Chapter 9

I lie in my own bed for the first time in three months, smelling the dust that is launched into the air when my head hits the pillow. Closing my eyes, I can feel the knotted muscles in my abdomen and thighs begin to relax. Reaching up, I massage my jaw muscles; Mom said that I'm starting to get TMJ disorder, but she'll fix that.

I don't want to know how.

Licking my lips, I can still taste the faint remnants of her, clinging to me, feeding the fire that lies at the base of my brain. No matter how thirsty I am before, or how much I drink, that thirst is never slaked, never satisfied.

If anything, it's getting worse.

I dream of drinking deep of her every night, now; when I'm not between her thighs, it's all I can do to think of something else. Even now, after a whole day suckling at her deep, sweet well, my cock begins to stir between my legs, and I find myself wishing she straddled my face once more. To feel that smooth, soft skin gripping my cheeks, to bury my nose in the aroma of her altar, to drive my tongue as far as it can go into her burning pussy so that I can slurp up as much of her nectar as I possibly can.

Like a lumbering giant, my dick slowly rouses itself, rising from my prostrate form. I can almost feel the blood vessels fill for the umpteenth time today, and a deep, delicious soreness suffuses my groin: the aftermath of a day of sexual slavery, just like every other day.

Except, of course, today was different.

Cathy went home today.

I don't know how she wriggled herself into those jeans; they were so tight that she must have been poured into them. Her pert, springy ass was wrapped lovingly in faded blue denim, those smooth, delicious globes unmarred by pockets. The ragged waist rode low on her hips, so low that you could plainly see the end of her tailbone, and the beginning of her crack. In front, they were loosely tied on with a rawhide lace that revealed the total absence of pubic hair to any and all who cared to look, and many did. They were so tight that the seam ran straight through her pussy, giving my sweet little cousin a camel toe that begged to be touched, tasted, ploughed.

I was dragging the luggage, naturally, and there was a hell of a lot of it. Cathy may have shown up on our door with only a knapsack, but she was leaving with a total fucking wardrobe, ready to head back to school.

"I can hardly wait!" She gushed while we stood on the platform, her firm, young tits bouncing freely underneath a mightily strained white tanktop. "Mom 'n Dad are going to lose their minds!" She gave me a knowing look and a hungry smile spread across glossy, pink lips.

"'specially Daddy," Cathy said, turning to face me. "I bet his eyes will just fall out of his head once he sees how grown up his little girl is... your mommy says that he's got a nice, big dick. Not as big as yours, of course, but bigger than most. I wonder how long it'll take him to get all hard 'n hot 'n horny in his pants? When we sit in the car, and I streeeetch..." she demonstrated for me, pushing her new, melon-sized tits hard against her shirt, the smooth young breast- flesh nearly spilling out. "Or maybe when I run up to him, all breathless and panting, and," suddenly, she leapt on me, wrapping her lithe legs 'round my waist, pressing her hot little twat against my steely cock, pushing her tits under my chin, "kiss him 'hello!'" Her lips found mine and she bit my lower lip, sucking it gently.

Then, as suddenly as she had jumped on me, she let go, leaving me breathless.

"Doesn't matter," she said. "He will. Soon. And then every day after that; I'll tease and taunt him until his cock cries every night because all he can think of is me, not that bitch I call 'mom.' Oh, I'll play the innocent little daddy's girl, wrapped up in slut's clothing; your mommy taught me well, cuz - you know that better 'n anybody. And then, when he can't take it any more, I'll take him. Come to him some lonely night when that bitch is out of town, maybe wearing a black little gauzy nothing, maybe in a t-shirt and a thong, maybe in nothing at all, and make him fuck me, whether he thinks he wants to or not. But his cock'll tell me the truth: hard, straining against his pants like a dog waiting to get off the leash, desperate for my hand, my lips, my cunt. He'll be hard, but fucking him won't be."

She closed her eyes and ground her hips against mine, making quiet noises of satisfaction. Mom hadn't let me fuck her all summer, deciding shortly after we brought Ms. Hernandes to let Uncle Gary have that honour. I wanted to, though. Wanted so much to just split her bare little cunt with my cock, to pound her pussy 'til she screamed.

I licked my lips. Cathy was chewing one of hers, bubblegum pink and plump as she ground herself against the massive pole in my jeans, simulating sex with her father; I could feel moisture beginning to seep through her jeans and into mine.

