Chapter 12

A noise drags me up from the deepest sleep I’ve ever had—some shrill, tinny beeping that doesn’t belong to me. It’s not the guitar riff I use on my phone. It’s not even coming from the right direction. My brain fights consciousness like a drowning man fights the current, clawing at the darkness, trying to stay under.

This isn’t my bed.

The mattress is different. The sheets smell different. Everything about the way I’m positioned feels wrong—too warm on both sides, too tangled, too heavy.

An arm reaches across my chest, and the sudden movement jolts me fully awake. My eyes snap open to the dim glow of early morning light filtering through unfamiliar curtains, and everything floods back at once. Mom’s bedroom. Mom’s alarm. Mom’s bed.

The beeping stops.

Mom settles back against my right side, her body warm and soft as she molds herself into me. Her lips brush my ear.

“Morning,” she purrs.

I blink at the ceiling. My body feels like someone filled my veins with concrete overnight. Every muscle aches—abs, thighs, arms, places I didn’t even know had muscles. But there’s something warm spreading through my chest that has nothing to do with the physical, and everything to do with the woman curled against me.

On my left, Jess shifts. She pulls the sheet over her head.

“Too early,” she grumbles, her voice muffled and groggy.

Mom ignores her. She presses her lips to my collarbone, then lower, trailing soft kisses down the center of my chest. Her hair spills across my skin like silk, and I feel her mouth move with a deliberateness that tells me exactly where she’s heading.

“I take it you have no regrets from last night?” I ask, keeping my voice quiet.

She pauses. Crawls back up my body until her lips are at my ear again, her breath warm and intimate against my skin. Her fingers trace lazy circles on my chest.

“I came more times last night,” she whispers, “than the entire eighteen years I was with your father.” She lets that land, then presses her lips just below my ear. “No regrets whatsoever.”

Something cracks open inside me when she says that. Not guilt, not doubt, just this overwhelming tenderness that makes my throat tight. She kisses my jaw, my neck, the hollow of my throat, and then she’s sliding back down my body, taking her time, her lips leaving a trail of warmth across my stomach.

She settles between my legs and takes me in her mouth, and it’s, God. It’s the same ritual she’s made of every morning since this started, but it’s different now. More intimate. More deliberate. She’s not just going through the motions. She’s savoring it. Making love to me with her mouth in the truest sense I can think of, her tongue moving slow and reverent, her lips soft and unhurried, like we have all the time in the world.

I groan, low and genuine, and my hand finds her hair.

“That’s so good, Mom,” I murmur. “I love you. That feels ... God, I love you so much.”

No dirty talk. No commands. Just honesty. Just letting her know that this, her, means everything.

On my left, Jess stirs again. The sheet peels back from her face, and she rolls toward me, squinting against the light. She presses her cheek against my shoulder and lets out a long, dramatic whine.

“I’m sore,” she complains. “Everything hurts. My legs, my back, my, everything. I think I’m broken.”

I glance down at her, and despite the bliss radiating up from what Mom’s doing, I manage a smirk. Payback time.

“It’s a shame such a nice pussy is attached to such a wimp,” I say. “You fuck one guy, and now you’re crippled?”

Jess lifts her head just enough to glare at me, her green eyes narrowed.

“No,” she says, a grin cracking through her annoyance. “I fuck one donkey and now I’m crippled.”

She giggles into my shoulder, clearly proud of herself. I open my mouth to fire back, but right at that moment Mom takes me deep, like all the way deep, and every thought in my head scatters like birds off a wire. My back arches off the mattress and a sound leaves my throat that I have zero control over.

I don’t care what Jess says. I don’t care about anything except the impossible, tight, wet heat of Mom’s throat wrapped around every inch of me.

Jess must notice the change, because she props herself up on one elbow and looks down past my stomach. Her eyes go wide.

“Holy shit, Mom!” she blurts out. “You can deep throat?!”

Mom slides back up my length with agonizing slowness, letting me pop free of her lips with a soft, wet sound. She looks up past my abs at Jess, almost sheepish.

“Well,” she says, her voice a little husky, “your father demanded I learn, so.”

“Don’t,” I cut in. “Stop talking about Dad and get back to it.”

Mom’s eyes find mine. A small, submissive smile curves her lips.

“Yes, sir,” she purrs, and takes me back into her mouth.

