The Reunion, A difficult time for the Bunker family, His thin arms and shoulders were aflame from hoisting the corpulence of his upper torso. His flabby core tingled with effort, its impending failure threatening the collapse of his tense, sweaty body. He desperately swallowed gulps of air that brought cool, but torturously evanescent relief to his burning lungs. His thighs and ass had gone virtually numb, their straining driving force rendering his thrusts shallow and uncoordinated. His genitals tingled almost unbearably, and it took every ounce of resolve within him to not spill his seed. His teeth threatened to crack from the force of his jaw, which was clenched shut in a desperate effort to endure the stress on his body. The man was a sweating, wheezing, jiggling mess atop his wife.
Yet, he was truly happy.
It had been a while. He had spent the better part of the last two decades watching his life slowly decay. He watched as a lean young man with fierce eyes melted into a pudgy slob with slumped shoulders. He watched as an idealistic economics major sold out his dreams for vapid, but well-heeled accountant work.
Most tragically, he had watched as the warm tenderness of his fresh marriage slowly rotted into a rancid arrangement of frigid tolerance.
But that was part of the unpleasant past that he had vowed to forget. Ever since their successful “Reunion”, the Bunkers had found marital bliss once again.
So he switched his thoughts to happier memories.
He remembered the first time he had seen Kristen Baines – two decades ago – clear as day. Initially resistant to a marriage arranged by his parents, his misgivings completely evaporated when he stepped into the guest bedroom and saw a gorgeous 18-year old with lush, blond hair bouncing in springy curls; curly lashes batting over pretty, blue eyes; ample, red lips curled into a captivating smile; and a voluptuous frame packed into a modest, but entirely alluring summer dress. Indeed, when Pastor Baines transferred his lovely daughter onto Doug’s arm on his wedding day, more than a sliver of his mind was busy imagining his wedding night.
Doug smiled, remembering the night of passion and fulfillment.
“I l-love you,” he wheezed, looking at the woman below him.
If he’d asked her how she remembered their wedding night, she would have spun a different tale.
Certainly, she remembered it well; after all, Kristen had been looking forward to it for years. Despite their rustic roots, the Baines were a hedonistic lot, and Kristen’s born-again parents could not shield her from the annual, highly educational trips she took to the families’ countryside estates. By the time she had ripened, the girl knew more about sex and breeding than the most liberated feminists in the country. Even her parents, for all their Puritanical moralizing, did not abstain from partaking in the marital bliss they had enjoyed since well before their religious conversion; Kristen fondly remembered the hot summer nights outside her parent’s bedroom door, quietly stroking her pussy as she imagined herself in her shrieking mother’s place. Indeed, had she not known of the gratifying nature of her parent’s marriage, her virginity would have been undoubtedly lost to her enthusiastic and physically gifted cousins and relations on the Baines ranch.
When she learned of her would-be suitor, a college-educated, urban gentleman who would take her away from her repressed hometown, she was overjoyed. For all of Doug’s excitement at their wedding, Kristen could barely focus on the ceremony, her imagination awash with the sights and sounds that she had come to expect after her extensive, but entirely second-hand sexual education.
In reality, Kristen was greeted by a prudish and genteel virgin who awkwardly deflowered her for a few minutes before quickly drifting to sleep. She remembered weeping alone, angry at her naiveté and her disillusionment.
“I love you too,” Kristen replied, opening her eyes and flashing her spouse a smile before retreating back into her mind.
“F-feel good… baby?”
“Ya it’s good, Doug,” she lied.
Thinking about her wedding night ruined what little arousal she had achieved, so Kristen switched her thoughts to greener pastures; although she had been a virgin up to her wedding night, Doug was certainly not the only man she had ever been with. After the inaugural year of their marriage, Kristen had become thoroughly convinced that her effete and increasingly workaholic spouse would never satisfy her boundless sexual appetite.
Certainly, she did not actively quest to be unfaithful. Unfortunately, after assenting to her husband’s request to teach piano to help pay for the child they had planned on having since their wedding night, circumstances began testing her forbearance. Within a year, the frustrated, young housewife had between her legs a blond lothario home for the summer from his college and his wrestling scholarship. By the end of the summer, she knew well what her mother was screaming about for all those hours at night.
After the revelation of her first affair, Kristen became a serial philanderer. She spooled through the various liasons in her mind, her cleft again moistening with each memory. The PTA dad who would not let her husband coach baseball. The contractors that took weeks remodeling the basement bathroom. The boy in loose shorts selling magazines. Doug’s young and gifted summer intern.
And then, accidentally, she unearthed the one she had been trying to avoid.
Garrett.
Her handsome son.
She remembered flashes of their first time. Doug’s month-long business trip to Thailand. Pleasant High’s summer vacation. A bottle of wine after a long, exhausting, but incredibly fun Independence Day. Garrett’s warm head in her lap, his soft hair in her hands, his shorts bulging obscenely before her eyes, his sobriety weakening with hers. Knees pressing a skirt into the carpet. Fingers pulling down boxers by the elastic band. Kristen’s eyes widening with incredulous discovery, her head nudged forward by the ambitious teenage hand on the back of her head, her gag reflex sorely tested, her large teats lubricated with an oily river of teenage precum. A skirt hiked up past creamy thighs. Motherly calves stroking her boy’s strong shoulders. A teacher flooding the mouth of her best student with her amply flowing honey. A son’s eyes shut by his loving mother scratching his glans to sublime ecstasy with her long, painted nails. A mother’s eyes wide at her horny son gorging her experienced pussy to virgin levels of stretch with his thick, pale truncheon. Incestuous screams announcing midnight. Warm maternal jus spraying onto a squat teenage pestle. Potent teenage cream spilling out of a distended maternal basin. Garrett’s disappointment at his quick release. Kristen’s delight at his quick recovery. Leading her son up the stairs, his cock in her hand. Folding his mother on her marital bed, her legs on his shoulders. A trembling colt growing into a glistening stallion. A cooing mare remembering how to be a shrieking filly. 1 AM. Stuffed full, ass up, face down. 4 AM. Elbows locked, hips undulating, riding cowgirl. 8 AM. Legs up in the air, toes curled, breath a scream. Noon-
“Kristen?”
