My Son, The Sleepwalker

"Honey?" I asked, my mind racing with possible answers as to why he was hard in a moment that should have devastated us both. I, too, was feeling strange pleasures that I did not expect, and could not explain. Perhaps he was stricken with the same curiosity I did.

"I don't fucking know what is happening to me," Donald admitted.

"Do you... I don't know how to ask this." I could not take my eyes off of his throbbing cock. "Do you like watching him have sex with me?"

"I don't know! It's fucking confusing!" Donald was shouting, but no volume would have been great enough to wake Tom from his sleepwalk.

"I'm not judging you." I meant that promise with all my heart. "Do you... do you want me to help you?" The question didn't come from a place of guilt, though I was still feeling some for having ingested so much of our son's cum. It came from a place of love, and also curiosity - that morbid feeling that Tom had stirred up in me against my will, but had quickly become undeniable.

Donald gulped dryly. "Help, meaning?"

"Uh-huh. Maybe it will take my mind off of... well, him." I nodded my head towards the young man writhing between my legs, stuffing himself into my pussy like the secret to eternal life was at the bottom.

I enclosed my fingers around Donald's cock, fitting the swollen head into my palm and treating it to a flurry of light squeezes with my fingers. I used the powerful, body-lurching thrusts from our son to accent the strokes of my hand, channeling the momentum into a handjob fueled by our son's own rampant fucking. Every time Tom pushed into my vagina, he succeeded in helping me jerk off his father.

Donald never lasted long, so I knew as soon as I felt him pulsating with excitement that he was about to pop. Once I allowed myself - on some level - to embrace the pleasure that Tom gave me, I could not stand him being the only conscious person who was not enjoying themselves. It did not seem fair.

"Honey?" My tiny voice broke the melody of skin slapping against wet, slippery skin.

"Y-yeah?" Donald choked out.

"Can we be honest with each other?" I asked, and Donald's feverish nod was all I needed.. "Okay... uh, yeah. Yeah, I-I think he's going to make me cum."

"What? But you said you can't." Whether or not he was ready for another harsh truth, he was about to get one.

My brain was overloaded with dopamine, and, as such, it let my thoughts spill out of me unchecked. "I lied! I lied! I've done it a couple times by myself. But it's hard, and... I don't know. I think that's what I'm feeling now? I don't— I don't— fuckkkk! Oh, honey, I'm sorry, but he feels so fucking good!"

I came on my son's cock like a dishevelled whore, succumbing without remorse to the pleasure he was bringing me. My cunt squeezed like a python around Tom's dick, thanking him for the serotonin raining over my brain like the first thunderstorm across an arid desert, awakening receptors that had been dormant for far too long.

For Donald, the sight of me cumming in front of him for the first time was too much for him to handle. With my legs looped around the sharply arched spine of our own son, who was laying into me like I was a human punching bag, I embraced the first orgasm that a man had ever given me. The two of us, in greater harmony than we had ever displayed in the bedroom, came in unison to the sight of Tom dominating me.

Donald fired cum onto his belly, seeping into his stomach hair while he throbbed in my firm grip. Moral conventions did not exist, giving us a fraction of time where we accepted the situation for what it was and allowed our bodies to follow the flow of pleasure that came so naturally.

He quickly began to soften, drawing deep, bated breaths, and by the time his erection was gone it had been replaced by abject terror plastered over his face. It took me an extra couple of seconds to catch on, but I soon realized the terrifying truth that had both of us had been too distracted to pay heed.

Many years ago, Donald had gotten a vasectomy, so condoms and birth control pills were a thing of our past. Going without them for so long had made us forgetful of their importance, and since I'd never planned on sleeping with another man besides my husband, we did not take any other precautions.

It was too late then to do anything about it. My son was moments away from implanting his fertile seed in my womb. There was nothing standing in the way - nothing to stop him from breeding me and making me into a grandmother on the very same night that he lost his virginity.

Donald's voice cracked, his entire body shuddering when he promised me, "Whatever happens, we will deal with it."

"What if he gets me—"

"Whatever happens," he reassured me. "Don't worry about that right now. Just stay calm. Don't panic."

That was not an option. My pulse skyrocketed, my heartbeat taking off like a runaway freight train as mind-numbing fear overtook me. I ranted incessantly. "What the fuck do we do? No, no I can't. I can't let our son impregnate me! Those are supposed to be our fucking grandbabies in there!"