She works me down slowly, inch by inch, her throat relaxing around me, her lips sliding lower and lower until her nose is pressed flush against my skin and there’s nowhere left to go. She holds there for a beat, then pulls back just as slowly, all the way up until only the head rests between her lips. Then down again. Unhurried. Effortless.

Jess is staring, practically slack-jawed.

“She’s not even, there’s no gagging,” she says, sounding genuinely awed. “Not even a little. What the fuck.”

I run my fingers through Mom’s hair, watching her work, then glance sideways at Jess.

“How did you not know this?” I ask. “Didn’t you see Mom deep throat me the last two mornings while you watched from my doorway?”

Jess shakes her head, still watching Mom like she’s performing some kind of magic trick.

“I never saw the whole thing,” she says. “I only came in at the end, after you woke the whole neighborhood with your moaning.” She clears her throat, then pitches her voice into a ridiculous low groan, her eyes rolling back dramatically. “Ohhhh ... oh God ... uhhhnnn... ” She throws her head back against the pillow, clutching an imaginary sheet. “Fuuuuuck... ”

“I do not sound like that.”

“You absolutely sound like that.”

I decide to let it go, mostly because Mom does something incredible with her tongue on the upstroke that makes my toes curl.

“What about last night?” I manage. “Mom deep throated me several times last night. You were right there.”

Jess rolls her eyes. “Well, I couldn’t see much of anything last night with you always shoving my face into Mom’s pussy.”

I lift my head off the pillow. “What? I never did that. You were diving in all on your own.”

“Pff.” She settles back against my shoulder, her bratty smirk firmly in place. “Semantics.”

I let the banter die. Just ... let it go. Because Mom’s mouth is doing something that makes words feel pointless, and for once in my life I don’t want to be inside my own head. I want to be right here, in this exact moment, feeling exactly this.

Even Jess goes quiet. I glance over and she’s propped on her elbow, eyes locked on Mom’s head as it rises and falls in this impossibly slow rhythm. Mom hums around me — this low, contented vibration that travels up my shaft and spreads through my hips like warm water — and I realize she’s not just doing this for me. She’s savoring it. Every unhurried slide down, every glacial pull back up, she’s taking her time because she wants to.

Her lips seal tight around the base. Hold. Then she drags back up so slowly I can feel every millimeter of her throat releasing me. No gag. No hesitation. Not even a flicker of discomfort crossing her face. Just this serene, almost meditative focus, like she’s somewhere peaceful.

“How does she do that,” Jess murmurs. It’s not really a question aimed at anyone. More like she’s thinking out loud, genuinely baffled, watching Mom take me to the root again with the same effortless grace. Down. Hold. Up. Hum. Repeat.

I concentrate on my breathing. In through the nose, slow, steady. Out through the mouth. If I let myself tense up, if I chase it, this ends. And I don’t want it to end. My whole body aches, muscles screaming from last night, stomach hollow and cramping from running on nothing, but none of that matters when Mom’s tongue does that thing along the underside, that slow drag that makes my toes curl against the mattress.

Jess’s hand drifts between her own legs. Her fingers just slip down and start moving in small circles while her eyes stay fixed on Mom’s bobbing head. Her breathing changes, shorter and sharper, and her lips part slightly. She’s transfixed. I get it. There’s something hypnotic about watching Mom work, the way my cock disappears completely and reappears glistening, over and over, smooth as a magic trick.

Minutes pass. Five, maybe more. The room fills with soft wet sounds and Mom’s humming and Jess’s breathing getting ragged beside me. Then Jess’s thighs clamp together around her hand and she lets out this stuttering little gasp, her back arching off the mattress, eyes squeezing shut. Her whole body shudders once, twice, and she melts back into the sheets with a shaky exhale.

She blinks at the ceiling for a second, catching her breath, then turns to me with genuine confusion on her face.

“How have you not cum yet?”

“I’m enjoying it so much I don’t want it to end,” I say. And it’s the truth. Every nerve ending in my body is lit up, balanced on this perfect edge where it feels incredible but I’m not tipping over. Mom’s pace is the reason. Maddeningly slow, just enough sensation to keep me buzzing without pushing me past the point of no return.

Something sparks behind Jess’s eyes. This mischievous little twinkle that I’ve seen a thousand times before, usually right before she does something that gets one or both of us in trouble.

“Can I fuck Mom’s mouth onto your cock?”

The words hit me like electricity. “Fuck. That’s fire.”