Her eyes flashed open. Doug had stopped moving and was looking at her, concerned.
“Huh? What is it?”
“Your face… I’ve never seen it like that.”
“Oh uh, you’re just making me feel so good.”
“Well, it’s sexy, so I’m glad. Ugh I’m glad you’re close honey, cause… baby I’m almost there,” he groaned, resuming his thrusts.
“O- oh yeah… yeah I’m close,” she covered, aware that his efforts did nothing to scratch the now-aching tingling deep inside her.
Doug seemed to buy it, “Yeah, I can tell – you’re dripping wet now.”
“All for you, Doug.”
“Aww yeahhh… *huff* c-come with me b-baby.”
“Oh yeah Doug – that feels so good. I’m so close, baby.”
“I’MMM OGGHHHHH!” Doug bellowed.
Kristen followed with her best performance.
“Me too! Oh Doug!”
Doug gasped and wheezed, falling atop his wife’s body. Their soft flesh pressed together in warm embrace. He kissed her after regaining his breath, and rolled beside her, his limp pecker wrinkled and wet under his potbelly. In all their years of marriage, he had never worn a condom; the pair was never blessed with fertility. Once this was a source of concern – it took nearly a year of semi-regular procreation before their son miraculously took root one day – but was now a perquisite.
He turned and looked at his wife. Even in the dim light, she was unbelievably lovely. Her curly blonde hair, slightly messy from their relations, framed her aged, but still very pretty face. Her slender neck gave way to her enormous bosom, which had somehow grown larger with the years, and her pale stomach, which had remained the same size from rigorous diet and exercises. The same care had kept her substantial hips, buttocks, thighs, and calves impressively taut for her age.
Euphoric from his climax and the ability to connect to his beloved and still resplendent bride, he shivered as he poured her heart out to her.
“I love you so much, Kristen.”
Completely unsatisfied, Kristen turned away as she told him that she felt the same. Since the “Reunion”, each “I love you too” felt flimsier and flimsier; she began to worry that he’d see the truth in her eyes.
She didn’t want to disappoint him.
After all, when her husband of 20 years broke down in tears after another fizzled date night, his earnest pleas to save their marriage and rekindle their love had persuasively moved her conscience. He was right – for all his faults, Doug had provided for his son and his wife capably, and his crime of domestic neglect that had earned him his family’s disdain was largely a symptom of his exuberant efforts as a breadwinner. Thus, she had agreed to a “Wedding Reunion”, a self-imposed period of marital reconciliation espoused by one of Doug’s many self-help authors. At the time, pitying her life partner, her mind legitimately considered the possibility that she could replace the years of deception and adultery with a happy and honest marriage.
Indeed, his entreaties had so shaken her conscience that she did the unthinkable: she broke her son’s heart. When he had come home from school the day after, she stopped him in his amatory routine. Unfaltering in her newfound moral direction, she denied her sensual and maternal objections, and stood firm against his fanatical appeals. When she explained, quite honestly, that she had also made the decision to stabilize her marriage with his future in mind, citing that she could never support him financially like his father could, he angrily and wordlessly walked away. Every fiber in her body ached to stop the man that she had come to love, but her moral resolve kept her strong.
One month later, her moral resolve had all but evaporated. She was constantly horny, and while her fingers kept her sanity at bay, they were no proxy for her son’s endowment. Worse, Doug’s insistence on frequent mating in order to respect the terms of “the Reunion” actually poured gasoline on the firestorm of lust threatening to consume their marriage.
Doug rolled with her, pressing his chest into her back, wrapping his arm around her.
“I mean it. I’d do anything to see you happy, baby.”
Kristen’s mind disagreed on how to respond. One part of her was moved by her spouse’s sincere attestation of devotion. The rest of her wanted to tell him the truth: she could only be happy if he’d let her and Garrett be.
She sighed, weary from the internal conflict, and tried to be as honest as possible, “Thank you, love. Right now, the only thing I’m worried about is seeing Garrett through college.”
“Of course! Silly girl – you know you don’t have to ask that of me.”
“I’m serious.”
His wife’s tone indicated that she was in no playing mood. Following another tenet of the “Reunion”, he decided to end the conversation gently before it devolved into a fight.
He kissed her on the cheek, “Good night, love.”
“Goodnight…” Kristen muttered, her eyes gazing into the darkness long after Doug’s faint snores permeated the room. Her fingers began rubbing her clit as she closed her tear-filled eyes, trying to imagine anything but the object of her desire. She was unsuccessful.
The next morning, her tired eyes stared into the sizzling pan of sausage and eggs, distracted by the bubbling oil. The familiar sight, smell, and sound lulled her into a state of dreamlike memory.
Suddenly, she felt her son’s powerful arms encircle her. His warm lips lay gentle caresses of love on the nape of her neck. His fingers stroked the slight rounding of her stomach and the swell of her breasts. His egregious morning-wood stabbed her between her abundant buttocks with lubricious intent.
“Mmm… good morning, mom.”
Although her womb burned thirstily and her labia were sodden with need, she played the part of the reluctant lover.
“Babyyy… your father’s gonna be down here soon.”
His fingers dipped between her legs, effecting a gasp of shocked pleasure from her lips.
“We’ll hear him. We have lots of practice.”
“Garrettttt… ohhhh…”
“And then, after he’s gone, I’m gonna make you ride me while I eat breakfast.”
“But you’ll miss the busss,” she whined.
“Aw, mom. You can’t give me a ride to school? I promise it’ll be an entertaining driiive,” he pouted teasingly as he lightly squeezed on the lips around her clit.
“Yesssssssssss,” she hissed, familiar with all the wonderful possibilities of a drive with her son.
“Kristen?”
Her son never called her by name. Her trance was broken – and she returned to the cold kitchen.
She turned around to find her husband in his work clothes.
“I think it’s past well-done,” he joked, gesturing to the pan.
“Shit! Sorry…” she murmured, sliding the slightly burnt contents of the pan onto the plate.
“It’s ok, honey. Thank you for breakfast,” he smiled before sitting down for breakfast.
