man still sitting alone in the armchair.

One day it would feel normal, the strange routine we were in, but not that night. Halloween was still my favorite holiday, though, and for a number of brand-new reasons that only tangentially related to the fear my beast of a son had once stricken me with. From that night on, however, I'd learned to tame the monster with a tender touch— the way only a mother can.

My husband was a much different animal, but I was learning to tame him, too. I was already confident that it would only be a matter of time until he got over the initial discomfort of giving his wife away every month to the boy he'd raised. My plan, though, was not to wait that long.

I knew that, if I could convince my husband to listen to his innermost desires—the ones that had made him hard as fucking steel on the night my son had ravaged me—then our relationship would get even spicier.

I hoped that, if I was lucky, I would never have to wait more than twenty-four hours before feeling my son's explosive seed dousing my womb. Until then, however, I was happy with what I had: a family, an amazing life, and a cock big enough to fuck me to kingdom come and back again.

Some curses are blessings, and some blessings are curses. My son's affliction is both, and I wouldn't have it, or him, any other way.

***

Happy Halloween, everybody.

-CK