"Breathe, breathe." Donald kissed the top of my head and fit his hand around mine, cradling my shaking hand with a steady grip that reminded me why I had fallen in love with him in the first place.

I dug my nails into his hand, focusing on the feel of his knuckles popping under my fingers, so that I could be distracted from the incestual breeding ritual that we were about to complete.

"L-love you, honey. I love you. I love you, Donald." I sniffled, chanting the words to myself like a comforting mantra while watching, powerless to stop it, as my son picked up speed in a way that could only mean one thing.

I reached up with my other hand - the one that was not secured in my husband's iron grip - to gingerly stroke the side of his face, calmly reassuring him that our love would survive.

I accepted my fate. We had come too far; it was not worth trying to fight him off if it meant he might go ballistic and hurt one of us. We would have to let him finish, then deal with the fallout later.

To this day, I remember exactly what it felt like: every long, gluey rope of cum splattering against my cervix like paint. Hot, frothy bubbles churned in my gut from his chaotic thrusting. Tom added another dose of liquid love into the cauldron of slimy, white goo, then displaced it with yet another forceful drive to the bottom of my pussy.

My son's children - perhaps, soon to be our children - swam eagerly into their grandmother's open womb, seeking out my eggs once they had found a home inside of the cozy pocket.

Donald had cum inside me many times before, but it had never felt like that. Tom had bred me, in the most feral sense of the word. Once a dominant jungle cat, I was reduced to a pathetic, mewing kitten at the undeniable behest of my hormonal hunger.

We bucked and writhed together, grinding our bodies to coax out as many healthy volleys of semen as we could. We were a team, my son and I, working urgently to wring the cum from his balls while he was still throbbing. I was in no rush to climb out from under him, and so allowed his full body weight to rest on me while the remnants of his load trickled out.

Tom pulled out, his dick slapping against his belly. Considering how quickly Donald returned to normal after an orgasm, it was astounding that Tom was still so menacingly erect even though he'd spent two full minutes marinating inside me after he was done.

I was afraid that, since he was still so hard, he might want to have another go at me. Thankfully, for the sake of my pussy and my husband's sanity, Tom slid out of me without so much as a final thrust. He climbed off of the bed and stood at attention with his arms flat by his sides, like a statue, with the exception of the massive dong swinging between his legs. It still glistened with the leftover concoction of pussy juice and baby butter that we had created together, visually confirming just how thorough our bout of lovemaking had been.

His cum seeped out of my pussy, which I could tell without using my fingers had been completely blown out from his rough abuse. Much like earlier, I felt positively empty. There was a gaping void in my belly that wanted to be filled again, and due to the savage beating that Tom had inflicted on my poor, unsuspecting pussy, I feared that nothing else would satisfy me.

Donald stroked my hair, saying nothing. We lay in silence, pondering what the next day would look like, wondering how we'd gotten to where we were, and mulling over the way everything was going to change going forward.

I thought for a few long moments - all while feeling Tom's cum seep out of my ravaged hole - until I heard my husband speak.

"What do we do now?"

What is there left to do? I thought, but knew there was no easy answer.

There were a million things to consider, and none of them would become any clearer while I lay there with my unprotected womb being assaulted by a deluge of cum.

All we could do that night was wait and see what the new day would bring.

Donald confirmed to me that he had triple checked the locks. After the previous night, of which Tom had absolutely no memory, we were not going to take any risks.

Things were weird between my husband and me, but that was to be expected. It would take a lot of time to recover, or build something new.

"I want to go check on him," I declared.

I trusted Donald, but could not rest easy until I had rid my mind of the burden weighing on it.

"He's been asleep for an hour," Donald said. "Just let him rest."

My mind, however, was already made up. I crept into Tom's bedroom, greeted by his faint snoring. I tugged on one of the buckles and found it was tightly secured.

"Shit," I muttered.

I knew I would not get away with undoing the buckles myself - not after Donald had triple checked them. No, I would have to be patient.

I leaned in close to my son's ear and whispered, hoping that my words would float their way into his dreams. "One day, maybe tomorrow, maybe a year from now, your father is going to get lazy again. When he does, I'll be waiting for you. When he does, I'm all yours."

From deep in the trenches of sleep, Tom mumbled, "Love you, Mommy."

My heart beamed with pride and, more despicably, lust. "Mommy loves you too, baby boy - very, very much."