His wife still seemed lost.
“Everything ok?”
“Huh? Oh yeah… I’m good. Where’s Garrett?”
“I think he’s waiting for the bus with Kyle again.”
Doug was moved to pity by the disappointment on his wife’s face. He knew she adored the boy, and the usually inseparable duo was locked into a tiff he didn’t understand. The fight had clearly dispirited Kristen, and he tried unsuccessfully to mend his son’s behavior. His failure was not a surprise, however; whatever present ire he held for his mother still paled in comparison to the animus he bore for his father. Doug didn’t blame him; in his zeal to provide, he had failed as a paternal influence in his boy’s life. Still, if the “Reunion” with his wife had worked, perhaps there was hope for reconciliation with his son too.
Kristen kissed her husband goodbye, closing the door behind him. She turned around to a house that felt emptier and more vacant than it had in the years.
At least it was Friday, she thought as her spin class came to an end; every week, she’d meet Carol, one of the neighborhood moms for some wine and gossip. With her home life slowly corroding, her enthusiasm for female company, as well as her thirst, had been at a peak.
She called to give her friend a heads up, as she walked to the car. By the time Carol picked up, she was already buckled into the seat.
“Ahem… hello?”
“Hey Carol? It’s me Kristen. We’re still on for this afternoon, right?”
There was no response. Kristen only heard the vague commotion of voices in the background.
“baby waitt… Kristen! H-hey, listen, I’m s-sorry … unfff … I c-can’t do lunch today…”
Silence again. Kristen could hear a deep male voice amongst her friend’s obvious cries and giggles.
She smiled, whispering, “Josh is home, huh?”
Carol gasped and she heard the male voice laugh.
“Yes… I- I’m sorry. He surprised me by… c-coming home early for the long week- Josh ahhhh!”
Kristen reassured her, “It’s ok sweetheart. I completely understand. Enjoy yourself.”
There was no response, but the couple on the otherside on the phone had long forgotten any semblance of propriety; she could hear the sound of their desperate rutting clear as day. The now lost, but familiar sound of exasperating passion made her womb prickle with need, and when her rational mind forced her to hang up, most of her ravenous flesh begged her not to.
Finding herself dizzy, she took a deep breath before resigning herself to the drive home. She tried to focus on her newfound moral authority, yet the alluring thoughts of a forbidden reunion claimed her mind.
She barely noticed turning onto her street, her attention only stimulated by the usually hateful sight of neighbor’s distasteful lawn gnomes. Her home finally came into view, and she casually studied the suburban palace until something caught her eye – the blinds on Garrett’s window rippling in the breeze.
Her heart sank.
Her son was home, and he almost certainly had a woman in his bed.
Having partaken in innumerable incidents of fornication in the Bunker household over decades, Kristen was an expert on the subject. For example, she knew that Garrett’s room was the best place to hear the garage door open, especially with the window left open, making it a prime destination. In fact, the couple had become so practiced at reacting to the mechanical clarion call of Doug’s arrival that sometimes they would still finish if time permitted. She also knew that her son hated the sound of blinds rattling in the wind; although he understood their vitality as a mask, he would lift them from the very moment that it was safe to do so.
Thus, Kristen parked her car across the street and quickly walked to the door, trying to be as quiet as possible. For the last month, she had quietly suffered her overflowing libido, Garrett’s antipathy, feigning romance, and the stifling boredom. Now, for the first time in forever, she burned with reckless jealousy that made her throw caution to the wind.
She quietly opened the door and was immediately greeted to the expected sounds of copulation. She immediately identified her son’s vociferations, although his patient grunts and heavy breathing belied a level of investment far below what she was accustomed to. Perhaps he just seemed muted relative to his partner’s clamorous, piercing squawking. Whoever the bitch was, she was young and she clearly couldn’t handle Kristen’s personally trained stud.
At the top of the stairs, Kristen saw that her son’s door was wide open. Mouth dry and heart fluttering, Kristen’s toes curled as she placed step after silent step on the creak-prone wooden floor. Practically, the sheer volume of caterwauling within the small bedroom rendered her stealth largely optional. Within a minute, her shoulder hugged the wall besides Garrett’s door, and she slowly leaned forward to investigate.
Her head soon tracked the scene into her view, and the contents of the picture overwhelmed her sight. In center frame, a gargantuan, V-shaped, male back sweated and rippled with dedicated motion. Small, female feet peeked out from the background, the multi-colored painting on the toes visible from their intense clenching. Below, an elephantine, pale billy club, wrapped scantily with translucent black latex, walloped a tiny, pink snatch, its unyielding rigidity circumscribed by unraveling softness. His large hands clutched her skinny thighs, spreading them as wide as possible, opening her completely to his mercy. Garrett’s thumping, muscular ass, the driving engine of the youthful fornication, took no mercy on the willing co-ed; at a breakneck pace, it pulled out the shaft until only the swollen glans remained inside, and then jammed the fleshy colossus back into the tiny cavern as far as possible. At the end of the occasional downstroke, even after bottoming out, with several inches of cock still outside, Garrett kept pushing and rotating his hips; the move made his mom dizzy and his girlfriend shriek. Frothy, white lubricating fluid streamed out of the frantic, snug union, spilling onto the disheveled red sheets as Garrett steadily pulverized the little girl, her lanky haunches and bony thighs shaking from the drubbing.
Having experienced Garrett’s special ability to pack a woman to overflowing, Kristen angrily envied the mewling girl. However, the knowledge that so much of her son’s endowment was wasted on the little waif brought a dark revel to her heart; only a mother could take all of her baby boy.
“Gahh- RETT! Aaah!! Yo- you’re gonna… make meeeee…”the adult girl squeaked, her small hands clutching her lover’s massive arms.
“I know. Just let go,” Garrett muttered.
Kristen knew her son was no stranger to a woman’s impending orgasm. She watched with wide eyes as her ex-lover continued his steadfast trouncing until the teen beneath him screamed piteously, clawed at her tormentor’s back, and flexed her toes.