Mom tries to respond with me still buried in her throat. What comes out is a muffled grunt, something that sounds like mmhm, followed by a garbled attempt at actual speech that vibrates through my entire length. She pulls back just enough. “Okay.” Then takes me deep again, which is about as much articulation as anyone can manage with a cock down their throat.

Jess sits up. There’s purpose in the movement, this sudden focused energy, like she’s been waiting for permission and now she has it. She gathers a fistful of Mom’s hair near the back of her head, not gentle, not rough, just firm, and takes control.

The pace changes immediately.

Jess drives Mom’s head down and pulls it back up at twice the speed Mom was going, maybe three times. Mom makes a wet sound of surprise on the first thrust but adjusts instantly, her throat opening, her hands bracing against my thighs. With her free hand, Jess reaches underneath Mom and slides two fingers inside her. Mom moans around me and the vibration is so intense my vision actually blurs.

“That’s it,” Jess breathes, watching her own hand force Mom’s head down until her nose presses flat against my pelvis. “Take all of it. You love this, don’t you, Mom? Love having your son’s fat cock shoved down your throat.”

I try to say something. Anything. But my mouth just opens and what comes out is this raw, desperate moan that doesn’t sound like me at all. Jess grins and slams Mom’s head down again, harder, and I grip the sheets so tight my knuckles go white.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” Jess says, and there’s this breathless authority in her voice that’s doing things to me I can’t even process. “Can’t even talk, can you? Just lie there and take it.”

She’s not holding back anymore. Each thrust of Mom’s head is forceful, deliberate, the wet choking sounds filling the room as Jess sets a punishing rhythm. Mom’s hips are rocking back against Jess’s fingers, chasing the pressure, and I can hear how wet she is from here. The dual sensation, Mom’s throat squeezing around me on every downstroke, the vibrations from her moans as Jess works her from behind, it’s too much. The edge I’d been balanced on crumbles.

“Jess, I’m—”

She slams Mom’s head down one final time and holds it there, and I come so hard my abs seize up and my back lifts completely off the mattress. At the same moment Mom shudders, her moan choked and muffled around me, and I feel her throat contracting in rapid pulses as she swallows, swallows, swallows again. Every rope, every drop, her throat working overtime, and she doesn’t miss a single one. Jess keeps her pinned until I stop twitching, until the last aftershock rolls through me and I collapse back into the pillows with a sound that’s half groan, half whimper.

Jess releases Mom’s hair. Gently, this time. She pulls her fingers free and sits back on her heels, and there’s this moment where the energy in the room shifts, the frenzy draining away, reality settling back in.

“Sorry, Mom,” Jess says quietly. A flush creeps up her neck. “I got carried away.”

Mom lifts her head. Her eyes are watery, her lips swollen and slick, and there’s this dazed, glowing look on her face that I’ve only ever seen on someone who’s completely, thoroughly satisfied. She wipes her mouth with the back of her hand and smiles.

“Don’t worry about it, sweetheart.” Her voice is a little hoarse, a little wrecked. “I loved it.”

Jess swings her legs off the edge of mom’s bed and stands on wobbly legs, wincing immediately.

“Jesus Christ,” she hisses, pressing a hand against her lower back. “My ass is literally broken. Like, I’m pretty sure you rearranged my internal organs last night.”

“Drama queen,” I mutter, but when I push myself up from the mattress, my abs scream at me and I let out a grunt that undercuts the whole dismissal. I press my palm flat against my stomach. Feels like I did a thousand crunches in my sleep. The rest of me is sore too—arms, thighs, lower back—but it’s a manageable kind of sore. Nothing like yesterday, when even blinking felt like a full-body workout.

Mom watches us from the bed with a lazy, satisfied smile, her hair fanned across the pillow. “You two are a mess.”

I notice Jess’s nipples are rock hard, poking against the morning air. Her cheeks are still flushed from watching mom work. She catches me looking and doesn’t even bother covering up.

“Shower. Now.” She grabs my wrist and practically drags me toward the hallway. Her legs are shaking but apparently horniness overrides pain, because she’s moving with real purpose.

“Good morning to you too,” I mutter, letting myself be pulled.

We cross the hall to the bathroom we share, the one with the cracked tiles and the rust-stained sink. Jess yanks the curtain aside, cranks the hot water, and stands there impatiently while the ancient pipes groan and sputter.