"Save it for Daddy, sweetie." Mom bent close to her ear so no-one else could overhear.

Pouting, she stopped dry-humping me there in the station, leaving my own cock steely hard and unsatisfied. Even though I should be used to that by now, I groaned inwardly nonetheless.

"Sorry, Jared," my cousin apologized, winking. "Did I make you all stiff? Maybe I should take care of that for you... take you into one of the bathrooms, and kiss your big, hard COCK all over there in a filthy stall. Would you like that? To send me back to my daddy with your cum all over my face and tits? I won't wipe it off - I promise! I'll just rub it into my skin like your mommy does, a nice hot facial to keep those nasty pimples away." She giggled. "How 'bout it, cuz? Wanna put your cock in my mouth? Wanna feel my little tongue wriggle over that big fucking plum, feeding me your meat and your cream until it flows down my chin in a hot, nasty river of sperm?" Her hand ran down the obscene mound of dick in my jeans, sending a thrill through me; she stopped at that tiny fucking ring, that fucking wall, that goddamn steel finger that keeps me from shooting. "Oops, sorry 'cuz, I forgot: we left your key at home, didn't we?"

Then the train arrived in a flood of horrible noise, and the platform was suddenly full of other passengers. A porter carried her luggage aboard, she gave me one last tongue-twisting kiss, gave Mom another, and was gone.

Fully engorged, aroused by the memory of Cathy's departure, my cock towers over me, bloated and huge and slick with rivulets of precum flowing freely down the shaft. I'd touch it if I thought I could do any good: whatever qualms I used to have about masturbation are long, long gone by now. But that fucking ring just sits there, winking in the dim moonlight from my window, preventing me from doing anything but torture myself.

Still, I can't help but touch it.

But no sooner do my fingers touch the throbbing, pulsing spire of meat than I hear a tapping heel at my bedroom door.

Silhouetted in the light from the hallway outside, stands my mom. Those beautiful, long, tanned legs glimmer beneath a sheen of baby oil, from the tips of her cute little toes in their white satin slippers with the three inch heels, all the way up to the generous curve of her ass, peeking out from underneath the ruffled hem of her... dress? The skirt is tiny, less than 3/4 of a foot long, satiny, white; the corset above it is bound tightly to her slim frame, pushing her huge, wobbling tits even further up and out for me to see. The demi-cups do nothing to hide the prominent nipples that have popped out over them; on her head, mom wears a sheer white veil that obscures her face, though I know there's a smile spreading over her hungry lips.

"Alone at last," she says, gloating. "It's time, I think, to start the honeymoon."

"W-what?" I'm confused, but my cock isn't. It knows what's coming.

"Of course, before we can start honeymooning, we have to get 'married, ' don't we, honey?" My mom begins to saunter over; in her hand, something golden glinted.

"What!?" I'm surprised, but I don't know why. I've licked my own mother's cunt; I've served as her toilet; I've been a dildo for her and Ms. Hernandes; and a drinking fountain for all three. But of all the depravities this summer has brought, this has me by the short-hairs. "W-we can't... who would, I mean legally... I mean, no priest, I-"

She shushes me, raising a finger to her veil.

"Silly. I don't mean a man-and-wife, 'marriage certificate' wedding. Just a small, private affair. Me," Mom runs that finger down between her breasts, firm and tanned, held by the loving cups of her corset, "you," her finger keeps travelling downwards as she neared my bed, "and a certain 'special little friend.'" It lands square on the head of my cock, and makes tiny little circles on the very tip, spreading the lubricating goo around.

"This is the last step, really," she says, somewhat absently. "We're bonded chemically, by the pheremones, and emotionally, 'cause let's face it: you're enjoying yourself." Her finger traces a line of fire down over my glans and around the flare of the mushroom atop my dick. I know she's right: pheremones or no, I rise to the occasion even when thinking back on what we've done, what she's doing to me, what we'll do. "But sometimes a girl just needs that symbol, y'know? 'It don't mean a thing, if you ain't got that ring.'" She giggles to herself.

From the depths of her cleavage, my mother produces the tiny silver key that spells relief for my swollen balls. A flick of her wrist, and it falls away, bouncing on my matress to fall on the carpet with a dull thud. Immediately, my heart, already beating hard because of her presence (I can almost smell her arousal; my taste buds ache to be washed with her essence) begins a trip-hammer beat in my chest, and my dick swells to truly gargantuan proportions.