Garrett withdrew, the suction from the removal of his mighty scepter causing the ravaged girl’s pussy to evict a quantity of fluid that soaked the bed. Although transfixed by the pulsating monster dangling menacingly from between her son’s legs, Kristen retreated from the doorway to maintain her cover.
“A- mazingg,” she heard the girl croak.
“Get on your knees,” Garrett commanded coolly.
“Wha- again?”
“Yeah, I haven’t come yet.”
“But… what about your mom?”
“She’s gonna hang out with her friends until the afternoon. We’ll hear the garage door, so stop worrying.”
Still on her back, she panted heavily, “Wanna rest for a bit?”
“No.”
Kristen listened to the bed creak as her son ignored the girl’s reservations and easily flipped her over. As her son’s grunts and the breathless schoolgirl’s squeals began anew, Kristen realized that her panties were saturated and that her belly was on fire – she was more aroused now than she had been in weeks.
A short while later, Garrett cursed loudly as he heard the garage door open. He released the Emily’s hair and sweaty ass from his firm grip and withdrew.
She whimpered disapprovingly, looking back and arching her sweaty back, “No… baby… I’m so close… pleasee…”
Garrett was in no mood for commiseration as he threw the disappointingly empty condom into the waste basket. Ever since his mother had unceremoniously put an end to their assignations, his aching cock had gone unrelieved in weeks. Unfortunately, thanks to his mother’s overzealous tutelage, masturbation was no longer a worthy opponent for his stamina. When he’d finally gotten Emily Bonnett into bed, he was sure that he’d found relief, but her inexperienced pussy was no match for the maternal vaginal gymnastics to which he was accustomed; the short bouts in Emily’s teenage bedroom while her mother visited neighbors always left him blue-balled. Realizing that he’d finally have an empty house for hours, he had planned to plow the tight little teen uninterrupted until he was satisfied; this unexpected interruption irked him to no end.
Whilst pulling on his shorts, he snapped, “My mom’s already here. Get dressed.”
Terrified of Mrs. Bunker, Emily yelped and frantically began dressing.
Soon, the couple descended the stairs together to meet Kristen. Despite their casual attitude and state of full dress, the teens were implicated in their peccadillo by their shiny bodies and disheveled clothes.
“Hey mom… how was spin class?”
“Good.”
Garrett knew his mother well enough to know that the strained smile she wore belied an intense anger bubbling underneath the surface. He also noticed her glare directed at his arm around Emily’s waist.
She was jealous!
Still fuming at his mother for her various slights, Garrett was eager for some payback. He curled his arm around the schoolgirl tighter, bringing her even closer.
“This is Emily Bonnett, from school.”
Her jaw clenched as she watched her handsome son snuggle up to the ugly, overtanned hussy with whore earrings and non-existent tits. The mother inside Kristen fumed at her for driving her son to this last resort.
“H- hi, Mrs. Bunker… I was just about to leave,” the girl croaked, astute enough to know that she was currently unwanted.
“Hello, Emily. It’s nice to meet you. Have a good afternoon.”
“I’ll see her out.”
Garrett walked her to the door. Ensuring that their goodbye was well within his mother’s sight, he embraced Emily so passionately that she left the house dizzy in love.
As soon as the door closed, Kristen snapped, her legitimate anger exponentially fiercer from the jealously and sexual need that made her womb itch maddeningly.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing? I can’t believe I have to come home to you plugging some teen skank!”
“I thought you were going to be out with your friends until later,” Garrett coldly replied.
“Well, they cancelled,” Kristen shouted, his reasonable response making her even angrier. “T-that’s not the point though! You’re being disgusting!”
Garrett had had enough.
“Oh bullshit,” he muttered as he started to walk away.
“WHAT?! What did you say?”
Kristen walked up to him and grabbed his arm.
“Look at me when I’m talking to you. You do not get to talk-”
The teen turned around, towering over her.
“I said BULLSHIT. You’re not disgusted – you’re just jealous.”
“Wha-?” Kristen mouthed, backing away.
Garrett began pacing towards her, “You’re jealous that I’m with somebody else. Jealous that I’m having sex with somebody else.”
Kristen tried to raise her voice, but she could only whisper, “I thought I told you we wouldn’t talk about that anymore.”
Garrett had finally walked her back against the wall. He towered over her, his hands bracing his lean against the wall two feet above her, and brought his face close to hers.
“I didn’t. You did. You want me to talk about it.”
“I- I…”
Kristen found herself looking up at her strapping, handsome son – teenager or not, he certainly looked at her like a man does at his woman. Her anger disappeared and the speech she had prepared had been forgotten. All she knew was the throbbing deep in her belly. Her nostrils flared. The hairs on her skin stood up. Her already moist panties began to wet anew.
“You’re jealous that I’ve replaced you with someone. Angry that I don’t need you anymore.”
She didn’t bother denying the truth. Her eyes gazed into his in complete submission. He could reduce her to tears with one cruel word.
To her surprise, his gaze softened and the lines in his face softened.
“Well you’re wrong. I do need you.”
He grasped her hand and guided it to his shorts. With a familiarity bordering on instinct, her fingers curled around the massive barrel of his erection and began stroking it. God, she missed touching him.
“He’s been aching for you, mom. He needs you… so badly. Only you know how to touch him.”
The look of tortured need on her beloved boy’s face made her mother’s heart melt. She reached up and touched his face with her other hand.
“Oh… my poor babyy. I- I need… you… too.”
Garrett closed his eyes, relishing his mother’s loving touch. He opened them again to gaze into her lovely eyes, and began to close the distance between them.
“I love you, mom. I want you.”
Kristen’s heart pounded violently, filled to the brim with a confusing mix of lust, love, guilt, and fear. She slid her hand from his cheek and placed them over his lips, pushing weakly.
She shook her head slowly, her teary eyes wide, “Baby… we c- can’t. I promised… your father… this is wrong.”
Garrett paused his advance, his blue eyes burning into hers, “Does that matter?”
Kristen was shocked at his amorality. Was this the reflection of her deepest self?
He disclosed, “I don’t care if it’s wrong. I just have one question.”
“What?” she whispered, eager to know.
