The Reunion

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.