He lowered his arms from the wall, wrapping them around her body. His fingers stroked her shoulders over her tanktop, her bare stomach, her hips confined in yoga pants. He pulled her close, pressing the hard slab in his boxers against her tight gym clothes, the heat setting her core on fire.
“Is it what you want?”
Taking her eyes slipping shut in pleasure as her approval, he resumed his approach. He grasped her blonde head with his large hand, and pulled it to him, rekindling their forbidden love with her surrendered kiss.
Divorced to such heights of passion for so long, Kristen ‘s conscious grew hazy as lust conquered her soul. The very training that she had bequeathed to her son now conquered her attention, his hungry lips, rapacious hands, and eager tongue reducing her to a dazed schoolgirl. She barely remembered being picked up and walked up the stairs towards her son’s room. Through the fog of her mind, she briefly wished that the boy would walk them to her marriage bed, but then quickly remembered that Garrett’s room was their designated sanctuary.
She felt her feet touch the ground and watched as her son began undressing.
The familiar sight triggered her associated routine, and she stripped naked. Just as she bent down to pull away her yoga pants, she stood up to find her tall, tanned paramour walking towards her, his ludicrously large erection bobbing before him. She looked up at him when he was close, his blond hair glistening in the sunlight streaming from the window.
He pulled her into him, her chin resting on his sternum, her breasts pressed against his abdomen, her soft mound squshed against his diamond hard-on. Her hands rubbed his shoulders, whilst his fingers explored the curve of her ass, dislodging her panties.
Her panties dropped to her shins. As she had done thousands of times before, she kicked them off and stood on her tippy-toes, tilting up her head so that her lips were centimeters away from her son’s. Garrett looked down to meet her lips.
“I love you. Only you,” she whispered before pressing her lips to his.
Their wet, messy, desperate lip locking seemed to go on for eternity. Finally reunited and safe in the temple of the most forbidden ritual, mother and son consumed each other. The heat of their embrace also further ignited their craven need, as evidenced by their throbbing, weeping genitals.
Kristen broke the kiss. She breathlessly whispered, “I need cock. Now.”
She dropped to her knees, intently worshipping her most favorite penis in the world. She felt her pussy ache as she relearned its pale, vein-engorged surface after a month of estrangement. The base stood hard and thick, like an alabaster tree trunk surrounded by pufts of dark grass. The tip, a slab of flesh that had covered every infinitesimal nook and cranny within her in its many spelunkings, drooled with monstrous purpose.
She puckered her soft lips and approached, planting a long, tender kiss on the shaft, her eyes searching for his. He met her gaze, shivering from the memories associated with one of their many sexual rituals. She smiled, well aware of her ability to reduce her lothario to a mewling boy, pulling her hair behind her ear in preparation of readying his vigorous breeding tool.
Looking to her left at the boy’s nightstand, she opened the false bottom and used her plying fingers to grasp a flat piece of plastic from the wicker bucket. “Magnum. Extra Sensitive.” she read, strangely happy to see the packaging again. Expertly tearing the plastic with her teeth – she hadn’t ruptured a condom in years – she safely deposited the circle in the flat of her right hand.
Garrett gently grasped her hand just as she set to the task. She looked up, bemused, to find him shaking his head.
“Magic trick.”
She smiled in understanding. She grasped her son’s penis casually with her left, placed the rubber in her mouth, and proceeded to swallow his entire monstrosity.
Her son confirmed her success when he groaned in response to her voice tickling his glans and her lipstick smearing his base. The maneuver provided gooey lubricant for her mouth to spread over the column; Garrett’s vision began to blur as he watched his parent lay wet, broad tongue-strokes around the surface of his babymaker. His knees went weak from the sensation, and he grasped her bare right shoulder for support.
Normally, Kristen would never cease an action that made her baby groan and thrust with such relief. Today, however, even her maternal needs were bowing to her needs as a woman.
She plopped the shiny, black obelisk from her mouth, and whispered huskily, “I need him. Inside me.”
He soundlessly pulled her up to her feet, right up against him. Holding her with his large hands, he walked her back and gently put her on her back. Climbing onto his knees, he recklessly pulled her legs apart to find her open for him, once again, stroking her bud to anoint his entry. He watched her, enjoying her heart-achingly pretty face watching him expectantly with need; her large, maternal breasts sloped onto her torso; her thick, creamy thighs and ample hips shaking with anticipation. He remembered well why high school girls had never concerned him before.
He kneed up to her, laying down his pale enormity on her matching stomach. Its chasmal opening slobbering clear pre-cum well above her belly button, the image in her wide eyes drying her mouth. He pulled back, preparing to enter her in simple, but practiced, perfected, familiar missionary.
Yet he felt her hand on his left shoulder, their well-established gesture of veto.
“W-wait… I wanna see it go in,” Kristen sighed.
Garrett’s lust-glazed eyes cleared to consider her request.
Kristen blushed, “I was… watching you with that girl earlier… and watching you fill her was… fun. So I wanna see…”
She watched his eyebrows rise, likely in surprise to his mother’s voyeurism. His gaze drifted away shortly, and for a moment it seemed that he was lost in thought.
“Sweetie? Is everythi-”
Kristen was abruptly interrupted as her lover got onto his knees and began to wordlessly reposition her. He climbed back off the bed, pulling her with him until her buttocks graced the edge of the bed. She watched as he pulled her legs high into the air and pushed them back against her torso.
With a commanding voice that made her shiver, he muttered, “Hold your legs back.”
Mother obeyed placidly, curling her hands around her large thighs, hooking her legs back; through the V of her legs, she relished the long-denied, once-familiar sight of her son in between her legs. Her eyes traced his wide, sculpted thighs, tense from his posture; his hard, toned abdomen, rippling with his slow breaths; his massive, flat chest, dusted with a light fuzz of hair; and his flared lats and bulging shoulders, flexed from his hunched posture. Below, the glistening, black cane of his colossal penis hung intimidatingly between his legs, prepared to violate her most sacred treasure.
“Baby…” she whispered.
He met her eyes, hypnotized by her tone.
“Fuck me.”
Kristen watched as he complied without question, placing the meaty tip of his spear against her opening and driving his hips forward. As the massive plum disappeared inside her, the pressure within her slowly rose. Soon, Garrett found himself pushing harder than he had in their years of mating.
“Garrett!”
He heard his mother gasp his name as the crown of the enormous glans finally went in, the requisite pressure driving in a portion of the slightly thinner shaft before her he could readjust his driving momentum. He felt her hand jerk to his abdomen, likely a defensive reaction to the invasion within her.
Yet, the boy, reckless with need, did not hesitate in his determined descent. He drove forward with steady force, his arms flexed and his brow knit with effort. The familiar sensations of his mother’s nearly involuntary, but expert muscular caresses on his tender pipe flooded his pelvis with waves of pleasure, making his eyes roll into the back of the head.
“Christtt…”
Kristen barely registered his growl of delight, her eyes wide with grotesque curiosity as she watched her offspring’s pudgy truncheon invade her sanctuary; whenever he withdrew slightly to readjust his angle of entry, his breadth would cause her pink folds to unravel, like a glove being turned inside out. Beads of sweat stung her eyes as she intermittently gritted her teeth and bit her lip, trying her best to adjust to a cock thrice the girth of the one she had become accustomed.
However, with time, her body remembered its routine occupant, her walls loosening and lubricating to ease his entry. Soon, both mother and son reveled in the familiar sensation of their deepest union, as Garrett’s glans kissed Kristen’s cervix.
Euphoric with sensation and close to her first vaginal orgasm in a month, Kristen ran her hands over her lover’s body, lovingly stroking his chest.
“Babyy… I’ve missed this sooo much. Ugh, you’re incredible.”
Garrett relaxed his arms, lowering his face to hers, “I’ve missed you too, mom. There’s nobody like you.”
She smiled, with genuine pleasure at his appreciation: a boy’s adoration for his mother, a man’s need for his woman, a lover’s devotion to his soul-mate.
“You’re so beautiful. I want to give you everything I have,” he whispered, gesturing to their union.
Kristen’s looked down, and was surprised to see that her son was not yet entirely inside her. Her gaze returned to his.
“I love you, mom,” he stated, just as he brought his lips to hers, and pushed forward hard.
Just as his balls flattened against her buttocks, the tip of his peter kneading her womb, her orgasm began. That was the moment the last of her love for her husband dried up.
“MMMMMM!! MMMMMM!!”
She screamed into his lips, her hips writhing carelessly. He lowered his weight onto her completely, her tits pressing into his chest. Now comfortably maintaining his deep penetration, he watched her eyes bolt back, her body seize, her face redden, and her brow strain from the waves of excruciating relief wracking her soul.
Garrett released her from his kiss, looking on her face with fascination as her mouth gaped into an “O”, unable to produce any sound for a moment before drawing in ragged breaths and letting them out in tortured hisses and whimpers. Even though he held steady, the preposterously powerful spasms around his schlong tested the limits of his endurance.
When her breathing finally stabilized, she sighed with relief, gazing up at her abettor through tufts of sweaty, messy hair. She grasped his face with both hands and began laying innumerable kisses all over. This was sex. She remembered now what it was, and wondered how she ever abandoned this. Her raging endorphins made her see big pink hearts when she looked upon her teenage stud.
“I love you too, baby,”
For the first time in a month, every fiber of her being meant it. She nuzzled his nose with hers and kissed him on the lips deeply. Still itching deep inside with a magnificent penis inside her, she nibbled on his ear and whispered.
“I need more. So much more.”
And so the two lovers began dancing their favorite dance. The man impaled his mate, his muscular legs and ass propelling his hips to and fro, forcing his ominously large love-cudgel deep into his lover, jabbing and nudging every bit inside of her. He sighed and grunted, his dominant eyes boring into her surrendering pair, his large fists digging into the soft bedding to keep him above her, his battering ram massaging his mother’s soft walls. The woman consumed her beau, her strong pelvic muscles and abs powering her void to suctioning, blitzing the staff inside her with powerful Kegels, rubbing and caressing every inch inside of her. She gasped and whimpered, her eyes eager to surrender to his impossible masculinity, her small hands pushing against his chest to control his assault, her quim milking her son’s inflamed pipe.
Her eyes flutter and legs shake when he bumps her special places. She squeals and her fingernails dig into his chest. Over the next half-an-hour, the pleasure within her, exhorted by prolonged abstinence, pulses fast and hard. Her orgasms batter her long and unexpectedly. Some make her cry, but her son never lets up; by the next orgasm, she’s thankful for him knowing better. She sweats, squirts, claws, kicks, shrieks, and screams out a month’s worth of sexual frustration.
He relishes these moments with a smile, of his longstanding memory of filial conquest again becoming a reality. Yet, he is sparring with no teenage girl; her exquisite embrace, coupled with a month of maternal neglect and his previous hour of stimulation, increasingly stir his stable panting into unsure growls of pleasure. His testicles begin to rise, their now capacious crop simmering with the excitement of impending release.
“Ugh… mommm,” he groaned.
His sweat dripped from a tan, bulging chest, mixing with hers before running down in rivulets on her alabaster skin.
Very savvy in her son’s sexual cues, Kristen knew that her teenager was about to erupt.
She pushed him out. His face filled with legitimate panic as he desperately resought her embrace. She reached down, gently pressing her nails into his painfully swollen nutsack. The pain and pleasure make him reel, snapping him out of his savage instincts.
“I don’t want to waste it in a condom. Come here, baby.”
Her tender, maternal tone made the good boy in him obey without reservation. He kneed forward until his pussy spreader lay in reach of her mouth and breasts.
She removed the condom, squeezing its collection of lubricant on to her chest, his from within, hers from without. Before her, a piteously purple mushroom wept and throbbed with unimaginable need. She grasped it within her breasts, quickly coating it in her makeshift lubricant. In the meanwhile, she tenderly kissed the tip, making it spritz a dollop of clear juice onto her lips.
She cooed, “Aww my poor babyyy. So big and purple – you must need relief bad.”
He groaned affirmatively, her ministrations already providing said need. He barely registered her tossing the empty rubber into the trash.
“Did you miss mommy’s big, soft breasts?”
“Godddd yessss.”
Kristen missed tending to her son. She missed him needing her.
“Just relax, sweetheart. Let mommy empty your big, tender balls.”
Garrett felt her fingers lovingly cajoling his pouch. With the added encouragement from her bosom furiously polishing his knurl and her tongue itching his bellend, the teen willying obeyed.
“HRGGHHHH!!” he roared as his pisshole yawned, jetting a thick, white cord of baby batter that covered the distance from his mother’s chin to his bedroom wall.
Kristen defensively aimed the cock at her chest, her eyes now shut from the deluge on her face. She patiently mothered the length of the boy’s bobbing staff as he groaned and grunted, and came, and came, and came. She was well acquainted with the boy’s miraculous potency, yet the sheer duration of his emission shocked her.
When he finally collapsed back onto his knees, his growls reduced to exhausted, tongue-lolling panting, Kristen freed one of her hands to wipe her sticky face clear. When her vision readied, she looked upon a nearly opaque pool of milky white slime covering her chest and dripping off her skin. Its source, a white, veiny, monolith, throbbed undiminished over its newly reclaimed quarry. The man it was attached to panted quietly, his enormous, sinewy body shining with a sheen of sweat.
He smiled handsomely through his labored breaths, “Holy shit. You are incredible, mom.”
Kristen smiled back, adoringly stroking his back and his ass.
“So are you sweetheart. You did such a good job…”
Then she curled her other hand around his pussy drill, testing its readiness.
“…for your first time back. Now remind me who I trained you to be.”
Garrett set to the grueling task of reclaiming his technique. Sex with his matron was a divine gift, but also an earned right; Kristen was a sexual martinet who maintained high standards for the boy, maximizing his potential and ensuring that he would never grow up to be a Doug. At the height of their incestuous affair, during Garrett’s summer breaks, she made use of the lad all day long, intermixing their frantic, passionate lovemaking with regimented drills and achievement tests. She had developed the course after a lifetime of sexual experience, and unlike piano, never had to motivate her students to practice their fundamentals. She too loved the practice, congratulating their successes with her shrill orgasms. Garrett, her most dedicated tutee, had practiced so vigorously and tirelessly that she had fallen in love with him.
As a master graduate of the course, the teen casually reviewed the curriculum of his adolescence without pause or prompt. He demonstrated every position and any variations, muttering the benefits and hindrances, and providing a practical demonstration until his tester shrieked her acceptance of his physical mastery. He often found himself filling a condom before he liked, but he leveraged the vigor of his youth, and before long, the balloon was in the trash and a fresh condom tip was pressed against his mother’s cervix.
Innumerable hours later, he once again heard the familiar rise in the pitch and volume of her’s howls.
“Garrett!! Ohhh you sweet fucking boyyy… you’re gonnaaa… make mommyyy…”
Taking advantage of the spooning position, he reached around and began fondling her swollen clit as he kept jabbing her deep sanctum hard and fast with his big, fat baton.
“EEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!”
The teen felt warm fluid gush around the condom, dripping onto his exposed balls. The violent maternal spasms along his tingling cylinder begged him to surrender. Since he had just finished making his teacher come in each and every position she had ever taught him, he decided to let go.
“Mommmmmm,” he groaned as his dong pulsed erratically, inflating the rubber tip with rhythmic swells.
Mother and son continued to hump until their desperate paroxysms cooled. Garrett pulled out with a sigh, the exit of his enormous piston evacuating a quantity of fluid from Kristen’s womb. He let her reach down and remove the condom as he kissed her neck and caressed her sweaty body. She tied it off and lazily tossed it on the ground, now that the wastebasket had spilled onto the floor
She tenderly raked her fingers along the cock that had dominated her soul for the past few hours. Her mind still couldn’t believe what had just happened.
“Ugh, this thing is going to ruin me. Oh sweetie, I love you sooo much.”
She turned around, placing her lips gently on his.
“I love you too, mom.”
*THUNDERCLAP*
The sound broke the lover’s idyll, and they realized that it had been raining for some time. Garrett stood up to investigate. He lightly unrolled the blinds to find a cloudy, night sky and torrential rain.
“Wow, guess we lost track of the time,” he muttered before returning to bed, eager to be reunited with maternal flesh.
Kristen, however, stood up, picking up the clock from the floor.
“Oh crap, it’s late. Where’s your father?”
Garrett wrapped an arm around her hips, bringing her close to the bed, “Who cares? We’ll hear the garage door when he’s here. Now come back to bed.”
Kristen playfully slapped his arm away, laughing.
“We’ve only gotten away with this for years by being careful. You’re too reckless, mister.”
He mock frowned in defeat. She rubbed his head.
“Goofball. Let me just make a few calls, Romeo, and then I’ll be all yours again. Deal?”
The teen retreated, happy with her promise, “Deal.”
As she bent over to pick up the robe, redraping it around her shoulders, she ogled her teenage lover, his impressive frame spread over the bed with his muscular arms bulging behind his head.
She pouted, “Ugh… don’t make me regret this too much, sexy. I’ll be right back, okay?”
She bent over and gave him a peck on the lips. He smiled, playfully slapping her butt as she walked away.
“You’re gonna pay for that,” she mouthed teasingly before walking out of the room.
Although most of her head was still with the overzealous teenager in the bed she had just left, her rational brain grew concerned with the real world as she heard the rain batter the roof. Doug was a slave to routine, and he rarely came home after his promised time.
Where was he?
*THUNDERCLAP*
Indeed, Bunker Sr. had been in the house for hours, as he had trekked home from his neighbor’s house, after begging a ride. Linda, a decent friend, worked in Accounts across from him and lived a block away. After his car broke down at work, she offered to drive him all the way home, but he insisted on not burdening her. Besides, the walk home would let him pick flowers for his wife; after a month of improved relations with her, he was a much happier man and would do anything to keep things afloat.
So, when he unlocked the front door to the house, his hopes and the flowers in his hand – petunias, Kristen’s favorites – were fresh and healthy. He had been craving the sound of his wife’s voice greeting him home. Unfortunately, the only sounds he heard upon entrance were the animalistic cries of two people clearly having sex.
He quickly walked to the stairs, his mind aflame with confusion.
Soon, the female of the voices screamed aloud.
“Oh GOD!”
Kristen. That was Kristen. It was his wife.
First, his heart sunk.
He walked up the stairs, his body going numb and the world around him beginning to spin.
“Fuckk!! You bigggg fuckingg boyyyy! Stir me gooooddd! EEEK!!” his wife shrieked, her request obviously fulfilled.
Second, his heart grew cold.
Almost as a defense, he began recounting all the boys and men in his wife’s life. Out of his control, his brain put to work imagining each one in between his wife’s legs on his marital bed.
Yet, as he approached the top, he realized that the noises were not coming from his bedroom, but from the right side of the stairs.
Third, his heart began to ache.
Oh god, was the bitch cheating on their son’s bed? In the domicile of their only child?
“Aaanh!! Nobody fills me like thissss!! Ohhhhh!!” Kristen grunted with a voice that her husband had never heard.
As he passed the bathroom, he learned that indeed she was. He neared the end of the balcony, adjacent to his son’s room, the sickening sounds now at a fever pitch. From here, he could see that the door was flung open. He queasily wondered if it belied a clear conscience or a practiced ritual – or both. With all the curiosity left in his soul, he turned to face the doorway.
Last, his heart broke.
There was the love of his life. Her blond, matted hair flew wildly as her thighs propelled her ample ass up and down what seemed like a police baton with a marble handle. The ferocity and enthusiasm of her steady gallop was a sight unknown to Doug, and the religious look of enrapturement in her eyes and her craven lust indicated by her lolling tongue felt like a punch in the gut. Her right breast was being mangled and tweaked by a lone hand, and her left one was being enthusiastically devoured by a voracious mouth. There was his son.
All but one part of his brain begged him to look away from the heights of passion that he couldn’t have even imagined, much less have experienced. His rational mind stunned completely, the one part took over and he experienced everything.
The musky, powerful stench. The sounds of psychotic ecstasy. The sweat from his wife’s body mixing with his son’s. Flushed, pale and shiny, tanned skin slapping together. The pink welts covering his wife’s buttocks. The red lipstick on his son’s chest, and the redder scratches on his son’s back. The frothy fluid coursing down his son’s taint and joining the large wet-stain on the bed. The knocked-over trash can, filled with a mound of used condoms bulging with their contents.
Suddenly, his son released his mother’s tits from his mouth and folded his knees, raising his hips up. He grasped her hips in his large hands and thrust deep.
His mother gasped, her eyes opening to meet his. The look of need and submission that Kristen offered to her son was one that Doug couldn’t even remember.
“Who owns you?” he muttered, before he began pile driving his mother from below as fast as he could. Doug had always been too busy to attend his son’s football games – he now saw firsthand the athleticism that other fathers had praised him for instilling in his son.
Kristen barely held on for the ride, her jaw clenched and her face contorted from the brutal pounding she took below. Her arms began to fail, and her head slowly lowered onto Garrett’s chest. It looked like she was going to cry. She did.
“GARREETTTT!!”
His wife yelled and hollered, louder than she had even whilst delivering the boy, her eyes squeezed shut, her hands scratching his skin and clawing the bedspread. Meanwhile, his son smirked as he made his dear old mommy cum for the umpteenth time that day, his rapid cock-walloping continuing seemingly effortlessly.
Soon her hips flew off the boy’s penis, her overstimulated pussy expelling the rubber-covered dong and soaking it with a large volume of frothy, whitish fluid. Even disconnected, she continued to shake, lying completely flat on her son’s muscular torso. He kissed her hair and lovingly ran his fingers through her blond tresses.
When she woke from her daze, she began laying kisses on the boy’s chest, working up his neck, and settling at his lips. After a wet, breathtaking, tongue-tiring embrace, she looked down at him, and whispered, “I love you. Only you.”
If she meant that for Garrett’s ears only, she had failed. The last of Doug’s insides died as he watched his son tenderly reiterate her vows of love, and then wordlessly began rutting with his mother again.
He retired from the scene, heading to the master bedroom. He was confident they had neither seen nor heard him, and he wasn’t even trying to hide.
“Anh!! Here we go AGAINN!!”
He heard Kristen yell as he sat down at his bedroom desk, placing the petunias by the faint light of the window. Outside, it had begun to rain. Doug hadn’t even registered the pitter patter on the roof. Normally, he loved rain – the sensation, the smell, the mood – it reminded him of reading his favorite comic books on his balcony during his college days in Washington. He opened the window.
“Drill meeee!! Oh you big beautiful BOYYYYYYY!!”
As Doug learned what it actually sounded when his wife climaxed, he fished out the keys from his pocket. Isolating a small silver one, he bent down and opened the drawer at the bottom left. He placed the wooden box on his desk, blew away the accumulated dust, and removed its contents.
“Ohhh!! My god! I fucking missed this cock!”
As he quaffed the last of the Glendronach 15, he signed his name onto the document, weighted it down with the empty bottle, and picked up his drop-point survival knife.
*THUNDERCLAP*
Garrett grew impatient, stepping out of bed. He walked over his boxers, his now flaccid manhood wagging with his steps; while a small part of him wondered where his father was, the teen was largely concerned in restarting his indulgences of maternal comfort. The idea made his balls tingle and slowly pumping blood into his indefatigable joystick.
He walked into the master bedroom, only to find it completely empty. His attention was drawn by the paper on the desk dancing to the storm outside the window. He quickly walked to the window, pulling it shut. Gathering the papers, he weighted them down with the empty liquor bottle on the side. His gaze focused on a section of the paper, lit faintly by moonlight.
“I devise, bequeath, and give my…”
His attention was refocused to the master bathroom by the sound of moving water. The door was closed, but light peered through the bottom.
His alertness slowly rising, he walked over to the door, accidentally stepping on some wilted flowers on the way. He slowly pushed the creaky door open. He was relieved to find his mother, kneeling quietly by the tail end of the bathtub.
He grasped her by the shoulder to turn her around.
Kristen Bunker smiled.
Added by oediplus
